The Million-Dollar Marriage

“In vegetables. Flowers are different.”

She put her fork down and stared at him. “You’re opening a florist shop?”

“Nope. A wholesale nursery. You see, I spent a lot of time on my grandparents’ farm, and I just got into growing things. With all these acres of good rich soil—”

“Wait a minute. You said you’re studying to be a landscape artist.”

“That came later with Grandma’s rock garden.”

“I see. Meanwhile you’re running a wholesale nursery.”

“Not yet. There’s equipment to buy, greenhouses to build...things like that. Not to mention the plants themselves.”

“So you’re actually planning two careers.”

“Not really. Don’t you see how the two fit together?” He began to talk of his plans with a boyish enthusiasm that intrigued her. The clatter of silver and the murmurs of other diners faded as she sat in the little booth and listened. Through his eyes she began to see hundreds of florists and supermarkets filled with lovely luscious and unusual plants from his nursery, landscapes green with the trees and shrubs that would break up the concrete surrounding houses, condominiums, even commercial buildings and shopping centers.

Melody Sands, bored up to the ying-yang with all the successful investments and mergers discussed by all the rich successful men she encountered, listened with deep interest and awe to the dreams of this young man who was starting on a shoestring. She liked being a Miss Nobody listening to an ordinary guy talk about... No. Nothing ordinary about this guy who was really a hunk, worked like a Trojan and dreamed big.

“I guess it will take some time,” she said.

“And money,” he said. “Why do you think I’m planting roses, cutting lawns, and having to borrow a car to impress the most fascinating woman I’ve ever met?”

“The most fascinating?” she teased.

“The most,” he said with emphasis.

“Well, thanks for the flattery, but you didn’t need a car to impress me. I could have ridden in the truck.”

“You don’t belong in a truck.”

“How do you know where I belong?”

He didn’t. And that’s what bothered him. But he knew she didn’t belong in a truck. From the moment he saw her, standing so erect, the wind whipping that mass of flaming red hair... He reached across the table to touch it. It felt like silk. “Is it for real?” he asked, just as he had the first time he saw it.

“Of course it’s for real! Do you think I’d be fool enough to dye it this crazy color?”

“Not crazy. It’s out of sight.”

“Ha! If you knew how many times I’ve thought of dying it. A nice conservative brown or—”

“Don’t you dare!” She jumped and even he was surprised at his vehemence. Why did he feel such possessiveness toward this woman he hardly knew?

Damn it, he didn’t have time to possess any woman. Especially this one. Why did he sense she was out of his league? There was something about her. Something...well, classy. The way she carried herself with a certain confidence, maybe even arrogance. Even this morning, in that tattered jacket, her hair in disarray, she had looked...well, elegant. And so beautiful she took his breath away.

It’s not the way she looks. It’s the way she is. Warm, caring. Interested. He had sat all this evening spilling his guts. All his hopes and plans... things he had never even breathed to anyone else. And she had listened like they mattered to her.

This woman. This one woman. Why did he feel that he never wanted to lose her?

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Like what?”

“Like I might disappear or something?”

That was the way he was feeling. Scared. Like she might walk out of his life and he’d never see her again. This was crazy!

“Just thinking I’m pretty stupid,” he said. “I want to know all about you, and I’ve spent all this time on me. Things I already know. So, tell me. How many brothers and sisters do you have, and where do you live, and when can I see you again?”

“Wait, you go too fast,” she said, trying to get herself together. She didn’t want to lie to this man. But she didn’t want him to know who she was. She liked listening to him, almost as if she was sharing his dreams...like they were on the same level. Would he feel free to share if he knew? “I...I’m an only child,” she said.

“I see. That explains that look.”

“What look?”

“That I - can - have - anything - I - want - I’m - a - spoiled - brat look.”

“Now, don’t you start!” she said, feeling angry because she had always been accused of just that. “I’m not spoiled and I don’t always get what I want.” She hadn’t gotten Dirk, had she? And never mind that he hadn’t wanted her, just her money. She sat up, staring at Tony. He didn’t know about the money. He liked her.

He was laughing. “Okay, don’t bite my head off. I see you’ve got the temper that goes with that hair. And I take it all back. You’re not spoiled. You’re working hard at...what do you do?”

“I... paperwork,” she floundered. “For the man of the house.” That was true. She often helped her father with his business.

“Oh, a secretary. I should have known.” He reached for her hand with its perfectly polished nails. “Much too pretty and soft to do much scrubbing. And where do you live?”

“Where you saw me,” she said, absorbed in the calloused thumb that was stroking the back of her hand, making her feel...like she hadn’t felt for a long time.

“Oh, a live-in secretary?”

“Kinda.”

“Don’t know if I like that. You’re much too pretty to be around some old fogy.”

“He’s away. Away most of the time. He travels a lot.”

“Good. And your parents. Do they still live in Wilmington?”

“My mother’s dead. And my father...well, we had a little disagreement.” They had had a disagreement, hadn’t they! “Anyway, he’s away, working out of town.”

. He could see that she was agitated by his probing, so he let up. There would be time. “Better take you home, much as I hate to,” he said. “I’ve got to start early in the morning.”

CHAPTER THREE

SHE couldn’t sleep. She was too keyed up. Still glowing from the most exciting evening she had spent in years.

She laughed at herself. What, for Pete’s sake, was so exciting about sitting in a crowded little restaurant, struggling with a plateful of slippery spaghetti?

Just talking. They had talked all the way back to the house, where he got out of the car and stayed with her until she let herself in. Protective, courteous. Too courteous. He hadn’t kissed her.