The Millionaire Takes A Bride

But perhaps Mr. Know-It-All’s investigation had missed that fact, since she wrote under a pseudonym. Despite Will’s warnings that his brother would pull out all the stops, the very idea that he had investigated her—spied on her—made her blood boil.

“You’re the last person on earth I’m interested in impressing, Mr. Bradshaw,” she replied smoothly.

“But just so your facts are straight, you can note that I have other sources of income.”

“I’ll bet,” he said in a harsh, accusing tone. “Like my brother, for instance?” he added harshly. “Well, as of tonight, you can strike Will Bradshaw from your balance sheet. You’ll have to find some other wealthy boyfriend to set you up in the affluent style to which you obviously aspire. Clearly, your tastes exceed your income, Ms. Price.”

Georgia stared at him, too shocked to speak.

“Of course, with your looks, it shouldn’t be too hard to find another rich sap,” he added before she could reply. “With that face—and body to match— I’m not surprised you had a guy like Will twisted around your little finger.” His hot, appraising glance swept down her thinly clad figure, making her feel practically undressed.

While she knew she was decently covered, she instinctively clutched at the neckline of her robe. Then she turned on him, her temper exploding.

“You have some unbelievable nerve! Waking me up in the middle of the night. Raving like a madman. Coming into my home and insulting me in this outrageous manner!”

She knew she was only playing a part, but how dare he accuse her—accuse any woman he’d barely met five minutes ago—of trading money for romantic favors. Besides, if Will wanted to give his girlfriends gifts, even if those gifts included money, it was hardly his older brother’s business.

“Yes, play the part of the outraged maiden, why don’t you? The sensitive, innocent flower, trampled and slandered by a brute. An absolute beast,” he added in a mocking tone. “Have I bruised your tender sensibilities so harshly, Ms. Price? Well, let me put it to you another way then. As far as I can see, you are—as they’d say in the good old days—a fortune hunter, madam. Plain and simple, one who is after my brother’s money. If you think you’re going to marry him, think again,” he shouted at her.

“I’m sure you’re the one who needs to think again, Mr. Bradshaw,” Georgia replied, echoing his cutting tone. “Your brother is an intelligent, responsible adult who can and will choose who he wishes to marry. And without your grandiose, overbearing interference or approval, I might add.”

“You will not marry him,” Jackson Bradshaw countered. He stared at her from across the room, where he stood silhouetted against the long frame window. He was an intimidating man, some part of her brain noted. Intimidating, infuriating—and even now—disturbingly attractive.

She felt right now as if she despised him—not just for her own sake, but for the sake of her sister, as well. Will had been right. Dear gentle Faith would never have been able to stand up to this man. Georgia, who considered herself far tougher, knew she was having a time of it herself. How dare he judge her on such thin evidence—her worn-out couch and fledgling business. She couldn’t abide people who tallied up a person’s worth in such a superficial, materialistic way.

But at the same time that she despised him, some powerful undercurrent of attraction, compelling and electric, arced between them. It was a force that tugged at her, forcing her to meet his gaze as he slowly moved toward her, across the dimly lit room.

Finally he stood before her. Inches away. She thought to step back, but her legs felt rooted to the spot. All she could do was stare up at him, studying the hard lines of his too handsome face, his large, dark eyes, his wide, soft mouth….

“Go ahead. Just try to deny it,” he challenged her.

“Deny what?” she asked, genuinely confused. Her thoughts had wandered. His nearness had totally distracted her, short-circuited her rational mind.

“Deny that you plan to marry my brother,” he insisted. “Tomorrow, in fact, at the First Church.”

“I have no intention now, nor have I ever wished to marry your brother,” she answered honestly. Though she could not deny that for the purposes of throwing Jackson Bradshaw’s private investigators on the wrong scent, she, Will and Faith had done all they could to create a convincing, false trail, including taking out a marriage license in town and printing a phony engagement announcement in the local paper. All in the hopes of luring Jackson to Texas while Will and Faith were off to some mystery location, tying the knot.

“Don’t lie to me—” he replied in a low, threatening tone.

He moved even closer and Georgia tipped her head back to look up at him.

“I know,” she said, interrupting. “I’ve been warned. You can’t stand pretense—especially from a female.”

He didn’t say anything. Just continued to stare down at her, a grim, unreadable expression on his face. Deep in his eyes she saw a flash of fire—was it anger? Or desire?

When she felt his large hands grip her upper arms she wasn’t surprised. His hold was firm, and she felt the warmth of his hands through her robe. She had the sense that if she struggled against him, his grip would tighten. But somehow the thought didn’t scare her.

“I can’t see you with my brother,” he said in a low, intimate tone that made her heartbeat race. “You’re not his type. Not at all.”

“Oh, really?” Georgia replied, vaguely amused. “Am I too tall do you think? Too…brash?”

“You’re a handful. The kind who needs a stronger man than my brother at the helm, I’ll tell you that much.”

“But we’ve only met, what…? Ten minutes ago? How could you have any idea what type I am?” Georgia insisted.

“Oh, but I do,” he assured her in a deep, quiet voice. “I know all about you, Georgia Price. All I need to know. Believe me,” he promised.

Had he pulled her imperceptibly closer? Georgia couldn’t be sure. Yet she was suddenly conscious of his nearness, the heat of his body, the scent of his skin.

She couldn’t hold his gaze any longer and suddenly looked away. She felt in over her head. Way over her head.

“Are you blushing?” He cupped her chin in his hand and turned her face back toward his so that she had no choice but to look at him. “Hmm, you are. How charming,” he said sweetly. “Didn’t take you for the blushing type. Or is this some further performance? Hoping to find my sympathetic side?”

“Your…sympathetic side?” she stammered.

“You sound surprised. Don’t you think I have one?”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Once again, she tried to pull away from his grasp, but he held her firmly, forcing her to look directly in his eyes. Somehow, she’d managed to sound calm and unmoved, she thought, despite the tremors that shook her within. His face was so close to hers, barely a breath away, and as his gaze dropped down to her mouth some inner alarm sounded, warning that he was about to kiss her.

“Ridiculous…yes, of course,” he murmured in a husky tone, still staring hungrily down at her lips. “I assure you, Ms. Price, I’m trying very hard not to be…”

Then his dark head dipped toward hers, and his hand lifted her chin. Georgia thought to pull away, to make some forceful protest, but all she could do was lift her hands and press them again his chest. The sensation of his firm muscles against her fingertips wasn’t the dash of cold water she needed at the moment. To the contrary, making contact with his hard, warm body had just the opposite effect, shutting down her powers of reasoning completely.

Georgia sighed and closed her eyes—as much a sign of pure frustration with herself as a sign of her surrender. It was all the encouragement Jackson needed, and in a heartbeat she felt herself pulled into his hard embrace, her mouth covered by the seeking, seductive touch of his lips.

It was shocking.

It was wonderful.

It was a pure revelation.

Despite all rational and moral objections Georgia might have voiced in saner moments to kissing a man she barely knew—especially this man—she found herself swept away by the moment, giving herself over to the wave of sensual pleasure that suddenly crashed over her, body and soul.

Her arms moved up to circle his shoulders, her fingertips toying with the thick, damp strands of his hair. His mouth glided over hers, coaxing, tasting and teasing until she couldn’t help but respond. She moaned quietly in the back of her throat, and the small sound inspired him with a new surge of ardor.

Heavens, it had been months—no, years—since she’d been kissed like this. Had she ever been kissed like this?

Then, just as Georgia began to call a halt, she was saved. A small voice sounded from the top of the stairs, and Georgia heard it as if it echoed from miles away.

“Mommy?”

Noah. He’d woken up.

Georgia sprang away from Jackson’s hold as if she’d been stuck by a cattle prod. She ran over to the staircase and started up, toward her son, some part of her mind reflecting that it was funny how a child might sometimes sleep through a tornado—then wake up to the sound of a toothbrush dropping on the floor three rooms away.

“It’s okay, honey. Everything’s all right,” she assured him. “Go back to bed. I’ll be up in a minute to tuck you in.”

He rubbed his eyes sleepily but didn’t budge until she reached him at the landing. “I heard voices. It sounded like you were talking to someone…. Is someone here?”