Who Wants To Marry a Millionaire?

That was when it hit him.

Their situations were reversed. He’d been given an opportunity to continue his family legacy, to make it flourish, to stamp his flair, to make his mark.

How would he feel if his dad had run Devlin Corp into the ground or, worse, sold it off to the highest bidder? He’d be gutted. That was exactly how Gemma would be feeling.

‘You came home especially for this, didn’t you?’

‘Yep.’

‘You know I can’t retract the sale or stop the project from going ahead?’

The moment the words spilled out of his mouth he wondered where they’d come from. He didn’t owe her any explanations, but something in her defeated posture tugged.

‘I wouldn’t expect you to,’ she said, derision curling her upper lip. ‘I’m not some charity case.’ She swivelled to face him, then fired back, ‘You’re a hard-headed businessman. I get it. All this? Gone. But if I can preserve one iota of this beauty, maybe the people who live here will appreciate it as much as we did.’

She ended on a little hitch of breath and leaped to her feet, dusting off a butt moulded temptingly by denim.

‘Now, let’s get to it.’

He stood, and before he’d realised what he was doing he placed a comforting hand on her shoulder.

‘I’m willing to hear your ideas and keep an open mind.’

She allowed his hand to linger for a few long, tension-fraught seconds before she shrugged it off.

‘Thanks. That’s all I ask.’

She switched into business mode, the contrast intriguing him as much as her steely determination underlined with a thread of vulnerability.

He’d never met anyone like her.

The businesswomen he worked with were only intent on climbing the corporate ladder, while the women he dated were poised, polished and excessively cool.

They never fought for a cause or were passionate about what they believed in. They didn’t care about the environment unless a passing shower ruined their blow-dried perfection. They rarely wore skinny jeans or paisley scarves.

They were nothing like Gemma.

‘The marine ecosystems in Port Phillip Bay need to be preserved.’ Her eyes narrowed as they swept the horizon. ‘Human-induced environmental changes, such as the mansions you’re proposing to build along here, can contribute to the breakdown of sustainability.’

Although impressed by the passion shining in her eyes, he kept his tone light. ‘You’re trying to dazzle me with scientific speak.’

Her glare made him wish he’d kept his mouth shut.

‘See these dunes below us? Destroying the vegetation in sand dunes lets the wind blow them away, increasing the coast’s vulnerability to erosion.’ She pointed to the scrubby bush a few feet in front of them. ‘If you’re building mansions behind us, you’ll probably construct a sea wall along here.’ She shook her head. ‘Bad move. Seriously bad move. A sea wall built along a beach only protects the landward property, but ruins the beach by isolating sand behind the wall from the active beach system. This eventually leads to serious erosion problems, and eventually no beach exists in front of the wall …’

Her voice faded but her eyes had lost none of their spark as they pinned him with ferocious accusation.

‘If this beach were left to erode naturally, without a sea wall, it would always be here.’

And her dad’s legacy would last for ever. She didn’t have to say it. It was evident in every line of her rigid body: in her defensive stance, her crossed arms, her upthrust chin daring him to disagree.

Her fervour, her passion for her cause was staggering.

‘No sea wall. Got it.’

One eyebrow arched in imperious disbelief. ‘You’re mocking me?’

Considering he’d noticed her clenched fists, he wouldn’t dare. ‘Honestly? Your dedication is impressive but plans are in place, houses are sold, this project is going ahead.’

With or without your approval. It was a comment he wisely confined to his head.

‘Houses? Don’t you mean luxury mansions worth millions? Millions designed to make your precious company mega-wealthy.’

‘You of all people know what land prices are worth along here. I’m just doing what any developer would do.’

‘Yeah, plunder the land,’ she muttered, her sagging shoulders the first sign of defeat.

‘Construction is going ahead.’ Feeling sorry for her, he softened his tone. ‘What would you suggest to facilitate environmental conscientiousness?’

He listened carefully as she outlined her plans for solar panels and double glazing and toilets flushed by tank water, trying not to be distracted as the wind toyed with the strands escaping her ponytail and flushed her cheeks.

When she’d finished, she stared at him with an eyebrow raised in question.

‘What do you think?’

‘Collate your ideas, back them up with documented research and be ready to present to my project managers day after tomorrow.’

Her eyes widened in disbelief. ‘You mean it?’

‘I’m not in the habit of saying things I don’t mean—’

She cut him off by flinging herself at him and wrapping her arms around his neck, that infernal scarf smacking him in the face.

He floundered, propriety dictating he unwind her arms and set her back, so as not to blur their business relationship. But by the time his brain processed what he should do it was too late.

His arms slid around her of their own volition, savouring her soft curves and the way she fitted into him.

He knew it was wrong, knew he shouldn’t do it, but he rested his cheek on the top of her head, buried his nose in her hair and inhaled, committing the fresh outdoor scent he’d associate with her for ever to memory.

For ever?

It was the reality check he needed, and he quickly eased away, grateful when she laughed off their embrace as if it meant nothing.

‘Guess you can’t fault me for exuberance.’

His terse nod belittled the special moment they’d shared and he glanced at his car, desperate to extract himself from an already precarious situation. One more moment in her ‘exuberant’ company and goodness knew what he’d do.

‘Thanks for meeting me out here. I’ll have that presentation ready for you.’