Who Wants To Marry a Millionaire?

‘Ring Denise and she’ll schedule a time.’

‘Great.’

He made a grand show of glancing at his watch, when in fact time meant nothing and he’d much rather spend the afternoon here than listen to a bunch of builders drone on about material costs.

‘You go.’ Her face softened. ‘I want to spend a few more minutes here.’

On her own.

He couldn’t give her the land back but he could give her the privacy she craved.

‘Sure, see you in a few days.’

‘Count on it.’

She smiled, and this time something beyond scary twisted in the vicinity of his heart.

He did the only thing possible.

He bolted.

CHAPTER FIVE

GEMMA waited until the purr of Rory’s Mercedes faded before she found the nearest ti-tree and banged her forehead against it. Repeatedly. It didn’t help.

She’d hoped it might knock some sense into her—or, better, eradicate the memory of flinging herself at Rory.

What had she been thinking?

That was the problem; she hadn’t been thinking. She’d been so blown away by his offer to present her recommendations to the project managers logic had fled and she’d been running on pure emotion.

When it came to this place it had always been about emotion, and that was what hurt the most: the fact her mum hadn’t realised its importance in her life—the haven it had provided to an isolated teenager. Or if she had she’d upped and sold it without consulting her regardless.

She rubbed her forehead, her rueful wince tempered by the incredible view. How many times had she camped here with her dad? Pitching tents, cooking sausages over an open fire, roasting marshmallows. Everything had been an adventure because her dad had made it so. He hadn’t berated her for not brushing her hair or not wearing a dress or not playing with dolls. Her dad had understood her, and standing here in their spot she missed him more than ever.

She inhaled the briny air, its familiar tang infusing her lungs, releasing some of her residual tension. She’d always been more relaxed here, more at home. From the distinctive ti-trees to the grassy fringes, from the pristine sand to the untamed ocean, she’d never felt anything other than comfortable here. It was a feeling she could never replicate anywhere else—a feeling of righteousness, of oneness, that had been ripped away by a mother who had never understood.

Another major head-slapping moment. She’d divulged some of her family history to Rory. She should have known the familiarity and contentment of being here would loosen her lips. Her inhibitions too, going by that cringeworthy hug.