Marooned With The Millionaire

‘I’m not in the boxing ring, Marcus, and last I looked there wasn’t anyone throwing their fists around. It must have been a trick of the light. I’m completely fine.’ She glanced at her watch. ‘Now, I’m afraid I need to get back. I can get a cab. Thank you for the tour—I really appreciate it. It’s given me a lot to think about.’

‘Whoa. Hang on.’

Dark blue eyes studied her face and she forced herself to hold his gaze. The grief was under control now, but harder to leash was her awareness of him, of the fact that his gaze seemed to heat her skin.

‘I’m glad you’re OK, and I’m glad you enjoyed the tour. Can I take it that you’ll drop the story?’

Her eyes narrowed. ‘No, you can’t. I said you’ve given me a lot to think about—that implies I need to go away and think.’

For a second she thought he’d argue; instead he nodded, though she could see reluctance etched on his face.

‘Fair enough. Then let’s meet tomorrow. Would lunchtime suit you? Say twelve-thirty?’

There it was again—that silly, stupid thrill of anticipation at the thought of seeing Marcus again. Madness. But no matter. After tomorrow there would be no need to see him again. Whatever decision she came to.

‘That’s fine.’

CHAPTER FOUR (#u7499206c-7dc4-5ea1-a052-0cf9f41085bd)

MARCUS REREAD THE paragraph outlining fiscal policy for the third time, uttered a curse, and shoved the bound folder across his desk, oblivious to the dappled rays of golden Lycandrian morning sunshine or the sweet smell of mimosa that wafted in from outside.

If only he was as immune to images of April Fotherington. Yet her image intruded with persistence, flitting across his brain and pushing out the facts in the report.

Foolish! She wasn’t even his type. Insofar as he even had a type. Sure, she was attractive, but he had met plenty of attractive women in his time and none had had the ability to distract him from work. He had a work ethic that had driven him from the moment of his adoption—an iron determination to make something of his life. To atone for the night of the fire, and to make a difference in the world.

He’d figured out that to do that he needed money, so he’d built up his business and attained millionaire status. Now he was determined to help Frederick bring about change to Lycander—and he would not let an attraction stand in the way of that.

Perhaps it wasn’t an attraction...

Hah, Marcus—really?

Maybe, his brain persisted, his subconscious was trying to warn him that this woman was a threat, an adversary he needed to defeat rather than a woman he wanted to...

Wanted to what? Have a relationship with? He didn’t do relationships. Sleep with? Not happening. April was not his sort of woman...not an anonymous, discreet ship passing in the night, the type of woman who would never expect more than the very little he could offer: a brief interlude, physical release, and then moving on without regret.

There was a vulnerability about April, and despite her denial the previous day he sensed that she had demons that could vie with his own. And that meant she was so far off-limits she might as well be in a different stratosphere.

Pulling the report back towards him, he tackled paragraph three again, glaring the words into submission. Sheer will-power propelled him through the report, two meetings and a visit to the head office of Alrikson Security. But images of April filtered the net of his determination for the duration, and en route to pick her up he felt a strange, fizzy thread of anticipation run through his gut, followed by a bubbling doubt.

Why had he asked her to lunch? Yes, he needed to see her, but he could have done that in his office. Why make it a lunch date? Date? No. Meeting—that was the word.

Oh, God. It was time to get a grip. April represented a threat to Lycander he needed to eliminate. End of. He would do whatever it took to ensure his country was given the chance to return to prosperity. It was inconceivable that something as petty as physical attraction should get in the way of that.

Yet as the car pulled up outside the hotel with its bright awning and gilded doors, and he spotted April outside, clad in dark tailored trousers and a dove-grey short-sleeved blouse, his body tensed. His nerves went on alert in recognition of the kind of primal magnetic pull no amount of will-power could eradicate—a tug as far from petty as it was possible to be.

Fine. If he couldn’t eliminate it he would ignore it, conceal it, fight it...

A frown etching his forehead, he climbed out of the car and moved round to open the door for her. ‘Hi,’ he managed.

‘Hi.’

For a moment, he would have sworn he’d glimpsed a hint of shyness as she gestured downward.

‘I hope I’m dressed OK? I wasn’t sure where we’re going.’

A sensation suspiciously akin to panic roiled in his gut. Why on earth had this seemed a good idea?

‘For a picnic,’ he muttered. Muttered? ‘A picnic,’ he repeated firmly. ‘I thought that would be more private.’

Her expression registered a panic that no doubt mirrored his own. ‘Private?’

‘So that no one will be able to overhear our conversation,’ he added hurriedly. ‘Plus, yesterday you saw a lot of urban Lycander. I thought you might like to see somewhere more tranquil.’

In addition, he’d hoped a sylvan setting would influence her, that his words would be more persuasive in a less official ambiance.

‘We’re going to eat in the royal forest. I’ve arranged for the food to be delivered. It was a bit short notice, so it won’t be anything fancy, I’m afraid, but...’

As silence greeted this, it belatedly occurred to Marcus that the idea that had seemed brilliant in the confines of his office that morning no longer seemed quite so stellar.

Perhaps he should have wined and dined her in style? Perhaps a charm offensive would have dazzled her and impressed her into compliance? Unfortunately charm wasn’t his bag—was not a tool of his trade.

Even as a child he’d lacked charm. Charm would have got him nowhere with his parents—would have made no difference to their levels of violence or indifference, depending on their alcohol consumption or their reaction to the drug of the day. Charm certainly wouldn’t have helped him on the tough streets of his childhood, where sheer brute strength and the ability to fight dirty had been the only currency worth a dime. And by the time of his adoption it had all been too late—charm had quite simply never come into play. So it was unrealistic to expect it to come to his aid now. As for the picnic... He must have been running mad.

‘Of course if you would prefer we could simply divert to my office and...’

But then she smiled and his words dried up.

‘No. Sorry, you took me by surprise. A picnic sounds lovely, and it does seem the best way to make sure our conversation remains between us.’

‘OK. Great.’

The car pulled into the small car park, and as they climbed out Marcus’s phone rang.

‘Hi, Marcus. I’ve got the picnic and I’ve brought it to Umbrella Copse.’

‘Thank you, Gloria. We’ll be right there.’

Perhaps this would work out after all. He could see April’s appreciation as she tipped her head upwards to catch the dappled rays of the sun that filtered through the luxuriant trees, flecking the vibrant greens with droplets of gold. For an instant his gaze lingered on the elegant length of her neck, then moved over the beauty of her face, the smattering of freckles on the bridge of her nose, the...

Stop and focus.

The point was that the lazy drone of bees, the call of the black kites, all seemed to indicate the need for tranquility and concord. Which would hopefully aid him in his quest—the reason he was here. To ensure that April dropped her story.

Then they reached the glade and Marcus came to an abrupt halt as he took in the scene before him.

For a long moment words failed him.

A wooden slatted picnic table was covered in a snow-white tablecloth, and laid with gleaming silver cutlery, fluted crystal glasses and bone china plates. A bottle of Lycander’s best Sauvignon Blanc nestled in a state-of-the-art cooler. A wicker picnic basket was on the bench, and Gloria was busy unpacking an array of delicacies onto large china platters.