Eva Rutland - The Million-Dollar Marriage

About the Author Eva Rutland began writing when her four children, now all successful professionals, were growing up. Eva lives in California with her husband, Bill, who actively supports and encourages her writing career. Dedication Some people marry for true love, some for convenience...but what about marrying for money? Eva Rutland continues her humorous look at reasons to say “I do!” in this delightful sequel to Marriage Bait and The Wedding Trap. Title Page The Million-Dollar Marriage Eva Rutland www.millsandboon.co.uk CHAPTER ONE CHAPTER TWO CHAPTER THREE CHAPTER FOUR CHAPTER FIVE CHAPTER SIX CHAPTER SEVEN CHAPTER EIGHT CHAPTER NINE CHAPTER TEN CHAPTER ELEVEN CHAPTER TWELVE CHAPTER THIRTEEN CHAPTER FOURTEEN CHAPTER FIFTEEN Copyright

“I pronounce you man and wife.”

It was over. He kissed his bride, happier than he had ever been in his life. The family went wild, hugging and kissing each other, laughing as they emerged into the sunshine.

Something must have happened, he thought, as they started down the steps. Such a big crowd, television cameras and everything.

Before he had a chance to take it in, to wonder, he felt the flash of a photographer’s bulb, and a microphone was thrust into his face.

“Mr. Costello, how does it feel to be married to an heiress?”

Eva Rutland began writing when her four children, now all successful professionals, were growing up. Eva lives in California with her husband, Bill, who actively supports and encourages her writing career.

Some people marry for true love, some for convenience...but what about marrying for money?

Eva Rutland continues her humorous look at reasons to say “I do!” in this delightful sequel to Marriage Bait and The Wedding Trap.

www.millsandboon.co.uk

CHAPTER ONE

FROM her bedroom window, Melody Sands looked down at the man working in the rose bed. He moved with a quick energy that intrigued her. Clipping, digging, planting and transplanting like mad. As if he actually enjoyed it. In this weather! It was early March, but the winter winds were still going strong.

At least he’s busy, she thought with a twinge of envy. Not rambling around in a big house that nobody lives in but Mrs. Cook, who, with a little outside help, keeps it in apple-pie order for Dad and me. In case either of us drop in, she thought, chuckling. She was only here now because she was bored with Dad’s business ventures in Japan, bored with Adrian’s relentless pursuit, and because there was no other place she particularly wanted to be. Nothing particular she wanted to do.

Oh, well...too rough for sailing, too windy for golf. Maybe something doing at the club.

She pulled on suede pants and a cashmere sweater, and went down to the kitchen.

“Hi, honey.” Mrs. Cook, the cherubic housekeeper, looked up from the oversize thermos into which she was pouring hot coffee. “Ready for your coffee?”

Mel smiled as she nodded toward the thermos. “Not that much.”

“Oh, I’m taking this to the man in the yard. I thought he could use a hot drink.”

“New gardener?”

“No. Someone Pete hired to do whatever you do to roses this time of year. Pete’s arthritis don’t take to this weather. You want the usual juice and toast? I’ll fix it as soon as I take this.”

“I’ll take it for you,” Mel said, reaching for the thermos. She wanted to see that man close-up. “And don’t bother about me. I’ll get whatever I want. Okay if I borrow your jacket.” Cook nodded, and she slipped on the well-worn oversize jacket, grabbed the thermos, and went out the back door.

He didn’t see her approaching. He rested on his heels, intent upon what he was doing. She watched as he placed a rosebush in the ground, and with his bare hands arranged the soil around it, gently, with a kind of loving care.

“Hello,” she said.

He looked up and she caught her breath. He was that handsome. Thick, unruly, very black hair, eyes almost as dark with thick, long lashes, features so perfect they might have been sculptured.

One quick graceful movement, and he was on his feet, dusting his hands on his jeans, laughing dark eyes looking down at her. “Hello. Something I can do for you?”

“No. Something for you,” she said, still looking at him, holding on to the thermos with one hand while the other slapped at the hair whipping across her face. “Cook thought you might like a hot drink. It’s so windy.”

“Don’t knock it. I like what it blew my way.”

“Could be an ill wind,” she quipped, trying to read the message in his eyes.

“Not when it blows in an angel,” he said, as he caught a few flying strands of red hair, and inspected it. “Is this for real?”

“Take three guesses.” She forced herself to break the spell and thrust the thermos at him. “Here,” she said as she turned away.

“Hey, wait!” he called, almost dropping the thermos. “Don’t blow away. Why don’t you join me? You can have the cup. I’ll drink out of the bottle.”

She didn’t want to leave. She turned back and accepted the hot drink he handed her. She sipped from the cup, feeling a little awkward.

He smiled at her. “I’m glad you stayed. Let’s get acquainted. I’m Tony—”

“But I didn’t come out here to get acquainted. Cook just asked me to...” She stopped. Cook hadn’t asked her. She had volunteered. And now... The nerve of this guy!

“Tell Cook I’m mighty grateful, both for the coffee and the pretty angel who brought it.”

“You’re quite welcome, but I’m afraid you’ll find I’m no angel.”

His eyes brightened, his brows lifted. “You mean you’ve got a bit of devil in you? Interesting!”

This had gone far enough. She handed him the cup. “Thanks,” she said, and turned away.

“Wait. I just want to get to know you. Anything wrong with that?”

“Yes. Not a mutual desire, since I’ve no wish to get to—”

“How would you know, if you never give me a chance? I’m not a bad guy.”

“Look, I don’t have time to dawdle here with you.”

“Okay. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hold you up. But, later... Couldn’t we go somewhere? What time do you get off?”

“Off?” She was puzzled by the question.

“From that fancy joint.” He gestured toward the house. “What time are you off work?”

Oh! He thinks I’m the maid. “I don’t...” Whatever she intended to say was checked by his grin. An open, wholesome, boyish grin that lit up his whole face, and touched something deep inside her. Something that had lain dormant for a long time.

“I could pick you up. We could go for a burger or something, and...well, like I said, get acquainted. How about it?”

She said nothing. Just kept watching him. Feeling a funny coming-alive feeling.

“Look, I’m an all-right guy. Really. Give me a chance.”

That crazy lopsided grin. Full lips curving around white, even... No. One tooth was crooked, lapping over another...

“Well, say something! Wouldn’t you like to get to know me?”

“Not really.” she lied. She liked that crooked tooth. He wasn’t so darn perfect.

“Aw, come on. Why not?”

Why not? she echoed, wondering... Liking the laughter in his dark eyes.

“Look, it doesn’t have to be a burger. You like pizza? Or there’s this little Italian place down the valley. We could—”

“Six,” she said.

“Huh?”

“Six o’clock. I’ll be...ready then. Okay?”

“Okay!” Jubilant, but wary, as if he couldn’t believe his luck. “Shall I pick you up there?” He nodded toward the back door.

“Sure.” She turned to go. Couldn’t stand there looking at him all day, could she!

“Okay! See you,” he called after her. “Oh, and tell the cook thanks. I’ll bring the thermos back before I leave.”

She rushed in, not daring to look back. What the hell had come over her? She didn’t know this man from zilch. A gardener. Part-time gardener at that. Cheeky. And too good-looking. Probably had women falling all over him. For all she knew he could be some awful creep. He came on strong.

She laughed. Nothing creepy about that boyish grin, that open, honest... “Hey, give me a chance...I’m not a bad guy.”

The crisp air must have whetted her appetite, for she shared an unusually hearty breakfast with Cook, absentmindedly responding to the housekeeper’s cheerful chatter. Not once did she glance outside.

But his image stayed with her. The laughing, appraising dark eyes. That smile. The crooked tooth. His quick graceful movements.

When she was back in her room, she did look out. And was disappointed. He was gone.

Never mind. She would see him tonight, she thought, and was surprised by the jolt of anticipation.

Stupid. She didn’t even know him. Had seen him for about...five minutes?

But the feeling of excited expectancy remained. She hadn’t felt this way since... She swallowed, hating to admit it. Since Dirk...

She curled up on the window seat, and looked out into the yard again. It was raining now. A funny in-between-winter-and-spring rain. It had been winter when she met Dirk.

Dirk Johanson. Blond, blue-eyed Dirk Johanson, tall and... well, not movie-star handsome like... What was his name? Tom? No. Tony. But Dirk was striking, tall and muscular, so blond. He looked like a Viking or a Greek god, invulnerable against the high snow-covered cliffs. All the girls at the ski resort were wild about him. Me, too. And he chose me.

My head spun like crazy. I was all his. I would have gone to the end of the world with him... without one damn penny! I knew I would be safe in the loving and protective arms of this strong man. Hadn’t I skied with him over Nevada’s highest and most treacherous mountain slopes? A man who could conquer such mountains could...turn into a sneaking, conniving, self-serving, scurrying weasel when faced with the real world!

She didn’t believe it. Even after he had deserted like the swine he was, she had waited. She had sat in that crummy motel room for three days... waiting. And, when her father came for her, she had vented her rage against him, not Dirk. How could Dad, who had never denied her anything, send Dirk away, threatening disinheritance if they carried out their plans to marry?

“He dumped you for a measly fifty thousand dollars,” her father said. “He didn’t care about you. It was your money.”

She didn’t believe him. It hurt too much. Even now.

She pressed her face against the window, and looked out. The fresh green leaves of early spring trembled and danced under the battering of the late winter wind and rain, but clung tenaciously to the tree boughs.

As she had clung to her faith in Dirk. She had slipped from the motel and evaded her father’s detectives for three whole months. Even now she could smell the grease and cooking food in the Reno kitchens where she had washed dishes. Waitresses were too visible. She had called the Colorado ski resort and learned that Dirk had moved to a resort in Switzerland. Her letters to Switzerland were not answered, and she convinced herself that he never received them.

“Don’t keep on being a fool!” Jake, her cousin, never bothered to cushion his words. Knowing her habits better than her father’s detectives, he had traced her to that rooming house in Reno. “He got your letters, all right, just like he got that bundle from your dad! And he doesn’t want you tailing him? Why do you think he hotfooted it to Switzerland?”