The Millionaire's Wish (12 page)

“Tell you what?”

“Why this guy still has such a hold on your heart.”

“Is that what you think?” she asked, grateful that he was so far from the truth.

She took a deep breath and let it out slowly, forcing herself to glance at the picture. Paul was looking relaxed and confident and handsome, and she looked…young. Young and innocent and happy, and the sight made her feel so helpless, and then so angry, that she stretched her hands out and made fists again—the right way, this time.

“This isn't something I talk about,” she said.

“Why not?”

“Because it's not important.”

He closed the album with more force than neces
sary and dropped it on the coffee table. “What's not important? You?”

He got up and paced around the room, dragging a hand through his black hair. Allison's emotions were a tight, unhappy knot inside her.

“Rick, I'm—” She took a deep breath. “I'm not ready for this,” she heard herself say. “Not yet.”

He stopped pacing and stared at her. After a moment, he came over to the coffee table and sat down on the edge of it, facing her. Their knees were almost touching.

“You're not ready yet. But…someday?”

His eyes were intense. She looked down, unable to meet them. She knew what he was really asking her.

Her breath was stuck in her throat. Her lungs ached, but she couldn't seem to take a full breath. “I don't know,” she said after a moment, her voice so low she wasn't sure he'd be able to hear her.

“You don't know?” he repeated.

She looked up at him again. The knot inside her loosened, and instead she felt the low, coiling warmth that had teased at her for the last few hours.

His face had become so familiar to her. The black hair falling over his forehead, the green eyes under dark brows, the shadow of stubble on his jaw. She could read tension in his face, and in the muscles of his arms and shoulders. She remembered him helping her down from the fence and setting her on her feet, the same strain in every line of his body.

His tension made him hard as stone, power leashed in every muscle, while hers had the opposite effect. She felt herself softening, unraveling, her very bones melting. She wanted to touch him, to press the curves of her
body against the hardness of his, to see if the tension in him eased or turned into something else.

“I want to be,” she said. Her face flooded with color, as if she'd propositioned him.

“You do?” His voice was soft, but there was heat in his gaze.

Her heart slammed against her ribs. “Yes.”

“When you're ready…will you tell me?”

The air around her was thick, shimmering, liquid. She had to fight to speak through it.

“Yes,” she whispered.

“Then I can wait.” He smiled at her slowly, and her body felt weightless. She closed her hands around the sofa cushion beneath her, as if that could keep her from floating away.

“Here you are,” her cousin Kate said, coming into the room. “The group sing's about to start downstairs and they're asking for you.”

Allison had to repeat the words in her mind before they made any sense. “We'll be right down,” she said in a voice she didn't recognize.

“I'll let them know,” Kate said, glancing at Rick. “Unless you'd rather I said you were…busy?”

“No,” she said quickly, jumping to her feet. “We're coming.”

“Group sing?” Rick asked, following her out of the room.

“I apologize in advance,” Allison said as they went down the stairs. She could feel her composure returning. “You're about to be subjected to a Landry family tradition. Whenever we get together for a party, someone starts singing Irish songs. We don't have to stay
for it, though. If you want, we could say our goodbyes and—”

“Not a chance,” Rick said firmly. “We're singing. I've been told I have a pleasant baritone voice, and we might as well put it to good use.”

Half an hour later Rick had downed his third shot of Irish whiskey and was singing arm in arm with her dad and her uncle Sean. She took the opportunity to grab Jenna away from the musicians' circle and pull her into the kitchen.

“I need you to come shopping with me,” she said without preamble.

Jenna stared at her. “Right now?”

“No, not now. Tomorrow. I need something to wear to a charity ball.”

Jenna leaned against the counter. “Would Rick be taking you to this ball?”

“Yes.”

She folded her arms. “Why don't you just wear something you already have? What makes this event so special?”

Allison glared at her. “Stop trying to make a point and say you'll go with me. I suck at shopping and I need your help.”

“Fine, fine. What kind of dress are you looking for?”

“I want…” She hesitated. “I want a dress that will send a message.” She took a deep breath. “I want something feminine. Something that says I'm in the mood to be romantic.”

“As opposed to all those masculine dresses that say I'm in the mood for a monster truck rally?”

“Will you be serious?”

Jenna grinned. “Sorry. I'm just trying to make up for the last ten years, when I haven't been able to tease you about guys. But of course I'll help you. We'll go to that new boutique downtown and find a dress that will make Rick's head explode.”

“I don't need his head to explode. I just need him to know that I'm…”

Ready. She needed Rick to know she was ready.

Because she was. Sometime in the last half hour, watching his dark head tilt back as he drank a shot of whiskey, listening to him sing ballads with her family, catching his eye when he turned his head to look for her, she'd made her decision.

She knew it wouldn't last forever. Rick's relationships were never more than temporary, and she couldn't expect that to change. In fact, she fully expected to be left with a broken heart…the kind she might never recover from.

But for the first time in her life, she didn't care about the future. She didn't care about the consequences. She wanted Rick, and she was going to have him.

At least for a little while.

S
he made him helpless.

It was the one thing he'd worked his entire life to avoid, and there wasn't a damn thing he could do about it. His body was hard and hot when he was with her, his mind dense with images when they were apart. He worked in a fog, got through the day in a fog, except when the fever of desire burned through and he imagined making love to Allison until she was every bit as helpless as he was.

He'd never felt like this before. He wanted to send her flowers, buy her jewelry, do all the things men had done for centuries when they wanted a woman so badly they couldn't think straight. The entire world seemed to glow, his desire for Allison coloring everything he saw and heard and touched, until the beat of blood through his veins seemed to echo in the air around him.

And he couldn't act on it. The next step of their
relationship was in her hands, and he couldn't rush her. If he wanted to earn her trust he had to go at her pace.

They talked once or twice a day, and every night before they went to sleep. One of them would call to say hi, and before they knew it, an hour or more had gone by.

They saw each other twice that week, once for lunch and once with a group of her friends. On Thursday he had a late meeting and on Friday Allison answered phones for a telethon, so they didn't get to see each other. By Saturday he was so impatient to be with her again that he pulled up at her apartment building twenty minutes early to pick her up for the charity ball.

He couldn't go up yet, so he settled back in the driver's seat with the radio on. He was thinking about Wednesday, when he'd gone to movie night at her apartment, and how cute she'd looked curled up in a corner of the couch with her feet tucked under her. He'd sat next to her for most of the evening, trying to watch the movie and not the way her face lit up when she laughed.

It had been hard being that close and not touching her, but how much harder would it be tonight?

Wednesday had been fun and casual. Tonight was black tie and champagne, men in tuxedos and women in gowns, a thirty-piece orchestra and a bachelor auction. The whole damn night was themed around couples and romance.

He remembered her threat to wear puce and orange. Considering her sense of humor, the odds were better than even that she'd do it. He started to grin, picturing Allison on a quest to find the ugliest dress in existence, just to tease him. He imagined festoons of taffeta, feathers, sequins…and Allison's face laughing up at him.

She'd still be the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen.

He checked his watch: six-thirty on the dot. Time to find out what she'd chosen for the occasion.

 

Allison had never spent an entire day just indulging herself. She'd answered phones for the telethon until midnight, so she slept late this morning, waking with a smile on her face, thinking about Rick. She stretched luxuriously, still smiling, before she got out of bed and made herself brunch.

Early in the afternoon she went to a salon for a manicure and pedicure. It felt wonderful to be pampered, like last week when Jenna had taken her here for a massage and a facial and to get her legs waxed, something Allison had never done in her life.

Jenna had informed her that the little red bumps and irritation from the waxing would be gone by today, and she was right. Home again now, relaxing in a bubble bath, Allison leaned back in the tub and stretched out a leg, running a hand from her ankle to her knee to her ankle. Her skin was as smooth as glass.

She'd never taken so much sensual pleasure in a bath, so much pleasure in her own physicality. She took her time toweling herself dry, and then smoothing rose-scented lotion into every inch of her skin.

She listened to an Ella Fitzgerald CD while she got dressed. Jenna had made her buy real French silk stockings, thigh high wisps of gossamer so fragile she held her breath pulling them on and attaching them to the garter belt Jenna had also insisted she buy. After they were finally in place she went to look at herself in the full-length mirror on the back of the closet door.

In the black lace bra and panties, garter belt and stockings, Allison felt downright sexy for the first time in her life.

She went into the bathroom to put on her makeup—not much, just a little eyeliner and shadow and some rosy lip gloss. Then it was time to put on her dress.

She was glad, now, that Jenna had convinced her to buy this one. It was black lace and strapless and slit to the middle of her thigh, and in the boutique she hadn't even wanted to try it on. But Jenna and the salesclerk both had insisted, and once Allison had seen herself in it she could hardly believe it was her.

The bodice was like a corset, outlining her torso and making her breasts look—well, good. The floor-length skirt was elegant and simple, except for the slit, which would have revealed her garter belt if it had been cut a few inches higher.

She'd practiced walking in her high-heeled sandals all week, so she wouldn't embarrass herself by tripping over her own feet. She felt comfortable in them now, and she tried a few dance steps around her living room while she waited for Rick to pick her up. Rachel was a ballroom dance nut and had shown her some basic moves at work this week.

She looked at the clock—six-thirty. Rick would be here any second.

Her heart began to pound.

 

Rick could hear music coming from Allison's apartment as he walked down the hallway. It was Ella Fitzgerald singing with Louis Armstrong, and he whistled the melody as he knocked on the door.

A few seconds went by. Then the door swung open, and the whistle died on his lips.

Allison was wearing a strapless gown. Her arms and shoulders were bare, her skin like porcelain against the black lace. The top was tight, outlining her breasts and pushing them up a little, and when he realized he'd been staring at her cleavage for a good ten seconds he jerked his gaze away.

There was a twist of silk at her waist, and the lace skirt fell in a graceful column to the floor. It was narrow enough to restrict her movements if it hadn't been for the slit up the side.

The slim leg showing through was encased in a sheer black stocking. Her shoes were black patent leather with three inch heels.

His gaze traveled up her body again to her face. Her short hair had been brushed back and there were jeweled clips gleaming in it, the same sapphire blue as her eyes.

She was wearing makeup, light and subtle—something around her eyes that made them look even bigger than usual, and something on her lips that made them shine. Her cheeks were pink but he thought that was probably natural. Considering he was staring at her like a hungry wolf, he was surprised her face wasn't bright red.

He'd better pull himself together before he backed her up against the wall and took her gown off with his teeth.

“Nice dress,” he said.

He was glad to see that Allison was smiling at him as opposed to, say, calling 911 or running for her life.

“Did you bring the smelling salts?”

“No,” he said. “But I didn't realize how much I'd need them.”

It was only a ten-minute drive to the hotel, but the fact that they made it there alive was a minor miracle. Rick's eyes kept drifting to the passenger seat. Allison was sitting straight with her hands folded in her lap, and the contrast between her prim posture and the slit in her dress made his whole body tighten.

When he downshifted his hand was inches away from her thigh. It was so easy to imagine reaching out for her that he hung onto the gearshift until his knuckles turned white.

They pulled up in front of the hotel, and Rick was glad to have a minute in the cool night air as they crossed the sidewalk to the entrance. Once inside, he slid the velvet wrap off her shoulders to hand to the employee behind the coat check counter.

“You're wearing perfume,” he said as they walked into the ballroom. He hadn't noticed in the car, but when he was taking off her wrap he'd leaned in close and caught the scent.

“It's not perfume exactly, it's rose-scented lotion,” she said as they reached their table and he pulled out her chair. “Do you like it?”

He liked it so much he wanted to lick it off her, but he didn't think that was the answer she was looking for.

“Yes,” he said instead, snagging two glasses of champagne from a passing waiter.

He sat down next to her as the orchestra finished tuning up and began to play. They started with a Cole Porter song, and the parquet floor filled up quickly.

Some of the city's most beautiful women were out
there, but he only had eyes for Allison. “Do you want to dance?”

She got that deer in the headlights look he knew so well, and he thought she might say no. Then she took a quick gulp of champagne and set her glass back on the table.

“Yes,” she said with determination. “I'd love to.”

Almost immediately, her look of resolve melted into her previous look of anxiety. “Or not. I mean…I'm not a very good dancer.”

“That's all right,” he said, rising to his feet and holding out his hand. “I am.”

“You are?”

“It's one of my many talents.”

He led her to the edge of the dance floor and turned her to face him. He guided her left hand to his shoulder and put his right hand on her waist. He started them off with a simple sway back and forth, to get the rhythm.

Her body was tense and she was frowning at his chest, her teeth sunk in her lower lip.

“You don't need to concentrate so hard.”

“Sorry,” she said, looking up at him. “I'm not good at being bad at things, if that makes any sense, so I'm overcompensating. I'll try to relax.”

“Don't try,” he said. “Don't think about it. Just listen to the music and look at me.”

So she did. And now her blue eyes were wreaking as much havoc on him as her body was in that dress.

But it was working. He could feel her relaxing, and moving with the music.

“Okay, that's good,” he said. His voice was a little husky and he cleared his throat. “I'm going to try some
steps now, all right? If I take a step forward like this, you just take a step back. That's it. And if I step to the side…see how easy it is? Now we're dancing.”

He was only doing a simple fox-trot, but even so, it felt like no time before they were moving together like they'd been doing this forever.

That's what being with Allison was like. Like they'd known each other forever, and like everything he did with her was new.

She was relaxing more and more, following his lead as if she trusted him. He smiled down into her eyes and she smiled back at him, radiant and glowing. His hand around her waist tightened a little.

Her eyes were shining, her lips parted. “This is so fun,” she said breathlessly. “I've always wanted to dance like this, to a real orchestra. It's like being in a Fred Astaire movie. Can we keep going? I mean, do we have to stop after this song?”

“We can keep going,” he said, guiding her into their first turn. She followed his lead perfectly.

“That's good,” he said. “The more you trust me, the more you'll be able to relax and let the music move through you.”

“I trust you,” she said softly, and her blue eyes were serious this time.

“You do?”

“I do.”

“All right, then,” he said, his hand tightening on hers. The orchestra had moved into “Fever”, and the vocalist singing sounded exactly like Peggy Lee. The mood as well as the lyrics were a little too close for comfort right now, so he'd better kick the dancing into high gear
to keep from kissing Allison right here on the dance floor.

“I'm going to get a little fancy now,” he warned her. “Are you ready?”

Her eyes sparked and her chin went up. “I'm ready,” she said, her voice strong and shaky at the same time, and the significance of those particular words didn't hit him until he was halfway through a series of spinning steps that took them toward the center of the dance floor.

I'm ready.

He froze in the middle of a glide, and Allison bumped into another couple.

I'm ready,
she'd said. Not just the words, but the look in her eyes…

The man and his partner had turned.

Dancing be damned—he was going to get Allison alone right now to ask her what she'd meant by those words. Just as soon as he apologized to that couple for…

It occurred to him that only he and the other woman were saying the polite nothings this kind of situation called for. Allison and the man she'd bumped into were staring at each other as if they'd each seen a ghost.

After a second's mental effort Rick recognized him as Paul Winthrop, an attorney who worked in the patent law office his company utilized.

“Paul, it's good to see you again.”

No response at all. Paul and Allison might have been the only two people in the room.

“Honey?” the woman asked after another moment of awkward silence. “Do you want to introduce me to your…friend?”

“Uh…” He tore his eyes away from Allison and turned to his companion. “Of course,” he said, looking and sounding flustered. “Marian, this is…Allison. Allison Landry. She and I went to high school together. Allison, this is Marian Sanchez, my fiancée.”

Allison's face was white and frozen, but she managed a nod in answer to Marian's polite hello.

The wheels were starting to turn in Rick's mind. Paul Winthrop…high school. Jenna had said her boyfriend's name was Paul. And while the thick head of blond hair was gone, replaced by a short cut and a receding hairline, he could see the resemblance to the prom picture in Allison's photo album.

Allison turned to him. “I'm going to visit the powder room,” she said. Her voice was trembling. “I'll see you back at the table.”

And without another word she was gone, moving quickly, almost stumbling, as she made her way through the dancing couples and back toward the lobby.