The Millionaire

by Victoria Purman

  Later that day, after the shots were done and dinner was eaten with gusto, her grandparents had headed off to bed. They were up at sparrow’s fart, as Trev liked to describe it, so were early to bed at the other end of the day.

  The house was quiet, except for the hum of Chris’s laptop and the click of the keys as he worked.

  “I’ll transfer the shots over and we can have a look,” he explained.

  Ellie was almost sprawled out next to him, her chin in one hand, her legs stretched out under the kitchen table. She was tired. And still on edge. And given they were drinking a very nice bottle of Australian Riesling, she was feeling slightly mellow. Or perhaps just the tiniest bit drunk.

  “What do you think?”

  Ellie shifted closer to the laptop screen so she could take a look. And that meant she brushed up against Chris. Their arms touched, her shoulder pressed against his and her bare leg rubbed against his under the table. It was only a small laptop. She had to get close to see.

  Chris clicked on a thumbnail and enlarged a shot.

  Ellie gasped.

  The image was stunning. There was earthy red dirt and brilliant blue sky and the wizened old face of her beloved grandfather. He looked proud and strong in that shot, his bush hat on his head, his dusty boots planted firmly in the soil of the land he loved. Ellie hadn’t meant to cry at seeing it, but the tears came. She would never forget what he looked like when he’d been in hospital. Pale, small, tucked within the white sheets, uncertain and scared. There was none of that in his face in the photograph.

  “Oh, Chris,” Ellie exclaimed and, without planning to or thinking about it, grabbed his forearm. She splayed her fingers there on his warm skin and squeezed. “You’ve captured him exactly right. That’s Grandpa.”

  “Is that the one you want to use?”

  “It’s wonderful…” With her free hand, she wiped the tears from her cheeks.

  When Ellie lifted her eyes from the laptop screen and looked up at Chris, she discovered he hadn’t been looking at his computer at all. He was looking down at her. He slipped an arm around the back of her chair and the hairs on the back of her neck prickled with awareness.

  “You are… you’re amazing,” she said as she locked eyes with his.

  He moved, leaned a little closer, enclosed her just the slightest bit more and his lips, the ones she couldn’t stop staring at, hadn’t been able to stop thinking about since the first time she’d seen him at One Mile Beach, were right there.

  And she kissed him.

  Ten

  ‡

  Ellie tasted like wine and woman and sex.

  And Chris wanted more.

  Her unexpected kiss, the hasty press of her full lips against his, simply gave him a taste of what he’d wanted all day. He’d barely been able to concentrate on the image down the lens, knowing she was standing two metres to his left, her long legs on full display, that loose shirt of hers fluttering in the breeze and clinging to her breasts and arse.

  They’d spent the whole day together and he wanted to spend the whole night with her, too. But the look on her face now, the way she’d pulled back from him after that quick kiss, the way she was biting her lip and playing with her earring like she did? It had regret written all over it.

  Chris reached for his wine glass and drank what was left. He swallowed hard.

  “Oh, shit,” Ellie pushed her chair back and it scraped against the slate floor. She walked over to the stove and put the kettle on, kept her back to him. “I can’t believe I did that.” Ellie avoided his gaze. “I’m tired, that’s all. Maybe I’ve had too much wine. Seeing that photo…”

  Chris turned in his chair. “Ellie. You just got in first. And why doesn’t that surprise me about you?”

  “I know. That’s the problem.

  “Why is that a problem?”

  Ellie blew out a breath. “You’re the problem. You’re so damn talented, and I still can’t believe you said yes and you’ve come all this way. And you manage to pull off a shot like that…”

  “I’m not such an honourable man, Ellie.” Chris stood and strode to her. “I haven’t come all this way just to do my bit for charity.”

  She stiffened as he got close. She knew he was going to kiss her and, this time, they were going to do it right. Long and slow and then fast and hot and then all night long and naked.

  “I know the score,” she said quietly. “This is all about trying to rescue your family’s name and your reputation.”

  He reached for her hair and swept it away from the side of her neck, then leaned down and whispered into her ear. “I don’t give a flying fuck about my reputation.”

  “You don’t?”

  He reached for her hips, her curves so luscious in his hands, and she arched her back into him.

  “And I didn’t come all the way out here to rescue anyone.”

  He pulled her back to him, so her ass jammed up against his thighs. He could feel her shiver under his touch and he got hard.

  “So why did you come?” Ellie murmured as she tilted her head up and met his eyes.

  “I came for you, Ellie.”

  Chris skimmed his hands up the curves at her sides, over her breasts; slowly so he could feel her nipples harden and bud under his thumbs. He smoothed a hand over her shirt and cupped a breast, held on, looked into her eyes so he was sure this was what she wanted too, and then kissed her.

  Slowly, gently at first, his lips grazed hers and when he heard her moan and felt her shiver, he opened his mouth and she opened hers, and their tongues met and danced. They kissed like lovers, capturing the flare of heat and lust and mystery in that first kiss.

  Ellie held on to him like she was drowning and Chris suddenly felt like he was.

  They stumbled back to the table and Chris leaned back against it, spreading his legs and pulling her into the space between his thighs. She came willingly, pressed her breasts against his pecs and kissed him again. Then her hands were in his hair, pulling it back from his face, and she laughed.

  “Something funny?” he asked, his words smothered by her lips and her laughter.

  She pulled back and her eyes wandered to the top of his head. “I’m wondering if you’re like Sampson. If you would lose all your power if you lost all your hair.”

  “My power isn’t in my hair, Ellie.”

  “Oh, god,” she sighed and then her hands were under his T-shirt, her fingernails digging into the skin on his stomach, her fingers caressing and taking.

  And he wanted her. Wanted her naked and sweaty and in his hands. On the damn kitchen table. He was so far beyond control or caring now, his cock straining and demanding, his need for her overwhelming and immediate, that every reason why he shouldn’t was shot to hell.

  “I want you,” he growled.

  And the kettle boiled.

  Ellie sprung out of his arms and strode to the stove, flicking off the knob. She grabbed a mitt and lifted the steaming kettle off the hotplate. When she turned to him, she was red as a beetroot and stifling a laugh.

  “It could have woken them up.”

  “Uh huh,” he said.

  “It was about to go off,” she said with a quirk of her eyebrows.

  “It ain’t alone. So unless you want your grandparents walking in and finding us fucking on the kitchen table, we’d better go to bed.”

  *

  Ellie grabbed Chris’s hand and dragged him through the house. When they were safely in her room, he closed the door, turned to her and pulled off his T-shirt.

  The light from the stars and moon outside created a dim glow in the room and as Ellie’s eyes adjusted, she took in every inch of his bare chest, rising and falling with each breath. She planted her palms on the corrugations of his belly, running her fingers over them like the ruts in the dirt road they’d driven down. She liked these bumps so much better. He stood still before her, not moving, letting her admire him, watching her as she watched him.

  It was an arrogant move, but he ha
d a lot to be arrogant about. Ellie gripped his hips, and kissed his magnificent chest, its taut smoothness warm over hard muscle. She flicked her eyes to his and he gazed at her, his chest moving with each breath, and she pressed her lips to him, a wet kiss on each flat nipple, savouring the taste of him, soap and strength and man. When he crushed himself against her, she felt the length and strength of his desire, and she closed her eyes.

  I know I won’t have him for long. But I’ll have him for tonight.

  Chris moved. He reached for her, found the button on her denim shorts and undid her zip, slowly, teasing, until they loosened. She kicked them off and her knickers followed with a quick tug. When he reached for her shirt, she took his hands and put them around her waist.

  “Ellie,” he said, deep and gruff and he kissed her again, fiercely, hard and demanding. He urged her backwards until the backs of her knees hit the mattress and she fell, her arms above her head, giddy from the wine and his mouth. And when she realised he’d kneeled down on the hard slate floor between her knees instead of joining her on the bed, her eyes almost rolled into the back of her head. She was on the edge, had been since he’d kissed her in the kitchen, and she wanted to clench her thighs together to hold on to it, to make it last, to douse the fire burning her up. But there was no going back now. Chris’s fingers clasped her thighs and his head dipped low. He kissed one knee then the other, the inside of one thigh, then the other until he got higher and higher, closer and closer, until his tongue stroked her clit and his fingers joined in and she moaned with deep and pure pleasure.

  She couldn’t breathe. Her insides twisted and caught, pulsed and throbbed and she reached for his hair and teased her fingers in it, pushing him down into her orgasm. As it rolled and bucked her, she held her breath, exhaled deep. Her heart pounded wildly and she moaned his name. She felt half dead, half alive. And that half alive, that post-Chris Malone orgasm was the most alive she’d ever felt with a man.

  He climbed on to the bed next to her. When she opened her eyes and looked at him, he was on his side, his head resting on his hand, his elbow deep in the saggy mattress. Even in the semi-dark, those sapphire eyes of his shone like jewels. And that smart-ass grin was on full display.

  “Hey,” he said.

  Ellie threw her arms above her head, stretched out and sighed. “You were right.”

  “I’m right about a lot of things.”

  “You were right about your power. Your hair has absolutely nothing to do with it. Your tongue, however, should have a monument somewhere.”

  Chris laughed and she was still purring, still so on edge that she almost came again at the sound of it.

  “I aim to please,” he whispered in her ear.

  She felt his fingers in her curls, teasing and twisting, and then he smoothed them higher, over the curve of her belly, danced in her belly button, and teased towards her rib cage.

  She quickly found the hem of her loose shirt and tugged it low but Chris tried again, smoothing his hand up towards her breasts as he leaned down to kiss her.

  “Wait,” she said.

  “Ellie,” he growled. “I want you so damn much…”

  “And I want you, too.” Ellie pushed herself to sitting and squeezed her eyes shut.

  “So what’s wrong?”

  Ellie straightened, took a deep breath, and got off the bed. When she turned to Chris, the lamplight dim and creating shadows on his face, she steeled herself. She knew what she needed to do. Out here, in a place she’d always loved, away from all the glitz and glamour and superficiality of Sydney, she’d always been free to be herself. She’d been loved unconditionally for who she was. She’d never had to hide out here under the stars. Never had to hide the scars she’d lived with since she was eleven years old and she wasn’t going to start now.

  Chris’s gaze trawled up and down her body and the bed squeaked as he climbed off and stood next to her.

  “Did I scare you, Ellie?”

  Her eyes widened and the heat in her cheeks flared. Scare her? Part of that was true. That orgasm had shaken her to the core. But rocked her was more appropriate.

  “God, no. It was nothing you did… what you did was…”

  “Good?” Chris ran a finger down her cheek. Every nerve ending in her body arced to life at his touch.

  “Unbelievable, actually.”

  “I remember you mentioning that a monument should be erected in honour of my tongue. Or something like that.” His lips grazed her forehead.

  “I’d just had an orgasm,” she managed to say and the memory of it flooded over her, sending a shock of heat right to her core. “I probably said a lot of things I didn’t mean.”

  “I think you meant every word, Ellie. I was there. I saw it in your eyes when you came. I felt it with my fingers and I tasted you.”

  Ellie clenched her legs together to try to calm the raging sensation on the verge of exploding there again. Her breathing was ragged, the orgasmic sensation in her thighs had spread to her chest and she could barely breathe. His lips were an inch away from hers. And a battle raged within her about what to do. She wanted him. He wanted her. Would he still want her if she revealed her truth?

  “That was just the start, Ellie.”

  She held her breath.

  “Look into my eyes and tell me you don’t want me to do that to you again. With my mouth. With my fingers. With other parts of me you’ve yet to meet but who really, really want to meet you.”

  Ellie clenched her eyes shut. How should she start? “There’s something I need to tell you. I’ve had sex with men before.”

  “You trying to make me jealous?” he said with a grin in his voice. “Because it’s working.”

  “I’m not some kind of shocked virgin who’s scared of sex.” She looked up at him for the really important part. “Because I’m not scared of sex.”

  Chris took her cheeks in his hands, turned those eyes on her, soft and filled with such a desire for her that she found almost overwhelming, almost unreal.

  “Good to know. How about we have some more right now?”

  “I need to tell you something…” she whispered.

  “I’m listening. Although I am a man, and all this talk about having sex? I’m finding it just a little distracting.”

  “Something happened to me,” she said in a rush of words.

  She felt Chris tense up. “Did a man hurt you?”

  She shook her head, sighed. “No, it’s not that.”

  “Then tell me.”

  “I’ll do better than that.” Ellie gently lifted his hands from her face and stepped back.

  She wanted to be in control of this. She had to do this on her own terms. She’d been hurt in the past by men who’d flinched when they’d seen her scars, and she’d never recovered from it. Their reactions had crippled her in ways the original burn hadn’t. She didn’t want that with Chris. Before things went any further, she had to get the measure of this man.

  When she began unbuttoning her loose linen shirt, her fingers stiff and fumbling, Chris’s eyes widened and his chest expanded on a deep inhale. Ellie found her courage. She was lucky, she knew. Her scars could have been so much worse. She hadn’t had to endure skin grafts and had received the best medical treatment to lessen the severity of the scars, which were pink ridges and smooth pale patches on her décolletage, from her collarbone to the bottom of her rib cage, streaked across the top half of her breasts.

  Ellie slipped off her shirt. It fluttered to the floor, tickling the backs of her thighs as it pooled at her feet. She reached around and unclipped her plain, skin-coloured bra and looped it off her shoulders. Then she lifted her gaze from the floor and straightened, trying not to flinch, trying not to anticipate the shock and, please god, no, please let there not be pity on his face.

  “Ellie.”

  She barely recognised his voice. It sounded torn to shreds.

  “I was scalded by boiling water when I was eleven years old.”

  Chris exhaled and sh
e could see the muscles in his jaw clench. He hadn’t stepped away from her or recoiled but there it was, a new shadow in his eyes. He brought his hands to rest on her shoulders. “Does it still hurt?”

  “Sometimes, because the skin is tight. I still have to be careful about the sun, even after all these years. That’s why I cover up a lot.”

  “I’ve noticed,” Chris said.

  “You have?”

  “I’m obsessed with your body, Ellie. I’ve noticed. I wondered why you wouldn’t let me see you.”

  “I’ve had men leave my bed because of this,” Ellie said and she felt the tears well in her eyes, but she lifted her chin, challenging him.

  “Then they didn’t deserve to be there.”

  Ellie’s breath caught and a fat tear rolled down her cheek and dripped onto her breast. When Chris leaned down, kissed it away, she began to cry.

  “Ellie, don’t.” Chris pulled her into his arms, soothed her, kissed the top of her head and caressed her back, so deliciously gentle.

  He was doing and saying all the right things, but she’d seen the look on his face. When he’d lowered his gaze to her scars, he’d flinched. Even though she’d lived with them for two-thirds of her life, she still wasn’t prepared for the look in people’s eyes: the questions, the pity, the demands from total strangers that she share her life story with them, as if they thought it their right to know, as if she should fling open her medical records and tell them every single detail of what had happened.

  Chris had hesitated. She’d felt the tension in his hands at her shoulders, seen the clench in his jaw and the momentary blank look in his eyes.

  “Chris—” she said.

  “Ellie—” he said at the same time. “Trev warned me. Said you’ve been through a lot. Is this what he was talking about?”

  She nodded, her eyes shining with tears. “Yes. After I was burned, I came out here, stayed for the rest of that summer with Grandpa and Nanna. They looked after me. They saved me.”