The Millionaire

by Victoria Purman

  Chris enveloped her in his arms, but his hold was heartbreakingly loose.

  Ellie’s heart ached at the pity she felt in his embrace. She slipped out of his arms. “I’m really tired. I need to get some sleep. We have to be at the airport early tomorrow.”

  He cupped her cheeks with his big hands. “Ellie, listen to me. Your body is beautiful. It’s strong and it survived what happened to you. I’m not afraid of your scars.”

  His words hit her like a sledgehammer. She’d always believed she wasn’t afraid of them, either. She’d believed herself to be strong, to be proud of who she was and what she’d become.

  So why was she running?

  “Goodnight,” she said, her voice barely a whisper.

  And she couldn’t look back.

  Eleven

  ‡

  The next morning, Ellie threw her arms around her grandparents for one final hug. This visit hadn’t been long enough and she’d been so distracted by the photo shoot and Chris that she hadn’t spent as much time with them as she wanted to.

  “I’ll see you in a couple of weeks at the airport. I’m so excited you’re coming to Sydney for the ball.”

  “Look after yourself,” Trev said.

  And in the quick moment he met her eyes before turning away, she saw a look in her grandfather’s eyes that she recognised. As much as he tried to remain stoic, she could see in his frown that he was worried about her.

  “Be good, Ellie love,” Vilma added.

  Chris manoeuvred around Ellie to kiss Vilma on the cheek and give her a hug. “Thanks for having me. This is an incredible part of the world. I’m glad I got to see it.”

  He held out a hand to shake Trev’s. “And, Trev, thanks for playing at being a supermodel.”

  The old man harrumphed good-naturedly. “It hope it raises plenty of money, that’s all I’ll say.”

  “It definitely will, especially with you there. Thank you, Grandpa,” Ellie said and damn it, she started to cry.

  It happened every time she left the farm and, since Grandpa’s health scare, it was becoming worse each time she left. Every time The Plains grew smaller in the distance, in the shimmer of heat and dust, she wondered if this would be the final time she would see either of her grandparents. They weren’t young any more, and she was so far away in Sydney.

  There was an arm around her shoulders. It was Chris, drawing her in to the comfort of his embrace. She fought the urge to bury her face in his chest and let go. It felt so damn good but it was impossible. She hadn’t forgotten the look in his eyes when she’d revealed herself to him last night. Whatever he’d felt before that, it had become pity.

  And that made it impossible.

  *

  She looked up at Chris who gave her a smile as he squeezed her shoulder. She could read the questions in his eyes and his attempt at reassurance. But she wasn’t buying it.

  It was over.

  “We should head off,” Chris announced and there were more hugs all round. Once they’d loaded their bags into the rental car, there were more waves as they drove away.

  Ellie was silent all the way to the airport.

  Twelve

  ‡

  Chris returned to Sydney and said yes to his next job.

  It was what he did.

  In just over two weeks, he’d be flying out to Bangkok to cover the protests expected around the national elections. He knew the city well, the smells of it, the chaos of its streets, the enigma of its politics.

  And he knew himself. That part of him, the adrenalin junkie part of him, that dark angel on his shoulder, had seduced him once again with the promise of scoring that one shot. One image, which would be flashed around the world, which might appear on news websites and newspapers all over the globe, which might shine a light on injustice or incompetence or corruption, because the world needed that now, more than ever.

  He felt he had no choice. There was no way he could stay in Sydney and get sucked further into the Malone family bullshit. And that left him with one choice only, and that was to get on and do his job.

  Now, he had less than two weeks left.

  And he couldn’t leave without telling Ellie the truth. His truth.

  What kind of a fucking fool was he? Ellie had opened herself to him, bared her soul to him and he’d pulled back. She’d shown him her heart and he’d thrown a bulletproof vest over his own. He had to convince her that the words he’d said were true, that she was beautiful and strong.

  Because he knew himself. And he would never forgive himself if he left the country with Ellie in any doubt about how he felt about her.

  *

  Ellie’s phone rang six times before she picked up the call. “Hi, Chris.” Her voice sounded distant.

  “Ellie. I have something for you. The photo for the auction. It’s framed and ready to go.”

  *

  “Great.” She sounded businesslike and organised. “I’ll organise a courier to come pick it up. Does Monday suit you?”

  Hell, he could have organised a courier himself. But he wanted to see her. Needed to see her. “Nope. I’m not handing over one my precious images to just anyone. I’m an award-winning international photojournalist, you know.”

  She didn’t bite at his joke. He wasn’t going to let her keep this distance between them.

  “Chris… I really appreciate all your time and how you’ve donated to the fundraiser, but I think it’s better this way.”

  “I’m going to text you my address. And I’m waiting for you.”

  *

  Ellie looked once more at Chris’s address as she sat in the back seat of the cab. He lived in Petersham, two suburbs over from her place. In the inner-west, where there were no water views or mansions. Although, the more she’d got to know him, the more she realised those trappings weren’t his style.

  The taxi pulled up outside a double-storey terrace house, with wrought iron lacework on the top balcony and other heritage features, which were highlighted by light shining from the front window. She paid the driver, who drove off with a squeal of tyres, and walked up to the heavy wooden front door.

  Before she had a chance to knock, it swung wide open.

  Chris looked like something out of a fashion shoot. His blond hair looked freshly washed and tucked back behind his ears. His loose T-shirt still managed to emphasise every muscle in his chest and arms, and bare tanned feet poked out from his faded denims.

  Chris’s smile slayed her. She wished the taxi was still there so she could run back to it and be whisked home. Staying away from him had been hard, but seeing him again was killing her.

  “Hey.” His sapphire eyes bore down on her so hard she quivered.

  “Hi.” She rearranged the strap on her handbag so it didn’t slip off her shoulder.

  Chris stepped back. “Please come in.”

  When she hesitated, he reached for her hand. “It’s good to see you.”

  He kissed her on the cheek, softly, and she didn’t want to feel anything. Didn’t want to like it. Didn’t want to give him this power over her, of making her chest constrict and her breath hitch, of wanting him.

  But it was all too late for that. She ached for him.

  Chris led her to a living room to the left of the hallway. It was a big, wide space with high ceilings, white walls, and had a few pieces of furniture dotted around the room. A long leather sofa, a coffee table with an ice bucket and two glasses, and a wide screen TV.

  “Are any of these yours?” She walked to the framed photographs on the wall, six black and white shots framed in simple white wood.

  “They’re all mine. I take happy snaps, too, you know.”

  Ellie looked at the exquisite shots, all shadows and greys. “I love the Flatiron Building in New York. And isn’t that the Guggenheim Museum?”

  Chris joined her as she gazed at the black and white print. “Yeah. And that’s Hundertwasser Haus in Vienna. They’re amazing apartments. And that’s the Gaudi Museum in Barcelona.�
��

  Chris handed her a glass.

  Ellie took it and sipped the crisp Riesling. “Buildings, not people?”

  “No. I like to be reminded every now and then that there are beautiful things in the world. That people sometimes can create great art rather than great pain. It’s easy to forget that in my line of work.”

  Ellie offered him an understanding smile.

  “How’s all the planning going for the fundraiser?” he asked.

  “Everything’s in place now and it’s a sellout, which is brilliant news.”

  “I’m sure it’s going to be a raging success.” He moved across the room and sat on one of his sofas.

  “Thank you, Chris.” Ellie paused for a moment. She couldn’t be there chatting with Chris as if nothing had happened between them. This had to be about business.

  So she got down to it. “You said you had something to give me?”

  “Yeah.” Chris crossed one leg over the other, swirling the wine glass around in lazy circles.

  “The photograph of Grandpa, I assume?”

  “That’s right.” He stretched an arm out on the back of the sofa and shot her a grin. “You get the framed picture, signed by me, on one condition.”

  Ellie closed her eyes. He wasn’t going to make this easy for her. She really, really wanted to hate him.

  She was afraid to ask but she had to. “And what’s that?”

  “That I’m your date for the charity ball.”

  Thirteen

  ‡

  Ellie put her wine glass on the low coffee table and dropped her head into her hands. If she didn’t need the photograph for the auction, she could have said goodbye to him already. Except on the internet, after she’d googled him, of course, because after everything that had happened, she was still a fan of his work. And she still secretly believed he might be engaged to that European princess.

  “So, what do you say? You up for it? Can I be your date?”

  Ellie let out a deep sigh. “You want to be my date. Why?”

  “Because I’m getting on a plane in two and a half weeks, and I want to spend every minute I have left with you, Ellie. We’re not done.” His voice was like an entire bottle of Barossa Valley red wine and just as intoxicating.

  Ellie straightened her back and turned to look at him. “I saw the way you looked at me, Chris. Out at my grandparents’. When you saw my scars. You don’t have to pretend. I’ve seen that look a thousand times. So something started and then stopped. I’m going to forget it ever happened. You don’t owe me a pity date or anything else.”

  “That look… fuck, Ellie. You’re right. I looked at your scars and I did flinch. But not for the reason you think. I’ve seen worse, so much worse, and when you took off your shirt, when I saw you naked, for a minute I was back in Iraq. I’m not even going to start talking about what I’ve seen, but you reminded me of something… someone in particular, I photographed. Something I don’t want to remember.” Chris took a big gulp of wine. “That’s why I hesitated. Because of my history, not yours, Ellie.”

  Her pain, his pain. Was that all they shared? Was that all he would see when he looked at her scars? Would she always be a reminder of all he was trying to forget?

  “Isn’t that the problem?” Ellie’s voice hitched on a sob. “Won’t you be reminded of all of that every time you look at me? Won’t you look at me and see all the hurt in the world?”

  He reached for her, grabbed her hand, and held it like he was never going to let it go. “When I look at you, Ellie Flannery, I see all that’s good and beautiful.”

  He stood. “Come with me.” Chris led her through the darkened house and he flicked a switch by a doorway and the room to their right was flooded in light. Ellie blinked as her eyes grew accustomed to it and she took in the modest space. A huge bed with grey sheets, unmade. A chair covered with clothes. A wardrobe with its doors ajar. A rucksack in the corner, unzipped and forlorn. No pictures, no other adornments. It appeared temporary, like a hotel room.

  Chris released her hand and began stripping off his clothes. His T-shirt was off so fast she wasn’t sure if he’d ripped it down the middle, and then he was stepping out of his jeans and tugging down his Calvin Klein’s.

  “Look at me,” he said, his eyes serious.

  She took in his perfect form. She’d seen his chest before, his strong arms and that corrugated stomach but now, holy hell, now he was bare and buffed and simply beautiful. His long hair shone in the overhead light, his arms hung at this side, and she let her eyes wander from the defined curve of muscle at his hip all the way down to his semi-hard cock.

  “Come here. I want to show you something,” he said roughly.

  He stood his ground and Ellie did as he asked. When she was within his reach, Chris reached for her hand again and covered his left elbow with her fingers.

  “I’ve got a scar right there. I cracked it when I was twelve. Cooper, my younger twin brother, challenged me to a race down the long driveway of my parents’ house. I came a cropper and had a cast for six weeks.” He moved her fingers to his left cheek, low on his jawline. His beard was soft under her touch. “Under here. A guy in a bar tried to glass me. I ducked, just not quickly enough.”

  “There’s a scar there, too?” she murmured, caressing the growth.

  “That’s why I keep the beard.”

  “Where did that happen? Somewhere in Russia? The Middle East? Africa?”

  A smile curled his lips. “Right here in Sydney. Outside a bar in Darlinghurst.”

  “Oh,” she smiled back.

  “And if you look down at my right knee, you’ll see another one. I was in a helicopter crash in the mountains in the north of Iraq.”

  “You were what?” Ellie’s heart began to pound.

  “I was with the UN, covering a delivery of aid to refugees in the area. Luckily, we were just about to land.”

  He moved her hand to the top of his left shoulder. She felt his muscles move and tighten under her touch. And then she felt something else. At the very top of his back, a long scar, jagged and raised. She met his eyes and there was a question in hers.

  For a long moment, they stood in silence. Ellie let her fingers wander over the mark on his skin, gently, slowly, discovering him.

  His sapphire eyes dropped to his feet. “I was shot in Afghanistan. An American medic pulled the bullet from my shoulder. Said I should keep it as a souvenir. I didn’t.”

  Ellie wrapped her arms around him and held on. She pressed her cheek to his chest and felt one of his hands hold her head to him. She kissed the muscles of his chest, right about the place where his heart was. As she pressed her lips to his beautiful skin, she felt his heartbeat thudding, and then sprinting. She kept her lips on him, breathing him in, his scent, his strength and his pain.

  “My biggest scars aren’t the ones on my body, Ellie. I carry mine around in my head. There are things I’ve seen that… that I can’t unsee. They rise up to hurt me every now and then and the last time it happened, when I was in Moscow, I had to get as far away from the memories as possible. And Sydney’s almost as far away from Russia as you can get.”

  Ellie didn’t move, could sense the importance of his confession.

  “I had nowhere else to go. That morning at One Mile Beach, when you recognised me coming out of the water? I was still trying to hide from everyone. That’s why I snarled at you.”

  “Sorry I blew your cover.” She pressed her lips to his chest, breathed him in.

  “I’m not afraid of your scars, Ellie.”

  “But I’m afraid of yours. Why do you do it? You could have an easy life. Why are you going back when it hurts you so much?”

  He held on to her tightly, squeezing the air from her lungs. “I tried to help someone once, here in Sydney, but I couldn’t. He died, forgotten, helpless in a laneway from an overdose. There’s pain everywhere I look, Ellie.”

  How could she convince him that if he looked hard enough, he would find love, too?


  “That’s all you’ll ever see if that’s all you’re ever searching for.”

  “I don’t see that when I’m with you.”

  Ellie looked up into his eyes, let her gaze drift to his mouth. “That tongue of yours…”

  “Uh huh.”

  “Is it done talking?”

  Chris’s mouth found hers, teased and tasted and took her. She opened up to him, took his kisses and gave them back with everything she had. He tasted like wine and sex and how she wanted him. Not just his mouth or his lips. She wanted him inside her and around her and under her and next to her.

  When she could bear to drag her lips from his, her own grazed and tingling, Ellie pulled him to the bed.

  Fourteen

  ‡

  Ellie spread her legs for him and Chris dipped his head between her thighs before setting her off like a firecracker. It was even better the second time, and she was damn well hoping there would be a third sometime soon to see if he could go for a trifecta. She was on such a hair trigger from simply being with him, being naked in his arms, feeling his cock pressed up against her, from the gentle way he’d spoken with her and shared her pain that she came to orgasm in what seemed like half a second.

  And then Chris was protected and on top of her and she wanted him there, needed to feel his weight and strength enveloping her, pushing hard inside her, crushing the air from her lungs. She ran her nails up and down his back and grabbed two handfuls of his perfect ass as he pushed and bucked and came.

  When he was spent, he disappeared for a minute and Ellie pulled the gray sheets over herself. She stared at the ornate plasterwork of the ceiling and tried not to think about anything but the sensations overwhelming her. A giddy excitement was mixed with a brain-thudding post-orgasmic high. She didn’t know when she’d ever felt more alive.

  “Thought you might need a refill.” Chris padded across the room with a fresh bottle of wine and two new glasses. He poured them half full and got back in bed next to her, settling in close and lifting an arm so she could move into him.