THE MILLIONAIRE SHE MARRIED

by Christine Rimmer

  "And he's decided, after all this time, that he wants you?"

  "I can't read his mind. But I do know there was a time when he and I shared something very special. He told me last Friday that he was trying to come to grips with what went wrong."

  "He's chosen a hell of a way to go about it."

  "As I said, it's the only way he knows."

  Logan made a low noise in his throat. "Listen to you. Defending him."

  She put her hand against the side of his face, longing to make him understand. "Logan. I have to do this."

  Scowling, he ducked away from her touch. "I think it's time I had a nice long talk with that—"

  "Please. Don't."

  "Jenna, he's forced you into this."

  "No. No, he hasn't. I don't have to go with him. I could divorce him all over again. It might take time, but it wouldn't take forever. If I go away with him, it will be because I choose to do it. For myself."

  Logan looked at her piercingly. "You're sure?"

  "I am." She slid the ring off her finger and held it out.

  "Keep it," Logan said.

  "No. That wouldn't be right."

  Reluctantly he took it. A few minutes later, she walked him to the door.

  And ten minutes after that, she was walking out herself. She got into her car and headed straight for the Northern Empire Inn. She knew the way. The inn was a Meadow Valley landmark, built over a century before.

  She was lucky. She found a parking space near the front entrance. The fine old wood floors creaked a little under her feet as she strode through the foyer and up to the front desk.

  "Mack McGarrity's room, please."

  The desk clerk, who looked about twenty and had big brown eyes, smiled at her sweetly. "I'll ring his room and tell him he has a visitor. Your name, please?"

  "Just tell me where his room is. I'll find it myself."

  "Oh, I can't do that." The clerk's brown eyes had gone wider than before.

  "And why not?"

  "Well, I mean, it's…" Her smooth brow furrowed as she tried to think why. And then she remembered. She announced, with great pride, probably quoting from a training manual, "Because all of our guests have a reasonable expectation of privacy."

  Mack McGarrity has no expectation of privacy at all, Jenna thought, not right now, not when it comes to me…

  But of course, she didn't say that. The clerk was only following orders. "My name is Jenna Bravo. Tell him I'd like to come to his room."

  "One moment, please."

  The clerk turned to the antique switchboard behind her and rang Mack's room. When she turned back, she was all smiles again. "Mr. McGarrity is expecting you."

  "I'll bet he is," Jenna muttered to herself.

  "Excuse, me?"

  "I said, I'll be so glad to see him. Which room is he in?"

  "He's taken the East Bungalow. Go out that door there, across the back patio and take the trail that winds to your right."

  * * *

  The East Bungalow, nestled among the oaks well away from the main building, was a wood frame structure, blue with white trim. It had a cute little white porch, complete with a rocker, a swing and planters under the front windows. The lights were on inside, spilling a golden glow out into the mild September night.

  The door was wide open and Mack was standing in the doorway—lounging, really, looking lazy and insolent and quite pleased with himself. As Jenna marched up the porch steps to confront him, he gave her a slow once-over with hooded eyes.

  Her body responded to his glance as if he had touched her. A hot little shiver slid over her skin, a shiver of awareness, of sensual recognition.

  He straightened from his slouch and folded his arms over his chest. "It's about time you showed up."

  She paused on the threshold. He was blocking the doorway. "May I come in?"

  "By all means." He stepped aside.

  She entered warily, into a front sitting room decorated in Victorian style, with lace curtains at the windows, glass-shaded lamps and a sofa and love seat with carved claw-footed legs. Most of the furniture had been pushed against the wall to make room for two desks, set at right angles to each other. One desk had a laptop, a fax machine and telephone on it, the other a full-size computer, complete with mammoth monitor. At the moment, the monitor was running a screensaver of planets, stars and moons hurtling endlessly through deep space.

  "Well," Jenna said. "I see you've been keeping busy this week."

  He closed the door. "I like to keep an eye on how my stocks are performing."

  "Oh. That's right. You take big chances. And they pay off."

  He grinned. "Do you remember everything I said the other night?"

  "I remember all the important parts. Like what I have to do to get those divorce papers out of you."

  He went to where all the furniture was crammed against the wall and pulled the coffee table out enough that there was room to slide onto the sofa behind it. "Have a seat."

  "No, thank you. I'm here to ask if, just maybe, you might have come to your senses and decided to behave like a decent human being."

  He shrugged and sat down himself, plunking his long legs on top of the coffee table and laying his arms along the sofa's carved back. "Come on, Jenna. You know I can't do that. I'm a lawyer, after all."

  She glared down at him, determined to communicate her cold contempt for him and the havoc he'd wreaked on her nice, well-ordered life.

  But truthfully, she didn't feel cold. She felt … energized. After days of confusion and misery, she was taking charge of this situation. And it felt good.

  "All right," she announced. "You can have your two weeks."

  He gave her a quick salute by briefly dipping his golden head. "I'm pleased to hear you've come to see things my way."

  "No. No, I have not come to see things your way. Not at all. I've just agreed to do things your way—up to a point."

  "Up to what point?"

  "I want to make a few of the decisions."

  He studied the toes of the expensive hand-tooled boots he was wearing and asked in a suspicious tone, "What kind of decisions are you talking about?"

  "The major kind. You know, the kind I somehow never got to make when we were together. Such as where we'll go and what we'll do."

  He swung his feet to the floor, shoved the coffee table a little farther from the sofa and braced his elbows on his knees. "I thought we could—"

  "Save it. You can tell me what you want to do later, because we'll do what I want to do first. That's fair, isn't it?"

  "Fair?" He looked at her as if he didn't know the meaning of the word—which, of course, shouldn't have surprised her.

  "Yes, fair. I get to decide where we go and what we do during the first week. The second week will be yours."

  He leaned back into the couch cushions. "How generous of you."

  "I'm glad you think so. You will pay for all of it."

  He didn't seem terribly upset by that news, but he did remark, "Let me get this straight. You get to decide where we'll go—and I have to pay for it all?"

  "I'm only deciding half of the time. And you're the one who started this, remember? You're the one who camped out here and wouldn't leave until I did what you wanted. Well, I'm doing what you wanted. And you can darn well pay for it. Besides, you can afford it."

  He muttered something under his breath.

  "What's that?"

  "Nothing. All right, all right. I'll pay."

  "And we will have separate rooms."

  He grunted. "Why did I know you were going to say that?"

  "Separate rooms, Mack."

  He let out a big, fake sigh. "All right. Separate rooms." He was grinning again, a very irritating grin. "But nothing says you can't change your mind."

  "I will not change my mind." She was truly proud of how firm she sounded.

  He looked wistful. "We did have a great sex life. Remember?"

  She did remember, all too well. She repeated, "I won't chan
ge my mind."

  "Never say never."

  "Do you understand? Separate rooms,"

  "Yeah. Right. I hear you loud and clear." He chuckled. "You've changed, Jenna. You're not the same sweet, gentle-natured girl I married."

  "You're right. I'm not. And maybe you're having second thoughts about this. It's okay with me. Really. Just sign those papers and—"

  "Not a chance. We're doing this."

  "Then I'll need a few days, to take care of things at my store and make our travel reservations."

  He shrugged. "Fine. Can you have it all handled by Monday?"

  "Yes, I can."

  "And where are we going on Monday, anyway?"

  She hadn't decided yet. But if she told him that, he'd only start in about where he thought they should go. "Let me surprise you."

  "I never much liked surprises."

  "Too bad. I'll make all the arrangements for my week. You can reimburse me later."

  "The arrangements for what?"

  "Uh-uh. I told you. It's a surprise."

  He gave her an oblique look. "Am I allowed one request?"

  "That depends on what it is."

  "I'd really prefer we didn't stay here in your hometown."

  She was tempted to tell him that it was her week and if she decided to remain here, they would. But that would only have been pure orneriness. Truthfully, she didn't want to stay in Meadow Valley any more than Mack did. In Meadow Valley they'd constantly have to worry about running into familiar faces—like Logan, for instance.

  "Don't worry," she said. "We're not staying here."

  The slight crease between his brows smoothed out—and he came right back with more demands. "If we're flying, be damn sure you at least book first-class seats."

  "First class it is."

  He leaned an elbow on the sofa arm and rested his fist against his mouth.

  She did not like the way he was looking at her. "What?"

  He let the fist drop. "I see you gave the good doctor back his engagement ring."

  She glanced down at her left hand, thought of Logan again, felt a stab of mingled guilt and sadness. "Wasn't that what you wanted?"

  "I wanted you to go away with me. Is that really so bad?" His eyes were softer now, more gray than blue.

  That softness did it, made her answer him honestly. "Mack, it's not what you wanted, it's how you went about getting it."

  He sat forward again. "If I'd come to you and asked you to give me two weeks before making our divorce final, what would you have said?"

  There was only one answer to that question, and they both knew it. "No."

  His eyes had that gleam in them, the one that said he'd made his point. "So. What choice did I have?"

  "You had the choice of asking me, and then accepting my answer."

  "The way I asked you to come back to me seven years ago?"

  She looked at him and shook her head.

  "What?" he said. "I did. I asked."

  "You did not ask, Mack. You never asked. You told."

  "I flew here from New York just to try to talk to you. To get you to see that I—"

  "Oh, please. You fit in a flight between meetings. You took a cab from Sacramento International and when you got here, you made the cabby wait. You pounded on the door of my mother's house at nine-thirty at night, in a hurry as always, and ready with your demands. When I opened the door, you didn't ask me anything. You told me to get my things together and get out to that cab. You had a midnight flight back to LaGuardia for both of us. And an important meeting the next afternoon at two."

  "I was trying to make a future for us, damn it."

  "Mack. By then, there was no 'us' to make a future for."

  "I realize that now. I should have spent more time with you. But as I remember, that meeting I had to get back for was an important one."

  She gave a weary little laugh. "You know, Mack, in the entire time we were married, I don't think you ever had a meeting that wasn't important."

  "I came to get you. I wanted you with me. You were always the most important thing in my damn life."

  "Thing, Mack? Thing? I think you just hit on the operative word."

  "You know what I mean. You were important to me."

  "You had a very strange way of showing it—and the point is, when you came to get me then, you did not ask. You told."

  "And you said no."

  "That's right. I did. It was a major breakthrough for me."

  He wasn't all that interested in her breakthrough.

  "You said no," he reiterated. "The same as you would have said no this time around, if I'd asked. Or if I'd told. So I didn't ask or tell. I used a little leverage."

  "And now, for some reason, you're trying to convince me, or maybe yourself, that using 'leverage' is okay. And I'm telling you it's not. It's what you did. And we'll make the best of it. But it is not okay. Got that?"

  "Yeah. I'd say you've hammered it in pretty good." He leaned against the sofa arm and gave her the same kind of slow once-over he'd given her when she came up the porch steps. "And you really are meaner."

  "I warned you."

  "It's okay. I can take meaner. Now."

  She didn't trust the warmth in his eyes, or the sudden velvety sweetness in his deep voice. She moved back a step. "I should go."

  "Why?"

  Her knees had started doing that ridiculous wobbly thing—and her heart kept up a steady, rapid boom-boom-boom inside her chest. "I said I'd spend two weeks with you. Beginning on Monday, and it's not Monday yet."

  "Nothing like a head start, I always say." He stood slowly, not making any sudden moves. "Have you eaten? We could—"

  "I ate hours ago."

  He stepped around from behind the coffee table. "A drink, then. The bar is right there." He gestured at an armoire against the wall to her right. Then he started toward her.

  "No." She backed up a second step. And a third. "No drink. No, thanks."

  He kept on coming. "Jenna, Are you afraid of me?"

  "I am not."

  "I never hurt you, did I?"

  "Of course not—not physically, anyway. But…" He knew what she meant. "There are other kinds of hurt."

  "That's right."

  "You hurt me, too."

  "Then we're even."

  "Yeah, Sure. We're even." He backed her right up against the section of wall next to the door. "Your upper lip is quivering, just like it used to do whenever something really got to you."

  "It's not a quiver. It's a nervous twitch."

  "It's twitching, then. I really like your mouth. Did I ever tell you that?"

  "Yes." She cleared her throat. "You did. Way back when." She was thinking, Tell him to step aside. To move back. To get out of the way so that you can go.

  "It's not a full mouth, but it's so nice and wide and friendly—and then, there are those dimples on either side when you smile."

  "I am not smiling now."

  "I know." He sighed. She felt his breath, sweet and warm, across her cheek. "And you want me to get back, right?"

  "That's right."

  "Because you're leaving."

  "I am."

  "Because you already ate and you don't want a drink."

  "Yes."

  "Because the two weeks don't begin till Monday."

  She nodded.

  "And you don't believe in head starts."

  His mouth was very close. She was staring at it, remembering what it felt like on hers, remembering, all at once, their first kiss.

  They'd been standing by a door then, too. The door to his apartment in L.A. It was after they'd gone out to eat Italian food, and then returned to his place for that last cup of coffee.

  She'd told him she did have to go. And he had walked her the few steps to the door. And she'd said something about taking Byron with her.

  And he had touched her then, cradling her face in both of his warm hands, raising her chin so she had to look right at him "I don't want you to go," he whispered.


  And then he kissed her. She cried out at the first touch of his lips on hers, not a loud cry, but an urgent one. Her mouth opened beneath his. To her, it felt like the opening of her very soul. From that instant, she knew: this was the man for her.

  "Stay," he whispered against her parted lips…

  Jenna blinked.

  She was not in Mack's old L.A. apartment. She was in the East Bungalow at the Northern Empire Inn. And she was leaving.

  Mack said, very softly, "Are you sure you don't want to—?"

  "I am sure."

  He took the crystal doorknob and gave it a turn. The chirping of crickets from outside grew louder and the cool evening air came in around them.

  She said, "I'll call you, as soon as I make the reservations."

  He was still looking at her mouth. "I'll be here."

  The three words sent a dangerous thrill zinging through her. I'll be here. Oh, what she would have given to have heard him say those words years ago. To have heard him say them then—and mean them. To have had him truly with her when he said he would be, instead of always working, always busy, always preoccupied, far away from her even when he seemed to be close.

  Mack saw the wishful look on her face. It gave him hope—enough that he suggested one last time, "Change your mind? Stay?"

  She shook her head and went out into the night, through the grove of oaks, along the trail that led to the glowing lanterns strung along the back patio of the Northern Empire Inn.

  * * *

  Chapter 5

  « ^ »

  Saturday, Jenna decided where she and Mack would be going. She booked their flights and made a few other calls. She also briefed her clerks on their upgraded responsibilities while she would be gone.

  Lacey agreed to stay in town for the two weeks. She'd keep an eye on the shop, look after the house and take care of Byron. She said she wasn't quite ready for the L.A. rat race yet, anyway.

  She also said she could not believe that Jenna had agreed to run off with Mack McGarrity.

  "I try not to think of it as 'running off,' Lace."

  Lacey heaved a big sigh. "Poor Logan—but I do think it's the best thing, whatever happens with Mack. You were the right woman for Logan, but he was never quite the right man for you. I just hope he gets over it. And I wish he had more friends—a brother or something, someone he could really talk to about it."