How To Marry A Millionaire (For Richer, For Poorer)

by Charlotte Maclay

  Kathryn’s jaw went slack and her hand rested immobile on the coffeepot handle as Evelyn breezed out of the room. Envious of what? she wondered.

  With a puzzled shake of her head, Kathryn poured herself the cup of coffee she’d been after.

  She’d nearly made it to her office when Julia passed her in the aisle.

  “Good for you, hon,” Julia whispered conspiratorially. “Go for it! Big time!” The young woman giggled, then hurried toward the cubicle where she made magic happen with a computer.

  A frown tugged at Kathryn’s forehead. Something was definitely going on here. Something not quite right. It had the uncomfortable feel of Curt Creighton and Seduction Incorporated.

  She drew in a breath, gritted her teeth and stepped into her office.

  A surprisingly sharp surge of disappointment washed over her when she discovered no room full of roses, no colorful kites dangling from the ceiling, no extravagant gifts piled on her desk. In fact, the only object out of place in her orderly office was a tabloid newspaper resting smack in the middle of her otherwise neat and tidy desk. A tabloid newspaper featuring a collage of photos, she realized with growing horror. Pictures of playboy millionaire Curt Creighton with his latest lover, the headline shrieked.

  Kathryn’s knees buckled and she sank into her chair. Her worst nightmare...

  In every pose, the photographer had caught them at what could easily be construed as a suggestive moment. In the tennis-court scene captured by the photographer, Curt’s hand looped provocatively behind Kathryn’s head, his face close to hers, as though they were about to kiss. Curt held her even more intimately while they danced at Pebble Beach, his hand splayed across the swell of her rear. Somehow the photographer had even managed to make the sweet memory of their flying kites together dirty and lurid.

  The article itself implied a weekend of lewd, lascivious behavior at an undisclosed location. There weren’t any facts. Only implication. Innuendo. Gossip of the very worst sort.

  Her hands shook and the newspaper trembled. God, she didn’t deserve that kind of distortion of the truth. Not again. Not like the whole town of Waverly had done to her as a teenager. This time the whole world would believe the lies.

  “Katie?”

  At the soft call of her name, she turned and looked up into Curt’s blue-green eyes, eyes that looked as weary as Kathryn felt. She fought both the way her chin quivered and an urge to fly into his arms.

  “I’m so sorry, Katie. I came as soon as I heard about the damn story. I swear I didn’t know the paparazzi had followed us to Pebble Beach. I never meant for that to happen.”

  “How...how do you stand it? All those lies? Everything you do, you do in a fishbowl. Helicopters hovering over your house to get a juicy shot. People peering at you through huge lenses and hiding behind trees when you go to the beach.”

  He lifted his shoulders in an uneasy shrug. His leather jacket hung open and his shirttail wasn’t tucked in, as though he had dressed hurriedly—or had slept in his clothes. “Most of the time it doesn’t matter. I don’t care what they say about me. Except once when some cretin accused me of having ties to the mob. That really bugged me. As for the women I usually date, they figure any publicity is good publicity. Career enhancement.”

  “I hate it.”

  “They’re only words written on a piece of paper,” he stressed. “They can’t hurt you.”

  “Oh, yes, they can. They can make people think the worst. They’re lies.”

  “Your friends won’t believe that junk and no one else is important. Beyond the fact that nothing actually happened, we’re two consenting adults. No one’s going to object.”

  “I do. I hate being talked about.”

  “I understand that now. If I could, I’d take back every damn copy of that paper and burn them all. But I can’t do that.”

  She stood and drew herself to her full five feet five inches, lifting her chin in her most professional manner, all the while thinking surely her heart would break. “Then you can certainly understand why I don’t wish to see you again.”

  Without flinching, she withstood his scrutiny as the seconds ticked by one after the other. She noted and filed in her memory the way his gaze swept over her, lingering far too long on the rise and fall of her breasts, his burning look sending her thoughts into forbidden directions. The determined look in his eyes penetrated the barriers she had erected as though he were aware of every heated thought she desperately tried to suppress.

  “You sure that’s how you want it?” he asked.

  In a moment of instinctive denial, she shook her head. “I want you to stay away,” she lied to cover her mental lapse. What she really wanted was for Curt to be an absolute nobody who wouldn’t even make it into the obituary column when he died of old age. She wanted anonymity. She wanted to hide—and Curt lived on the front page.

  To her dismay, he’d seen her lapse for what it was—the truth.

  With the swiftness of a true predator, Curt slipped the rest of the way into her office and closed the door behind him. Before Kathryn could object he gathered her in his arms. His lips crossed hers, first at one enticing angle, and then shifting to another. His tongue slid between her lips as if it had every right to be there, and he plundered the tender flesh that remembered so well his velvety touch, his sweet, rich taste.

  Kathryn’s clenched fists pressed in sweet frustration against his unyielding chest. Slowly, as Curt persisted, her fingers relaxed, her body refusing to fight his erotic onslaught a moment longer. The kiss went on and on, draining her resistance and taking her breath away. His talented fingers found their way under her blouse, eager to explore her silk undergarments. With easy precision, he located and cupped her breast with his palm, using his thumb to stimulate her nipple into a hard, aching nub.

  Vaguely, over the sound of her rapid breathing, she heard people chatting in the hallway and the rumble of the copy machine in the next office. The inappropriateness of what they were doing—the sinfully dangerous act of carrying on in her office when anyone might step through the unlocked door unannounced—aroused Kathryn to a frenzy of excitement.

  Dear God, she wanted Curt to strip her naked and take her right there on top of her desk. She wanted to wrap her legs around his waist, feel him fill her and damn all the rules, all the shocked expressions, all the restrictions of polite society. He’d done this awful thing to her, turned her into a wanton who could think only of sweaty bodies twisting and writhing together. Hers. His. On the desk. On the floor. It really didn’t matter. She wanted it all. Now.

  “Please,” she whispered in a hoarse plea against his lips.

  His breathing as ragged as her own, Curt framed her face with his big, rough hands. “You want to try telling me again you don’t want to see me?”

  She swallowed hard. How could she make a claim like that when the opposite was so desperately obvious? She gave an almost imperceptible shake of her head.

  “There aren’t going to be any more lies between us, Katie. Most of all, I’m not going to let you lie to yourself ever again, and you’re going to stop punishing yourself for what happened years ago.”

  “You don’t play fair, Creighton,” she complained.

  Disarming dimples creased both of his cheeks. “You’re damn right, sweetheart.”

  Chapter Nine

  Briefcase in hand, Kathryn wove her way through the crowded courthouse corridor. By pleading a combination of homework and fatigue, she’d managed to avoid Curt for the past couple of days, since the publication of that awful tabloid feature. She’d also gotten up enough nerve to call her sister again, taking the easy way out and phoning during the day to avoid contact with her father. Soon she was going to have to face her past. She knew she wouldn’t be able to move forward with her life until she did.

  For now, however, Curt was the person she had to face. The case of Kellogg v. Creighton had her trapped. She had to be in court, even though other deadlines had kept her away while jury select
ion proceeded. Tom Weston insisted he needed her now. Of course, Curt would be there, too. Any minute.

  She slanted a glance at Ms. Kellogg, who stood beside her attorney in the trash-littered hallway. They had her dressed like a sweet little girl right off the farm in a drab beige outfit, and she’d colored her hair a shade of brown that was almost as lifeless. An old ploy, Kathryn mused, but one that didn’t quite work when Roz tossed her hair over her shoulder in a naturally seductive gesture, or swayed her hips provocatively as she walked.

  The neck brace was a nice touch, too. Kathryn smiled as she pictured passionate lovemaking so athletic as to cause a whiplash injury that lasted for weeks. Certainly a night to remember...but hardly credible in a court of law.

  Did they really think the jury would believe the mousy woman her attorneys were trying to portray? Or the poorly disguised sexpot underneath?

  Kathryn gritted her teeth and fought off a raging case of jealousy. She didn’t want to believe anything about Roslyn Kellogg’s story. And she hoped the plaintiff’s attorney hadn’t been smart enough to get a photo of the condemning circular bed with the matching overhead mirror.

  In contrast to Roslyn’s pathetic effort at deception, Curt’s appearance as he strode down the hallway fairly shouted wealth and sophistication—hand-tailored suit, expensive silk tie and Italian shoes that gleamed. But it was the smile he meant just for Kathryn that took her breath away. Until that moment she hadn’t actually realized her heart could do a flip-flop. Quite an extraordinary sensation, one she gamely tried to control.

  At Curt’s side, his sister, Lucy, sailed along oblivious to reporters trying to mob them and the frequent snap of flashbulbs. Her dangling earrings threw the light back at the photographers in starbursts of energy.

  Curt gave Kathryn a long, appreciative look, then shifted his attention to Tom, extending his hand in greeting. At the same time, Lucy gave Kathryn a quick hug, whispering, “All you have to do is keep playing hard to get, just like you’ve been doing, and Curt will be on his knees. Good job.”

  “That’s not what—” Kathryn objected, but Lucy had already turned toward Tom.

  “I don’t think you’ve met my sister,” Curt said to the lawyer. “Lucy, meet the best attorney in town, Tom Weston.”

  “My goodness, big brother, you didn’t tell me he’s also the best-looking attorney in town.” She looked him up and down as if he was a winning contestant in the Mr. Universe contest.

  A blush rose up Tom’s neck and colored his cheeks. Kathryn felt a rush of sympathy for her boss. He was such a reserved individual in terms of personal relationships, she doubted he’d ever been looked at in quite that way.

  Tom cleared his throat. “I’m pleased to meet you, Ms. Creighton.”

  “Please call me Lucy, honey. Everyone does.” She hooked her arm through Tom’s. “Let’s get away from all these praying mantises from the press, and you can tell me all about the strategy you’re going to use to whip the panty hose off sweet little Roz. I just know you’ve thought of something wonderful. Maybe a trick that’s just a tiny bit vindictive?” she asked hopefully as she swept Tom into the courtroom. “I hate that I misjudged that woman.”

  Kathryn met Curt’s amused gaze with one of her own. “Your sister isn’t exactly bashful,” she remarked.

  “Family trait. We Creightons are a self-assured bunch.”

  “So I’ve noticed.”

  “The object is to keep the other guy—or gal—off balance. Like now, when I tell you how much I want to kiss you right here in front of everybody.”

  Her eyes widened. “Don’t you dare!” she warned in a hoarse whisper.

  “Oh, I won’t act on the impulse,” he agreed in a low, sultry voice meant only for her. “But that won’t stop me from thinking about the warmth of your lips, your special flavor, the texture of your tongue brushing against mine, the way your pulse beats—”

  Face flaming hot, Kathryn whirled and pushed through the courtroom doors. Curt’s teasing chuckle followed her into the room. Lord, with only a few words, Curt had the power to increase her heart rate higher than a good aerobics session. And the worst part was that he had articulated precisely what she’d been thinking.

  Taking her place next to Tom at the defendant’s table, as far away as possible from where Curt would sit, Kathryn flipped open her briefcase. Her hands shook. Maybe Lucy was right. Kathryn had been playing so hard to get, Curt thought of her as a challenge. Perhaps if she stopped running away, he would lose interest and move on to the next woman who happened to cross his path, leaving Kathryn alone.

  On that thoroughly depressing note, she turned to scan the courtroom.

  Roz, her attorney and a second man were hurrying down the aisle. While Roz and her attorney took their places at the plaintiff’s table, the other man found a seat in the front row right behind them. Dressed in a polyester suit and wearing a garish tie, he looked like a two-bit hood who split his time between pushing drugs and pimping.

  Shuddering at the thought, Kathryn leaned forward so she could question Curt.

  “Is the man sitting behind Roz her boyfriend?” she asked.

  Curt glanced over his shoulder. “Yeah, that’s him.”

  “What does he do for a living?”

  “No visible means of support that I know about,” Curt replied.

  “You know his name?”

  “Walter...Walter Simms, I think.”

  Kathryn jotted a note on her yellow legal pad.

  “Are you on to something?” Tom asked in a low voice.

  “I don’t know,” she confessed. “I’m picking up bad vibes from this Simms fellow. It’s probably nothing. Maybe just his lousy taste in ties.”

  “Trust your instincts, Kathryn. Sometimes that’s better than a year’s worth of law school.”

  The judge entered, a tall, angular black woman with a reputation that matched her unforgiving scowl. “Let’s get under way,” she ordered brusquely, rapping her gavel for order. The jury settled into their seats in the jury box, focusing their attention on the opposing attorneys.

  Kathryn took notes and listened for inconsistencies while the plaintiff’s doctor described Ms. Kellogg’s injuries that had resulted from the evening in question. Considering she’d fallen no more than three feet, Roz had certainly suffered a lot of bruises to go with a strained back and her fake whiplash, Kathryn mused. It sounded more as though she’d been thrown out of bed, rather than simply toppled over the side.

  As usual, Tom did a good job challenging the doctor’s credibility, forcing the man to admit that nearly ninety percent of his patients were accident victims. The guy was a real ambulance chaser.

  The plaintiff’s attorney then called LaVerne Raddison. Wearing a tailored suit, the young woman looked sophisticated and very capable as she made her way to the witness box. Not at all like her usual effervescent self.

  “When you heard the cries of alarm, what did you do?” the attorney asked after he had established LaVerne had been present at the Creighton home the night of the accident.

  “I went running into Roz’s room.”

  “And what did you discover there?”

  “Roz was on the floor next to the bed.”

  “And Mr. Creighton?”

  “He was there, too. Trying to help her up.”

  “What were Mr. Creighton and Ms. Kellogg wearing when you observed this?”

  LaVerne shot Curt a troubled look. “Nothing,” she said softly.

  “I’m sorry, miss,” the attorney said. “I don’t think the jury heard your response. Would you tell us again, please? How were the couple dressed when you found them?”

  “They weren’t a couple, Mr.—”

  “Just answer my question,” the attorney persisted.

  LaVerne hesitated and pulled her lower lip between her teeth. “They were both naked.”

  “As if they had been making love?”

  Kathryn’s entire body clenched in denial at the possibility that Curt had e
ver made love to Roz. Surely not.

  “Objection!” Tom shouted. “Calls for conjecture on the part of the witness.”

  “Sustained,” the judge ruled.

  Kathryn breathed a sigh of relief when Tom had a chance to question LaVerne and undo the damage she had done. She seemed so totally sincere about her relationship with Curt, and that of the other women who stayed at the mansion, she was a far better witness for the defense than the plaintiff. At least, Kathryn hoped that was the case. As flighty as LaVerne and her twin could be, Kathryn was actually beginning to like the two young women.

  In retaliation, the plaintiff’s attorney tried to discredit LaVerne’s testimony, accusing her of practically being on the Creighton payroll.

  And so it went—fence and parry—for most of the morning.

  When Roz took the stand in her own behalf, Kathryn found herself leaning forward as if by getting an inch or two closer she could intimidate the plaintiff into telling the truth. Curt had never made love to her. Go ahead, admit it, Kathryn mentally urged the well-rehearsed plaintiff. The woman was a little too smooth, whereas most witnesses show at least some signs of nerves when they testify. A damn good actress, Kathryn concluded.

  Kathryn’s continued intense study of Roslyn revealed a slight discoloration on Roz’s jaw only partially hidden by her makeup. And as she looked more closely, Kathryn discovered a similar bruise on Roz’s upper arm. This lady either bruised easily or she was getting boxed around, probably by the sleazy guy who had escorted her into the courtroom.

  Kathryn jotted down her suspicions and slipped Tom the note.

  Another thought occurred to Kathryn as Roz continued her testimony. Curt’s incredible wealth made him vulnerable to more than frivolous lawsuits. He’d be at the mercy of greedy women who wanted a chunk of his money more than they cared about Curt as a man.

  She stole a peek at Curt. What cruel irony that she would have preferred him to be an honest, but poor, motorcycle-riding messenger rather than a much-touted bachelor millionaire.