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Who Wants To Marry a Millionaire?
Nicola Marsh
The right time to fall for Mr Wrong? Gemma fights for what she believes in. Her local beach is under threat from developers – so she’s chained herself up suffragette-style in a dramatic protest against tycoon Rory Devlin!As an attention-grabbing stunt it’s priceless…only Gemma’s usual dedication is being sidetracked by her inconvenient attraction to the big boss man himself! Gorgeous, rich and ruthlessly cynical, this corporate shark is everything Gemma has sworn to avoid…
Praise for Nicola Marsh
‘Fresh, funny, flirty and feel-good—who can resist one of Nicola Marsh’s delectable category romances? With a fabulously fun heroine, a sexy hero and lashings of witty dialogue, Overtime in the Boss’s Bed is another keeper from the stellar pen of Nicola Marsh!’ —PHS Reviews on Overtime in the Boss’s Bed
‘Nicola Marsh heats up your winter nights with this blazingly sensual tale of lost love, second chances and old secrets! In Marriage: For Business or Pleasure? Nicola Marsh blends hot sensuality with tender romance, witty humour and nail-biting drama, which will keep readers eagerly turning the pages of this spellbinding contemporary romance!’ —PHS Reviews on Marriage: For Business or Pleasure?
‘This lovers-reunited tale is awash in passion, sensuality and plenty of sparks. The terrific characters immediately capture your attention, and from there the pages go flying by.’
—RT Book Reviews on Marriage: For Business or Pleasure?
‘Sterling characters, an exotic setting and crackling sexual tension make for a great read.’
—RT Book Reviews on
A Trip with the Tycoon
About the Author
About Nicola Marsh
NICOLA MARSH has always had a passion for writing and reading. As a youngster she devoured books when she should have been sleeping, and later kept a diary whose content could be an epic in itself! These days, when she’s not enjoying life with her husband and son in her home city of Melbourne, she’s at her computer, creating the romances she loves in her dream job.
Visit Nicola’s website at www.nicolamarsh.com for the latest news of her books.
Who Wants to Marry a Millionaire?
Nicola Marsh
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
Also by Nicola Marsh
Girl in a Vintage Dress
Deserted Island, Dreamy Ex!
Wild Nights with her Wicked Boss
Overtime in the Boss’s Bed
Three Times a Bridesmaid …
Marriage: For Business or Pleasure?
A Trip With the Tycoon
Two Weeks in the Magnate’s Bed
Did you know these are also available as eBooks? Visit www.millsandboon.co.uk
This one’s for my writing buddies,
Fiona Lowe and Joan Kilby.
Thanks for the camping tips.
If you convinced my hero to give it a go,
there’s hope for me yet!
CHAPTER ONE
‘WE HAVE a problem.’
Four words Rory Devlin did not want to hear—especially at his first Devlin Corp Shareholders’ Ball.
He glanced around the Palladium ballroom, ensuring everyone was engaged in drinking, dining or dancing, with no visible crisis in sight, before acknowledging the waiter hovering at his elbow.
‘What kind of problem?’
The kid, barely out of school, took a backward step and he belatedly remembered to temper his tone. It wasn’t the waiter’s fault he’d been dealing with non-stop hold-ups on the Portsea project all day.
Attending this shindig was the last thing he wanted to do but it had been six months since he’d stepped into the CEO role, six months since he’d tried to rebuild what had once been Australia’s premier property developer, six months of repairing the damage his dad had inflicted.
The waiter glanced over his shoulder and tugged nervously at his bow tie. ‘You better see for yourself.’
Annoyed at the intrusion, he signalled to his deputy, who saluted at his ‘stepping out’ sign, and followed the waiter to a small annexe off the main foyer, where the official launch of the Portsea project would take place in fifteen minutes.
‘She’s in there.’
She?
He took one look inside the annexe and balked.
‘I’ll take it from here,’ he said, and the waiter scuttled away before he’d finished speaking.
Squaring his shoulders, he tugged at the ends of his dinner jacket and strode into the room, eyeballing the problem.
Who eyeballed him back with a defiant tilt of her head, sending loose shoulder-length blond waves tumbling around her heart-shaped face.
She wore a smug smile along with a flimsy blue cocktail dress that matched her eyes.
He hoped the links around her wrists and ankles were the latest eccentric fashion accessory and not what he thought they were: chains anchoring her to the display he had to unveil shortly.
‘Can I help you?’
‘I’m counting on it.’
Her pink-glossed lips compressed as she sized him up, starting at his Italian handmade shoes and sweeping upwards in an all-encompassing stare that made him edgy.
‘Shall we go somewhere and discuss—?’
‘Not possible.’
She rattled the chains at her wrist and the display gave an ominous wobble.
‘As you can see, I’m a bit tied up at the moment.’
He winced at her pitiful pun and she laughed.
‘Not my best, but a girl has to do what a girl has to do to get results.’
He pointed at the steel links binding her to his prized display.
‘And you think chaining yourself to my company’s latest project is going to achieve your objective?’
‘You’re here, aren’t you?’
What was this? Some kind of revenge?
He frowned, searching his memory banks. Was she someone he’d dated? A business associate? Someone he’d slighted in some way?
If she’d gone this far to get his attention, she wanted something. Something he’d never give, considering the way she’d gone about this.
He didn’t take kindly to threats or blackmail—or whatever this was.
Having some bold blonde wearing a dress that accentuated rather than hid her assets, her long legs bare and her toenails painted the same silver as her chains, bail him up like this … no way in hell would he cave to her demands.
She wanted to sell him prime land? Put in a tender for a job? Supply and interior decorate the luxury mansions on the Portsea project?
Stiff. She’d have to make an appointment like everyone else. This kind of stunt didn’t impress him. Not one bit.
She chose that moment to shift her weight from one leg to the other, rattling the chains binding her slim ankles, drawing his attention to those long bare legs again …
His perfectly male response annoyed him as much as the time he was wasting standing here.
‘You wanted to see me specifically?’
‘If you’re Rory Devlin, CEO of the company about to ruin the marine environment out near Portsea, then, yep, you’re the man.’
His heart sank. Since he’d taken over the reins at Devlin Corp six months ago he’d borne the brunt of every hippy lobbyist and environmentalist in town. None that looked quite as ravishing as the woman before him, but all of them demonstrating the same headstrong fanaticism.
Eco-nuts like her had almost derailed the company. Thankfully, he had a stronger backbone than his father, who’d dilly-dallied rather than making firm decisions on the Port Douglas project last year.
Devlin Corp had ensured the rainforest in far North Queensland would be protected, but that hadn’t stopped zealot protestors stalling construction, costing millions and almost bankrupting the company in the process.
If he hadn’t stepped in and played hardball he shuddered to think what would have happened to his family legacy.
‘You’ve been misinformed. My company takes great pains to ensure its developments blend with the environment, not ruin it.’
‘Please.’ She rolled her eyes before focussing them on him with a piercing clarity that would have intimidated a lesser man. ‘I’ve researched the land you develop—those flashy houses you dump in the middle of nowhere and sell for a small fortune.’
She strained against her chains as if she’d like to jab him in the chest, and his gaze momentarily strayed to hers before her exasperated snort drew his attention upwards.
‘Your developments slash trees and defile land and don’t give a rat’s about energy conservation—’
‘Stop right there.’
He crossed the room to stand a foot in front of her, feeling vindicated when she had to tilt her head back to look up at him, and annoyed when a tantalising fragrance of sunshine and fresh grass and spring mornings wrapped around him.
‘You’re misinformed as well as trespassing. Unlock yourself. Now.’
Tiny sapphire flecks sparked in her eyes before her lips curved upwards in an infuriatingly smug smile.
‘Can’t do that.’
‘Why?’
‘Because you haven’t agreed to my terms yet.’
He shook his head, pressing the pads of his fingers against his eyes. Unfortunately, when he opened them, she was still there.
‘We do this the easy way or the hard way. Easy way: you unlock yourself. Hard way: I call Security and they use bolt cutters to humiliate you further.’
Her eyes narrowed, not dimming in brilliance one iota.
‘Go ahead. Call them.’
Damn, she knew he was bluffing. No way would he draw attention to her and risk the shareholders getting curious.
‘Give me the key.’
He took a step closer, deriving some satisfaction from the way she inhaled sharply and wriggled backwards before he realised his mistake.
He’d wanted to intimidate her; he’d ended up being an inch away from her.
‘Make me.’
Her tongue darted out to moisten her bottom lip and he stared at it, shaken to the core by the insane urge to taste those lips for himself.
Hell.
He never backed down—ever. He’d taken on every challenge thrust upon him: changing schools in his mid-teens so he could be groomed to take over Devlin Corp one day, ousting his layabout father from the CEO role, stepping up when it counted and dragging an ailing company out of the red and into the black.
She wanted him to capitulate to her demands?
