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The Millionaire She Married
Christine Rimmer
THINGS TO DO BEFORE THE WEDDING…1. Pick up dress2. Do nails3. Divorce first husbandSeems like bride-to-be Jenna Bravo had left one teensy thing undone before she accepted her nice-but-boring fiancé's proposal–divorce her first husband, Mack McGarrity. And when her former workaholic, currently gorgeous, superwealthy not-quite-ex showed up at her home one day, it turned out he had a new proposal….…One that Jenna couldn't refuse: to spend two weeks alone with him. If, after that, she still wanted the divorce, she could have it. On the other hand, when it came to rekindling old flames, two weeks could be a very long time….
“You can’t marry that guy.”
Jenna couldn’t sit still for this. She shot to her feet. “This is just like you, Mack,” she said. “You appear out of nowhere after all these years and you immediately tell me how to live my life. Well, I want those papers you promised me, Mack. And I want them now.”
Mack answered quietly. “You’ll get those papers. But not right this minute.”
“What do you mean?” she asked.
“I mean I want a little time with you first.”
Oh, sweet Lord, she did not like the sound of this. She strove mightily for calm. “Time for what?”
Mack studied her before he spoke. “We had something good once. And I admit it was mostly my fault that we lost it. I want some time to try to understand what went wrong.” He paused and looked her in the eyes. “You’ll have your papers. After you spend two weeks alone with me.”
The Millionaire She Married
Christine Rimmer
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
For my dear friend Georgia Bockoven.
Thank you for the times you listened, the useful advice and the beautiful books you write.
CHRISTINE RIMMER
came to her profession the long way around. Before settling down to write about the magic of romance, she’d been an actress, a sales clerk, a janitor, a model, a phone sales representative, a teacher, a waitress, a playwright and an office manager. Now that she’s finally found work that suits her perfectly, she insists she never had a problem keeping a job—she was merely gaining “life experience” for her future as a novelist. Those who know her best withhold comment when she makes such claims; they are grateful that she’s at last found steady work. Christine is grateful, too—not only for the joy she finds in writing, but for what waits when the day’s work is through: a man she loves who loves her right back and the privilege of watching their children grow and change day to day. She lives with her family in Oklahoma.
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter One
The shop, like the steep, rather narrow street it stood on, had a feel of times past about it. The oyster-white sign over the door read Linen and Lace in flowing script. Vines and morning glories twined and trailed in and out of the lettering.
Mack McGarrity stood beneath a striped awning, his hands fisted in his pockets, staring in the window to the left of the shop’s entrance. Beyond the glass was a brass canopy bed. The bed was draped with lacy white curtains, covered in filmy white linens and piled with embroidered white pillows.
Next to the bed, on the left, stood a white dresser bearing a white pitcher and bowl. On the right, a white nightstand, with a vase of white roses and a white-shaded lamp. White lacy nightgowns, each one a little different from the next, had been tossed in an artful tangle across the pillows and the filmy bedcovers, as if the lady who owned them all couldn’t make up her mind which to wear.
Mack smiled to himself. The fists stuck in his pockets relaxed a little.
On their wedding night Jenna had worn a nightgown like one of those thrown across that white bed—an almost transparent gown, with lace at the collar and down the front. And roses, little pink ones, embroidered around the tiny pearly buttons.
Those buttons had given him trouble. They were so damn small. And he had been nervous, though he’d tried not to show it.
But Jenna had known.
And she’d laughed, that soft, teasing laugh of hers. “It’s not as if it’s our first time,” she’d whispered.
“It is the first time. My first time…with my wife.” His voice had been gruff, he remembered, gruff with emotions he’d never allowed anyone but Jenna to see….
Mack turned from the window. He stared across the street, at a store that sold hand-painted furniture. A man and a woman stood at the display window there, admiring a tall bureau decorated with a woodland scene. Mack watched them, not really seeing them, until they disappeared inside.
Then, rather abruptly, he turned back to the shop called Linen and Lace. Two determined steps later, he reached the glass-fronted door. He took the handle and pulled it open.
The scent of the place hit him first—floral, sweet but not too sweet. An undertone of tartness. And something spicy, too. Like cinnamon. It didn’t smell like Jenna, exactly. But it reminded him of her. Sweet and just a little spicy.
He’d barely started to smile at the thought when he realized he’d tripped the buzzer that would warn her she had another customer. She turned and saw him just as he spotted her.
When the buzzer rang, Jenna glanced toward the door out of habit, ready to send her new customer a swift, be-right-with-you smile.
The smile died unborn on her lips.
It was Mack.
Mack.
Her ex-husband. Here. In her shop.
After all these years.
It couldn’t be.
But it was. Definitely.
Mack.
Her throat closed up on itself. She gulped to keep from gasping.
He looked…terrific. Older, yes. And somehow more relaxed. But in a deep and fundamental way, the same.
He was staring straight at her through those eyes she remembered much too well. Not quite blue and not quite gray, like a sky caught between sunshine and cloudiness.
He smiled at her—that beautiful, half ironic, half shy smile, the one that had dropped her in her tracks nine years before.
He’d lived in an apartment down the hall from her. And she had knocked on his door to tell him that she knew very well he’d been feeding her cat.
When he answered, he actually held Byron in his arms. That sleek midnight-black traitor had the nerve to purr as if he belonged there.
“I’ll have you know, that’s my cat,” she’d informed him, doing her best to sound bold.
He had smiled, just the way he was smiling at her now—like the sun coming out on a gray, chilly day. She’d felt the warmth, a warmth that reached down inside her and then started to spread.
“Come on in,” he had suggested as he stroked her cat. “We’ll talk about it.”
It had never even occurred to her to say no.
And now, all these years later, just the sight of him made her feel as if something inside her was melting. Her knees wanted to wobble; her pulse knocked in her ears.
Along with the weakness, the unconscionable excitement, she also knew dread.
Why had he come here?
When she had called him three days before, she’d asked one thing of him—made one simple, very clear request. He had said that he would take care of it.
Did his sudden appearance in her shop mean that he had changed his mind?
“Er…miss? Are you all right?”
Jenna snapped her head around and forced a brilliant smile for her customer. “I am fine. Where were we?” She glanced down at the stack of brightly colored linens she clutched in her arms. “Ah, of course. I remember. And I do understand. Not everyone loves white. That’s why I wanted you to see these. They’re by an English designer I especially like. Summer Garden is the name of this pattern. Beautiful, isn’t it? The colors are so vivid, different intensities of green and blue, with the flowers like splashes of pink and yellow and red.” She held out the neatly folded pile of sheets. “Feel.”
Her customer ran a hand over the fabric. “Soft.”
“And durable, too. Three hundred thread count. The finest quality combed cotton, cool in summer, cozy in winter.” Jenna slid a glance at Mack. He was watching her. Waiting.
And he’ll just have to wait a little longer, she thought. “Come this way.” She indicated a display near the far wall. “I have more from this designer. Tell me what you think….”
A few minutes later, Jenna closed a sale of sheets, pillowcases, shams and a comforter. As soon as she rang that one up, there was someone new to wait on. And someone else after that. Since one of her clerks had the day off and the other had taken a two-hour lunch in order to handle a few personal errands, all the customers were Jenna’s. And Jenna never liked to make a customer wait.
Still, she could have stolen a moment for the civilities, a moment for hello-how-are-you. An opportunity to find out why Mack had come. She didn’t do that. Because she was stalling, foolishly hoping he might just give up and leave.
But no. He wandered the room, examining her merchandise as if he actually intended to buy something. He seemed…very patient, quite willing to wait until she had time to deal with him.
His patience bothered her almost as much as his sudden appearance in her shop. The Mack she had known had been far from a patient man.
But things had changed since then. Back then, Mack McGarrity had been a man on a mission. He’d been determined to carve out his niche in the world and he’d driven himself relentlessly toward that goal. Now he had millions.
Maybe having lots of money meant you could afford even more than a mansion in the Florida Keys and a forty-six-foot fishing boat. Maybe having lots of money meant you could afford to wait.
Or at least, maybe it had done that for Mack McGarrity.
The thought probably should have pleased her. For a man like Mack to learn patience—that was a good thing.
But it didn’t please her. It made her nervous. Mack had always been relentless. To think that he might now be patient as well could cause her considerable difficulty if, for some reason, he decided to use those characteristics against her.
But why would he do that?
She didn’t want to know—which was why she kept stalling, kept letting him wait.
Nearly an hour after Mack entered the shop, Jenna found herself alone with him—save for an elderly woman who came in often to browse. The nice old lady took her time, as usual. Finally she settled on a three-piece set of needlepoint antimacassars. Jenna rang up the sale and counted out change.
“Thank you so much. Come back again,” Jenna said as she walked her customer to the door.
“Oh, you know I will, dear. I love your little shop.” A cagey grin appeared on the woman’s puckered rosebud of a mouth. “And you always do pay such lovely attention to me when I visit.”
Jenna pulled open the door. To the accompaniment of the shop’s buzzer, her customer toddled outside, turning to wave as she made her way up the street. Jenna stepped onto the sidewalk to wave back. Stalling.
And then the time had come. Jenna went inside again and shut the door.
Mack had moved into the central aisle, only a few feet away from her. She felt cornered, so near the door that she kept triggering the buzzer, but distressingly reluctant to move closer to him.
He had the courtesy to back up a few paces. She moved warily toward him and the buzzing ceased.
There was silence.
She had to force herself to say his name. “Hello, Mack.”
“Hello, Jenna.”
She stared into his face, a tanned face now, with the creases around the eyes a little deeper than before. His light brown hair was still cut no-nonsense short, but more time in the sun had given it gold highlights. His eyebrows, too, had gone gold at the tips.
