Millionaire's Woman

She had actually got to the door of the master suite when she stopped abruptly. What was she doing? Was this a good idea? She was going against all reason here. Hadn’t she told herself that if she once got totally involved with Nick it would be emotional suicide? What would she do when he left her? And one day he would leave her.

It was too late anyway. She answered herself with total honesty. She loved him. Utterly and absolutely. She wanted to be with him for as long as he would stay with her. It was as simple as that. It probably was the biggest mistake she would ever make in the overall scheme of things because she didn’t know how she’d survive when she had to do without him, but that was the future. This was the present. And the present was all that mattered.

She opened the door to the bedroom very quietly, tiptoeing into the room and over to the enormous bed. It was empty. She stared at it, utterly taken aback. And then she heard whistling in the bathroom.

Putting the tray on a small table which was half covered with Formula One magazines, she walked over to the bathroom door, which was open a chink. She didn’t think about what she was doing, she was just drawn there by an invisible cord.

Nick had obviously just stepped out of the shower and was drying himself down. He was nude. Cory’s heart did the sort of giant leap for mankind the astronauts had spoken of.

Six foot plus of lithe, tanned muscle and he was breathtaking, that was the only word for it. The wide shoulders and broad chest were strong and sinewy, his lean hips and hard buttocks unashamedly male. The hair on his chest narrowed to a thin line bisecting his flat stomach before forming a thick black mass wherein his masculinity stood out in startling white. He was a perfect specimen of manhood. A male in his prime.

Cory had stopped breathing. She was just looking. And looking. And then it dawned on her just what she was doing. Invading his privacy, spying on him, behaving like the worst sort of peeping Tom. What would she say if the tables were turned and she had caught him sneaking up on her?

She swallowed, panic rising up hot and strong as shame overwhelmed her. Stepping backwards, she stood trembling and weak, her cheeks flaming but her senses still stirred by the magnificence of him. She had to get out of here. She would die, die on the spot if he found her ogling him like a lovesick adolescent.

As the whistling stopped it prompted her to the door like a silent rocket and she shot along to her room with her feet hardly touching the ground. Once inside, she flung off the nightie, pulling on the first clothes which came to hand, which happened to be jeans and a T-shirt. Stopping just long enough to pull her hair back into a ponytail, she hightailed it back down to the kitchen.

She had to be cooking breakfast when he came down. He had to think she had just put the tray in his room and come down here. And then she groaned. Two cups. Two cups of tea on the tray. Well, she’d just say she thought he was probably thirsty in the mornings. She shut her eyes tightly. He would think she was mad but that was better than thinking she was some sort of sex-starved nymphomaniac!

She got busy cracking eggs into a bowl and putting bacon and tomatoes under the grill with a couple of minute steaks she found in the fridge. The toaster doing its job, the coffee pot bubbling and fresh juice on the table, she relaxed for a second. Her hands were shaking.

What had she been doing creeping about up there? That wasn’t her; she wasn’t like that. But that was the trouble, she didn’t know what she was like any more. Since she had met Nick her whole world had been turned upside down and she didn’t know if she was coming or going most of the time. And thinking she could seduce him with a flimsy nightie and a tray of tea! She groaned softly.

‘What’s the matter; are you feeling ill?’

She swung round, knocking a pile of toast on the floor in the process. ‘You made me jump,’ she said breathlessly, trying to see him as he was—clothed in jeans and a shirt—rather than stark naked.

‘Sorry, but you made a sound as though—’

‘I was thinking about a case I’m working on.’ She was lying more and more since she had met him too. She wasn’t even getting any better at it if the look on his face and his raised eyebrows were anything to go by.

‘Right.’ Thankfully he didn’t pursue the matter. ‘Do you want me to do the scrambled eggs because the bacon’s burning,’ he said helpfully.

‘Damn!’ She couldn’t even cook a simple breakfast now.

Between them they salvaged the bacon and cooked the eggs, and once they were sitting down Nick reached across and took her hand. ‘The tea in bed was nice of you,’ he said softly, ‘but I was hoping the other cup had been intended for you.’

Cory forced a brittle smile. ‘Of course it wasn’t.’ She knew her cheeks were fiery and hoped he’d put it down to the mad scramble with the food. ‘I wanted to cook breakfast for you. You did it yesterday, remember.’

‘So I did.’

‘And I thought we wouldn’t want to eat too late if we’re going to your mother’s for half-twelve.’

‘Quite right.’

‘So that’s why I got going on it.’

‘Yes, you don’t have to spell it out. I’ve got the idea.’

She was gabbling. She crammed a piece of bacon into her mouth to stop herself saying anything more. It was hot, burning hot. She spat it out as her tongue caught fire and then said, ‘I’m sorry, that’s awful, but it was hot and—’

‘Cory, have I missed something this morning?’

‘What?’ She stared at him, horrified. ‘What do you mean?’

‘You’re like a cat on a hot tin roof.’

She relaxed slightly. ‘It’s sleeping in a strange bed,’ she improvised hurriedly. ‘I never sleep well in a strange bed and then when I wake up I tend to be a bit…jumpy.’