The Millionaire's Christmas Wish
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“Speaking of newspapers, I’d like to explain about last Friday. There was this tabloid photographer who spotted me and—”
“I really don’t care why it happened, Mr. Fowler. The fact is that it should not have happened at all. You had no right to grab me like that... no right at all. Maybe that kind of intrusion is normal behavior for your friends, but it certainly isn’t for me.”
Marcie caught a glimpse of Don out of the corner of her eye and turned her attention toward him. “Don, could you move the rest of these things inside?” She shot a quick glance in Chance’s direction, then continued her instructions. She carefully and deliberately chose her words. “Since we don’t have any customers, we might as well go ahead and close up.”
She threw Chance one last disagreeable look, turned her back to him and went inside the nursery. A moment later she began the closing procedures for the day.
Chance watched her walk away from him—for the second time since he’d first encountered her. She had turned out to be a very intriguing woman. He already knew about the golden flecks in her hazel eyes, her soft, pliable lips, her addictive taste, and how good she felt in his arms. And now he could add strong-willed, independent, outspoken, and deliciously tempting to that list.
As with most people who did not know him, she had categorized him according to tabloid misinformation and exaggeration. He seldom allowed such misconceptions to bother him. He knew who he was, as did the small group of people he counted as his true friends and work associates. He rarely felt the need to explain himself to strangers. Only with Marcie did he find himself in a bit of a quandary.
He had never been one to back down from a challenge, and Marcie Roper certainly fit in that category. He could still see the intense glare she had leveled at him before turning away. No one had ever told him to go to hell so emphatically without uttering a word. She was unlike any other woman he had ever met. He followed her inside the building, determined to learn more about this fascinating and desirable woman.
Marcie grabbed up a stack of receipts and credit card slips. She could not believe the audacity of Chance Fowler—the man’s arrogance was beyond anything she had ever encountered. It was obvious that he was accustomed to getting whatever he wanted. Well, he was not going to get away with that sort of high-handed behavior around her. She paused for a moment as she once again touched her fingertips to her lips. His kiss was also beyond anything she had ever experienced.
“About that little incident the other day... I’d like to make it up to you.”
His smooth voice broke into her moment of reflection. She looked up, surprised that he had followed her inside. She quickly pulled her composure together, meeting his captivating gaze with a cool one of her own. “Are you still here?”
He refused to allow her the upper hand. Besides, he had not yet played his trump card. He made an exaggerated show of glancing around, as if attempting to seek out something, then returned his attention to her. “Yep... as near as I can tell, I’m still here.”
His response seemed to fluster her. Her gaze darted around the room. He stood his ground and waited, refusing to say anything to relieve her obvious discomfort. He had to admit, if only to himself, that he was enjoying the moment.
“Well, uh, unless you plan to buy something, I’ll have to ask you to leave. We’re closing for the day.” She returned her attention to the receipts on the counter.
“In that case, I guess I’ll have to buy something.” He flashed her a teasing grin and gave her a quick wink before turning away from the counter. He surveyed the room for a moment, then inspected the items available for sale. He did not look back at her, even though the temptation was almost too much to resist. He fought the grin that tugged at the corners of his mouth as he picked up a bird feeder and examined it.
“I’ll take this.” He placed the feeder on the counter in front of her. He looked up, capturing her gaze and intimately holding it for a moment. He felt the warmth suffuse his body. He felt something else, too—a stirring that told him this was more than just a game. This woman had an effect on him far greater than he wanted to admit.
Relationships, commitment...he cynically reminded himself that it was all a sham. He had seen too many bad marriages to believe otherwise, not the least of which had been his father’s four subsequent wives after divorcing his mother. No man should be married five times. And with his father’s track record there was no reason to believe that the fifth ex-Mrs. Douglas Fowler—a woman who had been relegated to the position after only one year of marriage—would be the last one.
Not liking the path his thoughts seemed to be taking, Chance forced the distasteful topic from his mind.
“What kind of birds will I get with this feeder?”
Marcie made every effort to keep the conversation all-business. She also made no effort to be civil about it. “None, unless you buy some bird feed to go with it.”
“What would you recommend?” He was determined to prolong their meeting, as determined as she seemed to be to end it.
She brushed a loose tendril of hair away from her face. Her voice revealed her impatience with him. “Really, Mr. Fowler, is this conversation necessary? Don’t you have something important you should be doing someplace else?”
“I find this to be something important.” The words, soft and sincere, had slipped out without him meaning for them to. He quickly recovered his breezy facade. “As you said, the bird feeder is no good without something to go inside it. So—” he reached for a ten-pound sack of wild bird feed “—is this what I need?”
“Yes.” Her reply was curt. She did not intend to waste any more time on him by discussing the merits of one type of feed over another. She just wanted him to leave. “Will that be cash or charge?”
“Cash.”
He pulled his wallet from his pocket while she rang up the sale. She took his money, gave him his change, then placed the items in a box and shoved them across the counter toward him.
She tried to sound as cool and confident as she could even though her stomach churned and her nerve endings tingled with a surge of excitement when she caught a whiff of his aftershave. “Goodbye, Mr. Fowler.”
“Goodbye?” He leaned forward, pressing the palms of his hands against the counter. He lowered his voice to a soft, intimate level. “I thought maybe we could have a drink when you finished here. It would allow me to apologize... and give us an opportunity to get to know each other better.”