How To Marry A Millionaire (For Richer, For Poorer) Page 12

  “But you need your rest, too,” she insisted.

  “I’m here for the duration, Katie. Count on it.”

  Willingly, she leaned into the soothing movement of his talented fingers. “If I didn’t know better, I’d begin to think you’re a really nice guy.”

  “At last. A woman who appreciates my finer qualities.”

  “If you didn’t make such a point of hiding them behind that playboy image of yours, maybe somebody else would have noticed.”

  “Hmm. Maybe you’re the only one who brings out the best in me.”

  She shifted so she could see him better. In spite of the fact that his tie was askew, his white shirt collar open and his jacket had long since been tossed aside, he looked considerably better than she felt. In fact, the rumpled look of his wavy hair and the roughness of his beard made him even more desirable than usual. As if that were possible. She imagined she could see Curt morning, noon and night for the rest of her life and find him more appealing each time. The guy certainly had a way of growing on a girl.

  The door to the cardiac-care unit swung open. Kathryn was on her feet almost before the doctor—garbed in hospital greens—could speak.

  “Mr. Franco is awake now, Ms. Prim. You can see him but only for a few minutes. Then I want him to get some rest.”

  “How is he, Doctor?”

  “He’s not in any immediate danger. But he’s not a young man. I have to be honest with you—we’re lucky he’s still with us. He had another attack shortly after he arrived in emergency. He’s stabilized now, but his system has experienced a great deal of stress. We’ll just have to keep our fingers crossed. The eventual outcome may depend on how much he wants to live.”

  She swallowed hard. “Thank you, Doctor.”

  Without Curt’s reassuring hand on her shoulder, Kathryn might not have made it down the hallway to Rudy’s room. His presence gave strength to knees that felt strangely rubbery.

  Above the stark hospital bed, the jagged green line on the monitor moved with reassuring regularity across the screen. Assorted tubes snaked from life-giving sources to the frail man who lay there.

  Rudy’s eyes blinked open when she took his hand. “Ah, chérie, I see I have frightened you, no?”

  “You have frightened me, yes.” She bent over to kiss his forehead. “You’re going to have to get well, you know. I couldn’t possibly break in a new neighbor.”

  “Do not worry so, my little chickadee. I am an old man.” His eyes looked glassy and slightly out of focus, but his voice was strong. “If I should die, my only regret would be that I would never again see my Antoinette...my Annie. Such a beauty she was, and I such a fool to leave her.”

  She swallowed hard, remembering how her neighbor had spoken so often about his true love, the woman he had lost. “When you get well, Rudy, we’ll go to Paris together,” Kathryn recklessly promised. “How does that sound?”

  “Ah, to see her again.” His weak smile brought tears to Kathryn’s eyes. “That is my dream. My life would be complete.” His voice drifted off and his eyes closed.

  A moment later the nurse announced it was time to leave.

  Kathryn kissed him one last time and gave his hand another squeeze. “I love you, my old friend. Be well,” she whispered.

  Opening his eyes, Rudy nodded and looked past her shoulder to Curt. “You must take care of my little chickadee. She needs a good man in her life.”

  “Hush, Rudy,” she admonished, blushing. “This is not the time to be matchmaking.”

  “I’ll do my best,” Curt assured Rudy, resting his hand momentarily on the older man’s shoulder.

  In the hallway, Kathryn stopped to take a deep breath. Her emotions felt raw. She fought an overpowering sense of grief. Rudy wasn’t dead yet, she reminded herself. She desperately needed to find a way to make Rudy want to live. There were so few people in her life whom she felt free to love.

  Curt pulled her into his arms. “Do you know how to find this Antoinette person Rudy’s talking about?” he asked.

  “I have the key to his apartment and I know where his address book is. After he came to the States, she married someone else. She’s a widow now and they’ve corresponded a couple of times. I imagine she’s listed in his book—Antoinette Bilou.”

  “Great. Then let’s go get her and bring her back to Rudy.”

  Resting her head against his chest, she frowned. “You mean phone her and tell her to hop on a plane.”

  “Not exactly. My idea is to make her travel as comfortable as possible and not have her crammed onto some overbooked airplane, assuming she could even get a flight right away. We’ll go pick her up instead.”

  Kathryn’s head snapped up and her jaw went slack. “Go to Paris? Now? I don’t even have a passport.”

  That stopped him but not for long. “Don’t worry about it. I’ve got a friend in the State Department.”

  “Curt, some functionary in the State Department can’t simply whip out a passport on no notice. There are procedures, approvals to get, background checks—”

  “Honey, trust me on this. This guy is an old crony of my father. He owes me for a little job I did over in Hong Kong that helped keep things cool a couple of years ago. Besides that, he’s tight with the president of France. We’ll manage. I’ll tell him it’s an emergency.”

  Kathryn looked at him in amazement. Apparently Curt had contacts all over the world—at the highest levels. She truly didn’t doubt for a minute he could get her into any country he wanted to—and do it with little more than a phone call.

  “My crew keeps the plane fueled and ready,” he continued, glancing at his Rolex. “We’d get to Paris by tomorrow afternoon local time, give the crew a few hours to rest and then we could be on our way home again with a surprise for Rudy. If Antoinette can’t pump up his spirits, I don’t know who can.” Curt wore the confident grin Kathryn loved but couldn’t quite buy.

  “Assuming I don’t get jailed for illegal entry...and we can actually find Antoinette, what makes you so sure she’d get on a plane with you?”

  “Because you’ll be with me, and you, my sweet Katie, have an honest face.”

  She rolled her eyes. “You’re crazy, Creighton. Really crazy.”

  “Definitely one of my more interesting characteristics.”

  “I can’t simply pack up and leave. I have responsibilities. There’d be talk—”

  “It’s practically the weekend. If we push it, you’ll be home in time for work Monday morning and no one except Rudy will be the wiser.”

  “I don’t know...” she hedged. “You talk like whipping over to France is as easy as running down to the grocery store for a loaf of bread.”

  “It is when you’ve got your own plane. Let’s get you home, so you can pack a change of clothes and a nightie.”

  “Nightie?” she questioned, raising her eyebrows. “This trip is for Rudy’s benefit, isn’t it?”

  With a suspiciously confident grin, he took her elbow and ushered her down the hallway past the busy nursing station. “Sure it is. But we’ll have to sleep sometime.”

  “Separate rooms, Creighton,” she warned, conceding that she’d already agreed to his harebrained scheme. “With a lock between them.”

  His subdued laughter as they stepped into the elevator was not in the least reassuring.

  * * *

  AT LAST, CURT HAD Kathryn Prim right where he wanted her—en route to a weekend in the most romantic city in the world, touted on page forty-three of the Seduction Incorporated catalog, as he recalled. Looking down at her curled-up figure asleep on the couch in his private jet, he considered all of the ways he’d like to make love to her. He recognized when he’d finally worked his way through a woman’s defenses. Katie had been more resistant to his techniques than most—and would be worth the wait—but his efforts were about to pay off.

  The problem, however, was that a damnable sense of nobility had begun to nag at Curt’s conscience. How could he possibly take advantage
of Kathryn when it had taken so long to gain at least a modicum of her trust?

  Weary from the long hours at the hospital, he speared his fingers through his hair and grumbled a low, frustrated sound. Separate rooms.

  Making his way to the cockpit, he thought about the call he had to make to his manager in Paris. He supposed the guy would be shocked when asked to discreetly arrange separate accommodations for Curt and his traveling companion. Well, he had been trying to deep-six the playboy image, hadn’t he? This seemed like a damn good start—and incredibly lousy timing.

  Somehow he’d have to protect Kathryn from the paparazzi, too. Those guys tended to watch incoming flights, and his private jet always attracted their attention.

  * * *

  A CHANCE LOST is one you may never have again.

  Kathryn recalled Rudy’s words all too clearly as the limousine belonging to Curt’s corporate office in Paris edged its way through impossibly heavy afternoon traffic. Her dear friend and surrogate grandfather had lost his chance with the love of his life. Did Kathryn dare risk the same unending loneliness? Without any guarantees, she reminded herself.

  She slid Curt a glance. He’d shaved, changed into a chambray shirt and slacks and looked wonderfully well rested. In contrast, she felt muddled by jet lag.

  “Are we going directly to Antoinette’s house?” she asked.

  “That’s the plan. We’ll tell her about Rudy, give her a few hours to pack while we check into our hotel and we’ll leave in the morning.”

  “I still think we should have called her from the States.”

  “She can’t be a young woman and I didn’t want to send her into shock. It’s better if we tell her in person that Rudy’s sick and then we can reassure her right away that he isn’t in immediate danger.”

  It all sounded so logical the way Curt explained it, but somehow Kathryn felt the plan was flawed. Maybe between her concern for Rudy and loss of sleep she simply wasn’t thinking too clearly.

  One night in Paris. Not much time to spend in such a beautiful city, she mused, watching the passing scenery. All of the buildings looked so thoroughly European, as though they had been blown up to full-size from the pages of a travel brochure she might have studied during a moment of wishful thinking. In parks and along green belts, autumn had already kissed the leaves of hardwood trees with golden highlights. Pedestrians rushed along sidewalks, some of them businessmen hurrying to important appointments, she imagined, and others were clearly lovers out for an afternoon stroll. At every corner couples embraced, and at the myriad fountains scattered about the city she spotted more men and women caught up in romance. Acutely aware of Curt and his nearness, she envied the uninhibited show of affection the young couples displayed.

  Paris...she sighed, the city of romance.

  At home she never would have thought of kissing a man in public for fear someone she knew might see her. And talk. But here...

  Not willing to pursue the thought to its ultimate conclusion, she craned her neck to get a better view out the car window. “Look! The Arc de Triomphe.”

  “Amazing” he drawled with a smile. “It’s right where I left it last time I was here.”

  “Oh, you...” Laughing, she punched him lightly on the arm. “Don’t tease. I’ll gawk like a tourist if I want to. After all, I may never make it back to Paris.” And might never have a chance to stroll arm in arm beside the Seine with the man she loved.

  Loved? The word was there in her head as though it belonged, as though she’d known all along there was no other way she could feel about Curt. As though she was once more a foolish woman...

  “We’ll come whenever you want, Katie. Just name the day.”

  She intentionally covered her self-revelation with a flippant reply. “Life is too easy for you, Creighton. You ought to have to work for something so you can really appreciate it.”

  “Maybe you’re right.” He let his fingers stray to the back of her neck where he could toy with the loose strands of her hair. The sun slanting through the window shot each delicate thread with highlights of gold and red. Lovely. Perfection. He ached to release the band that held her hair back and feel the fine weight of silk in his hands. Better yet, he’d like to feel her hair spread across his bare chest, or see it cascading across a pillow where they slept. But he didn’t dare hope for that.

  “If we have time, I’ll take you to the Eiffel Tower,” he said. “Walking up to the top level will no doubt help us appreciate the view at sunset.”

  “That’s not exactly what I meant by hard work.”

  “No? Then we must have coffee on the Champs Elysées. It’s definitely hard work to watch all those beautiful Parisian women pass by.” Though only Kathryn would hold his attention.

  “You won’t mind if I check out the men, will you?”

  “Of course I will. We bachelor millionaires are a very insecure lot.”

  “Why is it I don’t find that statement believable?”

  Still looking out the window, she nestled against him and he caught her sweet floral scent. With an effort, he resisted nuzzling his lips along the slender column of her neck. Curt decided the hardest work of all was ignoring his instincts. He wanted Katie so badly it hurt. But it had to be her decision, not his.

  Damn, but this being noble was a tough job!

  Past the central city, the limousine turned off the main road into an elegant residential area with three-story, ivy-covered, shoulder-to-shoulder slate-gray homes, each one with lace curtains visible in the windows. The sharply sloped roofs boasted an array of chimneys. Few people were visible on the street, giving a visitor like Kathryn a sense that strangers weren’t welcome. Admission came by invitation only to this wealthy enclave.

  The driver slowed to a stop at mid-block and parked. “Number three-forty-two, monsieur,” he announced, indicating the house on the right. “The Bilou residence.”

  “Thanks, Pierre. We shouldn’t be long.”

  Curt got himself out of the car while the uniformed chauffeur assisted Kathryn. She smiled her thanks.

  “How’s your French?” she asked as Curt escorted her the few steps to the front door.

  “Rusty, but we’ll manage. I lived a year on the Left Bank studying photography. Although, come to think of it, my vocabulary was pretty well limited to telling half-naked models to smile and to ordering wine. That was in my wild, reckless youth, you understand.”

  Kathryn stifled a laugh. “A stage you haven’t quite outgrown.”

  He shrugged and lifted the knocker.

  A moment later a butler answered the door.

  Curt’s French was far too good for Kathryn to catch even the drift of the rather lengthy conversation. Only words like Rudy and Marina Hospital sounded familiar. Curt was full of surprises, she mused, and more modest about his language skills than she had expected. She was troubled, however, when the butler quietly closed the door, and she and Curt were still standing on the porch.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “A slight miscalculation. Madame Bilou is visiting friends in the south of France.”

  “Ah, I suspected there was a flaw in this scheme of yours. What do we do now?” They’d come a heck of a long way to turn back now.

  He glanced at his watch. “We check in at our hotel, get rid of our suitcases, then try for the Eiffel Tower at sunset. After that, a stroll through the Latin Quarter, I think, and finally dinner at an intimate little place I know.”

  She shook her head. “Shouldn’t we be trying to reach Antoinette? Rudy’s so sick...”

  “Her butler is going to try to find her. I left him the number of our hotel.” Curt slid his arm around her waist as they walked back to the limousine. “In the morning we’ll fly down to Cannes to pick her up. We’ll still be on schedule. You’ll see.”

  When Curt made up his mind about something, he was simply irresistible. And how could Kathryn turn down an opportunity to see Paris? That really would be foolish. But no more so than the way she felt so th
oroughly alive every time he touched her.

  As she got into the car, she undid the clip that held her hair back. In this unfamiliar setting, with distinctively different architecture and a language she couldn’t understand, a place where no one knew her, she felt amazingly relaxed. She shook her hair free. For the first time in a dozen years, she decided to simply let life happen—no rigid, self-imposed constraints. This was, after all, Paris. Every woman deserved one night in the most romantic city in the world.

  She cocked a look at Curt. Maybe what she was feeling had nothing to do with Paris. Maybe it had to do with Curt.

  “I’d like to call the hospital to see how Rudy is,” she said, not allowing herself to totally forget why they’d crossed the Atlantic.

  “Sure. No problem. We’ll call from the hotel.”

  “And then you can show me Paris.” Anticipation curled through Kathryn, bringing her a new sense of buoyancy. Whatever the reason, she was glad to be in Paris with Curt and feeling the heated excitement of romance. Later, she vowed, she’d deal with any repercussions. Like guilt. Or the worry that somehow her father might learn what she’d been up to. Or the fact that she was about to blow the lid off the self-imposed restraints she’d lived with for most of her adult life.

  “I hope you got enough sleep on the flight over, Curt, because we’re going see everything and do everything until we both drop.”

  Chapter Eleven

  “Come on, Curt. Don’t be so slow.” Laughing and all but dancing, Kathryn pulled Curt around to the other side of the Eiffel Tower viewing platform. “Look, you can see Notre Dame. It’s like looking at the whole city in miniature from up here. Do you know the name of that church with the spires? Oh, isn’t everything beautiful?”

  Without waiting for his answer, or even a grunt of agreement, she pointed through the chain-link barrier to a slow-moving boat plowing its way through the darkening shadows on the Seine. “I wish we had time for a sight-seeing boat. But there’s so much else to see and do.” She was off again, like an impatient schoolgirl finally released for recess.