How To Marry A Millionaire (For Richer, For Poorer) Page 4

  Yes, that was the problem, he decided, smiling smugly to himself as she stepped into his bedroom. All it would take was a bit of time, gentle handling and a fair dose of patience. Then Ms. Katie Prim would be visiting his bedroom with more than a lawsuit on her mind.

  Once across the threshold, Kathryn drew in a quick breath, filling her lungs with the combined scent of rich leather and polished wood. A man’s room. Heavy, masculine furniture rested on a lush carpet of deep green, as though she’d just stepped into a forest glade. Exterior latticework shaded a wall of windows, muting the colors in the room, while still allowing an unobstructed view of the city. At night she suspected the lights would be like a magic carpet of twinkling diamonds. Intoxicating. Romantic.

  Fighting the mesmerizing image, Kathryn shifted her attention back to the room.

  On the remaining three walls, an array of black-and-white photos were individually spotlighted. Each of the subjects was a study in depth depicted in an instant of time—two youngsters giddy with excitement as they raced into the ocean; a pair of teenagers tentatively experiencing what looked like their first kiss; the heartbreak of a wizened woman digging through a garbage can for something to eat. Kathryn’s gaze was drawn again and again to the photo of a mother nursing her infant, the splay of the child’s tiny hand soft against her breast, the look of love in the woman’s eyes a palpable thing that reached well beyond a single dimension into the space that surrounded her. Emotion tightened in Kathryn’s chest and thickened in her throat. If only...

  “Who...who’s the photographer?” she asked, breaking the silence in the room.

  “I am. Before Dad died that’s how I spent my time. Taking pictures. Not that he particularly approved. Now...” A resigned shrug completed the sentence for him.

  “You’re very talented.” Could a man who captured that much emotion on film be as superficial as the tabloids reported? she wondered. Or would he have to have his own depth of character in order to see it so clearly in others?

  Her gaze slid to his bed. With a guilty rush of heat to her cheeks, she realized she’d be much more easily tempted to make love with Curt in this room than in the adjacent one. A thought she squelched almost as quickly as it occurred.

  She cleared her throat. “So you were asleep here when Ms. Kellogg fell out of bed?” Asleep in the buff, she mentally added, trying valiantly to block that image, too.

  The predatory glint in his eyes suggested he knew what she’d been thinking. “That’s what I’ve been telling you.”

  “If any of your other houseguests are around who were here that night, I’d like to talk with them.”

  “You got it, pretty lady. Their schedules are kinda irregular, what with casting calls and auditions, but they’ll probably be back by the time we finish lunch.”

  “Lunch?” she echoed. At no time during Kathryn’s conversation with Tom Weston had he mentioned anything about her having a meal with Curt.

  “Sure. Marvin’s setting it up for us around the pool.”

  “I don’t really have time—”

  “Of course you do.” Slipping his arm around her waist in an easy, proprietary way, he escorted her out the sliding-glass door. “I squared it with Tom before we left the office. Said we’d probably be gone most of the day.”

  “You’re pushy, Creighton. Really pushy.”

  “They tell me it comes from being raised with too much wealth.” Gently but firmly, he propelled her down the slate steps of the terraced yard until they reached the pool level. The expanse of crystal clear water sparkled like a turquoise heart suspended somewhere between the bright sky and the hazy city below, a magical place designed to bewitch the innocent.

  Fortunately Kathryn counted herself among those not easily lured into forbidden territory. At least, that was no longer the case.

  If she had expected Marvin to be an English-style butler she would have been all wrong. With a pockmarked face, drooping eyelids, a zigzag nose and meaty hands, he looked more like a well-mannered boxer long past his prime. In fact, she doubted he’d ever had much success in the ring to end up looking like that.

  Still, the shrimp salad he served was delicately flavored with a touch of sherry in the dressing, and the croissants were buttery rich. Kathryn was finally beginning to relax and enjoy the meal—and Curt’s company, she admitted a bit warily—when the inquisition began.

  “So tell me about this hometown of yours,” Curt asked, his brilliant eyes gazing at her intently over the top of his glass of white wine. “In central California, you said?”

  “Waverly,” she responded, not eager to discuss her past.

  He acknowledged her brief reply with a thoughtful nod. “I think I own an interest in a raisin farm up that way.”

  “You don’t know?”

  He shrugged, which she took to mean that he had so many investments it was hard to keep track. “So what is Waverly like?” he asked, returning to his original question.

  “A typical small town, I suppose.” Filled with small, narrow-minded people—replicas of her father—all of whom had made Kathryn feel like a Jezebel.

  “So why’d you leave?”

  With an easy lift of her shoulders, she provided the answer most people accepted without question. “I like the excitement of a big city.”

  Frowning skeptically, he leaned forward, placing his wineglass next to his plate with considerable precision. Sunlight caught the light covering of hair on his muscular forearm, tinting the soft swirls with red and brown. “You like excitement?” he questioned in a low, suggestive voice.

  “Well, maybe excitement was a poor choice of words,” she corrected, fiddling with the stem of her own wineglass. “The city is a place where you can remain anonymous. People leave you alone. I like that.”

  “I see. You came to L.A. not because you like concerts, or art galleries, or swinging-singles clubs. You came to L.A. so you could hide out.” He covered her hand with his in what could have been construed as a sympathetic gesture...or one that was far too intimate.

  She concluded it was the latter. “I didn’t say that. I prefer living in a city because—” She tried to pull her hand away.

  He didn’t relinquish his grip. “Because you can meet guys like me.”

  She sputtered. His teasing grin was about as wide as the Grand Canyon. That line was so bad it wouldn’t have worked on a fifteen-year-old girl right off the Greyhound bus. She knew it, and she could tell he did, too. And in spite of all that, or maybe because of it, Kathryn laughed...out loud. The happy sound was unfamiliar, and she felt facial muscles pull in a way she hadn’t felt in a long time. Good grief, what had she been missing?

  His responding smile sent a warm burst of longing right to her heart. “Gotcha,” he said, squeezing her hand.

  As she shook her head in amused disbelief, from the corner of her eye Kathryn caught movement at the far end of the pool.

  The two long-legged strangers didn’t simply walk toward the poolside table where Curt and Kathryn sat beneath a yellow-and-white umbrella, rather they fairly flew at them with effervescent enthusiasm, their spiked heels clicking a staccato beat across the decking. Wearing matching miniscule skirts—designed for ten-year-olds, Kathryn thought unkindly—they were the sexiest pair of blondes she had ever seen in real life.

  Kathryn stifled a surprising surge of female competitiveness. It wasn’t as if she had a personal interest in Curt Creighton, she reminded herself. But if she did, you could bet your last dollar these two gals would be asked to turn in their front-door keys in a hurry.

  “We did it, Curt, honey!” one woman cried.

  Curt’s fork froze in midair. Talk about lousy timing. Ms. Prim-and-Proper was finally beginning to unbend a little. Her smile was terrific; her laugh a low, sultry sound that made him think of warm chocolate drizzled over a sundae. Sweet, so sweet.

  Now LaVerne and LaVilla, the Radisson twins, had shown up to break the mood.

  He stood. Before he could say a word, LaVerne—or
maybe it was LaVilla—had wrapped her arms around his neck.

  “We got the part! A commercial! Both of us! Isn’t that, like, wild?”

  He groaned. “Terrific, girls. I’m happy for you both.” Maybe they’d earn enough money to move out on their own. The other twin—LaVilla, he thought—planted a juicy kiss on his cheek.

  “We had to, like, come tell you right away. And thank you, thank you, thank you.”

  As he was being peppered with kisses from both sides, Curt caught a glimpse of Kathryn. This was not the impression he had intended to make. Her expression was so grim, he expected to see smoke coming out her ears at any moment.

  “Look, ladies, I’m glad you got the part. Really I am.” He tried to extricate himself from their enthusiastic embrace. It was like untangling from a bout with an octopus. “But there’s somebody here you need to talk to.”

  With their arms still draped around various parts of his anatomy, the pair glanced toward Kathryn and spoke almost in unison.

  “Well, hi, honey.”

  “You gonna move in with Curt, too?”

  Kathryn lifted her suddenly very tense chin. “Certainly not.” Standing, she gave him a look that practically made him bleed. “Mr. Creighton, if you’ll provide Mr. Weston with a list of your friends—” she paused, letting the icy emphasis she’d placed on the last word sink in “—who witnessed the incident, someone from the office will contact them as soon as possible.”

  “Now don’t go lettin’ us scare you off, honey,” one of the twins insisted. “You know what our little Curt-baby always says. The more the merrier.” Her giggle resembled the sound of a file being scraped vigorously across metal.

  Kathryn raised her eyebrows. “Curt-baby?” She didn’t know what was wrong with her. A sense of panic surged through her midsection and her palms had gone all clammy. It wasn’t that Curt’s relationship with these twins mattered to her on a personal level. Not even close, she assured herself. But their suggestion, their mere implication, that she would even consider moving in with a man, had sent her defense mechanisms into high gear.

  An hysterical need to get away assaulted her reason. She’d likely have to explain herself to her employer later, for failing to thoroughly investigate their client’s case, but for now she simply couldn’t help herself. Her father’s accusing voice rang too loudly in her ears, even after all these years.

  Managing to get himself free of the twins, Curt chased Kathryn halfway across the patio. “Both LaVerne and LaVilla were here that night. They can tell you—”

  “I’m very sorry, Mr. Creighton,” she said, marching across the flagstones like a soldier on a mission. “But I’ve just remembered I have an appointment this afternoon. If you’ll please ask Marvin to call me a cab.”

  He folded his fingers around her upper arm and felt the tension radiating from her. “I’ll take you back to your office.”

  “I much prefer a taxi.”

  “This isn’t what you think,” he said under his breath.

  “And what is that, Mr. Creighton? That perhaps I don’t approve of men having harems? How very old-fashioned of me.”

  “Some guy really burned you, didn’t he?” he said in a soft whisper. “That’s why you’re so damned uptight.”

  The color drained from her face. Even her smattering of freckles seemed to fade. “My personal life is no concern of yours. Now let...me...go.” She bit off each word for emphasis.

  With no other choice, Curt released her. He watched as she continued her march toward the house, her shoulders square, her spine straight as an arrow. The woman was hurting and he didn’t know why.

  “Damn,” he muttered, vaguely aware the twins were helping themselves to the uneaten desserts on the table.

  Somebody had to show Kathryn not all guys were schmucks. He, Curt Creighton, bachelor millionaire, was the ideal candidate for the job.

  Chapter Four

  “There is a man outside, mon amie,” Rudy warned the next morning. “The one who was here before.”

  As she let her neighbor into her apartment, Kathryn popped the last bite of toast into her mouth and gulped down her coffee. “Who are you talking about?”

  “He is very big, this man, and, yes, I think he is handsome.” The slight lift of his shoulders communicated his indifference to such matters. “But he is dangerous, I believe.”

  Creighton. God, his multiple phone calls last night should have convinced her he wouldn’t let her off the hook with an impersonal taxi ride home. Not that she’d picked up the phone for any of his calls. But her answering machine had almost run out of tape.

  Persistent devil.

  If her boss hadn’t told her Curt was harmless, she might have been frightened by his determination. Instead, her biggest fear was her own reaction, the unfamiliar—unwelcome—sense of pleasure that came with knowing he was loitering outside her door.

  “What does he want from me?” she protested with a low groan, trying to deny both the man’s presence and her own feelings.

  “I do not know, chérie, but if you wish to avoid him I believe I have a plan.”

  “Anything to avoid Curt Creighton. What do you have in mind?”

  “Ah.” He grinned in satisfaction. “You and I are about the same size, no?”

  “I suppose...”

  “Then you must loan me a dress, a pair of your high heels and the keys to your car.” He handed her a worn leather key case. His dark eyes twinkled with mischief. “We will exchange vehicles, no? I will leave first, this scoundrel who waits in the shrubbery will follow and you will be able to escape in my car.”

  “But you can’t masquerade as a woman.” In spite of Rudy’s size, he was very masculine in the way he walked and held himself, rather like a bantam rooster.

  He flicked his wrist in an effeminate gesture and swiveled his hips.

  Kathryn choked on her coffee. It seemed her neighbor had unlimited acting talents for both voice and mannerisms.

  “Once again you forget I am an actor,” Rudy insisted. “No role is beyond me, even that of a woman. I have observed your movements for some time. To copy them is ever so simple, my dear. I will have the man eating out of my hand, no?”

  “Well...if you’re sure.” Kathryn really didn’t want to deal with Curt face-to-face. Her feelings about him were very much at odds with what her sensible mind kept echoing. One minute she was recalling the way his eyes crinkled with amusement and she found herself wishing she could see his smile again, and the next minute she was fighting a surge of panic that threatened to disable her with its intensity. The sensation was disconcerting and thoroughly unexpected. No man had ever affected her in quite that same way.

  She dug into her purse and pulled out her car keys. “The clutch is a little touchy,” she warned.

  “Not to worry. I will master the machinery as I do a new role.”

  Somewhat doubtful Curt would be fooled, she found a dress she thought would fit Rudy and an old pair of heels that had seen better days. He selected a sweater from her wardrobe, then assured her that a scarf over his head would complete the disguise.

  A few minutes later, she watched out the window as Rudy raced toward her car, hopped in behind the steering wheel and roared off down the street. Hot on his trail came Curt in his Ferrari.

  She chortled softly to herself. “Round two, Mr. Creighton. Gotcha again!”

  * * *

  WITHIN SIX BLOCKS, suspicion began to gnaw at Curt’s awareness. Another half mile and he was sure he’d been conned.

  Kathryn, or rather her car, was heading in the opposite direction from her office. Though it was possible she had an early-morning appointment elsewhere, the random turns suggested a scenic tour rather than a direct route from point A to point B.

  His jaw clenched.

  Kathryn Prim was the most elusive woman he’d ever met.

  Accelerating, he pulled up beside the VW Rabbit, then cut the driver off at the next signal. He jumped out of his car and ran back to find
out what was going on.

  Reality slammed him in the gut.

  The wrinkled old guy peeking coyly back at him from beneath a brightly colored scarf was definitely not Kathryn.

  “There was something you wanted, young man?” the impostor taunted, fluttering his eyelashes. “Such an impetuous boy.”

  Curt hammered the heel of his hand against the edge of the car roof. Her neighbor! How could he have mistaken the old man for Kathryn?

  It wouldn’t happen again, he vowed. Not in this lifetime. She could play this cat-and-mouse game all she liked. Eventually he would be the one who pounced.

  * * *

  KATHRYN FORCED HERSELF to concentrate on her work. With Rudy’s help, she’d successfully avoided Curt’s pursuit that morning. But she had the uncomfortable feeling that sooner or later another shoe would drop. Her current assignment, researching case law on condo conversions, definitely wasn’t holding her attention.

  Her gaze slid from the law book to the phone. She ought to call her sister, Alice, to arrange a time and place to get together, though given her work and school schedules Kathryn knew that wouldn’t be easy. At least at this time of day she could be sure her father wouldn’t be home to answer the phone.

  At the sound of whispers behind her, Kathryn turned toward the open door of her office. Her eyes widened.

  “Miss Prim?” The young man standing in her doorway wore a costume that vaguely made him look like one of Robin Hood’s merry men, green tights and pointed hat included. A mandolin hung from a strap around his neck. “Special delivery, ma’am.” Smiling, he strummed a musical chord.

  Feeling her stomach knot, she realized the other shoe had dropped like an anvil.

  Kathryn had heard of singing telegrams but never anything quite as extravagant as this. No doubt Seduction Incorporated had tenors on call all across the country, balladeers carefully rehearsed to sing romantic songs at the drop of a charge-card number.

  She cringed inwardly at the dreadful, individualized lyrics. “My love has been gath...ern for my beautiful Kath...ryn.” She wished she could slide under her desk and escape the curious looks of her fellow employees who hovered around the door to her office. Forcing herself to sit erect and expressionless, with as much dignity as she could muster under the circumstances, she fought the angry heat that flushed her cheeks. Her stomach churned. Curt Creighton was going to hear from her, all right—loud and clear. He had no right to interrupt her work and disrupt her life. He was damaging her reputation. She’d have none of it. She’d worked far too hard to develop an image she could be proud of. He wasn’t going to blow it all for her now.