The Millionaire's Christmas Wish. Shawna Delacorte
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part to get to know her better.
There was something special about her that reached out to him, something that made a direct connection to the place inside him that yearned for more than his relationships of the past had brought him. The kiss they had shared told him there was a very sensual woman beneath that practical exterior. He did not intend to let her slip away.
He wandered around for a bit, surprised at all the activity taking place at that hour of the morning. He finally spotted Marcie. He paused for a moment as he watched her signing something and handing it back to a sales clerk. He studied the way she moved, the way her clothes fit her body, the delicate features surrounded by the softly feathered auburn curls. He took a deep breath in an effort to break the tightness that banded his chest. No other woman had ever affected him in quite this manner and he found it very perplexing—and far too disturbingly real.
He saw her struggle with a large flatbed cart stacked with boxes and he hurried to assist her.
“Let me help you with that.” He immediately took control of maneuvering the unwieldy cart as if there were nothing unusual about him being there. He purposely ignored her shocked expression as he pushed the cart in the direction she had been heading.
He kept the conversation light and upbeat. “I’m experiencing a strange sensation of having helped you move something heavy once before...almost as if it were only yesterday.” He turned toward her and flashed a teasing grin. “How about you? Have you ever had similar feelings of déjà vu?”
“What are you doing here?”
“I thought it was obvious. I’m helping you with your cart.” He reached down and opened one of the boxes, pausing a moment as he inspected the contents. He looked at her questioningly. “Fresh-cut flowers?”
“Hardly unusual since this is the wholesale flower mart and I do own a flower shop.”
“Yes, but you also have a nursery.” He replaced the lid on the box and steered the cart slowly along the aisle.
She walked with him, still not clear as to why he was there or what he wanted. “One has nothing to do with the other. Cut flowers and floral arrangements are a different business from plants and landscaping.”
He extended a warm smile. “That’s gratifying.”
She wrinkled her brow in confusion. “What’s gratifying?”
“Learning something new is gratifying, even at this horrible hour of the morning.”
“Isn’t this a little too early for someone like you to be up?” She detected the sarcasm that surrounded her words, but seemed to be unable to stop it. “Or are you still up from last night?”
He stopped the cart and leaned against the handle, cocking his head and raising an eyebrow as he leveled a steady gaze in her direction. He hid behind a neutral mask, his expression revealing almost no hint of what was going through his mind. Only the slightest indication of discomfort darted through his eyes, almost as if he had flinched in reaction to a physical attack.
She immediately regretted her words. It had been uncalled for and unnecessary. His eyes were clear and alert, rather than bloodshot, and he appeared rested. He certainly did not look as if he had been up partying all night.
She glanced down at the floor, then regained eye contact with him. A tickle of embarrassment immediately caught hold. “I—I’m sorry. It was unfair of me to have said that.”
“Yes, it was unfair.” There was no anger in his voice nor was there any hostility attached to his words. There was, however, a hint of puzzlement. “What made you do it?”
“Well...” Anxiety churned in the pit of her stomach. He had every right to be angry with her, but he seemed more hurt than anything else. “You do have to admit that you have a certain reputation.” She felt the heat of her embarrassment flush across her cheeks as she continued to speak. “Heir to the family fortune, member of the privileged elite...well-known playboy.”
“You make it sound as if being born to wealthy parents is some sort of sin, or worse yet, a terrible disease.”
“I didn’t mean for it to sound that way. It’s just that your exploits have been pretty thoroughly documented by the press—”
“Oh?” He started walking again, pushing the heavy cart in front of him. “You’re a fan of the tabloids?”
“No. I mean, well...I sometimes glance at the headlines while standing in the checkout line at the grocery store, but so does everyone else.”
“You believe everything you read in the newspapers?”
“Well, no...but—”
“I see.” A hint of annoyance crept into his voice. “Normally you wouldn’t believe everything you read, but you decided to make an exception in my case.”
Marcie knew his words were true and justified, but they did not alter her opinion. “We’re obviously different types of people, that’s all. You have your life-style and I have mine.”
“You make ‘life-style’ sound like some sort of affliction.” An amused twinkle danced through his eyes and a mischievous grin tugged at the corners of his mouth. “I can see that I need to do some serious damage control here.”
He paused a moment as his attention moved to more immediate matters. “Where are we going with this?”
“Where are we going with what?” Was he talking about their conversation? Their situation? He had moved from annoyed to amused to...she did not know what, in less than sixty seconds. She was not sure exactly what he was talking about.
“Where are we going with this cart? We’re almost to the door. Are you through or do you have more to do here?”
“rm finished. I’ve already charged this to my account. So—” she grabbed the handle to take charge of the cart “—thank you for your assistance. I can manage it from here.”
He refused to move aside. “I’ll help you out with these boxes.” He shoved the cart through the check out area, moving quickly as he headed toward her van.
She hurried after Chance, not sure exactly when it was that she had lost control, or exactly when he had managed to take charge. “Wait a minute.” She caught up with his fast-paced stride. She tried to sound assertive. “Really, Mr. Fowler, I can handle the rest of this by myself.”
Chance ignored her words. He pushed the cart next to the van, tried the door, then held out his hand toward her. “Keys?”
Marcie hesitated a moment, then unlocked the door for him. A couple of minutes later he had all the boxes off the cart and loaded inside the van. He leaned against the side of the vehicle, noting the way she nervously shifted her weight from one foot to the other.
During the course of their three encounters she had run away from him, ignored him, been rude to him, rejected his invitations and cast aspersions on his character. And still he could not tear himself away from her. He certainly was not a masochist nor was he so desperate for feminine companionship that he needed to put up with this type of treatment to spend a little bit of time with an attractive woman.
There was no logical reason for him to be standing there, but somehow this woman had reached out and grabbed hold of his senses as no one else ever had. She was her own woman, not what she thought someone else wanted her to be. She had her identity intact, unlike most of the women he knew who would rather attach themselves to his. It was a very appealing aspect of who she was. She was also intelligent, beautiful, independent—very independent. He could still feel her body enfolded in his embrace and taste her mouth pressed against his. She was everything a man could want.
“Well...” She nervously shifted her weight from one foot to the other. “If you’ll excuse me—”
He offered an inviting smile. “Let’s go get some coffee.”
“That’s not