Melissa Mcclone - Memo - The Billionaire's Proposal

Most of all, he hadn’t forgotten the way she’d turned him down.

Sorry Mr. Llewelyn. You’re targeting the wrong girl.

He’d been sorry all right especially since he’d stopped dating a woman, a supermodel if he remembered correctly, to pursue Chaney. But she hadn’t wanted him.

Drake had thought about that, about her, over the years. Now that he’d seen her again, and found out she wasn’t married as he’d believed, he wanted another chance.

Before the weekend was over, Drake wanted to hear the word “yes” fall from Chaney’s lips. A “please take me now” wouldn’t be so bad, either. He wanted to prove to himself and her that he hadn’t targeted the wrong girl. Far from it. Given the antics and partying that accompanied the production crew during their two and a half months on the road, he had high hopes.

His smile widened.

Milt counted down with his fingers. Five-four-three-two-one.

“Cut! That’s a wrap people.” Milt adjusted his LA Dodgers baseball cap. “Perfect, Drake. Keep smiling like that, and you’ll be a lock making this year’s Sexiest Man Alive list.”

Drake handed the goblet to Jesse, an intern working on the show, and took a bottle of water from her. “Thanks, but I’d rather top the Richest Man Alive list.”

As he downed the water, the crew, including a few locals hired to help due to the size of the castle and amount of work involved in this particular episode, moved gear in preparation for tomorrow’s shoot. The show had exclusive use of the castle for the next two days so they didn’t have to worry about anyone getting in the way. The castle staff had experience with film crews so would be no trouble.

He handed his empty bottle to Jesse, who scurried away to who knew where. Funny, but Drake couldn’t remember the last time he’d had to find a garbage can himself. Years ago, he’d dug through trash cans out of necessity for him and his dad. How times had changed.

As he made his way past the lights and cameras, he searched for Chaney. He found her standing in the doorway with her clipboard in hand and talking to the production coordinator. As he crossed the drawing room in her direction, desire rocketed through him.

He’d appreciated Chaney’s athletic all-American girl figure before, but now her clothes accentuated fuller curves. Her long hair worn in braids or a ponytail had always looked charming on the college co-ed, but the new sophisticated shoulder-length cut suited her face better. The biggest and most intriguing change, though, was to her eyes. Not the glasses, but the maturity he saw in the hazel-green depths.

Chaney Sullivan was no longer a girl. She’d become a woman. A woman who was hardworking, confident and, most important, smart. Her intelligence had always been the draw for him, Drake realized, even if he liked the package it came in, too.

He slowed his approach until the production coordinator walked away. By then most of the crew had left. “Hello, there.”

“Hi.” Chaney held her clipboard in front of her like a barrier between them. A barrier he had every intention of breaking down. “Great job tonight.”

“Thank you.”

She stifled a yawn.

Chaney should be in bed. His bed, if Drake had his choice. “Join me for a drink?”

“I thought you didn’t date employees.”

“I don’t.”

“Uh-huh.”

She was considered an independent contractor, and her paycheck would be coming from the cable channel as Gemma’s did, not the corporate office. So Chaney was, in effect, fair game. “You don’t work for me.”

“Not officially, but I’m—”

“Tired?”

“Exhausted.”

“I’ll have to let you go, then. But could you do a little something for me first, please?”

She readied her pen over her clipboard. “Sure, what do you need?”

Staring into her eyes, he smiled. “I need your help getting out of this costume.”

UNDRESS him? Chaney’s heart pounded in her ears. Surely she had misunderstood. “You want me to…”

“Help me out of this armor,” Drake finished for her. “I don’t know where Russell ran off to, and you’re the only one left.”

She glanced around the drawing room, now deserted. Where had everyone gone? The room had been bustling with activity a few minutes ago.

He stared at her, an expectant look in his brown eyes.

Face it, Gemma wouldn’t think twice about helping him. Neither should Chaney. He’d made a reasonable request, and she was acting as if he’d asked her to his room for a night of hot sex. Sure, the man oozed sensuality, but just because he’d wanted her once didn’t mean he wanted her now.

Time to stop overreacting and do her job.

Chaney straightened. “What do you want me to do first?”

“Come with me.”

She fell in step with Drake, noticing he shortened his stride to match hers. He’d always had lovely, rather Old World manners. She remembered the handkerchief he’d once offered her. Of course, that had been right before he propositioned her.

“Where are we going?” she asked.

“To my room.”

Her heart bumped. Okay, he was inviting her to his room, but sex was not on the agenda. Hers or, she hoped, his.

No worries, Chaney told herself. She’d heard he was staying in the king’s bedchamber and knew only a staircase led to the suite, not an elevator. He probably didn’t feel like stripping out of the armor and carrying it up to his room. She wouldn’t, either.

No big deal going up there with Drake. She would help him out of the costume then head to her room for some much-needed and wellearned sleep.

She yawned. The jet lag had finally caught up with her. “Will this take long?”

“It shouldn’t,” he said.

Relieved, Chaney stepped through an arched doorway into a hallway of stone. Stone walls, floor and ceiling surrounded her. Electric torches illuminated a circular staircase in front of her. She shivered. Those stone steps led to one place—Drake’s room.

Stop being melodramatic. No big deal, remember. It wasn’t as if she were going to be locked away in a tower cell with him. She was just going up there to help him undress. Chaney gulped.

Drake gestured up the narrow staircase. “After you.”

“Thanks, but I don’t know the way,” she demurred. “My flight was delayed so I missed the taping of the guest rooms this morning. Is it true Henry VIII slept in the king’s bedchamber?”

“That’s what they say.” As Drake ascended, his armor and chain mail clanked. The sound echoed through the stairwell. “He seems to have slept his way across England.”

She followed Drake up. “He did have six wives.”

“Six too many.”

“Divorced, beheaded, died, divorced, beheaded, survived.” Chaney repeated the rhyme she’d memorized back in school. “I’m sure at least half of them would agree with you.”

“All of them should.”

The disdain in his voice surprised her. She remembered what he’d said earlier today in the great hall. “So you’re not interested in settling down or in marriage?”

“Beheadings, divorces and deaths sound about right when it comes to matrimony.”

“Don’t forget one of Henry’s wife survived those fates.”

“Sheer luck.” He glanced back at Chaney. “I prefer better odds.”

His take on marriage brought a twinge of disappointment, but she didn’t know why. “Don’t you want a family?”

He shrugged. “I have no time for a family.”

“Someday then?”

He continued up the stairs, all armor and wide shoulders. “Perhaps, but I don’t see it happening.”

“You never know what might happen.” The torches flickered like candles, casting shadows through the stairwell. She touched the wall, the stone cool and rough beneath her palm. “It almost feels as if we’ve gone back in time.”