Carole Mortimer - The Millionaire's Contract Bride

In fact, if Casey were willing to be co-operative and agree to what he was about to suggest, she would be vastly improving her own situation at the same time as she helped Xander turn this whole situation around on Brad Henderson.

If Casey were willing to be co-operative…

Looking at her now, he could see just how completely exhausted she was—both physically and emotionally. He didn’t think that it was all due to the trauma of the events of the past year alone; from the little Xander had bothered to learn about Sam Bridges, the man hadn’t exactly been the perfect husband and provider for his family even before he’d become involved with Chloe.

No wonder his ex-wife had been so drawn to the man. They’d been two of a kind. Spoilt users, the pair of them.

Xander shrugged unapologetically. ‘Perhaps if you stop treating me like an idiot and answer my questions honestly I might stop poking my nose into your pedal bin and your business.’ Despite the mildness of his tone, he was nevertheless determined to have answers to his questions. ‘Where were you this evening, Casey?’ He was pretty sure now that she hadn’t been out for an evening of frivolity—the woman didn’t look as if she even knew the meaning of the word.

Casey looked up at him in a slight daze, still having no idea what had prompted this man’s visit, or why he was questioning her so intently. She was only aware that she was simply too tired to argue with him any longer…

‘I was at work,’ she sighed. ‘I work four evenings a week in the restaurant of a local hotel.’

Xander Fraser scowled darkly. ‘Wouldn’t it have been more convenient, with Josh still so young, for you to have found a job in the day—?’

‘I do have a job in the day!’ she told him impatiently, feeling at a distinct disadvantage as his body, with its superior height, loomed over hers; Xander Fraser was at least a foot taller than her own five feet two inches. ‘I work five days a week cooking at a local café as well as the four evenings at the hotel,’ she revealed, still reluctant to discuss her personal business with this man who exuded such wealth and power.

‘Why?’ he probed.

Her cheeks flushed. ‘That is none of your—’

‘Business?’ Xander finished for her. ‘What if I’m making it my business?’ he added softly, becoming more and more convinced as he talked to Casey that he had found the answer to getting out of the corner Brad was pushing him into.

That what he was about to propose would solve Casey’s problems, too…

She gave a disbelieving laugh, at once looking younger, even if the expression in her green eyes was derisive rather than genuinely amused. ‘And why would Xander Fraser, multimillionaire film producer, want to do something like that?’ she scorned, highlighting the immense gulf between their vastly different circumstances.

Not that she wanted to be mega-rich. Comfortably off would be nice. But the garden centre and the money that her father had left her when he died were long gone—the first bankrupted in a year under Sam’s management, the second frittered away as he had struggled to make a success—played at?—landscape gardening.

The only thing Sam had succeeded at was ending their torturous marriage once and for all by meeting Chloe Fraser!

‘Well, Mr Fraser?’ she said belligerently.

His mouth thinned at her tone of voice. ‘I have—a business proposition to put to you,’ he finally bit out.

Casey shook her head. ‘I’m afraid you’ve misunderstood my cooking abilities, Mr Fraser. I don’t cater for dinner parties—’

‘Not that sort of business proposition!’ he growled, pacing the small confines of the kitchen, his gaze narrowed to vivid blue slits. ‘Are you familiar with Brad Henderson?’

Her eyebrows raised at the mention of the rich, retired owner of a Hollywood film studio. ‘Not personally, no.’

‘I am,’ Xander said.

Casey shrugged. ‘You’re both in the same business.’

‘He’s also Chloe’s father,’ Xander expanded. ‘And therefore Lauren’s grandfather.’

Casey hadn’t known that—although it probably went a long way towards explaining why Chloe had always been so sure of having her own way. A privileged, over-indulgent father, followed by marriage to an even richer husband—what choice had the other woman had but to be spoilt and selfish?

All of which was of absolutely no relevance whatsoever now that Chloe was dead.

Was it…?

Casey put up a tired hand to brush her hair away from her brow. ‘I really don’t see what this has to do with me.’

‘I’m getting to that,’ Xander assured her impatiently. ‘Lauren and Josh are already friends. Things obviously aren’t going too well with you if you have to work at two jobs in order to remain even this financially solvent—’

‘Now, look, Mr Fraser—’

‘Will you just hear me out, Casey?’ Xander cut in. ‘I have something to say, and your constant interruptions aren’t making it any easier!’

She raised blonde brows, indignant colour in her cheeks. ‘Maybe if you stopped making this so personal…?’

His mouth twisted humourlessly. ‘But it is personal, Casey. Very personal,’ he added heavily. ‘For reasons that I will explain in a moment, I’m here to ask if, in return for my financially providing for you and Josh, you would consider becoming my wife.’

Speechless.

Xander Fraser had rendered her completely speechless with his announcement—his question?

He couldn’t possibly be serious!

Could he?

CASEY felt as if she were fighting her way through cotton-wool—thick, wispy clouds of it that stopped her reaching the surface, stopped her from remembering—

This was all a dream! Xander Fraser was a dream. As his marriage proposal had been a dream—

‘Drink this,’ rasped an autocratic voice. ‘Come on, Casey, open your eyes and drink.’

Unfortunately, that voice was all too familiar. Not a dream, then. Or even a nightmare! Which meant that Xander’s marriage proposal had been very real…

‘I know you’re awake, Casey.’ His voice was softer now. ‘I’m not going to disappear just because you refuse to open your eyes and look at me,’ he taunted gently.

Her lids snapped open and she glared up at her tormentor. She was now sitting slumped in the armchair Xander must have carried her to when she’d fainted, and he was bent over her, holding out a glass of clear brown liquid.

A rueful smile touched those beautifully sculpted lips as he made no effort to back off. ‘Drink some of the sherry, Casey,’ he ordered as he held the glass closer to her. ‘It should be brandy, I know, but it’s all I could find in the way of alcohol,’ he added wryly.

It was cooking sherry, Casey recognised with a grimace as she took the glass from him, used to flavour a trifle she had made for Christmas, several months ago. And not a very good cooking sherry, either. But he was right. She needed something to dispel some of the numbed shock she was feeling.

Xander Fraser was the type of man who was always right, she decided, thoroughly disgruntled. She gulped down the sherry, finding it as disgusting as she’d thought it would be, but nonetheless reviving for all that.

Great, Xander muttered inwardly when he saw those green eyes begin to sparkle unnaturally and the flush that suddenly coloured Casey’s previously pale cheeks; one glass of bloody awful sherry and the woman was drunk. No doubt the fact that she obviously didn’t eat properly hadn’t helped.

‘That’s enough of that,’ he said firmly. He took the empty glass away from her and placed it on the coffee table, straightening as he did so to move slightly away from her. His deliberately bland expression showed none of the concern he had felt a few minutes ago, as he’d carried her limp body from the kitchen to place her in the chair in the sitting room.