Susan Crosby - The Millionaire's Christmas Wife

“You’re wearing the ring,” he said, putting his hand over hers, rubbing the stones with his thumb. “I’m going to take that to mean you’ve decided to be my wife.”

Heat snaked through her. “Your pretend wife. You’re wearing yours, as well.”

He nodded, a smile lurking at the corners of his mouth, drawing her gaze to the lips that had kissed her lightly last night, leaving a desire for more.

“There are details to work out,” she said.

“Like?”

“Legalities.”

“Salary,” he stated.

She turned around and crossed her arms, leaning against the wood at her waist. “I don’t want us to have a contract through my business, but something personal.”

“I’m willing to deal. What are you looking for?”

“No salary.”

His brows went up. “Why not?”

“I know your intention was to hire me as a kind of figurehead, someone to show off, but I can be of much more help than that. I have contacts, you know.”

He hesitated. “Let’s talk about it over breakfast.” He led the way into his house, the front of which was almost entirely glass, allowing an incredible view from inside.

She smelled bacon, her all-time favorite food, although she wouldn’t have admitted that to anyone. Logs crackled in a big, stone fireplace. The large, open floor plan included the kitchen, living room and dining room, its table set with very masculine black-and-brown dishes and placemats. A carved wooden bowl heaped with pinecones made up the centerpiece.

He’d already moved into the kitchen. She ambled over to the counter and eased onto a stool to watch him work.

He pointed to several bowls on the counter, filled with fresh ingredients—tomatoes, shredded cheese, sautéed mushrooms and green onions. “I’m making omelets. What’s your pleasure?”

“The works, thanks.”

“And salsa?”

“Perfect.”

He grabbed a piece of crisp bacon kept warm in an aluminum foil packet and passed it to her. His eyes were smiling, as if he knew, absolutely knew for a fact she was dying for a piece. “Coffee?” he asked.

“Love some. But I can get it.”

“You’re my guest. Relax.” He poured her a cup, added one sugar and a smidgen of cream, then set the mug in front of her. When she looked at him in surprise, he said, “I’m assuming your tastes haven’t changed since the wedding reception.”

He turned back to the stove, added butter to a hot pan and started fixing an omelet like a seasoned chef. She nibbled on bacon, sipped her coffee and enjoyed the show, which seemed effortless and efficient. He turned the omelet onto a plate, then quickly assembled another exactly the same. He poured warmed-up salsa over the top of each, added bacon and sourdough toast to each plate, then carried them to the table.

“You’re fun to watch,” she said, taking her seat. “Have you worked as a chef?”

“Sort of. I cook for my clients, but I generally use a small camp stove or an open fire pit for that. And I’ve always liked to cook. I learned very young because Noah, being the oldest, was given way too many chores as we were growing up, and he hated cooking, so I took over. I’m the grill master in our family.”

They ate in silence for a couple of minutes.

“You’re good,” she said, toasting him with a forkful of eggs.

“Do you like to cook?”

“Yes.” She looked around his living space then realized there were no photos out, no family in view. There were none in her place, either, except in her bedroom. “How close are you to your brothers’ homes?”

“About fifteen minutes.”

“I went to both houses to pick up Tricia and Valerie for Valerie’s bachelorette party. They have beautiful homes.”

She looked at him over the rim of her mug. “I heard that all three of you were equal partners after your father died.”

“True. I sold my share to them after a year or so. The job required heavy-duty sales. I was good at it, but I hated it. Falcon Motorcars has done just fine without me. David and Noah have also done just fine without me on board, too. They took what our father started and made it a success many times over what he’d done with it. I expect this deal will do the same for me.”

“You’ll be a millionaire.”

He smiled slightly. “That wouldn’t be something new for me. I took my profits from the family business and made smart investments, thanks initially to Max Beauregard’s advice.”

She’d already figured out he was incredibly bright. “How long ago did you build your house?”

“Two years. After my divorce.” He stood and took their plates to the kitchen, then ran water over them in the sink.

She didn’t ask if she could help, just pitched in, and he didn’t refuse.

“Sore subject?” she asked.

“What? The divorce? No. It laid me low at the time, but after the fact I realized I’d married her for the wrong reasons. She admitted the same. At least I’d been smart enough to protect my inheritance with a prenup. I’ve always lived on what I made. When I was first on my own, I got myself into a couple of ventures that were disastrous. I even got Noah and David involved. They said they weren’t going to risk it anymore. It forced me to figure out what to do. And as soon as I got my adventure business running, it paid off. Marriage seemed like the next logical step.”

Denise appreciated his openness, particularly admitting to his failures. She never liked anyone to know about hers.

She found dish soap and started filling the sink with hot water, not seeing a dishwasher anywhere. “No children?”

“No.” He reached around her to drop some dishes into the filling sink, his chest brushing her back, triggering little explosions all through her.

She liked the sensation, way too much. If they were going to work together she should avoid contact with him now that she knew how much and how easily he affected her, but she hadn’t felt like this for a long time, if ever. She didn’t mind experimenting to see how far they could go.

She just needed to keep her heart intact, her life on schedule.

“When did you tell the Bakers you’re married?” she asked.

“A month ago.”

“What have you told them about me?”

“That you’re beautiful and brilliant. Obviously, I was psychic,” he said, smiling. “I don’t remember everything I said, exactly. Joanne asked a lot of questions. That woman believes more in marriage than anyone I’ve met.”

“Do we want children?” she asked.

He grabbed a dishtowel and a rinsed plate, his hip resting against the countertop. “Absolutely. As soon as possible. I’m thirty-two, after all, and you’re—I don’t even know.”

“Twenty-nine.” She wondered if what he’d told the Bakers was the truth or a story. “So, I’m not on the pill, after all?”

He met her gaze directly. “No pill. No condoms. Nothing.”

“Hmm. Am I giving up my business in Sacramento? Did you tell them your wife works?”

“I’m pretty sure I avoided the topic. As for our story today, we should probably say we haven’t decided yet. That you may get someone to run it.”

“Which means I’m scrapping my plans to open At Your Service franchises around the country, I guess.”

He whistled. “Is that your goal?You don’t think small.”

“Nope.” She wanted to create her own empire.

“Have you given yourself a time frame?” Gideon asked.

“I have a schedule.”

“Of course you do.”

She smiled. “San Francisco next year.”

“Will you move there?”

“Temporarily. It’s a good place for me to branch out, because I’ve already made inroads there. Los Angeles after that, probably.” She rinsed the last pan and passed it to Gideon, then wiped down the counter as he finished putting things away.