The Tycoon's Marriage Deal Read online

  ‘The old man’s a romance tragic,’ Blake said. ‘He was married fifty-nine years before his wife died. He fell in love with her within ten minutes of meeting her. He’ll be thrilled to see you move on from your ex. He talked about you non-stop—called you his little guardian angel. He said you were minding his house and his dog and visiting him every day. That’s how I came up with the plan. I can see the headlines now.’ He put his fingers up in air quotes. ‘“Bad boy tamed by squeaky clean girl next door.”’ His grin was straight off a cosmetic orthodontist’s website. ‘It’s win-win.’

  Tillie gave him a look that would have soured her shop’s week’s supply of milk. ‘I hate to put a dent in that massive ego of yours, but my answer is an emphatic, irreversible no.’

  ‘I don’t expect you to sleep with me.’

  Tillie didn’t care for the way he said it as if she was being a gauche fool for thinking otherwise. Why didn’t he expect her to sleep with him? Was she that hideous? ‘Good, because I wouldn’t do it even if you paid those debts fifty gazillion times over.’

  Something about the spark of light in his eyes sent a shuddering tremor over the floor of her belly. His slanted smile was star student of charm school. ‘Although, if you ever change your mind I’ll be happy to get down to business.’

  Business? Tillie dug her fingers into the back of her office chair so hard she thought her knuckles would explode. She wanted to slap that I-can-have-you-any-time-I-want-you smile off his face. But another part—a secret, private part—wanted him. Wanted. Wanted. Wanted him. ‘I’m not going to change my mind.’

  He picked up a pen off her desk, tossed it in the air and deftly caught it in one hand. ‘And when the time comes to end it, I will allow you the privilege of dumping me.’

  ‘Big of you.’

  ‘I’m not being magnanimous,’ he said. ‘I don’t want to be run out of town by a bunch of villagers wielding baseball bats.’

  Tillie wished she had a baseball bat handy right now to beat her resolve back into shape. But the chance to let her ex know she could land a guy was proving a little hard to resist.

  And not just any old guy.

  Someone rich and gorgeous and sexy as sin on a sugar-coated stick. It was only for a month. How hard could it be? Her thoughts were seesawing in her head. Do it. Don’t. Do it. Don’t.

  ‘Think about it overnight,’ Blake said, apparently undaunted because his smile didn’t falter. ‘I want a walk around the Park some time. For old times’ sake.’

  ‘I’d have to ask Mr Pendleton if that’s okay with him.’

  ‘Fine.’ He took a business card from his wallet and handed it to her. ‘My contact details. I’ve checked in at the bed and breakfast down the road.’

  Tillie took the card from him, desperately trying not to touch his fingers. Those long tanned fingers. Those long tanned masculine fingers. She couldn’t stop thinking about how those fingers would feel on her skin...on her body. On her breasts. Between her legs.

  She gave herself a concussion-inducing mental slap. Why was she thinking about intimate stuff like that? The only person who’d ever touched her between the legs—apart from herself—was her gynaecologist.

  ‘I wouldn’t have thought cottage flowers and cosy fireplaces and fancy china teacups would be to your taste,’ Tillie said.

  Blake’s eyes glinted again. ‘I don’t plan to stay there long.’

  What was he hinting? That he would be staying with her? Tillie inched up her chin, trying to ignore the way the backs of her knees were fizzing in reaction to the satirical light in his gaze. ‘I’m sure you’ll find much more suitable accommodation for your...erm...needs in the next town.’

  The less you think about his ‘needs’, the better.

  ‘Perhaps, but I’m not leaving this village until I get what I want.’ Something about the set of his jaw made her realise he had the steely will and determination to achieve whatever he put his mind to. And the ruthlessness.

  She kept her gaze on his. ‘Haven’t you heard that wise old adage you can’t always get what you want?’

  Blake glanced at her mouth, then to the swell of her breasts behind her conservatively buttoned cotton shirt, lingering there for a nanosecond before returning his gaze to hers in a lock that ignited something deep inside her body. It was as if his eyes were communicating on an entirely different level—a primal, instinctive level that was as thrilling to her as it was foreign.

  No one ever looked at her like...that.

  As if he were wondering what her mouth would feel like against his. As if he were wondering what she looked like without her practical, no-nonsense clothing. As if he were wondering how she would taste and feel when he put his mouth and tongue to her naked flesh.

  Even Simon had never given her The Look. The I-want-to-have-bed-wrecking-sex-with-you-right-now look. She’d always put it down to the fact he’d staunchly committed to celibacy, but now she wondered if the chemistry had ever been there. Their kisses and cuddles seemed somehow...vanilla. Unlike her, Simon had had sex previously as a young teenager, but he’d felt so guilty he’d made a pledge not to do it again until he was married. They’d occasionally petted but never without clothes. The only pleasure she’d had during the last eight years had been with herself.

  But nothing about Blake McClelland was vanilla. He was dark chocolate fudge and tantalising, willpower-destroying temptation. She couldn’t imagine him being celibate for eight minutes, let alone eight years. Which made it all the more laughable he wanted her to pretend to be his fiancée.

  Who would ever believe it?

  ‘Just for the record,’ Blake said in a voice so deep it made Simon’s baritone sound like a boy soprano, ‘I always get what I want.’

  Tillie suppressed an involuntary shiver at the streak of ruthless determination in his tone. But she kept her expression in starchy schoolmistress mode. ‘Here’s the thing, Mr McClelland. I’m not the sort of girl to be toyed with for a man’s entertainment. That’s what this is about, isn’t it? You’re a bored playboy who’s looking for the next challenge. You thought you could waltz in here and brandish your big fat bank account and get me to fall on my knees with gratitude, didn’t you?’

  His eyes did that twinkling, glinting thing. ‘Not on our first date. I like to have something to look forward to.’

  Tillie could feel her blush shoot to the roots of her hair. She almost expected it to be singed right off her scalp. She could barely speak for the anger vibrating through her body.

  Or maybe it wasn’t anger...

  Maybe it was a far more primitive emotion rushing through her in blazing, electrifying streaks. Desire. A pulse-throbbing sexual energy that left no part of her untouched. It was as if her blood were injected with its bubbling hot urgency. She shot him a glare as deadly as one of her metal cake skewers. ‘Get out of my shop.’

  Blake tapped his index finger on the stack of bills on her desk. ‘It won’t be your shop for much longer if these aren’t seen to soon. Give me a call when you’ve changed your mind.’

  Tillie lifted one of her brows as if she were channelling a heroine in a period drama. ‘When? Don’t you mean if?’

  His eyes held hers in an iron will against iron will tug of war, making her heart skip a beat. Two beats. Possibly three. If she’d been on a cardiac ward they would have called a Code Blue.

  ‘You know you want to.’

  Tillie wasn’t sure they were still talking about the money. There was a dangerous undercurrent rippling in the air. Air she couldn’t quite get into her lungs. But then he picked up his business card, which she’d placed on her desk earlier, and, reaching across the small space the desk offered, slid it into the right breast pocket of her shirt. At no point did he touch her, but it felt as if he had stroked her breast with one of those long, clever fingers. Her breast fizzed as if a firework were trapped inside the cup of her bra.

  ‘Call me,’ he said.

  ‘You’ll be waiting a long time.’

 
; His smile was confident. Brazenly confident. I’ve-got-this-in-the-bag confident. ‘You think?’

  That was the whole darn trouble. Tillie couldn’t think. Not while he was standing there dangling temptation in front of her. She’d always prided herself on her resolve, but right now it felt as if her resolve had rolled over and was playing dead.

  She owed a lot of money. More money than she earned in a year. Way more. She had to pay her father and stepmother back the small loan they’d given her because as missionaries living abroad they were living on gifts and tithes as it was. Mr Pendleton had offered to help her but it didn’t sit well with her to take money off him when he had already been incredibly generous by allowing her to stay at McClelland Park rent-free and to use his kitchen for baking when she ran out of time at the shop. Besides, he would need all his money and more if he didn’t sell McClelland Park, because an old Georgian property that size needed constant and frighteningly expensive maintenance.

  But to take money off Blake McClelland in exchange for a month pretending to be his fiancée was a step into territory so dangerous she would need to be immediately measured for a straitjacket. Even if he didn’t expect her to sleep with him she would have to act as if she were. She would have to touch him, hold hands or have him—gulp—kiss her for the sake of appearances.

  ‘Good day, McClelland,’ Tillie said, as sternly as if she were dismissing an impertinent boy from the staffroom.

  Blake was almost out of her office when he turned around at the door to look back at her. ‘Oh, one other thing.’ He fished in his trouser pocket and took out a velvet ring box and tossed it to her desk to land on top of her stack of bills with unnerving accuracy. ‘You’ll be needing this.’

  And without stopping to see her open the box, he turned and left.

  CHAPTER TWO

  JOANNE CAME INTO the office before Tillie had time to pick her dropped jaw up off the desk, much less the ring box. ‘Oh. My. God. Is that what I think it is?’ she said.

  Tillie stared at the box as if it were a detonator device. ‘I’m not going to open it.’

  I’m not. I’m not. I’m not.

  Even though her finger still felt horribly empty after three years of wearing an engagement ring. Three years and another five before that wearing a friendship/commitment ring. But she had a feeling Blake’s ring wouldn’t look anything like the humble little quarter-carat diamond Simon had purchased. Actually, Simon hadn’t purchased it. She’d put it on her credit card and he was meant to repay her but somehow never did. Another clue he hadn’t truly loved her.

  Why hadn’t she realised that until now?

  ‘Well, if you don’t want it, give it to me,’ Joanne said. ‘I’m not against gorgeous men buying me expensive jewellery. What did he want to speak to you about?’

  ‘You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.’

  ‘Try me.’

  Tillie let out a gust of a breath. ‘He wants to settle all of my debts in exchange for me pretending to be his fiancée for a month.’

  ‘You’re right. I don’t believe you.’

  ‘He’s the most arrogant man I’ve ever met,’ Tillie said. ‘The hide of him marching in here expecting me to say yes to such a ridiculous farce. Who would believe it anyway? Me engaged to someone like him?’

  Joanne’s smooth brow crinkled in thought. ‘I don’t know... I think you’re a little hard on yourself. I mean, I know you’re not big on fashion but if you wore a bit more colour and a bit of make-up you’d look awesome. And you’ve got great boobs but you never show any cleavage.’

  Tillie sat down with a thump on her desk chair. ‘Yes, well, Simon didn’t like it when women paraded their assets.’

  And how could I have spent money on clothes and make-up while saving for the wedding?

  ‘Simon was born in the wrong century,’ Joanne said with a roll of her eyes. ‘I reckon you’re better off without him. He never even took you out dancing, for pity’s sake. You deserve someone much more dynamic than him. He’s too bland. Blake McClelland, on the other hand, is capital D dynamite.’

  Blake McClelland was too darn everything.

  Tillie eyed the ring box again, curling her fingers into her palms like hooks to stop herself reaching for it. ‘I’m going to take it to Mrs Fisher’s second-hand shop.’

  Joanne couldn’t have look more shocked than if she’d said she was going to flush it down the toilet. ‘Surely you’re not serious?’

  Tillie left the ring box where it was and pushed back from her desk. ‘I’m deadly serious.’

  * * *

  Blake drove the few kilometres out from the village to his family’s estate in rural Wiltshire. He had driven past a few times over the years after leaving flowers at his mother’s grave at the cemetery in the village, but he hadn’t been able to bring himself to stop and survey the estate in any detail. To stare at the home that used to belong in his family had always been too painful, like jabbing at a wound that had never properly healed.

  The bank had repossessed the estate after his father’s breakdown. As a ten-year-old child it had been devastating enough to lose his mother, but to see his father crumple emotionally, to cease to function other than on a level not much higher than breathing, was terrifying. His mother’s death from a brain aneurysm had shattered him and his father. The cruel unexpectedness of it. The blunt shock of having her laughing and smiling one minute and then slurring her speech and then stumbling and falling the next. Ten days in hospital on life support until the doctors had given them the devastating news there was no longer any hope.

  The mother he’d adored and who had made his and his father’s life so perfect and happy had gone.

  Irretrievably gone.

  But somehow some measure of childhood resilience had kicked in and he’d become the parent during the long years of his father’s slow climb out of the abyss of despair. His dad had never remarried or re-partnered. Hadn’t even dated.

  But after his dad’s recent health scare, Blake was determined to put this one wrong thing right; no matter what the cost or the effort. McClelland Park was the key to his father’s full recovery.

  He knew it in his blood. He knew it in his bones. He knew it at a cellular level.

  His dad felt enormous guilt and shame about losing the property that had been passed down through the generations. Blake suspected his dad’s inability to move on with his life was tied up in the loss of the estate. His dad would literally die a slow and painful death without it being returned to him.

  It was up to Blake to get McClelland Park back and get it back he would.

  He smiled when he thought of Matilda Toppington. Colour him every shade of confident but he knew he had this in the bag with a big satin ribbon tied around it. She was exactly the woman for the job. Old man Pendleton wouldn’t stop gushing about her—how kind and considerate she was, all the charitable work she did in the local community, the way she took care of everyone. He’d seen it himself each time he’d been in the shop. Freebies for the kids, special treats for the elderly, home deliveries for the infirm. Tillie was such a do-gooder; he was surprised she hadn’t sprouted a pair of wings and didn’t carry a harp under her arm. When pressed on the aborted wedding, the old man had more or less hinted he was relieved it hadn’t gone ahead. Apparently so was everyone else in the village, although, according to Maude Rosethorne at the bed and breakfast, most weren’t game enough to say it to Tillie’s face.

  But Blake was certain Tillie would say yes to him about the pretend engagement, if not yes to sleeping with him. When had a woman ever said no? He was the package most women wanted: wealth, status, looks and skill in bed. Besides, he was giving her the perfect tool to get back at her ex by showing off a new lover.

  And becoming Tillie Toppington’s lover was something he was seriously tempted to do. From the first moment he’d met her gaze he’d been intrigued by her. She wasn’t his usual type but he was up for a change. The way she’d blushed when he’d first spoken to her made
him do it all the more. She pretended to dislike him but he knew she was interested. All the signs were there. She was responding to him the way he responded to her—with good old-fashioned, clothes-ripping lust.

  Okay, so call him vain, but no woman had ever complained about not having a good time in his bed. Not that he let them spend much time in it. He had a policy of no longer than a month. After that things got tricky. Women started measuring him for a morning suit. They started dropping hints about engagement rings or started dragging their heels while going past jewellery shop windows.

  The estate came into view and a boulder landed in Blake’s gut. The silver-birch-lined driveway leading to the house brought back a rush of memories. The screaming siren of the ambulance as his mother was rushed to hospital. The drive home with his father, the night his mother died. The empty front passenger seat where his mother should have been sitting. How he had stared at that seat with his eyes burning and his stomach churning and his head pounding with a silent scream.

  The horrible silence.

  The silence that gouged a hole in his chest that had never properly closed. If he closed his eyes he could still hear the crunch of the car tyres on the gravel on that last drive out twenty-four years ago, that and the sound of his father’s quiet but no less heart-bludgeoning sobbing.

  Blake braked but didn’t turn into the driveway. After a slow drive past his memories, he put his foot down and drove on with a roar of the engine.