Millionaires' Destinies: Isn't It Rich? / Priceless / Treasured. Sherryl Woods

the kitchen. “Do you think we’ll be able to get away from here in the morning?”

      “The main roads will definitely be clear, and I imagine even that insubstantial little car of yours will be able to get out to the highway.”

      He sounded almost as eager to put an end to this weekend as she was. If he mattered to her in a personal way, his words would have hurt her feelings. As it was, there was just a tiny little nip to her ego. Or so she told herself.

      “Stay here while I cook,” he suggested, his fingers lingering against hers as he handed her the glass of wine.

      “Not a good idea,” she said.

      “Why?”

      “You know the answer to that. We seem to lose our heads when we’re in the same room for too long.”

      “And that’s such a bad thing?”

      “Richard!”

      He shrugged. “I just thought it would be nice to have some company.” He grinned. “I’ll give you a knife, and you can cut the vegetables. If I get out of line, you can defend yourself.”

      Melanie laughed, despite all the warning bells going off in her head. She pulled out a chair and sat down at the kitchen table, taking a long swallow of wine. Then she met his gaze.

      He looked surprisingly relieved.

      “Thank you,” he said.

      “Whatever,” she replied, then grinned. “But I want a very big knife.”

      “Now there’s a sentence guaranteed to strike terror in a man’s heart,” he said, laughing even as he handed her a deadly looking butcher knife, then added a more suitable paring knife for the vegetables.

      They managed to get through the dinner preparations without bloodshed and without a single sly innuendo or seductive comment. Part of Melanie was relieved by that. Another part of her felt as if she’d lost something important.

      It was because of that part that she set her glass aside at the end of the meal and stood up. “I’ll say good-night now,” she told him.

      “You don’t want to see the movie?”

      “I’ve seen it,” she fibbed, because she couldn’t risk letting her defenses down for one more second.

      “Why didn’t you say something earlier? I could have gone out and gotten another movie.”

      “Maybe you should watch this one,” she told him. “The hero winds up with the girl.”

      She felt his gaze on her as she left the room and knew he had gotten the message that he needed a few pointers if he was ever going to do the same. She wasn’t sure why it seemed to matter so much to her that he understand that, but it was. And that was more troubling than anything else that had gone on all weekend long.

      Chapter Six

      Richard had stayed up till midnight watching the romantic comedy he’d bought. He’d heard the unspoken message in Melanie’s parting shot the night before. The suggestion that he had no idea what women wanted, that he couldn’t keep one, had rankled.

      If he wanted a woman in his life, he’d have one. He’d achieved every other goal he’d set for himself. He didn’t doubt for a second that he could have a wife if he wanted one. He’d simply chosen to remain single. Period.

      He’d been tempted to follow Melanie upstairs and tell her that, but had managed to stop himself from making that mistake. A discussion with Melanie—in her bedroom no less—could not lead to anything but trouble.

      Still, he had watched the movie. He hadn’t much enjoyed watching the hero twist himself inside out trying to figure out how to win the heroine’s heart. If that was what Melanie—or any other woman—wanted from a man, she was fresh out of luck with him.

      After watching the end of the video, he’d gone to bed in a foul mood. And he was still feeling cranky and out of sorts when Melanie breezed downstairs in the morning looking fresh as a daisy. Obviously she hadn’t lain awake all night grappling with any aspect of their relationship. Or, more precisely, their nonre-lationship.

      “You look chipper,” he said in a way that even he could hear made “chipper” into a less-than-positive thing.

      “Feeling great,” she concurred, ignoring his testy tone. “Is that bacon I smell?”

      “Yes, and I have batter for waffles, if you want one,” he offered.

      “Heaven,” she said as she poured herself a cup of coffee. “Did you sleep well?”

      “Like a baby,” he lied.

      She gave him a doubtful look but didn’t question his claim. “I noticed that the road in front of the house has been plowed. I’m sure you’ll be relieved to have me out from underfoot and have this place back to yourself,” she said. “I’ll take off as soon as I’ve had something to eat.”

      Instead of cheering him up, her announcement made him want to dawdle. Because that was so completely ridiculous, he immediately poured batter onto the steaming waffle iron and snapped the lid closed. He took the plateful of bacon he’d microwaved earlier out of the oven where he’d been keeping it warm, then slammed it down on the table with more force than necessary. Melanie gave him another questioning look but remained silent.

      “Juice?” he asked. “There’s orange.” He peered into the refrigerator as if there were some uncertainty, then added, “And cranberry.”

      “Orange juice would be good,” she said, watching him closely. Apparently she could no longer contain her curiosity, because she added with concern, “Richard, are you upset about something?”

      “Absolutely not,” he said sharply, in a tone guaranteed to contradict his words.

      Melanie retreated into wounded silence, which was what he’d been hoping for—wasn’t it? Instead, he felt like he’d kicked a friendly puppy.

      “Sorry,” he muttered. “Obviously I got out of bed on the wrong side this morning.”

      She shrugged. “Just proves you’re human.”

      “Stop that! Stop letting me off the hook,” he snapped, annoyed with her, with himself, with the universe.

      She stared at him. “Okay, what’s really going on here? Have I missed something? Did you want me to take off right away? Have I tested your patience long enough?”

      Richard sighed. “No. It’s not you. It’s me. To be honest, I don’t know what I want. Blame my lousy mood on stress, not enough sleep, whatever.”

      “You said you slept like a baby.”

      Naturally she’d been paying close attention to his stupid lie and just had to call him on it. He should have expected that. Frowning, he admitted, “I lied.”

      “Why?”

      “Because you came in here all cheerful and bright eyed and I didn’t want you to think I’d lost even a second’s sleep last night.” He kept his gaze firmly fixed on the waffle iron when he made the admission.

      “Are we having some sort of competition?” she asked, sounding genuinely perplexed.

      “My entire life has been about competition,” he muttered, as he snagged the golden waffle, put it on a plate and placed it in front of her.

      “With whom? Your brothers?”

      He shook his head. “With myself. I set goals, mostly based on my father’s expectations, then I battle with myself to attain them.” He gave her a wry look. “So far I’m right on track.”

      “But are you happy?” she asked quietly.

      “Of course,” he said quickly, possibly too quickly.

      Melanie