The Millionaire's Chosen Bride. Susanne James

This man was obviously a fast worker who didn’t believe in hanging around—the sort of opportunist that made her feel slightly wary. Then she bit her lip. She’d been too excited—or too nervous—to eat any breakfast at her hotel that morning, and now that she’d secured the deal her appetite was coming back to life!

      ‘All right,’ she said, after a moment. ‘Why not? ‘I’m Mel, by the way.’

      ‘And I’m Adam.’ He extended a tanned hand in formal greeting, and grinned in a warm, all-embracing way that had the effect of breaking down any remaining reserve Melody might have felt at accepting an invitation from a complete stranger.

      Their cars were parked a little way away along the deserted road. Everyone else had obviously departed. Melody wasn’t surprised to see that his was a low-slung, exotic red Porsche. Her own compact Mercedes seemed rather staid by comparison.

      ‘We might as well go in mine,’ Adam said briefly, as he flicked the automatic key to unlock his door. ‘I can drop you back later.’

      ‘Oh, no, thanks,’ Melody said at once. ‘I’ll follow you to wherever you’re taking me. I’ll probably want to go on somewhere afterwards, anyway.’

      She’d been taught from a very young age not to take anyone at face value, and knew better than to put herself in any kind of vulnerable position. Yet this smooth, suave, unknown male—obviously used to trading on his undoubted good-looks—had coolly invited her out to lunch and she’d agreed straight away! This was not like her, she thought, as she got into her car. But today was a pretty exceptional one, she excused herself. In fact, now that she really thought about it, she knew it was a fantastic day! A day to remember, to savour! Enjoy the moment, she told herself. Reality would become apparent all too soon.

      Starting the engine and slipping her car into gear, she followed the Porsche along the blissfully uncluttered roads at a much more respectable pace than she’d imagined they might. He’d seemed the type who’d take pleasure in roaring away in front of her and expect her to keep up with his dizzying assault on the numerous twists and bends they encountered. His whole persona came across as confident, self-assured—a natural leader, accustomed to success and its trappings, Melody thought, and he’d had no problem in getting her to join him for lunch today! But following him on an enjoyable run on this perfect July day had the effect of sending her spirits soaring. If only her mother, Frances, was here now, to share this special morning with her, she thought, her eyes clouding briefly.

      In about fifteen minutes they arrived at an insignificant-looking wayside pub, and pulled up simultaneously in the car park at the front. Adam immediately came over and opened her door for her to get out, and Melody was conscious—not for the first time—of how he looked at her, how he was obviously scrutinising her appearance. She hoped he approved of her white designer trousers and navy and white striped shirt—an outfit she felt was simple but elegantly casual. Her long fair hair she’d tied up in a heavy knot on the top of her head—the style she always used in business. And, after all, today had been business—though not the sort that she was usually engaged in. Drawing her hair back formally had the effect of complementing the perfect bone structure of her heart-shaped face, her thoughtful grey-green eyes and full-lipped mouth.

      Without making any comment, Adam handed her out of the car, and together they walked along the gravelled path to the entrance of the pub. The place was obviously popular, because already it was comfortably full of people. He ushered Melody to a vacant corner table by the window, and looked down at her as she took her seat.

      ‘What are you drinking, Mel?’ he asked.

      ‘Just a sparkling water, please,’ she said, and he raised his eyebrows slightly.

      ‘No champagne…to celebrate your success today?’

      She smiled up at him. ‘I’ll keep that for some other time,’ she said.

      She watched him as he went over to stand amongst the jostling crowd at the bar, easily the most noticeable person there. He was taller than anyone else, for a start, she thought, his lithe, athletic body obviously demonstrating a robust and healthy physique. Heavens above, she thought to herself crossly. The day had been enough of an explosive affair as it was…surely she wasn’t being blown away by someone she’d probably never see again? Was she that fickle, that pathetic, after losing Crispin not all that long ago? Blame it on today, she excused herself. Today had a definitely weird feel about it!

      Presently he came back with their drinks—her water, and a pint of lager for himself—and put a lunch menu in front of her.

      ‘I can recommend the crab cakes,’ he said, glancing down at his own copy. ‘With the coast so near, the fish is fresh here daily. Or,’ he added, looking across at her briefly, ‘the barbecued sea bass is also very good.’

      By this time Melody’s mouth was watering, and she was prompt with her selection. ‘I love fish cakes,’ she said, ‘and I don’t often have the chance to eat fresh crab. So crab cakes, please, with a green salad.’

      ‘You’re obviously a woman of quick decisions,’ he said. ‘When I bring people here it usually takes them longer to choose what they want than it does to eat the stuff.’

      He got up and went across to order at the bar, glancing back at her as she stared out of the window. This was an unusual woman, he thought. Apart from being very, very, beautiful, she was overtly well dressed, sophisticated, and clearly with a very firm head on her shoulders. The sort of female who knew exactly what she wanted in life and was determined to get it. He’d known many women in his thirty-eight years, but he had the distinct feeling that no one would ever get the better of this one in an argument! She was the kind of woman you wouldn’t want to cross, but something about her—especially when he’d observed her at the auction—had excited his curiosity and made him want to find out about her. Who she was…and more importantly why she was taking possession of Gatehouse Cottage.

      He returned to sit opposite her. ‘So,’ he said without preamble, ‘you’re not from around here, are you?’ Well, of course she wasn’t…he’d have noticed!

      Melody sipped at her water. ‘No. I live and work in London,’ she said briefly. ‘I’m here on holiday for a few weeks.’

      Adam frowned. ‘But…the auction,’ he said slowly. ‘How did you know about the cottage being for sale?’

      ‘I was in the village looking around a few days ago and saw the sign. I went into the agent’s office and made some enquiries. And…decided to go for it.’ She looked up at him calmly, and he stared back at her for a second.

      ‘Do you do that sort of thing often?’ he asked. ‘I mean, people usually like to buy little mementoes to bring back from a holiday, but a cottage seems rather excessive!’

      Melody smiled. ‘I agree,’ she said. ‘And I’ve never done such a thing in my life before… But…I was attracted to the place… It felt special as soon as I stepped inside. It felt…right, somehow,’ she added guardedly.

      Adam seemed lost for words suddenly, but her answer only confirmed his opinion of the woman. She knew what she wanted and was going to get it. Whatever the cost. And, talking of cost, she must have the wherewithal to do it, he thought. Not many people had that amount of money instantly at their fingertips!

      ‘Do you live locally?’ Melody asked, deciding that it was his turn to answer some questions.

      ‘No. I work in Malaysia, where I obviously have to live for most of the time,’ Adam said. ‘But I always take a long break here, with friends, at about this time every year. Abroad is fine, but rural England is where I feel normal.’

      Melody looked away for a second.

      ‘I’m really sorry…to have beaten you at the auction this morning,’ she said simply. ‘I hope you’ll be able to find somewhere else before too long. Not that there seemed much else on offer here… I suppose people just never want to leave the place.’

      ‘You’re not sorry