Memo: The Billionaire's Proposal. Melissa McClone

vase probably costs more than my annual salary.”

      “Don’t worry,” he said. “We were required to take out a large insurance rider in order to use the castle and grounds for the show. You’re safe.”

      She didn’t feel so safe. Her gaze strayed to his inviting bed. Her bed would look just as good, she reminded herself.

      “It’s late.” Chaney’s heavy eyelids kept wanting to close. The sooner she got to her own room, the better. She set her clipboard on the table. “Let me help you out of your costume so we can get to bed.”

      “My bed or yours?”

      Heat flamed her cheeks. “You know what I meant.”

      “I always like to make sure and remove any doubt. It saves me from misunderstandings down the road as well as missed opportunities.”

      “You’re not missing anything with me.” The words tumbled from her mouth. “I mean…”

      Amusement gleamed in his eyes. “What do you mean, Chaney?”

      He sounded so cool and collected, as if having a member of the opposite sex in his room after midnight was no big deal.

      Okay, it probably wasn’t to him.

      Still, the way he stood there looking sexier than anyone had a right to look dressed like a character from a summer blockbuster movie irritated Chaney.

      No, he irritated her.

      And that’s when she realized…

      She was still angry with him for what happened five years ago, for shattering her illusion of him. She’d wanted to find her Prince Charming back then. She’d wanted him to be Drake. Instead she’d returned home and met Tyler, a man totally opposite from Drake. A man she’d thought had loved her. At least, he’d claimed to love her until he met Simone.

      Chaney tucked her hair behind her ears. “How do you remove the costume?”

      Drake lifted his left arm and pointed with his right hand. “Buckles are hidden underneath. They attach the armor pieces. You have to undo them.”

      Okay, that didn’t sound difficult.

      As she walked toward him, heat hit her. Not from the fireplace, but from Drake. She knew he was hot, but not literally. Heat emanated from him. His scent, sweaty, musky and male, filled her nostrils.

      “I’m looking forward to getting out of this costume and into a shower,” he said.

      She did not want to think about him naked with warm water shooting down on him. She glanced at the bed again. Thinking about him there probably wasn’t a good idea, either.

      Chaney pulled apart the armor plates to find the buckles. “All I want to do is sleep.”

      “That bed does look…inviting. They even left chocolate on the pillows.” He stared down at her. “Two chocolates.”

      Uh-oh. She undid a buckle. “The staff may have assumed you’d have company.”

      “I do. Are you interested?”

      Her fingers fumbled. “What?”

      His eyes danced with laughter. “In a chocolate.”

      “I’m not company. I work for your company.” Unfastening another buckle, her fingertips brushed the chain mail underneath. “How many layers are you wearing?”

      “A few, but once the chain mail is off, I can handle the rest. Unless you’d rather help with that, too.”

      Her fingers trembled. No way would she respond to him. Anything she said would come out wrong and might even sound as if she were interested in helping with…more. She pressed her lips together.

      Chaney focused on the armor, not the man underneath it. She caught glimpses of chain mail, a quilted shirt, dark hair. Intriguing images. Tempting impressions. Ones she ignored. She unbuckled the pieces around his chest and shoulders and placed each in a special container sitting on the floor of his room.

      She knelt at his feet to remove the lower half of the armor. Reaching around his thigh, she found her hands between his legs and her head much too close to his, um, codpiece.

      “I appreciate this, Chaney,” he said as if she were tying his shoes, not practically fondling him as she tried to reach a buckle. “I know you’re tired.”

      She kept her eyes focused on the buckle, not allowing herself to look anywhere else. Or touch any part of him. “Almost done.”

       Please, oh, please let me be almost done.

      She hurriedly undid the buckle. Unfortunately, three more needed her attention and kept her in the uncomfortable, embarrassing position.

      “All done,” she said finally, laying the last piece of leg armor into its spot in the container.

      “Thank you.”

      Chaney turned. The words “you’re welcome” died on her parted lips.

      Drake stood wearing chain mail that molded his muscular shoulders, arms and chest. The metal shirt fell to his hips. Talk about hot.

      She swallowed.

      He was every woman’s fantasy and her worst nightmare. But that didn’t stop her knees from going weak and her blood from boiling.

      “The chain mail attaches in the back,” he said.

      Chaney forced herself into action. She fumbled with the first hook. Her fingers wouldn’t do what she wanted them to do.

      She blew out a frustrated breath.

      Darn the man.

      His soft-looking hair tempted her to touch it, to see if the strands would curl around her finger.

      “Having trouble?” Drake asked.

      He had no idea. “I’m getting there.”

      Or would. As soon as she reminded her traitorous body and out-of-control hormones she wasn’t interested in Drake Llewelyn. He couldn’t give her what she wanted: a forever kind of love. Not to mention she was taking a break from dating, from men.

      An almost two-year break, a voice—maybe her heart—mocked.

       Shut up.

      “Excuse me?” he asked.

      Oh, no. She hadn’t meant to say that out loud. “Sorry, I was just trying to quiet the voices in my head.”

      “What were they saying?”

      “That it was past my bedtime, but don’t worry. I won’t leave until the job is finished.”

      “I knew I could count on you.”

      Chaney didn’t understand his confidence in her when she wasn’t sure she could count on herself in this situation.

      Finally the snap came undone. Slowly, much too slowly for her liking, she opened each of the remaining ones. “They’re all unsnapped.”

      “Can you help me out of it?” Drake asked.

      “Sure.” Her voice sounded stronger than she felt.

      “Open the back.”

      As she did as he asked, Chaney realized how much the chain mail weighed. He shrugged out of the shirt so it rested on his upper arms.

      “Now come around in front of me,” he said. “Be careful, it’s heavy.”

      Chaney held on to the shirt as he pulled one arm out and then another, never once leaving her to hold the entire weight of the chain mail.

      He placed it in the container. His damp, quilted shirt clung to him. He pulled the tails out from the waistband of his pants. “Much better and cooler.”

      Maybe for