Who Wants To Marry a Millionaire?. Nicola Marsh

no time.

      ‘What do you say? Give me fifteen minutes of your time and I’ll ensure you won’t regret it.’

      She punctuated her plea with a toss of her shoulder-length blond hair and once again the tempting fragrance of spring outdoors washed over him.

      He opened his mouth to refuse, to tell her exactly what he thought of her underhand tricks.

      ‘I don’t want to disrupt your Portsea project. I want to help you.’

      She eyeballed him, her determination and boldness as attractive as the rest of her.

      ‘In the marine environmental field, I’m the best there is.’

      Worn down by her admirable persistence, he found himself nodding.

      ‘Fifteen minutes.’

      ‘Deal.’

      Her triumphant grin turned sly. ‘Now, if you don’t mind fishing the key out of its hiding spot, I’ll get out of your way.’

      ‘Hiding spot?’

      Her gaze dropped to her cleavage.

      Jeez, could this evening get any crazier?

      ‘Uh … okay.’

      He’d reached a tentative hand towards her chest when she let out a howl of laughter that had him leaping backwards.

      ‘Don’t worry, I’ve got it.’

      With a few deft flicks of her wrists she’d slipped out of her chains and kicked the ones around her ankles free.

      ‘You set me up.’

      He should have been angry, should have cancelled her interview on the spot. Instead he found himself watching her as she deftly wound the chains and stuffed them into a sparkly hold-all she’d hidden under the table, wondering what she’d come up with next to surprise him.

      ‘I didn’t set you up so much as have a little fun at your expense.’

      She patted his chest. ‘I snuck a peek at you earlier in the ballroom and it looked like you could do with a little lightening up.’

      Speechless, he wondered why he was putting up with her pushiness. He didn’t take that from anyone—ever.

      She pressed a business card into his hand and the simple touch of her palm against his fired a jolt of awareness he hadn’t expected or wanted.

      ‘My details are all there. I’ll call to set up that interview.’

      She slung her bag over her shoulder, the rattle of chains a reminder of the outlandishness of this evening.

      ‘Nice to meet you, Rory Devlin.’

      With a crisp salute she sauntered out through the door, leaving him gobsmacked.

      CHAPTER TWO

      GEMMA SHULTZ strode from the ballroom, head held high, success making her want to do a little shimmy.

      With Rory Devlin boring holes in her back with his potent stare, she waited until she’d rounded a corner before doing a triumphant jig.

      She’d done it. Scored an interview with the high-and-mighty CEO of the company threatening to tear her family’s land apart.

      An interview she had every intention of nailing.

      The project to build luxury mansions out at Portsea would go ahead, she had no illusions about that, but the moment she’d heard about it she’d headed back to Melbourne with the sole intention of ensuring Devlin Corp didn’t botch the beachside land she’d always loved.

      Crazy, when she had no room for sentiment in her life these days, but that land had been special, the only place she’d ever felt truly comfortable in her topsy-turvy teenage world.

      It was her dad’s lasting legacy. A legacy her mum had upped and sold without consulting her.

      Her neck muscles spasmed when she thought of her immaculately coiffed mother, who valued grooming and designer clothes and social standing, a mother who had barely acknowledged her after her dad died.

      Though she’d never doubted Coral’s love for her dad, she’d often wondered why the society princess had married a cabinet-maker. While her folks had seemed devoted enough, Gemma hadn’t been able to see the attraction. Her dad had spent his days holed up in his workshop while Mum attended charity events or garden parties.

      No surprise how Coral had viewed her passion for mud-pies, slugs and rats as pets. Though she had to give her mum credit: she’d never stopped her from being a tomboy, from trailing after her dad like an apprentice. They hadn’t had a lot in common but they’d been a close family; it hadn’t been till later, when she’d turned fourteen and her dad had died, that a yawning chasm had developed, a distance they hadn’t breached since.

      People started filtering from the ballroom into the annexe and she bit back a grin. She’d bet Mr Conservative was hovering over his precious display, ensuring she hadn’t scratched it with her chains.

      Laughter bubbled up from within and she slapped a hand across her mouth to prevent a giggle escaping. The look on Rory Devlin’s face when he’d caught sight of her chained to his display … priceless didn’t come close.

      She’d hazard a guess no one ever stood up to the guy. He had an air of command; when he snapped his fingers people would hop to it.

      She’d been counting on the element of surprise, had wanted to railroad her way into an interview to show him exactly who he was dealing with.

      Her toes cramped and she slipped out of the three-inch heels she hadn’t worn in two years: the last time she’d been home and her mother had insisted she attend a charity ball for sick kids.

      She couldn’t fault the cause, but having to swap her denim for chiffon and work boots for stilettos had been unbearable. Though she’d been thankful she’d kept the outfit, for no way would she have gained access to the Devlin Corp shindig unless she’d looked the part.

      She’d timed her entrance to perfection, waiting until a large group bearing invitations had gathered at the door before inveigling her way in by tagging along.

      No one had questioned her. Why would they, when her mum would have forked out a small fortune for her blue designer dress and matching shoes?

      The rest had been easy, and with her objective achieved she almost skipped down to the car park where she’d left the battered car she’d picked up from the airport earlier today.

      She had no idea how long she’d be in town for, no idea how long it would take to ensure her dad’s land wasn’t pillaged by the corporate giant.

      For now, the ancient VW would have to do. As for lodgings, she had one destination in mind.

      Come first thing in the morning she’d confront Coral, demanding answers—like what had possessed her mum to sell the one place in the world she valued most?

      Gemma awoke to the pale pink fingers of a Melbourne dawn caressing her face and a scuttling in the vicinity of her feet.

      She yawned, stretched, and unkinked her neck stiff from sleeping on her balled-up jacket, squinting around her dad’s workshop for the culprit tap-dancing near her toes.

      Noise was good. Noise meant scrabbling mice or a curious possum. It was the silent scuttlers—like spiders—she wasn’t too keen on. She might be a tomboy but arachnids she could do without.

      A flash of white darted under the workbench and she smiled. How many times had her pet mice got loose in here? Too many times to count, considering she’d left the door open to let them have a little freedom.

      Her dad had never complained. He’d spent eons searching for them, affectionately chastising her while promising to buy new ones if Larry, Curly and Mo couldn’t be found.

      Her dad had