Who Wants To Marry a Millionaire?. Nicola Marsh

indigo ocean stretching to the horizon.

      Gemma’s place.

      That was how he’d started thinking of this stretch of beach, and he shook his head. He didn’t have room for sentimentality in his life, and certainly not in his business, but there was something about her never-say-die attitude in regards to this land that plucked at his heartstrings.

      She’d gone to extreme lengths to gain his attention, and while he didn’t approve of her methods he couldn’t fault her enthusiasm. This place meant a lot to her. He’d granted her request to provide him with assessment findings to humour her, but he had to admit he was curious. Curious about her scientific skills, curious about her work ethic, and curious about what she’d do once he vetoed her findings.

      The project was ready to go, excavation set to commence in a month, and he had every intention of getting it done on time. Houses were sold, shareholders had invested, sub-contractors had been hired. Amendments were doable at this stage, but anything else she might come up with? Pie-in-the-sky dreams.

      A gunshot made him jump and he whirled around, squinting at the road where it had come from. When a dented pale blue VW rolled over the hill, and backfired again before pulling up next to his Merc in a cloud of dust, he stifled a grin.

      Of course she’d drive a beat-up old banger; though how environmentally safe a car like that was remained debatable.

      She tumbled out of the car, all long denim-clad legs and red jumper, a gaudy floral scarf fluttering in the wind and her plait unravelling as she hurried towards him.

      ‘Sorry I’m late.’

      He jerked a thumb in the direction of the vehicle. ‘Car trouble?’

      ‘How’d you guess?’

      ‘That thing belongs in a museum. Where’d you get it? Rent-a-Bomb?’

      She blushed.

      ‘You know the emissions from that can’t be good for the environment?’

      It was like waving a chainsaw in front of a greenie.

      She squared her shoulders, her eyes flashing blue fire. ‘Considering some of us aren’t flush with funds like other people—’ her scathing glare encompassed him and the Merc ‘—we make do with what we’ve got.’

      He opened his mouth to respond and she held up a finger.

      ‘As it so happens, they had nothing else available. Once I know how long I’m in town for I’ll be chasing up something more suitable. Satisfied?’

      ‘Immensely.’

      Her eyes narrowed at his tongue-in-cheek response, but before she could flay him again he gestured to the land.

      ‘How long since you’ve been here?’

      ‘Five years.’

      Her wistful sigh cut through his distraction.

      ‘That’s a long time to stay away from home.’

      She angled her head away from him, but not before he’d glimpsed fleeting pain.

      ‘Work keeps me pretty busy.’

      ‘Same here.’

      He knew exactly how many years she’d worked overseas, but hearing her audible regret only exacerbated his curiosity. If she loved her job so much, her regret must be personal. He’d bet some jerk had done a number on her.

      ‘Melbourne doesn’t hold good memories for you?’

      She reared back as if he’d poked her in the eye. ‘What makes you think that?’

      ‘Your time spent away, your defensiveness.’

      He expected her to clam up. So of course she did the opposite, surprising him yet again.

      ‘There’s nothing much left for me here any more.’

      She sank onto a nearby log, resting her elbows on her knees, her chin on her hands. He eyed the log warily and she raised an eyebrow at his pause.

      ‘No bull-ants, no spiders—nothing to bite your butt.’

      She blushed again, the faint pink staining her cheeks highlighting the blueness of her eyes, making him forget his five-thousand-dollar suit as he sat just to be close to her.

      ‘Bad break-up?’

      She shook her head, the addictive fragrance of spring mornings and sunshine he’d smelt when they’d first met wafting over him.

      ‘Uh-uh. I just don’t fit in here.’

      ‘What about family?’

      ‘My mum lives in South Yarra. We catch up occasionally. It’s been five years since I’ve been to the beach here, but I made a flying visit to Melbourne two years ago and saw Mum then.’

      She made it sound as if she’d flown in to have a root canal.

      ‘You don’t get on?’

      ‘Something like that.’ Her hand gestured to the vista before them in an all-encompassing sweep. ‘She never understood how special this place was. My dad and I used to camp here. We did a lot of stuff together …’

      She trailed off and for one horrifying moment he thought she might cry. He didn’t do tears, didn’t know how to offer comfort, and he rushed on.

      ‘I take it you didn’t know she’d sold the land?’

      ‘No.’

      That one syllable held so much regret and rawness and retribution he almost felt guilty for delving.

      ‘This means a lot to you.’

      ‘You think?’

      Her sarcasm, tinged with sadness, made him wish he hadn’t probed for answers. If he’d kept this on a purely business level he wouldn’t be feeling like the grinch that stole Christmas.

      When it came to business, he didn’t have time for a conscience. He didn’t feel anything other than soul-deep satisfaction that he was doing what he’d been groomed to do: preserve his family legacy.

      That was when it hit him.

      Their situations were reversed. He’d been given an opportunity to continue his family legacy, to make it flourish, to stamp his flair, to make his mark.

      How would he feel if his dad had run Devlin Corp into the ground or, worse, sold it off to the highest bidder? He’d be gutted. That was exactly how Gemma would be feeling.

      ‘You came home especially for this, didn’t you?’

      ‘Yep.’

      ‘You know I can’t retract the sale or stop the project from going ahead?’

      The moment the words spilled out of his mouth he wondered where they’d come from. He didn’t owe her any explanations, but something in her defeated posture tugged.

      ‘I wouldn’t expect you to,’ she said, derision curling her upper lip. ‘I’m not some charity case.’ She swivelled to face him, then fired back, ‘You’re a hard-headed businessman. I get it. All this? Gone. But if I can preserve one iota of this beauty, maybe the people who live here will appreciate it as much as we did.’

      She ended on a little hitch of breath and leaped to her feet, dusting off a butt moulded temptingly by denim.

      ‘Now, let’s get to it.’

      He stood, and before he’d realised what he was doing he placed a comforting hand on her shoulder.

      ‘I’m willing to hear your ideas and keep an open mind.’

      She allowed his hand to linger for a few long, tension-fraught seconds before she shrugged it off.

      ‘Thanks. That’s all I ask.’

      She