The Millionaire's Wish. Abigail Strom

fact. As in a five minute drive from her office.

      She shoved her chair back and rose to her feet.

      “You look really pissed off,” Rachel said warily. “You’re not going to do anything crazy, are you?”

      “That depends on your definition of crazy. I’m just going to have a little chat with—”

      Rachel’s eyes widened. “You’re going to yell at him. You’re going to yell at Rick Hunter. Allison, you can’t do that!”

      “I can’t, huh? Give me one good reason,” Allison said, turning off her computer and grabbing her purse.

      Rachel was at her own desk now, rifling through file folders and stacks of papers. “He’s rich, for one thing. Like potential platinum donor rich. He designed the most popular video game in the world. He’s important.”

      “Julie’s important, too.”

      “Of course she is. I just think—got it!” she announced suddenly, holding up an issue of People magazine.

      “What’s so exciting about that?”

      Rachel opened the magazine to a two-page profile—picture on the left and a short biography on the right.

      “America’s Most Eligible Bachelors,” she said, as if that explained everything.

      “I take it Rick Hunter made the list.”

      “I’ll say. Allison, just look at him. You’ll have to agree there are better things to do with this man than yell at him.”

      Allison rolled her eyes, but when Rachel brought the picture over she glanced at it to satisfy her.

      Rick Hunter was on an unmade bed, leaning back on his elbows with a slight smile on his face, as if he found the person holding the camera mildly amusing. He was wearing a tuxedo, jacket off and tie loosened. That, along with the stubble on his jaw and the artfully tousled black hair, gave him an air of casual decadence, as if he’d recently enjoyed a very good time in that bed.

      His eyes weren’t as casual as the rest of him. They were green, and the expression in them was reserved, even remote, but with a kind of intensity in their depths that probably had most women ready to fall at his feet.

      In spite of herself, she found herself looking into those eyes a shade longer than she meant to. When she realized it, she took the magazine from Rachel’s outstretched hand and tossed it back onto her desk.

      “I admit he’s decorative,” she said. “So what? I hope you’re not saying I should be nice to Rick Hunter because you think he’s cute.”

      “Puppies are cute. Kittens are cute. This man is gorgeous. I’m talking drop-dead, stop-the-presses, melt-your-knees gorgeous.”

      “You forgot to mention spoiled, selfish, arrogant—”

      “I don’t think he’s like that,” Rachel objected. “Did you look at the article? He—”

      “I’m not interested,” Allison said firmly. “He turned down a kid with cancer. There’s no possible excuse for that, and I’m going to tell him so.”

      Rachel grabbed her hand as she headed for the door. “You have to go home and change first.”

      Allison glanced down at herself. She was wearing a typical outfit for a day when she had no meetings with hospital directors or wealthy philanthropists—jeans and a blue flannel shirt. Her feet were clad in an old pair of tennis shoes.

      “I’m not going all the way back to my apartment to change clothes. Why, do you think his office has a dress code?”

      “Very funny.” Rachel grabbed her purse and started looking through it. “At least let me put some makeup on you. Lipstick, mascara, something. Your face is all naked!”

      “Sorry,” Allison said firmly. “This is going to be a come-as-you-are meeting.”

      Rachel put her purse back on her desk. “There isn’t a woman alive who wouldn’t primp before going to see Rick Hunter. You’re not normal, Allison.”

      “I’ve heard that before.”

      “And yet, I still love you.” Rachel sighed. “Have fun storming the castle.”

      Rick Hunter held the phone away from his ear as he typed one-handed, listening to his grandmother with half his attention while he focused on a complicated spreadsheet.

      “—and it’s not that I’m prudish—I was a bit of a rebel in my time, I’ll have you know. Your grandfather could tell you stories. Well, he could if he were alive. But I do not appreciate half the people I know calling me to discuss this appalling magazine article, which refers to you as ‘The Playboy of the Midwest,’ I might add.”

      Rick winced. He’d only done that damn photo shoot because of his company’s upcoming annual charity event, a ball at the Grand Hotel to be followed by a bachelor auction. He wasn’t participating—he never did, despite his undeniable bachelor status—but the magazine, along with his marketing director, had convinced him it would be great publicity for the event if the company president was in the article.

      “I didn’t write the copy, Gran. And I told you before—”

      She spoke right over him. “I wouldn’t be so upset if it didn’t confirm what I always suspected. You have no intention of ever settling down, have you?”

      He was correcting a complicated cell formula and missed the question. “What?”

      “I said, you have no intention of ever settling down. The women you involve yourself with! The fluffy, brainless ones are bad enough, but the ruthless corporate types are even worse. I actually look forward to the straightforward gold diggers you toss into the mix occasionally. Not one of the girls you’ve dated in the last five years has been someone I’d be proud to call my granddaughter. Not that I’ve had cause to worry, since you’ve never shown the slightest interest in committing to any of them.”

      Rick sighed. “Okay, Gran, so you don’t like the women I date. But neither of us has to put up with them on a long-term basis, so what’s your problem?”

      “My problem is that my only grandson is still a bachelor! You don’t think I dream of the day you’ll settle down here with your wife and children?”

      Here meant the Hunter estate, of course. The beautiful old mansion his great-great-grandfather had built in 1890. Not the house Rick had grown up in, but the only place he’d ever thought of as home. The only place he’d ever truly been happy.

      “The fact is,” she went on, “I’ve been thinking things over. And I’m considering giving Hunter Hall to your second cousin.”

      Rick’s hand froze over the keyboard. “What?”

      “You heard me. Jeremiah and his wife are planning to have children, and they’d like to raise their family here. They’ve said so.”

      Rick’s jaw tightened. “If Jeremiah’s shown any interest, it’s because of what the house might be worth on the open market. He and his wife don’t give a damn about the place. They’ll sell it, Gran.”

      She sniffed. “That’s not what they’ve told me. And even if they thought that at one time, things change once you decide to have a family.”

      She paused, and Rick thought about what it would mean to lose Hunter Hall. Maybe he’d never told Gran, but he loved it more than any place on earth.

      “This house cries out for children. If I thought there was a chance you might change your ways …”

      His grandmother had been hoping to marry him off for years. He, on the other hand, had never been interested in marriage. His own parents hadn’t exactly been a shining example of the institution, and he had no intention of repeating their mistakes. Better to stay clear of all that and focus on things you could