Page 8 of Meddling with a Millionaire

She realized after six months of slow sales that even if she lived without luxuries like designer fashions and spa visits, making enough to pay her mortgage, put gas in her car and food in her refrigerator would require her to work a lot harder than she ever had. And not just for a year, but for the rest of her life.

Or she could get her trust fund back. If she did what her father wanted and got married. Within one year. It was the one condition he’d put on restoring her funds.

She was tired of fighting. Fighting her father’s will. Fighting the temptation to spend money. Fighting to pay her bills. This year had been hell. It would be so easy to quit. To do what her father wanted. Marry Nathan. Let him take care of her. No more eyestrain or aching muscles from sitting at her worktable for hours at a time. No more fretting over whether she could afford to keep her membership at her favorite yoga studio.

Emma straightened her spine. “May I have my earrings back?”

“I think I’ll hold on to them for a little while.”

“Why?”

“You disappeared out of my life three weeks ago without looking back. I want to make sure that doesn’t happen again.”

“I didn’t disappear.” But she had. The flash fire of desire between them had sent her scurrying for cover like a startled rabbit. “Please, Nathan, can’t we talk about this tomorrow? I’m tired, and I need time to think. Let’s meet for breakfast in the morning.”

Her weary defeat must have reached him because his hands fell away. He backed off enough to let her open the door and watched in silence while she zipped up her dress.

“I’ll pick you up here at ten.” Powerful and confident, dangerous and sexy, the combination sabotaged her resolve to walk away without a backward glance.

“Ten. Sure.” She fled before he could stop her. She didn’t think she had enough strength to resist him one more time. She had to get out of here. Tonight.

Racing up the back stairs, her heart pounding in fear that he might change his mind and follow her, she reached the second floor and paused to catch her breath when she was confident he’d let her go.

The wide hallway in front of her wrapped around the four-story great hall, circling upward to a dome painted with clouds. Her father had spent $50 million to re-create a little slice of French drama on the two-hundred-acre estate north of Dallas. The forty-thousand-square-foot mansion took its inspiration from Versailles both in style and grandeur with pastel walls and ornate French antiques throughout. It had taken almost three years to build, thanks to her father’s obsessive need to oversee the tiniest detail, but it had kept his mind off his divorce from his fourth wife and granted Emma a respite from his nosing into her life.

Unfortunately, nothing good lasts forever. And when the last piece of furniture had been delivered at the beginning of February, Silas had once again turned his attention to his only daughter.

“And he complains about my spending,” she grumbled.

The party didn’t sound as if it was winding down. She neared the rail and peered below. A moving, brightly colored mosaic of elegant gowns and glittering jewels made her dizzy. Emma backed away and placed her hand over her churning stomach.

“There you are.”

Emma turned in the direction of her father’s voice. He strode along the hallway in her direction, his long legs eating up the distance between them. At sixty-three, he had the athletic build and energy of a man twenty years younger. He used his height as well as his strong personality to intimidate business associates and family members alike.

“I saw you and Nathan together.” Her father eyed her mussed hair. “Have you talked?”

“Oh, we talked all right,” she muttered, her cheeks warming.

“Wonderful. Come downstairs. I want to announce your engagement.”

Emma hated confrontation. Growing up, she had learned to keep her head down in the ongoing battle between her parents. Clasping her hands together, Emma gathered her resolve.

“Not tonight, Daddy. I’m tired.”

“Nonsense. It will just be a quick announcement and a toast to the two of you.”

As much as she hated taking on her father, she was determined to stand her ground on this issue. “There is no engagement.”

Silas Montgomery’s blue-green eyes blazed. “Didn’t he ask you to marry him?”

“He told me we were getting married. I told him we weren’t.” Resentment burned, giving her courage. She had to find some way to escape her father’s plans for her. Whatever it took, she had no intention of becoming Mrs. Nathan Case. “I’m not going to marry him as part of some business deal between you two.”

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