About the Author Dedication Title Page CHAPTER ONE CHAPTER TWO CHAPTER THREE CHAPTER FOUR CHAPTER FIVE CHAPTER SIX CHAPTER SEVEN CHAPTER EIGHT CHAPTER NINE CHAPTER TEN CHAPTER ELEVEN CHAPTER TWELVE CHAPTER THIRTEEN CHAPTER FOURTEEN CHAPTER FIFTEEN Copyright
“I pronounce you man and wife.”
It was over. He kissed his bride, happier than he had ever been in his life. The family went wild, hugging and kissing each other, laughing as they emerged into the sunshine.
Something must have happened, he thought, as they started down the steps. Such a big crowd, television cameras and everything.
Before he had a chance to take it in, to wonder, he felt the flash of a photographer’s bulb, and a microphone was thrust into his face.
“Mr. Costello, how does it feel to be married to an heiress?”
Eva Rutland began writing when her four children, now all successful professionals, were growing up. Eva lives in California with her husband, Bill, who actively supports and encourages her writing career.
Some people marry for true love, some for convenience...but what about marrying for money?
Eva Rutland continues her humorous look at reasons to say “I do!” in this delightful sequel to Marriage Bait and The Wedding Trap.
The Million-Dollar Marriage
Eva Rutland
CHAPTER ONE
FROM her bedroom window, Melody Sands looked down at the man working in the rose bed. He moved with a quick energy that intrigued her. Clipping, digging, planting and transplanting like mad. As if he actually enjoyed it. In this weather! It was early March, but the winter winds were still going strong.
At least he’s busy, she thought with a twinge of envy. Not rambling around in a big house that nobody lives in but Mrs. Cook, who, with a little outside help, keeps it in apple-pie order for Dad and me. In case either of us drop in, she thought, chuckling. She was only here now because she was bored with Dad’s business ventures in Japan, bored with Adrian’s relentless pursuit, and because there was no other place she particularly wanted to be. Nothing particular she wanted to do.
Oh, well...too rough for sailing, too windy for golf. Maybe something doing at the club.
She pulled on suede pants and a cashmere sweater, and went down to the kitchen.
“Hi, honey.” Mrs. Cook, the cherubic housekeeper, looked up from the oversize thermos into which she was pouring hot coffee. “Ready for your coffee?”
Mel smiled as she nodded toward the thermos. “Not that much.”
“Oh, I’m taking this to the man in the yard. I thought he could use a hot drink.”
“New gardener?”
“No. Someone Pete hired to do whatever you do to roses this time of year. Pete’s arthritis don’t take to this weather. You want the usual juice and toast? I’ll fix it as soon as I take this.”
“I’ll take it for you,” Mel said, reaching for the thermos. She wanted to see that man close-up. “And don’t bother about me. I’ll get whatever I want. Okay if I borrow your jacket.” Cook nodded, and she slipped on the well-worn oversize jacket, grabbed the thermos, and went out the back door.
He didn’t see her approaching. He rested on his heels, intent upon what he was doing. She watched as he placed a rosebush in the ground, and with his bare hands arranged the soil around it, gently, with a kind of loving care.
“Hello,” she said.
He looked up and she caught her breath. He was that handsome. Thick, unruly, very black hair, eyes almost as dark with thick, long lashes, features so perfect they might have been sculptured.
One quick graceful movement, and he was on his feet, dusting his hands on his jeans, laughing dark eyes looking down at her. “Hello. Something I can do for you?”
“No. Something for you,” she said, still looking at him, holding on to the thermos with one hand while the other slapped at the hair whipping across her face. “Cook thought you might like a hot drink. It’s so windy.”
“Don’t knock it. I like what it blew my way.”
“Could be an ill wind,” she quipped, trying to read the message in his eyes.
“Not when it blows in an angel,” he said, as he caught a few flying strands of red hair, and inspected it. “Is this for real?”
“Take three guesses.” She forced herself to break the spell and thrust the thermos at him. “Here,” she said as she turned away.
“Hey, wait!” he called, almost dropping the thermos. “Don’t blow away. Why don’t you join me? You can have the cup. I’ll drink out of the bottle.”
She didn’t want to leave. She turned back and accepted the hot drink he handed her. She sipped from the cup, feeling a little awkward.
He smiled at her. “I’m glad you stayed. Let’s get acquainted. I’m Tony—”
“But I didn’t come out here to get acquainted. Cook just asked me to...” She stopped. Cook hadn’t asked her. She had volunteered. And now... The nerve of this guy!
“Tell Cook I’m mighty grateful, both for the coffee and the pretty angel who brought it.”
“You’re quite welcome, but I’m afraid you’ll find I’m no angel.”
His eyes brightened, his brows lifted. “You mean you’ve got a bit of devil in you? Interesting!”
This had gone far enough. She handed him the cup. “Thanks,” she said, and turned away.
“Wait. I just want to get to know you. Anything wrong with that?”
“Yes. Not a mutual desire, since I’ve no wish to get to—”
“How would you know, if you never give me a chance? I’m not a bad guy.”
“Look, I don’t have time to dawdle here with you.”
“Okay. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hold you up. But, later...