The Millionaire Takes A Bride. Kate Little

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СКАЧАТЬ town just like Sweetwater, had left home pregnant and unwed at age seventeen and barely finished high school.

      After years of scraping by at menial jobs, she had her own home and business now, an achievement that she was proud of.

      But still, while Georgia had always found her home quite comfortable and had decorated it to her taste, she could understand how it must look to a man of his reputed wealth. She gazed around as he did, seeing the place from his eyes. The swayback couch, of 1890s vintage, was actually valuable—if she ever had the extra money to refinish the wood trim and repair the tear in the burgundy satin upholstery that was now cleverly camouflaged by a hand-knit afghan. The rocker, with its careworn velvet cushions, was in need of repair as well. She’d nursed Noah in that rocker, it held such fond memories.

      The Oriental-style area rug that covered the polished wood floor had seen better days. But Georgia had other, more pressing financial priorities at the moment than finding a replacement. Paying the utilities bills, for instance. Besides, she was waiting for a suitable rug to pass through her hands at her shop. How could she force herself to pay retail prices, when sooner or later she’d come across the perfect replacement for free?

      “You collect antiques, I see,” he said finally.

      “Some pieces are antiques. Some are just…old,” she admitted. “I got most of the things through my business. I have a shop in town,” she explained. “It’s sort of a combination thrift store, antique and vintage clothes shop. We sell all kinds of things.”

      “Yes, I know all about it. Georgia’s Attic,” he replied, in a smug, know-it-all tone.

      “Yes, that’s right,” she answered, lifting her chin. At five-nine, Georgia was tall for a woman. But he was at least six foot two or three she guessed, and when he glared down at her she felt almost…petite. A feeling she did not often experience in the company of a man.

      He stalked around her living room like a disgruntled tiger, practically growling under his breath. He picked up a china dish off the end table and checked the imprint on the bottom. It was Limoges, a discontinued pattern. Despite the hairline crack in the finish, it was worth something, especially to a collector.

      “Nice,” he noted as he carefully set it down again. “From your shop as well?”

      “That’s right.”

      “I imagine you don’t make much profit, if you take home all the best pieces for yourself.”

      “I do all right,” she bristled. The nerve of the man. As if it was any of his business how much profit she made.

      He laughed, a cold, hard sound that contradicted her claim.

      “I’ve already told you once. Don’t lie to me. I know very well what kind of trade Georgia’s Attic does—or doesn’t do.”

      “Do you?” she challenged.

      “Down to the last dollar. I’ve done some research, you see. Your profit margin is not very…impressive.”

      Georgia felt herself flush red with anger to the roots of her hair. She didn’t make much money from her shop, it was true. But she did have her writing. It had been just a hobby for years, but if her publisher was right, she might be making more money than she’d ever dreamed with her second mystery novel, which was just about to hit the bookstores and had already received several good reviews.

      But perhaps Mr. Know-It-All’s investigation had missed that fact, since she wrote under a pseudonym. Despite Will’s warnings that his brother would pull out all the stops, the very idea that he had investigated her—spied on her—made her blood boil.

      “You’re the last person on earth I’m interested in impressing, Mr. Bradshaw,” she replied smoothly.

      “But just so your facts are straight, you can note that I have other sources of income.”

      “I’ll bet,” he said in a harsh, accusing tone. “Like my brother, for instance?” he added harshly. “Well, as of tonight, you can strike Will Bradshaw from your balance sheet. You’ll have to find some other wealthy boyfriend to set you up in the affluent style to which you obviously aspire. Clearly, your tastes exceed your income, Ms. Price.”

      Georgia stared at him, too shocked to speak.

      “Of course, with your looks, it shouldn’t be too hard to find another rich sap,” he added before she could reply. “With that face—and body to match— I’m not surprised you had a guy like Will twisted around your little finger.” His hot, appraising glance swept down her thinly clad figure, making her feel practically undressed.

      While she knew she was decently covered, she instinctively clutched at the neckline of her robe. Then she turned on him, her temper exploding.

      “You have some unbelievable nerve! Waking me up in the middle of the night. Raving like a madman. Coming into my home and insulting me in this outrageous manner!”

      She knew she was only playing a part, but how dare he accuse her—accuse any woman he’d barely met five minutes ago—of trading money for romantic favors. Besides, if Will wanted to give his girlfriends gifts, even if those gifts included money, it was hardly his older brother’s business.

      “Yes, play the part of the outraged maiden, why don’t you? The sensitive, innocent flower, trampled and slandered by a brute. An absolute beast,” he added in a mocking tone. “Have I bruised your tender sensibilities so harshly, Ms. Price? Well, let me put it to you another way then. As far as I can see, you are—as they’d say in the good old days—a fortune hunter, madam. Plain and simple, one who is after my brother’s money. If you think you’re going to marry him, think again,” he shouted at her.

      “I’m sure you’re the one who needs to think again, Mr. Bradshaw,” Georgia replied, echoing his cutting tone. “Your brother is an intelligent, responsible adult who can and will choose who he wishes to marry. And without your grandiose, overbearing interference or approval, I might add.”

      “You will not marry him,” Jackson Bradshaw countered. He stared at her from across the room, where he stood silhouetted against the long frame window. He was an intimidating man, some part of her brain noted. Intimidating, infuriating—and even now—disturbingly attractive.

      She felt right now as if she despised him—not just for her own sake, but for the sake of her sister, as well. Will had been right. Dear gentle Faith would never have been able to stand up to this man. Georgia, who considered herself far tougher, knew she was having a time of it herself. How dare he judge her on such thin evidence—her worn-out couch and fledgling business. She couldn’t abide people who tallied up a person’s worth in such a superficial, materialistic way.

      But at the same time that she despised him, some powerful undercurrent of attraction, compelling and electric, arced between them. It was a force that tugged at her, forcing her to meet his gaze as he slowly moved toward her, across the dimly lit room.

      Finally he stood before her. Inches away. She thought to step back, but her legs felt rooted to the spot. All she could do was stare up at him, studying the hard lines of his too handsome face, his large, dark eyes, his wide, soft mouth….

      “Go ahead. Just try to deny it,” he challenged her.

      “Deny what?” she asked, genuinely confused. Her thoughts had wandered. His СКАЧАТЬ