His Marriage Bonus. Cathy Thacker Gillen

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СКАЧАТЬ I found you irresistible?” he asked, mocking her wry tone to a tee.

      “Because you found the business deal my father offered you irresistible,” Lauren corrected, color filling her cheeks.

      If only she knew what had been offered—in exchange for her hand in marriage—after she left.

      “Don’t you think that’s a little like the case of the pot calling the kettle black?” Mitch questioned casually, shutting the heavy oak door behind him. He stepped closer, noting how snugly her sleeveless white silk blouse molded the fullness of her breasts and the slenderness of her torso, while revealing her well-toned arms and the sexy, rounded curves of her shoulders.

      Lauren tilted her face up to his, looking all the more outraged. “What do you mean?” she bit out in a low, clipped tone.

      Mitch shrugged. “You’re interested in the deal your father offered, too. Otherwise you wouldn’t be here looking at the house and wondering just how bad it would be to date me for one week, if at the end of that time you owned this showplace.”

      Lauren shook her head indignantly. “Even if I agreed to that—which, by the way, I have not—I still wouldn’t have the funds to fix it up.”

      Mitch had the strong feeling that now was not the time to bring up marriage and the huge financial bounty that would reap for both of them. Finding the interior of the house warm, he took off his suit jacket and looped it over the banister next to hers. “So you’ll earn them with the sale of your existing home,” he said, willing to do whatever was necessary to talk her into accepting the first part of her father’s proposal.

      Lauren’s dark brown eyes flashed. “My house is already mortgaged to the hilt. I had to do that to underwrite the costs of restoring it to its former grandeur,” she told him impatiently.

      “So you’ll wait a bit,” Mitch said, loosening the knot of his slate-gray tie and the first two buttons on his starched dove-gray shirt, “and sell it for a profit then.” Damn, it was warm in here! And rather musty-smelling, too.

      Lauren strode across into the adjacent drawing room and went to one of the floor-length sash windows that fronted the house. She unlocked it and tried without much luck to push it up. “I’m successful at what I do, but I can’t afford the upkeep, taxes and insurance on two multimillion-dollar properties.”

      Mitch joined her at the sill and easily raised the pane she had been unable to budge. “Surely you’ve got some money coming from a trust fund,” he argued, as fresh spring air, redolent with the heady fragrance of flowers, poured into the room.

      Lauren went to the next window and unlatched it. “It’s all tied up in Heyward Shipping Company stock,” she said as Mitch helped her lift that one, too. “I own forty-nine percent of the company, but I’m forbidden from selling a penny of it until I’m fifty. Or become an acting partner in the company, along with my father.”

      “That seems harsh,” Mitch commiserated, as another draft of fresh air poured into the room. He and his siblings all had trusts from which they could draw forth on a yearly basis, regardless of what career they chose for themselves. And though they all preferred to support themselves with their own efforts, the money was still there for whatever they chose to use it for, even if it was nothing more than a financial safety net.

      “It is harsh,” Lauren concluded with a beleaguered sigh. “But then that’s my father. He wants what he wants and he doesn’t care what kind of machinations he has to go through to get it.”

      “And what he wants is you to be an active participant in the family company.” Mitch understood that. His father had wanted the same thing from his children. Only Mitch had been interested in working alongside Tom, however. His younger brother, Gabe, had gone into medicine. His older brother, Chase, had started a magazine for men. And his baby sister, Amy, had started her own redecorating business.

      “Right,” Lauren said as she inspected the elaborate, composition-decorated brass and marble mantel. “But I have no interest in the shipping business.”

      That could be disastrous for the company she was inheriting. Especially given the rapid changes that were now happening in the centuries-old business. But figuring Lauren wouldn’t be interested in the impact the Internet was having on the industry, any more than his father currently seemed to be, Mitch let the subject go. “How’d you get involved in real estate anyway?” Mitch asked as Lauren continued to inspect the intricate frieze carvings around the doors and windows.

      “I like houses.” Lauren ran her fingertips across the painted white paneling on the walls, disturbing a surprisingly thick layer of dust. “Love seeing what’s inside them. And helping find the perfect owner for each house.”

      Mitch grinned as Lauren blew the dust off her hand. “Instead of the perfect house for each owner.”

      Lauren pivoted toward him, her eyes alight with a mixture of curiosity and pique. “And your distinction is…?” she prodded.

      Mitch shrugged, and seeing no reason not to be forthright, said, “I get the feeling you care more about the homes than the people who buy them.” There was a very real tenderness about her as she looked over the house and determined what it would need in the way of time and attention. It was as if she felt the people could fend for themselves—these lovely old houses couldn’t—their very existence rested on continued loving care. Which, sad to say, some home owners and investors obviously were not motivated to give.

      Lauren released a short, amused breath. “That’s a very shrewd observation,” she volleyed right back, holding his eyes. “And I’d probably be offended if it weren’t so true.”

      Knowing she wasn’t alone in her feelings of reverence for the historic district, but a little surprised she would be so candid about her emotions, nevertheless, Mitch asked, “Why do you feel that way?”

      Lauren led the way back out into the hall, back past the library and the spacious and once-elegant formal dining room, to the kitchen. “Think about it,” she said as she walked into a room with uneven floors, no appliances whatsoever and only the most rudimentary of metal sinks. She peered into the pantry, which housed several outdated cans of sardines, a bag of rotting onions and two empty mousetraps.

      Holding her nose, Lauren plucked up the mesh bag and carried the seeping mess to the metal garbage can sitting just outside the back door. She dumped it inside, then went back to the sink to wash her hands. “Charleston was founded in 1670 and it’s the oldest city between Virginia and Florida. The homes in the historic district have been here for several hundred years. They’ve weathered hurricanes and wars and all sorts of other calamities, and yet they are still standing, strong and proud. Homes like this are worth preserving.”

      “I agree with you there.” Mitch opened a window, letting much-needed fresh air into the stuffy room, while Lauren knelt down to inspect the massive brick fireplace. “The historic section of Charleston is one of the most beautiful and memorable residential areas I’ve ever seen. And I’ve been in some of the finest homes up and down the East Coast. You didn’t grow up here, though.” Seeing she was about done, Mitch offered Lauren a hand up.

      “No.” Lauren smoothed her trim coral skirt over her hips. “My father wanted to live in the country. So we lived out at the family estate in Summerville, where he still resides on weekends.”

      Mitch knew the place—some forty-five minutes away. Payton Heyward’s estate was a magnificent property, renowned for its beauty and historical СКАЧАТЬ