An Officer And A Millionaire

“You said you were thinking about getting married and asked me what I thought about the idea,” she reminded him.

“How very romantic,” Margie mused.

“It was an abstract idea,” Hunter shouted.

“Is there a problem?” the housekeeper asked as she came running down the long hallway.

“Yes, Sophie,” Margie told her, “would you bring Hunter and his fiancee some tea in the front parlor?”

“His what?” Sophie’s big eyes slitted and focused on the tall blonde.

“She’s not my fiancee,” Hunter argued.

“Yes, I am,” Gretchen said.

“Oh, how nice. Must be true love,” Margie said and clasped both hands under her chin. “Isn’t that special?”

“Damn it, Margie, you know this is all a mistake.”

“Mistake?” Gretchen echoed, giving him a glare that could have fried bacon.

“Yes, a mistake. I can’t be engaged, I’m already married,” Hunter said and felt like he was talking to an empty room. Not one of the three women glaring at him was listening to him. They were all talking to one another and around him, but it was as if he weren’t there.

“Not for long,” Margie told him flatly.

“There,” Gretchen said, looking very pleased, “problem solved.”

When he gave Gretchen an impatient look, she blinked at him and worked up a pout. He’d seen her do it before and knew she could manage to squeeze out a theatrical tear or two if she had to, just as easily. And he really didn’t have time for Gretchen’s drama.

“Hunter, make that woman go away so we can talk.”

“She’s not going anywhere, and we have nothing to talk about,” he ground out.

“But surely you want to make some wedding plans,” Margie taunted and folded her arms across her chest. “After all, the divorce will be final soon-no sense wasting time.”

“Divorce?” Gretchen smiled again.

“There’s not going to be a divorce,” Hunter said.

“Don’t count on it,” Margie muttered, then turned to Sophie. “Would you mind helping me out in the ballroom? I want to do another check on the party things.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Sophie said and gave Hunter a hard glare he hadn’t seen since he was thirteen years old.

Could this day go to hell any faster?

“Margie, wait.” Damn it. She’d hardly spoken to him in the last few days, and now with Gretchen showing up out of the blue things just got even more difficult. But Margie left, without so much as a glance over her shoulder, and he was faced with a tall blonde from his past giving him a cool, calculating stare.

“Just what is going on here, Hunter?” Gretchen smoothed her hair unnecessarily, then tapped the tip of her index finger against her chin. “I don’t appreciate being made to look like a fool.”

“I didn’t invite you here, Gretchen,” he reminded her, flicking a glance down the hall where Margie had gone.

She ignored that remark. “Strange that you never mentioned the fact that you were already married when we were together.”

“It’s a long story.” And he wouldn’t come out sounding too good in it, either. After all, he had been legally married while he was dating Gretchen. The fact that he hadn’t known about the marriage would really be a hard sell.

But he knew it for a fact, so why did he feel like a cheating husband caught sneaking out of a motel?

“I’m sure,” Gretchen said tightly. “Oddly enough, I’m not interested enough to hear it. I don’t date married men, Hunter.”

“Good for you,” he said, easing her down the stairs with a tight grip on her elbow. “Then you should be going, right?”

He just wanted her the hell out of the house so he could talk to Margie. Make her understand. Make her see that he didn’t want Gretchen. He wanted her.

Gretchen wouldn’t be hurried, though. She glanced around the great hall, noting the stained glass, the polished wood and the obvious signs of a great deal of money. “But if you’re in the process of a divorce, that changes things considerably. You know I’m happy to wait for you.”

“No,” he snapped, meeting her gaze with a hard look. “Don’t bother waiting, Gretchen. I told you, there’s not going to be a divorce.” At least, not if he could find a way around it.

“Well then, it seems I’ve made a mistake,” she said, her voice dropping to a low purr as she dragged the tips of her fingers down his chest. “Unless, of course, I can change your mind…”

Though Gretchen was planning a seduction, all Hunter felt was irritation. “You should go, Gretchen. Sorry you wasted the trip.”

Instantly, she straightened up, dropped the sultry, heavy-lidded gaze and snapped, “Fine. Go to your fat little redhead. May you be cursed with a dozen fat babies who look just like her.”

Babies? Instantly, an image of Margie carrying his child filled his mind, and Hunter realized he wanted that reality. He wanted Margie in his life more completely than he’d ever wanted anything. And he wanted kids. With her. Damned if he’d let her walk away from what they could have together.

Gretchen, meanwhile, huffed out a breath and swept out of the house as majestically as only a six-foot-tall, skinny model with delusions of grandeur could muster. Hunter shut the door behind her and took a long, deep breath. She never had taken rejection well.

How in the hell could he even briefly have considered a life with her? The drama. The pouting. The grasping nature. The viciousness. Margie wasn’t fat. She was curvy, deliciously curvy. And kind. And goodhearted. And she loved him.

So why the hell didn’t she want to stay married to him?

Eleven

The party was everything Margie had hoped it would be. As her big farewell to the town of Springville and Simon, it was perfect. The fact that the smile she’d plastered on her face was almost painful to maintain was no one else’s business.

Dance music soared through the air, and candles in glass bowls flickered on every table. Clusters of spring flowers made for bright splashes of color, and their scents mingled with the delicious aromas coming from the kitchen as the catering crew ran up and down the long hallway to the ballroom.

Balloons festooned every corner of the massive room, and there was a cheerful fire in the hearth at the far end of the room to combat the cool, nighttime breeze drifting in through the open French doors. The floors gleamed under the light thrown from the chandeliers, and in the backyard, fairy lights were strung in the trees ringing the garden. Everything was fabulous, and Simon’s guests were all clearly having a good time.

“Yay me,” Margie whispered as she rubbed her hands up and down her arms against the tiny chill snaking along her skin. But it didn’t help, because this cold went bonedeep. This was the cold she was far too familiar with.

The cold of alone. The cold of unwanted. Unchosen. Not really even a word, she told herself, but it was so true. No one in her whole damn life had ever chosen her. She’d never been first. She’d never been important enough to matter.

And God, she’d so wanted to matter to Hunter.

Against her will, her gaze scanned the crowd for one man in particular. He wasn’t hard to find. Wearing his dress whites uniform, Hunter Cabot looked impossibly handsome. Simply watching him made her heartbeat quicken and curls of heat spiral in the pit of her stomach. He was standing with his grandfather in a circle of friends, and Margie felt like the outsider she’d always been.

She had no place here. Not anymore. She shouldn’t have even stayed for the party, but she’d felt that she owed it to Simon. Now, she wished she were anywhere but here.