The Millionaire's Wish (6 page)

“Tell me about the kids you work with.”

That surprised her. “Really?”

“Yes. I'd like to know more about your foundation.” He grinned at her again. “I just wrote you a pretty big check, in case you've forgotten. I have a vested interest in your organization.”

Childhood cancer didn't really lend itself to casual conversation, which was why Allison avoided talking about her work on the rare occasions she went on a date. But Rick had asked her, and when she looked at him, all she could see in his green eyes was genuine interest.

“Okay.”

She meant to stop after a story or two. But Rick was a surprisingly good listener, asking a few questions but mostly just absorbing what she said, and encouraging her with a nod here and there to keep talking.

They were interrupted twice, first by the sommelier
to take their wine order and then by the waiter to take their dinner order. Their bottle of Burgundy arrived and the waiter filled their glasses deftly.

It was then that Allison realized she felt…relaxed.

“What do you know,” she said, smiling across the table.

“What?”

“I guess I owe you twenty bucks. Has it been five minutes yet?”

A corner of his mouth lifted. “A little longer, I think.”

“I'm still impressed.”

He gestured toward her wineglass. “You'll be even more impressed when you taste that.”

She reached for the glass to oblige him, raising it to her lips. She glanced at him over the rim, and their eyes met.

For a second she forgot what she was doing. Then she blinked, breaking the connection, and took a sip.

 

Rick had asked Allison about work because he knew it would put her at ease, and if he couldn't put her at ease his plan wouldn't succeed. No one would believe they were dating if Allison looked ready to jump out of her skin every time they were together.

She'd been so different at the hospital. Comfortable with him, comfortable with herself. He remembered the warmth he'd felt when she'd put her hand on his arm.

Of course the hospital was her domain, and she'd only touched him out of sympathy. Given the nature of her work, she probably did that a lot. Dating, on the other hand, wasn't something she did a lot.

But why?

She was passionate about her work. She was intelligent, dedicated, warm-hearted and generous.

And she was beautiful. The kind of beautiful you wanted to stare at all night because it wasn't all on the surface. The more you looked, the more you saw—and the more you wanted to see.

So why was she still on the market? She'd said it was her choice, and considering she could have her pick of men, he believed her. She obviously wasn't a flirt. He'd given her openings—back at her apartment, and in the elevator, and a few minutes ago when he'd asked if she expected him to make a move on her tonight.

She hadn't taken the bait, and in spite of himself, he'd felt a twinge of disappointment. What would Allison look like flirting? What would she sound like? She was so straightforward, so genuine and direct, it was hard to imagine her giving a sidelong glance or a sultry smile or using that low, sweet voice to make an innuendo.

Not that she needed to do any of that. She was taking her first sip of the wine and he couldn't take his eyes off her. She set the glass back down on the table and smiled at him.

“Wow. I mean…
wow.
”

“I thought you'd like it,” he said, feeling pleased. He was watching her taste it again when he noticed a familiar face a few tables away.

“Jackpot,” he said, and Allison started to turn her head.

“No, don't look,” he said quickly. “My God, this is perfect—even better than the
Gazette
reporter who just came in and sat down at the bar.”

“What's perfect?” she whispered, leaning toward him.

He grinned at her. “My grandmother's best friend
is here tonight, and she just got up from her table. I'm happy to report that we're between her and the restroom. We'll be seeing her in about ten seconds.”

Rick managed to look surprised when the silver-haired woman paused at their table. “Shirley! I didn't know you were here tonight.” He rose to his feet politely, giving the older woman a quick peck on the cheek. Allison had risen to her feet, as well.

“Mrs. Donovan, how nice to see you,” she said.

Shirley looked startled. “It's nice to see you, too, Allison.”

“Mrs. Donovan is one of the Star Foundation's patrons,” Allison explained to Rick, who was obviously surprised that the women knew each other.

“For goodness' sakes, call me Shirley. I've known you for three years.” Her sharp black eyes flickered between the two of them. “I must admit I'm a bit surprised to see the two of you together. Are you here on a—”

“Date? You bet,” Rick said, smiling at Allison.

“Well, well. You'll pardon me, dear boy, if I say that I admire your taste more than Allison's. No offense, of course.”

“None taken,” Rick murmured. He knew Shirley's opinion of him was about on par with his grandmother's.

“Allison is a person whom I admire—and whom I've tried to fix up with my nephew several times. With no success, I might add. How did this good-looking rascal convince you to go out with him?”

Rick was about to answer for her, not wanting Allison to feel on the spot, but he never got the chance. “I lost a bet,” Allison said cheerfully.

Shirley blinked. “A bet?”

“Rick said I couldn't beat him at darts after five shots
of whiskey, and of course I had to take him on. My honor was at stake.”

“Of course,” Shirley said, starting to smile. Rick was looking at Allison with his eyebrows raised.

“Alas, it turns out that Rick is some kind of darts prodigy. If his company ever folds, he could fall back on a career as a barroom hustler. His winnings were a date with me, and the rest is history.”

“I see,” Shirley said, shaking her head but still smiling. “I'll have to tell my nephew he's been using the wrong approach. Richard, I trust you'll treat this young lady well. She's not like your usual dinner companions.”

“Believe me, I'm finding that out.”

Rick watched her walk away, noting that she didn't make it five paces before she was pulling her cell phone out of her purse. Unless he missed his guess, his grandmother was about to get a call.

He turned back to Allison, who was grinning at him.

“I didn't realize you had such a gift for storytelling,” he said as they sat down again.

“Well, now you know.”

“On the bright side, I take it you still feel relaxed.”

“I do. Relaxed enough to start asking
you
some questions.”

He took a sip of wine. “What kind of questions?”

“The same thing you asked me. I'd like to know more about your work.”

Their appetizers had arrived. Allison took a bite of her mushroom fritter, and he chased a piece of crab cake with another sip of Burgundy.

“What do you want to know?”

“How you got started, I guess. How you created a software empire.”

“I wouldn't call Hunter Systems an empire. Do you really want to hear the whole story?”

“Of course I do. I wouldn't have asked if I wasn't interested.”

That was the kind of thing people said on a first date, and most of the time it wasn't true. But when Allison said it, it never even occurred to him to doubt her.

They were finished with their appetizers by the time he went through the short version of his company's history—how he and an army buddy connected with a few friends from college and rented that first tiny office on Grand, only a few miles from where the company was now. How they'd worked round the clock, eating and even sleeping in the cramped space until they had a product ready to launch. How “Magician's Labyrinth” had hit big, making enough money to allow them to expand into other kinds of software.

“But you still make games?”

“Sure. Our gaming division puts out new products every year.”

“But you don't? You personally, I mean.”

He shook his head. “No time. And game design is a crazy job, best suited to kids. Kids at heart if not in years. And in case you hadn't noticed, I'm all grown up.”

It was another not-so-subtle opportunity to flirt. She didn't take the bait, but at least this time she blushed.

The waiter brought their entrées, setting a dish of lobster ravioli in front of Allison and a steak with béarnaise sauce in front of him. He watched as she cut a ravioli in half and put it in her mouth, chewing and
swallowing with a little
mmm
of pleasure that sent a bolt of awareness through him.

“Tell me why you don't date,” he said abruptly.

He was breaking his cardinal rule with women—don't ask anything too personal, especially in the beginning. His relationships, such as they were, tended to skim across the surface.

But he wasn't actually dating Allison, and he really wanted to know the answer.

Allison looked down at her plate, swirling the other half of her ravioli in cream sauce. “That's not important,” she said.

“It is to me. I'd like to know.”

She looked up at him, her blue eyes guarded. “It's not exactly my favorite topic. My family brings it up all the time, and it makes me crazy. Especially when I think there are so many more important things going on in the world than whether or not I go out on dates.”

“Like what?” he asked, taking a bite of his steak but keeping his eyes on hers.

“Like everything. Disease, poverty, natural disasters. And that's just off the top of my head.”

He poured a little more Burgundy into her glass. “Okay, you've got me there. But I'm still curious.”

She frowned down at her wineglass, tracing the rim with a fingertip. “There's not a lot to say. I was pretty serious about someone in high school, but then we broke up, and it just…turned me off the whole scene. I've gone out with people here and there, but I haven't been in a relationship since. And at some point I realized I didn't miss it.”

She looked up at him. “My work and my family are the most important things in my life. I don't need a
relationship to feel complete. And I think romance can be a distraction, you know? Because emotions are overwhelming, and it's easy to give in to them. Because it feels good for a while. And when it stops feeling good, the pain becomes an excuse, too. I don't want to get out of bed because so-and-so left me. I can't go to work today because I saw him out with another girl, boo-hoo, boo-hoo. And meanwhile, there are people out there with real problems, really hurting. And—” She paused suddenly and took a breath. “And anyway, that's why I don't date.”

He'd forgotten to eat, watching and listening to her. If he'd hoped that getting an answer to his question would take the edge off his curiosity, that hope was now shot to hell.

“So love is just an escape?”

She lifted her chin slightly, as if sensing a challenge. “I think it can be an illusion. And I think people can indulge in it like a drug, because it's just as addictive and distracting.”

“So people in love are just deluding themselves? What about married couples?”

She bit her lip. “See? That's why I don't talk about this. I know I come off sounding like I'm looking down on people or something, and I don't mean to. Of course I don't think all married people are deluding themselves. My parents have a good marriage. But it's not
romantic.
They work too hard for that. They're farmers, and they've worked hard all their lives. I know they love each other, but they're not indulgent about it. They don't make a fuss.”

“So it's okay to be in love if you don't make a fuss?”

She sighed. “Let's just forget it, okay? I'm sorry I ever answered your question.”

“I'm not.”

“I suppose you think you have some kind of insight into me now.”

“I don't know about that. But it's obvious you've been on some lousy dates—and that whatever happened with your high school boyfriend hit you pretty hard.”

She frowned. “The way I feel about romance isn't because of one experience.”

“But he was a factor, wasn't he?”

“I think he was just a catalyst.”

“A catalyst for what?”

“For deciding that I wanted to put my energies into something more meaningful.”

“Unlike love.”

“Unlike romantic love, yes. But there's plenty of love in my life. My family, my friends…and my work is all about love. I love the kids I work with. I care about their families. If I didn't, I wouldn't do what I do.”

Rick drained his glass and refilled it, topping off Allison's afterward. “So it's only romance you don't believe in.”

“I'm willing to believe romantic love exists. I'm just not interested in it, at least at this point in my life. And what about you?” she countered. “That night at the coffee shop, I got the impression you're less interested in romance than I am. Are you telling me I was wrong? That you do believe in love?”

He was glad she asked. It was good to be reminded of the fact that he didn't believe in much of anything, before he let himself get too drawn in by Allison's beguiling eyes and her warm heart and most of all her fascinating
prickly side, the side that said
I won't, I won't
…and made a man want to persuade her to say
I will.

He shrugged. “My parents had a rotten marriage, which made it hard to believe in romance. And I let go of the illusion completely in my twenties, when I found out the girl I'd fallen for was a con artist in training. The only difference now is that I actually seek out mercenary women. That way there aren't any unpleasant surprises, and I never feel guilty about ending things.”