Millionaire Husband Read online

  Although she felt terribly out of place, she picked at her food and tried to remain invisible as the dinner conversation swirled around her. Stealing glances at the head table, she saw that Justin was seated between two beautiful, perfectly polished women who probably had not needed the assistance of a five-year-old to fix their hair. They were everything she wasn’t, she thought and fought not to feel diminished. The brunette, Amy noticed, kept touching him. She fought a terrible tug of envy.

  “It’s packed tonight,” the middle-aged man with the hideous tie beside her said. “Everyone wants to hear what St. Albans’s premier stock stud, self-made millionaire has to say. I say he’s been damn lucky and has just missed the speed bumps most of us hit.”

  Indignant on Justin’s behalf even though the brunette was sitting entirely too close and he was smiling too frequently, Amy clamped back a hasty retort.

  The young man on her other side shook his head. “I have to disagree. Haven’t you heard? He’s been trading for years. He didn’t make his fortune overnight or with one big trade.”

  “You sound like a Langdon groupie,” Mr. Bad Tie said.

  The young man shrugged. “I’m intrigued, like about three hundred other people who are here tonight. If he can share his secret, I’ll be more than happy to cash in on it.”

  Mr. Bad Tie grunted. “If it were that easy, everyone would be doing it,” he said then turned to her. “Allan Walters. I haven’t seen you before. Which firm are you with?”

  Taken off guard, Amy blinked before she shook the man’s hand. “I’m not with a brokerage. I teach—”

  “—business or marketing,” he finished incorrectly for her with a nod of approval. “It’s good for anyone teaching business to be exposed to this kind of thing, but I hope you tell your students this is rare and people can lose the money as fast as they make it.”

  “Needs to retire,” the young man beside her murmured for her ears only.

  “I hear Langdon goes through women like penny stocks,” Allan said with a sigh as he eyed Amy’s cleavage. “One of the luxuries of being young and wealthy.”

  Insulted, Amy bit her tongue, then counted to ten. “You seem to know a lot about Mr. Langdon. Have you met him?”

  “No, but word gets around if you know what I mean.”

  “So, most of the basis for your opinion is rumor,” Amy clarified.

  Allan with the bad tie adjusted his tie. “Well, it’s clear he plays the field. Look. He’s got a woman on either side of him tonight.”

  “The only thing that’s clear is that the seating for his table is arranged male, female, male, female,” she said and tried to tell herself she was totally correct even though a part of her worried.

  “Well, I know the guy isn’t married because it would have been in the newspaper.”

  “I can’t tell you much about Mr. Langdon’s past romantic life, but I’m pretty sure he doesn’t get his stock tips from the newspaper or rumor mill. Perhaps that’s part of the reason he’s so successful.”

  “Well said,” the young man on her other side murmured to her. He extended his hand. “Ben Haynes,” he said. “And you are?”

  “Amy Monroe,” she said, wondering if she would ever consider taking Justin’s last name.

  “You’re not the usual type of woman who shows up for these things,” Ben said as if it were a compliment.

  “And the usual type is?”

  He grinned. “Think barracuda.”

  Amy’s stomach twisted. So her competition, if she were interested in competing for Justin’s attention, which she wasn’t, she assured herself, was a cunning sea animal that gnashed its prey to bits with sharp teeth. Her head started to throb. Maybe this hadn’t been such a great idea after all.

  At the head dinner table, Justin stifled a sigh. Despite the fact that he’d flashed his wedding ring and mentioned his wife several times throughout the meal, the brunette woman beside him, Gabi, whose name fit her perfectly, had hit on him so much he would need to check for bruises.

  Justin wasn’t chomping at the bit to step in front of this crowd. Although he knew many admired and respected him, just as many resented his success. They were professionals. He wasn’t, therefore he wasn’t supposed to be successful.

  “Oh, Justin,” Gabi continued, but he turned off his listening ear as he took a drink of water and the association’s president climbed the small stairway to the platform.

  “Ladies and gentlemen,” the man began. “It is my privilege to introduce our guest speaker for the Spring meeting of the Virginia Stockbrokers’ Association. This man started out on a shoestring budget trading low-dollar stocks, eventually building to high-dollar profits. His net worth is now well into the multiple six figures….”

  Justin stifled a yawn and surreptitiously glanced at his watch. Another moment passed and the president finally said, “Ladies and gentlemen, I now present Justin Langdon.” The applause seemed to fill every corner of the huge room, surprising the dickens out of Justin. He stood and climbed the stairs to the stage to stand behind the podium. The room was packed and the lighting so dark he couldn’t make out many faces.

  As if he were attending a twelve-step recovery meeting, he said, “Hello, my name is Justin Langdon, and I’m a—” he paused for effect “—tightwad.”

  In the audience, Amy’s heart swelled with pride and something that felt very close to love. Justin was such an incredible man.

  The crowd laughed, and Justin continued with his speech. “I know it must irritate the dickens out of most of you to know that I built my fortune off the stock market without the assistance of a stockbroker. More importantly, no stockbroker benefited with commission. But all I’ve done is become my own expert. My system of trading is designed specifically with me in mind—my goals, my never-ending study of the market, knowing how much I can risk and still sleep at night, and my commitment to trade with a minimum of emotion. You have to figure this out for each of your clients, and unfortunately, your clients aren’t clones.”

  With the exception of the tightwad remark, everything he said resonated with his actions. From the beginning, Amy had sensed he was a man who knew himself well. He had been tested and tried and had grown stronger because of it. Amy sensed many people admired him for the money he’d made. She admired him for the man he’d become.

  “Most of your clients aren’t like me at all,” Justin said, “so parts of my plan won’t work for them. But I’m going to help you with a response for the next time one of your clients says something annoying like, ‘I’ve read about how Justin Langdon turned his portfolio from three digits to seven digits all by himself. Maybe I should try that.’

  “Here is the step-by-step process for how to do what Justin has done. Number one, cheap housing. Live in a one-room efficiency in an area of town where your lullabye each and every night will be the sound of fights in the streets followed by police sirens.

  “Two, eat cheap. Your regular menu should consist of cans of beans and packaged macaroni. You’re allowed to splurge and go out to eat once a year. To McDonald’s.” The sound of the crowd’s chuckles rose to the podium. They thought he was joking, Justin thought, but he knew better. He had lived it.

  “Three, no car for three years. Walk or take the bus. Every penny you would have spent on payments, maintenance, gas and parking goes into your trading account.

  “Four, say goodbye to your sleep. After you start making significant money on the market, get a job working the midnight shift so you can stare at your monitor all day, then work all night.

  “Five, no social life for three years straight. Beer is a luxury, decent wine is a dream.” Justin smiled to himself figuring he’d eliminated ninety percent of the people who wanted to “do what Justin Langdon had done.”

  “Six, no dating for three years straight. Dating costs money and if you want to do what Justin did, you have to put every penny into the market.”

  He took a drink of water and surveyed the crowd again. Light glimmered
on red hair about halfway back. He paused, narrowing his eyes. Amy?

  His heart hammered with an odd kick of joy and confusion. When had she arrived? Why hadn’t she let him know she was here? She glanced from side to side, then met his gaze and smiled as if she knew he was looking at her.

  He took another drink of water and noted she was dressed in a man-killer black number that faithfully followed every curve. It looked like the men on either side of her were noticing her curves, too.

  He continued with his speech a bit more quickly than he’d intended. Justin wanted his questions answered. When the older guy beside Amy locked his gaze on her cleavage, Justin had to resist the urge to jump down from the stage and punch him. Justin took a slightly more civilized course, deviating from his prepared remarks.

  “I’d like to take this opportunity to introduce you to my wife. She came in a little late.” Justin watched her face turn the color of her hair and her eyes shoot daggers. “Amy, don’t be shy. Wave to everyone.”

  She did reluctantly, but her expression told him there would be hell to pay. Wrapping up his talk, he nodded to acknowledge applause, shook hands with the president, then strode directly to Amy’s table.

  A young man beside her stood and offered his hand. “Mr. Langdon, I’m a longtime fan.”

  Justin shook his hand and nodded, then reached for Amy.

  “I was trying to be invisible,” she whispered through gritted teeth.

  “Not dressed like that,” he retorted in a low voice against her ear.

  “Amy,” the older man said with sickening familiarity that matched his lecherous smile, “now I know why you were defending him.”

  Justin did a double take. “You defended me?” he asked quietly.

  Although it seemed impossible, Amy felt her face grow hotter. “He was—” Flustered, she broke off and shook her head. “Later.”

  “She’s a sweet little thing,” the man said with a wink. “Nice work.”

  Amy felt so patronized by the man’s attitude she wanted to throw water in his face. She glanced at Justin and saw his jaw tighten.

  Justin smiled like a shark. “If you know what’s good for you,” he said in a voice frighteningly gentle, “you’ll pick your eyeballs up out of my wife’s sweater, you old goat. Let’s go,” he said to Amy and tugged her toward the exit.

  “Why didn’t you tell me you were coming?”

  Amy scrambled to keep up with his long stride. “I wanted to surprise you.”

  “You succeeded,” he said, leading her across the marble floor. “Why didn’t you come to my table?”

  “It was full,” she said, and couldn’t resist adding, “You were already surrounded by women. Attentive women. Where are we going?” she asked when he punched the button for the elevator.

  He tugged his tux tie loose. “Just as you were surrounded by attentive men,” he said with an edge to his voice that surprised her. “The association gave me a parlor room for my use this evening.”

  “Parlor room?”

  The brass elevator doors whooshed open and he pulled her inside. “This may come as a surprise to you, but some people are actually impressed by me, Amy. Some people think I’m hot stuff.”

  “I do, too,” Amy said, feeling defensive. “I just probably think so for different reasons than many of the people in that ballroom.”

  “And what would your reasons be?” he asked, his green gaze glinting with challenge.

  The elevator doors opened, giving Amy a moment to gather her wits. A moment didn’t feel nearly adequate, she thought as he guided her around a corner and whisked her into a room.

  “You were saying?” Justin prompted.

  Wondering at his mood, Amy laced her fingers together and wished she hadn’t felt so off balance this evening. “I admire you for giving a boy at Granger money so he could travel home to see his family.” She saw a flicker of surprise cross his face and continued, “I admire you for not wigging when Nicholas got sick in your car. I admire you for being able to deal with me.”

  He cocked his head to one side. “What do you mean about my being able to deal with you?”

  Uneasy, Amy turned away and tried to focus on the beautifully furnished parlor. “Well, you married me and I’m not really wife material,” she said. “In fact, you would be safe in calling me the nonwife.”

  He walked up behind her. “You’re going to have to explain this. I’ve never heard of a nonwife.”

  “In my case, it’s a woman who didn’t want to get married and has never believed she possessed an aptitude for wifely things. Add in the fact that I’m uncomfortable that I’m very attracted to you and have feelings for you, and dealing with me should be the most crazy-making thing you’ve ever attempted.”

  The silence that followed was so swollen with secret hopes and fears that Amy prayed the floor would swallow her to put her out of her misery.

  “Why did you come tonight?”

  “I told you,” she said. “Because I wanted to surprise you and—” She broke off. Too much soul-baring.

  She felt him toy with a strand of her hair that had fallen from her upsweep. “And I wanted us to have a few minutes without the kids. A few minutes of just you and me.”

  “Just you and me would have been okay, but you shouldn’t have worn this,” he said and lightly circled the back of her neck with his hand.

  She stiffened. She’d felt out of place and he was confirming that fact. “Why? It’s not nice enough?” she asked, turning around. “What’s wrong with it? I thought I did pretty good considering I’m usually dressed like an elementary school teacher.”

  “Your outfit’s nice. It fits you fine. Too damn fine. The problem is every man in the whole blazing room wanted to see you without your clothes,” he said, hands on his narrow hips.

  Amy blinked. “Oh.” She felt her defiance seep out of her like air out of a popped balloon. She noticed again how attractive he looked in a tux. Curious, she met his gaze. “Well, I have a question. If every man in the room wanted to see me without my clothes, does every man include you?”

  Eleven

  He slowly walked toward her until he stood just a smidgeon away as he looked down at her. So much closer, but still too far away, Amy thought. Her heart beat faster at the expression on his face.

  “I didn’t mention any exceptions, did I, Amy of Arc?” he asked in a voice that had the potential to undo her.

  “Don’t call me that,” she said.

  “I just want my turn.” He lifted his hand to her face.

  She took a tiny breath. Her tight chest would allow no more. “Your turn?”

  “You’ve been so busy saving the world. My turn,” he said, lifting her hand to his shoulder. “Save me.”

  Her breath completely evaporated. Save me. It was such a ridiculous statement coming from him. He was so strong, so centered. If ever a man didn’t need saving, it was Justin. “The closest I came to that was when I drove you to the hospital,” she said in a voice husky to her own ears.

  He shook his head. “Come closer,” he said, and lowered his mouth to hers.

  He took his time as if he knew she needed time and attention. She needed these moments to give without the rest of the world pressing in on them. She didn’t worry that the children would burst in on them or the phone would ring or Ms. Hatcher would pay a surprise visit. It was simply Justin and her. Mouth to mouth, heart to heart.

  Although she knew there was a part of her still unwilling to surrender to this marriage because self-reliance had been her salvation for too long, she also knew there was a power to her growing feelings for Justin, a power she’d never experienced before.

  She couldn’t find the words, or maybe she feared saying them. She had to show him. The searching, sensual open-mouth kiss went on and on, warming her, building the coil of anticipation inside her.

  “Too fast,” he muttered. “I always want you too fast.” He rolled his tongue around the inner lips of her mouth in an erotic motion that made he
r weak. “I want to go slow,” he said. “I want to kiss all of you.”

  He pulled her sweater over her head and disposed of her bra. He lowered his mouth to her swollen, aroused breasts and took first one nipple, then the other into his mouth. She went liquid and restless beneath his mouth. He moved his hands up her skirt and beneath her panties to touch her secret moistness. He slid his finger inside her and she gasped.

  Unable to remain passive any longer, Amy unfastened his tux shirt and tugged it loose. Eager to feel his skin, she shoved both the shirt and jacket from him. She slowly rubbed her cheeks and mouth over his hard, warm chest, savoring the touch and taste of him, the clean masculine scent of him. The strength she felt here, she knew, permeated the entire man. The knowledge of that strength turned her on even more.

  Strength deserved boldness. Her heart pounding, she lowered her hands to his waist, undid his pants, and eased the zipper down over his bulging masculinity. His quick intake of breath was a provocative invitation to go further, to give more, to take more.

  Her inhibitions lowering with each beat of her heart, Amy felt the rise of feminine sensual power. It was a new heady and addictive sensation. She skimmed her mouth down the front of his chest and felt one of his hands in her hair.

  “What are you doing?” he asked in a voice roughened by need.

  “Getting closer,” she told him and slid down his body to her knees, pulling his pants and briefs down as she went. She rubbed her cheek against his full masculinity, then kissed him. Taking him into her mouth, she savored the taste of his arousal and the sound of his pleasure. He grew harder and fuller in her mouth.

  He tangled his fingers in her hair and muttered an oath. She lifted her gaze to his green eyes full of black heat.

  He shuddered. “You have no idea how erotic you look between my legs with your bare breasts, sweet face and mouth on me.” He groaned and tugged her to her feet. “I need to be in you.”

  In a blur of motion, he pushed away her skirt and panties. There was no bed in the room, only a love seat. Sitting down on it, he lifted her over him. “Hold on to my shoulders,” he told her, and eased her down over him.