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Memo: The Billionaire's Proposal
Melissa McClone
Chaney Sullivan's Note to Self: When re-entering your billionaire boss's world. . . Remember why you turned him down all those years ago ; not because you wanted to, but because infamous playboys like Drake Llewelyn are trouble with a capital T! He plays to win. You can't afford to take another gamble on love and lose, no matter how much he says he's changed.So arm yourself against his movie-star gorgeous looks, devastating charm, intoxicating smile. . . Oh, no! This is going to be so much harder than I thought!


Anticipation shot from her lips all the way down to her toes. She swallowed. “Just one kiss?”
“Only one,” he whispered.
Slowly, as if giving her the chance to say no or back away again, he brought his mouth toward hers.
Every nerve-ending tingled in hope. But a voice—common sense, perhaps?—shouted a warning.
Too late. She raised her chin and closed her eyes.
His lips touched gently against hers, as if joining something delicate or fragile. Light, soft, tender.
The way he kissed made her feel cherished and adored, and she liked thinking he cared for her in that way. An inviting warmth, like a sunny day after a rainstorm, settled over her, making her feel as if she’d finally reached the destination she’d been seeking.
Drake kept his hands at his sides and only touched her with his lips. Yet she felt a closeness, as if she were being embraced.
Not at all how she’d thought Drake Llewelyn would kiss, but it was enough to tell her what she’d known in her heart, what she’d feared.
One kiss would never be enough.
9 to 5
From city girl—to corporate wife!
They’re working side by side, nine to five…
But, no matter how hard these couples
try to keep their relationships strictly professional,
romance is undeniably on the agenda!
Will a date in the office diary
lead to an appointment at the altar?
Find out in this exciting mini-series.
Look out for more office romances, coming soon!
With a degree in mechanical engineering from Stanford University, the last thing Melissa McClone ever thought she would be doing was writing romance novels. But analysing engines for a major US airline just couldn’t compete with her ‘happily-ever-afters’. When she isn’t writing, caring for her three young children or doing laundry, Melissa loves to curl up on the couch with a cup of tea, her cats and a good book. She enjoys watching home decorating shows to get ideas for her house—a 1939 cottage that is slowly being renovated. Melissa lives in Lake Oswego, Oregon, with her own real-life hero husband, two daughters, a son, two loveable but oh-so-spoiled indoor cats, and a no-longer-stray outdoor kitty that decided to call the garage home. Melissa loves to hear from her readers. You can write to her at PO Box 63, Lake Oswego, OR 97034, USA, or contact her via her website: www.melissamcclone.com

MEMO: THE BILLIONAIRE’S PROPOSAL
BY

MELISSA McCLONE

MILLS & BOON

www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk/)
For my blog readers,
especially Amy, Brandy, catslady, Dru, Jane, limecello,
Nathalie, Rottie_mom, Sarita, Tori and Virginia,
Whose daily comments kept me smiling
while I finished writing this book.
Special thanks to Robin Barrett, M.D.,
Roxanne and Brian Coyne, Greg Taylor, Virginia
Kantra, Terri Reed and my family.

PROLOGUE
“I KNEW this internship was a chance of a lifetime, but I never thought I’d make so many wonderful friends.” As the smell of beer and grease wafted in the air at the Hare and Stag pub, Chaney Sullivan raised a pint of ale in honor of the twelve coworkers sitting around the table for her going-away party. Her chest tightened at the thought of leaving London. “I’m going to miss you all so much.”
“Just wait until we show up on your doorstep wanting to go to Disneyland.” Gemma, who rented a room to Chaney, tossed her mane of blond hair behind her shoulder. “You won’t be missing us then.”
“Disneyland, Universal Studies, Beverly Hills, Venice Beach.” The thought of seeing these people again brought a ball of warmth to the center of Chaney’s chest. She set her glass on the table. “I’m happy to play tour guide if any of you come visit Los Angeles.”
“Does that include me?” a deep male voice said from behind her.
The familiar Welsh accent filled her tummy with butterflies. The flapping of their wings matched the speed of her pulse.
She stood, turned and faced Drake Llewelyn, CEO of Dragon Llewelyn Limited. The top of her head came to his chin, and she stared up at him.
His glossy-magazine-model good looks and athletic build, hidden beneath an expensive tailored suit, always brought oohs and ahs from females. His way of making each employee feel as if they were the key to his company’s success had earned him the gratitude of all who worked for him regardless of gender. But in Chaney’s opinion his can-do attitude and work ethic were what made the man.
At twenty-nine years old—only seven years older than she was herself—he’d built Dragon Llewelyn into a successful multinational corporation with a global portfolio of media and telecommunications businesses. This he’d done through a combination of raw sweat and street smarts.
Her smile widened with admiration. She couldn’t help herself.
He looked every inch a power broker, except for one thing—his hair. No neatly trimmed above the collar, corporate style for him. His dark wavy locks fell past his collar in the back, making him look more rakish than respectable.
She’d imagined running her fingers through his hair more than once. She’d imagined herself doing a lot of things with him. None of which had anything to do with her internship responsibilities.
He raised a brow, as if waiting for an answer. Which he was, she realized. Drake Llewelyn didn’t like waiting for anything or anyone. In the four months she’d been interning in the mergers and acquisitions department, she’d learned that much about him.
Chaney lifted her chin, acting bolder than she felt. The beer, she wondered, or maybe the realization she would be an ocean and continent away from him tomorrow night. “Of course that includes you, Mr. Llewelyn.”
“Drake,” he corrected. “As of an hour ago, your internship ended. You no longer work for me.”
His warm brown eyes with golden flecks gazed into hers, making Chaney feel as if she were the next special project he wanted to tackle. Her insides quivered.
Not that he would, with the bevy of beautiful women he dated and a supermodel currently being deemed his girlfriend du jour by the media.
But the thought raised Chaney’s temperature ten degrees. If this were a birthday party instead of a going-away party, she knew what she’d wish for when blowing out the candles.
“Drake.” She forced the name from her parched throat, feeling more like a tweener with her first crush than a twenty-two year old woman. Okay, she did have a huge crush on him, as did every other female who worked at the company. Probably every woman who breathed, no matter what age or marital status.
The man was a catch.
His chiseled cheekbones and jaw tempted a woman to reach out and touch them. His full lips hinted at long, hot kisses. And his bank account promised a life free from financial worry.
Prince Charming had nothing on Drake Llewelyn. He was King Midas and Adonis rolled into one. What woman wouldn’t want to be the one who captured his heart?
“Make a note of our new travel guide in Southern California, Gem,” he said in that halfteasing, half-serious tone Chaney had come to know and love. “With a cable channel in our portfolio now, we may be spending more time there.”
Adoration filled Gemma’s eyes. She, too, had fallen under the spell of the dragon, Drake’s nickname in the office. She batted her lashes and flashed a smile. “Already noted, sir.”
“Very good.” His easy smile crinkled the corners of his eyes.
Chaney bit back a sigh. She’d been longing for the unattainable—okay, him—since she met him on the third day of her internship.
Gemma scooted a chair to the table, right between hers and Chaney’s. Everyone else seemed more interested in filling their pints than staring at their gorgeous boss.
“But we’re not here to watch football on the telly.” Drake motioned to the table littered with half-filled glasses and plates of French fries. “A bon voyage party needs more than beer and chips. I’ll be right back.”
He strode away and spoke to the bartender. Soon plates of appetizers arrived along with bottles of champagne and glasses. The table resembled a buffet. Leave it to Mr. Llewelyn—make that Drake.
“Now we can send Chaney back to the States in style,” he said with a satisfied smile.
A barmaid handed her a glass of champagne.
“This is so…” Chaney felt as light and carefree as the bubbles floating to the top of her glass, but she didn’t want to sound starstruck even if she felt that way inside. “…thoughtful of you, sir. Thank you.”
“It’s the least I can do after the hard work and long hours you’ve put in these past months, especially with the acquisition of the cable channel.” Drake raised his glass. “To Chaney, who will be missed.”
Her co-workers raised their champagne flutes and repeated the cheer.
Tears stung Chaney’s eyes. Her tongue felt two sizes too big. This was more of a sendoff than she could imagine. She muttered her gratitude and sipped her champagne.
He handed her a white handkerchief, the kind her grandfather had kept in his back pocket. She never thought a younger man like Drake would carry one, too. The chivalrous, old-fashioned gesture brought another well of tears.
Drake Llewelyn was almost too good to be true.
As Chaney dabbed her eyes with the cloth, her friends attacked the food like a pack of starving hyenas. She didn’t blame them. Everything looked delicious and smelled good, too.
“Aren’t you going to eat?” Drake asked.
She nodded. “I’m trying to figure out what I want to try first.”
“I know what I want.”
“The shrimp?”
He moved closer, so close his warm breath fanned her neck, and the male scent of him surrounded her. “Too much garlic.”
Chaney shivered, a combination of excitement and fear. She was used to swooning from afar, not up close and personal. Though she worked on the same floor as him, their interactions had been limited to meetings and a few conversations in the hallway. Still she mustered her courage. “So what appeals to you, Drake?”
“You.”
The air whooshed from her lungs. This couldn’t be happening. She clenched her fists, digging her fingernails into her palms. Ouch. At least she wasn’t dreaming. “I, um…”
“I’ve been watching you,” he said quietly, regarding her over his champagne glass. “You’re smart, hardworking and sexy as hell. Don’t go back to the States, Chaney. Stay here in London with me.”
Her heart beat in triple time. Who was she kidding? The hammering of her heart was probably taking years off her life, but she didn’t care. Drake Llewelyn wanted her to stay in London. He must have broken up with the supermodel.
Anticipation danced through Chaney. Excitement, too. All the time she’d been dreaming about him, she had no idea he’d noticed her as anything other than one of the interns. “Why didn’t you say anything?”
“You do work for me, darling. Did,” he corrected himself. “I’m not in the habit of dating employees.”
None of her daydreams had ever been this good. Nothing in her life had ever made her feel so good. Chaney wiggled her toes. But she’d better not get too far ahead of herself.
“You really want me to stay?” she asked.
“Absolutely.”
Oh, wow. She wanted to stay in London. With him. Mrs. Drake Llewelyn. She inhaled deeply and exhaled slowly. “For how long?”
His brow slanted. “For as long as we’re both having fun.”
Fun. She thought about his answer, repeated the words in her head. For as long as we’re both having fun.
Drake didn’t want forever; he wanted to have fun. What he really wanted, she realized, was sex. And then move on to the woman who caught his eye, the same way he had in the months she’d worked for him, the same way he did with the companies he bought, restructured and sold for a megaprofit once the newness wore off.
Disappointment ripped through Chaney. The legs of the pedestal she’d placed him on crumbled. She straightened.
No more getting carried away where Drake was concerned. She pressed her toes firmly to the bottom of her boots. No more crush, either. She wasn’t any man’s plaything.
What had she been thinking? The guy wasn’t a catch. He might be gorgeous. He might be rich. But he probably still had a girlfriend, too. That would make him a cheater.
Disgust slithered down her spine.
Drake Llewelyn was nothing but a player, a man who thought nothing of going through a slew of women all in the name of having “fun.”
“Sorry, Mr. Llewellyn.” Chaney squared her shoulders. “You’re targeting the wrong girl. Short-term investments, however appealing, are too risky for me. I’m only interested in a long-term investment strategy.”

CHAPTER ONE
“DAMSEL in distress here.” Struggling to carry a heavy box full of what felt like bricks, Chaney eyed the row of antique armor on display in the great hall of Abbotsford Castle. “Hey, knights in shining armor. Can I get some help please?”
The polished suits stood at attention, weapons in hand as if ready for battle, but not one moved.
The story of her life. Chaney laughed.
Okay, she might not have the happily ever-after ending she once thought she’d have, but she couldn’t complain too much. Not many people got to fly to London and stay at a luxurious castle with all expenses paid while working as the associate producer on a highly rated cable channel show for three days.
This was the kind of handson production experience her boss, Justin, said she needed if she wanted to have a shot at the promotion she’d been eyeing. Okay, dreaming about since the job notice appeared and she’d started filling in the application. Knowing finance was one thing, but knowing how projects got made and being in the trenches on a set was another. That was why he let her use her vacation days to come to England this week.
And she had one person to thank for the opportunity.
Gemma.
Her friend and former roommate was counting on Chaney to make sure the taping of The Billionaire’s Playground, a travel show profiling the vacation spots of the uber-wealthy, went off without a hitch. Gemma’s job required her to look out for the cable channel’s interest, to put out fires and most importantly make sure the show stayed on budget and on schedule. Chaney wouldn’t let her friend down.
The container full of electrical gear slipped in Chaney’s sweaty hands. Her arm muscles strained against the weight. Her eyeglasses slid down her nose.
Dropping the hefty box on the gleaming wood floor would be an expensive no-no, one that could have historical implications given the medieval age of the castle. She tightened her grip, but it didn’t help.
“May I help you, my lady?” a male voice asked from behind her.
The Welsh accent reminded her of Drake Llewelyn, but Gemma had said another billionaire would probably host this episode because he had a previous engagement. Chaney had been relieved to know she wouldn’t have to see him again.
“Thank you.” She rested the container against her bended knee. “I should have borrowed a baggage cart or dolly.”
“Allow me.”
She glanced back at her rescuer. A man wearing chain mail, black leather and armor plates on his shoulders, chest and legs approached. And not just any man…
Drake Llewelyn.
Her breath caught in her throat. He looked like a knight from King Arthur’s Round Table, not a billionaire businessman whose latest pet project had him hosting a travel show for his cable channel.
She had to admit the look suited him. Awareness fluttered through her.
Too bad Drake Llewelyn wasn’t a noble knight. He didn’t follow any code of chivalry. His armor should be tarnished, not polished. She really shouldn’t care what he looked like.
He walked toward her with the grace and agility of an athlete. The armor didn’t slow him down one bit.
Uh-oh. She stiffened with apprehension. The costume must mean he was hosting this episode after all. That meant she would be working with him for the next three days.
“Hello, Chaney.”
The warm sound of his voice seeped through her. He took the box out of her arms as if it weighed no more than a container of laundry detergent.
She pushed her glasses back into the place. Her tired and dry eyes had made her take out her contact lenses three hours ago. “Thanks.”
“Thank you for coming at such short notice and filling in for Gem,” he said. “Are you up to speed on the show and this episode?”
Her heart thudded. “Yes.”
Though the show was the last thing on her mind at the moment.
Two familiar brown eyes, with gold flecks flickering like flames, stared into hers and sent Chaney’s temperature soaring. His mussed hair made him look as if he’d just returned to the castle after a crusade and was ready to bed the first female who caught his eye. And his beard…
She did a double take. He’d always been clean shaven before. “You grew a beard.”
“For the taping.” Drake ran his fingers over the hair on his chin. “Not as full as I’d hoped, but I thought a beard would look more knightly.”
“It does.” She normally didn’t like men with facial hair, but the mustache and beard, combined with the costume, made Drake look dark, dangerous and sexy. A black knight who, no doubt, had his pick of maidens, courtesans and queens.
Chaney swallowed around the crown-jewel-size lump in her throat.
“Where would you like the box?” he asked.
The deep rumble of his voice coupled with his accent made her stomach cartwheel and do a series of backflips like a gymnast during a floor exercise routine. The unexpected reaction put every one of her nerve endings on alert.
“By the lights.” Her voice sounded low, almost husky and totally unnatural. The same odd way it felt to be giving Drake Llewelyn orders or feeling the bolt of unwelcome attraction. She cleared her dry throat. “Please place the box next to the lights.”
As he carefully set the box where one of tonight’s scenes would be taped, chain mail clinked. The sound echoed through the cavernous hall until swallowed up by the tapestry-covered walls.
Drake stood, looking taller than she remembered. She hadn’t remembered his eyelashes being so thick and long, either. He seemed more handsome, if that were possible.
Maybe she was more tired than she realized. Exhaustion could easily explain her reaction to him.
His gaze raked over Chaney.
She crossed her arms over her chest. “If I’d known we were supposed to dress up, I would have brought my beer wench costume.”
Drake laughed. “It’s been too long, Chaney.”
Five years, one month and, she did a quick calculation, about five days. Not long enough in her opinion. “I’m only here as a favor for Gemma.”
“It’s still good to see you again.”
No way would she allow herself to be charmed by him. Being enticed by his knight get-up was bad enough. She straightened. “I doubt you missed me.”
“But I have.”
“Not according to the tabloids.”
He adjusted one of the chain mail sleeves, as if the leather pants, tunic and armor were his daily attire not a designer suit from Brioni. “You’ve been following me in the tabloids?”
“Not really. Just…when I’m in line at the grocery store.” And drawn to the stories of Drake dating women as if they were library books to be checked out and returned before their due date. A leopard didn’t change its spots, and so it seemed, neither did a dragon.
“Grocery shopping. For your family?”
Her chest tightened. “Myself.”
“Gemma told me you were engaged.” He glanced at her left hand, at her bare ring finger to be exact. “I thought you’d be married by now.”
Her, too. “Nope.”
“Let me guess, you found the long-term investment strategy lacking.”
Her cheeks burned when she remembered what she’d said to him five years ago. If she’d known then…Who was she kidding? She probably wouldn’t have done anything differently.
“No,” Chaney admitted. “He did.”
Drake reached his hand toward her, but she stepped away from him. “Chaney—”
“I’m not looking for sympathy,” she interrupted. “I got enough of that when Tyler, my fiancé, broke up with me.”
“I wasn’t going to say I’m sorry, because I’m not. The man is obviously an idiot.”
She bit back a smile. She’d forgotten how Drake could put things into perspective with only a few words. “He married my sister.”
“Then your brother-in-law is an idiot,” Drake said.
Chaney laughed. “You’re right about that.”
“You’re too young to settle down.”
“Well, I don’t plan on settling down anytime soon.”
“We have something in common.”
“That makes two things,” she said.
Drake gave her a puzzled look.
“Gemma.” Chaney picked up her clipboard from the top of the box. “We have her in common.”
His eyes darkened. “Yes, we do.”
“I don’t see her much, but thank goodness for the Internet. I don’t know what I would do without her.”
“Me, neither.”
The emotion in the two words, as well as the concern in his eyes, caught her off guard. “You know, Gemma’s going to be fine. Her baby, too. I spoke with her this morning after I arrived. She is sure the bed rest is temporary, and with the way Oliver is spoiling her, she’ll be good to go for the rest of this season’s tapings.”
“Let’s hope so, but until then…” A smile touched Drake’s lips. “I have you.”
The approval in his eyes let Chaney know he liked what he saw. She wouldn’t let herself care.
“Only on the set,” she said crisply.
“Of course.” His eyes laughed at her.
Flustered, she clutched her clipboard. “I’ll make sure things stay on schedule so you can catch your flight out of Heathrow. Gemma said that was important.”
“Still the same industrious, competent Chaney. This arrangement should work out well.”
She raised her chin. “I think so.”
His lips curved into a full smile, showing two rows of straight, white teeth. He did have a nice smile. “I always knew you’d go far, but I thought you were going to work with your father, not take your financial skills and go into show business.”
“Well, my parents did name me after Lon Chaney,” she admitted.
“Lon Chaney, that old actor?”
“They were die-hard horror fans, but preferred the older black-and-white flicks to the newer slasher movies.” She remembered how Drake had kept their conversations focused on business when she was an intern. Well, except for her goingaway party. “I once called my mom ‘mummy’ and she gave me a cookie.”
“That’s—”
“Weird, I know, but Chaney’s better than Karloff or Lorre. Though Bela might not have been too bad,” she admitted. “But in spite of my name, I actually got my first taste of television during my internship when you acquired the Dragon Network. That experience led me to the job at the studio where I work.”
“It’s amazing how an internship can change a career path.”
He had no idea. She nodded.
“And now you’re back in England working on the show we brainstormed.”
Her mouth gaped. She closed it. “You remember?”
“Your name is in the credits.”
“That was a nice gesture, but it’s not the same show we’d talked about.”
“Maybe not, but The Billionaire’s Playground wouldn’t exist if not for that meeting you attended.”
His words meant a lot to her and echoed what Gemma had said. “Thank you.”
“So how does it feel?” Drake asked.
“Pretty cool.” Chaney wiggled her toes. “I remember watching the premiere episode and thinking, wow, this is what all those ideas we were tossing back and forth turned into. Though I never thought you’d host the show.”
“Me, neither,” he admitted. “But I had a free weekend when they were set to shoot the pilot. We hadn’t found the right talent to host, and Gem said I should do it. I had fun, so I decided to make it a regular gig. Though we’ve started using guest hosts.”
“Gemma told me.”
“Do you have a favorite episode?” he asked.
“I’d have to say it’s the one with kite surfing on the coast of Greenland.”
“That was an exciting episode to tape,” he said. “The Google guys took a vacation there and gave us the idea.”
“Whose idea was it to use a medieval castle this weekend?”
“Gem after she nixed my idea of base-jumping in Norway.”
“Good call,” Chaney said. “Previews of you in your knight costume will bring in viewers and increase ratings a lot more than you doing a crazy stunt.”
He raised a brow. “You sound confident.”
“It’s my job to understand viewers and translate ratings into advertising revenue,” she explained. “All you have to do is take a look at yourself in any one of the gilded mirrors around here. The knight look will be huge with female viewers. You may span a whole new following with Sir Dragon Knight.”
He laughed. “And I thought women were only after my bank account.”
“I’m sure there are those, too, but all women are susceptible to the archetype of a knight. Even if they’d never admit it.”
“Do you admit it?” he asked.
“Well, I definitely had a thing for knights when I was younger. Galahad was my favorite, but the whole fairy-tale thing seems a bit…outdated. I don’t need anyone to rescue me. I can do it myself.”
Even if she still might dream of a happily ever after of her own someday.
“Very modern. Very practical.”
“I am practical.” She’d had to be. “Anything wrong with that?”
“Nothing at all.” The devilish look in his brown eyes matched the grin on his face. “I’m curious how your practicality has affected your current investment strategy philosophy. Do you prefer short-term, long-term or day trading?”
“None of the above.” She raised her chin and met his inquisitive gaze. “I’m currently on hiatus from…investing.”
Talk about a marathon session tonight. Drake had almost been grateful when the clock struck midnight and the chimes interrupted the taping.
Of course he was the executive producer as well as the host, or talent as the crew called it. He could have shut down production at any time except he had a helicopter to catch on Sunday afternoon so he could make a flight at Heathrow. He didn’t want to cause any delays.
Hot lights shone on him. Sweat dripped down his armor-clad body. Even though he was wearing a costume, the armor was metal not plastic. Drake was going to need a shower, and maybe a massage, when they were finished. He knew exactly who he wanted to help him with both.
Drake couldn’t see Chaney Sullivan. He surveyed the drawing room looking for a peek of her caramel-colored hair, but couldn’t see her with the two cameras in front of him and the crew milling about behind them. Maybe she was hidden in the back.
The antique one-of-a-kind clock continued to chime. Ten, eleven, twelve…
Quiet. Finally.
“Okay, people.” Milt, the director and producer, clapped his hands. “Let’s get this final scene wrapped up so we can call it a night.”
Drake was all for that.
“One sec.” The hair-and-makeup stylist, a woman named Liz who preferred soda to wine and pretzels to caviar, ran up to him. She fluffed, finger curled and sprayed his hair, making him feel like a fancy show dog. She smiled, satisfaction filling her eyes. “That’s better.”
For her maybe. At least the wardrobe stylist, a guy named Russell, wasn’t trying to spit shine the armor. Just buff it with a soft, white cloth.
“We only need the last line,” Milt said.
Drake stretched his neck. “No problem.”
“That’s what I like to hear.” Milt’s eyes narrowed. “I only want you to do one thing differently this time. When you smile at the camera, make it really count. Make the female viewers wet between the legs.”
“I’m a businessman, not an actor.”
“You’re neither of those things tonight.” As Milt patted Drake’s shoulder, his ring clanged against the armor. “You’re Lancelot, knight and lover extraordinaire. Guinevere, your queen, is alone in the castle, naked in her bed, and watching you. Make her wish you were there with her.”
Drake fought the urge to roll his eyes. And laugh.
This part of show business was something he would never understand. Still, doing the show was good publicity and PR for the channel and his company. He trusted his gut, and his instinct said do what Milt wanted. That was what Drake had done for the past two seasons and saw no need to change now. “You’re in charge, but let’s hope Guin’s covered herself with a blanket. Castles can be drafty this time of year.”
The crew laughed. Even Milt cracked a smile.
Liz came after Drake with the eyelash curler. “I forgot something.”
“Is that really necessary again?” he asked.
She winked. “Absolutely, Sir Lashalot.”
Drake grimaced, allowed the deed to be done and readied himself for the scene.
Holding a gold goblet precariously with his gauntlet-covered hand, he stood in front of an elaborately carved fireplace complete with an ornate coat of arms being held by two lion-faced cherubim.
“Ready, Sir Lancelot?” Milt asked.
Drake nodded once.
Milt looked at Tony, one of the two cameramen on the crew. “Let me know when you have speed.”
“Are the mikes working?” Tony asked the audio person, who gave him the thumbs-up. “Speed.”
A few seconds later, Drake saw his cue.
Show time.
Once he nailed this line, he’d be free to do whatever he wanted. And he knew what—make that who—he wanted.
Forget Guinevere.
The adulterous queen had nothing on his new associate producer. An image of Chaney wearing her sexy, smart-girl glasses flashed in his mind.
He raised the goblet and smiled at the camera. “And that’s why Abbotsford Castle is one of this billionaire’s favorite playgrounds.”
Luxurious and romantic, this castle would be the perfect place to play with Chaney. Five years hadn’t changed the smart, pretty American’s appeal.
Drake still wanted to taste those full, pink lips of hers that had tempted him during her internship. He wanted to see if the adorable dimple on her left cheek went as deep as it looked. He wanted to lend a hand as she wiggled out of those well-fitted jeans, cupping her bottom like a glove, so he could see if she wore a thong, boy short or other type of panty underneath.
Most of all, he hadn’t forgotten the way she’d turned him down.
Sorry Mr. Llewelyn. You’re targeting the wrong girl.
He’d been sorry all right especially since he’d stopped dating a woman, a supermodel if he remembered correctly, to pursue Chaney. But she hadn’t wanted him.
Drake had thought about that, about her, over the years. Now that he’d seen her again, and found out she wasn’t married as he’d believed, he wanted another chance.
Before the weekend was over, Drake wanted to hear the word “yes” fall from Chaney’s lips. A “please take me now” wouldn’t be so bad, either. He wanted to prove to himself and her that he hadn’t targeted the wrong girl. Far from it. Given the antics and partying that accompanied the production crew during their two and a half months on the road, he had high hopes.
His smile widened.
Milt counted down with his fingers. Five-four-three-two-one.
“Cut! That’s a wrap people.” Milt adjusted his LA Dodgers baseball cap. “Perfect, Drake. Keep smiling like that, and you’ll be a lock making this year’s Sexiest Man Alive list.”
Drake handed the goblet to Jesse, an intern working on the show, and took a bottle of water from her. “Thanks, but I’d rather top the Richest Man Alive list.”
As he downed the water, the crew, including a few locals hired to help due to the size of the castle and amount of work involved in this particular episode, moved gear in preparation for tomorrow’s shoot. The show had exclusive use of the castle for the next two days so they didn’t have to worry about anyone getting in the way. The castle staff had experience with film crews so would be no trouble.
He handed his empty bottle to Jesse, who scurried away to who knew where. Funny, but Drake couldn’t remember the last time he’d had to find a garbage can himself. Years ago, he’d dug through trash cans out of necessity for him and his dad. How times had changed.
As he made his way past the lights and cameras, he searched for Chaney. He found her standing in the doorway with her clipboard in hand and talking to the production coordinator. As he crossed the drawing room in her direction, desire rocketed through him.
He’d appreciated Chaney’s athletic all-American girl figure before, but now her clothes accentuated fuller curves. Her long hair worn in braids or a ponytail had always looked charming on the college co-ed, but the new sophisticated shoulder-length cut suited her face better. The biggest and most intriguing change, though, was to her eyes. Not the glasses, but the maturity he saw in the hazel-green depths.
Chaney Sullivan was no longer a girl. She’d become a woman. A woman who was hardworking, confident and, most important, smart. Her intelligence had always been the draw for him, Drake realized, even if he liked the package it came in, too.
He slowed his approach until the production coordinator walked away. By then most of the crew had left. “Hello, there.”
“Hi.” Chaney held her clipboard in front of her like a barrier between them. A barrier he had every intention of breaking down. “Great job tonight.”
“Thank you.”
She stifled a yawn.
Chaney should be in bed. His bed, if Drake had his choice. “Join me for a drink?”
“I thought you didn’t date employees.”
“I don’t.”
“Uh-huh.”
She was considered an independent contractor, and her paycheck would be coming from the cable channel as Gemma’s did, not the corporate office. So Chaney was, in effect, fair game. “You don’t work for me.”
“Not officially, but I’m—”
“Tired?”
“Exhausted.”
“I’ll have to let you go, then. But could you do a little something for me first, please?”
She readied her pen over her clipboard. “Sure, what do you need?”
Staring into her eyes, he smiled. “I need your help getting out of this costume.”

CHAPTER TWO
UNDRESS him? Chaney’s heart pounded in her ears. Surely she had misunderstood. “You want me to…”
“Help me out of this armor,” Drake finished for her. “I don’t know where Russell ran off to, and you’re the only one left.”
She glanced around the drawing room, now deserted. Where had everyone gone? The room had been bustling with activity a few minutes ago.
He stared at her, an expectant look in his brown eyes.
Face it, Gemma wouldn’t think twice about helping him. Neither should Chaney. He’d made a reasonable request, and she was acting as if he’d asked her to his room for a night of hot sex. Sure, the man oozed sensuality, but just because he’d wanted her once didn’t mean he wanted her now.
Time to stop overreacting and do her job.
Chaney straightened. “What do you want me to do first?”
“Come with me.”
She fell in step with Drake, noticing he shortened his stride to match hers. He’d always had lovely, rather Old World manners. She remembered the handkerchief he’d once offered her. Of course, that had been right before he propositioned her.
“Where are we going?” she asked.
“To my room.”
Her heart bumped. Okay, he was inviting her to his room, but sex was not on the agenda. Hers or, she hoped, his.
No worries, Chaney told herself. She’d heard he was staying in the king’s bedchamber and knew only a staircase led to the suite, not an elevator. He probably didn’t feel like stripping out of the armor and carrying it up to his room. She wouldn’t, either.
No big deal going up there with Drake. She would help him out of the costume then head to her room for some much-needed and wellearned sleep.
She yawned. The jet lag had finally caught up with her. “Will this take long?”
“It shouldn’t,” he said.
Relieved, Chaney stepped through an arched doorway into a hallway of stone. Stone walls, floor and ceiling surrounded her. Electric torches illuminated a circular staircase in front of her. She shivered. Those stone steps led to one place—Drake’s room.
Stop being melodramatic. No big deal, remember. It wasn’t as if she were going to be locked away in a tower cell with him. She was just going up there to help him undress. Chaney gulped.
Drake gestured up the narrow staircase. “After you.”
“Thanks, but I don’t know the way,” she demurred. “My flight was delayed so I missed the taping of the guest rooms this morning. Is it true Henry VIII slept in the king’s bedchamber?”
“That’s what they say.” As Drake ascended, his armor and chain mail clanked. The sound echoed through the stairwell. “He seems to have slept his way across England.”
She followed Drake up. “He did have six wives.”
“Six too many.”
“Divorced, beheaded, died, divorced, beheaded, survived.” Chaney repeated the rhyme she’d memorized back in school. “I’m sure at least half of them would agree with you.”
“All of them should.”
The disdain in his voice surprised her. She remembered what he’d said earlier today in the great hall. “So you’re not interested in settling down or in marriage?”
“Beheadings, divorces and deaths sound about right when it comes to matrimony.”
“Don’t forget one of Henry’s wife survived those fates.”
“Sheer luck.” He glanced back at Chaney. “I prefer better odds.”
His take on marriage brought a twinge of disappointment, but she didn’t know why. “Don’t you want a family?”
He shrugged. “I have no time for a family.”
“Someday then?”
He continued up the stairs, all armor and wide shoulders. “Perhaps, but I don’t see it happening.”
“You never know what might happen.” The torches flickered like candles, casting shadows through the stairwell. She touched the wall, the stone cool and rough beneath her palm. “It almost feels as if we’ve gone back in time.”
“Except this castle has electricity, heating, indoor plumbing and Wi-Fi.”
“My kind of castle.”
“Mine, too,” he admitted. “Though there is something to be said for a time when men were men. That isn’t always the case today.”
Armor aside, Drake was as manly as men came. “Many of those men didn’t live to see middle age, let alone old age.”
“True, but at least there were rules and codes to battles as well as relationships. That had to make things easier.”
“Easier doesn’t sound very romantic.”
“Let me guess.” His lighthearted tone teased. “You’re one of those romantic women who enjoy hearts, flowers and violins.”
“Well, I’m not all that into hearts and violins, but I do like flowers. If that makes me one of those romantic women, so be it.” She climbed the stairs behind him. “I do believe true love exists.”
“Love may exist,” he admitted. “But I don’t think it lasts long in the real world or really offers much.”
“My parents are still together after thirty-two years of marriage,” Chaney countered. “I doubt they made it that far by simply liking each other.”
“Like can go a long way. As can habit.” Drake reached the top of the stairs. “But I hope for your parents’ sake and for Gemma and Oliver’s, that their love lasts.”
Maybe Drake wasn’t all that bad. He obviously cared about Gemma’s happiness and future, but his words still bothered Chaney. “So you’re not a full-blown cynic about love.”
He stood in front of a massive wood door, looking every inch the lord of the manor or, in this case, king of the castle. “I prefer to think of myself as a realist.”
“We should agree to disagree, then, because I feel totally removed from reality right now.”
Smiling, he pushed down on the door handle. “Then enjoy the fantasy.”
The words Drake and fantasy did not belong in the same sentence. Okay, the guy might be a total hottie and physically appealing, but Chaney disagreed with everything he said about the subjects of love and marriage. Even though she didn’t want to settle down now, that didn’t mean not ever. One day she hoped to experience the kind of love that lasted, the forever kind. And she would never want to date a man who had such different views on relationships from her. Not that Drake wanted to date her.
He opened the door.
“You don’t lock your room?” she asked.
“Can’t. No place to put the key.”
“You could have asked one of us to hold it.”
“The castle is secure. The production crew top rate. Even the locals we’ve hired seem like excellent workers.” He held the door for her. “Besides I don’t have anything that can’t be replaced.”
Chaney tried to understand his way of thinking. Tried and failed. “One of the perks of being wealthy, I’d imagine.”
“For me, yes.” He didn’t sound boastful, simply honest. “Others might disagree.”
“Several others, I’d imagine.”
“Yourself.”
It wasn’t a question. “I don’t have expensive jewelry or electronics with me, but what I have I’d like to keep.”
“If I were yours, I’d want to be kept.”
Her cheeks warmed. Chaney crossed the threshold to his room so he wouldn’t see her blush. She couldn’t imagine Drake allowing any woman to keep him. Especially her. “Wow. Now I know what the production coordinator meant when she called this room opulent.”
No expense had been spared in decorating the suite, a series of rooms, each of which was larger than Chaney’s one-bedroom apartment in Los Angeles. She stood in the sitting area, where a fire burned in the hand-carved fireplace. The golden flames added warmth and a romantic atmosphere.
Not romantic, she corrected. Nothing about her being her could be construed as romantic. She was here to do a job, nothing else.
Still she caught a glimpse of the bedroom off to her right. Gold and Wedgwood-blue silk curtains hung from a large canopy bed, a bed fit for royalty, heads of state or a corporate raider. Coordinating pillows made a pair of overstuffed chairs placed beneath an arched window look even more luxurious.
“This suite is so lavish,” Chaney said.
“It is rather regal looking.” He removed his gauntlets and placed them on a round table. “If you like it so much, we can trade rooms.”
“Thanks, but I’m happy where I am.” Coming back to England had been a good move, even with seeing Drake again. She’d been handed a golden excuse to miss the housewarming party at her sister’s new house this weekend. No having to tell friends and family she still didn’t have a boyfriend and that she wasn’t jealous her sister was living in a beautiful house in Malibu with a view and a guesthouse. Nope, this was much better than that anyday. “You belong here. This is the king’s bedchamber.”
Drake bowed. “I am but a mere knight, my lady.”
“A king in knight’s clothing.” And with a kingly bed. Chaney noticed the bedding had been turned down. The sheets must be at least 400-count Egyptian cotton. “You shouldn’t sleep anywhere but here.”
“It is a comfortable room.”
“Comfortable? It’s so spectacular I’m afraid to touch anything. I bet that table-and-chair set is worth more than I am.” She pointed the clipboard toward a four-foot-high vase on her left. “That vase probably costs more than my annual salary.”
“Don’t worry,” he said. “We were required to take out a large insurance rider in order to use the castle and grounds for the show. You’re safe.”
She didn’t feel so safe. Her gaze strayed to his inviting bed. Her bed would look just as good, she reminded herself.
“It’s late.” Chaney’s heavy eyelids kept wanting to close. The sooner she got to her own room, the better. She set her clipboard on the table. “Let me help you out of your costume so we can get to bed.”
“My bed or yours?”
Heat flamed her cheeks. “You know what I meant.”
“I always like to make sure and remove any doubt. It saves me from misunderstandings down the road as well as missed opportunities.”
“You’re not missing anything with me.” The words tumbled from her mouth. “I mean…”
Amusement gleamed in his eyes. “What do you mean, Chaney?”
He sounded so cool and collected, as if having a member of the opposite sex in his room after midnight was no big deal.
Okay, it probably wasn’t to him.
Still, the way he stood there looking sexier than anyone had a right to look dressed like a character from a summer blockbuster movie irritated Chaney.
No, he irritated her.
And that’s when she realized…
She was still angry with him for what happened five years ago, for shattering her illusion of him. She’d wanted to find her Prince Charming back then. She’d wanted him to be Drake. Instead she’d returned home and met Tyler, a man totally opposite from Drake. A man she’d thought had loved her. At least, he’d claimed to love her until he met Simone.
Chaney tucked her hair behind her ears. “How do you remove the costume?”
Drake lifted his left arm and pointed with his right hand. “Buckles are hidden underneath. They attach the armor pieces. You have to undo them.”
Okay, that didn’t sound difficult.
As she walked toward him, heat hit her. Not from the fireplace, but from Drake. She knew he was hot, but not literally. Heat emanated from him. His scent, sweaty, musky and male, filled her nostrils.
“I’m looking forward to getting out of this costume and into a shower,” he said.
She did not want to think about him naked with warm water shooting down on him. She glanced at the bed again. Thinking about him there probably wasn’t a good idea, either.
Chaney pulled apart the armor plates to find the buckles. “All I want to do is sleep.”
“That bed does look…inviting. They even left chocolate on the pillows.” He stared down at her. “Two chocolates.”
Uh-oh. She undid a buckle. “The staff may have assumed you’d have company.”
“I do. Are you interested?”
Her fingers fumbled. “What?”
His eyes danced with laughter. “In a chocolate.”
“I’m not company. I work for your company.” Unfastening another buckle, her fingertips brushed the chain mail underneath. “How many layers are you wearing?”
“A few, but once the chain mail is off, I can handle the rest. Unless you’d rather help with that, too.”
Her fingers trembled. No way would she respond to him. Anything she said would come out wrong and might even sound as if she were interested in helping with…more. She pressed her lips together.
Chaney focused on the armor, not the man underneath it. She caught glimpses of chain mail, a quilted shirt, dark hair. Intriguing images. Tempting impressions. Ones she ignored. She unbuckled the pieces around his chest and shoulders and placed each in a special container sitting on the floor of his room.
She knelt at his feet to remove the lower half of the armor. Reaching around his thigh, she found her hands between his legs and her head much too close to his, um, codpiece.
“I appreciate this, Chaney,” he said as if she were tying his shoes, not practically fondling him as she tried to reach a buckle. “I know you’re tired.”
She kept her eyes focused on the buckle, not allowing herself to look anywhere else. Or touch any part of him. “Almost done.”
Please, oh, please let me be almost done.
She hurriedly undid the buckle. Unfortunately, three more needed her attention and kept her in the uncomfortable, embarrassing position.
“All done,” she said finally, laying the last piece of leg armor into its spot in the container.
“Thank you.”
Chaney turned. The words “you’re welcome” died on her parted lips.
Drake stood wearing chain mail that molded his muscular shoulders, arms and chest. The metal shirt fell to his hips. Talk about hot.
She swallowed.
He was every woman’s fantasy and her worst nightmare. But that didn’t stop her knees from going weak and her blood from boiling.
“The chain mail attaches in the back,” he said.
Chaney forced herself into action. She fumbled with the first hook. Her fingers wouldn’t do what she wanted them to do.
She blew out a frustrated breath.
Darn the man.
His soft-looking hair tempted her to touch it, to see if the strands would curl around her finger.
“Having trouble?” Drake asked.
He had no idea. “I’m getting there.”
Or would. As soon as she reminded her traitorous body and out-of-control hormones she wasn’t interested in Drake Llewelyn. He couldn’t give her what she wanted: a forever kind of love. Not to mention she was taking a break from dating, from men.
An almost two-year break, a voice—maybe her heart—mocked.
Shut up.
“Excuse me?” he asked.
Oh, no. She hadn’t meant to say that out loud. “Sorry, I was just trying to quiet the voices in my head.”
“What were they saying?”
“That it was past my bedtime, but don’t worry. I won’t leave until the job is finished.”
“I knew I could count on you.”
Chaney didn’t understand his confidence in her when she wasn’t sure she could count on herself in this situation.
Finally the snap came undone. Slowly, much too slowly for her liking, she opened each of the remaining ones. “They’re all unsnapped.”
“Can you help me out of it?” Drake asked.
“Sure.” Her voice sounded stronger than she felt.
“Open the back.”
As she did as he asked, Chaney realized how much the chain mail weighed. He shrugged out of the shirt so it rested on his upper arms.
“Now come around in front of me,” he said. “Be careful, it’s heavy.”
Chaney held on to the shirt as he pulled one arm out and then another, never once leaving her to hold the entire weight of the chain mail.
He placed it in the container. His damp, quilted shirt clung to him. He pulled the tails out from the waistband of his pants. “Much better and cooler.”
Maybe for him.
“I should go.”
“Stay.” One soft word in that sexy, accented voice.
She sucked in a breath. “But we’re done.”
His eyes lit again with that wicked, wicked laughter. “Darling, we’re just getting started.”
He walked—no, strutted—toward her, the set of his jaw full of purpose.
Drawn to his strength and heat, Chaney leaned toward him. She tilted her chin.
His gaze smoldered. His lips parted.
Chaney stood transfixed.
Drake stopped in front of her.
She could barely breathe, let alone think. She stared up at him, confused, afraid, attracted. He lowered his mouth to hers.
He was going to kiss her.
The realization ricocheted through her brain. She wanted him to kiss her. Badly. Except…
She ducked her head and stepped back so the only thing his lips touched was air.
“I should so not be surprised by this.” Her voice sounded shrill. She didn’t care.
His head drew back. “Excuse me?”
“I probably shouldn’t ask, given your reputation, but why would you choose to make a move on me now, when you know I’m so tired?”
“I thought you wanted me to kiss you.”
She placed her hands on her hips. “Why would you think that?”
“The way you leaned toward me. The tilt of your head. The look in your eyes that said kiss me.”
Oh, boy. Shame flooded her. She’d done all those things and probably more. “I’m sorry if I misled you.”
“Don’t be sorry.” His smile could have charmed a starving mouse out of its last nibble of cheddar. “We can try again. Let me show you what you missed out on five years ago.”
Sex. That was all he’d ever wanted from her.
Anger surged. Disappointment, too. She glanced to the bed and back at him. “In case you haven’t figured it out, I’m not about to be another notch on your bedpost or wherever else you keep track of your conquests.”
“If that’s all I felt about you, Chaney, I wouldn’t be here.”
Even though she was upset at him, his words piqued her curiosity. “What are you talking about?”
“I decided to host this episode so I could see you again.”
The air in his room sizzled. Drake saw a mix of disbelief and hope in Chaney’s eyes. He wanted hope to win. That way he would win, too.
“You thought I was married and you still wanted to see me?” she asked.
“See you, yes. Nothing else.”
“And if I hadn’t agreed to fill in for Gemma?”
“But you did and you’re here. Not to mention unmarried.” He moved closer to her. “We’ve been given a second chance, Chaney. Let’s make the most of this opportunity.”
She put her hands on his chest to stop him. “Why don’t you park yourself at the round table and cool down.”
Her anger confused him. He hadn’t expected that reaction.
She walked away from him. “You can’t actually expect me to believe you.”
“What I said is true.”
Chaney gave him a look. “I only agreed to fill in for Gemma a few days ago. I realize you have enough money to have a custom suit of armor built for you at the last minute, but unless you’ve found a miracle formula to grow that much facial hair overnight, I’d say you spent well over a week on your beard. Probably longer than that.”
Damn. Most women would have pretended not to see through what he’d said and play along, but not Chaney. Drake didn’t know whether to be annoyed or amused by the turn of events. “You may have misunderstood my intentions.”
“Oh, no. Your intentions are quite clear, but I want to make sure you don’t misinterpret mine.”
Forget annoyed. The way she dismissed him so easily and the strength she exhibited were total turn-ons.
She continued. “I’m sure whatever lines you normally use on women must work pretty well or you wouldn’t be so confident, but just so you know, nothing’s happening here tonight, tomorrow or any other day we happen to be in the same place.”
No one ever challenged him like this. Maybe he should try another tack or perhaps cut his losses and send her on her way. The truth was he really didn’t want her to leave. “Would you believe your being here gave me a reason to look forward to this weekend?”
Her clear, sharp eyes told him she wasn’t about to be swayed by empty words or careless compliments.
Guilt lodged in his throat. “I’m sorry to have dragged you up here.”
The tightness around her mouth told him he should be sorry. She picked up her clipboard from the table and headed toward the door.
“I’ll walk you to your room,” he offered.
“And tuck me in?” She pursed her lips. “No, thanks.”
“I don’t want you getting lost.”
“I’ll do fine on my own.”
“You said you hadn’t been to this part of the castle before.”
“I can find my way down a lit stairwell.”
The set of her jaw told him she wasn’t about to back down. Early in life, he’d learned what battles were worth fighting. He knew this one wasn’t. “Okay, you win.”
For now.
Her tired eyes widened behind her glasses. “I didn’t know it was a competition.”
“Life is a competition.”
“Only if you turn it into one.”
Chaney may be tired, but her mind was fully functioning. Still, he’d taken up enough of her time for tonight. Drake opened the door for her. “Thanks for your help. Get some sleep.”
Not looking back at him, she fled down the staircase into the shadows.
Once she was out of sight, Drake closed the door.
Frustration gnawed at him. He hadn’t been this off his game since Chaney’s going-away party in London. But that experience hadn’t left him feeling so damn guilty.
Regret swept over him. He’d taken advantage of her helpful nature to get her to his room. Not that she’d allowed him to take advantage of the situation at all.
He hadn’t liked how she turned him down the last time, given her near hero worship of him five years ago, but he’d understood she wanted more than he was offering.
Tonight, however, stung. He rubbed his chin, still not used to the hair against his fingers. She’d been angry and dismissive. Something had changed. She had changed.
I’m on hiatus from…investing.
He knew who to blame….
Her stupid jerk of an ex-fiancé-turned-brother-in-law.
The guy must have hurt her bad. Her sister, too.
Drake grimaced.
Chaney might be a romantic, but she was a wounded one who needed to learn how to have fun again. That was why she reacted the way she had to his overtures.
All he had to do was figure out how to show her she needed some fun. She needed him.
Not an impossible task.
He’d done it before, with companies he’d purchased, by showing them he had something they needed. He would do the same thing with Chaney. A win-win situation for both of them.
And he knew exactly where to start. Drake picked up the telephone and pressed the button for the staff line.
“Good evening, Mr. Llewelyn,” a propersounding male voice said. “What may I do for you?”
“Please deliver a large bouquet of flowers to Miss Sullivan’s room tomorrow. In the morning, if possible.”
“Roses?”
“No,” Drake answered quickly. She would take roses the wrong way and rightfully so. “A mixed bouquet will be fine.”
“What would you like written on the card, sir?”
He thought for a moment. “’Friends’ with a question mark.”
The man repeated the phrase.
“That’s correct.”
“I’ll take care of this straight away, sir.”
“Thank you.” Drake hung up the phone.
Friends would be the perfect place to start with Chaney. Friends could have lots of fun together.
Staring at the armor she’d neatly put away for him, he smiled.
And if things worked out the way he planned, he and Chaney would be more than friends very, very soon.

CHAPTER THREE
CHANEY stood on the manicured lawn of the castle, her boots sinking into the sodden grass. A touch of foreboding in the air made it easy to forget the crew running around as they prepared for this morning’s first scene.
She stared at the castle wall, rising up to meet the overcast sky. The ancient stones, battered by weather and war, had remained impenetrable, inviolate, over the centuries.
Shivering, she clutched her cup of Earl Gray. She’d forgotten how chilly English mornings could be.
Chaney had never been strong like the castle’s wall. She’d always crumbled in the past, allowing people to break through her weak defenses and take what had been hers—a fiancé, a promised job, the dream of a happily ever after. Afterward, she would never say a word. Always the quiet one, forever the peacekeeper, bendable to a ridiculous degree, a proverbial doormat. That was what how she made those in her life, those who loved her, happy.
But the truth was she wanted to be more like the wall, solid and sure. That would make her happy.
The only person she’d ever been able to stand up to was Drake Llewelyn. And only twice. Five years ago and again last night.
His hitting on her as if she were still his naive intern infuriated Chaney. She had been even madder at herself for putting herself in a position where that could happen. Her anger had hardened her. Protected her from his charm.
Thank goodness.
Standing up to him, she’d felt strong, and she’d like that. Chaney resolved to be unbending, unconquerable and, for the remainder of the taping, immune to Drake.
The scent of green from the carpet of grass and rows of neatly clipped hedges filled the air.
She thought about the bouquet of flowers delivered to her room this morning with the oneword note—“Friends?” She couldn’t imagine they were from Drake. The only kind of friend he would want was a friend with benefits. Gemma hadn’t sent them. She would have sent something edible, most likely chocolate, as she always did. Not her parents, either. They hadn’t been happy with Chaney when she canceled out on the housewarming party. Besides, they’d never sent her flowers before. Why start now?
Chaney had asked the castle desk about the flowers, and they promised the delivery had not been a mistake. But who would have sent them? And why?
A breeze rustled through a nearby tree. She looked up and saw the branches sway. Three leaves floated to the ground as the sky darkened on the horizon.
She eyed the heavy skies with misgiving, her hands still curled around her cup for warmth. She really hoped it didn’t rain. A delay in the shooting schedule would force her to spend even more time with Drake. All she wanted was to do her job and avoid him as much as possible for the remainder of the shoot.
Milt motioned he was ready for the first take. The crew took their places and quieted.
She wasn’t sure where this morning’s scene would fit in the episode, a host shot or a wraparound. Maybe a teaser of some sort.
One of the cameras panned across the landscape, from the formal gardens to the acres of grass to a grove of trees. Something moved in the distance between the trees.
A white horse decked in armor.
And Drake, in his armor costume, on its back.
Despite the things he’d said and the way he’d acted last night, Chaney’s breath caught in her throat. She’d thought he’d looked knightly yesterday, but today…
He was Lancelot. Okay, not Lancelot. But he sure did look the part.
Her heart thudded in her chest.
A helmet covered the sides of his jaw, but still showed most of his face. Not that she could see any details from this distance. Still she had no trouble imagining his lips with a wry curve to them and his dark eyes full of excitement.
He sat tall in the saddle, holding the reins in his left hand and a battle standard in his right. A long pennant-shaped banner flapped behind him.
The horse cantered through the trees to the lawn, animal and rider in perfect rhythm.
She stood mesmerized.
The air crackled, the impending storm or some sort of magic. Chaney didn’t know which. But once again she felt as if she’d stepped back in time.
His gauntleted hand tightened on the reins as he sat back hard in the saddle. The horse tossed its head. Its armor jingled.
The knight raised the battle standard, a black dragon on a field of gold, before plunging the pole into the ground. The flag fluttered in the breeze. The horse arched its neck, dancing in place. The whole scene was like something from a movie or fairy tale, as far removed from Chaney’s real life as it was possible to be.
And yet this man had tried to kiss her, had invited her to stay in his room last night.
Hot blood flooded her face and flowed through her veins.
“‘My good blade carves the casques of men.’” His deep voice resonated, his words pure poetry. Tennyson’s poem about Sir Galahad, in fact. Chaney recognized the poem from the script. The horse looked to the left and then pranced to the right. “‘My tough lance thrusteth sure, My strength is as the strength of ten, Because my heart is pure.’”
Pure. Right.
This wasn’t the Dragon Knight, a man who lived hundreds of years ago. This was Drake Llewelyn, a man from the twenty-first century.
He raised a shiny sword to the camera. His lips curved into the same come-hither-I-want-you-now smile he’d used in the drawing room and with her later in his room. The man was normally sexy, but practically smoldered now.
A good thing the noble-knight stuff was just an act, but even so, tingles filled her stomach.
As if on cue, a flock of birds flew overhead, their dark wings a stark contrast against the gray clouds. The horse stamped its front hooves, ready to rear or run away if given the chance.
But Drake was in complete control.
As usual.
Whether on horseback or sitting at a table negotiating his next deal, he was comfortable in any environment. Sure of himself and strong. That was how she wanted to be.
Milt gave a signal.
Drake allowed the horse to rear. The horse looked majestic, nearly standing perpendicular on its hind legs.
Chaney’s heart pounded in her ears. She knew Drake didn’t mind taking risks, but she couldn’t imagine him doing anything to endanger himself or the horse. Still every muscle tensed. She held her breath.
He didn’t fall. Drake seemed to barely shift in his saddle.
Amazing. She didn’t want to be impressed by anything he did, but she was. Anyone would be.

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