The Millionaire (2 page)

Chris hadn’t told them he was back because he hadn’t wanted to talk to anyone or see anyone or to answer the inevitable questions about why he’d returned home. He didn’t want to explain the truth. After more than ten years roaming the globe, with a rucksack and a camera and a well-stamped collection of passports, jumping from one continent to another, from one disaster to another, seeing things no one should ever see, he was simply exhausted.

He needed a break.

He’d been running for ten years on adrenalin and reputation and his street smarts and his addiction to the chase, but it had all caught up with him now. Chris wound down the window and let the cool sea air blow his hair around, so he could feel something other than sheer mental and physical exhaustion.

There were a hundred new jobs lined up back in the world’s trouble spots, ready to be documented as soon as he bought a ticket and got back on a plane.

But right now, all he wanted was solitude and all he wanted to think about was the surf and the sun.

*

“Are you really
sure it was Chris Malone?” Bron looked doubtful.

They were walking to a local café with Sophie to have lunch before Ellie drove back to Sydney later that afternoon. When Bron and her husband Peter had their little girl six months before, they’d left the crazy whirl of their city newsroom behind. Ellie tried to visit her goddaughter as often as she could, even if it was just for the day. When Sophie had gone down for a nap earlier, Ellie had taken the opportunity to head down to the beach for a walk. She loved the solitude up here and, compared with the crowds of people at Bondi, which looked like Grand Central Station most of the time, the unspoilt beach here was bliss.

“Oh, it was him all right. He was perfectly nice when he figured I didn’t know who he was. I believe he even checked out the girls.”

“Your
breasts
?”

“You’ve been nursing too long. Yes, my
breasts
. My rack. My norks. But once I let the cat out of the bag, he looked away pretty damn quick. He became downright rude, actually.” Ellie sighed. “Maybe it’s true what they say about never meeting your idols.”

“Well, he is super famous, right? Do people like him get groupies?”

Ellie laughed. “You calling me a groupie? I’m just a huge fan of his work, Bron. Nothing else.” She tried not to think about his body, those rock hard pecs or the rest of his sculpted torso. Or the way she felt when he looked at her. As if she was melting. “And anyway, I really wanted to ask for his help, not for his phone number.”

Ellie pushed open the door of the café and Bron pushed the stroller inside. Once they’d ordered some sandwiches and coffee, they chose a table near the front, by the wide-open windows, wanting to capture the sea breezes that blew up from the beach.

“What did you want his help with? And please, tell me it was to rescue you from your pitiful love life.” Bron smiled warmly at her friend. She was the only person alive who knew how true that was. Ellie had been without a man for two years. Her dry spell was turning into El Nino. And it wasn’t for lack of trying or options. It was just that the options often turned out to be lying bastards. She was so tired of finding a half-bad man and trying to make him half-good.

“I think the love life’s a lost cause, don’t you?” Ellie sipped her coffee and glanced down at the sleeping Sophie, so peaceful and sweet. Her chubby little legs hung over the end of the stroller and Ellie wanted to kiss each and every one of her cute toes. She loved being a godmother and had been so honoured and thrilled when Bron and Peter had asked her. “The way I’m going, I reckon Sophie will snag a boyfriend before I do.”

“Ellie,” Bron whispered fiercely.

Ellie looked up at her friend. “No need to be snappy. I meant when she’s at least twenty-five-years old with two university degrees behind her, of course.”

“No, it’s not that.” Bron leaned in and her eyes widened. “Look who’s just walked in. That’s him, isn’t it?”

Ellie put her coffee down on the table, took a deep breath, and spun in her chair, aiming for a nonchalant glance to the doorway.

Her pulse tripped into overdrive at the mere sight of him. It was indeed Chris Malone. His hair was still damp and pushed back off his head in a way that looked so sexy Ellie ached in places she couldn’t even remember having. He’d changed into faded denims and a white T-shirt. He’d hooked one of the arms of his sunglasses inside it, so the front pulled down, revealing a hint of the curved pecs she’d admired back on the beach. He was staring intently at the menu board on the wall behind the counter. There was no indication he’d seen her. He didn’t turn and scowl or anything.

Ellie swivelled back to face Bron and gulped the rest of her coffee down. She’d screwed up the first time she’d got his attention. She wasn’t going to make that mistake again.

“I’ll be right back,” she announced.

Bron planted her hands on the table and leaned forward, whispering conspiratorially. “Are you trying again?”

“Yes,” and Ellie found her confidence once again. “I need that man, and I’m damn well going to go get him.”

Ellie Flannery stood, straightened her shoulders, tried not to think about the punk band throbbing in her chest cavity where her heart was supposed to be, and summoned every bit of her professional cool.

She walked to the end of the queue which had formed in front of the counter and reached up to tap Chris Malone on the shoulder.

‡

E
llie cleared her
throat. “Mr. Malone.” She thrust out her hand to him for a professional handshake and because she’d stepped a little too close, her hand extended just a little too far and she completely misjudged how long her arms were and he was too close and—.

Damn it. She jabbed him in the ribs.

“Ouch,” she whispered as she pulled her hand away, waggling her fingers in the air. There was nothing soft or forgiving about the man’s chest. It was like poking her finger at a slab of granite. The ends of her fingers throbbed.

If she’d hurt him, and she seriously doubted she had, Malone didn’t reveal it. He simply turned and looked down at her. Yes, glaring was the right word for what he was doing. Those pale sapphire eyes were trained on her like a hawk’s, aiming for full intimidation. The muscles in his strong jaw clenched and moved, visible even under that neatly trimmed beard. He’d pulled his lips together tightly and he seemed to grow to about eight feet tall as he pulled his shoulders back.

“I’m really sorry. I didn’t mean to…” Ellie felt her attempt at a professional and competent demeanour melting like a child’s popsicle in the sun.

Because Chris Malone, that’s why.

And here he was in a café in One Mile Beach and here she was, too. Standing just inches from him.

With her one chance to get an interview and ask for his help just a sentence away.

“Look, sweetheart. I’m just here to grab a coffee.” He glanced up to the menu board. “And maybe something to eat. I really haven’t got time to—”

“Wait.” She could live without an interview but the favour she needed to ask him became urgent now. He was about to walk away and she couldn’t let him go without trying one more time. Ellie thoughts raced to her grandfather. Seeing him in hospital last winter. How long it had taken him to recover after his heart surgery. How grateful the whole family had been to the Royal Flying Doctor Service and the medicos who’d flown him to Sydney so he could get the care he needed. If Grandpa Trev could see her now, acting like an idiot because she’d met one of her idols, he’d be sadly disappointed in her. He’d taught her everyone deserved the respect of being treated equally, no matter who they were. What did her grandfather always say?
Whoever he is, he still pulls his trousers on one leg at a time, just like every other bloke
.

“Please.” Ellie reached out and laid a hand on Malone’s forearm. She didn’t have time to think about it. He looked like he was about to turn and walk away and she couldn’t let him. Her fingers gripped his arm. Soft skin over hard muscle. Her cool fingers on his heat. There were still tiny grits of sand in the hairs there. He smelt of the ocean. Her mouth was suddenly dry and she swallowed. Ellie wondered if groping a handsome man was a crime, even if it was for a good cause.

He lowered his voice. “You don’t give up, do you?”

And then she let go of him. Surreptitiously checked her fingers for scorch marks. Pulled herself together.

“No, I don’t, Mr. Malone. I don’t mean to bother you. You seem to be on holiday. But I have a favour to ask.”

He glanced around. He seemed to be checking out if anyone else had heard their exchange. No one in the queue ahead of them had turned to see what was going on. Everyone was minding their own business, as if gorgeous men like Malone dropped in every day of the week. Ellie glanced over her shoulder and Bron was the only one seated in the café. Ellie’s friend raised her eyebrows in a question and smirked.

Malone pushed his hair back on his head and it settled in soft waves by his ears. Ellie willed herself not to look too closely at his cheekbones or his eyes, lest she lose the power of speech.

“You want a favour?”

Ellie took a deep breath and let the words spill out. “I’m helping to organize a fundraiser. Back in Sydney. It’s for a really good cause. I wondered if you would be so kind as to donate one of your photographs for our charity auction. We’re having a ball in a month and I know if we could put it up for action, we would raise so much money.”

Malone reached for his sunglasses and slipped them on, like a shield. “Sorry.”

He hadn’t even taken a minute to consider it.

“What do you mean ‘sorry’? Is that a flat out
no
?”

He took a step closer to her and lowered his voice another notch. “It’s a flat out no. Now look, I really just want to get a coffee and go back to Sydney. Thanks but no thanks.”

Ellie crossed her arms over her chest. “So that’s it.”

Malone shook his head, reached inside the pocket of his shorts and pulled out his car keys. “That’s it.” He shot her a sharp look. “I guess I’m not getting that coffee today.” He turned and strode towards the door.

“I guess it’s true what they say,” Ellie called after him. A couple of people in the queue turned in her direction with polite interest.

He stopped, looked back over his shoulder. “And what’s that?”

Ellie eyed him up and down. His hard body had lost its attraction, seeing as she now knew there was a hard heart inside it.

“You should never meet your idols. You’ll only be hugely disappointed.”

Malone glanced down at his bare feet and then back at her. Ellie felt her heart beat faster again. She wasn’t sure what he was going to do. He looked at her for a long moment, the muscles in his jaw clenching and tightening. He didn’t seem to know, either. Then, he flipped the keys into his palm with a jangle and left.

Ellie spun on her heel and walked back to Bron at the table. She sat down and shook her head ruefully. “He said no.”

“I know,” Bron said with an open mouth. “I heard every word.”

“I thought he’d be nicer than that. Given the things he’s seen around the world. You’d think someone like that would understand about charity and compassion. And you know, once he heard my compelling argument, I thought he’d hand over his whole back catalogue.”

Bron reached over, covered Ellie’s hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze. “You know what those guys are like, Ellie. Photojournalists like him are the lone wolves of the news business.”

“Oh, I know, Bron. Those guys are tough and single-minded and slightly obsessed about what they do. They’re ruthless. They’ll do whatever they can to get the shot, no matter how dangerous.”

*