The Millionaire's Secret Wish

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

“P
ayday is gonna come for this, and you may not like the way you get paid.”

“I know,” Dylan Barrow said to one of his best friends in the world, Michael Hawkins. “But I have to do it.”

“When she regains her memory and remembers who you are and that you didn’t tell her the truth, you’re gonna be toast,” Michael warned him as he signaled the bartender at O’Malley’s in St. Albans, Virginia, for another round of drinks.

“He’s not technically lying to her, though,” Justin Langdon, Dylan’s other longtime friend said.

“He’s omitting,” Michael said ominously. “Justin, you haven’t been married long enough to know how
much trouble you can get into for the sin of omission.”

Dylan felt his gut twist and took a long swallow of beer. “Alisa needs me. Her mother’s on an extended trip to Europe. She doesn’t have anyone else right now.”

Michael sighed and shook his head. “Hard to believe Alisa Jennings is the same girl who used to sneak cookies to us when we lived at the Granger’s Home for Boys and that her mother worked in the cafeteria. What does she remember?”

“Bits and pieces,” Dylan said. “Sometimes I look at her and I can see she feels totally lost, but lately she’s acting more frustrated and angry. The doctors say the frustration is normal, and they’d rather see that than depression.”

“In her own way she was always a fighter,” Justin mused.

“A fighter? Maybe like a butterfly. She was always so sensitive, never wanted to hurt anyone’s feelings.”

“But she always fought to keep up with you,” Justin said. “Remember how long she practiced so she wouldn’t be afraid of catching the ball. The poor kid got a black eye one time.”

Dylan remembered the same incident. A dozen more flitted through his mind. When he’d lived at Granger’s, Alisa had always been like a cool drink of water for him. Gentle, soothing and constant. Her constant presence had been his downfall. Without realizing it, he’d relied on her and taken for granted
that she would always be there. Their childhood friendship blossomed and they’d become teenage sweethearts just before her widowed mother remarried, precipitating a move out of state.

When she’d left, Dylan had been shocked at the empty feeling that never seemed to leave him, and he’d vowed never to rely on another person that way.

“You never gave the full story on what happened when you two got together in college,” Justin said with an insight that made Dylan uncomfortable.

“It ended badly,” Dylan said, remembering Alisa’s tears and the sense of betrayal he’d seen in her eyes. She had shut him out of her life and never looked back. The maturity gained by passing time had given him painful clarity of the fact that a woman like Alisa only came along once in a man’s life, if he was damn lucky.

“I kinda got that impression since she hardly speaks to you when we all get together,” Justin said dryly, then glanced at his watch. “But don’t worry. I won’t grill you tonight. One of the twins has chicken pox and I think our house could be turned upside down for the next month. I don’t want Amy to start her Joan of Arc routines, so I need to keep this short.”

Despite the heaviness of the conversation, Dylan couldn’t help shaking his head in wonder. Justin, who had been antimarriage and antichildren, had become a proponent of marriage and a devoted father to his three adopted children. “You amaze me,” Dylan said. “To think it all started with your ulcer.”

Justin gave a lopsided grin. “Yeah. Amy saved my life in more ways than one. She wants to know who donated the money to her afterschool program for underprivileged kids. So far, I’ve dodged her, but her creative persistence could be the death of me,” he said and took a swig of beer.

Michael chuckled and dipped his head as if he understood. “I have the same problem with Kate. It’s hell keeping my involvement in the Millionaires’ Club secret from my wife.”

Dylan shrugged. “We set it up to be a secret charity, but if you guys want to tell your wives, I don’t have a problem with it.”

Justin and Michael were silent for a full moment. “That would mean Amy might not be nearly so creative in trying to get me to spill the beans,” Justin said. He exchanged a knowing glance with Michael.

Michael chuckled. “We’ll just keep things the way they are. It’s your turn for our next project,” he said to Dylan. “How’s it coming?”

“Slow but sure,” he said. “I want to find a way to start a bioengineering research project with Remington Pharmaceuticals.”

“I knew this was going to be expensive,” Justin said, taking a deep swallow of beer. “I don’t know if our pockets are gonna be deep enough for this.”

Dylan lifted his hand. “Hold on,” he said, knowing that despite the fact that Justin was a millionaire, his friend would always be a tightwad at heart. “You guys know my story. The father I didn’t know existed
until he died left me a position on the board at Remington Pharmaceuticals as part of my inheritance. The other board members resented the hell out of that, so I haven’t done much except stay out of the way and offer a suggestion once in a blue moon. I placed my votes as favors. Now it’s payback time.”

Michael looked at Dylan in surprised admiration. “You dog,” he said with a grin. “You let them get comfortable with you, made them owe you, and now you’re going to lower the boom with this bioengineering research project. Good strategy.”

Dylan took that as high praise since Michael had built an Internet start-up company which had turned him into a multimillionaire. He knew some people confused his easygoing nature with apathy of his position, wealth and ambition. But Dylan had his own goals in life and he’d learned the hard way to stick with what was truly important. “I decided from the start to save my energy for the battles that really mattered to me.”

Michael nodded. “Is this similar to you taking Alisa to your home to recover?”

“Yeah,” he said, thinking the stakes were higher with Alisa than they were with the bioengineering project. In his gut Dylan knew this was his last shot with her.

“I wouldn’t want to be in your shoes. What do you think is gonna come of all of this? That you’ll earn her undying gratitude by taking care of her while she’s recovering from amnesia?”

“Undying gratitude would be a step up from her undying disdain,” Dylan muttered, thinking of how Alisa hadn’t given him the time of day for the past several years. But he wanted more, more than he wanted to admit to himself, let alone his friends. He took a long drink and felt the rightness of his dead-on commitment resonate inside him. “I’ve never been more sure of something I had to do than this. She may hate me later, but she needs me now.”

W
as she talkative or quiet?

Was she a flirt or a tease with men?

Or was she demure?

She stared into the mirror in her hospital bathroom and familiarized herself with her features again, hoping for a lightbulb of recognition. Green eyes, straight-as-a-stick blond hair, clear skin with the exception of the fading multicolored bruises on her forehead. She had a couple of cowlicks throughout her hair from the places where the surgeon had stitched her wounds.

She’d been told her name was Alisa Jennings. She knew she spoke French well enough to be employed as a corporate interpreter. On a particularly dismal,
empty day, a visitor had supplied her with artists’ drawing materials and she’d learned she had a little talent.

She knew she was twenty-six years old and stood five feet six inches. What she didn’t know about herself could fill a book. What she didn’t know about herself made her want to scream. In fact, she’d done a little screaming during a recent session with the hospital psychiatrist. The psychiatrist had remained so calm Alisa had wanted to throw a lunch tray against the wall.

Alisa might not know much at the moment, but she knew there was power in knowing one’s self, one’s history, one’s weaknesses and strengths. She didn’t have that power, and she hated the absence of it.

She hated the constant question marks. Who was she, anyway? Was she a wicked, selfish woman? She supposed she couldn’t be totally wicked considering how she’d gotten into this mess in the first place. She’d been chasing a little boy’s dog.

So, was she a sap? That might be worse than wicked, she thought.

She wanted the answers to all her questions and she wanted them now, but her brain refused, no matter how hard she searched.

She rolled her eyes and stuck her tongue out at herself. “What a pain.”

“Did you hurt something?” a male voice asked from behind her.

Alisa immediately recognized the voice. She may
not remember diddly about the years of friendship Dylan had told her they’d shared, but she knew his voice because he’d visited her at the hospital every day since she’d been here.

She scooted out of the bathroom. “I was thinking about bonking my head against the wall to see if I could shake anything loose from my stingy memory.”

He winced at the image. “I think you’ve done enough head bonking for a while.” He lifted his hand and barely brushed his fingers over the bruise on her forehead.

She stood still, watching him while he touched her. He stood at least five inches taller than her, with broad shoulders and a well-toned body. His brown hair was shot with sparks of gold from the sun, showing he spent time outdoors. He moved with an athletic grace and emanated an easy, careless kind of masculine charm that she’d noticed drew the attention of many of the female hospital staff. His intense, intelligent hazel eyes belied the reckless smile.

In short, her long-time friend was one hot man, and Alisa wondered how she’d managed all these years to keep from having a crush on him. Perhaps she would ask him sometime. She could blame the question on her amnesia, she thought wryly. The bane of her present existence should be good for something.

“Ready to go?” he asked.

Alisa sighed. Dylan had offered his home to her while she continued to recover. Although she wished she was strong enough to return to her apartment, she
knew she needed a little more time to get up to speed. Several people had visited her during her stay in the hospital, but Dylan was the one person who seemed least uncomfortable with her loss of memory. “Yes. Was I always impatient?”

He gave her an assessing glance. “Impatient?”

“Impatient with unanswered questions about myself. Impatient with getting tired every day and needing a nap in the afternoon,” she said, picking up her small tote bag.

Dylan reached for the tote. She resisted.

His lips twitched. “Are you sure you’re not asking if you’ve always been independent edging toward contrary?” he asked, extending his hand toward the open door.

“Are we splitting hairs?” she asked, walking with him to the elevator. She waved to the nurses at the station. They’d said their goodbyes earlier. She would never forget their kindness.

“I wouldn’t choose the word
impatient,
” he said, punching the elevator button. “I think you like being in control of your world and you’re not right now.”

She glanced at him as they stepped inside and the doors slid closed. “If you wouldn’t choose
impatient,
what would you choose?”

“Independent,”
he repeated. “At times
fearless.
”

“I’m betting the latter has gotten me into trouble a few times,” she said.

“A few times,” he said.

She wondered if that trouble had ever been romantic. “How was I with men?” she asked.

Dylan gave her a double take. “With men?”

“Yes. Was I fearless with men? I know I wasn’t married. Was I ever engaged? Did I ever get my heart broken? Was I the piney type to sit home by myself on a Saturday night or did I love them and leave them?”

Dylan’s gut tightened at her questions. “You were engaged once, but you broke it off. I think you may have gotten your heart broken once,” he said, certain he’d been the responsible party. “I’ve never known you to be piney, but I can’t comment much on your love life over the past few years because you didn’t discuss it much.”

“Closemouthed, huh?” she said. “Darn. Well, what happened when I got my heart broken?”

“You were younger. He was immature and didn’t appreciate what he had with you.”

“You’re saying he didn’t deserve me,” she said.

“He didn’t,” Dylan said, knowing again he was speaking of himself. “You dumped him, and when he came around again, you wouldn’t give him the time of day.”

“Good for me,” she said with firm approval.

Dylan felt a twist of dark humor. Alisa might feel as if she’d lost her footing, but in many ways she was still the same. Without knowing it, she’d just informed him that when she remembered who he was, she would leave him again. He figured he had an ici
cle’s chance in hell of changing her mind, but changing her mind wasn’t his purpose, he reminded himself. His purpose was to provide an environment for her to heal.

They stepped out of the elevator, and she turned quickly to look at him. Her green gaze searched his. In her eyes he saw kindness and humor rather than the cool indifference he’d endured for years. “You may grow weary of giving history lessons about Alisa to Alisa,” she warned him in a husky voice that seduced him from the inside out. “Promise you’ll let me know when you get tired of me.”

Dylan swallowed a chuckle. If only he could have grown tired of this woman, his romantic life would have been a helluva lot more satisfying. “I promise,” he said, and led her to his car.

“You have a beautiful home,” Alisa said as she sipped lemonade on a porch that overlooked the swimming pool. It was a hot day, and the water tempted her.

“There’s a swimsuit in the things I arranged to have picked up from the store,” he said.

She grinned. “I must be obvious. Did you catch me drooling?”

“No, but I thought you might be more comfortable diving in with a swimsuit instead of the clothes you’re wearing.”

She stood, struggling with another scratchy unan
swered question. “I know I swim, but I’m not sure how well.”

He shrugged. “You’re a good swimmer, but just don’t jump into the deep end first.”

A millimeter of her tension eased away. “This is going to sound strange, but you make having amnesia easier.”

He gave her a doubtful look. “How?”

“It’s not a big deal that I remember very little about myself,” she said.

“The important things are settled. You’re alive and you’re going to be okay. Your marbles just got shook up a little bit,” he said with the reckless flash of teeth that made women’s hearts turn over.

But not
her
heart, Alisa told herself despite the odd little fluttering sensation in her chest. “And what if all the marbles don’t go back to the way they were?”

“The important ones will,” he said with such an easy assurance that it somehow gave her confidence.

He had no idea what a gift his belief in her was. Alisa was having a tough time knowing what to believe. Her task to put her marbles back in place was so huge she sometimes couldn’t see beyond it, but when she did, she always saw Dylan, and she was starting to want to know him as much as she wanted to know herself.

After several laps, a bone-deep weariness hit her like a ton of bricks, and she dragged herself from the
pool to take several deep breaths. A shadow crossed over her and she glanced up at Dylan.

“Did you consider swimming just one or two laps to start instead of training for a two-hundred-meter sprint?”

She glanced down at his bare feet just inches from her hand. “Not once. Please leave and let me collapse in peace.”

“Not on my property,” he said. “You want me to give you a lift to that lounge chair in the shade?”

She shook her head, eyeing the lounge, embarrassed by her lack of stamina. “No. I’ll go in a min—” She broke off when he tucked one of his arms beneath her legs and the other behind her back. “You really don’t need to—” She didn’t finish before he carried her the short distance across the concrete and set her down on the lounge.

Frustrated, she covered her eyes and felt them burn with the threat of tears. She heard Dylan give a muffled oath.

“You want me to put you back on the side of the pool?” he asked.

She shook her head, but kept her eyes covered. A wayward tear streamed down her cheek.

“Alisa, send a smoke signal or a pigeon. How can I help?”

She took a shallow breath and tried to rid herself of the heavy feeling in her chest. “Don’t you know children cry when they get overtired?”

“I hadn’t thought of it until you mentioned it,” he said.

“I just want to be able to get through the day without needing a nap,” she said, swiping her cheek and looking up at him.

“That will happen in time,” he said. “But since you’ve been laying in a hospital bed on your nice, young rear end for four weeks, you’re going to need a few days before you can enter the Olympics.” He lifted his hand when she opened her mouth to interrupt. “The reason I brought you here was so you could recover. Your body has been through a lot. Take it slow and don’t torture yourself.”

“But I want to be stronger,” she said, frustration flashing through her again.

“Being hardheaded isn’t going to make you strong,” he told her.

“Are you lecturing me?”

“Yeah, and it’s my prerogative since I’m your—” he narrowed his eyes “—friend. Take it slow.”

“And if I don’t want to go slow?”

“Then you can keep feeling just like you do right now or you can end up back in the hospital.” He muttered another oath. “The shrink warned me you might be difficult to handle, but I didn’t expect this.”

Alisa gaped at him. “Difficult? How?”

“Argumentative, emotional, frustrated, full of questions.”

Temper gave her the energy to stand. “I’m not difficult,” she told him. “I may not know much about
myself, but I know I’m not difficult or argumentative or emotional.” She met his gaze and her defense sat between them like a flat tire. She
had
been difficult, argumentative and emotional, she realized when her mind cleared and the moment stretched between them.

“I’m not difficult,” she said in an even tone that required all her self-control, “except when I’ve been in a hospital for a month and I’m recovering from amnesia. That’s the only time,” she told him in no uncertain terms, “I’m difficult. And even then I’m not very difficult at all.”

She watched him bite his lip and hoped against hope he wouldn’t grin or chuckle because her hand was itching and she would give new meaning to the word
difficult.
“The reason I came down was to tell you the cook is preparing blackened fish for dinner. She wanted to know if you like spicy food.”

Alisa closed her eyes for a moment and concentrated on spicy food. Instinctively she knew she liked spicy food. The doctor had said she would likely recall most of her preferences, but might have a more difficult time remembering what she’d eaten for breakfast or where she had left her keys. A short-term memory deficit was one more thing that shredded her already slim patience supply. She was combating some of her memory problems by working crossword puzzles and making lists. She looked at Dylan, knowing she would need to be as sharp as a laser to keep
up with him. She was determined to make that happen.

“Yes,” she finally said, meeting his expectant gaze. “Don’t ask me how I know. I just do,” she said and walked toward her room. Maybe a nap would help after all.

“You’re quiet,” Dylan said as they sat on the terrace after dinner. “Are you tired…or pouting?”

“Neither. I don’t think I’m much of a pouter. I’m just thinking. I remembered something about work just before dinner.”

Sipping an after-dinner whisky, he glanced at her. “What did you remember?”

“One of the Frenchmen whose work I interpret hits on me every time he visits the States.”

“How do you handle it?”

“I joke with him and tell him he would break my heart. I think he enjoys the chase. I think most men may be a little like that,” she mused.

“A little like what?”

“Enjoy the chase more than they enjoy a real relationship with a woman.” She glanced at him. “Do you?”

Dylan took a swallow of whisky and rolled his shoulder as if he were uncomfortable with the question. “I haven’t done much chasing.”

Her curiosity piqued by his incomplete answer, she studied him for a long moment until the light dawned. “You are the chasee instead of the chaser. That
shouldn’t surprise me. You’re good-looking, wealthy and not a total jerk.”

He gave her a sideways glance. “High praise,” he muttered. “Being the chasee has its downside.”

She laughed. “Poor Dylan. Surrounded by women. It must be terrible.”

“Do I look like I’m surrounded by women?” he asked. “It looks to me as if I’m being tormented by just one.”