“Just think of us as friends of the bride and groom, respectively, after there’s been a divorce,” he told Meri smoothly, regaining some of his cool. “We’re on two different sides of the fence.”
The caretaker sighed. “Unfortunately, it’s out of my hands. Ms. Hartley’s been hired by the Hunter Palmer Foundation. The timeline for getting this decorating job done has been spelled out because we wanted to inconvenience the guests as little as possible. By the time you get all this sorted out with the lawyers for the Foundation, your stay will be over. I’m sorry.”
Damn it. Into the phone, he said curtly, “Understood.”
When he hung up, Kelly asked apprehensively,
“Well?”
He contemplated her for a moment. “You’re here for the duration—” She looked relieved.
“—just make sure to stay out of my way. I want you to let me know when you’re showing up—and ring the damn doorbell!”
With those words, he stomped out of the room and up the staircase to the master suite so he could get some clothes on.
His stay in Tahoe was getting off to a rotten start. First, running into Kelly Hartley, and now finding out she’d be wandering around the lodge for the month.
And attending a wedding yesterday hadn’t helped.
Having grown up observing his parents’ bad marriage, Ryan had never been one for wedding celebrations. Still, he hadn’t been able to say no when Dev had asked him to act as his best man. He knew he would have to go to Tahoe anyway to begin his month-long stay at the lodge.
Though even a harsh cynic about happily-ever-after like himself had to admit that Nicole and Dev were well matched, yesterday’s wedding was about as close as he ever wanted to come to the altar.
As he made his way down the upstairs hallway, he glanced at a framed photo of Hunter that hung on the wall.
Damn Hunter. Why couldn’t his old buddy have just given a big pile of cash to charity and been done with it? Why rope all his old college friends into this ridiculous lodge-sitting relay?
It didn’t make sense.
Still, he’d agreed to come to the lodge, willing to trust that his fraternity buddy had had his reasons. Hunter had in many ways been the deepest thinker in their group.
And the fact that honoring Hunter’s will would benefit cancer patients and survivors had been an added incentive. Ryan had been a generous contributor to various charities to fight cancer his whole adult life.
On top of it all, because of his own mother’s untimely death from breast cancer when he’d been seventeen, he was a sucker for honoring an old friend’s dying wish.
Kelly watched Ryan leave.
Jerk.
Then a sinking feeling settled in her stomach.
She couldn’t believe she had to decorate while he was staying here!
She’d been so full of enthusiasm for this project. Now her excitement lay like broken china on the polished wood floor.
And yet, she couldn’t forget her initial reaction when he’d walked through the French doors wearing only a towel. Before he’d opened his mouth, heat had shimmered through her and she’d felt the instinctive primal pull of woman to man.
Ryan’s chest had been dappled plains, his biceps pronounced and his legs all corded muscle—as if he worked out but wasn’t obsessive about it.
There hadn’t been an inch of excess on him. Well, except for, perhaps, under the white towel riding low on his hips and serving as a startling contrast to the warm tone of his skin.
She heated at the thought, then stopped short.
She had to remember who Ryan was and who she was.
She could not be attracted to Ryan Sperling.
She wasn’t like her mother. She wasn’t looking for a quick roll in the sack with a rich guy who’d throw a few trinkets her way and then toss her aside without a second glance. She’d built her life refusing to be that stupid, that careless … that promiscuous.
And even if she were to be, it would be unwise for her to get involved with Ryan Sperling, the son of her mother’s former lover and a man who clearly disdained her.
She hated Ryan’s contemptuous attitude.
What had he said? The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.
He knew nothing about her. Nothing about how hard she’d worked and how far she’d come.
And anyway, if she was mired in mud, so was he. He was the son of a consummate adulterer.
Added to that, she’d caught the momentary flare of attraction in his eyes when he’d spotted her today. Even knowing who she was, he hadn’t been able to contain it.
Her lips curved without humor. Ryan Sperling was attracted to her, as much as he might hate the fact. Her feminine intuition told her so.
With that thought, she headed toward the unfinished bedrooms. She spent the next half hour measuring the rooms and their respective bathrooms.
She already had some idea of the pieces she’d use to furnish the rooms, but she needed to make sure they’d all fit. She hadn’t had time to take measurements on her cursory walk-through with Meri.
When she was done measuring, she stood in the middle of the last room, contemplating.
She knew she’d use Woolrich wool plaid for the curtains and some of the upholstery, accenting and contrasting with some flower and solid prints. She also needed an accent piece or two and had already thought of a deep red leather chair for this particular room.
The house, with its polished wood walls and multiple fireplaces, needed warm tones. Big, comfy furniture would add the finishing touch to its inviting feel.
Her planned theme would fit with the decor in the other rooms of the house, as well as be in keeping with local tastes. Though it wasn’t the style she favored for Distressed Success, which had a more feminine appeal, it wasn’t a big leap for her creatively, either. She’d lived in Tahoe for several years and become familiar with the local styles.
When her cell phone rang she responded absently. “Hello?”
“Hey,” Erica said. “Just wanted to touch base. How are you doing?”
“You’ll never believe who’s staying here,” Kelly responded, her voice lowering. The walls were thick, but she didn’t want to risk Ryan overhearing her conversation.
“Don’t keep me in suspense,” Erica said with a laugh. “I have two kids at home. I may not live to see tomorrow.”
“Ryan Sperling.”
“What?”
“Under the circumstances, I think I can claim the shorter life expectancy,” she said with morbid humor. “It’s going to kill me to work here with him around.”
Ryan had loved Hunter like a brother, but that didn’t prevent him from cursing his old friend over the next few days.
He was holed up in the master suite, trying without success to ignore the noises coming from other parts of the house.
If Kelly hadn’t been here, he would have been talking to his longtime lawyer, Dan Etherington, from the great room downstairs. Or while lounging on the outdoor deck. Or while ensconced in the office loft.
Instead, he was organizing a clandestine operation out of his temporary bedroom.
“Will he sell?” he said into the phone.
His father’s cousin Oliver had been the last holdout among the family members he’d approached with an offer to buy their shares in Sperling retail stores for an outlandish amount.
The others had gone quietly, tempted by a payday that would permit them to live out their days on a perpetual holiday in Saint-Tropez. They knew Webb Sperling’s inflated ego would never permit him to take the family company public, allowing them to each make real money from the sale of their ownership stakes. A sale to another family member—even an estranged black sheep such as Ryan—was the only type of transfer that wasn’t restricted by the bylaws of the corporation.
“He’s finally been persuaded, it seems,” Dan replied.
Ryan laughed mirthlessly. “Must be my charm.”
Oliver had lived a life devoted to fast cars, fast women and fast cash for all of his fifty-nine years. The only thing that set him apart from Webb Sperling was the lack of a managerial position in the family company.
“The charm of your greenbacks is more like it,” Dan responded drily.
With the acquisition of Oliver’s share in Sperling department stores, Ryan would have finally and quietly acquired enough shares for a controlling interest.
Enough shares, he thought with a rush of triumph, to oust Webb Sperling.
His hand tightened on the receiver. He could taste victory and the flavor was sweet. Still, years of playing corporate hardball had taught him to rein in his emotions—and not count on anything until he was ready to spring the trap.
Though other family members, aside from Oliver, were already on board, Ryan was waiting to take the final step in purchasing their shares until he could count on Oliver’s. He wanted to make sure Webb Sperling remained in the dark until the last possible moment, when he’d be presented with Ryan’s ownership as a done deal.
He was also counting on the fact that there was no love lost between Webb and other family members to keep Webb clueless.
“People want to sell while they can,” Dan went on. “You’re benefiting from the impression among family members that Webb Sperling is content to sit on his laurels and isn’t doing much to keep Sperling stores ahead of competitors.”
“My father has been mismanaging things since he took the helm of the company a decade ago,” Ryan responded. “For things to be different, he’d have had to show a discipline he’s never possessed.”
Webb Sperling had become CEO and chairman of the board of Sperling department stores upon the untimely death from a heart attack of his older brother—Ryan’s uncle—who’d succeeded Ryan’s grandfather.
The general impression in the corporate world was that Webb was an absentee CEO and that much of the work and decision making was done by those lower in command.
“Well, you finally hit the magic number for Oliver,” Dan noted.
“Everyone’s got his price,” Ryan said cynically. “Now that Oliver’s given us his verbal okay, I want the transfer of shares done ASAP. The last thing I need is for him to change his mind.”
“I’m sending the paperwork to his attorney as we speak,” Dan replied.
After ending his call with Dan, Ryan glanced around the room.
A noise from downstairs alerted him to the fact that Kelly was still in the house.
Damn it.
He felt trapped. It was a feeling he was unaccustomed to and he didn’t like it.
Suddenly a loud thud sounded from another part of the house.
Ryan swore and strode to the door.
Four
Walking through the open doorway of one of the unfurnished bedrooms, Ryan pulled up short at the sight that greeted him.
Kelly sat on the floor surrounded by cardboard boxes, curtain rods, yards of fabric and an old wooden ladder.
She glanced up at him distractedly and he wasn’t sure whether to be annoyed or amused. Women never looked through him. He could say without ego that he was a commanding presence.
She, on the other hand, looked young and fresh faced sitting on the floor, her hair pulled back in a ponytail and her face devoid of makeup. She was wearing jeans and a pink T-shirt that she looked like she’d been poured into.
After quelling a rush of lust, he reluctantly realized she wasn’t too different from the way she’d been a few years ago. She was young and eager to make her mark on the world, full of bright dreams and hungry to see them to fruition.
He had to remind himself she was also a scheming little hussy, just like her mother.
“I heard a crash,” he said.
He didn’t want to admit to the alarm he’d felt when he thought she might have been hurt.
“I accidentally backed into a box that I’d left on the ladder.” She shrugged. “It won’t happen again.”
“I’d be grateful for small favors.”
Sexual awareness made his tone mocking. She’d been here three days in a row now, and her constant presence was starting to wear on him.
Every time she’d shown up, she’d been in some outfit guaranteed to entice, though never overtly sexual.
On Monday, she’d been wearing a short-sleeved striped shirt that resembled many of the ones he owned, except hers had had a bright white collar and cuffs. She’d paired it with midcalf-length black khakis and ballet flats.
On Tuesday, she’d been wearing an outfit he’d been at a loss even to describe. There’d been some sort of white peekaboo peasant blouse, a knee-length skirt, and peep-toe plaid sling backs.
Who the hell wore plaid shoes? he’d thought, right before the effect of her whole outfit had slammed into him like a fist of lust.
He knew she showed up at the lodge before or after her day at Distressed Success and, now that he knew how she dressed for work, he wondered that she didn’t get more male customers. Lots more.
Today, mercifully, she was dressed a little more normally. Like him, she wore jeans—but that pink top was giving him ideas.
He looked around in a deliberate attempt to cool off. “You hauled in this stuff?”
She must have when he’d been on the phone.
“Yes,” she replied.
“Tell me you’re not planning to do this yourself.”
“Have you got a better idea?” she asked, her tone defensive. “I need to stay on schedule with this project, and I need to get things done whenever I can get away from the shop.”
“Who’s holding down the fort?” he asked curiously.
“Erica, the employee who walked in when you walked out on Friday.” She added, rising, “Not that it’s any of your business.”
“You’re right,” he agreed. “It’s not.”
He should leave. Now. There was no room for misplaced gallantry in his life.
“I’m about to hang curtains in here.”
Her message couldn’t have been more clear. She was waiting for him to leave.
“You’re going to kill yourself trying to get this job done while keeping the shop open,” he found himself saying.
He was acquainted with eighteen-hour days from his own climb to the top of the corporate world.
“I’ll get it done,” she said, seeming to want to cut off further discussion.
“I’ll give you a hand.”
She looked as shocked as he felt over his unintended offer.
After a moment, she said, “You’re offering to help me?”
He shrugged. Heck, even he wasn’t sure what motivated him. “There’s not too much else to do while I’m here.”
“Aren’t you on vacation?”
“A working vacation,” he replied. “I need to stick close to the phone and computer.”
Until I oust Webb Sperling, he added silently.
He needed to be available for any communications from Dan, and though he had capable managers at his company, El Ray Technology, he had the final say as founder and CEO.
She folded her arms. “Okay, what do you know about hanging curtains?”
“I did volunteer work on low-income housing in high school.” He shrugged. “I went to a place where character-building activities were big on the agenda.”
There hadn’t been nearly enough of the character-building stuff going on in the Sperling family. But he’d managed to hammer and paint his way into Harvard.
She dropped her arms. “Why would you want to help me? After all, you’d be helping my business and you’ve already made it clear what you think of the direction that’s heading in.”
“Maybe I’m hoping to distract you so you’ll forget all about Sperling, Inc.,” he said with dry humor.
“I frown on corporate sabotage,” she said disapprovingly, and he gave a snort of laughter at the earnest expression on her face.
“Aren’t you on vacation, even if it is just a working one?” she persisted.
“Not quite a vacation.”
In response to her inquiring look, he asked, “How much do you know about the lodge and why it was built?”
“Almost nothing,” she replied. “But there was plenty of speculation among the locals when the house went up, and rumor has it there has been a different man staying here every month since March.”
“Nathan Barrister, Luke Barton and Dev Campbell,” he said, identifying them. “We were all good buddies and housemates at Harvard. Hunter Palmer was a close mutual friend of ours.”
“The guy whose foundation built the lodge,” Kelly stated comprehendingly.
“Yeah, he’s dead.” A wave of nostalgia, then sadness, unexpectedly washed over him. They’d all been young and full of hope back then. Much less cynical and hardened to the world.
“I’m sorry.”
He fixed her with a bland look. “It’s been ten years. He died of melanoma right before graduation. In his will, he set aside money to have the lodge built. If each of the remaining six of us spends a month here, the property will become a rest and recovery place for cancer patients and survivors.”
“And that’s where I come in with the decorating job,” she finished for him.
He inclined his head, then added drily, “Except where you come in is during my damned month.”
For the first time, though, he could see some humor in their situation.
Kelly watched as Ryan held up the curtain rod at the level they’d marked on the wall.
“Okay?” he said.
“Mmm-hmm,” she responded. She really needed to get her mind off the way his rear end looked encased in those jeans and the way his green shirt stretched across the expanse of his broad back.
She was reluctantly grateful for the help he’d offered earlier, but she still didn’t completely understand why he’d offered it. Plus, he’d said nothing to indicate his opinion had changed about her negotiations with Webb Sperling.
She just hoped the wheels of the administrative process at Sperling, Inc. moved quickly from here on out.
Ryan turned to look at her, and she started guiltily.
He cocked an eyebrow. “How am I supposed to interpret ‘mmm-hmm'?”
“Looks good.” Everything looked good.
“Great,” he said, taking the curtain rod off the wall and stepping off the stepladder.
He set the rod on the floor and looked around. “Now that we have the right height, I’ll need a screwdriver to get the rod in place.”
“I’m capable of doing it myself.”
“Yeah, I know, but humor me. I’d be bored otherwise.”
“Wouldn’t you be bored if I didn’t challenge you?” she parried.
His eyes glinted. “With women, it depends on the time and place, but since we are in the bedroom, I’d have to concede you’re right.”
“Sexist pig.”
He laughed. “I knew that comment would get a rise out of you.”
Despite the tremor that went through her in reaction to his words, she decided to steer the conversation to safer ground, and gestured to a pink case on the floor. “It’s in there.”
He lowered himself to his haunches and opened the case, then looked up at her. “Tool kit?”
“At least we’re getting in the game,” she shot back.
She sold the woman-sized tool kits in Distressed Success and used one herself at home.
He flashed a grin. “I’ll try to adjust.”
She was fairly sure he meant to the tools and not to women being in the game but still, she asked, “Why should a woman have to beg and prod her husband or boyfriend to get some curtains hung?”
“I’m all for female empowerment,” he said easily, taking the screwdriver out of the case and straightening.
“And yet, given a say in the matter,” she shot back, “you’d pull the plug on Distressed Success in a second.”
Any hint of humor disappeared from his face. “That’s personal.”
“How is what I do different from what you do?” she pressed. “You’re an entrepreneur and I’m a boutique owner. We’re both trying to grow a business.”
“I don’t try to fleece people with feminine wiles.”
“No, you just twist their arm with your money and power,” she retorted.
His expression tightened. “Are you going to try to convince me your deal with Sperling has nothing to do with your being the daughter of my father’s former lover?”
She threw up her hands in exasperation.
“Look, we’ve got different perspectives on this issue and neither of us is going to convince the other.”
“Agreed.”
She watched as he climbed the wooden ladder and started to put a bracket in place for the curtain rod.
It shouldn’t have been so sexy to watch him do a menial task, but it was. He was effectively acting as her handyman and she found it all incredibly arousing, no matter how infuriating she found his opinions.
She really needed to put their relationship back on a more professional footing, she thought.
“I need to pay you,” she said into the silence.
He glanced at her, amusement stamped on his face once again. “Do you know how much I’m worth? The opportunity cost alone would put me out of your price range.”
She flushed, but persisted stubbornly, “Still, I ought to compensate you …”
He turned back to put in another screw. “Okay,” he said finally, “but I need a point of reference. How much do you charge for your services?”
“You couldn’t afford me,” she responded automatically.
He gave a bark of laughter and looked at her again. “Okay then, we’re even.”
On the contrary, she disagreed silently. They were far from even and she seemed to be losing ground with every passing second.
“All right, when I say lift, we’re going to pick up this mattress and set it down upright on its shorter side at the foot of the bed.”
Kelly blew tendrils of hair out of her face.
Ryan Sperling, she’d discovered over the course of the past four days, was a man used to issuing commands.
Still, she knew she ought to be charitable. He’d done physical labor uncomplainingly all week. He’d helped her put up curtains, lay down rugs, move furniture and hang pictures. He hadn’t even balked when she’d announced today there was a change of plan and she wanted to put this bed in another room.
She watched now as Ryan planted his hands at his waist. “Let’s pay attention.”
“Right, sorry.” There was no way for him to know what she’d been thinking about, but nevertheless heat rose to her face.
She grasped the handles at the sides of the mattress and watched as Ryan did the same on his end.
“Lift,” he ordered.
When they got the mattress upright, he grasped it around its shorter side and maneuvered it to lean against the bedroom wall.
Kelly reflected that though Ryan’s help had been invaluable these past few days, it had come at a price: their physical proximity was beginning to wear on her.
Just this morning, she’d been aghast to discover she’d dreamed about him. And it hadn’t been a sweet dream, either. No. In her dream, he’d come to her, massaged her breasts and looked into her eyes with a look of desire. In her dream, he wasn’t Webb Sperling’s son and she wasn’t Brenda Hartley’s daughter.
And somewhat more disturbingly, these past few days she could feel his hot eyes on her when he thought she wasn’t looking.
What’s more, she’d become quite the expert at surreptitious glances herself.
It was clear, however, that his was an unwilling type of attraction. And she didn’t know whether to be flattered or offended because she felt likewise.
Of course, it made no sense for her to be attracted to him. From the day he’d walked into Distressed Success, he’d made it clear he thought she was a slut—a floozy, who, like her mother, was one step away from earning her living in one of Nevada’s famous brothels.
Wouldn’t Ryan be stunned to learn the truth! she reflected. She only wished she was having as much fun as her supposed scarlet reputation warranted.
“Now the box spring,” Ryan said, heading back toward the bed.
She sighed. “You’re comfortable giving commands.”
“Yeah, and having them obeyed,” he replied with dry humor.