Matchless Millionaires: An Improper Affair
“It wasn’t a compliment.”
“I’d rather be respected than liked.”
“Why can’t you be both? Respected and—”
“—inspiring the warm fuzzies?” he finished for her, then shook his head. “Some of us aren’t selling romance for a living.”
“Well, I haven’t heard that one before,” she responded. “This is the first time someone has said Distressed Success is selling romance.”
He gave her a droll look. “You should use it as an ad slogan. ‘Distressed Success. We sell romance.’ You’ll have those workaholic guys beating a path to your door. Expand your demographic.”
“Helping me again?” she said, matching his flippant tone. “At this rate, I’ll be ready for the big time before your month is up.”
“High standards I can respect,” he responded. “They’re what set a good business apart from its competitors.”
“That’s how I feel,” she said in surprise.
“Then you’ve got a decent shot at making something out of your business.” He looked down at the box spring. “Ready?”
A little while later, the bed now set up in the next room, Kelly sat down and flopped back on it.
Frowning, he braced his hands on his waist. “What are you doing?”
“Taking a break,” she responded.
She surveyed him. He looked none the worse for this afternoon’s exertions. In fact, he might as well have just come in from a stroll.
He looked at his watch. “We’ve got fifteen minutes before you need to get back to the shop. We can hang those two picture frames you wanted in the bathroom.”
“Don’t you ever stop?” she asked in exasperation. “Erica accuses me of being all work and no play, but I seem like a slacker next to you.”
“Just trying to work off some edginess.”
“What are you edgy about?” she asked curiously.
His face shuttered. “Nothing.”
It clearly wasn’t nothing.
“I’ve been jogging,” he elaborated, “but I’m not getting the workout I’m used to back home.”
“Let me guess. You normally rise at five in the morning to get on the elliptical trainer.”
“And let me guess, you don’t. Instead, you’re having tea out of a mismatched cup and saucer.”
She shook her head and smiled. “Tea’s at four in the afternoon,” she corrected. “Civilized.”
Civilized, she thought, was what Ryan barely seemed, despite generations of money and breeding in the Sperling family tree. He emanated raw masculinity and barely leashed power.
He eyed her and she belatedly realized how she must look lying before him. She was wearing a sheer emerald green blouse over a snug-fitting beige tank, and had paired them with pedal pushers.
They didn’t like each other, she reminded herself. They had just unexpectedly been thrown together this month, and had reached a de facto truce so they could be civil to each other.
His gaze trailed over her. “Yeah, well, don’t worry. You’re none the worse for not hitting the gym at five. Everything looks good.”
Men, she thought, suddenly indignant. He was willing to look down at her, literally and figuratively, but that didn’t prevent him from enjoying the view.
“How can you know me so well and yet think so little of me?” she blurted.
He didn’t respond, but the look on his face was one of sexual awareness blended with irritation and it spoke of his inner battle.
All at once, she’d had enough. Enough of his scorn, enough of his disdain, enough of his attitude altogether. She’d spent a lifetime feeling answerable for her mother’s actions and she’d had enough.
She patted the bed beside her. “Take a break.”
He looked from her to the bed, his eyes narrowing.
She almost smiled, feeling a touch reckless—and strangely empowered.
“No, thanks,” he said roughly. “Let’s get a move on.”
She arched a brow. “Does it bother you if I lie here?”
“In a word, yes.”
His hand closed around her ankle, and he pulled her toward him.
She gasped and sat up, lowering her feet to the floor as she reached the edge of the bed.
“That’s better,” he said, his eyes gleaming.
She stood up and watched as his gaze went to the cleavage revealed by her V-neck blouse.
When his gaze finally came back to hers, time seemed to slow.
She searched his face. His expression was forbidding, but desire was nevertheless stamped on every feature. He wanted to kiss her.
Her lips parted and she felt a tingling awareness all over.
“You don’t even like me,” she said.
“Yeah, but right now, it’s hard to care,” he responded.
“This is a bad idea.”
“I’ve had worse,” he muttered.
“You’re going to kiss me.”
“Are you going to object?” he asked, bending toward her.
Her eyes fluttered closed and she sighed as his lips touched hers. His mouth was warm and soft as it moved over hers, shaping and stroking.
Her arms stole up to his neck and his came around her, so that they fit together snugly.
This, she thought, was what she’d wondered about ever since he’d walked into her shop, but the real thing was even better than she’d imagined.
She opened to him, allowing him to take the kiss deeper.
Within moments, liquid desire pooled between her legs and her breasts grew heavy and sensitive.
Her hand ran through his hair, anchoring him, as the heat they generated took them ever higher.
She moaned and shifted, and it seemed to fuel his response and need.
Abruptly, however, he lifted his head and he pushed her away.
“Damn it,” he said harshly, his eyes glittering.
She felt off balance, but his reaction soon sunk in.
“Damn it,” he repeated, running a hand through his hair, as if unable to believe his own stupidity. “You’re the daughter of my father’s former mistress. My father was sleeping with your mother while mine was dying!”
His words stung, dredging up feelings of being cheap and unclean—guilt by association with Brenda Hartley.
Her chin came up. “And that sums it up, doesn’t it?”
“Those are the facts that you and I can’t change,” he countered.
“Except you’re attracted despite yourself, aren’t you, Ryan?” she tossed out. “And you hate yourself for feeling that way.”
She turned then, grabbed her purse and bolted from the room.
When she made it down to the lower level of the house, she could hear Ryan’s footsteps upstairs.
“Kelly!”
Without heeding his attempt to catch up with her, she yanked open the lodge’s front door and walked rapidly to her car.
Moments later, as she pulled out of the drive with a spray of gravel, she let the humiliation sink in.
She would not be that vulnerable to Ryan Sperling again, she vowed.
She, of all people, should have known better.
Five
That night, Ryan nursed a beer at the bar of the White Fir Tavern. As he took a swig of his drink, he looked around him morosely.
The White Fir was your typical rustic roadside bar, except it claimed to have been in existence since 1930. A steady trickle of upscale tourists through its doors lent it some pretension. The wood surface of the bar was so dark and beer stained, it was practically black. An unused pool table stood to one side, along with a fifties-style jukebox.
The place was about half-full, and between the steady drone of conversation and the wail of Chuck Berry, the waitstaff could be heard calling out orders to the short-order cook.
Ryan glanced behind him. The short blonde at the middle table looked familiar from the day he’d stomped out of Distressed Success. What had Kelly called her—Erica?
She sat now with a big, equally blond guy. A husband or boyfriend, he figured.
Given the way things had gone with Kelly earlier in the day, he wasn’t inclined to introduce himself to one of her friends.
In any case, Erica didn’t appear to recognize him. Or if she did, she preferred to keep her distance. Maybe Kelly had already confided in her and Erica was calling him ten kinds of rat under her breath.
He shook his head. If women just got over the loyalty thing, he thought wryly, they could rule the world.
On the other hand, his major problem appeared to be a lack of self-discipline. He couldn’t believe he’d let loose and kissed her.
He needed to have his head examined—or get laid. The second approach had its appeal, but the only woman he was interested in at the moment was Kelly and going to bed with her would only worsen the problem, not lessen it.
He wished to hell his month at the lodge were over. Of all the places in the world, Hunter would have to have chosen Kelly’s backyard to build his damn house, and he’d have to have chosen the month when she’d be working there, parading her tempting butt in his face.
He took another swig of his beer. He needed to stay away from her.
No more helping out with her decorating. It had been a mistake from the beginning to offer his assistance. He could see that now.
Too bad the only thing he could still see was the memory of Kelly lying across a bed like the greatest temptation.
“So how’s it going over there at the lodge?” Erica asked.
“Fine,” Kelly said curtly, setting down a lamp with more force than necessary.
It was Friday morning and they were straightening up inside Distressed Success in anticipation of opening the store at ten.
Erica quirked a brow. “Just ‘fine'?”
“He’s a pain in the butt,” she blurted. There was no need for her to explain who he was.
Erica laughed. “I thought he was helping you.”
“He is.”
Beside her, Erica stopped setting out new inventory and searched her face. “And?” “Yesterday, he kissed me.” Erica’s eyes widened, then she grinned. “I guess he’s taken to heart the saying about loving your enemy.”
Kelly arched a brow.
“Keep your friends close and your enemies closer?” Erica asked.
“This situation is not funny.” She’d been brooding all last night over how she was going to face Ryan again. How was she ever going to be able to work at the lodge anymore?
Erica pretended to consider. “Let’s see … wealthy, gorgeous guy puts the moves on you.” She nodded knowingly. “Yup, definitely not funny.”
“Afterward, he regretted it,” she said in a rush, reliving the moment. “He couldn’t believe he’d committed the unpardonable sin of being attracted to a Hartley. I guess the parallels to his father and to Webb’s affair with Brenda were too much for him.”
“Jerk,” Erica agreed cheerfully. “I should tell you some of the insensitive things Greg said to me when I first met him.”
Kelly frowned. “Are you defending Ryan Sperling?”
“No,” Erica responded. “He’s an arrogant jerk who deserves to be taken down a peg.”
“Exactly.”
“Still,” Erica said, tilting her head, “you haven’t told me how you felt when he kissed you.”
“I—”
The truth was … the truth was, it had been wonderful. She’d felt dizzy with sensation. Aloud, she said, “Does it matter? It ended badly.”
“Repressed sexual desire,” Erica responded knowingly. “Ryan slipped the leash yesterday and he’s pissed off. Still, it’s not good to repress emotion.”
Kelly sighed impatiently. Sometimes she forgot that she and Erica had bonded over the fact they were both the children of free spirits. Erica was the youngest child of 1960s flower children who’d spent time in Haight-Ashbury, and she … well, she was the daughter of Brenda Hartley.
“Ryan’s not repressing anything,” Kelly replied. “It was just a kiss. Unplanned and spur-of-the-moment.” And out of control. “I’ve been at the lodge all week and he’s helped me out. That’s it. In the evenings, he takes himself off to who-knows-where.”
“The White Fir Tavern,” Erica said.
Kelly looked at her blankly. “What? How do you know that?”
“It’s where I meet Greg after work so we can drive home together. Greg and I have seen Ryan eating dinner or having a drink at the bar a couple of nights this week.”
So that was where Ryan went when he left the lodge alongside her in the evenings. She’d wondered where he was going, even though she’d told herself not to.
“Both times there’ve been women hitting on him, too,” Erica supplied.
She felt a stab of jealousy.
Stop it, stop it, stop it, she told herself.
Still, she steamed over Ryan’s double standard. Apparently, he was willing to paint her as a wanton hussy while he hung out with the swinging singles crowd at the White Fir Tavern.
She, meanwhile, had spent her evenings the way she usually did—quietly at home, alone. Often, she was simply trying to catch up on billing and other correspondence for Distressed Success.
Erica shrugged. “You’d think Ryan would expect to see you there, offering lap dances to the male patrons, from the things he’s said to you.”
“Yes,” she mused, “he would, wouldn’t he?”
This wasn’t the smartest idea she’d ever had, Kelly conceded.
Still, now that she was here, she had no choice but to brazen it out.
Inside the White Fir Tavern, she spotted Erica and Greg sharing a table near the center of the pub.
The second thing she noticed was Ryan, sitting at the bar holding a beer, turned mostly away from her and the entrance.
Kelly noticed Erica’s eyes widen when she saw her.
She’d told her assistant to go on home, since she just needed to finish closing up shop for the day. Instead, she’d gone to the back of the store and changed clothes before coming on over to the White Fir Tavern herself.
She knew Erica and Greg would be there, maybe sharing a quick drink or some finger food before heading home to the kids and relieving the babysitter, who happened to be Erica’s mother.
Of course, the other person Kelly knew she’d find at the White Fir Tavern was Ryan.
But as she moved toward Erica’s table, she refused to look around because she didn’t want to lose her nerve.
And judging from the look on Erica’s face, Kelly knew exactly how she must appear. Her whole outfit begged for attention, from the bronze halter top to the black skirt and three-inch spike heels.
She got plenty of looks from the male patrons—admiring, appreciative and lustful.
As she approached Erica, Greg turned around, too, and his arrested expression put both courage and fear in Kelly’s step, since it was probably a good indication of what Ryan’s reaction would be.
“Hi,” Kelly said brightly, stopping at their table.
“What are you doing?” Erica asked in a low voice.
“Just what we discussed,” she responded. “Living up to what’s expected of me.”
Greg looked from Kelly to his wife. “Anyone care to fill me in?”
Erica nodded her head toward the bar. “It’s about the guy over there who’s staying at the lodge this month while Kelly is decorating. Ryan Almighty Sperling. He thinks Kelly is a—” she paused and threw Kelly an apologetic look “—slut. Kelly has taken it into her head to make a point.”
Kelly watched as Greg looked up at her. “Well, I’d say she made it, all right.” His glance moved beyond her, and his lips twitched. “And to the guy at the bar, too.”
“Good,” she said emphatically, though she felt the hairs at the back of her neck prick. “I’m going to get myself a drink.”
She sauntered to the bar, taking care not to look directly at Ryan, though she could sense the heat of his gaze.
“Jack and diet,” she instructed the White Fir Tavern’s bartender, a genial-looking man in his sixties.
The bartender’s eyes crinkled and he set down a napkin before her. “Coming right up. Lady knows what she wants.”
She smiled. “Today I do. Thank you.”
“What the hell are you doing here?” Ryan said roughly.
She took her time turning to face him.
His expression was grim as his eyes raked her, pausing at her cleavage, where her breasts threatened to spill from the restraint of her halter top.
“What am I doing here?” she challenged. “I thought you were the newcomer.”
His lips thinned. “You know what I mean.”
“I’m acting the way you expect me to,” she said with defiance. “Isn’t this where you thought I’d be?”
Given his opinion of Hartleys, he should think she’d fit right in here among the women hanging out at the White Fir Tavern—and pawing him, if Erica was to be believed.
The bartender set her drink down before her and she picked it up and took a sip, scanning the room. More than a few men continued to look her way—and enjoy.
Ryan threw some bills down on the counter and said grimly, “I’m settling the tab for both of us.”
Kelly threw him a flirtatious look, then turned to walk away.
Without invitation, Ryan followed.
She stopped at her table and gestured at Erica and Greg. “Have you met my friends? Erica and Greg Barnes—” she waved a negligent hand in Ryan’s direction “—this is Ryan Sperling.”
Erica smiled and Ryan and Greg shook hands.
She and Ryan sat down at the small round table.
Erica turned to Ryan. “So, Kelly mentioned you’re staying at the lodge while she’s decorating.”
“Yes, I am.” Ryan shot Kelly a look, but she refused to turn his way. “Just for the month.”
“How do you like Tahoe?” Greg asked.
“I haven’t been here in several years,” Ryan responded, shooting her another look. “It’s interesting coming back. Some things have changed and others are really familiar.”
While Erica and Greg continued to make desultory conversation with Ryan about the local area, the atmosphere at the table continued to carry an undercurrent of tension.
After some time, a young waitress in a low-cut top came around to take an order of drinks. The waitress smiled invitingly at Ryan, who looked as if he didn’t mind the attention, and Kelly thought sourly that bare boobs were apparently acceptable on anyone not named Hartley. She put in an order for a green-apple martini—one of Brenda’s favorites. After that, she remained determinedly distracted, smiling an invitation at the men who happened to look her way.
Eventually, though, Erica and Greg announced they had to get back to the kids.
When everyone rose from the table, Erica leaned close. “I hope you know what you’re doing.”
Kelly smiled reassuringly. “I’m having the time of my life, can’t you tell?”
With a look of semiserious warning, Erica turned toward the door and Kelly took the opportunity to walk back to the bar and settle herself on a stool, leaving Ryan alone at the table.
Ryan’s presence had been keeping men away, she thought irritably, and it was time she did something about it.
After she’d ordered another fabulous martini— why hadn’t she discovered them earlier in her life?—she smiled at the attractive man sitting next to her. She’d noticed he’d looked her way occasionally since he’d walked into the bar fifteen minutes ago, and now she met those looks straight on.
He looked to be around thirty, with sandy-blond hair and blue eyes. If it had been wintertime, she would have said he was a ski bum, drawn to the slopes nearby. Tahoe attracted those with money to burn to its slopes, lake and nearby casinos.
“Buy you a drink?” he offered.
She smiled back. “Thank you.” Then she leaned closer, conspiratorially. “You’re more likable than the other guy who offered to buy me a drink tonight.”
She used the term offered loosely. Ryan, in typical high-handed fashion, had announced he was settling the bill and that was that.
The man next to her smiled back. “I noticed you the minute I walked in.”
She learned his name was Tate and he was another money-to-burn fun seeker vacationing in Tahoe.
All the while, however, she could feel Ryan’s eyes boring into the back of her head.
She took another sip of her drink, her third, and thought she had a nice little buzz going.
She cast a sidelong look at Tate, then one at Ryan, who still sat sullenly, beer in front of him, at the table they’d shared with Erica and Greg.
The contrast between the two men couldn’t have been more apparent. One was a blond thrill seeker, the other a dark angel with a mission. And the more she talked and flirted with Tate, the more she thought she preferred the former.
She smiled languidly at her bar buddy. He was a nice man, she decided with a warm rush. He was full of effusive compliments that bolstered her confidence, unlike another man she could name.
She leaned in, resting her hand on Tate’s arm.
Ryan’s jaw hardened.
She was tipsy and getting more inebriated by the minute.
Of course, the smooth-talking charmer Kelly was flirting with was enjoying every second of it. Likely, he was waiting for the moment when she was so far gone he could convince her to head home to bed with him.
On top of it all, the guy had thrown him a couple of amused looks, as if he knew he was an interloper and was enjoying the fact.
Ryan’s hand flexed on his drink. He itched to slug Prince Charming.
He knew the type. Growing up under Webb Sperling’s roof had taught him to identify it.
He told himself he didn’t care, but then Kelly leaned toward the guy, laughing, her eyes too bright, and Ryan downed the last of his drink and rose.
As he walked toward the bar, he told himself he was just irritated this was the thanks he got for toiling for her all week.
“Are you here with someone?” Charming said to Kelly, noting his approach.
“No—”
“Yes,” Ryan cut in, “she’s with me.” Kelly swung around. “No, I’m not.” She looked beyond him. “Where are Erica and Greg?” “They left,” he responded flatly.
“Oh, right.”
He looked at her closely. She’d clearly passed tipsy and was well on her way to ditsy.
He turned then and sized up the guy she was with.
There was a reason, he thought, that the initials for Prince Charming were P. C. The guy looked as if he never put a foot wrong—as if he knew exactly how to ingratiate himself with women.
“Tate Henderson,” the guy said, offering his hand.
“Ryan Sperling,” he responded, ignoring the hand.
Tate’s face registered surprise. “Ryan Sperling? The guy behind El Ray Technology?”
“None other,” he responded curtly.
Tate, however, became more animated. “I’ve heard of you. You’re a legend in the cable world, not to mention a favorite on Wall Street. Those shares you offered—“
Kelly stifled a yawn with her hand.
Ryan glanced at her. He was putting a damper on her tête-à-tête with Tate and she clearly wasn’t happy about it.
Ryan didn’t mind invoking his wealth and power when it suited his purposes, and now definitely suited his purposes.
Ryan signaled the bartender and leaned forward, wedging himself between Tate and Kelly to order another drink, tonic water that he intended to sip while he kept an eye on Kelly’s Brenda Hartley impersonation.
Turning back after he’d ordered, he took the opportunity to murmur to Tate, “Sweetness is on her way to Happyland. I’m here to make sure she gets home safely—and alone.”
Tate raised his eyebrows. “What’s she to you?”
“There’s a family connection.”
The other man’s lips quirked up. “It’s always something like that.”
Tate downed the rest of his drink, then leaned back to reach into the pocket of his jeans.
“Leave it,” Ryan said. “I’ll settle the tab.”
Tate gave a brief nod of acknowledgement and slid off his bar stool as Ryan stepped back from the bar.
Kelly frowned. “Where are you going?”
“It’s been a pleasure, sweetness,” Tate responded, tossing an amused look at Ryan.
Kelly’s frowned deepened. “You’re leaving?”
Tate glanced at Ryan. “I’d ask him.”