Matchless Millionaires: An Improper Affair
“I mean,” he said, refusing to let her off the hook, “you don’t seem entirely comfortable being Brenda Hartley’s daughter.”
“About as comfortable as you are being Webb Sperling’s son.”
He nodded briefly. “I accept that,” he said, then he eyed her. “Have you been in touch with him recently?”
“Who?” she asked, cloaking her expression again.
“You know who. Your mother’s former lover.” He said it unflinchingly, forcing them both to face the fact baldly.
“Why would I tell you?” she countered. “You obviously don’t approve.”
“I don’t like watching anyone make a deal with the devil.”
“Some have called you ruthless and worse. I do read the newspapers like everyone else, you know.”
He changed tactics. “Webb Sperling is a philanderer and worse.”
She remained silent.
“When I started hearing rumors he was having an affair with your mother,” he went on, “I knew it wasn’t the first time he’d cheated. But my mother had just gotten diagnosed with stage-three breast cancer. I figured the least the bastard could do was keep his pants zipped while she went through chemo.”
She still said nothing, though this time she looked as if she wanted to.
“Did you know about the affair?”
The answer was irrelevant to him now, but curiosity made him ask.
She nodded finally. “My mother has a history of choosing the wrong men at the wrong time, starting with my father—actually, maybe even before that.” She paused, then added, “I didn’t know him, by the way.”
“Your father?”
She nodded again. “Brenda wasn’t positive about his identity, but she thought he was an out-of-town salesman visiting Vegas while she worked at a casino.”
“Yeah, well, I was legitimate, at least,” he drawled. “Webb made sure of that. There was no way he was jeopardizing his claim on my mother’s millions.”
“I saw Webb a couple of times during the affair,” she admitted, then wrinkled her nose. “He and Brenda weren’t the most discreet of couples.”
His lips lifted in sardonic amusement. “You call her Brenda?”
“Don’t you use Webb?”
A dry chuckle escaped him. “Another thing we have in common.”
“Brenda didn’t like to be reminded she was a mother,” Kelly said. “It was bad enough I spelled the end of her aspirations to be a showgirl. Of course, since I’m twenty-eight now, she’d much rather I lied these days and said we were sisters.”
“Given what you look like, I don’t blame her for that.”
“Thank you. At least you got to escape Clayburn and go to Harvard.”
“Yeah, except I discovered there’s no use trying to outrun your past.”
“Easy for you to say,” she replied. “You’ve always had money, power—“
“—and you never have,” he finished for her.
“Exactly.”
“You know,” he said, “I remember driving by the house you lived in with your mother.”
She looked surprised. “I didn’t even know you knew I existed.”
“I knew who you were, all right. The rumor mill in Clayburn made sure of that. As a point of pride, though, I pretended not to recognize you.”
“So why did you drive by the house?”
He shrugged. “Curiosity. I was mad as hell with my father that day and drove around aimlessly—“
“—yes, I remember you’d tear through town when you were on break from prep school—“
“—and at some point I figured I’d check out where his latest tart was living.”
At her raised eyebrows, he added, “It’s what I was thinking at the time. Tart.”
“Believe me, I’ve heard worse said about Brenda.”
“Ditto about Webb.”
He noticed that a tentative camaraderie had taken hold. “I saw you that day in front of the house, walking home in your ice-cream shop uniform.”
“I bet you hated me on sight.”
“No,” he responded slowly, “I was too consumed by anger at Webb to see past to anything else.”
“I never saw you come into Sloanie’s, and it had the best ice cream in town!”
“I didn’t want to run into you.” He laughed shortly. “Besides, something as wholesome as ice cream would have ruined my bad-boy image.”
“I recall,” she said drily. “I’d spot you around town from time to time. Of course, I knew you were Webb Sperling’s son, but even if I hadn’t, your Jaguar convertible would have been a dead giveaway you were the son of the richest family in town.”
He smiled rakishly. “I loved that car.”
In the next moment, the waiter arrived with their food, and the conversation moved on to other topics.
But a newfound level of understanding existed between them and Ryan was sure he wasn’t the only one who felt it—just as he was sure he wasn’t the only one to feel the undercurrent of sexual energy.
Afterward, he drove her home. When he pulled up in front of the town house, she offered, “Would you like to come in … for coffee? Or—” her eyes laughed at him “—tea?”
He felt his lips quirk. “Tea sounds great … for the novelty value.”
Inside, they took off their jackets and she deposited her purse on an entry table before heading toward the kitchen.
He followed, and they chatted about current events while she boiled water in an old-fashioned teakettle, packed loose tea into a holder and pulled down some cups and saucers.
When she’d prepared two cups of tea, they walked back into the living room and sat on the couch.
The conversation touched on Tahoe and growth nearby in California, and he recounted amusing bits of Silicon Valley lore.
After a while, he looked around and commented, “This is like being allowed into the inner sanctuary.”
“Would you like a tour? You didn’t get to see it all before we left for dinner.”
He nodded. He was looking forward to uncovering some more of the mystery that was Kelly Hartley.
Besides the living room, dining room and kitchen, the lower level of the house had a laundry room and a small bath with scented candles and a little stained-glass cabinet.
When they went upstairs he discovered the upper level had three rooms and a full bath. There was a guest bedroom with a neat, canopied double bed. Next to the guest bedroom, there was a study that functioned as a workroom and that contained a desk, a sewing machine and shelves full of bolts of fabric.
They came to her bedroom last, and as Ryan sauntered in, he realized he’d been wrong. This was the inner sanctuary.
A metal four-poster bed occupied most of the room and was covered with brown-and-aqua bedding. A chandelier with blue glass droplets was suspended over the bed. A floor lamp with a poplin shade stood in one corner. Along one wall stood a mirrored dresser. Along another, there was a vanity table and stool. The room was finished with built-in white shelving behind the bed that held books and photos.
Ryan turned back to Kelly. “It’s like seeing your style in its purest form. Wow.”
She looked embarrassed but flattered. “Thank you, I think. “
“You’re welcome.”
She glanced out the window. “I just noticed. There’s a full moon.”
He stood beside her and peered out. “So there is. How about that?”
He glanced down at her and was struck anew with the urge to kiss her.
At the same time, she turned to look up at him, her eyes shadowed.
Slowly, he raised his hands to cup her shoulders and turn her to face him fully. Then he lowered his head and brushed her lips.
She sighed against his mouth and he took the kiss deeper, taking the edge off a hunger that dinner had done nothing to sate.
Eventually, his lips drifted away from her lips to explore the delicate shell of her ear and the hollows of her throat.
She swayed into him and sighed again, her arms locking around his neck.
Finally, however, and with difficulty, he raised his head. With Kelly, he’d have to go slow. He took a deep, head-clearing breath and asked, “What are you doing tomorrow?”
Tomorrow was Sunday, and he knew Distressed Success would be closed.
“I’ll be at the lodge,” she replied huskily.
“Working.” “Good.”
He had a surprise for her and, fortunately, the weather for tomorrow called for sunny skies and a clear view.
“I should be working. This is crazy.” Kelly pulled loose strands of hair away from her face in a futile battle with the wind.
Though she had her hair tied back in a ponytail, she knew she’d be struggling to get out knots later on.
Ryan grinned in response to her words, his hair whipped by the wind.
He stood by the sails of the boat, and Kelly thought she’d never seen him so carefree. She could well imagine how he might have been a pirate in another life.
She’d shown up early this morning at the lodge because it was Sunday and she didn’t have to be in the shop today. She’d intended to put in a full day’s work, setting up additional furnishings that had been previously delivered.
Ryan, however, had had other plans. After they’d worked for three hours, he’d taken the vase she’d been holding and announced they were playing hooky for the rest of the day.
It turned out he’d already had a picnic basket packed and, what’s more, he’d rented a sailboat.
She had taken one look outside at the glorious weather and had found it impossible to resist.
Now here they were on the vastness of Lake Tahoe—blue skies overhead accentuated by the occasional lazy puffy white cloud, wavy aqua waters below dotted by the occasional watercraft.
Ryan had rented a sloop, which had a single mast and two sails. Because she’d been on a sailboat just once before in her life, Ryan had taught her the basics of trimming the sails and handling the helm before they’d left the dock.
Once they’d gotten under way, however, Ryan had done most of the work. Except for handling the helm when Ryan trimmed the sails, she was able to sit and enjoy the ride.
“Where did you learn to sail?” she called to him now. Then before he could answer, she added, “No, wait. Let me guess. You took Sailing 101 at prep school.”
He flashed a grin. “Good guess, but in fact, I learned to sail right here on Lake Tahoe. It’s a place where we vacationed when I was younger.”
He’d been to Tahoe regularly?
She tilted her head. “That first day at Distressed Success, you acted as if you were unfamiliar with the area. You asked me where you could find a good meal—“
“I was hitting on you.”
A tremor of sexual awareness ran through her as something indefinable, but palpable and strong, passed between them.
Silhouetted against the blue sky, he was breath-takingly handsome. He wore khaki pants and a polo shirt paired with a windbreaker and reflective sunglasses. He looked as if he could have been in an ad for Ralph Lauren.
She hadn’t known they’d go sailing, but she was glad now that she put on pants and espadrilles that morning. A windbreaker that they’d found for her at the lodge protected her from cold and damp.
As Ryan again busied himself with the sails, she reflected on the events of the weekend. She hadn’t intended to reveal so much during their meal at Clearwater’s. Still, she could understand Ryan’s anger better now, as well as identify with it since Brenda, like Webb, hadn’t been the most responsible parent in the world.
Finished with what he was doing, Ryan came toward her and jumped down to where she sat. “Time for lunch. I’m famished.”
She laughed. “I can’t believe you prepared a whole picnic basket!”
He grinned slyly. “Gourmet everything … courtesy of the concierge service at one of Tahoe’s poshest nouveau places.”
Eight
Kelly found that the next week passed in a blur of work, decorating and, above all, Ryan and more Ryan.
By the following weekend, she realized somewhat surprisingly that her work at the lodge was nearly done. She also knew she couldn’t have done it without Ryan’s help.
She hadn’t heard anything more from Webb Sperling, but she pushed the thought aside.
She had time, she told herself. Deep down, though, she knew she didn’t want to upset her newfound accord with Ryan.
As she prepared to leave the lodge late that Sunday afternoon, Ryan surprised her by saying, “Why don’t you come on in? We’ll sit on the deck and watch the sunset.”
“I should be getting back.” The words flew out of her mouth in automatic response.
“Why?” he asked bluntly. “We both know Distressed Success is closed on Mondays.” He smiled. “In fact, since you’ll want to be working here tomorrow, it makes sense for you to stay the night.”
She felt a strange fluttering sensation in her stomach, then caught the teasing glimmer in his eyes.
“After all,” he drawled, “you’re already familiar with the guest bedroom.”
She held her palms up. “I didn’t bring any clothes—“
His smile widened. “Do you really want to hear my solution to that problem?”
She felt herself heat in response. She still wasn’t used to his teasing.
The past week had been wonderful, but he hadn’t tried to kiss her again. He hadn’t done anything, in fact, that could be interpreted as a come-on, even by her fevered imagination.
She, on the other hand, had become attuned to his every breath, every expression, every stretch of hard, lean muscle.
Ryan reached out and touched her arm. “Hey,” he said soothingly, “come on. Let’s just open a bottle of wine and contemplate the meaning of the universe.”
She relaxed a little. “Okay.”
Minutes later, they stepped out onto the deck, Ryan holding two wineglasses in one hand and a bottle of red wine in the other.
She tried not to look at the hot tub, remembering how she’d first spotted him at the lodge.
“I can vouch for its relaxing properties,” he murmured.
“What?” she asked, startled.
“The hot tub. It’s great.” He paused, a glimmer in his eyes. “Want to try?”
“No, thanks!”
Her response was immediate and automatic. Just the thought of getting into a hot tub with Ryan Sperling sent her senses into overdrive.
“Don’t tell me you’ve never been in a hot tub,” he teased.
“Some of us weren’t born into the hot-tub-and-wine set.” Then she added, relenting, “In any case, I have nothing to wear.”
His eyes crinkled. “Why let a lack of clothing stand in your way?”
At her look of forbearance, he shrugged. “Can’t blame a guy for trying.” He paused, then added thoughtfully, “I could lend you one of my undershirts and a pair of boxers. You could even keep your bra and underwear on underneath.”
His lips twitched. “I know how important underpants are to you.”
She wondered how much of his sexually charged teasing she could withstand, then asked suspiciously, “And what will you be wearing?”
“Swim trunks.”
“I shouldn’t agree to this.”
He grinned. “But you are.”
They headed back inside. He handed her some clothes and, after they’d both had time to change, she met him on the deck again, padding outside in bare feet and shivering in the cool night air.
Soft jazz filtered out from iPod speakers set up on a table.
He stood holding two full wineglasses and swept her a look from head to toe, his gaze heating. “I had no idea my shirts and boxers could look so sexy.”
She flushed. It felt impossibly intimate to be wearing his clothes, albeit over her own.
He’d already started the hot tub, and the tub’s jets created frothy water, illuminated from below by recessed lights.
It looked so inviting, she thought as she shivered again.
He set the wineglasses down on a small tray at the side of the tub, then straightened and held his hand out to her. “Come. Let’s warm you up.”
He warmed her just by looking at her with his hot eyes, she wanted to say. Instead, she put her hand in his and stepped into the tub.
“Careful,” he cautioned, but she knew she was being anything but—with him, with anything.
He followed her and settled on an underwater ledge across from her.
She sighed as the hot tub’s jets pounded her gently, massaging her muscles. She closed her eyes and leaned back, relaxing against the tub’s side.
“Better?”
“Mmm-hmm.”
After a few moments, during which she heard him lift and sip from his wineglass, he instructed, “Look up.”
She did, and gazed at the inky black sky. Dozens of little stars twinkled back at her.
“My guess is that you haven’t had much time to stargaze in your life,” he commented.
“Mmm-hmm.”
“Neither have I.”
She looked down at him, and asked, “Why do you think Hunter wrote a stipulation in his will that you and his other college buddies have to stay at the lodge?”
“Why didn’t he just give the money to charity, you mean?” She nodded.
“We’d made a promise to one another all those years ago, on a night after too many beers. We’d vowed to become huge successes—on our own, not riding on our families’ coattails—and then reunite in ten years. Once Hunter got sick, the rest of us forgot that crazy night. But Hunter never did.”
He looked heavenward. “Maybe he knew we’d need to do this. And somehow he knew it would be up to him to get us to come here just to take a moment and look up at the stars.”
“I guess he was right, because it’s been a while since you’ve taken time to look at the stars.”
“Ages,” he answered absently, then he lowered his head to look at her. “How about you?”
“Ages,” she concurred.
A companionable silence followed. She sipped her wine and looked off into the dark trees, then out at the dark waters of Lake Tahoe.
Finally, she asked, “So you and Hunter were close friends?”
He shrugged. “Yeah. I didn’t have siblings, so all six of the guys from college were like brothers to me.” A wry smile touched his lips. “We called ourselves the Seven Samurai.”
She laughed. “Who came up with that name?”
“Blame it on too many late nights chowing down on bad pizza and watching Kurosawa movies. We studied hard, but partied harder.”
“You talk about it as if it’s one of the better times in your life.”
“It was.”
“Did you find it difficult being an only child?” “Did you?” he countered. “It was more difficult being Brenda Hartley’s daughter.”
He raised his wineglass in silent salute. “I felt the same way.”
“It was as if the college partying days never ended for Brenda,” she elaborated, “except she never went to college….”
“But you did,” he prompted.
“Yes,” she said, looking at him in surprise. “How did you know?”
He shrugged. “A good guess.”
“I worked my way through community college in Reno to get a degree in business administration.”
The conversation moved to the challenges of starting a business. Kelly found herself fascinated by the tales he had from his climb to the top of the cable-communications world.
After a while, he said, “Now I have a question for you that I’ve been wondering about. Why did you settle around Tahoe or, more specifically, Hunter’s Landing?”
She sighed. “How I got where I am is a lot less interesting than how you got where you are.”
“I’m all ears.”
She regarded him. He really did seem genuinely curious. “I knew I had to get out of Clayburn,” she said eventually. “I knew I didn’t want to go to Vegas, but Reno wasn’t too far. Once I found a job in Reno, I enrolled at a community college and, on weekends, I’d take cheap day trips to Tahoe.”
She shrugged. “I fell in love with the area and, since there’s a big tourist trade here, not to mention lots of seasonal residents, it seemed like the perfect place to try to open a business.”
“You’ve got good instincts,” he said.
They’d both finished their wine by this time and the music had died away, replaced by the stillness of the night.
She looked around. “I could lie in here forever, but I’d be a wrinkled prune!”
“Ready to head in?” he asked.
“I think so.”
They’d been having such a relaxed, quiet conversation, she’d started to forget they were barely dressed.
Now, however, she was nervous about emerging from the tub.
He placed the wineglasses and wine bottle to one side on the deck and rose. Water sluiced from his body as he climbed out of the hot tub, and awareness shimmered through her as she got a close-up of sheer male virility.
He turned then and made to help her.
She took his outstretched hand and stood up, stepping on the tub ledge, then out onto the deck.
He picked up a couple of towels and handed one to her.
“Th-thank you,” she said, and attributed her stutter to chattering teeth caused by the cold.
Except when her eyes accidentally met his, she’d noticed he was looking fixedly at her body.
She looked down at herself, and realized what he saw.
His white shirt was dripping wet and clung to her like a second skin, defining all her curves. Her nipples, made hard by the cold air, were pronounced against the thin cotton of her bra and his shirt. She looked more top-heavy than she did under her own carefully chosen clothes.
She shivered, and his eyes narrowed.
He dropped his towel and slowly reached up and brushed back wisps of her hair.
Then instead of withdrawing his hand, he trailed the back of it along the curve of her jaw, down her neck and lower….
His hand traced the curve of her breast, then moved up to touch a lock of her hair. “Tempting curves, siren hair.”
She sucked in a breath.
He looked as if he was still waging a battle with himself, caught between desire and something else.
“I should hate you,” she whispered. It was a desperate last bid to avoid what was happening between them.
“No, you don’t. Not really. Not anymore,” he whispered back.
“I want to hate you.”
“I wanted to hate you, too,” he admitted without a trace of apology, “but I can’t. I want you.”
He looked into her eyes, his full of desire, then cupped her neck and drew her near.
He searched her face for a moment before he bent his head and touched his lips to hers.
As she let go of her towel, she thought that this moment had been inevitable since the first time he’d walked into her shop.
If he hadn’t discovered who she was, and she hadn’t found out who he was, they’d probably have reached this point long before now.
His lips claimed hers in a deep, searching kiss. Her body came up flush against his, molding to him, seeking welcoming heat where before there had been just cold.
Her hand moved to the back of his head, pulling him down to her, and she kissed him back, feeding their passion.
A voice inside her head insisted this was wrong. But the voice of scruples was faint, drowned out by the strength of their desire.
He made her feel vibrant and alluring and full of life. The clothes between them warmed from the heat of their desire.
Moments went by before he finally lifted his head and breathed deep.
“I want you,” he stated baldly.
“Yes.”
He searched her face. “Yes?”
“Make love to me,” she breathed, throwing caution to the wind.
It was all the encouragement he seemed to need.
He bent and scooped her up in his arms. “Let’s get inside. It’s freezing.”
He stepped into the house and crossed the great room to the staircase. He took the stairs deliberately, not showing the least exertion from carrying her up.
When they got to the upper level, he went down the hall and into the master suite, setting her down near the bed.
As he lowered her feet to the floor, she brushed against him, doing a slow slide to a want that went bone deep.
“Kiss me,” he said, and she complied because it was the only thing she felt she could do.
The kiss went on and on. Their labored breathing filled the stillness of the room and their bodies moved against each other, straining to be closer.