Читать книгу Matchless Millionaires: An Improper Affair - Elizabeth Bevarly - Страница 9

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.

“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.