Читать книгу Matchless Millionaires - Elizabeth Bevarly - Страница 13

That night, using directions Kelly had given him, Ryan discovered that Kelly lived in a town house midway between the lodge and Distressed Success.

Her place was in an older development, with a parking space out back and a neat little garden in front.

He rang the doorbell, and when she opened the door, he felt the air whoosh out of him.

She wore a bottle-green velvet jacket that gathered under her breasts and revealed plenty of cleavage. A slim brown skirt and knee-high, high-heeled boots completed her outfit.

He was glad now that he’d dressed more formally for tonight. He had on beige pants and a striped dress shirt beneath his blazer.

“You look fantastic,” he said as his eyes ate her up.

She smiled at him and stepped aside. “Come on in. I just need to grab my purse.”

When he’d stepped inside, he immediately realized her house was a showcase for Distressed Success’s style.

The front door led directly into a large room with a living-room area at one end and a dining room at the other. A kitchen sat off to one side.

The dining room had a table and sideboard in some sort of distressed finish. A chandelier with multicolored beads that reflected the light hung above the table.

The living room contained a sofa and love seat at right angles to each other. They were covered with a profusion of pillows in different prints and shapes. An etched-glass cabinet stood against one wall and a fireplace was set in another. A tasseled rug partially covered the wood floor.

“If your decorating project at the lodge turns out as well as your house,” he said, turning toward her, “I’d say you’re well on the path to success.”

“Distressed Success,” she deadpanned.

“Is there any other?” he countered.

She smiled. “I’d offer to show you the rest of the house, but I think we’ll be late.”

Looking into her eyes, he said, “Next time.”

The moment drew itself out between them and he could tell she was thinking about what meaning to attach to his words.

All of them, he wanted to tell her.

Kelly cleared her throat, breaking the mood. “Let me just turn off the lights and make sure I’ve got my house keys.”

As she switched off lamps, he reflected that she’d surprised him last night and proven him wrong, and he wasn’t a man used to being surprised—or wrong.

She’d only slept with a guy once or twice. She’d floored him with the admission, though she’d given no sign since that she even remembered what she’d said.

He realized now that she must have been even more affected by growing up with Brenda Hartley than he’d been by being Webb Sperling’s son.

Last night she’d even referred to not being able to shake off her mother’s history. Now he knew how it had affected her in surprising ways.

Of course, it all meant he’d been wrong about her—wrong to accuse her of being like her mother and wrong to think he had her all figured out.

Sure, the way she’d dressed and acted last night had been at odds with her sexual inexperience, but she seemed to have set out to teach him a lesson.

She’d said she was just living up to the behavior he expected of her. Or just maybe, he mused, it was the behavior she was expecting of herself that she had fought against.

It also occurred to him now that she might have gotten her start as a designer by making the most of a modest budget while she was growing up. His recollection was that Brenda Hartley was not supposed to have had much money, and rumor around town was that she’d also been an indifferent parent.

When Kelly drifted back to his side, he asked,

“Ready?” She smiled. “Yes.”

On the drive over to Clearwater’s, they chatted casually about local events. When they got to restaurant, he made sure they were shown to a table with a prime view of the twinkling lights on and around Lake Tahoe.

They talked about innocuous subjects such as the weather and skiing. She’d learned to ski only when she’d moved to Tahoe, he discovered, while he did black-diamond runs to work off steam.

After the waiter arrived and they’d placed their order—she, a salad and veal française, he, a shrimp cocktail and the surf and turf—he sat back and contemplated her.

She had extraordinary features. Her bone structure was exquisite and the combination of full lips and hazel eyes with shades of topaz added a hint of exoticism.

“Why are you staring at me?” She looked back at him with a hint of uncertainty.

“You’re beautiful,” he said simply. In her case, it was a statement of fact, not flattery.

She looked as if she didn’t know how to react. “Thank you,” she said eventually.

“I also think you’re not completely happy with the fact,” he added.

Her eyes lowered to hide her expression. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“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.”