Matchless Millionaires: An Improper Affair

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.”