Matchless Millionaires: An Improper Affair

“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.”