Matchless Millionaires: An Improper 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. “