An Improper Affair
Anna DePalo

www.millsandboon.co.uk

For my aunt Angela Dagostino, and

my editors, Melissa Jeglinski and Jessica Alvarez

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

One

Cooling his heels in a backwater like Hunter’s Landing wasn’t Ryan’s idea of a good time, but then, nothing was these days.

He was so close to victory he could almost taste it, and since revenge was a dish best served cold, he intended to take his time savoring the triumph.

In the meantime, he didn’t intend to let his prey off the hook. Webb Sperling—CEO and chairman of the board of Sperling department stores, and the man he was forced to call his father—would never know what hit him.

Now he walked along one of the main shopping drags around south Lake Tahoe, keeping his eye out for a place where he might pick up a wedding gift. If he was stuck in Hunter’s Landing for the month of June, he might as well figure out what amusements lay nearby.

There were precious few amusements to be had in Hunter’s Landing itself, that was for sure. He figured the locals in such a quiet little place depended on their cable service for access to television, the Internet and the world.

Cable interested him. Cable had made him rich. His company, El Ray Technology, was among the bigger players in California’s fabled Silicon Valley.

A store sign hanging from a metal bar up the street caught his eye. Distressed Success, it announced in flowery type.

His lips curved in sardonic amusement.

The sign summed up his life.

When he drew even with the store, he was able to see it was a tidy little shop devoted to home furnishings. Its facade was white with light blue and yellow trim, like an Easter egg, and both its store windows presented cozy tableaus of domestic bliss.

The window on the left showcased a table set for tea with mismatched cups and saucers. The table had a distressed finish and was covered with a chintz tablecloth and set for four.

The window on the right displayed an old-fashioned settee—something that looked as if it had been salvaged from a garage sale—strewn with an outrageous assortment of silk, beaded and tasseled pillows.

It was domesticity with a hint of sin, he thought, his gut tightening.

The look would have suited a room tinged with Eastern exoticism—or a madam’s boudoir. Here, on the California border with Nevada, where regulated brothels were legal in some localities, the decor would have found a ready market.

Intrigued by the storefront, he decided to have a look inside.

A chime above the door announced his entrance.

“These raw-silk photo albums just came in last week—”

The woman’s voice, with just a hint of huskiness, washed over him, along with the faint scent of a flowery blend.

He walked around a display table and came face-to-face with the owner of that voice.

She glanced up, smile in place, and he felt the air leave him as if he’d taken a sucker punch to the stomach.

Hello.

“Good afternoon…”

Her voice trailed off as they stared at each other.

He went tense, the elemental reaction of a male who’s gone too long without a mate.

He looked at her hand, noticed she wasn’t wearing a ring and felt his spirits lift.

Things were looking up for his enforced month-long stay in sleepy Hunter’s Landing, he thought bemusedly.

Tall and curvaceous, she had hair that flowed past her shoulders in loose curls. He had to call it titian colored, for lack of a better word.

She was a latter-day Venus—a model for the goddess of love that would have made even Botticelli proud. She had a pale heart-shaped face and symmetrical features.

She was dressed in a brown velvet top, ruffled skirt and high-heeled sandals. The look was professional but with a hint of the bohemian, and it dovetailed with the image of her shop.

She stood with a well-dressed, middle-aged female customer, the two of them flanking a waist-high white counter upon which were arrayed a number of albums.

She cleared her throat and righted the smile that had wavered. “Please take a look around and let me know if you need anything.”

She hesitated a second, as if she belatedly realized how the words could be interpreted, and he felt his lips twitch.

“I’ll be able to assist you as soon as I’m done,” she said.

He thought about how he’d like her to assist him and smiled with lazy assurance. “No problem. Take your time.”

She looked momentarily uncertain, then turned back to deal with the customer in front of her.

The mood broken, he sauntered around the shop, at the same time taking the opportunity to study her.

Over the years, he’d had plenty of confirmation that women found him attractive. Still, his charm was rusty from lack of use. His last relationship—if a three-month fling could be called that—had ended nearly a year ago.

Her voice reached him from the back of the shop. “These are interleaved with acid-free pages—”

He eyed a floor lamp with a tasseled flower-print shade, then a wrought iron chandelier with beaded glass strands of blue and green.

He felt as if he’d entered a fantasyland, one with a profusion of colors and textures.

Still, her shop couldn’t compare to her. She interested him as no woman had for a long time.

“—we also have some leather-bound albums you might like—”

Her voice caressed his mind like the stroke of a petal.

He’d definitely been too long without sex, he thought. Too long without anything except work.

And now, thanks to his old college buddy Hunter—who’d gone to his grave too young—he had too much time to think about it.

At Harvard, he and Hunter and five other guys had formed a small band—a fraternity unto themselves. One night, across a table strewn with beer bottles, they’d vowed to make their own marks on the world, though they’d come from families of distinction and wealth. They’d vowed to come together again in ten years to celebrate their friendship and success.

But shortly before graduation, Hunter’s sudden and shocking death from melanoma had ripped the group apart, and they’d eventually lost touch.

That is, until a few months ago, when he and the remaining Seven Samurai had gotten letters from a Los Angeles law firm representing the Hunter Palmer Foundation.

Before his death, Hunter had apparently made arrangements for a lodge to be built near Lake Tahoe, and now, reaching from beyond the grave, he expected his friends, as they reached their milestone decade past graduation, to honor the vow they’d made to one another.

By the terms of Hunter’s will, if each guy spent a month at the lodge, at the end of six months, twenty million dollars would go to charity and the lodge itself would be bequeathed to the town of Hunter’s Landing so it could be used as a restorative place by cancer survivors and patients.

Twenty million was a lot of moola, and not even Ryan, hard-hearted millionaire that he was, could say no.

So that was how he found himself in this predicament. He was trapped in Hunter’s Landing at the precise moment he was closing in on the goal he’d worked years to achieve—making Webb Sperling pay and then pay some more.

His mouth twisted. Of course, leave it to Hunter to find a place called Hunter’s Landing for his old college buddies to serve their time. Hunter had always had a peculiar sense of humor.

Three guys had gone before him to the lodge, Ryan thought, so they were already halfway through this ordeal.

Of course, all three of his old buddies had somehow managed to get themselves engaged or married, including Devlin, whose month at the lodge had just ended.

In fact, Ryan had shown up in Tahoe early—and had stayed at a casino last night while the caretaker was having the lodge cleaned in anticipation of his arrival—because Dev was getting married tomorrow and had asked Ryan to be his best man.

Ryan grimaced. Devlin had even referred to the lodge as the Love Shack.

Right.

He eyed Venus again. He’d settle for a good lay, since that alone would be a vast improvement over his recent love life.

“I hope you enjoy your purchase.”

Venus’s voice broke into his thoughts.

He glanced around to see her walking her customer to the door.

A jangle of bells marked the customer’s departure and Venus paused to organize a display of books. Silence heralded the fact that they were alone.

He watched her line up the spines of some books and then adjust the angle of a photo frame.

Finally, after what felt to him like aeons, but what was certainly no more than a few moments, she looked up and fixed him with a smile.

“May I help you?” she asked, walking toward him.

“Looking for a wedding gift,” he said. “I was passing by and the name of your shop made me curious.”

“A lot of people have had the same reaction,” she admitted. “The name’s served as a good advertisement for the shop.”

“You’re a savvy marketer.”

This close, he could see her eyes were hazel beneath perfectly arched brows. Her lips were full and glossy pink, her complexion creamy and unblemished. It was hard not too be knocked over by so much perfection.

“Thank you.” She seemed to consider him. “Our style aims for shabby elegance so—”

“Shabby elegance?” The name wanted to make every male cell in him snort in derision. “That’s an oxymoron if I ever heard one.”

“Yes,” she responded, “but it’s also part of a hip trend—one of its hallmarks being furniture with a distressed finish.”

“And here I thought the name of your store was a description of my life.”

She laughed.

He liked her laugh. It had a musical quality to it and he wondered if he could get it to a huskier timbre in bed.

He lifted a clock from a nearby shelf, checked the price and raised his eyebrows. “People are willing to spend a lot of money to look poor.”

She nodded. “Celebrities included.” She added with a light laugh, “This is Tahoe, after all.”

“There’s a market for expensive mismatched china?”

“Yes,” she confirmed, refusing to look the least bit insulted. “It’s an art form to bring together disparate pieces to create a harmonious look. I’ll hunt for something a client is looking for if one of my regular suppliers doesn’t have it.”

He supposed more than one customer had been seduced by Venus’s sales pitch. “Any suggestion for a wedding gift for a couple that already has everything?”

His question brought a smile to her lips. “Young couple or old?”

“Young,” he said. “He’s a millionaire and she’s about to become the wife of one.”

“Lucky girl,” she said, then looked around her shop thoughtfully.

He glanced around, too. Everything in her store seemed designed to appeal to feminine tastes—to women, with perhaps the occasional husband in tow.

He was lost.

Her eyes alighted on something and she took a few steps forward. He followed.

“What about crystal candlestick holders?” she suggested.

The candlestick holders on a nearby shelf were about a foot high and had deep, crisscrossing cuts.

He knew he’d be sending a more expensive gift to Dev and his bride in the future, but he liked the thought of bringing something with him tomorrow, to add to the significance of the day.

Venus looked from him to the candlesticks and back. “Crystal is always appropriate, always timeless, always—”

“Sold,” he said. “I’ll take them.”

She looked surprised but pleased.

He took one of the candlestick holders off the shelf and turned it over. The price was hefty, but he could well afford the cost, especially since the purchase would be worth every penny if it won him points with Venus.

After she took the other holder off the shelf, he handed the one he was holding to her.

As she took it from him, their hands brushed, sending a little electric charge through him—and, if he wasn’t mistaken, judging by her sudden tension, through her, as well.

The moment was over in the span of a few seconds, however, and she quickly turned away toward the back of the store.

He followed her as she walked to the checkout counter.

“Is there anything else I can show you?” she asked over her shoulder.

Yes, you. He admired the view of her from the back. Spectacular. He thought about how she’d fit in his arms.

Aloud, he forced himself to say, “That’s it for this time.”

There’d be plenty of other occasions over the course of the coming month, if he had anything to say about it.

She went around the counter and he stopped in front of it.

He watched as she pulled the price tag off his purchase and then wrapped both candlestick holders in tissue paper.

The sight of her slim, manicured hands readying his purchase was arousing.

He needed to get a grip, he thought. Or better yet, get laid.

“Are you staying in Tahoe or just passing through?” she asked, interrupting his reverie.

“I’m staying in Hunter’s Landing for a few weeks,” he responded. Referring to his stay in terms of mere weeks somehow made the upcoming month more palatable.

“Oh, really?” She glanced up. “I live near there.”

“Hunter’s Landing is small and quiet,” he said with a grimace.

He figured she probably assumed he was here for a vacation. He was dressed in khakis and a polo shirt for a change. His usual uniform consisted of custom-made suits and power ties.

“I like small and quiet,” she responded.

Small. Quiet. She didn’t sounded like a party animal, he thought. Maybe she was in a relationship and felt little need for the local bar scene.

She wore no ring, but there could be a boyfriend in the picture. Or, more likely, boyfriends, he amended, figuring men panted after Venus.

“Since I’m not familiar with Hunter’s Landing,” he said, “maybe you can tell me where I can find a good meal.”

He was stretching the truth, since he’d grown up literally next door, on his family’s estate in Clayburn, and he’d been to Tahoe on many occasions.

But not in recent memory. Lately he’d been bent on revenge, and Tahoe was too much of a local playground for Webb Sperling and his ilk.

On top of it all, the caretaker of the lodge had left the refrigerator there stocked with gourmet food, but Venus didn’t have to know that.

She seemed to consider him, as if wondering whether he was putting the moves on her.

Desire washed over him in a wave.

Her top was a typical V-neck but, since her breasts were at least a C cup, almost anything on her would have looked sexy.

He could also see now, with more intimate inspection, that her eyes were amber shot through with green and gold.

Eventually, she said, “There’s not much going on in Hunter’s Landing.”

Now there was an understatement.

“There’s the Lakeside Diner,” she went on, “and, of course, Clearwater’s, which has a deck overlooking the lake.”

Oh, yeah. He could picture a little romantic dinner, moonlight glinting off the water, followed by a retreat to the lodge. They’d sip some red wine and maybe take a dip in the hot tub, all the while listening to some mellow jazz. Then he’d peel off her clothes and they’d make love in the oversized master suite.

He tried to unfog his brain as she deposited his purchase in a ridiculous yellow bag displaying the Distressed Success name.

“Clearwater’s sounds great…” He paused. “I didn’t get your name.”

“Kelly.”

“Kelly.” He held out his hand. “Ryan.”

She shook his hand and he felt long, elegant fingers, her delicate palm tapering to a slim wrist.

The moment seemed to draw itself out, until she finally withdrew her hand.

“How would you like to pay for your purchase?” she asked.

As he pulled out his wallet, he wondered whether he’d only imagined that her voice had sounded husky. “AmEx okay?”

She smiled. “Of course.”

Anything to make the customer happy, he thought. She was the consummate saleswoman and, having grown up as an heir to the Sperling department stores fortune, he knew something about the art form.

He handed her the credit card. “I’d enjoy having some company at Clearwater’s.” He’d eaten alone way too often lately. “Are you available for dinner tomorrow night, Kelly—? I didn’t get your last name.”

Tomorrow was Saturday. Smooth, smooth.

“It’s Hartley,” she said easily.

As she glanced down at the credit card he’d handed her, a weird feeling washed over him.

One of Webb Sperling’s many mistresses had been named Hartley, and the woman had had a daughter with the name Kelly.

Kelly’s smile died at the same time as the one on his lips froze. He watched as her eyes widened and her lips parted.

Damn it.

Recognition seemed to slam into her at the same time it did into him.

He cursed under his breath. To think, he’d almost got taken in by a bimbo, just like his father. Almost, though. Fortunately, he didn’t have Webb Sperling’s susceptibility to trashy women.

He’d worked hard his whole life to avoid comparisons to his father. Luckily, his looks came from his mother—a debutante from a rich family—who’d been a dark-haired beauty, right up until cancer had claimed her, just as it had his friend Hunter.

Beautiful, of course, was just the way Webb Sperling liked them, he thought cynically, staring now at Kelly.

Beautiful and money hungry. No wonder she’d thought Dev’s bride was lucky to have landed a millionaire.

She’d chosen well for the location of her store. Tahoe catered to people with money to burn. Just like her mother, she seemed to have an unerring sense of where to find easy money.

If he had a say, though, Venus would be ruined.

“You’re Webb Sperling’s son,” she said.

“And you’re Brenda Hartley’s daughter,” he responded grimly.

How could she not have recognized him?

Easily, Kelly answered herself. She hadn’t seen him in more than a decade, since before she’d left Clayburn, and he’d become something of a press-dodging millionaire. From time to time, she’d read newspaper articles about his business dealings, but that was about it.

Of course, the intervening years had wrought a transformation in him.

Any hint of teenage lankiness was gone, replaced by lean muscle and the good looks of a movie star. Though she was tall and wearing heels, he easily topped her. And unlike Webb Sperling—who was blue-eyed and fair, though his hair had been turning white for years—Ryan was dark. With chocolate-brown eyes and dark hair, he had a face that was all Roman god.

She’d felt her breath leave her body when he’d walked in the door. When she’d been a teenager, she’d also found him overwhelming, though then she’d merely stolen glances of him from a distance.

Back then, she’d have been tongue-tied and dumbstruck if Ryan Sperling had deigned to speak to her. He was only two years older, but his wealth and rebellious bad-boy attitude had made him seem far removed from her in worldliness and sophistication.

She’d never had an actual crush on him—she’d been far too practical for that—but she’d been able to appreciate his seductive appeal.

Rumor around town had been that Ryan was aware of his father’s affairs and resented him for it. Ryan’s mother had fallen ill and died around the time that Webb Sperling had been involved with Brenda Hartley, and, soon after, Ryan had departed for college, not to be seen around Clayburn again.

She watched now as Ryan’s lips curled. “Well, if this isn’t a strange coincidence.”

The look on his face hardened. Clearly, he was aware of the history their parents shared.

“Or maybe not so strange,” he drawled.

She tensed. “How so?”

He rubbed his jaw. “I’m finding it hard to believe you didn’t recognize who I was the minute I came into your store.”

Her eyebrows knitted. “And why would I pretend not to know you?”

He shrugged. “Perhaps you were trying to impress me without seeming to, hoping I’d run back to tell the Sperlings what a tremendous little entrepreneur you are.”

Her eyes widened. So he knew about her negotiations with Webb Sperling to get her designs into Sperling department stores.

She felt herself flush and an uncomfortable feeling swept over her. She was still uneasy about accepting a favor from her mother’s loathsome former lover, even if she was desperate to realize her dreams for Distressed Success.

His lips curved without humor. “Sort of like a chef pretending not to know when a food critic is in the restaurant.” He looked around her shop, his expression disdainful. “Except you calculated wrong, because I’m not in Webb Sperling’s orbit these days.”

So, she thought, Ryan’s relationship with his father hadn’t improved over the years. The rebellious teenager had transformed into an estranged son.

Aloud, she countered, “If that’s the case, then how could you know about any discussions I might have had with Sperling, Inc.?”

Her negotiations with Sperling were still in their early stages. She had yet to see a contract, in fact.

“I have my sources.”

She raised an eyebrow. The idea of Ryan engaged in corporate espionage struck her as funny, even under the circumstances. “A spy?”

“It’s not spying when it’s all in the family,” he asserted.

“And you all get along so well,” she shot back.

She knew the company that owned Sperling department stores was completely family owned, its shares divided among various Sperling extended family members.

“I’m not like my sordid parent,” he said bitingly, looking her up and down. “That’s more than I can say for you.”

She bristled.

“On second thought, I should have recognized you. The similarity to your mother can’t be missed.”

She felt heat rise to her face again as her temper ignited. She’s spent years making sure she didn’t become her mother. She’d worked hard to get where she was—and, unlike some people, she hadn’t had the benefit of family money to back her up.

She couldn’t do anything about the curvaceous figure and dark coppery red hair that she had in common with the loose-living, fun-loving Brenda Hartley. But these days, people around Tahoe knew her as the owner of a successful small business and as a respectable member of the community. And that’s just how she liked it.

“Let me show you the door,” she managed, gritting her teeth.

He tossed some bills on the counter, much more than the crystal candlestick holders were worth. “Consider this my contribution to the cause.”

Two

“Phew! Who was that?” Erica said as she glanced back toward Distressed Success’s front door, where she had just entered and Ryan had just departed. “Looked like Mr. Tall, Dark and Dangerous.”

“Mr. Tall, Dark and Irritating is more like it,” Kelly responded, wrinkling her nose. She was still steaming over Ryan’s attitude.

Kelly had hired Erica, a cute blonde and married mother of two, to help her out in the shop part-time, and her assistant was just showing up for the day.

As Erica continued toward her, she looked down at the bills scattered on the counter. “Well, it seems as if he liked what he saw.”

“Yes,” she agreed acerbically, “until he realized whom he was seeing. That was Ryan Sperling.”

Erica’s eyes widened.

“Yep,” she said in confirmation, “Webb Sperling’s son.”

She glanced down at the counter. Ryan had left double what the candlestick holders had cost.

Damn Ryan Sperling, she thought. He made her feel unclean accepting his money, just as she felt unclean doing business with Webb Sperling.

“It’s too bad he turned out to be someone you’d never want to get involved with,” Erica responded. “He’s the hottest guy to walk in here in months.”

“I hadn’t noticed.” Liar, liar.

“What’s he doing in Tahoe?” asked Erica, picking up the scattered bills.

She shrugged. “Taking a vacation, I assume. And with any luck, I won’t be running into him again.”

She filled Erica in on the encounter with Ryan.

Since being hired to work at Distressed Success three years ago, Erica had become her close friend. Though Kelly was cautious about what she told people regarding her past, she’d confided in Erica about her childhood in Clayburn and her mother’s affair with Webb Sperling. More recently, Erica was aware of her negotiations with Sperling, Inc. and how they’d come about.

“From what you’ve told me,” Erica said finally, “he wasn’t too happy about your doing business with Webb Sperling.”

“Well, there’s nothing he can do about it.”

Yet, despite how adamant she sounded, she found herself shaking off a feeling of unease.

“Still, maybe it’s best if you got this contract with Webb finalized, sooner rather than later,” Erica observed.

I couldn’t agree more, Kelly thought.

“I’m going to get back to opening those boxes of merchandise that arrived yesterday,” Erica announced.

“Thanks.”

After Erica had headed back to the stockroom, Kelly found herself left alone with thoughts that she couldn’t push away.

The encounter with Ryan Sperling had shaken her up more than she cared to admit to Erica. Ryan exuded power, even a little ruthlessness, and he made her nervous on every level.

By Ryan’s own admission, however, he and his father were estranged, so there was little he could do to meddle in her negotiations with Sperling, Inc. Or was there?

She knew from press reports that Ryan had made a fortune gobbling up cable companies. She’d also read he’d inherited from his paternal grandfather a small minority of shares in the family business, but other than that, he had nothing to do with the Sperling retail chain.

On the other hand, Ryan seemed as if he’d be all too eager to upend his father’s best-laid plans, particularly when they had anything to do with his former mistress.

Somehow, Ryan had known about her attempt to get her goods into Sperling stores and he’d seemed none too pleased at the prospect.

Kelly shook her head. Of course, she wouldn’t be in this predicament if she hadn’t said more than she wanted to her mother.

She still rued the day she’d confided in Brenda that she hoped to find a national retailer to carry designs under the Distressed Success name.

The last time her mother had breezed through Tahoe, Brenda had been short on cash again and looking for “a small loan,” and, as usual, Kelly had offered up some money, knowing she’d never be repaid.

Brenda had taken the opportunity to look around Distressed Success and comment on the latest inventory.

“These jewelry boxes are gorgeous, tootsie,” Brenda had said, holding an embroidered silk and stone-encrusted case.

“Thanks,” she’d said, walking over. “I hired a manufacturer to produce samples from some designs I sketched. I’m selling some of the samples in the store, but I’m hoping to find an outside vendor for them, too.”

She hoped if the samples sold well in Distressed Success, she’d have an easier time getting a big chain to carry them. Her dream wasn’t to carry other designers’ goods in her boutique, but to build up Distressed Success into a national, even international, brand using her own designs.

Brenda perked up. “A vendor?”

Her mother turned the jewelry box around in her hands, inspecting it. Her nails were long, manicured and fire-engine red, a color that matched her lips.

Not for the first time, Kelly wished her mother would tone it down. Brenda’s makeup was perfect for television or for the Las Vegas showgirl she’d once been, but in the harsh light of day, it just looked garish.

Then again, Kelly reflected, since her mother’s life often resembled a soap opera, the makeup wasn’t completely inappropriate. Brenda continued to live in the fast lane, her devil-may-care attitude still going strong in her fifties.

Kelly sighed. As a teenager, she’d been embarrassed by her mother’s loose living. Her mother had drunk, smoked and partied hard. And now it appeared some things were destined never to change.

“I’m looking to partner with a national chain,” she said in response to her mother’s inquiring look, “but there’s a lot of competition for shelf space, especially in the more prestigious retailers.”

She could only fantasize about getting her designs in Neiman Marcus or—

“What about Sperling?” Brenda said, her eyes sharpening.

For a moment, Kelly thought she’d spoken out loud, but then she realized Brenda was giving voice to what she herself had been thinking.

“I could contact Webb and—”

“No,” she said emphatically. It would be a bad idea for either of them to let Webb Sperling back into their lives.

“It’s settled,” Brenda said animatedly, putting down the jewelry box. “I’ll just give Webb a call and—”

“No.”

But Brenda was already caught up in another one of her schemes. “Of course, he’s still married to that cheap slut Roxanne—” Brenda’s mouth curved in a hard smile “—but Webb and I keep in touch.”

Kelly resisted rolling her eyes. As far as Kelly knew, Brenda and Webb hadn’t been lovers in years. But one could never tell with those two, particularly since Webb was a known adulterer and Brenda had never looked a gift horse in the mouth.

Kelly mentally winced at the thought of her mother approaching Webb for a favor, then winced again as another, more ominous thought occurred and she wondered whether Brenda had already been approaching Webb from time to time over the years for “a small loan.”

In the end, she’d convinced Brenda to back off the idea of contacting Webb Sperling—or rather, she thought she had.

Two weeks later, however, the phone call had come. Webb’s tone had been too hearty, his attitude a tad oily.

She hadn’t had the willpower to resist what was being dangled in front of her, particularly since all her dreams for Distressed Success were bound up in it.

Now, though, she’d unexpectedly come face-to-face with the avenging angel—someone who despised Webb Sperling and everything associated with him. His son.

Still, Ryan’s attitude riled her. He had some nerve to judge her.

When they’d both been teenagers in Clayburn, he’d been the scion of the richest family in town and she’d been the daughter of the local sexpot and living in a run-down house in the cheapest part of town. Sure, her mother had had an affair with Ryan’s father, but only because the senior Sperling liked his women brassy and trashy.

Her world and Ryan’s couldn’t have been more different—growing up, the only times she’d see him was when she’d occasionally spot him around town. He’d attended exclusive private schools, while she’d been a student at the local high school.

And though he’d had a reputation for hell-raising, his rebelliousness hadn’t prevented him from getting into Harvard. She, in contrast, had worked her way through two years of community college to earn a degree in small-business administration and management.

The same will to succeed, however, now made her pick up the phone sitting on the counter. She needed to put her mind at rest, or try to.

When Webb’s secretary picked up, she said, “I’d like to speak with Mr. Sperling, please.”

“Who shall I say is calling?”

“Tell him it’s Kelly Hartley of Distressed Success.”

“Please hold while I see if he’s available,” the secretary intoned.

After she’d endured an anxious wait of several minutes, Webb came on the line.

She’d been afraid he wouldn’t be in since it was already Friday afternoon and her recollection from her days in Clayburn was that Webb liked his golf game.

“Kelly, what can I do for you, sugar?” Webb said heartily.

She hated being called sugar, but it appeared to be Webb’s favorite endearment.

“Thank you for taking my call,” she began.

“There’s no need to be so formal, sugar. After all, we’re old friends, aren’t we? Next time, you just tell my secretary that it’s Kelly calling.”

Ignoring the invitation, she went on, “I thought I’d check to see where matters stood as far as putting through orders for Distressed Success’s designs.”

Webb sighed. “You have to be patient, sugar. I’ve passed along your information to the right people.”

“Yes, but—”

“You could say we have a sort of committee system around here for bringing in a new vendor,” Webb said jocularly. “Lots of hoops to jump through.”

She’d heard the speech before, but it had already been weeks since she’d heard from any of his people. “I know, but it’s been a while since—”

“Listen, sugar, there’s a meeting I need to get to. Say hello to your mama for me, you hear?”

Webb ended the call before she could argue any further.

Kelly bet his meeting was an appointment on the golf course.

“What’s wrong?” Erica asked, walking back into the room.

“I called Webb Sperling to check on things, and got nowhere,” she replied. “He told me to be patient, etcetera, etcetera.”

“Still thinking about your run-in with Ryan Sperling?”

“Among other things.”

Erica shook her head. “Don’t let a man shake you up. Trust me, it isn’t worth it—” she stopped and grinned “—particularly when you aren’t even sleeping with him.”

An image of her and Ryan making love flashed through Kelly’s mind, sending a shiver of awareness shooting through her.

Appalled, she tried to banish the image.

She was sick, sick, to even be thinking of Ryan that way after he’d basically accused her of being a skank and made it clear what he thought of her business.

The guy was obviously a jerk with tons of baggage—baggage she didn’t need. She already had enough luggage herself to ground a 747.

Erica waved a hand in front of her face. “Earth to Kelly. Come in, Kelly.”

“Sorry,” she responded, focusing on Erica again.

“Was it something I said?” Erica joked. “You know—” Erica looked at her shrewdly “—Ryan may be a jerk, but there’s no denying he’s a wealthy, good-looking jerk.”

“Really?” she asked, injecting her voice with a healthy note of skepticism.

“Mmm-hmm.”

“Hey, you’re a married mother of two.”

“And not dead.”

“What would Greg say?” she pressed.

Greg, Erica’s husband, was a hulking firefighter.

“Actually,” Kelly added, her tone turning thoughtful, “the image of Greg pounding Ryan to a pulp holds some appeal.” Until now she hadn’t known she possessed a bloodthirsty streak.

“I think it would be an even fight,” Erica responded. “Ryan Sperling looked like no pushover.”

And that’s what she was afraid of, she thought, pushing aside her unease once again.

She forced herself to switch gears. “Good news. How could I have forgotten to mention it when you walked in? I’ve been officially hired for the decorating job at the lodge.”

Erica clapped her hands. “Fantastic!”

Kelly nodded. “I met with Meri again yesterday, briefly toured the rooms of the house that need decorating and signed a contract.”

She and Erica had been discussing the lodge ever since the caretaker for the mysterious home—a woman named Meri—had walked into Distressed Success, taken a look around and talked to them about decorating some empty bedrooms.

Meri, a good-looking woman with an incisive mind, had been short on details about the lodge. It wasn’t until Kelly had met with her on Erica’s day off yesterday that she’d gotten any real particulars about the house—luxurious even by Tahoe standards—about which speculation had been rife among the locals during the nearly twelve months it had taken to build it.

“For some reason the lodge is now being transformed into a restorative place for cancer patients and survivors,” she said to Erica.

Erica raised her eyebrows. “The plot thickens.”

“Officially,” she went on, “Distressed Success has been hired by the Hunter Palmer Foundation, which got the original building permits. The home has never been fully furnished, and now that it’s going to be a restorative place, they need to complete the decor ASAP.”

Erica cocked her head. “Why aren’t they going with the original decorator?”

“The original firm is too busy right now to take on any more business.” And happily, she’d turned out to be the beneficiary of the scheduling difficulty. “Meri wants this project completed in the next few weeks in order to cause as little inconvenience as possible to any future occupants.”

Erica’s brow furrowed. “Lots of work for you.”

Kelly gave her a game smile. “No sacrifice is too great where Distressed Success is involved.”

“You’ve got to lighten up,” Erica grumbled.

“I will. After I put the success in Distressed Success. I want the Distressed Success name in every bathroom, every bedroom, every living room—”

Erica rolled her eyes. “Good grief. I’m working for a megalomaniac.”

Kelly stopped and grinned. She’d almost forgotten how badly her day had started. Almost. “Sorry. I got carried away.”

“So when do you start?”

“I’m visiting the lodge on Sunday, since the shop is closed then. Meri gave me the key to the front door yesterday. She shuttles back and forth to Los Angeles, and she wanted to make sure I’d have easy access. The house will have an occupant for the coming month, but he’s been told about the decorating project.”

Meri had been tight-lipped about who had been using the lodge, but rumor among the locals was that a man had stayed there in March, another in April and a third in May. Kelly assumed they’d been vacationers who’d paid to rent the place, and that the man due to check in this weekend was there for a similar stay.

“Do you need me to come along?” Erica asked.

Kelly shook her head. “Sunday is your time with the kids. Meri hired Distressed Success because we’re local and this project needs to be done fast. Now that I’ve seen the lodge, I think I know what she’s looking for.”

Sunday couldn’t come too soon for her. She was relishing diving into a new project. Just let Ryan Sperling try to stomp on her dreams!

Sunday morning, Kelly got up early and drove over to the lodge.

Although decorating the house would eat into her leisure time, she was eager to have another venue to showcase her designs. She had no illusions about how competitive the home-decor market was and she’d already spent years improving her designs.

As she got out of her car, she looked up at the famed log-and-stone house. At 9000 square feet, with a soaring sloped roof suspended on thick log columns, the home would surely satisfy any millionaire’s luxury tastes. Multistoried, with covered decks on the main level, the house sloped down to the water on one side and had a spectacular view of Lake Tahoe.

Her feet crunched on the ground in front of her as she crossed to the house and traversed the porte cochere to the front entrance.

It didn’t look as if anyone was at home, but she rang the doorbell a few times anyway. She waited a moment and, when she received no response, she let herself in with the key Meri had given her.

Stepping into the great room, she caught her breath, impressed all over again. A massive fireplace dominated one wall and large armchairs stood before it. An immense metal chandelier was suspended from the vaulted ceiling, which was braced with wood beams. Windows and French doors afforded a wonderful view of the lake, which glittered under the gaze of the morning sun, the sunlight catching and sparkling like so many diamonds scattered across the waves.

She turned around and looked back at the grand staircase that led to the upper level, where Meri had told her the master suite and guest bedrooms were located. Only two of these rooms had been furnished so far.

Hearing a click, she whirled around, realizing she was no longer alone.

“What the hell—”

Ryan Sperling, naked except for a gray towel riding low on his hips, stood silhouetted by the French doors leading to the deck outside. Droplets of water clung to his torso. Ryan’s expression was thunderous, and Kelly sucked in a breath.

She drank in the sight of his smooth, muscled chest, flat stomach and hair-roughened legs, which ended at feet planted firmly on the plush carpeting.

She knew from her first tour with Meri that there was a hot tub on the deck. He must have been soaking in it.

“What the hell are you doing here?”

“I—” Shock rendered her momentarily speechless.

“If this is some desperate attempt to try to persuade me that Sperling department stores should be doing business with you,” Ryan sneered, “forget it.”

She couldn’t believe his ego. He’d already informed her that he didn’t have anything to do with Webb these days. Did he really think she’d seek him out as a supplicant for any leverage he could provide as far as getting her products into Sperling department stores? Apparently so.

Ryan’s expression darkened even more. “If this is some sort of entrapment scheme, I’ve got some of the best lawyers in the country on retainer.”

Her temper rose. “Not to worry. Entrapping you is the last thing on my mind.”

He scowled. “How did you track me down?”

“Easy,” she retorted, “I just followed the trail of fawning women.”

He smiled mirthlessly. “I’ve got news for you. Women don’t faint for me, they just press their phone numbers into my hand. But this is the first time one’s gotten into my house unannounced.”

“You’ll have a hard time tossing me out,” she said, letting a note of satisfaction creep into her voice.

“Why’s that?”

“I’m the newly hired decorator.”

Three

Ryan figured if he kept talking, he wouldn’t get turned on.

Little Miss Sweet and Tart was the last woman he’d expected to discover inside the house, even if he’d had one heck of an erotic dream about her last night. In fact, for a second, when he’d first seen her, he figured he must still be dreaming.

He’d been ticked off this morning when he’d realized whom he’d been fantasizing about and that, combined with his current effort to hold those memories at bay, made him brusque.

“Meri said a decorator would be coming by,” he said icily, “but she also said whoever it was would ring the doorbell if she did.”

“I did ring the doorbell,” Kelly said defensively, “but I got no response.”

“I was in the hot tub,” he snarled, “and I didn’t hear you. Then when I did, it took me a minute to get inside to answer the door.”

“Clearly.”

Great, Ryan thought. It was the first time he’d had a chance to relax in a hot tub since he didn’t know when, and now he had to deal with her.

It didn’t help she was wearing some ridiculous getup that nevertheless managed to be provocative. She had on a white crewneck T-shirt, a long, high-waisted black skirt and black suspenders. The outfit was finished off with midcalf-length black leggings and black pumps.

Her generous breasts were framed by the high waist of the skirt and by the black suspenders. Damn.

“I rang three times,” she said.

“I heard only two.”

Her chin came up. “Are you suggesting I’m a liar?”

He smiled mirthlessly. “The apple usually doesn’t fall far from the tree.”

“Same thing goes.” She craned her neck. “Anyone out there with you?”

He frowned. “No.”

She stopped trying to see outside and gave him a cool look. “Well, I’m surprised.”

She went beyond irritating, he decided. And what’s more, if she was the decorator, then she’d be hanging around the entire time he was here. The realization came as a blow.

“I didn’t see a car,” she said.

“It’s in the garage.”

“Oh.”

He raked his hand through his hair. “How long is this damn decorating job supposed to last?”

Her lips tightened. “For several weeks, at least. And please try not to refer to it as ‘this damn’ anything. Some of us have to work or starve.”

“Or depend on the generosity of our friends,” he sneered.

He figured Brenda Hartley’s daughter could spot a sugar daddy as well as, if not better than, her mother. The two certainly looked alike. The pair shared the same voluptuous figure and dark-red hair—and the same siren voice calling men to their doom.

“Let’s keep family out of this,” she snapped.

“Can’t,” he responded. “You’re trying to shake some more fruit from that tree.”

“It’s a business deal!”

“Nothing for Webb Sperling is merely business when an attractive woman is involved.”

Her mouth fell open. “Are you suggesting I’m putting out?”

He raised his eyebrows and she sucked in an outraged breath.

“I don’t put out for anyone,” she bit out. “Besides, if the newspapers are to be believed, you’re just one of many family members who owns a minority interest in Sperling, Inc., so there’s not much you can do about my contract with Sperling stores.”

“It’s not a contract yet, sugar.”

Despite her bravado, he sensed her worry he might be able to do something to cause her deal with Webb Sperling to fall through. The hardened business executive in him knew better than to tip his hand, however.

“Look,” she said, “I don’t like this arrangement any more than you do. Let’s just agree to stay out of each other’s way. Next time, I’ll ring the doorbell until someone responds or call in advance or whatever.”

“Nice to hear, but there won’t be a next time.” He picked up the cordless phone sitting nearby. “I’m calling the caretaker and getting this project postponed or, better yet, cancelled.”

The longer he stood in front of her nearly naked, the harder it was to keep thoughts of sex at bay, which fueled his ire, both at her and at himself.

“You wouldn’t dare,” she said, hurrying forward.

She stopped an arm’s length away, visibly fuming as he dialed the cell number Meri had given him.

When Meri picked up after a couple of rings, Ryan spelled out the problem, his eyes on Kelly.

“But I don’t understand,” Meri said. “I explained the decorating project to you previously by phone, and you had no problem with it.”

“That was before I knew who you’d hired. Ms. Hartley and I have—” how the hell was he supposed to describe it? “—a history. Or rather, we don’t, but a couple of family members do.”

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