Matchless Millionaires: An Improper Affair. Elizabeth Bevarly

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      “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.”

      So that was where Ryan went when he left the lodge alongside her in the evenings. She’d wondered where he was going, even though she’d told herself not to.

      “Both times there’ve been women hitting on him, too,” Erica supplied.

      She felt a stab of jealousy.

      Stop it, stop it, stop it, she told herself.

      Still, she steamed over Ryan’s double standard. Apparently, he was willing to paint her as a wanton hussy while he hung out with the swinging singles crowd at the White Fir Tavern.

      She, meanwhile, had spent her evenings the way she usually did—quietly at home, alone. Often, she was simply trying to catch up on billing and other correspondence for Distressed Success.

      Erica shrugged. “You’d think Ryan would expect to see you there, offering lap dances to the male patrons, from the things he’s said to you.”

      “Yes,” she mused, “he would, wouldn’t he?”

      This wasn’t the smartest idea she’d ever had, Kelly conceded.

      Still, now that she was here, she had no choice but to brazen it out.

      Inside the White Fir Tavern, she spotted Erica and Greg sharing a table near the center of the pub.

      The second thing she noticed was Ryan, sitting at the bar holding a beer, turned mostly away from her and the entrance.

      Kelly noticed Erica’s eyes widen when she saw her.

      She’d told her assistant to go on home, since she just needed to finish closing up shop for the day. Instead, she’d gone to the back of the store and changed clothes before coming on over to the White Fir Tavern herself.

      She knew Erica and Greg would be there, maybe sharing a quick drink or some finger food before heading home to the kids and relieving the babysitter, who happened to be Erica’s mother.

      Of course, the other person Kelly knew she’d find at the White Fir Tavern was Ryan.

      But as she moved toward Erica’s table, she refused to look around because she didn’t want to lose her nerve.

      And judging from the look on Erica’s face, Kelly knew exactly how she must appear. Her whole outfit begged for attention, from the bronze halter top to the black skirt and three-inch spike heels.

      She got plenty of looks from the male patrons—admiring, appreciative and lustful.

      As she approached Erica, Greg turned around, too, and his arrested expression put both courage and fear in Kelly’s step, since it was probably a good indication of what Ryan’s reaction would be.

      “Hi,” Kelly said brightly, stopping at their table.

      “What are you doing?” Erica asked in a low voice.

      “Just what we discussed,” she responded. “Living up to what’s expected of me.”

      Greg looked from Kelly to his wife. “Anyone care to fill me in?”

      Erica nodded her head toward the bar. “It’s about the guy over there who’s staying at the lodge this month while Kelly is decorating. Ryan Almighty Sperling. He thinks Kelly is a—” she paused and threw Kelly an apologetic look “—slut. Kelly has taken it into her head to make a point.”

      Kelly watched as Greg looked up at her. “Well, I’d say she made it, all right.” His glance moved beyond her, and his lips twitched. “And to the guy at the bar, too.”

      “Good,” she said emphatically, though she felt the hairs at the back of her neck prick. “I’m going to get myself a drink.”

      She sauntered to the bar, taking care not to look directly at Ryan, though she could sense the heat of his gaze.

      “Jack and diet,” she instructed the White Fir Tavern’s bartender, a genial-looking man in his sixties.

      The bartender’s eyes crinkled and he set down a napkin before her. “Coming right up. Lady knows what she wants.”

      She smiled. “Today I do. Thank you.”

      “What the hell are you doing here?” Ryan said roughly.

      She took her time turning to face him.

      His expression was grim as his eyes raked her, pausing at her cleavage, where her breasts threatened to spill from the restraint of her halter top.

      “What am I doing here?” she challenged. “I thought you were the newcomer.”

      His lips thinned. “You know what I mean.”

      “I’m acting the way you expect me to,” she said with defiance. “Isn’t this where you thought I’d be?”

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