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,”