Her Convenient Millionaire

by Gail Dayton

  “I know. So…why?” Mike knew the answer wouldn’t make any sense to him. These people—the ones born rich—had their own skewed logic.

  “I wouldn’t marry Vernon P. Geekly, III.”

  “Who?”

  “That’s just what I call him. Vernon Greeley. Money up to here.” She indicated a spot two feet above her head. “It’s what makes the world go round, you know. Money. Tug’s world, anyway.”

  Sherry sounded like Mike did himself sometimes when he got to talking about people and their relationship to money. Bitter.

  “Let me get this straight. Your dad kicked you out of your house, changed the locks, told the help not to let you in, all because you wouldn’t marry some guy he picked out?” He wouldn’t have believed such a Victorian melodrama if she’d merely told him, but he’d seen it—part of it—himself.

  “That’s about the sum of it.”

  Leora reappeared, carrying a small gym bag. “I was afraid to get much. A few things, he won’t notice them missing.”

  Sherry hugged the older woman. “Thanks, Leora. You’re the best.”

  “Your sister, she will be worried for you,” Leora said.

  “I’ll call her when I can. She doesn’t need to be in the middle of this. I’ll be fine.” Sherry smiled with an assurance Mike was pretty sure she didn’t feel.

  “I only wish I could do more.” Leora apologized once more with a look and vanished inside, locking the door again.

  Sherry picked up the bag and walked off the porch.

  Mike trailed after her. “What are you going to do now?”

  “Get a job. Find a place to live.”

  “No, I mean now. Right now. Tonight.”

  “It’s morning.”

  “Don’t be difficult. Where are you going?”

  She shrugged. “I’ll figure something out.”

  Mike took a deep breath. It was stupid…he knew it was stupid…and he was going to do it anyway. “Come on.” He took her elbow and steered her back to the car.

  “What? Let go of me.” Sherry tried to pull away with as much success as could be expected. None. “Isn’t humiliating me like this enough for you?”

  He shook his head. “I have to be out of my mind.” He opened his trunk and tossed her bag in. “Because I’m taking you home with me.”

  Sherry backed away. “No way. Forget it. I’m not going home with you. Just give me back my bag and I’ll get out of your way.” She didn’t know why he offered, but she wasn’t dumb enough to take him up on it. Bad enough she’d let him drive her here.

  “Don’t be stupid. Where else are you going to go?” He beckoned to her. “Get in the car.”

  “I’m not going with you.” She didn’t know anything about him, except that he was as stubborn as the day was long and built like a Greek god. And he had a bunch of cute nephews and a silver-haired mother. And he worked at La Jolie. Management, even. Okay, so maybe she did know a little about him. But it wasn’t enough.

  “Yes, you are. Now quit arguing and come on.” He reached for her.

  Sherry skittered out of his way, jerking her arms back. She wasn’t about to let him get hold of her. “Your overgrown sense of responsibility again? Give it a rest.”

  He propped his hands on his hips and stared at the concrete of the drive as he gave a long sigh. “Don’t you think I would if I could? Especially when I could be at home sleeping?”

  She scowled, suspicious. She hadn’t been suspicious enough in her life, and it was past time to start. Besides, she wanted to go with him. Too much. Which had to mean it was a really bad idea. He couldn’t possibly be as nice as he seemed. “If I were a guy, you wouldn’t be offering to take me home, would you?”

  “If you were a guy, you could protect yourself.”

  “I can protect myself just fine.”

  “Sure. If I’d wanted to, I could have carried you off the beach instead of just…” He looked embarrassed as he gestured at her purse. “You know.”

  Sherry felt the heat rise to her face. In the end, he hadn’t had to. She’d gone with him willingly. “I would have screamed.”

  “And nobody would have heard you.”

  They were getting away from the point Sherry was trying to make. “Okay, fine. But if I were forty years old and fat, would you still take me home with you?”

  “If you had no place else to go, and helpless as you are? Yeah. I would. In fact, I did. Well, it was a couple—husband and wife. They got robbed just outside the club, needed a place to stay long enough to pick up a wire from back home.” He glared at her. “You want references?”

  “Please.” She didn’t understand him. His attitude was totally outside her frame of reference.

  “Sorry. They’re a little hard to come by at this time of night.”

  “Just tell me why. Make me believe it. Why are you doing this?” If she could understand, maybe she could believe him. His offer was a lot more appealing than her other prospects. And the appeal didn’t have anything to do with the way his shoulders filled out that suit coat. Much.

  He sighed, looking away. He started to speak, hesitated, then tried again, as if the words were too hard to say. “I’ve been where you are,” he said. “In Pensacola, years ago. Broke, stranded, no place to stay because people I trusted—guys I was going into business with—ran off with everything I had. Somebody helped me then. He gave me a place to sleep. Helped me get back on my feet. So I know, okay? I know what it feels like.”

  Sherry found her suspicions lowering. Probably far more than they should. “I can sleep on the beach,” she said, trying one more time.

  “No, you can’t. It’s not safe.” He sighed. “Look.”

  The way his fingers spread on his hips, made her do as he said—look. Exactly where she shouldn’t. “It’s just for tonight. My mom lives in the apartment next door. I’d take you there if it wasn’t so late, but she’s…not well. Too sick for me to wake her up in the middle of the night. I’m just offering a bathroom and a place to sleep. Breakfast if you want it. That’s all.”

  She still hesitated. “You’re sure?”

  “Yes.” He sounded tired. “Are you coming? Or do I have to follow you down the street? Again.”

  “Aren’t you getting tired of following me?”

  “Yes. Aren’t you getting tired of running?”

  Sherry took a deep breath and let her eyelids fall closed. “Truthfully, yes. I am.” She was tired of so many things.

  He opened the passenger side door for her. “Come on,” he said. “You can start fresh tomorrow.” Then he smiled.

  Mike Scott smiling was a sight that should be outlawed, declared a controlled substance. It had too great a possibility of becoming addictive. His eyes crinkled up at the corners, and a dimple appeared in one cheek. Only one, which made it even more appealing.

  Sherry got in the car. He started it, a late-model American midsize of some kind—Sherry didn’t know much about cars—and headed south again. As he drove, he tapped on the steering wheel in rhythm to some private music.

  “What did your mom say when your dad pulled this stunt?” he said.

  “I imagine she would have said plenty.” Sherry smiled at the thought. “But she died. A long time ago. I was almost twelve. It was a boating accident. My parents were divorced a long time before that, though. When Mom died, I went to live with Tug and Bebe, my dad and stepmother.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “It was a long time ago. But thanks.”

  “Sure. I know how it is to lose a parent. It’s never easy.”

  “I thought you said your mom—”

  “My dad. A couple of years ago.”

  “Ah.”

  They rode in silence a moment or two. Until Sherry couldn’t stand the silence. “Mr. Scott—”

  “Call me Mike.” He slanted a glance her direction.

  “Mike.”

  He smiled again, just a little one, but it caused the same reaction in Sherry as his grown-up smiles. To
tal discombobulation.

  “Did you want something?” he asked.

  “I forgot.” She had no clue what she’d intended to say. The man was bad for her concentration.

  “What about brothers or sisters?” Mike said. “Didn’t the maid say you have a sister?”

  “Half sister. Juliana. She lives there, too. There’s just the two of us, besides Tug and Bebe.”

  “She didn’t say anything? How old is she?”

  “Almost twenty-two. But she probably doesn’t even know what happened. Tug and Bebe don’t tell her much. They have this need-to-know policy when it comes to Juliana, to protect her. I do, too, I guess. She’s the helpless one.” She grinned at Mike. “I, on the other hand, can take care of myself.”

  Mike smiled, but didn’t respond to her teasing. He rocked his head in time to his silent music as they drove across Palm Beach. The city was quiet, businesses and homes dark and sleeping. Sherry fought the weariness that sapped her, but lost the battle in two blocks.

  In the parking garage beside his building, Mike wondered if Sherry would wake up, or if he would have to carry her in. He hoped for waking. It was a long way up to the eighth floor, even with elevators. Besides, if he carried her inside and put her in bed, he wasn’t sure he had the willpower to keep from crawling in with her. He was already too tempted where she was concerned.

  He needed her awake and prickly with defenses in order to keep him in line. She looked too soft and vulnerable, curled up in the other seat. Too much like she could belong there, and that wasn’t right. Never would be. He had to keep reminding himself. She was from Palm Beach, home of the money worshippers.

  The slam of the trunk had her stirring, opening the car door. Mike hurried forward to catch her arm. Half-asleep and clumsy with it, she could easily fall.

  “Are we there yet?” she mumbled.

  “Yeah.” He smiled, getting an arm around her to hold her upright. Her sleepy confusion was cute as hell, and the feel of her in his arms lowered his resistance further. “We’re here.”

  Mike kicked the car door shut and steered her to the elevator. In the lobby they made the switch to the building elevator and rode it to the top. His apartment was in the corner. He could smell the pot roast the minute he got inside, and he swore.

  At the oath, Sherry startled, bashing her head into his jaw.

  “Careful.” He urged her toward a chair and went through to the kitchen to turn off the stove, swearing again.

  “What’s wrong?” She yawned, jaw popping.

  “Mom left supper cooking, that’s what.” He grabbed a hot pad and flipped the oven door open. “I told her not to do it. I told her I’d get something before I came home. I work at a restaurant. It’s no trouble. She doesn’t need to be coming over here, cooking for me. She needs to rest, dammit. She never listens to me.”

  He set the steaming roaster pan on top of the stove, and his glance fell on Sherry where she’d followed him into the kitchen. She was smiling, as if she knew something he didn’t. “What?”

  “I wonder how many times your mom has said ‘he never listens to me.’”

  All his frustration slid away, just looking at her smile. She was beautiful anytime, but when she smiled, he couldn’t find air—and he needed all he could get.

  “She probably said it a million times,” Mike admitted, trying to keep his mind where it belonged. “I’m pretty hardheaded.”

  Sherry laughed, and he went dizzy. “That’s putting it mildly. You define stubborn.”

  “You’re right in there with me, little girl.”

  “I’m not a little girl. Remember?”

  He knew it. Which was the whole problem.

  Her stomach growled audibly and he frowned. “Have you had anything to eat today?”

  Probably not. Not since noon, he knew for sure. He got a plate out of the cabinet and piled it with meat, potatoes and carrots from the dinner his mom wasn’t supposed to cook.

  “Here.” Mike set the plate in front of her, along with a knife and fork. “Mom makes the best pot roast in the world, and if nobody eats it, her feelings will be hurt. Want a soda to go with that?”

  “Thanks. Why aren’t you having any, if it’s so good?”

  Mike set a can of something on the table, got another for himself and sat across from her, thinking he wouldn’t be so tempted with the table between them. Now he couldn’t avoid looking at her, which was a problem because he liked looking at her way too much.

  “I already ate,” he said. “Like I told Mom I would.”

  “Oh.” She took a bite, testing the waters, then dove in. “I guess this makes you the favorite son, then.”

  He watched, spellbound, as her tongue licked gravy off the fork. “I’m the only son.”

  Talk. If he kept the conversation going, maybe she wouldn’t notice his preoccupation. “I’ve got two older sisters. The ones with all the boys. They don’t have time to look after Mom.”

  He had always thought those scenes in movies where people ate while making eyes at each other were totally stupid. Eating was eating and sex was sex. But watching Sherry Nyland eat was fast changing his mind.

  The way her lips closed around the fork as she pulled it from her mouth made him wonder things he had no business wondering. Like if those lips would close and cling the same way to other objects. And when her pink tongue licked out of her mouth across her lip, he wanted to capture it, wanted it licking across his lips. And other places.

  “Mike.” Sherry said his name as if she’d said it a few times already.

  “Yeah. What?” He forced his gaze away from her mouth to her eyes and ordered himself to keep it there.

  “Where were you?”

  His face went hot, even though it couldn’t be. He never blushed. “Nowhere. Right here.”

  “Could have fooled me.” She took another bite of roast, but this time he didn’t watch. “I was about ready to try radio signals to outer space.”

  “Just tired, I guess.” Mike tried to look casual, disinterested, tired. Something besides dumb, which was how he probably looked. “It’s been a long day.”

  “Sorry.” Her eyelashes made little shadows on her cheeks when she looked down at her plate.

  “For what?”

  “For making you chase around after me after you got off work.”

  “Oh, that.” He relaxed. He’d been worried for a minute that she was going to try to leave again, or do something else crazy. “Don’t worry about it. I didn’t mind.”

  “It was nice. Actually, I do appreciate it,” she said. “You didn’t have to be so nice to me.”

  “What was nice? I acted worse than one of my nephews. I grabbed your purse.”

  Sherry put her fork down and glared at him. “You stop that, this instant. If I say you were nice, then you were nice. Does that ruin your big, bad bartender image? Well, too bad. Because you are a nice man, Michael Scott. And if I want to thank you for being nice to me, you are going to sit there and take it. Okay?” She waved a hand.

  “Okay.” He had to work to keep a straight face. She was cute when she got all riled up. Like a kitten in a hissing fit. “And it’s Micah.”

  “What?”

  “My name. It’s not Michael. It’s Micah. Like in the Bible. Old family name. Remember? I told you.”

  “Oh.” She seemed disappointed he didn’t want to argue. “I guess I didn’t hear you.”

  “You’re welcome, by the way.” He wanted to take her hand, but he’d promised her nothing but a place to sleep. And he’d promised himself he’d stay away from Palm Beach beauties. Hand-holding wasn’t allowed. Nor was holding any of the other things floating through his mind—like her body against his.

  “I guess I have a hard time thinking of myself that way. You know. Nice.” He drank down the last of his soda. “I just do what needs doing. You about done with that plate?”

  Sherry blinked, as if he’d surprised her. “Yes, thank you. It was delicious.”

  “I’
ll tell Mom you said so.” Mike carried her plate to the dishwasher. “Come on. I’ll show you where you can sleep.”

  “I can take the couch,” she said as he led her through the living room to the back of the apartment. “I’ll probably fit better than you.”

  “No need.” He opened the door to his office/guest room. “No guarantee on the quality of the mattress. My oldest sister handed it down to me when they got a new bed for her oldest. But it is guaranteed to be better than the beach.”

  “Thanks.” She surveyed the room and smiled up at him. “I really do appreciate this.”

  With her smiling at him like that, Mike had trouble finding his words. “You’re welcome.”

  He beat a hasty retreat. He had to keep his distance, make sure she understood he didn’t play her kind of games. He heard her door close a fraction of a second before he closed his. Good.

  Sherry woke up from a dream of Mike’s thundercloud-gray eyes staring at her, swallowing her up, stripping her bare, right past her skin clear down to her soul. She was so disoriented that, for a minute, she didn’t realize the sharp rapping was someone knocking on a door, rather than the pounding of her heart.

  Where was Mike? Why wasn’t he answering the door?

  Sherry scooted out of bed and opened the bedroom door. Immediately she heard distant shower noises. That explained it. She pulled shorts on under her Tweety-bird sleep shirt, ran her hands through her hair so it didn’t look quite so wild, and stepped out into the hallway at the exact same moment that a dripping-wet Mike, clad only in a towel, stepped out of the opposite bedroom.

  She stood nose to nose with his wet, naked chest. Which, she decided, meant that it was more nose to sternum. Nose to collarbone.

  Water had plastered down the faint drift of hair across the center of his chest and followed the trail leading down from his navel to vanish beneath the towel he held clutched at one hip. The towel that gaped open to expose a tanned, muscular thigh and an inch or so of untanned hip. She couldn’t help herself. She had to look. He was the most magnificent specimen of human male she’d ever seen.