An Improper Affair. Anna DePalo
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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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