Her Convenient Millionaire (11 page)

“Wor…worki—” Bebe stammered, her hand rising to her throat.

“Yes, working,” Sherry said. “At La Jolie. It's fun.” Beaming a big smile, she put her arm around Mike, beneath his jacket so that only his white silk shirt lay between her hand and his back.

The touch felt more intimate for being hidden. Mike wanted to move away but couldn't. This was the main purpose behind their imitation marriage. The show had to go on.

Bebe looked even more appalled. “Would…will any of—”

“I'm a friendly guy, Mrs. Nyland. I know a lot of people. On the other hand, the ones I have to…escort from the club are pretty drunk. They don't recognize faces too well under those conditions. Maybe they won't make the connection.” Mike moved his hand up to Sherry's shoulder, thinking to get a little space between them.

He touched bare skin where the neckline of her shimmery dress swooped down Sherry's back to expose most of her shoulderblades. Somehow he managed to keep from jumping like one of those electrified frogs in the old experiments. She sent electricity slamming through him in just the same way.

Juliana laughed uncertainly. “Don't be so melodramatic, Bebe. Mike's family now. Just like Kurt.” She pointed through the house. “The food is out back, near the pool. Find us later and we can talk.”

With a last nod at their hosts, Mike led Sherry through the house, past the couples dancing in the sunroom-terrace with its row of glass-paned doors open to a courtyard where, as promised, they found food. He filled a plate with fresh boiled shrimp and steamed scallops, choosing the things he could recognize from the buffet table. Over the years, he'd become a connoisseur of the exotic when it came to food, but he preferred knowing what he was eating, or at least knowing the chef.

“Why, Sherry Nyland, as I live and breathe. Do introduce your friend.” The sugary-sweet, fake-magnolia voice belonged to a short voluptuous blonde. The other reason, the main reason, he hated these parties—the people who came to them.

“It's Sherry Scott,” Mike said, not bothering to extend his hand. “I'm her husband.”

“Her…” The blonde looked from Sherry to Mike and back again. “My goodness, you Nyland girls are just full
of surprises tonight, aren't you? Wherever did you find him?”

Sherry threaded her arm through Mike's. “Doesn't matter. There aren't any more like him. He's one of a kind.”

“That's too bad.” The woman dipped her forefinger in her drink and ran it down her cleavage, giving him a “come hither” look from her heavy-lidded eyes. “I guess we'll just have to make do with the one.”

“Sorry.” Mike turned away. “Not interested.”

He found a quiet corner where he could eat his seafood in peace. Sherry came with him.

“Go visit with your friends,” he told her. “I'm sure you want to. As long as you stay outside, I can keep an eye on you from here.” He needed a little space. All the touching and holding they'd done had him wanting more than was safe.

Sherry popped a tiny tomato in her mouth. “These are all Tug and Bebe's friends. Not mine. I never did much of the Palm Beach social whirl. Most of my friends live in places like New York or Atlanta for most of the year.”

“Why do you live here, then?”

She gave him a one-shoulder shrug. “I'm not sure anymore. Every time I talked about moving away, hunting for a job, going back to school, Tug went on and on about how hard it was, how dangerous the city was, things like that. It seemed— I thought it meant he wanted me, wanted me nearby, anyway. So I stayed.”

Mike wondered what it was that Tug had really wanted. The man obviously didn't care about his daughter beyond the money he could get out of her. Mike could tell Sherry had been hurt when she finally realized that truth, but he didn't think she would welcome his sympathy.

“Anyway—” she turned a new bright smile on him “—I thought the whole idea behind coming to this party
was to demonstrate how madly in love we are. How can we do that if I'm over there and you're over here?”

Damn.
She was right. “You have a point.” He managed a brief cockeyed smile. “Guess you're stuck, then.”

“Oh, I wouldn't call it stuck.” Sherry took his empty plate and set it on a nearby tray. “Dance with me?”

She drew him by both hands to the dance floor set up beyond the pool. The band was playing something slow and romantic he remembered from high school. He didn't want to do this. Didn't need to do it.

And just like every other time in the past few weeks, Mike found himself doing exactly what he knew he shouldn't. He took Sherry into his arms, laid his cheek against hers and moved to the music.

The world floated away. Or maybe they were the ones floating, rising above the palms and party lights to dance among the stars. Step by tiny step, Sherry moved closer. Mike spread his hand wide on the small of her back, touching as much of her as he could reach. His other hand held hers, tucked against his chest.

Her short hair drifted against his face in the offshore breeze, an inadvertent caress, and he had to take a deep breath. The scent that was uniquely Sherry mixed with that of the sea and summer jasmine, making him light-headed. Or was that caused by her body moving against his? He didn't know, nor did he care. He could go on dancing like this till the world came to an end.

Sherry sighed. Her hand on his shoulder slid upward until it curved around his neck above his collar, and her fingers slid into his hair. She stroked her cheek against his, her soft against his rough. He didn't know it was possible to want anyone so much.

Someone tapped him on the shoulder. “Can I cut in?” A woman's voice. Mike stared down at her a full minute before he recognized Juliana.

She laughed. “Did you even hear the music? You danced through three songs exactly the same. Even the Metallica one.”

He could feel his face burn and hoped the lights were dim enough it didn't show. At least people would believe they were typical newlyweds. “Do you want to dance?”

“Actually I want to steal my sister for a few minutes.” Juliana linked her arm through Sherry's. “But I'm sure you won't have any problem finding a partner.”

“Thanks. Think I'll pass.” Mike followed them back toward the house.

The sisters settled into a wicker sofa in the glassed-in sunroom to talk. Mike spotted a bar set up at the other end of the narrow room and moved that way. He could keep an inconspicuous eye on Sherry from there.

He waved away the offered champagne. It had never been his drink of choice. But Sherry looked to be settled in for a long cozy chat, and he didn't want to just stand here holding up the wall, so he asked for a beer—and was a little surprised to get one. He took the bottle, waving off the glass, deciding to go in-your-face with his lower-class origins. He might be as rich or richer, than these people, but he wasn't one of them.

Mike moved to one of the shoulder-wide sections of wall between the wide-open glass doors, hoping to get away from the bar traffic. He leaned back against the wall, lifted one foot and propped it against the wall, too. The party flowed in and out of the house in waves between his position and Sherry's. Glittering people, groomed within an inch of their lives, talking maniacally about nothing at all. Mike fitted in about as well as a wolf in a pack of poodles.

He took a sip of his beer and watched his wife as she talked with her sister. Did Sherry have a clue how gorgeous she was? Her skirt rode high on her thighs as she sat with her feet curled under her, her shoes lying on the floor. Mike
wanted to tug her skirt down, cover up those legs all the way to her ankles and hide them from every guy in the place. Including himself.

He tipped the bottle to his lips again and saw his father-in-law steaming across the gray stone floor toward him.

M
ike dropped his foot to the floor, but didn't change his casual lean against the wall.

“So you and my Sherry are really married.” Tug rattled the ice in his drink—whiskey from the smell of it.

“Yep. Legally binding and all that.”

Mike waited, watching Sherry, while Tug stared at him. He didn't know what the man wanted, but as long as he stayed away from Sherry, Mike didn't particularly care.

“Why?” Tug said. “What do you think you'll get out of it?”

Stupid question.
Mike looked at the other man. “A wife.”

Tug went on as if Mike hadn't spoken. “You're planning on raking in a tidy pile on her birthday, I'm sure. Maybe you'd better make other plans. Divorce her now, and I'll make it worth your while. Otherwise you'll get nothing.”

Temper flaring, Mike somehow managed to keep from
grabbing his father-in-law by the throat. “Sherry is my wife. You got that?
Mine.
And not you or any of these other spoiled, greedy SOBs is going to change that.”

The older man's face went red. “Who the hell do you think you are? You're nothing, that's what. Nothing and nobody.”

“Maybe so,” Mike said. “But I'm the nobody who is Sherry's husband. And I'm not going away.”

Tug flushed a deeper crimson, and before Mike could react, the burly man swung. His fist blasted into Mike's face, snapping his head aside. The second blow came right behind it from the other direction. Mike stopped the third, catching his father-in-law's wrist and twisting it behind his back in a familiar, well-practiced move.

Women were screaming, guests both scrambling away and gathering to watch. Sherry's voice carried above the crowd and Mike looked up to see her shoving her way through the crowd toward him. She called his name.

Mike twisted Tug's arm higher, applying the pressure he'd long ago learned would immobilize the most powerful foe. He leaned forward and whispered in the man's ear. “Stay away from Sherry and stay away from me, and we'll get along just fine. Understand?”

Tug sputtered, tried more threats, saying, “Do you know who I am?” unwilling to give up just yet.

Mike increased the pressure. “Stay away from Sherry, or you'll be dealing with me. Do you understand?”

“Yes, yes, all right.”

The minute Tug's bluster collapsed, Mike released him, watched him retreat until he felt Sherry reach his side.

“Oh, Micah—” She touched his cheek, near the ache he could feel swelling. “What happened?”

He looked around at the still-growing crowd and shrugged. “Caused a scene, looks like.”

“Who cares about that? Your face—does it hurt much?”
She brushed fingers lightly across the ache, and Mike had to suppress a shudder.

Not from pain. Her touch didn't hurt, exactly. He felt it, was aware of it, but the shudder came from her careful gentleness. It affected him in ways he didn't want it to.

“Let's get out of here.” He took Sherry's elbow to urge her out the front door.

“Yes. We need to get that eye looked at.”

“No, forget it. Let's just go home.”

Sherry pulled her arm from his grasp. “Absolutely not. Not until I know how your eye is.”

“It's fine.”

“I don't believe you. Let me see it.” She caught his face and tried to turn it toward her.

Mike jerked his head back and stepped away. “Not here. People are staring.”

“Let them stare.”

“Let's go.”

“Fine. The kitchen's that way.”

“I want out of this house.” He couldn't stay here among these parasites another second.

Sherry took him by the wrist and led him out the open doors to the backyard.

“The car's that way.” Mike pointed back through the house. He needed to get away from all the staring and gossip.

“I refuse to wait till we get home to see what Tug's done to you, and the light's bad in the car. There's a pool house.”

He saw it then, the rough-hewn wood siding hidden behind overgrown bushes. Sherry dragged him around the pool and up the walkway into the small building. Mike kicked the door shut behind him. He didn't want anyone to know the pool house was occupied. She kept going across the room, not bothering to turn on lights.

Finally Sherry went through another door, flipped a light switch and Mike found himself in a spartan, gray-tiled bathroom.

“Sit there.” She pointed at the toilet as she rummaged in a cabinet.

Mike put the seat down and did as she ordered. Before Mike knew what she intended, she was bending over him, turning his face up to the light.

She wet a cloth in the sink and dabbed it over his bruises. The cool water felt good. “What happened?”

“Stupidity.” He tried to use his disgust at his own actions to wall off the feelings rising inside him. It didn't work.

Sherry stood far too close to him in her shiny stockings and her shimmery party dress; her head bent over his, trying to clean up the results of his own foolishness. And he couldn't stop himself from wanting to haul her onto his lap and kiss her. Her tender concern made his own tenderness well up, strong and uncrushable. It was why this whole mess had happened in the first place. He couldn't stop the feelings, no matter how hard he tried. They kept coming back.

When Sherry's father had said those rude things at the party, absolute fury had swept through Mike so fast, it was all he could do to control it. He never would have been so angry, had he not felt more for Sherry than he should. He'd spouted off, which made things worse. He hadn't thrown any punches, but if he'd kept his cool, most likely nothing would have happened.

He couldn't deny it anymore. He had feelings for her. Feelings that grew stronger with every little hiss that escaped her as she tried to bathe his wounds without hurting him. The bruises didn't hurt nearly as much as
he
would when all this was over, especially if he didn't get control of himself now. He wasn't in love with her, not yet. But
all the pieces were there—the tenderness, the protectiveness, the desire.

Mike leaned forward just enough to breathe in her scent. He had to get away, had to get her safely home, had to get some distance from her unknowing temptation, or he would break something else—his promise to himself. His heart.

Sherry tossed the cloth in the sink. “You're lucky,” she said. “I don't see any skin broken. Not even a busted lip.”

“He missed my mouth.” A bit of fortune for which Mike was becoming more grateful by the minute.

“What happened? Why did he hit you?”

“I wouldn't divorce you.”

“Oh.” She looked away, fidgeting with a fold of her dress. “I'm so sorry.”

“Why? It's not your fault your father's pond scum.”

She gave a little forlorn one-shoulder shrug. “It's my fault you have to deal with him.”

“I don't mind.” Mike could resist no longer. He needed her in his arms, needed it like he needed air. He tugged her off balance, into his lap. “I don't mind at all,” he said as he touched his mouth to hers.

The kiss was pure sweetness and heartache, and Mike couldn't make himself change its tone. He felt what he felt, and it all came out in the kiss—sweet, hot and pure.

Her hand settled on his cheek, a drift of warm comfort. She sighed, relaxing into his embrace, sending Mike high and tight with this evidence of her trust. He wanted—
needed
more. Anything she would give him.

So what if it broke every policy he'd ever laid out for himself? He didn't care anymore how stupid it was to get any deeper involved with her. He didn't care that she'd grown up in Palm Beach. At this moment all he cared about was that Sherry was his wife and she was in his arms.

Mike slid his hand down her waist, past the curve of her hip, until he reached the hem of her dress. There he waited,
his hand on her nylons-covered thigh, for a sign from Sherry. Would she object?

Her breathy moan didn't sound like an objection. Nor did her gasp when he brushed his thumb under the edge of her skirt. She deepened the kiss, stroking her tongue into his mouth. Her hand slid from his cheek down inside his jacket, where she pressed it to his chest.

He leaned back, and the plumbing fixtures digging into his spine reminded him where they were. In a bathroom. He lurched to his feet, setting Sherry down on hers as he did, because he wasn't sure he wouldn't drop her. He didn't let go, though, as he staggered toward the doorway.

She wrapped her arms around his neck and clung like a limpet. She kissed his throat, his chin, his cheek, and Mike had to stop his unsteady progress to kiss her mouth again, drawing her up tight against his body. One hand found her bottom, cupped its firm curves, used it to hold her where he needed her. But he never forgot his goal. He wanted out of the bathroom.

Sherry panicked when Mike started moving once more. It didn't matter that he kept his arms around her, walked her with him. He'd done that before and still walked away. She couldn't take it happening again.

“Mike. Wait.” She punctuated her words with kisses.

He groaned and propped his forehead on hers. “What?” He brushed her hair aside with his nose and nibbled at her earlobe, almost driving all thought from her mind.

“What's wrong?” she gasped.

“Nothing.” His nibbling moved down her neck, and Sherry dropped her head back to give him better access. His lips plucked lightly at her skin, leaving behind a moist trail that made her shiver.

“Then, where—” She forgot the rest of what she wanted to say when he pushed a knee between hers and suckled lightly at a spot just beneath her jaw. Her skirt was too
straight to let him put the pressure of his knee where she wanted it, unless she hiked it up. Did she dare?

“We're in the bathroom.” He rushed the words out and returned to his nibbling.

“So?” She couldn't manage more.

Mike slipped his hand from her bottom to her thigh and began inching her skirt up for her. “So I refuse to make love to my wife for the first time in a bathroom.”

Oh, dear heaven. Jolted by his words, Sherry shoved his jacket halfway down his back, reveling in the feel of his powerful shoulders beneath smooth silk. She buzzed with the need to touch. He was so broad, so strong, so much more than anything she'd ever known.

“That is…” He paused. “If
you
want—”

“There's a bed.” She didn't care if it made her sound needy. She was needy. Well beyond the point where pride could have any effect.

“Thank God.” Mike lifted her in his arms. Not sweeping her off her feet like Rhett carrying Scarlett up the stairs, but straight up in the air, body to body, heat to heat. Sherry wrapped her legs around him, hiking her skirt up the rest of the way. Mike kissed her, his tongue plunging deep, making promises she hoped he would finally keep.

“Where?” he gasped.

“Turn right.” Her voice didn't sound any clearer than his. “You can't miss it.”

He went through the doorway and turned right. Two quick strides later he bumped the bed and fell on to it with her. They kissed, necks straining, lips reaching, unable to break apart, as they scrambled to rid themselves of clothing, hands jumping from one to the other.

He tugged his tie loose, while she unbuttoned his shirt, stopping after only three buttons when he broke the kiss long enough to whip the tie over his head. He lowered the zipper on the back of her dress, while she yanked his tux
edo jacket inside out, trying to pull it off his arms, unable to see because her mouth was so deeply involved with his.

Her dress came off in one violent struggle, and they came together again, clinging as if they'd been parted for years rather than seconds. She wriggled her panty hose halfway down, then finished undoing his shirt buttons, his belt buckle and his slacks as he peeled her stockings the rest of the way off.

Then, finally, Sherry glued her naked body to Mike's. The touch of his skin against hers made her quiver with anticipation. His erection trapped between them told her she wouldn't have long to wait. But it told her wrong.

All of Mike's desperate haste vanished. His kiss somehow softened and deepened at the same time, becoming both passionate and tender. He cupped her face in both his hands as he kissed her. Then he lifted his head and looked at her, gazing into her eyes a long moment before turning to watch as his hand skimmed down her neck, out her shoulder and back to cover her breast. He followed the path of his touch with his eyes.

Sherry felt no urge to cover herself, though she felt exposed and vulnerable under Mike's gaze. He made her feel sexy, wanton, beautiful, safe. He had promised. She was safe with him.

Micah lowered his head, touched his lips to her neck, and Sherry quivered. He kissed his way down to her shoulder, his fingers skimming over her skin just ahead of his kisses. She squirmed, her breasts tingling. She needed him to touch her there, but he wouldn't. Slowly, inch by inch, he moved across her shoulders, nipping at her collarbone, dropping a damp, tender kiss in the hollow of her throat and another in the dip above the slender bone on the other side.

Only then did he move lower, kissing his way across the upper slopes of her breasts and into the valley between.
Sherry arched her back, begging silently for more. Her nipples had tightened into hard little buds in anticipation of Mike's slow sensual journey, and still he passed them by, lavishing his kisses everywhere else. He followed the path set by his hands, around her breasts, across her stomach, along the sensitive inner surface of her upper arms. Every touch, every kiss tantalized her, brought her nerves to quivering life and left her hungry for more.

When his palm brushed over the peak of her breast, she jerked convulsively, galvanized by the electricity of his touch. Or perhaps it was her own need for his touch that made her jump. She'd never felt this much. She didn't know what to do with all the feelings he created inside her. There wasn't room in her body to hold it all in. There wasn't room in her heart for everything Micah Scott made her feel.