Her Convenient Millionaire (13 page)

What was she doing? Mike stood frozen, staring, as she skimmed her shorts and panties down to the floor and stepped out of them. Why?

He couldn't move, couldn't think, couldn't talk as she walked back to him. What did she want? Whatever it was, it was hers. Anything she wanted. She was so beautiful.

Sherry took the hem of Mike's shirt and lifted. His arms went up automatically to allow her to remove it. Her fingers slipped inside the stretchy waistband of his shorts and he caught them, stopped them. He couldn't do this, not if she didn't mean it.

“Sherry, you don't have to—”

She kissed him, stopping his words effectively, her breasts brushing against his naked chest. His hands tightened on hers.

“Hush.” Her lips whispered their way across his cheek to his ear. She rose on tiptoe to reach it, leaning into him. “I know I don't have to do anything I don't want to, Mike. So what do you think that means?”

With his hands still gripping hers, she put her arms
around him, pressing her sweet body against his until he trembled with the force of what she did to him. What did she mean? He had trouble finding his brain's logic function. She had to mean that she wanted this, wanted whatever happened.

She set his hands in the small of his back and left them there. Her hands dove back under the waistband of his shorts and she went to one knee as she lowered his remaining clothing to the floor.

But once he'd stepped out, she didn't stand again. She laid her head against his stomach and put her arms around him. He shuddered. Surely she wouldn't—didn't intend—

Her lips closed over his sensitive tip, her tongue touched him, and he cried out. He dropped to his knees with her, wrapping her up in his kiss as he bore her down to the floor again. Sherry rolled, taking them over until he lay on his back with her sprawled on top of him, the open paint can dangerously close to his head. Didn't matter. He was washable.

He tried to follow when she pulled away, but she grabbed his head between her hands and held him still.

“Shh. Slow down,” she said, her voice a caress in itself. “Today, I'm in charge. I am going to take care of you.”

“Oh—” Mike bit off the oath with a groan. “You're going to kill me.”

Her smile was pure wickedness. “Let's see if I really can.”

She took his hands and placed them together over his head before she started her experiment. He laced his fingers together and held on tight when she tipped his head up and kissed the pulse just under his chin. The one he felt throbbing clear through his brain. Then she kissed her way down his neck to nip at his collarbone before continuing downward. Her fingers ruffled the light dusting of hair in the center of his chest and her kiss there made him shudder.
His hands came up off the floor to cradle her head, to nudge her lower, and she stopped.

One at a time she caught his wrists, put his hands back over his head and pressed them against the floor. “Leave them.”

Mike didn't think he could force words through his throat, so he just nodded. He lost his ability to breathe, as well, when Sherry looked down his body. His buttocks tightened, lifting his hips just a little, inviting her to look more. To touch.

Her hands slid down his stomach and veered off across his hip as she touched her tongue to his nipple. He never realized his hands had moved until she was pressing them back on the floor. At least this time she didn't stop kissing him. Just not where he wanted it most.

He couldn't stop touching her, couldn't leave his hands where she put them. Her wicked exploration had him gasping, moaning and touching whatever he could reach. And still she wouldn't touch him where he most wanted it. Was this erotic torment payback for what he'd done to her last time? The first time they'd made love?

Who cared? He didn't. Not anymore. She was going to kill him if she kept this up another minute.

His control snapped. He grabbed her and flipped her beneath him, knocking the paint can with an elbow. It rocked, but didn't topple. He didn't care. He needed to be inside her. Now.

He had the presence of mind—barely—to find his wallet and the protection he'd started carrying since the party. Then he came back over her and thrust home. Sherry cried out, in passion he was sure, since she wrapped her legs around his back and lifted to meet him as he began to move.

She's mine. Only mine.
The words repeated in his brain in rhythm with his pounding motion. His passion rose, consumed him, burst into brilliance at the moment Sherry
throbbed around him, and through it all, the thought remained:

He couldn't let her go.

He didn't know how—or even if—he could convince her to stay, but he had to try. Maybe he would still fail, but if he gave up without making any effort, he was a bigger coward than his mother called him.

“Oh. My.” Sherry gasped beneath him and Mike immediately shifted his weight onto his elbows.

“You okay?”

“Am I still alive?”

He grinned. “We both seem to have survived your little experiment.”

She took a deep breath, lifting her breasts into firmer contact with his chest. “Good. Because it didn't end right.”

“No?” Mike pushed her hair back, noticing more paint there than before. Oops. “Seemed to end pretty right to me.”

“Well, yes,
that
right was…very right.” She poked him in the collarbone. “But I was supposed to be on top.”

“Okay, okay. Next time you can be on top.”

Sherry paused, looked up at him uncertainly. “Next time?”

“You have to get the experiment right, don't you?” He smiled, hoping to get one back, and did.

“Try try again?” She raised an eyebrow.

“And then practice till it's perfect.”

She laughed, hugging him tight. “Sounds like a plan to me.”

“You have paint in your hair,” he said a long moment later as he rolled away from her.

“What else is new?” She tossed him his underwear.

“More paint.”

“Yeah? Well, you have paint on your—” She patted his
backside and Mike twisted to see a fresh handprint, obviously just put there. Damn, he loved this woman.

The thought gave him pause. He loved her. It stopped him cold, but it didn't come as any surprise. It had been building since the day he married her.

The knowledge dug twice as deep into his heart, soared twice as close to the stars as anything he'd felt before. Could he keep her?

Sherry cared about him. He knew that now, but did she care enough? She'd run away from Greeley's money. She claimed to want her own only for the protection it would provide her. Could she mean it?

“We'd better get the rest of this paint on the walls,” he said, changing the cover on the paint roller for a fresh, fuzzy one. He handed it to her.

“I can do this part?” She beamed up at him.

“Have at it.” He hoped she wouldn't be so enthusiastic he had to go buy more paint. But if it made her happy…

Who would have thought? How many Palm Beach babes got excited over painting? At least one. This one.

Mike dipped the small brush in the can and started on the porch door. Something Tug had said at the party had been coming back to bother him in the weeks since, and it came back again now—that he'd get nothing if he stayed married to Sherry. Did that mean Tug had tied the trust up some way so Mike couldn't touch it, or did it mean something else?

He didn't care for himself, he had enough money to retire tomorrow and never be able to spend it all. But it might matter to Sherry. Maybe that should be the first step in his new, revised campaign—the one to convince her to stay. He should know what Tug meant and how it would affect Sherry.

M
ike pulled his car into a parking space and turned off the engine, then sat there, gripping the steering wheel tightly enough to keep his hands from shaking. He should have known, should have expected what he just discovered, but after the last week and a half, he'd dropped his defenses.

No typical, money-grubbing, trust-fund baby would get so excited about a few gallons of paint. That's what he'd thought when Sherry bubbled over about painting his kitchen barn red, and his bedroom midnight blue. He'd just laughed and let her go, even if it made his bedroom feel a little like a cave. He didn't mind the dark intimacy when Sherry came so willingly to his bed every night, when she opened her arms and welcomed him in with sweet kisses and soft words, inviting him to lose himself in her warmth.

But it was all an act.

Good thing he'd found out before he was sucked in any
farther. It was bad enough now, when he was just starting to fall in love with her. How far would she have carried the charade? As far as having a child? Mike shuddered. He let go of the steering wheel to open the door and get out of the car. His hands still shook. He balled them into tight fists and hid them in his pockets as he kicked the car door shut. He had to regain control before he went upstairs to confront her.

She would be there. Monday was her day off and his mother would be asleep this time of the afternoon. Even with the nurse, Sherry spent most of her time next door with Clara. Mike took a deep breath, fighting to make it smooth and even. The deep sense of betrayal threatened to rip him apart. He'd never felt anything like it, not even when Blair left him.

Mike touched his jacket, feeling the crinkle of the paper tucked in his inside pocket. He had his proof, a little crumpled, but he'd straightened it out again and folded it carefully away. He took another deep breath, this one smoother than the last, and headed for the elevator.

He found Sherry in the guest bedroom, the one she'd used that first night, sticking paint samples to the wall. She smiled when she saw him, the way she always did, and the sunshine brightness of the lie sliced through him like a blade. He refused to react, keeping his face impassive with some effort. Gradually her smile faded.

“Is something wrong?” She scrambled to her feet. “Clara…?”

“Mom's fine. I checked on her before I came home.”

“Then what…?”

How to begin? He'd promised to stay married until her birthday. Just because she'd lied from the first words out of her mouth didn't mean he would break his word. And yet, circumstances weren't what he'd been led to believe. “I think you should move back in with Mom.”

Little creases of confusion formed on her forehead. “But…why? Didn't you say she was—”

“She
is
fine. This doesn't have anything to do with Mom. It has to do with you and me.”

Her smile returned, hot and smoky. Sherry eased forward, hand out to touch him. Mike flinched away, out of her reach. He didn't dare let her get too close. He was too weak.

“Mike, what's wrong?” Her frown was back. She reached for him again, and again he moved away. “What's happened?”

“Did you think I wouldn't find out?”

“Find out what?” Her confusion sounded so genuine. What an expert liar she was.

“It's all been an act, hasn't it? From the minute you walked into La Jolie. You sat there all day, until you got my attention. Waiting for the boss.” He gripped the dresser, wrapping his hands around the edge so he wouldn't be tempted to touch her. “You hooked me on your line and played me like a pro.”

“What are you talking about?” Still she pretended innocence.

He swore, unable to take any more, and slammed out of the room. He fled across the living room and yanked open the balcony door, needing the fresh air, the ocean wind on his face.

“Micah?” Sherry had followed him, just as he expected. “I don't understand.”

“Don't you?” He spoke without turning, hands braced on the balcony railing, staring out at the waves beyond the beach. “Why did you ask me to marry you?”

“We've been through all that. My father. Greeley—”

“So why haven't I ever seen any sign of the man? Where is he? Who is he?”

“I…I don't know where he's been. He's the heir to some
chemical company that just got bought out by Dupont for a bazillion dollars.”

“If he wanted to marry you so bad, why didn't he ever show up?” And why did the answers matter so much? They shouldn't. Not now that he knew the truth.

“I don't know.” Tears choked her voice. He steeled himself against them. “Maybe he didn't want me all that much. Why are you acting like this?”

“Because I don't like getting trapped into marriage with lying, scheming, money-hungry cheats.” The words snarled their way out of the knot of pain churning in his gut as finally he looked up at her.

Sherry stared at him, eyes wide, tears streaming down her face. Damn, she was good. “Wh-what?”

“You can stop the act now. I know the truth. Maybe you didn't make this Greeley guy up. I don't know about that. But I do know that you looked around for available millionaires and latched on to the first one you found. Me. Hell, for all I know, you drew my name out of a hat.” He couldn't take her looking at him like that, like she was a puppy he'd kicked. She was the one doing all the kicking. She'd stabbed him in the heart. She had no right to look so wounded. Mike retreated into the house.

Of course she followed. “M-millionaire? You're not—you manage a restaurant.”

“I
own
the restaurant. I own this building. I've bought and sold more businesses than…than you've bought shoes. I buy them cheap, turn them around, make them profitable, then I sell them for an even bigger profit. Don't pretend you didn't know. Don't pretend that's not why you wanted to marry me.”

“But I didn't know.” She was crying hard now, sobbing as if her heart would break.

Could he possibly be wrong about her?
No.
He had the proof in his pocket. “Bull. You knew. You gave me a big
song and dance about ‘just till I get my trust fund,' and all the time you had big plans for me and my money.”

“I didn't.” She shook her head so her hair flew out straight. “I don't. I don't care about the money, Mike. I care about you.”

The boom as his hand hit the table echoed around the room. Sherry flinched, crying harder.

“Stop lying to me!” He tried to shout away the hurt, turn it into anger. “How do you expect me to believe a word out of your mouth when I know the truth?” He snatched the paper from his inside pocket and threw it at her.

It caught the air and floated gently to the floor, instead of arrowing hard and fast at her the way he wanted—the way the knowledge had hit him.

Sherry bent to pick it up, swiping her cheeks with the backs of her hands as she opened it. “What is this?”

“It's a statement.”

“Of what?” She turned it this way and that, as if that might make its contents more decipherable, as if she didn't already know what it said. More lies.

“Of your trust fund.” Mike strode across the room again, closing the balcony door enough that the curtains didn't blow halfway to the ceiling. “The one you're just waiting until your birthday to claim. The one you lied about.”

“I don't understand. Where's the balance?”

Mike stalked toward her and stabbed his finger at the tell-tale numbers. “Right there. The row of zeros.”

She went pasty white as the blood drained from her face. Her knees collapsed and she crumpled onto the sofa. He might have been alarmed if he didn't already know what a spectacular actress she was.

“It's gone?” she whispered. “All of it?”

“Every penny. But then you knew that. I met with the
trust officer after lunch today. Once I proved we were legally married, he was only too happy to show me your assets. Problem is, you don't have any. You and your father cleaned it out eight months ago, remember?”

“There's nothing left…” Her voice trailed away into silence.

She sat there motionless for so long, staring at the statement, Mike almost began to worry. Almost. But she had to know. How could she not know?

“I…” Sherry looked up at him then, so innocent, so hurt and bewildered and vulnerable that Mike wanted to hold her.

He wanted to believe her lies, stick his head in the sand and ignore the truth. But if he did, it would only hurt worse when the end finally came. Now, she just ripped loose a vein or two. If he let himself fall any deeper in love, she would rip out his heart and feed it to the vultures.

Sherry stood on wobbly legs. “I've never lied to you, Micah Scott. I didn't know about any of this.” She waved the paper at him and their surroundings, at the building he owned. “I'm the one who's been lied to. By my father, and by you.”

She drew a shaky breath, her chin quivering, and when she spoke, he heard the tears she fought. “I guess my big mistake was falling in love with you. You, Micah. Not this money I didn't know you had. My mistake. My problem. I'll get over it.”

A pang of conscience struck him as she walked shakily toward the front door. He fought it back—she was a liar, a manipulator—and he lost. “Where are you going? Home to your parents?”

Sherry paused. “No, not there. Never there. I'll figure something out.”

“Go to Mom's. Stay there till you know what you want to do.” Why was he saying this? He needed a clean break.
But he couldn't do it. “I'll send Bruno by with what the club owes you— I'm assuming you don't want to keep working there.”

She nodded, forehead against the door. After a long minute, she looked over her shoulder at him. “I've never lied to you, Micah. Not ever.” And she was gone.

 

Sherry stood in the hallway, her hand resting on the handle of the door she'd closed on her hopes for happiness. Her brain felt numb, while her thoughts reeled from one lightning strike to the next. The money was gone. Every penny.

Her mother had left her the trust fund. Nothing else. Not even a string of pearls. Sherry never knew what had happened to all her things. No one had bothered to answer her questions. And now the only sign she'd ever had to know her mother cared about her, at least a little, had vanished. It had been stripped away by a man who cared more about his own comfort than about his daughter's future.

But she wasn't that lost little girl anymore. She didn't need the money. She could survive without it. She wasn't so sure she could survive without her heart.

She tried to swallow back the fresh tears burning down her cheeks and only succeeded in choking on the boulder that had invaded her throat. When had she fallen in love with Mike? It had sneaked up on her bit by bit with each kindness, each smile, each kiss. She suspected she'd fallen a little in love with him that very first night on the beach when he'd been so insistent about looking after her. Nobody had ever done that before.

And he believed she'd set it all up just to get her hands on his money. She should have known he was more than a mere manager. He might have been able to make a deal for rent by managing a building he didn't own, but he'd never have furnished it the way he had. She'd seen the
clues but ignored them. She'd wanted to believe Mike was who and what he said he was. But it was all lies.

So what else was new? Sherry took a deep breath and wiped her eyes with the hem of her T-shirt. She'd been lied to before. She would be lied to again. Get over it.

She'd made herself a promise on the moon and the sea that she would stand on her own. She loved Mike, but she could live without him. Obviously, since he hated her, she'd better start getting used to it. The pain wouldn't kill her. It would just feel that way for a while.

Swiping at her eyes once more and hoping she didn't look too horrible, Sherry made herself walk down the hall to Clara's door and knocked. Then she let herself in, calling out quietly to the nurse in case Clara was still asleep. “It's me.”

“It's my heart that's broke, not my ears,” Clara called from the bedroom. “Come in here and talk to me before I go berserk from boredom and start grabbing for butcher knives.”

The duty nurse looked at Sherry across the kitchen island and grinned. “She's in a mood today. Feeling pretty good, so she's got to take it out on everybody around.”

Sherry smiled back as best she could and headed to Clara's big sunny bedroom.

The older woman was sitting up in a cushy recliner big enough to swallow her, putting the TV remote through its paces. “How can there be so many channels and nothing on worth watching?” she grumbled, turning her cheek up for a kiss without ever quite looking away from her task.

“I don't know.” Sherry fought to keep her voice even and failed miserably, as evidenced by the way Clara's head whipped around.

“What's wrong, sugar?” Clara gripped Sherry's hand tight as she searched her face. “What happened? Is Micah all right?”

“He…he's fine. Can I stay here tonight?”

“No, you may not.”

“Wh-what?” Shock started the stupid tears up again. Sherry tried to wipe them away before they showed.

“No. You can't stay here tonight. I don't know what you and that hardheaded son of mine fought about, but whatever it is, you can just march right back over there and straighten it out.”

“I tried—”

“Baloney. If you really tried, you'd be over there, not over here.” Clara waved her hand at the door. “Now go on. Get.”

Now
what would she do? Something. She'd think of something. She was a grown woman. Strong. Invincible. Pathetic. Okay, so she wasn't up to roaring just now, but she could by gosh squeak. “Can I at least wash my face before you kick me out?”