Her Convenient Millionaire (3 page)

He wanted to say something about winning and losing not being the point here, but couldn't figure out how. So he just pulled across the empty lanes of traffic to the proper side of the street. “Where to?”

“I don't even care anymore.”

What was that all about?

Mike slid a glance in Sherry's direction as he made a totally illegal U-turn in the middle of the block and headed back toward the north end of the island and the address on her license. It didn't matter. He'd take her home and that would be the end of it. He'd never have to see her again. Unless, of course, she came back to the club.

M
ike glanced at his passenger. Something wasn't right here. Sherry sat slumped against the door, all the fight gone out of her. He told himself he was doing the right thing, tried to wall off the guilt that rose when he saw her drooping head, her hands lying limp in her lap instead of clutching that useless purse for all it was worth. She needed to be home.

Letting a pampered local like Sherry Nyland stay alone on the beach all night was as inhumane as turning a crippled parakeet loose in a room full of hungry cats.

He found the address he'd memorized and turned in the drive. “Give me your keys.” He held out his hand.

Dully, without any of the spunk or sparkle she'd shown on the beach, Sherry found her keys and dropped them in his hand. Mike walked around and opened the door for her. She didn't move. He had to practically lift her out of the seat, then he walked her up to the wide, plantation-style
front porch. He put the key in the lock, but it wouldn't turn.

Puzzled, he looked at the collection of keys again. The other two were definitely car keys. Lexus. Downscale for this town. He tried the house key again. Still wouldn't turn.

“You're sure this is where you live?” He held the key-chain out to her.

She took it but let it slip through her fingers to the porch. “That's what it says on my driver's license, doesn't it?”

Mike frowned and rang the doorbell. It was late, but he didn't care, not anymore. He could hear a faraway echo of sound in the big house, though this one was small by Palm Beach standards. He rang it again, and again. He could keep it up until somebody answered the door. If there was anyone to answer.

“Is anybody home?” he asked.

Sherry shrugged, nothing more. He turned to ring again when the door was opened by a petite Hispanic woman clutching a robe closed at the neck. She stood guard in the narrow opening.

Mike identified himself. “I've brought Miss Nyland home.” He tipped his head toward Sherry.

“She doesn't live here no more,” the woman said, refusing to look anywhere but at Mike.

“Then why does she have this address on her license?” Mike wanted to shove past the woman, push Sherry inside and get away from there, before he did something really dumb; but he stayed on his side of the door. With Sherry. Maybe her family had moved out. “Where are the owners? I want to speak to them.”

“They not here.” The housekeeper's voice trembled. She looked terrified.

“It's okay, Leora.” Sherry finally spoke. “I don't want to get you in trouble. Go on back to bed.”

The woman finally looked at Sherry, tears filling her
eyes. “I am sorry, Miss Sherry. It is not right, what they—”

“Don't worry about it, Leora. I'm going now.” Sherry backed up a step while Mike stared from the tiny dark woman to the tall blonde, trying to figure out what was going on.

“Wait. I get your things.” Leora rushed back into the house, leaving the door ajar.

Sherry slumped against one of the porch columns. Mike stared at her, eyes narrowed. What the hell was this?

“My father threw me out, okay?” she said, all defiance and despair.

“Why? Drugs? Drinking?”

Her laugh was bitter. “That wouldn't be a problem. I could spend my life in a stupor and he wouldn't care. Not that I expect you to believe me, but I don't do drugs or drink much. I've had two glasses of wine in the past fourteen hours.”

“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 melo
drama 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. Total 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.”