Her Convenient Millionaire Read online

  Sherry hugged everyone, accidentally on purpose including Mike in the hugs, and left with her husband, despite Juliana’s invitation to join them for dinner. Kurt’s obvious, unspoken gratitude when she turned them down made Sherry’s envy swell up like an evil green toad, big enough to choke her.

  She wanted that, wanted someone who was eager to be with her and only her. No, not just someone. She wanted it from Mike. Instead, he couldn’t wait to get away from her.

  Sherry dropped him off in front of the bank. He leaned back in before closing the door. “Don’t bother coming to pick me up. I’ll catch a ride or I’ll walk. It’s not far, and I’d rather you just went on to the club. People there can take care of any trouble.”

  She nodded and drove away before the car that was stopped behind her could honk. She wished she could feel special because Mike showed concern for her safety, but he did it for everyone.

  Then she looked in the rear-view mirror and saw Tug glaring at her from the driver’s seat of the car following. Had he seen her? Was he following them? Maybe he didn’t recognize her. She’d cut her hair, after all.

  She drove a little farther down the street, fighting panic. He couldn’t do anything to her now. Could he? Surely even Tug wasn’t that crazy. In fact, they’d just passed the Palm Beach Police Department a few doors down from the bank. Realizing then what she should do, Sherry turned at the next block, past a row of businesses. Tug turned, too. She would circle back to the police station, and if Tug was still following her, she would park and go inside.

  Just before she made the next turn, Tug pulled into a parking place along the street, and Sherry breathed a sigh of relief. Those phone calls had her a little too spooked.

  On Friday night the party was just getting into full swing when Mike and Sherry arrived. People had spread through the house, drinking and laughing, getting geared up for a Palm Beach party. He could feel her hand tremble through his tuxedo sleeve. He laid his free hand over hers, where she’d tucked it into the crook of his elbow, and leaned down to murmur in her ear. “Spit in his eye. I’ll back you up.”

  Her laugh sounded shaky, but he got one, as he’d hoped.

  “I think I’ll hold off on the saliva for now and just go for figurative spitting.” She smiled up at him. “I think you’ll do perfectly for that. He won’t be able to abide knowing I’m married to you.”

  “My goal in life.” He winked and led her up to the door.

  It stood open to the balmy night air, his new relatives collected in the spacious entry hall beyond. Three of them—Sherry’s sister, her new husband and the girls’ father—Mike already knew. The tiny dark-haired woman with the dramatic coloring and the stretched look, hinting at more than one facelift, had to be the stepmother. He waited while Sherry kissed the air near the woman’s cheek.

  “Bebe. Tug.” She didn’t look at her father even as she called his name. “I’d like you to meet my husband, Micah Scott.”

  That was his cue. He stepped forward and offered his hand. “Pleased to meet you.”

  Bebe looked at his hand as if it were a dead fish washed up on the beach and took it in a two-fingered grasp, maybe worried that the fish smell would rub off. “How…nice to meet you, Mr. Scott. May I introduce—” She’d already let go to wave vaguely in her husband’s direction.

  “We’ve met.” Mike extended his hand. Would the man take it? Mike almost wished he wouldn’t. He was in the mood for a fight, verbal or otherwise, over the way they treated their daughter.

  But Tug Nyland smiled a big fake toothy grin and clapped Mike on the shoulder as he pumped his hand, unable to resist the hard-squeeze-handshake competition under his jovial surface. “That’s right. In front of that club, wasn’t it? The day you two got married. Tell me, was it before we met, or after, that you married my daughter?”

  Mike kept the smile pasted on his face. He knew it was small, tight and hard, but he couldn’t fake it the way these people could. He nodded.

  “Nyland,” he said in both greeting and acknowledgment of the question. He didn’t trust himself to say anything more.

  “This is my other daughter.” Nyland’s tone of voice said “the good daughter.” Mike clamped down harder on his mood.

  “We already know each other.” Juliana used Mike’s outstretched hand to pull him in for a quick, fragrant hug. She looked different somehow. Softer. Prettier. Marriage must agree with her.

  “I was at their wedding,” Juliana was saying. “And they were at ours.”

  “You went to Sherry’s wedding?” Nyland stifled his outrage, barely. “Why didn’t you tell me? I’d have come. Helped celebrate.”

  Mike tucked Sherry against his side. He could feel her shaking, but none of it showed. He had no right to take pride in her gutsy attitude. She wasn’t really his, except on paper. “Sherry wanted something small, very private,” he said. “I agreed.”

  “What is it you do, Mr. Scott?” Bebe spoke, all polite refinement.

  “Bodyguard?” Nyland put in his two cents.

  “I work at La Jolie.”

  “A…bartender?” The stepmother actually staggered as she assumed the worst. In shock, Mike assumed, or maybe horror. She went pale. Nyland went a deeper shade of red.

  “I do a lot of things there.” Mike knew he only had to mention that he owned the club to soothe their sensibilities. Which was probably why he was enjoying this so much. “Sometimes I tend bar. Sometimes I do other things. Like deal with rowdy customers. Sherry’s been working as hostess for us.”

  “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 dr
ink 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.

  Nine

  Mike 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—do
es 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.