Lonely Millionaire Read online

  He hadn't counted on Mandy looking as she did, either. She looked like sunshine and flowers, a breath of fresh sea air with her long legs and her rounded curves. When that door had opened and she'd stood there, he'd felt something so earthshaking he had known that it was Mandy Clayton. No question. He would have known her anywhere. If she'd suddenly appeared out of an Arctic blizzard, be would have recognized her. Only she was a hundred times better. Who could have expected she would have eyes the deep blue of the Pacific Ocean, or a dimple in one cheek that flashed when he least expected it, and honey-gold skin that looked as soft as silk?

  Those were details that would interest Jack. They would interest any red-blooded American male. On the other hand, looks were important, but so were other things, and he had to get back and continue his investigation. He kicked up the sand with his toes and ran down the empty beach one more time, feeling the sun on his shoulders, the wind in his face, until his muscles ached and his heart pounded. Then he climbed the wooden steps back to the house.

  There was a shower at the top of the steps just inside the fence, a small foot shower that he turned on to rinse his feet. He wouldn't want to track any sand onto her varnished floors. It was a great house, lovingly cared for, so welcoming, waiting patiently with no one there to appreciate it. Almost like Mandy herself, living alone on the edge of a cliff. She'd said business was good, but he doubted it. She hadn't even looked in her calendar to see if she had room for him.

  He walked through the kitchen door and up the stairs toward the bedroom. Music reverberated through the house. He recognized the B52's and he heard her singing along with them to the song "Roam." Roam, it was his own personal philosophy of life. If you kept on roaming, you would never be anywhere long enough to miss it when you left. He paused outside the bathroom door and knocked. The music stopped abruptly. She opened the door a crack and peered out at him. Billows of steam obscured her oval face and tall, curvaceous body.

  "Sorry," she said. I’ll be out of here in a minute. I was trying to finish up before you got back."

  He craned his head to look inside. "Go ahead. Finish your shower. I didn't mean to interrupt."

  "I'm not taking a shower. Why would I be taking a shower with my clothes on? I'm steaming the paper off the walls." She pulled the door open. "See?"

  Through the steam he saw a room with a porcelain claw-foot tub along the wall. There were piles of thick towels stacked on shelves and hand-painted tiles in peach and moss green around the sink. And in the middle of it all was a stepladder, with scraps of wallpaper scattered underneath it

  He also saw tiny rivulets of perspiration trickling down her face, and her T-shirt was clinging damply to her breasts. He noticed that she'd changed into shorts, revealing smooth, shapely legs, but he forgot to notice the walls. Instead he stepped into the room and closed the door behind him, feeling an acceleration of his pulse rate.

  "Can I help?"

  "Oh, no, you're a guest," she protested, backing into the ladder.

  "It would make me feel better about barging in on you without a reservation."

  She picked up a metal scraper and studied him carefully as if he'd applied for a difficult job, one that she doubted he could handle. "Well..." she said dubiously.

  "Don't you want your guests to feel at home?" he asked, taking the scraper out of her hand.

  Instead of answering, she braced the ladder against the wall and climbed to the top, putting some distance between them.

  "Where is your home?" she asked.

  "Wherever they send me," he answered, looking up. His gaze followed her long, bare legs, her shirt that hung wide and loose. For a brief second he had a breathtaking view of her firm, ripe breasts unencumbered by a bra. He took a deep breath and went down on his knees to attack the wall with the scraper. And while he was there, he said a prayer for strength enough to resist the temptation to come on to Jack's girl. It would be wrong, unethical, inadvisable and definitely distract him from his goal. "I really don't have a home," he added.

  "I wouldn't like that," she mused, sending a strip of loose paper floating down to land on his shoulder. She mumbled an apology and he smiled, brushing it away easily.

  "Most women wouldn't. Moving around, that is. Women are nesters. Men are migrators."

  "Is that right?" she asked. "I don't think you can put people in categories, like birds. Some men want to settle down. Some women are always on the move, like my sister. She's in New York this week, and Toledo next week. But that doesn't mean she doesn't want to settle down, if she found the right man."

  "Maybe she'll meet someone on the plane. If she's half as attractive as you are." A blob of dried wallpaper paste fell on his head and he jerked his head up. "What was that for, can't you take a compliment?"

  "I prefer honesty," she said.

  His ears burned. Everyone preferred honesty, only sometimes it just wasn't possible. So far he'd only lied to her once, and maybe he could get through the week without another fabrication.

  "Anyway," she continued. "She meets lots of men on planes, but you have no idea how many men are out there pretending to be something they're not."

  Like Jack, he thought, keeping his head down. Pretending to be a millionaire. He'd told him not to do it, but Jack said it was just a way of catching their attention, of standing out from the crowd of personal ads. He was right. He'd caught their attention all right, the attention of hundreds of women. Was Mandy the one in a hundred, the one for Jack? Or was she too good for Jack?

  How was he going to find out? By spending as much time as possible with her this week, he answered himself too eagerly, by finding out everything he could about her, including how she felt about Jack, if possible.

  Mandy rubbed her hands on a damp towel and decided to put an end to the work party. Not that it wasn't enjoyable to have someone share the work and discuss the difference between men and women, but she had other things to do. And she'd discovered that she'd been peeling the same spot for the past fifteen minutes while spending too much of the time looking down at the back of Adam's head. She'd even wondered how his dark hair would feel if she ran her fingers through it. Definitely not appropriate thoughts for a hostess to feel about her one and only single male guest.

  No wonder she couldn't keep her mind and her eyes off him. She'd been alone too long, without guests, without men in her life. She started down the ladder and he steadied it for her. But instead of holding the ladder, he moved his hands to her bare legs, sending tremors up the sensitive skin of her inner thighs. The ladder shook, her knees wobbled and his hands moved to her hips and stayed there. She landed on the floor with a thud and turned to face him. The steam swirled around them, creating their own little biosphere. Their eyes met and held for a long moment.

  "Look," he said, "everyone prefers honesty, but sometimes they have their reasons for not telling the truth. Sometimes it’s just to spare other people's feelings, like when someone asks what you think of their new baby or their new car. You don't want to say it looks like Winston Churchill or it gets lousy mileage. You can't tell me you haven't told a little white lie once or twice?"

  He took the towel out of her hand and put it down on a ladder rung, holding her hands in his. She looked into his eyes and immediately got a picture of a tough Arctic man who radiated rugged sensuality from every pore, and who could see into the depths of her soul. Someone who knew that she'd lied about never answering an ad in Yukon Man. She had to get out of this small, steamy bathroom, but she couldn't seem to move, couldn't even tear her eyes away from his.

  "Of course I've told little white lies," she confessed breathlessly. "After all, I'm only human." Never before had she felt so human than at that moment. It was a combination of the heat, the guilt, and the close proximity of this man who made her feel like a melting marshmallow over a hot fire.

  "I noticed," he said in a deep voice. He pulled her close to him, until the tips of her breasts grazed his chest. The steam had given her skin a dewy sheen and he wa
nted to reassure her, tell her she hadn't done anything wrong, and show her just how human he found her. But not with words, with action. He wanted to release all his pent-up emotion by kissing her until she couldn't think, couldn't speak. Until he'd tasted those soft lips and she'd had a taste of what he had to offer.

  But he wasn't there to kiss his best friend's prospective fiancée. He'd already gone too far. Reluctantly he let go of her hands and opened the door behind him. A rush of cool air blew in and dissipated the steam and the mood.

  "I'll clear this stuff out of here," she said, folding the ladder. "Then it’s all yours. Thanks for the help."

  He reached for the ladder and his fingers brushed hers. She bent over to unplug the steamer. "Where shall I put this?" he asked.

  "Downstairs at the back door, if you wouldn't mind.

  He hoisted the ladder to his shoulder and paused in the doorway. "What time is sherry in the parlor?"

  "What?"

  "I was reading your brochure in my room. Sherry time is where you meet the other guests and the hostess tells you interesting anecdotes about the house."

  "Oh, right. I almost forgot." She looked at her watch, embarrassed that she'd forgotten what her own brochure said. The combination of him and the steam had definitely fogged her brain. "How about four o'clock?"

  He nodded. "It will give me a chance to take a shower and change."

  Absently she smoothed a piece of wallpaper with her fingers and let her gaze travel over his wrinkled shorts, his muscular thighs and bare feet. Then she brought her eyes back to his face. He was studying her intently. What did he want? What was he looking for? Was this gorgeous man really just in search of some California sunshine?

  "I can tell you about the house," she said, "but I'm afraid you won't get to meet anyone but me." She smiled self-consciously. "Not tonight, anyway."

  He smiled back, sending a rush of warmth through her body. Then he carried the ladder down the stairs while she put the bathroom back in order. She wondered idly if Adam had ever considered entering into another long-term relationship. Not with her, of course, but with someone else who was also employed in the Yukon, a welder maybe, or a pipefitter.

  She was still wondering about Adam Gray as she clipped the hedge out in front of the house that afternoon. And she was still wearing her old shirt and shorts when the car pulled up. Not someone on their way to the beach, not someone who was looking for the restaurant down the road, but surprise, surprise, someone, someones, who were looking for her, for the Miramar Inn.

  She practically swept them up into her arms, all three of them: Mr. Richard Davis, Marilyn Davis and little Jeremy Davis, age eighteen months. She proudly showed them to the other bedroom, the one with the master bath, and set up a crib for the little boy. They loved the room, they loved the view, they loved the fact that she accepted children, and they loved the idea of sherry in the parlor at four.

  Mandy hummed to herself as she showered in the small, downstairs bathroom next to her bedroom. Miramar Inn was full, it was occupied, she was on her way to success. She dressed carefully in the same outfit she'd worn in her brochure picture. Not for luck, not so she'd be recognized as the hostess, but simply because it was the only nice outfit she had. A long cotton skirt and a hand-knit sweater with a pattern of wild roses on it.

  With Laurie's hair dryer she tried to tame the wild mess that was her hair with only moderate success. If only Laurie were here to do it for her. But if Laurie were here, Adam would be all over her like glue. Laurie's hair was always manageable, she was trim and slender, looked great in a uniform or anything else. Mandy reminded herself that the only reason Adam was giving her a second glance was because she was the only woman for miles around.

  But that knowledge didn't detract from the pleasure in having a full house tonight. As it neared four o'clock she went to the kitchen. She unwrapped a package of crackers and took a duck liver pate and a round of Brie from the refrigerator. Then she piled pears and apples into a bowl and loaded everything onto a tray.

  When she walked into the front room balancing the tray in her hands, she saw Adam was there ahead of her in khakis and a blue oxford-cloth shirt, looking at the old photographs on the wall. He turned and gave her a long, appreciative look and took the tray from her hands.

  Again the brush of his fingers against has, and this time she was sure it wasn't an accident. Electricity crackled in the air. She couldn't blame it on the dry air or the carpet. The air was damp and the Oriental carpet was threadbare. A current rippled through her body and sent a message that said, Beware, this is your second warning!

  Adam's hair was still damp from the shower and his skin looked as if he'd scrubbed it with the loofah she'd placed in the bathroom. He smelled like the soap she'd left out. Wild blackberry—or was it wild cherry? Now she understood why they called it that. It made her wild just thinking about him rubbing it all over his well-toned body. With shaking hands she set the decanter of sherry out on the sideboard along with the glasses.

  "Help yourself," she said, not trusting herself to pour any drinks. Where were the Davises? Why didn't they come and fill the silence with their conversation and their questions?

  Adam turned back to the pictures on the wall. "Is this your family?" he asked.

  She managed to slosh some sherry into a glass for herself and walked over to the wall. "Yes, that's us. I was four and my sister, Laurie, was two. We lived in Ohio."

  "Anything more recent?"

  "Over here. Here's Laurie in her uniform." She held her breath. When he saw how beautiful Laurie was, he'd probably stay around until she came back. That was the effect Laurie had on men. And it wouldn't surprise Mandy. She was used to having men drop her when they met someone else, witness Todd and her best friend.

  But he passed right by the photo with only a perfunctory comment and went on to the other pictures while she explained them to him—uncles, aunts, cousins at picnics, parties and reunions.

  "I envy you," he said, examining an old photograph of her grandparents.

  "What for? You can get frames and hang pictures of your family, can't you?"

  "I don't have any. We moved around a lot when I was a kid, and we traveled light. And even if I had them, where would I hang them?"

  "Wherever they send you. There are walls, aren't there?" Mandy asked.

  "There are walls on drilling platforms on the North Slope, but you don't get much chance to look at them. They keep you busy sinking pipe into the bottom of the sea."

  "Is that where you're going, to a drilling platform?" Mandy asked, surprised.

  "That’s the plan. That's what I asked for. But you never know. I've got an appointment with my boss next week. I'll find out then," Adam said.

  At that moment the Davises finally joined them, eighteen-month-old Jeremy tottering straight for the sherry decanter. Adam grabbed it from the table just in time and poured drinks. Mandy shot him a grateful look and introduced them.

  "What a wonderful place to live," Marilyn Davis gushed to Adam while Mandy offered Jeremy a cracker.

  "Yes, it is," he agreed, "but..."

  "You two are such gracious hosts," she continued. "That's what makes a bed and breakfast."

  "Can I get Jeremy some apple juice?" Mandy asked, not bothering to explain that Adam and she weren't anything at all.

  "Wonderful," his mother said. Mandy left the room to get the juice, and Marilyn turned to Adam. "Can you recommend someplace for dinner?" she asked.

  For some reason he found he didn't want to tell her that he was a guest, too, and that he had no idea of where her family should go eat. "What kind of food do you like?" he asked instead.

  "Seafood," she said.

  "You'll have to ask Mandy about that." Out of the corner of his eye he saw Jeremy sitting in front of the bookcase removing the books, one by one. When Mandy came back with a tumbler for the little boy, Marilyn was spreading cheese on a cracker.

  "Your husband told me to ask you for a restaurant recomm
endation."

  Mandy's eyes widened. "My what?"

  He bit back a grin.

  "We're looking for a quiet place that serves seafood. It says in your brochure..."

  "Yes, I know just the place." When she recovered her composure she gave than the directions to the Seadrift, a few miles away. They had excellent food and a beautiful view.

  "I don't see how the view could be any better than yours." Richard Davis spoke for the first time, looking out the side window at the sun setting over the blue-gray Pacific.

  "It isn't, but the food is," she said, watching Jeremy smash a cracker into the carpet with the heel of his foot. She swallowed hard to keep from saying anything.

  "Oh, yes," Marilyn said taking the chair next to the window, "about the baby-sitting service?"

  "Baby-sitting?"

  "I read in the brochure..."

  "Of course. I haven't had many children so I almost forgot." There was a long silence while her mind went absolutely blank. Where on earth would she ever find a babysitter?

  "We'd be glad to take care of Jeremy for you," she heard Adam say, and she whirled around to look at him. He shrugged as if to say, What choice have you got?

  "He may cry for a few minutes," Marilyn said, "but it won't last long. He's really very good."

  "Don't worry about a thing," Adam said reassuringly, and Mandy shot him a desperate look.

  How could he tell them not to worry about a thing? He would probably retire to his room and leave Mandy with this eighteen-month-old terror who'd start screaming the minute his parents left him. But what choice did Mandy have? Regardless of Adam's offer she had advertised baby-sitting. That she'd been caught off guard didn't matter. Mandy sipped her sherry and smiled brightly. She'd get Adam for this later. For now she had to "hostess."

  And screaming was exactly what the little boy did. Mandy brought shiny copper pots from the kitchen and sat down on the floor to play with him later, but he refused to play. She gave him spoons and metal measuring cups, but he ignored them. He stood in the middle of the room and opened his mouth and yelled at the top of his lungs. Mandy tried to pick him up, but he stomped on the floor and threw the cups across the room. His face was bright red and the tears streamed down his cheeks. Clearly he was not happy at being left with these people who were not his parents.