about crystal candlestick holders?” she suggested.
The candlestick holders on a nearby shelf were about a foot high and had deep, crisscrossing cuts.
He knew he’d be sending a more expensive gift to Dev and his bride in the future, but he liked the thought of bringing something with him tomorrow, to add to the significance of the day.
Venus looked from him to the candlesticks and back. “Crystal is always appropriate, always timeless, always—“
“Sold,” he said. “I’ll take them.”
She looked surprised but pleased.
He took one of the candlestick holders off the shelf and turned it over. The price was hefty, but he could well afford the cost, especially since the purchase would be worth every penny if it won him points with Venus.
After she took the other holder off the shelf, he handed the one he was holding to her.
As she took it from him, their hands brushed, sending a little electric charge through him—and, if he wasn’t mistaken, judging by her sudden tension, through her, as well.
The moment was over in the span of a few seconds, however, and she quickly turned away toward the back of the store.
He followed her as she walked to the checkout counter.
“Is there anything else I can show you?” she asked over her shoulder.
Yes, you. He admired the view of her from the back. Spectacular. He thought about how she’d fit in his arms.
Aloud, he forced himself to say, “That’s it for this time.”
There’d be plenty of other occasions over the course of the coming month, if he had anything to say about it.
She went around the counter and he stopped in front of it.
He watched as she pulled the price tag off his purchase and then wrapped both candlestick holders in tissue paper.
The sight of her slim, manicured hands readying his purchase was arousing.
He needed to get a grip, he thought. Or better yet, get laid.
“Are you staying in Tahoe or just passing through?” she asked, interrupting his reverie.
“I’m staying in Hunter’s Landing for a few weeks,” he responded. Referring to his stay in terms of mere weeks somehow made the upcoming month more palatable.
“Oh, really?” She glanced up. “I live near there.”
“Hunter’s Landing is small and quiet,” he said with a grimace.
He figured she probably assumed he was here for a vacation. He was dressed in khakis and a polo shirt for a change. His usual uniform consisted of custom-made suits and power ties.
“I like small and quiet,” she responded.
Small. Quiet. She didn’t sounded like a party animal, he thought. Maybe she was in a relationship and felt little need for the local bar scene.
She wore no ring, but there could be a boyfriend in the picture. Or, more likely, boyfriends, he amended, figuring men panted after Venus.
“Since I’m not familiar with Hunter’s Landing,” he said, “maybe you can tell me where I can find a good meal.”
He was stretching the truth, since he’d grown up literally next door, on his family’s estate in Clayburn, and he’d been to Tahoe on many occasions.
But not in recent memory. Lately he’d been bent on revenge, and Tahoe was too much of a local playground for Webb Sperling and his ilk.
On top of it all, the caretaker of the lodge had left the refrigerator there stocked with gourmet food, but Venus didn’t have to know that.
She seemed to consider him, as if wondering whether he was putting the moves on her.
Desire washed over him in a wave.
Her top was a typical V-neck but, since her breasts were at least a C cup, almost anything on her would have looked sexy.
He could also see now, with more intimate inspection, that her eyes were amber shot through with green and gold.
Eventually, she said, “There’s not much going on in Hunter’s Landing.”
Now there was an understatement.
“There’s the Lakeside Diner,” she went on, “and, of course, Clearwater’s, which has a deck overlooking the lake.”
Oh, yeah. He could picture a little romantic dinner, moonlight glinting off the water, followed by a retreat to the lodge. They’d sip some red wine and maybe take a dip in the hot tub, all the while listening to some mellow jazz. Then he’d peel off her clothes and they’d make love in the oversized master suite.
He tried to unfog his brain as she deposited his purchase in a ridiculous yellow bag displaying the Distressed Success name.
“Clearwater’s sounds great …” He paused. “I didn’t get your name.”
“Kelly.”
“Kelly.” He held out his hand. “Ryan.”
She shook his hand and he felt long, elegant fingers, her delicate palm tapering to a slim wrist.
The moment seemed to draw itself out, until she finally withdrew her hand.
“How would you like to pay for your purchase?” she asked.
As he pulled out his wallet, he wondered whether he’d only imagined that her voice had sounded husky. “AmEx okay?”
She smiled. “Of course.”
Anything to make the customer happy, he thought. She was the consummate saleswoman and, having grown up as an heir to the Sperling department stores fortune, he knew something about the art form.
He handed her the credit card. “I’d enjoy having some company at Clearwater’s.” He’d eaten alone way too often lately. “Are you available for dinner tomorrow night, Kelly—? I didn’t get your last name.”
Tomorrow was Saturday. Smooth, smooth.
“It’s Hartley,” she said easily.
As she glanced down at the credit card he’d handed her, a weird feeling washed over him.
One of Webb Sperling’s many mistresses had been named Hartley, and the woman had had a daughter with the name Kelly.
Kelly’s smile died at the same time as the one on his lips froze. He watched as her eyes widened and her lips parted.
Damn it.
Recognition
