Her Convenient Millionaire (7 page)

S
herry's feet were killing her. The evening was winding down. The few stragglers still coming in for a very late dinner were far outnumbered by laughing groups looking for drinks and dessert, and well-dressed couples wanting a romantic corner and expensive wine. She had just seated a gaggle of tourists in the bar and was hurrying back to her post to help the quartet of blue-haired ladies in bright silk cocktail dresses when she was yanked off her feet.

She landed in the lap of a very drunk, very young man who still gripped her wrist, the one he'd grabbed to pull her down. She turned her head to escape his toxic breath and escaped the kiss he intended, as well. It landed mostly on her hair somewhere in the vicinity of her ear, and it made her flesh crawl.

“Join the party, babe!” The young man bellowing the words, the one who'd grabbed her, had no neck. Given that, his age and the jacket he wore proclaiming the name of a
nearby university, Sherry surmised that he and his equally drunk companions were students at that university.

“No, thank you.” She put all the icy reserve she could manage into her voice as she struggled to her feet. She'd learned through experience that coldness usually worked better than hot anger with drunks.

No-neck grinned, spreading his arms in a mockery of innocent fun. “Just trying to be sociable.”

“Don't.” Sherry stalked back to the door, hoping none of the other customers had paid any attention. At least he'd been cooperative. She hid the shaking of her hands by gripping the menus extrahard.

She tried to talk the blue-haired ladies into a table in the dining room, but they insisted on the bar, so she led them in a wide circle around the rowdy bunch. However, one lady in hot pink strayed too close. She jumped and squealed when one of the boys goosed her, but she didn't seem too offended. Sherry wondered if she might have strayed deliberately. Still, someone else would probably take serious offense.

On her return to the front, Sherry saw Bruno the bartender waving her over and went to see what he wanted. Mike had mentioned that Bruno would be helping to keep an eye out for trouble. Of course, they'd expected trouble from Tug, not a bunch of party-minded college students.

“You okay?” Bruno asked. “I saw what those jerks did.”

“I'm fine.” She glared at their table as they burst into raucous laughter. One of them saw her looking and pursed his lips into smacking air kisses. She shuddered, turning back to Bruno. “
They
may not be, if they try it again.”

“I'm gonna get Mike down here.” He picked up the in-house phone. “He doesn't like customers getting out of hand. This is supposed to be a place with class.”

Sherry frowned. “What can he do?”

“Kick 'em out.” Bruno smoothed away his frown and put on a BBC accent. “Excuse me. I mean, escort them from the premises.”

That worried her a little. Mike was strong. She knew that. She'd seen his muscles, up close and personal. And wet, not to mention mostly naked. But never mind the muscles. There was only one of Mike and five of these guys. And they were big. And probably athletes. But maybe there wouldn't be a problem. Maybe they would go peacefully. And maybe it would snow tomorrow. In Palm Beach. In May.

“Don't worry,” Bruno said as he hung up the phone. “Mike can handle it. He can handle pretty much anything. They won't bother you anymore.”

“Is this a little hero worship I hear?” Sherry had to smile. Bruno and subtle weren't very well acquainted.

“He gave me a job in this classy place. He made sure I got one of the scholarships the company gives out. He lets me work my job schedule around my class schedule. And he's a babe magnet. What's not to worship?” Bruno grinned at her. “Especially since none of the babes stick. I can catch what he shakes off.”

“Gee. Too bad I'm demagnetized. No sticking, no shaking, no catching.” Sherry liked Mike. She admired him. She was grateful for his help. But none of it extended as far as magnetic attraction.

“In your case,
you're
the magnet.” He tipped his head toward the young drunks. “Couldn't you tell?”

“What's the problem?” Mike materialized out of nowhere, lightly touching Sherry's elbow. “Are you all right?”

She eased away, unnerved by the little thrill that went through her at his touch. Gratitude, respect, liking. That was
all
she felt. Except for the urge to touch him all over, from the dimple in his cheek to the— Okay, it was all she
wanted
to feel. She smiled, hoping it would hide the unease. “Just fine. I've been handling drunks for years.”

“While you're working here, I'd rather you left them to me.” His smile flashed and vanished, reassuring her. Darn it. She didn't want to feel safer when he was around. She could not start thinking she needed him.

He squeezed her hand—more reassurance, darn it again—before starting across the room to the table in question.

“See?” Bruno's voice startled her. She'd forgotten he was there. “
You're
the magnet.”

Sherry made a rude noise. Physical urges didn't mean anything. There was no magnetism going either direction. She wouldn't allow it. She straightened upright from a faint lean in Mike's direction the instant she realized she was doing it. “I have to get back to work.”

“Right.” Bruno winked at her.

She stuck her tongue out at him and marched back to the door, where fortunately no one was waiting. Okay, so Micah Scott was devilishly handsome as well as incredibly nice. That only meant he was fun to look at. No rules against looking, not even in the brand-new book of Sherry's
Rules for a New Life
. She could look. She just couldn't want.

Mike said something that didn't seem to go over well with the noisy group. One of them stood, glaring down at Mike's considerable height from a height even greater. Sherry watched, heart pounding. They were all so big. At least, so far, only one was physically challenging Mike's authority. So far.

Then with an almost invisible flicker of motion, things changed. The one boy's expression morphed from anger to pain as Mike held him in some hidden, obviously uncomfortable grip. The others transformed from belligerent defiance into uncertainty. Mike spoke again, tipping his head
toward the door, and the four drunken men all stood in unison and trooped meekly in that direction.

“Sorry,” no-neck mumbled as he passed Sherry.

She could only nod in acknowledgment, so firmly did shock hold her in its grip.

Mike escorted the boy he still held captive at the end of the line. “I'm sure you'll find the Cabana more to your liking. Just a few more blocks down the beach,” Mike said, releasing his prisoner with a not-too-gentle push out the door.

“My, my. I am impressed.” Sherry winced as she heard herself. That sounded snarky and sarcastic. Not how she felt. “I mean it.” She tried to fix it. “I am really, very impressed. I was worried, just a little. I mean, five big jocks against just you?”

“You were worried? About me?” Mike settled his suit jacket back into place on his shoulders, then adjusted the sleeves, never taking his eyes off her.

Her correction sounded as if she cared, which she did, but not like
that.
She had to keep things light. Casual. Fluffy. Sherry shrugged. “Well, sure I did. If those guys had broken your neck, who would protect me from the big bad Tug?” She fluttered her eyelashes madly to show she was teasing.

Fortunately, he laughed. “I can handle myself.”

“Even better, you could handle those guys. How did you learn how to do that?”

“I joined the marines out of high school—wasn't ready for any more school right then.” His smile just touched his eyes. “I learned a lot of interesting things.”

“You? A Marine?” Sherry surveyed his perfectly tailored charcoal-gray suit. Not designer or tailor-made, but still very nice. “I find that hard to believe.”

“Hoo-rah,” he said. “Got the tattoo and everything.”

Her eyes narrowed. “So why didn't I see any tattoo
when, um, when…” She couldn't actually mention the bathroom towel incident out loud with him looking at her.

He grinned big enough to blind her. “Hmm. I don't know. Why didn't you? Could it be because you weren't looking at my arms?”

Sherry's face burned like fire. She wanted to stick her tongue out at him the way she had at Bruno, but Mike was the boss, not the bartender. Besides, she was pretty sure her tongue wasn't safe with Mike anywhere around. She hadn't forgotten that kiss, even if he apparently had.

He pointed to his left arm, just below the upper bulge of muscle. “It's right there. ‘Semper fi.' Want to see?”

The fire under her skin burned hotter. She knew her face had to match the lobsters served up in the dining room. “No, thank you,” she said primly. “Not just now.”

His wicked grin didn't fade. “I'll take that rain check.”

At long last the front door opened and a designer-dressed couple entered. Sherry turned to them with relief. She hadn't given Mike a rain check, had she? Yes, she had. Did that mean deep down she wanted to see his tattoo? Heaven help her, it probably did.

She smiled her brightest. “Two? Smoking or non?”

 

Two days passed without any more trouble, and Mike started to relax. As much as it was possible to relax with a gorgeous, leggy blonde staying next door at his mother's place when his mother wasn't there to keep him honest. Right now he was less concerned for her safety than for his own. The way he'd manhandled the drunks who'd manhandled Sherry was a case in point.

She'd been fine, had dealt with the situation perfectly. But when Bruno told him what had happened, Mike's temper—the blinding rage he thought he'd learned to control years ago—hit flash point in about a millionth of a second. He'd wanted to hurt somebody, and he had. Not as much
as he'd wanted to. Not as much as he could have. The kid would have shaken it off before he reached the dance club Mike had pointed them to. He'd maintained at least that much control.

But he'd still hurt the kid, and that bothered him. A lot. Because it meant that Sherry was getting to him. She was beginning to matter more than an employee ought to matter. She should be nothing more than your basic charity case, and she wasn't.

Mike was relieved her father hadn't turned up. After this long, he probably wouldn't. Mike would give it a few more days just to be sure. If nothing happened in that time frame, as he fully expected, then he'd bring his mom home and let Sherry go back on days so she could keep an eye on Clara, and Mike could start avoiding the woman. Maybe he could see about getting her car back for her, too, so he wouldn't have to keep playing chauffeur.

He was working on the business plan for the new restaurant he'd just bought into over in West Palm Beach. The Trangs were smart and worked hard, but they had needed a little more capital backing them up, and some help on the business side to make a real go of it. He figured they'd be ready to buy him out and take over alone in a couple of years. He'd make a tidy profit on the deal and have a little fun in the meantime.

He liked the challenge of getting a new place off the ground. By investing rather than buying it outright, he could do the part he liked and let his partners do the hard work. He'd done his share of it in the past, when he was just starting out. He'd made his money by buying businesses or buying into them, making them profitable, then selling them at a bigger profit. A small-scale version of the big corporation's mergers, only his seemed to work out better. Plenty of money could be made at his level. His bank accounts were proof. Just now he had pieces of more
than a dozen businesses all over Florida, and somebody from Savannah had contacted him yesterday about a place there.

He was about to move on to the information he'd been sent about Chez Bubba, the Savannah restaurant, when the phone beeped. “Yeah?” he said, most of his attention on his papers.

“Better get down here fast, boss,” Bruno said. “Looks like big trouble. Sherry—”

“I'm on my way.” Mike tossed the phone in the direction of its cradle and blew out the door, cursing himself for worrying about his own problems instead of the vulnerable woman he'd promised to protect. He shouldn't have relaxed.

He skidded down the stairs, touching maybe three of them, and paused just inside the kitchen door to pull himself together fast. He straightened his tie and smoothed back his hair in a physical echo of the control he tried to assert over his temper. It wouldn't do to alarm the customers. And though he didn't yet know the exact nature of the trouble out front, he had a pretty good idea. If it was Sherry's father, Mike didn't want his own temper setting the guy off.

Sherry was nowhere in sight when Mike emerged from the kitchen. He fought down the alarm screaming in his brain and strode quickly to the bar.

Bruno met him halfway. “I was just about to go after her. The guy took Sherry outside. Big guy, older, blonde. She didn't want to go, but she didn't want to make a big scene.”

Mike swore. “She should have. Okay, thanks, Bruno. I'll take it from here. You go back to work.”

“Sure thing, Big Mike.”

Out on the sidewalk, brightly lit by pinkish streetlights and the mellow glow of the club's lighting, Mike saw them.
Sherry had her heels dug in, pulling back against the man's grip on her arm as he tried to lead her to a big black luxury car parked at the curb.

“Sherry, is this man bothering you?” Mike stepped into their path.

“Yes. Yes, he is.”

“No. I'm her father.” Both Sherry and her father spoke at once, but he kept talking. “Get the hell out of my way.”

He tried to go around, but Mike blocked him. Nyland seethed, temper visibly rising.