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About the Author
JANICE MAYNARD came to writing early in life. When her short story The Princess and the Robbers won a red ribbon in her third-grade school arts fair, Janice was hooked. She holds a BA from Emory and Henry College and an MA from East Tennessee State University. In 2002 Janice left a fifteen-year career as an elementary teacher to pursue writing full-time. Her first love is creating sexy, character-driven, contemporary romance. She has written for Kensington and NAL, and now is so very happy to also be part of the Harlequin family—a lifelong dream, by the way!
Janice and her husband live in beautiful east Tennessee in the shadow of the Great Smoky Mountains. She loves to travel and enjoys using those experiences as settings for books.
Hearing from readers is one of the best perks of the job! Visit her website at www.janicemaynard.com or e-mail her at JESM13@aol.com. And of course, don’t forget Facebook (www.facebook.com/JaniceMaynardReader Page). Find her on Twitter at www.twitter.com/Janice Maynard and visit all the men of Wolff Mountain at www.wolffmountain.com.
Janice Maynard
www.millsandboon.co.uk
For Deener,
Your energy, enthusiasm and joie de vivre challenge the rest of us to embrace life more fully! I am glad you are my friend!
One
Kieran stood on the front porch of the small, daffodil-yellow house and fisted his hands at his hips. In the distance, the sounds of a lawn mower mingled with childish shouts and laughter. The Santa Monica neighborhood where he had finally tracked down Olivia’s address was firmly, pleasantly middle class.
He told himself not to jump to conclusions.
The article he’d clipped from one of his father’s newspapers crackled in his pocket like the warning rattle of a venomous snake. He didn’t need to take it out for a second read. The words were emblazoned in his brain.
Oscar winners Javier and Lolita Delgado threw a lavish party for their only grandchild’s fifth birthday. The power couple, two of the few remaining MGM “Hollywood royals,” commanded an A-list crowd that included a who’s who of movie magic. Little “Cammie,” the star of the show, enjoyed pony rides, inflatables and a lavish afternoon buffet that stopped just short of caviar. The child’s mother, Olivia Delgado, stayed out of the limelight as is her custom, but was seen occasionally in the company of rising film star Jeremy Vargas.
Like a dog worrying a bone, his brain circled back to the stunning possibility. The timing was right. But that didn’t mean he and Olivia had produced a child.
Anger, searing and unexpected, filled his chest, choking him with confusion and inexplicable remorse. He’d done his best to eradicate memories of Olivia. Their time together had been brief but spectacular. He’d loved her with a young man’s reckless passion.
It couldn’t be true, could it?
Though it wasn’t his style to postpone confrontation, he extracted the damning blurb one more time and studied the grainy black-and-white photo. The child’s face was in shadow, but he knew her family all too well.
Did Kieran have a daughter?
His hands trembled. He’d been home from the Far East less than seventy-two hours. Jet lag threatened to drag him under. Things hadn’t ended well with Olivia, but surely she wouldn’t have kept such a thing from him.
The shocking discovery in his father’s office set all of Kieran’s plans awry. Instead of enjoying a long overdue reunion with his extended family on their remote mountaintop in the Virginia Blue Ridge, he had said hello and goodbye with dizzying speed and hopped on another plane, this time to California.
Though he’d be loath to admit it, he was jittery and panicked. With a muttered curse, he reached out and jabbed the bell.
When the door swung open, he squared his shoulders and smiled grimly. “Hello, Olivia.”
The woman facing him could have been a movie star herself. She was quietly beautiful; a sweeter, gentler version of her mother’s exotic, Latin looks. Warm, sun-kissed skin. A fall of mahogany hair. And huge brown eyes that at the moment were staring at him aghast.
He probably should be ashamed that he felt a jolt of satisfaction when she went white. The urge to hurt her was unsettling. “May I come in?”
She wet her lips with her tongue, a pulse throbbing visibly at the side of her neck. “Why are you here?” Her voice cracked, though she was clearly trying hard to appear unconcerned.
“I thought we could catch up… for old times’ sake. Six years is a long span.”
She didn’t give an inch. Her hand clenched the edge of the door, and her body language shouted a resounding no. “I’m working,” she said stiffly. “Now’s not a good time.”
He might have been amused by her futile attempt at resistance if he hadn’t been so tightly wound. Her generous breasts filled out the front of a white scooped-neck top. It was almost impossible not to stare. Any healthy man between the ages of sixteen and seventy would be drawn to the lush sexuality of a body that, if anything, was more pulse-stopping than ever.
He pushed his way in, inexorably but gently. “Perhaps not for you. I happen to think it’s a damn good time.”
She stepped back instinctively as he moved past her into a neat, pleasantly furnished living room. Though it was warm and charming, not an item was out of place. No toys, no puzzles, no evidence of a child.
On the far wall, built-in bookcases housed a plethora of volumes ranging from popular fiction to history and art appreciation. Olivia had been a phenomenally intelligent student, an overachiever who possessed the unusual combination of creativity and solid business sense.
A single framed picture caught his eye. As he crossed the room for a closer look, he recognized the background. Olivia had written her graduate thesis about the life and work of famed children’s author and illustrator Beatrix Potter. On one memorable weekend, Olivia had dragged Kieran with her to England’s Lake District. After touring the house and grounds where the beloved character Peter Rabbit was born, Kieran had booked a room at a charming, romantic B and B.
Remembering the incredible, erotic days and nights he and Olivia had shared on a fluffy, down-filled mattress tightened his gut and made his sex stir. Had he ever felt that way since?
He’d tried so damned hard to forget her, to fulfill his duty as a Wolff son. A million times he had questioned the decisions he made back then. Leaving her without a word. Ending an affair that was too new… too fragile.
But he had ached for her. God, he had ached. For Olivia… elegant, funny, beautiful Olivia… with a body that could make a man weep for joy or pray that time stood still.
He shoved aside the arousing memory. There was a strong chance that this woman had perpetrated an unforgivable deception. He refused to let his good sense be impaired by nostalgia. And let’s face it… this meeting should be taking place on neutral ground. Because without witnesses, there was a good chance he was going to wring Olivia’s neck.
Again, he studied the photo. Olivia stood, smiling for the camera, holding the hand of a young child. Kieran’s world shifted on its axis. He lost the ability to breathe. My God. The kid was a Wolff. No one could doubt it. The wide-spaced eyes, the wary expression, the uptilted chin.
He whirled to face his betrayer. “Where is she?” he asked hoarsely. “Where’s my daughter?”
Two
Olivia called upon every parentally bestowed dramatic gene she possessed to appear mildly confused. “Your daughter?”
The man facing her scowled. “Don’t screw with me, Olivia. I’m not in the mood.” She saw his throat work. “I want to see her. Now.”
Without waiting for an invitation, he bounded up the nearby stairs, Olivia scurrying in his wake with her heart pounding. She’d known on some level that this day would come. But in her mind, she’d always thought that she would be the one orchestrating the reunion.
Kieran Wolff had been her first and only lover. Back then she’d been a shy, lonely, bookish girl with her head in the clouds. He had shown her a world of intimate pleasures. And then he had disappeared.
Any guilt she was feeling about the current situation evaporated in a rush of remembered confusion and pain.
On the landing he paused, then strode through the open door of what was unmistakably a little girl’s bedroom. A Disney princess canopy bed… huge movie posters from a variety of animated children’s films… a pair of ballet slippers dangling from a hook on the door.
For a moment, Olivia was reluctantly moved by the anguish on his face, but she firmed her resolve. “I repeat the question. What are you doing here, Kevin?”
A dull flush of color rose from the neck of his open-collared shirt. Short-cropped hair a shade darker than hers feathered to a halt at his nape. He was dressed like a contemporary Indiana Jones, looking as if he might be ready to take off on his next adventure. Which was exactly why, among other reasons, she had never contacted him.
He faced her, his gaze an impossible-to-decipher mélange of emotions. “So you know who I am.” It was more of a statement than a question.
She shrugged. “I do now. A few years ago I hired a private investigator to find out the truth about Kevin Wade. Imagine my surprise when I learned that no such man existed. At least not the one I knew.”
“There were reasons, Olivia.”
“I’m sure there were. But those reasons mean less than nothing to me at this point. I need you to leave my house before I call the police.”
Her futile threat rolled off him unnoticed. He was intensely masculine, in control, his tall lanky frame lean and muscular without an ounce of fat. Amber eyes narrowed. “Maybe I’ll call the police and discuss charges of kidnapping.”
“Don’t do this,” she whispered, her throat tight and her eyes burning. “Not after all this time. Please.” The entreaty was forced between numb lips. She owed him nothing. But he could destroy her life.
“Where is the child?” His unequivocal tone brooked no opposition.
“She’s traveling with her grandparents in Europe.” Not for anything would Olivia reveal the fact that Cammie’s flight wasn’t departing LAX for several hours.
“Tell me she’s mine. Admit it.” He grasped her shoulders and shook her, his hands warm, but firm. “No lies, Olivia.”
She was close enough to smell him, to remember with painful clarity the warm scent of his skin after lovemaking. Her stomach quivered. At one time she had believed she would wake up beside this man for the rest of her life. Now, in retrospect, she winced for the naive, foolish innocent she had been.
In high heels she could have met him eye to eye, but barefoot, wearing nothing but shorts and a casual top, she was at a distinct disadvantage. She pushed hard against his broad chest. “Let me go, you Neanderthal. You have no right to come here and push me around.”
He released her abruptly. “I want the truth, damn it. Tell me.”
“You wouldn’t know the truth if it bit you in the ass. Go home, Kevin Wade.”
Her deliberate taunt increased the fury bracketing his mouth with lines of stress. “We need to talk,” he said as he glanced at his watch. “I have a conference call I can’t miss in thirty minutes, so you have a choice. Tonight at my hotel. Or tomorrow in a room with two lawyers. Your call. But the way I’m feeling, a public forum might be the best option.”
The sinking sensation in her belly told her that he would not give up easily. “I don’t have anything to say to you,” she said, her bravado forced at best.
He stared her down, his piercing golden eyes seeming to probe right through her to get at the truth. “Then I’ll do all the talking.”
Olivia watched, stunned, while he departed as quickly as he had come. She trailed after him, ready to slam the front door at the earliest opportunity, forcefully closing the door to the past. He paused on the porch. “I’ll send a driver for you at six,” he said bluntly. “Don’t be late.”
When he drove away, her legs gave out beneath her. She sank into a chair, her whole body shaking. Dear God. What was she going to do? She was a terrible liar, but she dared not tell him the truth. Kieran Wolff—she still had trouble thinking of him by that name—was not the laughing young man she remembered from their graduate days at Oxford.
His skin was deeply tanned, and sun lines at the corners of his eyes gave testament to the hours he now spent outdoors. He was as lethal and predatory as the sleek cats that inhabited the jungles he frequented. The man who helped dig wells in remote villages and who built and rebuilt bridges and buildings in war-torn countries was hard as glass.
She shuddered, remembering the implacable demand in his gaze. Would she be able to withstand his interrogation?
But there were more immediate details to address. Picking up the phone, she dialed the mother of Cammie’s favorite playmate. The two families’ backyards adjoined, and Cammie was spending part of the afternoon with her friend. Olivia had been terrified that Cammie would come home while Kieran was in the house.
Twenty minutes later, Olivia watched her daughter labor over a thank-you picture for her grandparents. Despite Olivia’s reservations about the recent birthday party, the worst that had happened to her precocious offspring was the almost inevitable spilled punch on a five-hundred-dollar party dress… and a sunburned nose.
The dress had been a gift from Lolita. Olivia warned her mother that the exquisite frock was highly inappropriate for a child’s birthday party. But as always, Lolo, as she liked to be called by her granddaughter, ignored Olivia’s wishes and bought the dress, anyway.
Cammie frowned at a smudge in the corner of the drawing. “I need some more paper,” she said, close to pouting. “This one’s all messed up.”
“It’s fine, sweetheart. You’ve done a great job.” At five, Cammie was already a perfectionist. Olivia worried about her intensity.
“I have to start over.”
Sensing a full-blown tantrum in the offing, Olivia sighed and produced another sheet of clean white paper. Sometimes it was easier to avoid confrontation, especially over something so minor. Did all single mothers worry that they were ruining their children forever?
If Cammie had a father in her life, would she be less highly strung? More able to take things in stride?
Olivia’s stomach pitched. She wouldn’t think of Kieran right now. Not until Cammie was safely away.
She would miss her baby while Cammie was gone. The hours of reading storybooks. The fun baking experiments. The leisurely walks around the neighborhood in the evenings. The silly bathtub bubble fights. They were a family of two. A completely normal family.
Was she trying to convince herself or someone else?
She desperately wanted for Cammie the emotional security Olivia had never known as a child. The simple pleasure of hugs and homework. Of kisses and kites.
Olivia had been raised for the most part by a series of well-meaning nannies and tutors. She had learned early on that expensive Parisian dolls were supposed to make up for long absences during which her parents ignored her. The stereotypical poor little rich kid. With a closet full of expensive and often inappropriate toys, and a bruised heart.
Olivia remembered her own childish tantrums when her parents didn’t bring presents she wanted. Thinking back on her egocentric younger self made her wince. Thank heavens she had outgrown that phase.
Maturity and a sense of perspective enabled her to be glad that her parents were far more invested in Cammie’s life than they had ever been in their own daughter’s. Perhaps grandparenthood had changed them.
Olivia’s determination to live a solidly middle class life baffled Lolita and Javier, and they did their best to thwart her at every turn, genuinely convinced that money was meant to be spent.
The weekend party was an example of the lifestyle Olivia had tried so hard to escape. It wasn’t good for a child to understand that she could have anything she wanted. Even if Olivia died penniless—and that wasn’t likely—Cammie stood to inherit millions of dollars from her grandparents.
Money spoiled people. Olivia knew that firsthand. Growing up in Hollywood was a lesson in overindulgence and narcissism.
Cammie finally smiled, satisfied with her second attempt. “I wish Lolo had a refrigerator. My friend Aya, at preschool, says her nana hangs stuff on the front of the refrigerator.”
Olivia smiled at her daughter’s bent head. Lolo owned several refrigerators, all in different kitchens spread from L.A. to New York to Paris. But it was doubtful she ever opened one, much less decorated any of them with Cammie’s artwork. Lolita Delgado had “people” to deal with that. In fact, she had an entourage to handle every detail of her tempestuous life.
“Lolo will love your drawing, Cammie, and so will Jojo.” Olivia’s father, Javier, wasn’t crazy about his nickname, but he doted on his granddaughter, probably—in addition to the ties of blood—because she gave him what he craved the most. Unrestrained adoration.
Cammie bounced to her feet. “I’m gonna get my backpack. They’ll be here in a minute.”
“Slow down, baby….” But it was too late. Cammie ran at her usual pace up the stairs, determined to be ready and waiting by the door when the limo arrived. Olivia’s parents were taking Cammie to Euro Disney for a few days in conjunction with a film award they were both receiving in Florence.
Olivia had argued that the trip was too much on the heels of the over-the-top birthday party, but in the end she had been unable to hold out against Cammie’s beseeching eyes and tight hugs. The two adults and one child, when teamed against Olivia, made a formidable opponent.
Cammie reappeared, backpack in hand. Olivia had her suitcase ready. “Promise me you’ll be good for your grandparents.”
Cammie rolled her eyes in a manner far too advanced for her years. “You always say that.”
“And I always mean it.”
The doorbell rang. Cammie’s screech nearly peeled the paint from the walls. “Bye, Mommy.”
Olivia followed her out to the car. In the flurry of activity over getting one excited five-year-old settled in the vehicle, Lolita and Javier managed to appear both pleased and sophisticated as they absorbed their granddaughter’s enthusiasm.
Olivia gave her mother a hug, careful not to rumple her vintage Chanel suit. “Please don’t spoil her.” For one fleeting second, Olivia wanted to share the truth about Kieran with her parents. To beg for guidance. She had never divulged a single detail about her daughter’s parentage to anyone.
But the moment passed when Javier bussed his daughter’s cheek with a wide grin. “It’s what we do best, Olivia.”
The house was silent in the aftermath of the exodus. Without the distraction of Cammie, the evening with Kieran loomed menacingly. Olivia wandered from room to room, too restless to work. Cammie would be going to kindergarten very soon. Olivia had mixed emotions about the prospect. She knew that her highly intelligent daughter would thrive in an academic environment and that the socialization skills she acquired with children her own age would be very important.
But it had been just the two of them for so long.
And now Kieran seemed poised to upset the apple cart.
When Olivia felt her eyes sting, she made a concerted effort to shake off the maudlin mood. Life was good. Her days were filled with family, a job she adored and a cadre of close, trusted friends. Kieran wasn’t part of the package. And she was glad. She had made the right choice in protecting Cammie from his selfishness.
And she would continue to do so.
The remainder of the day was a total loss. She had a series of watercolors due for her book publisher in less than two weeks, but putting the finishing touches on the last picture in the set was more than she could handle today. She loved her work as a children’s illustrator, and it gave her flexibility to spend lots of time with Cammie.
But the concentration required for her best efforts was beyond her right now. Instead, she prowled her small house, unable to stem the tide of memories.
They had met as expatriate grad students at a traditional English country house party hosted by mutual friends. With only six weeks of the term left, each knew the relationship had a preordained end. But in Olivia’s case, with stars in her eyes and a heart that was head-over-heels in lust with the handsome, charismatic Kevin Wade, she’d spun fairy tales of continuing their affair back in the U.S.
It hadn’t quite turned out that way. During the final days of exam week, “Kevin” had simply disappeared with nothing more than a brief note to say goodbye. Thinking about that terrible time made Olivia’s stomach churn with nausea. Her fledgling love had morphed into hate, and she’d done her best to turn her back on any memory of the boy who broke her heart. And fathered her child.
After a quick shower, she stared at her reflection in the mirror. Even if Olivia wanted to follow in her mother’s footsteps, she would never have stood a chance in Hollywood. She was twenty pounds too heavy, and though today’s pool of actresses was more diverse, many directors still preferred willowy blondes. Olivia was neither.
By the time the limo pulled up in front of her house, Olivia was a wreck. But since birth, she’d been taught “the show must go on” mantra, and to the world, Olivia Delgado was unflappable. For six years, she had spun lies to protect her daughter, to make a life so unexceptionable that the tabloids had long since left her alone.
An unwed mother in Hollywood was boring news. As long as no one discovered the father was a Wolff.
Tonight Olivia would be no less discreet.
She had dressed to play a part. Confident and chic were the qualities she planned to convey with her taupe linen tank dress and coral sandals. Though she had not inherited an iota of her parents’ love for acting, she had inevitably learned from them along the way what it meant to present a serene face to the world, no matter if your life was in ruins.
Kieran Wolff’s hotel was tucked away in a quiet back street of Santa Monica. Exclusive, discreet and no doubt wildly expensive, it catered to those whose utmost wish was privacy. The manager, himself, actually escorted Olivia to the fifth floor suite.
After that, she was left to stand alone at the door. Instead of knocking, she took a few seconds to contemplate fleeing the country. Cammie was everything to her, and the prospect of losing her child was impossible to imagine.
But such thoughts were defeatist. Though she might not be able to go toe-to-toe with the Wolff empire when it came to bank accounts, Olivia did have considerable financial means at her disposal. In a legal battle, she could hold her own. And judges often sided with a mother, particularly in this situation.
She had no notion of what awaited her on the other side of the door, but she wouldn’t go down without a fight. Kieran Wolff didn’t deserve to be a father. And if it came to that, she would tell him so.
Deliberately taking a moment to shore up her nerve, she rapped sharply at the door and took a deep breath.
Kieran had worn a trail in the carpet by the time his reluctant guest arrived. When he yanked open the door and saw her standing in the vestibule, his gut pitched and tightened. God, she was gorgeous. Every male hormone he possessed stood up and saluted. A man would have to be almost dead not to respond to her inherent sexuality.