Playboy's Ruthless Payback: Playboy's Ruthless Payback

Ten

For a moment, Mac wondered if Olivia was having an anxiety attack. Her face was as pale as the snow outside the window, and her eyes looked watery, as though she desperately wanted to cry, but wouldn’t allow herself to go there in front of guests.

What the hell was wrong with her? Had the DeBolds said something to upset her while he was gone? The quick, almost fierce anger that rose up inside of him surprised him, as did the protective impulse jumping in his blood.

Protecting Owen Winston’s daughter was hardly the plan.

His gaze shifted, and he saw Tim staring at Olivia, his lip drawn up in a sneer. It was a look Tim usually reserved for people who didn’t perform to his standards, from office staff to the guy who continued to put whipped cream on his espresso at the local coffee shop. Mac didn’t get it.

He watched Tim walk toward her and stick out his hand. “Wow,” he said coolly. “Olivia Winston. Small world.”

“Microscopic.” Olivia rose stiffly and clasped his hand for about half a second. “Hello, Tim.”

“How do you two know each other?” Mac asked, though the tone of his voice sounded slightly demanding.

“We went to the same high school,” Tim stated flatly.

“How funny,” Louise remarked with a dry laugh, clearly not seeing the discomfort between the two. “You knew Olivia in high school and Mac in college?”

“That’s right,” Tim said.

Mac watched as Olivia seemed to get herself under control. With a smile affixed to her face, she walked over to Tim’s wife and held out her hand, “Hi, I’m Olivia. Welcome.”

“Avery Keavy. It’s so nice to meet you.” Avery had the good sense to leave the high school talk alone, and instead gestured to the coffee table and assorted hors d’oeuvres. “These look amazing. I’m sorry we’re late.”

Olivia picked up a tray and offered a stuffed mushroom to Avery. “It’s no problem. Dinner’s almost ready. In fact, I’m going to check on it right now. If you’ll all excuse me…” After she placed the tray on the buffet, she excused herself and headed for the door.

“Need any help?” Mac called after her.

She turned then and glared at him. “No. I’ve got everything under control, Mr. Valentine.”

Mac had never seen anyone look at him with such full-on revulsion, and he had no idea why. And her palely masked anger didn’t end there. It continued all through dinner. Not that the DeBolds or the Keavys really picked up on it, they were way too focused on the food—which was perfection. But Mac saw every little glare she tossed his way as he served himself another helping of her mouthwatering brisket and smashed red potatoes, and wondered why the hell she was so upset at him. It couldn’t be just because he was responsible for inviting Tim to the house. What was the big deal, so he knew her in high school?

Maybe he’d have to go to Tim for the information if Olivia wasn’t going to speak to him. He looked over at Tim. The guy was just going with the flow. He didn’t even look at Olivia.

“Pecan pie is one of my favorite desserts,” Harold was saying to Olivia, his plate nearly empty.

Olivia gave him a warm smile. “I’m so glad. Would you like a second piece? How about you, Louise?”

“Absolutely.” Louise held out her plate. “And I’m not even going to ask you to force me in to it.”

Avery dabbed her mouth with her napkin. “Will you force me then, Olivia?”

“Of course,” Olivia said, keeping her gaze fixed on Tim’s wife. “I demand that you hold out your plate, Avery.”

Avery gave her a small salute. “Yes, ma’am.”

Avery and Louise broke out into laughter as they passed around the fresh whipped cream to top their pie. Mac, however, was too distracted to find humor in the situation. When he should’ve been selling himself to the DeBolds, talking about how he could change their financial future, he was staring at Olivia, wondering what was wrong with her and how he could fix it. It pissed him off. Why did he care if she was angry with him?

After the brown-sugar coffee and pecan pie had been completely devoured, Avery thanked both Olivia and Mac for their hospitality and she and a very unsocial Tim took off. The DeBolds, feeling a little jet-lagged and extremely full, requested an early night, as well, and retired to their room.

The night had been a successful one—on the business front at any rate. The DeBolds seemed content and happy with Mac and with his home, and wasn’t that the first step to having them as clients? With the DeBolds in bed, Mac had to deal with Olivia, who had fled to the kitchen as soon as both couples had gone.

When Mac entered the room, Olivia was camped out over the sink, washing dishes at a frenetic pace, taking out her anger on a serving platter.

“Great dinner,” he said, walking over to her, leaning against the counter next to the sink.

“Yes,” she said stiffly. “I think you’ve impressed them.”

“I hope so.”

“Yep. One step closer to getting the big fish on the hook.”

He didn’t respond to her sarcasm. “Do you need any help?”

“No.”

He exhaled heavily. “Are you going to tell me why you’re so angry with me?”

She continued to scrub the life out of a white platter, and Mac wondered if talking right now was a stupid idea. Maybe she just needed to cool off with her soap and hot water. But then she dropped the platter in the sink and turned to face him, anger and disappointment in her dark eyes.

“I knew you were out to punish my father and use me in the process,” she said. “But I had no idea how far you’d go.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Are you kidding me?”

“No.”

“Tim Keavy,” she snapped.

“What about him?”

She shook her head. “Don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“Don’t act like you’re clueless. It doesn’t suit you. You’re a shark, be proud of it.”

“You’re nuts, lady.” He gritted his teeth and pushed away from the counter. “All I know is you two went to the same high school.”

“Right.” She glared at him, her nostrils flaring. “So how does this go? You think by outing my sordid past to my dad, he’ll back down on whatever he has on you? Apologize?” She shook her head, then walked past him out of the room, saying, “It’ll never happen. My father’s even more stubborn than I am.”

He followed her. “Where are you going?”

“To my room.”

“You’re not leaving?”

“I’m going to give this job everything I have, get you the clients you want, then get the hell out. You’ll have no ammunition if you’re looking to ruin my business reputation along with my personal one.”

“You’re talking crazy,” he said, following her up the stairs and down the hall to the guest room. She had chosen the one on the opposite side of the house than the DeBolds, and Mac was thankful he didn’t have to whisper.

When she got to the door, she said, “Good night, Mac,” then went inside.

When she tried to close the door behind her, he wouldn’t let her. He held the door wide. “Listen, you can’t just throw all that garbage in my face, then walk away.”

She released her grip on the door, put her hands up in the air. “What do you want to say, Valentine? That you didn’t know your best friend from college knew me?”

“Damn right,” Mac said hotly, walking into the room and closing the door behind him.

“I don’t believe you.”

“I don’t care if you believe me or not, it’s true.”

Standing just inches from him, she held her chin high as she stared hard into his eyes. “It’s going to take a lot more to humiliate me and screw with my father than tossing my past mistakes, my past humiliations, back in my face.”

He grabbed her shoulders. “I’m not doing that.”

“Bull.”

“I don’t give a damn about your past.”

“I do!” she shouted, her voice cracking with emotion. She dropped her gaze, bit her lip and cursed. When she looked up at him again, she looked like a kid, so vulnerable it killed him. “I hate that part of my life.”

Tears sprang to her eyes.

“Stop that.” He gave her a gentle shake, for the first time feeling the guilt that came with his plan. “Stop it, Olivia.”

This wasn’t how it was supposed go. He was the one who was supposed to make her miserable, then send her back to her father in shame. He should be reveling in the fact that he had access to information about her past that would make her father suffer.

“Damn it.” He hauled her against him and kissed her hard on the mouth. “I don’t care what happened before, and neither should you.” He nuzzled her lips, then nipped at them, suckled them, until she gave in, gave up and sagged against him.

“There’s nothing wrong with this,” he said as his hands found her lower back and raked upward. “Or this.” He dipped his head and kissed her throat, suckling the skin that covered her rapid pulse, grinning as a hungry whimper escaped her throat. “Nothing to be ashamed of, Olivia.”

“You don’t understand,” she uttered, letting her head fall back.

He held her close, his lips brushing her temple. “Help me to, then.”

“I…can’t. I made a promise to myself.…”

He rubbed his face against her hair. “When you were a kid?”

“Yes,” she whispered.

“You’re a woman now.” He nuzzled her ear, nipped at the lobe. “Everything’s different.”

On those words, she froze. “That’s the thing,” she said, her voice hoarse. She drew back, her eyes filled with regret. “Nothing’s different. Not at all. I refuse to make any more stupid mistakes with men who just want to…” She didn’t finish, just shook her head.

“Olivia.”

She disentangled herself from his grasp. “Two more days. That’s it. That’s all you’re getting from me, so do your worst because after this weekend is up you’re going to be done. Done with me and done with my father.”

“We’ll see about that,” Mac said darkly before turning and leaving the room.

Eleven

And the winner of the worst night’s sleep contest was…Olivia Winston.

Standing over the stove, she made sure her pan was hot, then carefully cracked an egg into the hole she’d made in the slice of crusty bread. Three cups of extra-strength coffee and all she wanted to do was go back to bed. But maybe that had nothing to do with being tired as much as it had to do with hiding. For someone who had gone into this job thinking it would be easy-peasy, she sure was going through a lot of difficult, trying moments. Not to mention, some sexually charged moments that she couldn’t get out of her head. She’d really underestimated Mac and his desire to bury her father, and she’d overestimated herself, and her needs, in the process. She’d wanted to find out just how Mac was going to get back at her dad, and had basically given him the goods to make it happen.

She flipped the bread. To make matters worse, she wanted more—more of him, more of his touch, his kisses. She was weak and a total disappointment.

She felt him in the kitchen even before she saw him, and wanted to kick herself for the giddiness that erupted inside her at the thought of seeing him again.

“Good morning.”

She spared him a quick smile. “Morning.” He looked good, Saturday-morning sexy in expensive black sweats and dark tousled hair.

“Sleep well?” he asked, pouring himself a cup of coffee.

“No. You?”

He chuckled. “I slept okay.”

“Yeah, guys can sleep through anything. Your brains turn off—so lucky.”

“Maybe our brains turn off, but that’s about it.” Despite his hard, unyielding business-guy attitude, he had this obvious sensuality, this slow, tigerlike laziness that made him seem always ready for bed. “Honestly, the effects of what happened in your room last night are still with me this morning.”

She ignored the pull in her belly. “Me, too—but maybe in a different way.” She laid another slice of bread in the hot pan and cracked an egg. “Listen, Mac, I don’t know if I believe what you said last night about Tim—if you set that up or not—but I can’t worry about it anymore. I’ve spent too many years worrying about the past. Can we just let everything go and concentrate on what we’re trying to accomplish with the DeBolds?”

“Let everything go?”

“Yes. Do you think you can do that?”

“Do you really think you can do that?” he countered, his eyes glittering with heat.

Before she could answer, Harold and Louise walked into the kitchen, all smiles and dressed like models from a Hanna Andersson catalog. “Morning,” Harold said, taking a seat at the island.

“Morning,” Mac said good-naturedly. “Sleep well?”

“Perfect,” Harold said. “Something smells good, but that’s not surprising.”

Olivia glanced at Mac, who was watching her over his steaming cup of coffee, then she turned to her guests. “Eggs in a blanket, bacon and good, strong coffee.”

“Are you trying to fatten us up?” Louise asked, sitting beside her husband.

“Of course,” Olivia said on a chuckle, setting two cups of coffee before them. “But only so you have all the energy you need for what I have planned today.”

“And what do you have planned?” Mac asked, seeming to suddenly realize he’d never discussed plans with her.

Olivia looked at them all brightly. “Ice skating.”

Mac practically choked on his coffee. “Ice skating?”

Louise, on the other hand, looked as though she were about to explode with happiness. “Did you hear that, Harold?”

“I did. I did.”

Clasping her hands together like a little girl, Louise cried, “I haven’t been skating in ten years.”

“Well, then maybe it’s not such a good idea—” Mac began, but Louise cut him off.

“Not a good idea? No, no, no—it’s perfect. Harold and I had our first date on a skating rink. Rounder’s Pond—it was in back of my grandfather’s property, a beautiful kidney bean shape and surrounded by trees. Do you remember that, honey?”

“Of course.” Harold smiled at his wife, then looked over at Olivia. “You have made my wife very happy today. Thank you.”

“My pleasure.” Olivia beamed as she turned back to the stove. “Now, let’s get you two fed.”

Mac came to stand beside her.

She whispered over the DeBolds’ loud chatter, “You look panicked.”

“And you look happy about that,” he muttered.

Laughing, she took two perfectly cooked eggs in blankets out of the pan and placed them gently on plates. She whispered, “Buck up, Valentine. Ice skating is perfect and fun, and I’ve planned a lovely picnic afterward with hot chocolate.”

“I don’t skate, Olivia.”

“Well, you lucked out then.” She handed him the two plates and smiled. “I’m a great teacher.”

He’d been good at sports. Not the school kind. You had to spend more than a year living in one place to get on an organized team, but he’d killed at street basketball and alley soccer in every community he’d been sent to. He’d never tried hockey though, and before today had assumed that hockey, or anything involving skates, was a little like trying to understand German when all you spoke was Spanish. But he’d jumped into it with both blades. It took him about twenty minutes to really feel his balance, but after that, he was like a demon racing on the ice, even getting an impromptu hockey game going with Harold and some of the guys on the lake.

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