the veil of sarcasm, she had a gentle smile and infectious laughter that inspired trust. She also stirred feelings he’d do well to deny. A con artist was only successful if she gained the confidence of her mark. Her stepfather had a long rap sheet of extortion and fraud, a career he might well have passed on to her. And she had picked his pocket with the light-fingered precision of the Artful Dodger.
“I imagine you can be quite charming when you put your mind to it,” he said.
“First, I’d have to find someone susceptible to my charms. I don’t think that’s you.”
He swallowed a cough. She had no idea. Then again, perhaps she did. “Why do you think that?”
“For one thing, you keep people at a distance. You don’t like to be touched.”
“That’s debatable.”
She crinkled her nose in exasperation. “I’m not talking about sex.”
“Then what’s the point?” he said and chuckled.
“That is my point.” She blew a wisp of bangs off her forehead with exaggerated frustration. “Every gesture you make has a specific purpose.”
He stretched out and propped his head on one hand. “You gathered all that from one meeting?”
“You learn a lot when you wait on people for a living.”
“What other things have you learned, Michelle?”
Mikki groaned. Again he had managed to make an innocent question sound like an accusation. Why did she bother trying to hold a serious conversation with him? He didn’t trust her. For the sake of her emotional well-being, she wanted to get the meeting with Richard Hawthorne over with and move on.
She stood and wrapped her arms around her waist. “We should get going.”
“All right,” he agreed, coming to his feet. “Richard is waiting.”
Could she expect the same wariness and skepticism from Richard as she had received from Clayton? Her heart thumped against her chest. She had tried not to set unreasonable expectations about her visit, but the part of her spirit that had always refused to accept the realities of the world still hoped for the fairy tale.
The remainder of the trip passed m silence. Her mind reeled with questions, but she didn’t voice a single one. She didn’t want to be accused of pumping him for information.
Colonial houses with manicured lawns lined the streets of the upper-class neighborhood. She gaped at the homes like a tourist seeing the sights of Beverly Hills. Unlike the pulsing city or quiet farmlands, suburbia had a delicate rhythm all its own. She blinked.
Toughen up, kid. You’re getting sappy and sentimental about a place where you will never belong.
Her resolve to block out her surroundings worked until Clayton brought the car to a halt on a dead-end street.
Mikki glanced at the house before her, set high on a hill. A numbness washed over her. Something about the massive Tudor mansion held her entranced. She had dreamed of a castle like this as a child. The only thing missing was the fire-breathing dragon. She glanced at Clayton. Well, maybe not. Judging by his heated stare, he looked about to breathe fire at any moment.
“What?”
“Rather impressive, isn’t it?” he asked, pointing toward the house.
“I guess.” She noticed a swimming pool and tennis court off to the side of the estate. “Is it some kind of private resort or a historical monument?”
“Neither.”
“Then why did you stop here?”
The wrought iron gate opened before them as if by magic. Then she noted the electronic device in Clayton’s hand.
She shook her head. “I don’t understand.”
“We’re here,” he said simply.
As he drove up the winding driveway, Mikki could do little more than gape. She felt an overwhelming urge to run. There had to be a mistake.
“Say something, Michelle.”
“Holy Jeez, Toto. We’re not in Kansas anymore.”
Three
Richard rose as Clayton entered the study. For a man who had suffered a heart attack just one month earlier, Richard looked remarkably well. His face flushed with anticipation, and his eagle eyes were clearly searching for some sign of good news.
“I expected you earlier.”
Clayton felt the tug of a grin. “She’s not a woman to be hurried.”
“Where is she now?” Richard asked.
“I had her shown to a room to do whatever it is that women do when they lock themselves in the bathroom.”
Richard’s hearty chuckle echoed off the solid oak walls. “So, what was your impression of her?”
Clayton lowered himself in a chair across from the mahogany desk. Many of his personal impressions were not of the nature he could share with the man who might be her father. She was sexy, sensual and hypnotically compelling. A man would have to be blind and suffer sense deprivation not to notice her. And despite the impression the family had of him, he was neither blind nor without normal male desires.
Although he knew Richard would expect a full report, discussing Mikki as if she were a business prospectus left Clayton with an odd sensation. Guilt, he presumed, but why? She might be giving an Oscarwinning performance.
“Everything checked out so far,” he said.
Richard perked up with premature excitement. “So, is she little Meg?”
Little Meg. Clayton thought of the dark-eyed beauty. Mikki was not the pesky little brat he remembered from childhood, but a striking, complicated woman. “She might not be.”
“What are you saying, Clay?”
“Be careful. Don’t let your hopes cloud your judgment. This is not the first time.”
Richard waved his hand impatiently. “You can’t prove she’s lying.”
“Because she’s not claiming anything at all. She might be as innocent as she seems, but that doesn’t mean she’s Meg,” Clayton warned. He would be wise to take his own advice, because he had actually started to believe in the possibility himself.
He poured himself a shot of bourbon from the bar and swallowed the warm, amber liquid. To get through dinner, he would probably want a few more, but unfortunately, he needed to remain clearheaded for the night ahead.
Mikki sat on the edge of the sleigh bed. The last time she had seen a room like this, a customer
