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.
