The Scandalous Heiress

“I’ll bet it does.” A soft giggle bubbled over her full lips.

“I guess you’re nervous.”

She tilted her head to the side. “Is there a reason I should be?”

“I don’t know. There’s a chance that you are Richard’s daughter. How do you feel about that?”

A warm breeze rustled the leaves. She pushed back a strand of hair from her cheek and sighed. “I don’t know. I haven’t met the man yet.”

“But the idea of being rich must be appealing.”

She arched an eyebrow. “Is that a question or an accusation?”

“Question.”

“Are you rich?”

He lifted his shoulders in a casual shrug. “I do all right.”

“And is your happiness based on your money?”

“This isn’t about me.”

“Isn’t it?” She wrapped her arms around her bent knees. “Funny. I got the impression that this has everything to do with you. Otherwise, you would have sent a lawyer or private detective to find me instead of coming in person.”

Again, he was amazed by her insight. Yes, he had a vested interest in finding Megan Hawthorne and a hell of a lot to lose if she turned out to be a brilliant con artist. Other than Richard, no member of the Hawthorne clan believed Megan was still alive.

“You didn’t answer my question,” he said.

“I thought it was rhetorical. Anybody who says they’ve never dreamed of being rich is already nch or a liar. I’m also realistic enough to know that dreams don’t come true and I had better not give up my day job.”

“And a gem of a job it is.” He cursed the thoughtless comment the second the words were out.

“It’s honest and I eat for free. And most customers leave tips for the service.”

Clayton bowed his head. “I guess that was directed at me.”

“You bought me a plane ticket. Put in perspective, it’s the biggest tip I ever got for a cup of coffee. However, I wasn’t your waitress. Annie was.”

He didn’t know what to make of her. In the world in which he had grown up, her work would seem a drudgery, yet she had no complaints. “You’re a strange woman, Michelle Finnley.”

“It’s part of my overwhelming charm.”

Behind 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.”