The Scandalous Heiress

Pain seared through her. Even her stepfather, at his lying, thieving worst, had shown her more respect than Joseph or William. Not that Clayton had fared any better, but he had known what to expect.

She shivered. He glanced at her, then switched off the air-conditioning. She was surprised he had noticed her reaction. Working in the diner, she had met all kinds, but none like him. As starched as Chinese laundry, he could be the poster boy for the ultraconservative party. Was he that uptight in bed?

Mikki jerked her head up. Where had that come from?

“Where had what come from?” he asked.

When she realized she had spoken the words aloud, she felt her cheeks flush hot. She was indulging in fantasies about his sex life when she was flaming mad. Lord help her if she ever started to like the man.

“Are you all right?” he asked. “You look a bit warm.”

She pulled the fabric of her blouse away from her skin. “Perhaps you could put the air-conditioning back on.” She would rather freeze than admit the truth.

“We’re almost there.”

“Where?”

He didn’t answer, and she wouldn’t ask again. Without her suitcase or purse she was at his mercy.

As the sun was setting, he pulled the car into the entrance of Lionshead Condominiums. The sprawling complex of luxury townhouses was silhouetted against the purple and red sky.

“You live here?” she asked.

“Yes. What did you expect?”

“I thought you’d drop me off at a Motel 8.”

“A what?” His voice pitched.

“A Motel 8. The Ritz Carlton of the economically challenged.”

“Economically challenged?”

“The politically correct term for people who live near poverty level. It sounds more delicate so people don’t have to think about children going to bed hungry at night.”

He stopped the car across from one of the units. His eyes narrowed sorrowfully. “Is that what your childhood was like?”

“No. We always had a place to live and my stepfather was adept at finding ‘alternative shopping’ methods.” At least he used to be. How had he managed without his underage stepdaughter doing the dirty work for him? Would he really be foolish enough to perpetrate a fraud when a simple blood test would blow his scam? Max had never been a stupid man.

“It sounds like a poor environment to grow up in,” Clayton noted.

“Things could have been worse.”

“I guess,” he muttered.

“But you couldn’t imagine how, right?”

He removed the keys from the ignition. As he struggled for words, she felt guilty for placing the blame on him. He wasn’t responsible for the path her life had taken.

“That wasn’t fair.” She touched his arm, and he tensed. Releasing him quickly, she mumbled, “Sorry.”

He nodded sharply. “That’s all right.”

Was it her touch, or would he have the same reaction to any physical contact? Although his affection for his aunt had been evident, he hadn’t offered her a hug or kiss on the cheek when he had greeted her earlier. He was a complicated man and Mikki didn’t have enough time to figure him out.

A swirl of hot air surrounded her as she slipped from the car. The smell of the sea hung on the breeze. She licked her lips and tasted the salt. “How far is the ocean?”

He drew his eyebrows together. “Ocean? You mean the bay? You can see it from the deck upstairs.”

“No wonder you prefer to live here.”

Bitterness tinged his rich laughter. “The view had nothing to do with it.”

She recalled the scene at dinner. “I’m sure it didn’t.”

“Let me get your suitcase.”

A man of intense mystery when it came to his feelings, he shied away from any conversation that centered on him. Why was he so guarded? Why did she care? Tomorrow he would drop her off at the airport and that would be the end of their involvement.

Unless she turned out to be Richard’s daughter. All she had to do was let a doctor poke her vein, and if the results were positive her acceptance was guaranteed. If not, at least she would know. So, why had she walked out at the mere suggestion?

Because either outcome would shatter the fragile sense of peace she had only recently been able to feel. The years after her mother’s death had left her confused and afraid, constantly looking over her shoulder for her stepfather. She had fought hard to maintain her freedom. And now she felt the haunting chains of her past reaching out to imprison her again.

“This way, Mikki.” Clayton pointed toward the garage which opened with a tap to the remote in his hand. She followed him inside. “I’ll put the car in later.”

The spacious town house used the waterfront view to full advantage. French doors in the living room led to a deck overlooking the bay. The water had taken on a deep shade of sea green as the last of the sun disappeared. The cathedral ceilings with inlaid skylights made her feel as if she could reach up and touch the full moon overhead.

His home seemed in contrast to his personality. The plush sectional sofa, in beige Haitian cotton, was accented beautifully with throws and pillows in a southwestern motif. The framed pictures and handcrafted collectibles displayed throughout the room were a departure from the stuffy image he fostered.

Clayton put her suitcase inside the door of a guest room. “I’ll make some coffee. You can change if you’d like.”

“Thanks.”

Once he left, she sprawled across the queen-size bed and traced the Navajo pattern of the quilt with her fingertip. Sleeping alone in this big bed seemed such a waste. Her thoughts went to her reluctant host, and her pulse accelerated. At this rate her vivid imagination would land her in serious trouble.

It must be the stress, she decided as she changed into a short-sleeved sweatshirt and a pair of leggings. Clayton had not made one comment or gesture that led her to believe he might be interested. To the contrary, he kept a distinct distance between them. Even though he had brought her here, she sensed his discomfort with the arrangement.

Mikki was about to search out Clayton when an old photograph captured her attention. She lifted the antique silver frame from the dresser for closer inspection. A small child sitting atop a pony waved for the photographer. A boy stuck his tongue out and held two fingers above the little girl’s head. Though they looked nothing alike, they behaved like siblings. She brushed her thumb over the glass. Why did the picture seem familiar?

“That’s Meg.” Clayton’s voice gave her a start. She turned to find him watching her with an odd expression. “My aunt uses this room when she visits. It’s one of her last pictures of you.”

“Me?”

He frowned. “Meg. One of the last pictures of Meg, taken on her third birthday. She got that pony from Richard.”

“And who’s the comedian with his tongue hanging out, holding rabbit ears over her head?”

“Take a guess.”