A Hint of Scandal

The memory coursed through her like acid, eating away at the armor she had grown, exposing wounds that she had thought covered, if not healed. She gasped for breath when a guest stopped her father. She hadn’t talked to him in six years and she couldn’t now. He would know in a nanosecond that she wasn’t Kim. And he wouldn’t even go along with it until she could explain. No, he would bring holy hell down upon her right there, until the whole world gleefully concluded that Olivia Stanton had once again screwed up—and this time her own sister’s life.

Pain sliced through her, robbing her of breath. The very intensity of it was still so raw. She wanted to be able to look him in the eye, not to flinch when she saw the corroding disappointment in his gaze. But she couldn’t, because nothing had changed. She just wasn’t good enough—not now, not ever. Not even to be a stand-in for her perfect sister.

She rubbed her forehead with trembling hands and turned toward the exit, her legs rubbery. “My head feels awful. Please apologize to my father,” she threw at Alexander.

She could feel his razor-sharp gaze drill into her back until she stepped out of the banquet hall. But she couldn’t look back. Right now, all she needed was to escape.

* * *

Picking up a champagne flute from a passing waiter, Alexander stilled and stared at Kim’s retreating form. She looked pale and intensely troubled, her hurried gait anything but graceful. And even as he watched she tottered on those heels. The doubts that had been niggling at him all evening crystallized into irrefutable truth, shock stunting his movements.

The woman running away as though the devil was on her heels was Olivia Stanton, the embodiment of everything he despised in a woman—selfish, impulsive and scandalous—who could wreck everything: his reputation, his sister’s care. With one reckless word or action.

Kim would have never run at the sight of her father. No, it was Olivia who couldn’t run fast enough. After all, the rift between Jeremiah Stanton and his younger daughter was continuing fodder for the tabloids, among other things.

Fury washed up through him in tidal waves, an incessant drumbeat drowning out the innocent chatter around him. Why had they switched? When had they switched?

The answer came to him with crushing clarity. He had slipped the wedding ring onto Olivia’s finger, his gaze snagging on her lips, fascinated by the blood-red lipstick, wondering how he had missed this side of a woman he had known for six months.

Everything he had worked for his entire life now rested in the hands of a good-for-nothing party girl who didn’t know the meaning of responsibility.

The crack of the champagne flute in his hand pulled him out of the red mist. Ignoring Jeremiah’s concern, he took a turn toward the exit.

He made his way to the suite that Kim had occupied since her arrival at his mansion a week ago, his steps unhurried in contrast to the blistering anger coursing through him.

Olivia was going to rue the day her self-centered, worthless existence had entered his life.

CHAPTER TWO

HAVING NOT FOUND her in the suite, he’d looked out at the beach view. Something white and gossamer shimmered in the moonlight, contrasting against the dark backdrop of the ocean.

His heart racing, Alexander quickened his steps over the landscaped wooden floor. The minuscule light thrown by the artistically placed lanterns along the gravel path did nothing to make his mounting fury abate. Disbelief poured through him, stalling his usually quick thought processes. He hurried past the artificial landscape, reaching the untouched strip of beach behind the mansion that was his private haven.

He came to a standstill, his heart pounding. Used to the pitch-dark of the night, he turned his head in time to see a flash of alabaster skin, a pale shoulder above the powerful waves. She was about half a mile ahead, and even in the moonlight he could see that she was struggling, her strokes not very elegant or even strong.

The wedding dress and the silver sandals lay in a pile on the sand. The rip in the lacy neckline was visible even in the limited light, a testament to the rush she had been in. The custom-made diamond necklace, his wedding gift to Kim, glittered on top of the lace.

He glanced around the beach he knew like the back of his hand. Miles of sand and ocean stretched on either side. There would be no one around except his security men at the far end of the estate. No guest was allowed to venture into this private strip. She could drown and no one would know.

His hands fisted at his sides. Olivia Stanton gave new meaning to recklessness. Undoubtedly Kim was somewhere cleaning up her mess while Olivia lazed around in the aftermath of her upheaval. Only she had messed with the wrong man this time. Someone should have taught the selfish woman a lesson a long time ago.

Alex settled down on a lounger, his anger under control and something more insidious crawling into its place. Just how far was the wild Olivia willing to take her pretense?

* * *

Olivia sucked in a greedy breath as another wave sluiced over her, pushing her back a little more. She wanted to linger in the water, but her shoulders and arms were beginning to hurt. She had never been the greatest swimmer, but the cold water had pierced through the bubble of anguish that had swathed her, choked her. The dark silence of the moonlit night had been a diversion—at least for a few minutes.

She grunted and pushed through the water at a pace that had her arms feeling like lead weights, her thighs groaning at the exertion. She was always going to be a coward when it came to her father, never daring to stand up to him. She would always run instead.

She reached the sand with a guttural groan, her limbs feeling like rubber. She lay facedown, her lungs a deadweight in her chest. Sand stuck to her wet skin and hair, chafing at her. She had narrowly missed her father’s wrath but she still had Alexander to deal with. If Kim didn’t return soon.

Mere seconds after the thought, the hair on her nape stood up, her skin prickling with a panic she couldn’t shake off.

“Are you naked?”

The question startled her, laced with a huskiness that gave her goose bumps. She tilted her head up in the direction of the voice. Alexander was sprawled on a lounger half a foot away, an arm flung behind him casually, watching her, his expression hidden by the fan of his lashes.

Yet there was nothing casual about his gleaming blue eyes, or in the calculating appraisal in them as they traveled over her. With his jacket gone and the neck of his white shirt unbuttoned, which exposed a thoroughly distracting strip of brown flesh, he wasn’t the hardheaded businessman anymore. Instead, a touch of roguish danger simmered around him.

Olivia swallowed. She had run straight to the beach as if the devil himself were after her, the only thought in her mind to flee. Now he had another point against her. The idea of slipping back into the water with the possibility of sinking like a stone held more allure than facing him.

She sat up slowly and scrunched her knees to her chest. Pretending to be brushing off the sand on her legs, she gripped them, waiting for the shaking to subside. Refusing to look at him, she stared straight ahead, the tranquility she had found earlier evaporating like a mist. Her fingers slipped on her legs as he moved closer and came to a standstill near her.

She gave up the fight and turned. His feet were coming into her view. Nothing there that would make her feel even a little better—like a lot of hair on the toes or a couple of unsightly growths. No, instead, they were large brown feet, with evenly spaced toes. “You know what they say about men with large feet, Olivia.” Her friend Amelie’s declaration skated into her head and she grinned.

Not now, Liv. “Of course I’m not naked.” Why did she sound so unsteady? Dusting away the remnants of sand, she stood up, still not meeting his eyes. “I need a shower.”

With a small movement he shifted his body to block hers. His fingers settled on her bare shoulders.

Liv shivered, the hot press of his fingers searing her skin. “Alexander—”

His finger moved to her mouth, effectively silencing her. “You robbed me of the pleasure of ripping that dress off you. At least let me look at what I would have discovered.”

Her tummy took a roll as he took a step back. Look away, Liv. Through sheer willpower she resisted the temptation to meet his gaze. Only that was worse. With her eyes closed every other sense became hyperaware. Her ears tuned in to the sound of his fractured breathing, her nose was filled with the scent of sea and male arousal, and her skin tingled as though he’d run his hands all over her.

Alex couldn’t take his eyes off her body. Heat surged through him, tautening his lower belly. His blood was flowing hotter and faster, making a beeline to regions south. He hadn’t asked the question to be censorious. He had been genuinely curious. She had surfaced out of the water and had lain there, the whoosh of her uneven breathing puncturing the silence all around. Her alabaster skin shimmered in the moonlight. The dip of her back and the curve of her butt sent a swift kick of lust to his groin.

Now he understood. She wore nude-colored underwear. At this close distance it was quite modest, compared to the lacy underwear flaunted in every fashion magazine. But then, those lacy, gossamer bras and thongs left nothing to the man’s imagination.

She looked earthily sexy. Her wild brown hair was tinted with shades of gold. Her breasts rose and fell with her shallow breathing. The sight of her taut nipples behind the thin fabric made his throat dry up. The dip of her waist, the curve of her hips, her toned legs—every inch of her body was an invitation of pleasure, would drive even the most sensible man to distraction.

Color suffused her cheeks at his continued scrutiny. “You’re staring at me.”

He hadn’t meant to. He didn’t want to. But she had a body made for sex. Was that why men lost their minds around her? Weak men, who cracked at the first sign of temptation and then it was just a downward spiral. Like his father. The passing thought about his father was enough to cool his desire—more effective than an electric shock.

He took a step back, his senses still reeling. “You’re an awful swimmer.”

Her chin lifted. An imperceptible movement both defiant and hurt.

“If you had drowned no one would even have heard you.”

Olivia felt heat creeping up her cheeks. The strong tide had been the reason she had finally waded out. She couldn’t admit that to him, though. Summoning every ounce of her meager willpower, she stayed still. Her fingers twitched for action. Either to push him off or sink her fingers into his tousled hair. “I didn’t drown.”

A smile spread from his mouth, tugging one corner of it upward, creating a delicious dimple. Sinuous heat slithered through her, pooling toward her groin.

His fingers moved to her nape and pressed gently. “I’m glad.”

He was pure sex on legs when he smiled like that, and he knew the power he wielded. But that didn’t stop the prickle of sensation that crept up along her skin. His contempt she could handle. His seduction, not so much. She took a step back, away from the warm invitation of all that male heat.