Heiress for Hire (18 page)

"Stress." Piper shrugged her shoulders. "Though I'm not really sure what that is. Mark said the doctors were full of shit, that they just didn't know what was wrong with me. And he said I can't go anywhere without the hat, because people will stare at me."

Amanda understood that pain, that hurt, that inability to measure up. The same feelings were mirrored in her at eight years old, and she remembered them only too well, raw and stinging, like sand kicked up in the eye.

"I don't think that Mark is someone whose opinion matters. He doesn't sound like a very smart man." Amanda wiped her hands on her skirt and struggled for composure. She ached with the need to hug Piper, pull her into her lap and give her comfort.

But she knew instinctively that would scare Piper, so she just said as calmly as she could, given that her heart felt kicked, "I have a secret too, Piper. Can I tell you?"

The little girl's eyes widened. "Sure. I can keep a secret forever."

"This isn't my real hair." Amanda pointed to her own head. "The bottom half of it is fake."

"Really?" Piper asked in awe, her eyes shifting to Amanda's hair.

"Really. I got my hair dyed different colors too many times and some of it fell out, and the rest got kind of thin. So I wear extensions to make it longer and thicker." Reaching up, she fiddled through her hair until she found the clips attaching the piece to her existing strands.

Weaves were more reliable and blended better," but her stylist had advised against them, thinking they would strain her already damaged hair fibers. So she had little plastic teeth that slid toward her scalp, under the weight of her hair, securing it in place.

She started to tug it off, having a little trouble without a mirror. It stung like hell, but she jerked harder until the thing came free. She shook her own hair loose and dropped the piece in her lap.

Piper gaped at her. "It's like a wig! But it looks so real."

Amanda handed it over to Piper, who curled her lip but took it, tipping it left and right and watching the fake strands spill over her legs.

"Yep. It's real human hair." She ran her hand over her head, making sure there were no stray pieces sticking up and looking tacky. Her hair only went to just below her chin, giving her a boxy, businesswoman look she hated.

Treading lightly, not sure she knew what the hell she was doing, she pointed to her head. "Do I look funny like this? Bad?"

"No." Piper shook her head hard. "Just different, but still like you. Still pretty."

"I bet that's just what you look like without your hat. Different, but still you. Pretty." Amanda took Piper's hand, the hairpiece clutched between them, and stroked her hand, her arm, her shoulder the way she had wanted to since she'd first met this little girl. "If you want to go without your hat when you're with me, you can. I'll like you just the same both ways."

Piper looked at the carpet and bit her lip. "Can I go out and play on the swings?"

That was an abrupt change of subject, which meant Piper wasn't ready to take off her hat, to totally trust her yet. But Amanda figured the important thing was that Piper had heard her, really listened, and hopefully knew that she would be here when Piper did want to take that big step.

"Sure. Stay right in the yard, and I'll be there in a second." She needed that second to get control of her emotions. And to put her hair back on.

"Okay." Piper ran toward the front door, heading toward the grassy area to the right of the driveway that had a few hardy flowers and a metal swing set that had been dropped off by one of Danny's cousins the day before.

It amazed Amanda that his family and friends had just come to his aid, no questions asked. Nothing was brand new, but they had all cleaned out their closets and garages and given him clothes and toys for Piper.

Piper paused at the door and turned toward Amanda. She reached up and lifted her hat off so quickly, Amanda wasn't even expecting it.

Then she stood there, exposed, vulnerable, and let Amanda look at her.

The sight of her rounded, pink skull covered randomly with little tufts of baby fine hair hit Amanda hard. Some of the remaining hair was short and thick, like a baby chicken, others pieces long and thin, like a comb-over trying to hide a balding spot.

"Yep. Just different. But still pretty," she said in a low voice, absolutely awed to have Piper's trust. She didn't think she'd ever been given such an amazing gift.

Piper jammed the hat back on her head and ran out the door, the screen slamming behind her.

Amanda stood up, her eyes blurring with tears, her breath coming in anguished little gasps. She wanted to weep for Piper, she wanted to take it all away, make it all right, love her.

"Hey, Amanda, have you seen my sunglasses?" Danny's voice came from the kitchen. "I can't find them, and I'm going blind out there."

Swiping her eyes, she turned right as he came into the living room.

And burst into the tears she'd been trying to hold back.

It took Danny a full ten seconds to figure out what he was looking at.

Amanda was standing there, crying, and something about her appearance was off, different, though he couldn't place it. He crossed the room to her, looking frantically up and down for an injury that would cause tears. "Hey, what's wrong? Are you hurt?"

Amanda wasn't the kind for big emotional displays, so he was a little panicked. "Where's Piper?"

She sniffled, reaching up to wipe her eyes, mouth trembling a little. "She just went outside to play on the swing set, and she's fine."

Relief coursed through him. Piper wasn't hurt, and Amanda seemed to be trying to stem her tears. "Well, what's wrong?" He reached out and rubbed her arms below the shoulder, studying her face.

There was something about her, besides the tears…

He blinked. Half her hair was gone. "What the hell happened to your hair?"

Not that it looked bad. In fact, he kind of liked it. She looked softer, more natural, with her hair falling just below her chin. It was less showy, less blond, or something, and her face was pale, streaked with tears. At some point over the past few days, she had taken off those plastic claws she'd called fingernails, and if she had been gorgeous—hot—before, now she was beautiful.

The New York skyline was dazzling, but Niagara Falls was breathtaking.

Amanda had just become breathtaking.

"I took my hair extensions out." She sniffled again, another tear squeezing out of each eye. "Did you know, Danny, about Piper's hair?"

Danny dropped his arms. So she'd figured it out. Not wanting to betray Piper's confidence, he said carefully, "What are you talking about, exactly?"

"She told me that she lost her hair. She showed me." More tears rushed down her cheeks.

Her reaction warmed his heart, even at the same time he felt the pain all over again that Piper had suffered without him. She had lived a hard life, and damn it, he hadn't been there. "I think it's good that she trusted you enough to tell you."

"I just can't believe that anyone would tell her she had to wear a hat… those people who had her—I'm sorry, but they were fucked-up, selfish, jerk-off assholes, unfit to be parents. She's just a child."

God, did he know that. "I know. And I couldn't tell you, because I need Piper to trust me, know I won't betray her, and she's convinced having no hair makes her ugly. She needs time." And he needed patience and forgiveness. He needed to forgive Nina for her lackluster mothering.

And most of all, he needed to forgive himself for not being there.

But that wasn't going to happen any time soon. He couldn't forgive. He couldn't forget. He couldn't get over the fact that this was all his fault, for not being man enough to take responsibility for his actions. For not being a real man, any more than Mark.

And he wasn't sure why, but he found himself confessing all that raw sewage sloshing around inside of him to Amanda. "It breaks my heart all over again, every time I look at Piper. It makes me sick. Not because she's not pretty, but because she is. Because she's precious and fragile and damn adorable, and because I didn't stop any of this from happening. I should have stopped it, I should have been there. I let my little girl down."

Amanda's hand pressed over his lips with a tenderness that startled him almost as much as her disappearing hair. She took a step closer to him, shaking her head, her green eyes bright with unshed tears and emotion.

"No, don't say that. You didn't know, plain and simple. You can't change the past."

"I want to."

A small smile glossed over her lips as her hand slid over to cup his cheek. "You, Danny Tucker, are a beautiful man. You know that?"

"What do you mean?" Men weren't beautiful, and he was too big and bulky to be considered anything but lumbering. And even though he was the man and should be doing the comforting, he suddenly liked that she was touching him, soothing him. He stared at her, stood perfectly still, afraid that he wanted too much.

Her hand was satin smooth on his rough, stubbly skin, and he could smell her as she leaned toward him. She was like wildflow-ers, fragrant and riotous, bold and attention-grabbing with their scent, height, color.

"I mean that you are a good guy. One of a very few. And I'm glad that I met you, and that you're Piper's father."

And she kissed him. A light press of her mouth to his, lips cool and soft on him, then quickly gone.

She sighed. "Thank you."

He wasn't sure what the hell she was thanking him for, but he wasn't above accepting a little more gratitude.

Amanda was willowy, tall enough to meet him face to face, to lock eyes with him, to stand shoulder to shoulder with him. And he wanted more from her—he wanted more than just that teasing taste she'd given him—he wanted her, and he wanted to share a moment of pleasure, escape, comfort.

Without thinking over whether it was wise or not, he closed the distance between them and kissed her back. A tentative, questing kiss that quickly shifted into long, lingering, luscious.

She gave a little gasp of surprise somewhere along the way that opened up her mouth and let him pull her bottom lip into his mouth and suck gently. He'd closed his eyes at the first salty taste of her, and somehow he wrapped his arms around her back, tugging her closer into him.

Amanda's hand snaked from his cheek around the back of his neck, and he cupped her bare flesh above her waistband, drowning, aching, burning. It was more than a kiss, it was a conversation, and she was telling him that she hurt for him, for Piper, for himself, and his emotions echoed hers. It felt good to unburden, to share his pain, to give in to the attraction he had felt since the first time he'd spotted Amanda.

Sometimes it was hard to be slow and steady and not worry.

He'd been doing nothing but worry for the last ten days, and Amanda understood that, didn't fault him for it, and she recognized how beautiful and special Piper was.

And she was so amazingly gorgeous, so hot in his arms, so passionate.

Their kiss was going deeper and deeper, leaving behind any doubts that this was a friendly kiss of compassion. The living room was filled with the sound of their desperate breathing, their little gasps, and he was really, really thinking that no woman had ever tasted quite so good. So eager. So delicious.

He didn't understand Amanda and her world, and he didn't understand his own attraction to her, but he understood that there were some things that weren't going to make sense, and he and Amanda Delmar were very compatible.