Return to You (9 page)

"He keeps a picture of you hidden in his
desk."

Olivia stopped half in, half out of the car.
Sliding down into her seat again, she turned to face the woman.
"What?"

Lainie nodded. "I found it accidentally a
few years ago. I think that's when I fell in love with him. He
keeps himself private, separate from everyone. But then I saw that
picture..."

Olivia frowned. As if a picture meant
anything.

Lainie turned to her and gripped Olivia's
hand in her cold one. "When I saw it, I recognized the loneliness.
He hides it away the same way he hides your picture, but it's there
just the same."

Olivia rubbed the throbbing point at her
temples. "I don't see how this has anything to do with me."

"It has everything to do with you."

"No, it doesn't. This is about you and your
crush on Parker."

"It's not a crush. I'm in love with
him."

Olivia stared at her. The woman's cheeks
were flushed and her eyes snapped, and her hair was slipping from
the tight bun at the nape of her neck. Roused with passion, she
looked alive, like someone had breathed life into her.

This wasn't the Elaine who'd walked into
Romantic Notions and longingly fingered a red lace bra she didn't
think she should own.

Olivia wouldn't wish her cold bastard of a
father on her worse enemy much less someone she liked, but the hope
shining on Lainie's face made it impossible to say anything
negative. Besides, she knew better than anyone that what you wanted
wasn't always what was good for you. It didn't make wanting it any
less dire.

She heaved a sigh. "Okay."

Lainie frowned. "Okay?"

"I'll help you."

The joy that lit Lainie's eyes was painful
to witness. It made Olivia that much more determined to see that
Lainie achieved her goal.

The devil help Everett Parker if he broke
Lainie's heart.

"I need to learn to read lips," Rick
murmured, watching Olivia and Elaine Adams. That, or he could buy
the high tech listening devise he looked at last week.

Olivia's door opened and she started to get
out, but Ms. Adams said something that caused her to get right back
in.

With the interior light on, he could see
them clearly in the gloaming. Whatever the topic of their
conversation was, it wasn't a happy one. They weren't arguing, but
neither one looked like they wanted to be there. Especially
Olivia.

He frowned, watching her rub her forehead.
He didn't like this. Not at all. Olivia was terrific. She didn't
deserve this hassle.

When Everett Parker came to him with this
job, there wasn't a doubt in Rick's mind that it was bogus. His
instincts—which he trusted implicitly—screamed that there was more
to it than Parker was letting on.

Now he wasn't sure.

He remembered Ms. Adams from Olivia's store
the week before. He hadn't thought much of it at the time but,
looking back, she'd been entirely too interested in his
conversation with Olivia. And this evening, she accompanied Olivia
to Gwendolyn Pierce's house. Coincidence?

He shook his head. There was no such thing
as coincidence. As far as he could see, Elaine Adams had no reason
to get close to Olivia. She was here to work, after all, not to
socialize.

Unless she were after something.

As standard procedure, he checked into
Parker's background, which meant he had to do some digging into
Olivia's as well, since she was irrevocably connected to him.

Olivia wasn't going to be happy about him
nosing into her past, especially when she found out how much he was
able to uncover. He downed the rest of his cold coffee, grimaced,
and crumpled the paper cup in his fist.

It was a lot of circumstantial evidence. But
factor in one of the most powerful men in Hollywood, his estranged
daughter, her relationship with the hottest director in the
business, and the probability that she'd been pregnant with his
child...

Rick shook his head. It added up to one
thing: a juicy tabloid story and a buttload of money for the person
who gave up the scoop.

He couldn't let that happen. Olivia didn't
deserve that.

The
why
was bugging him though. Elaine
Adams didn't have much of a motive. From what he gathered, she kept
to herself. She didn't have any large outstanding debts. In fact,
she had quite a bit of money saved up. Why would she be selling
trade secrets and gossip to the rags?

Olivia said something that made Ms. Adams smile. He
blinked. She was actually pretty despite her lack of makeup and the
dumpy clothes she wore.

What could make Ms. Adams beam like
that?

He'd find out. That went without saying.

Chapter Eleven

With a soft groan, Olivia cracked open her
eyes and looked at the clock. Seven o'clock. She groaned again, not
wanting to get up.

Wait—it was Sunday, and the store was closed
on Sundays. She happily snuggled deeper into the covers.

She was drifting off when a nagging,
rhythmic banging pulled her back into wakefulness. It came from the
window. Burying her head under the pillow, she squeezed her eyes
shut and willed herself to sleep.

The banging persisted.

Then the noise became louder.

She shoved aside her covers and went to the
window. Pushing it open, she leaned out into the frigid morning
air. "What the hell is going on?"

Two men looked up. She'd startled them—the
one with the hammer poised in the air brought it down on his finger
instead of the wood. The other one opened and closed his mouth like
a guppy. Both stared at her like deer caught in headlights.

"Well?"

The second one finally muttered, "We're
building this set."

The movie. Of course. How silly of her not
to realize they'd be working on a Sunday—damn Michael and her
father.

Giving the men the evil eye, she slammed her
window shut and climbed back into bed. Shivering, she covered her
head with the comforter, but she could still hear the
hammering.

She growled and buried herself deeper. It
took another twenty minutes before she admitted to herself she
wasn't going to fall asleep again.

For the second time that morning, she threw
the covers off and sat up. Resigned, she rubbed the sleep from her
eyes and climbed out of bed. She trod like a zombie out of her
room, following the scent of coffee to the kitchen.

"Thank you, Gran," she said when she saw the
full carafe on the stove. Grabbing a mug, she poured herself a cup,
liberally laced it with brown sugar, and sat at the kitchen
table.

Sipping, she decided she'd take a bath and
then have a picnic by the lake. She could sit in the sun and read.
Best of all, no one would disturb her down there. With a little
luck she'd manage it all without running into anyone. Gran was most
likely already gardening. Her father was probably off being a
mogul, with Michael at his beck and call.

She didn't care, she decided as she got up.
As long as they both stayed far away from her. Especially
Michael.

In the bathroom, she plugged the tub and
filled it with hot water, pouring a generous amount of bubble bath
into the stream. Stripping, she eased into the heat and turned the
tap off when the water level was high enough.

She closed her eyes, trying to channel
peace, but thoughts of Michael intruded. Like how sexy he was now.
And intense. And how when he looked at her she felt like he was
thinking about licking every inch of her.

"Stop thinking about him," she muttered to
herself, closing her eyes.

The bathroom door opened.

She opened her eyes. Michael stood in the
doorway, like he'd walked out of her fantasy and right into the
room.

"I'm taking a bath," she said inanely. She
draped her arm across her breasts to hide herself from his avid
gaze.

His gaze dropped to the tub. "Yes, you
are."

Covering her breasts with one arm, she
pointed with the other. "Out."

He leaned in the doorway. "Mae said I could
use the bathroom."

"Pick another one."

"But I like this one. It has a lot to
recommend." He walked in and sat on the closed lid of the
toilet.

"Didn't I just tell you to get out?" she
asked incredulously. She couldn't deal with him without any clothes
on. She felt vulnerable.

Okay—and turned on. How could she not with
that smoldering way he looked at her? But it made her angry
too.

He dipped his hand into the tub, his fingers
brushing her thigh. "The water seems cool. Want me to warm it?"

She whacked his hand away. "You aren't
warming anything for me."

"Where's your rubber ducky?"

She frowned at the abrupt change in subject.
"I don't have a rubber ducky."

"How come? You wanted one from the first day
you saw Ernie on Sesame Street taking a bath with his.
Remember?"

"The only thing I remember is how you used to swear
to me that Snuffleupagus slept under your bed at night."

He grinned boyishly. "I guess that would
have been logistically difficult."

She stared at his face, memories of their
friendship warm in her mind, and her heart flopped.

No—she couldn't do that again.

But before she could order him to leave, he
scooped up some bubbles and dabbed them on her nose. "I need to get
to work. See you later."

Olivia swatted the bubbles off her face as
he walked out. She even rubbed the spot dry with her towel, but she
could feel his touch all through her bath.

Chapter Twelve

"I must be a glutton for punishment."
Michael waited for an affirmative from the universe. The quiet
acquiescence that answered him said it all.

He stepped sideways down the hill to the
Frog Pond. He should have been overseeing the crew. Instead, he was
trekking across the countryside to see Olivia.

He wasn't even sure she was at that pond.
Granny Mae had told him Olivia went for a picnic. He assumed that
it was still her favorite spot after all these years.

Pembroke Farms had three different ponds,
like it had three gardens. Mae once told him there was magic in the
number three.

He hadn't believed in magic in a long
time.

Michael reached the top of the next rolling
hill and started down the crest. He and Olivia named the pond when
they were kids, for all the frogs they used to catch there. He
could almost hear echoes of their laughter reach him from the
past.

There she was, sitting against a tree
reading, just like she used to when she was little. Only she wasn't
a little girl any more.

And, god
damn
, she'd grown up
nicely.

His tongue had just about fallen out of his
head when he opened the bathroom door and found her in the tub
wearing nothing but an iridescent layer of bubbles. Even now when
she was dressed in jeans and a tight sweater, his hands itched to
get a hold of her.

She must have sensed his presence. She
looked up, setting her book down in her lap. He could see her
eyebrows draw together. He couldn't blame her—he wasn't sure why he
was here either.

"Hey." He stopped when he reached the edge
of her blanket. He nodded toward her little basket. "Have a good
picnic?"

She looked up at him, using her hand as a
shield from the sun. "Up till now."

"Point taken. I'll just say what I came to
say and be on my way."

"By all means." Her smile was as genuine as
the Rolex he'd bought off a man on the street the last time he was
in Manhattan.

"I came to say sorry."

Her brow furrowed. "What?"

"I'm sorry for barging in on you this
morning. I didn't mean to disrupt your bath."

"You didn't?"

Her suspicious tone pissed him off. He raked
his hair back. "Of course I didn't. What do you think I am?"

"I really don't know."

She meant that—he could see it plain as
day.

Once, Olivia had known him better than
anyone. Even better than he knew himself. It made him feel sad and
not a little lost.

He took a step back. "If it's any
consolation, the sets should be done today, so there shouldn't be
too many more disruptions."

The corner of her lips lifted sarcastically.
"Except for when you're filming, right?"

He opened his mouth to answer but got
distracted by her lips. They were pink, devoid of lipstick, and so
luscious all he could think of was whether or not they still tasted
sweet, like when she was a teenager.

The next thing he knew, he was kneeling on
the ground, holding her chin, kissing her.

It was savage, bordering on violent. He
could taste his own frustration and anger, reluctance and helpless
need.

She pushed him away from her. Rubbing the
back of her hand across her lips—to erase his kiss or to rub it in
so she'd feel it forever, he wasn't sure which. "Do that again and
I'll make you beg to join the ranks of the castrati," she said.

He ran his hand through his hair. What was
she doing to him? He was losing his focus—he couldn't afford that.
Not now when everything he ever wanted was at his fingertips.

Space. He needed to get out of here.

"I'll stay out of your way," he said, taking
several steps back. "Gotta go. I'm on a tight schedule."

He strode off, though he made the mistake of
looking back. She hadn't moved at all but she was staring at him.
He figured it was just as well that he couldn't read her
expression—he didn't want to know.

He was better off not knowing.

Keeping his eye on the path back to the
farmhouse, he willfully steered his thoughts to the movie. The
movie was what mattered. It was the key to his future. Not
Olivia.