“What Is That?” He Asked As Six Tiny Legs Wiggled Against His Palm. Letter to Reader Title Page KATHRYN TAYLOR Dedication Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five Chapter Six Chapter Seven Chapter Eight Chapter Nine Chapter Ten Chapter Eleven Chapter Twelve Chapter Thirteen Chapter Fourteen Chapter Fifteen Epilogue Copyright

“What Is That?” He Asked As Six Tiny Legs Wiggled Against His Palm.

“A hermit crab. I thought you might want a soul mate.”

With a shake of his wrist, he tossed the shell into the sand. “I prefer my crab to be of the Alaskan King variety, served on a plate with drawn butter.”

“I guess you don’t want the little guy?”

He glanced at the small crustacean hiding deep in his borrowed house. “He doesn’t appear to want me, either.”

“There’s no accounting for taste.”

“His or mine?”

“Both.”

Clayton sighed. Dandelion flowers and hermit crab pets. Buried beneath her tough exterior was the real Mikki—a wide-eyed optimist who found beauty in the things most people ignored. At this moment she seemed far more dangerous than a gold-digging schemer out to steal the Hawthorne fortune. If he wasn’t careful, she just might steal his heart.

Dear Reader,

Welcome to a new year with Silhouette Desire! We begin the year in celebration—it’s the 10th Anniversary of MAN OF THE MONTH! And kicking off the festivities is the incomparable Diana Palmer, with January’s irresistible hero, Simon Hart, in Beloved.

Also launching this month is Desire’s series FORTUNE’S CHILDREN: THE BRIDES. So many of you wrote to us that you loved Silhouette’s series FORTUNE’S CHILDREN—now here’s a whole new branch of the family’ Awardwinning author Jennifer Greene inaugurates this series with The Honor Bound Groom.

Popular Anne Marie Winston begins BUTLER COUNTY BRIDES, a new miniseries about three small-town friends who find true love, with The Baby Consultant. Sara Orwig offers us a marriage of convenience in The Cowboy’s Seductive Proposal. Next, experience love on a ranch in Hart’s Baby by Christy Lockhart. And oppsites attract in The Scandalous Heiress by Kathryn Taylor.

So, indulge yourself in 1999 with Silhouette Desire—powerful, provocative and passionate love stories that speak to today’s multifaceted woman. Each month we offer you six compelling romances to meet your many moods, with heroines you’ll care about and heroes to die for. Silhouette Desire is everything you desire in a romance novel.

Enjoy!

Joan Marlow Golan

Senior Editor, Silhouette Desire

Please address questions and book requests to:

Silhouette Reader Service

U.S.: 3010 Walden Ave., PO Box 1325, Buffalo, NY 14269

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The Scandalous Heiress

Kathryn Taylor

www.millsandboon.co.uk

KATHRYN TAYLOR

has a passion for romance novels that began in her late teens and left her with an itch to discover the world. After living in places as culturally diverse as Athens, Greece, and Cairo, Egypt (where she met and married her own romantic hero), she returned to the States, and she and her husband settled in the quiet village of Warwick, New York. Kathryn says, “Although my writing allows my mind to soar in the clouds, I have an energetic eleven-year-old who keeps my feet planted on the ground.”

To Debbie Robertson and Melissa Senate

for believing in my story

One

Mikki peered through the crack in the swinging doors. Anxiety caused her already weary body to tense. She wiped her hands against the white apron knotted at her waist and swallowed a nervous sigh. “Are you sure he asked for me?”

Annie tucked a lock of gray hair into her beehive and smiled a toothy grin. “Michelle Finnley from McAfee, Kansas. That’s you, child. This is the second time he’s been here looking for you.”

Mikki’s stomach flip-flopped. Michelle Finnley from McAfee, Kansas. She glanced again at the man in the last booth. She didn’t know much about fashion, but his pin-striped suit hadn’t come off the rack at Dandy Don’s Suit-O-Rama. He reeked of money the way the diner reeked of hot grease.

What did he want? And how had he traced her from McAfee, population eight hundred including the cows, to New York City? Any ties she’d had to the small town had been buried seven years ago along with the woman she had known as her mother. And Mikki wanted them to remain buried.

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost, honey.” Annie touched Mikki’s shoulder. “Do you want me to get rid of him?”

Mikki shook her head She might as well find out what he wanted before she panicked. For all she knew, the man worked for the IRS and they planned to return some of the money they had extorted from her each April fifteenth. She smoothed her pink uniform over her hips and stepped through the door.

The lunch crowd had thinned to a few couples lingering over coffee. A siren screamed as a police cruiser sped past, raising her pulse and her anxiety level. She stopped in front of the booth and clicked her tongue to get the man’s attention.

“I understand you’ve been asking questions about me.” She glanced down at him, trying her best to give the impression of indifference.

“Michelle Finnley?” His resonant voice held the trace of an accent she couldn’t identify. Magnificent, slate gray eyes appraised her. He frowned. Apparently she had come up lacking.

“And you are...?”

“Clayton. Clayton Reese.” He rose and offered his hand.

She accepted his greeting, noting the solid-gold watch on his wrist. One thing she had learned from her stepfather was how to spot a genuine from a fake. Anything else he had taught her, she was better off forgetting.

“Would you care to sit down?” he asked.

Mikki nodded and slipped into the booth. After a day on her feet, she welcomed the rest. “What can I do for you?”

His pause stretched to an awkward silence. As he searched his briefcase, she had a chance to study him. His angular jaw and chiseled nose gave him a striking appeal, like a marble statue and most likely just as cold. That he felt ill at ease in his surroundings was obvious by the way he clenched the papers in his hands.

“Are you the same Michelle Finnley who was adopted by Sara Finnley?”

Shock waves ran through her. Until her mother’s death, she hadn’t known she was adopted. Who was this man, and how did he know so much about her? “Why do you want to know?”

“Could you just answer the question?”

“Are you a cop?” One look at his well-tailored suit and she knew the answer. He presented the image of a stuffy, yuppie, corporate type. Maybe a lawyer. She certainly felt as if she was on trial.

“Does the name Megan Hawthorne mean anything to you?” he asked.

Although the name didn’t seem to strike a familiar chord, a strangely numbing sensation enveloped her. “Should it?”

He exhaled deeply. “Is that a no?”

She tilted her head to one side. “Tell me something. Is it possible for you to smile while you’re doing this?”

“Excuse me?”

“You’re asking me a bunch of questions you obviously know the answers to already. If you’re doing it for a laugh, you might as well look like you’re enjoying it.”

Clayton leaned back in the vinyl seat. Beads of perspiration settled around the collar of his starched white shirt. In spite of the stifling summer heat, the woman across from him remained cool. She would probably be pretty if she hadn’t pulled her dark hair into a cascading ponytail. Thick black eyeliner framed a pair of large, dark eyes, making her seem older than the twenty-three years he knew her to be.

She wasn’t what he had expected. Was it possible that this sassy waitress was Richard’s missing daughter? Someone had done their homework, but Michelle Finnley didn’t fit his image of a first-rate con artist. Was she working with a partner?

“It’s been a long day, Mr. Reese. If you’re making a point, I wish you’d get to it.”

“All right. Let’s say, for the sake of argument, my client is trying to locate his biological daughter.”

Her eyes seemed to double in size. An act, or genuine surprise, he wondered.

“And you think that’s me?”

“It’s possible.” He kept his response noncommittal. Until he knew what was going on, he didn’t want to divulge too much information. “That’s what I’m trying to find out.”

“What makes you think I want to know my biological parents?”

He nearly choked on his now-cold coffee. For twenty years Richard had followed every crackpot lead trying to locate his kidnapped daughter. Whoever sent this new information might be playing a cruel hoax on a sick man. Clayton was determined to see that Richard wasn’t hurt again.

“Are you going to cooperate or not?”

“I’ll think about it. Where can I reach you?” She ran the tip of her tongue across her full lips. If she meant to distract him with the provocative gesture, she almost succeeded.

He had hoped for more information, but he sensed that pushing her would accomplish nothing. Whether she was an innocent pawn or a master player would become evident in due time. He removed a business card from his wallet and wrote down the name of his hotel on the back.

She read the information and let out a whistle. “Nice place.”

They rose at the same time. As she passed in front of him, his stare remained riveted to her slim hips, swaying as she walked. His body temperature rose along with his pulse. Suddenly she turned. Unable to stop his gait midstride, he dropped his briefcase and reached out reflexively to grab her tiny waist as they collided. Her hands came up to his chest, grasping the fabric of his jacket.

Their gazes locked. Something akin to emotion constricted his chest, and the rest of his anatomy reacted in an equally uncomfortable manner. Her onyx eyes were beguiling: a paradox of innocence and experience. So, he was wrong. Michelle Finnley was more than pretty. She was beautiful, despite her best efforts to make herself look tough.

Gradually her tight grip loosened. She wriggled out of his embrace and slid her hands shyly into her pockets. “You can breathe now.”

Clayton picked up his briefcase. “What?”

“I’ve touched ice blocks that give off more warmth than you. It was an accident that won’t happen again.”

She wasn’t the first woman to comment on his lack of warmth, but she was the first to provoke such a fire inside him. Far from minding the incidental contact, he had enjoyed the feel of her hands on him far too much. Thankfully she had misread the cause of his tension.

“Is there a pay phone around here?” he asked, anxious to break the embarrassing silence.

“Two blocks down at the pharmacy.” She tipped her head and took another step back. “You’ll be hearing from me.”

Clayton nodded and stepped out into the heavy city air. Although he had made little progress with the evasive Miss Finnley, he had promised to call Richard immediately after the meeting. Then, the sooner he left this area, aptly named Hell’s Kitchen, the better.

He tucked his attaché under his arm and strode down the street with a growing sense of uneasiness. How did a young woman survive alone in this neighborhood?

Of the three public phones in front of the pharmacy, only one still had the receiver attached. He reached inside his pocket. Realization hit him with the force of a moving train.

The raven-haired beauty had taken more than his breath away. She had walked off with his wallet.

Clayton returned quickly to the small diner. Michelle was nowhere to be seen. A woman in a similar pink uniform, but two generations older, greeted him at the counter.

“May I help you?”

“Is Miss Finnley still here?” he asked, but he already knew the answer.

“She finished her shift.” The woman pulled a coin from her pocket and offered it to him. “She left this for you.”

“What is it?”

The laugh lines in her weathered face deepened. “A subway token.”

Mikki ran a brush through her hair and splashed cool water on her face. Leaning against the sink in the ladies’ room, she removed the wallet from her pocket and flipped though the contents. A Massachusetts driver’s license, assorted business cards and no less than three credit cards—all gold—issued in the name of Clayton Reese.

So, he hadn’t lied about his identity. What did he really want? she wondered. He was too rigid and conservative to be a good con man.

She thumbed through the wad of hundred-dollar bills and laughed. It would serve him right if she kept the money, but she wasn’t a thief. Not anymore. And never by choice. She tossed the billfold in her purse and quickly changed into her jeans and T-shirt. If she took a cab, she could get to the uptown hotel before Mr. Reese figured out the New York City subway system.

With a soft knock on the door, Annie let Mikki know that he had left. She slipped out through the back exit and hailed a cab.

She had difficulty believing Clayton’s story. If her biological parent wanted to find her, why wait until now to make contact? Why not back when she’d turned eighteen and the court records could have been unsealed? Something about his story didn’t quite fit. Could his interest lie more in her tainted past than in her uncertain parentage?

Clayton elbowed his way through the revolving door. Inside the lobby he sucked in his first breath of bearable air. His anger had risen with each passing subway stop. How the hell was he supposed to know there was an express train and a local train?

He had to call the hotel manager for a replacement key, an inconvenience that added to his embarrassment. Three messages from Richard didn’t help his mood, either. By the time he reached his room, he just wanted a shower to remove the grime. Right after he canceled his credit cards. As he stepped into the suite, he saw his wallet on the writing table. Skeptically he checked the contents.

“It’s all there.”

Clayton whirled around. Michelle Finnley was leaning against the wall with a grin that seemed to scream, “Sucker.” He suppressed the urge to inflict physical damage. “How did you get in?”

“Your pass key was in your wallet.” She slid her hands into the pockets of her worn jeans. “You shouldn’t walk around the city with that much cash. Anybody could pick your pocket.”

“And you shouldn’t enter a strange man’s hotel suite. It might not be safe.”

Her laughter filled the room. “You’re not a stranger. I know all about you. Where you work, where you live, who to call in case of an emergency. I even know your social security number. Which is fair, since you seem to know so much about me.”

Touché. He dropped his attaché on the desk. The woman had nerve, he’d grant her that. Her lack of fear led him to believe she knew how to take care of herself. Considering the neighborhood she worked in, she would have to.

She made herself at home in a Queen Anne chair. Her silky hair tumbled freely around her shoulders and her oval face had been scrubbed clean of the harsh makeup. She tucked her legs below her in the wide seat. A faded T-shirt, tightly stretched across her chest, outlined the firm breasts beneath.

“Are you going to tell me what this is really about, or are we going to continue to play games with each other?” she asked.

He came to the shocking realization that he wouldn’t mind playing games with her. At least not the kind of games that came to his mind. His awareness of her was too intense to be healthy. His purpose was to expose her as another in a long line of frauds. Instead, he was having erotic thoughts about her. “You don’t believe in subtlety, do you?”

“You may have time for that, but I don’t. And I don’t like people coming around where I work and asking questions about me.”

“Why? Do you have something to hide, Michelle?”

“Mikki,” she corrected. “And we all have something to hide.”

He wanted to discover her secrets. Another problem he had to overcome. The situation called for objectivity above all else, and he was fast losing his.

“What do you want to know...Mikki?” The boyish nickname rolled off his tongue with surprising ease. He sat in the chair across from her and met her unwavering stare.

“I find it difficult to believe that a parent who gave me away with no qualms has suddenly decided to renew family ties.” Bitterness tinged her voice and angry sparks danced in her eyes.

“Richard Hawthorne didn’t give his daughter away. She was kidnapped over twenty years ago.”

“Richard Hawthorne? As in Hawthorne Enterprises?”

Suspicion brought an end to his softening thoughts. “So you’ve heard of him?”

“No. It’s on your business card. Or did you think I couldn’t read?” Mikki sighed. Her first impression had been light. The man was a cold, distrustful snob.

“Yes, well—” He cleared his throat. “I recently came into some information.—”

“From who?”

“I thought you might be able to tell me.”

“I have no idea.” But she could make an educated guess. Her stomach muscles contracted.

Was her stepfather moving up in the world? Petty cons and picking pockets were one thing. Trying to pass her off as some rich man’s missing heir was in a class by itself. A class-A felony. Well, she wanted no part of it. “Obviously there’s been a mistake. You can tell Max I’m not playing this one.”

“Max?” He drew his eyebrows together in thought. “You mean Maxwell Blake? You wouldn’t happen to know where I could find your stepfather, would you?”

“I have no idea,” she said, but she noticed the distrust in his narrowed glare. Max wasn’t smart enough—or stupid enough—to pull off this kind of scam. Was he? Who else would have anything to gain?

Bright, Mikki. You would. No wonder Clayton Reese looked down his nose at her. As long as she knew she was innocent, why should she care what he thought of her? For some unfathomable reason, she did.

“I’m sorry you made the trip here for nothing.”

“So, you want to call an end to it now?” His question seemed more like an accusation.

Tension gripped her. “Call an end to what?”

“The con. The sting. Whatever you want to call it.”

“There is no con.” Exasperation raised her voice several decibels. “At least not on my part. I didn’t contact you. You came to me.”

“If that’s true, you have nothing to lose by seeing it through. I’m asking you to come to Massachusetts for one short weekend and meet Richard Hawthorne. No matter what the outcome, you won’t be out anything. All your expenses will be paid.”

Mikki came to her feet and crossed the room. Her first instinct was to decline the offer. Apparently someone had gone to a lot of trouble, or she wouldn’t be sitting in a first-class hotel room having this conversation with Clayton Reese. She stared out the window at the bustling city traffic. If she left now, he would believe she had tried to pull a scam then backed down. One weekend to prove her innocence to him. Would she succeed? Or would she find herself implicated in another of her stepfather’s cons without the benefit of juvenile status to keep her from going to jail?

She twisted a lock of hair nervously around her finger. Stay as far away from this situation as you can, she tried to warn herself. But a tiny voice whispered into the part of her brain that still believed in dreams. What if the information Clayton Reese had in his possession was genuine?

What if she could meet her real father?

What if she was a bona fide heiress?

Two

Clayton instructed the driver to wait in front of the run-down building. Had Mikki given him the wrong address? Broken beer bottles littered the street. An old man huddled against a lamppost, trembling like a lost child. He held out a coffee mug, jingling the change inside.

Clayton paused on the landing and rapped his knuckles against the door. While he waited, he felt the need to constantly check over his shoulder. He expelled an immense sigh of relief when Mikki answered.

“You’re early,” she said and held the door for him.

“Your house?” he asked.

She shook her head. “It’s a boarding house. Or maybe you thought that working at the diner would afford me a suite at the Marquis.”

A stab of guilt cut through him. “I apologize.”

“No need.” She shrugged and led him down the narrow corridor.

Her room, smaller than the size of his closet, contained a twin bed and nightstand. A lightbulb in the ceiling provided the only illumination in the windowless alcove.

One suitcase rested against the wall. “Did you pack everything you own?” he asked, noting the empty closet.

“Better than returning home to find I’ve been robbed,” she replied as if the answer should have been obvious.

He wasn’t sure which bothered him more—the dangerous neighborhood she lived in, or the knowledge that everything she owned fitted into one suitcase. Whichever the reason, the knot in the pit of his stomach clenched tighter.

She ran a comb through her hair and checked the mirror. The simple black skirt and cream-colored blouse, although vintage, gave her an air of quiet dignity. She was probably wearing the best outfit she owned, he thought. Could she really be a Hawthorne? There did seem to be a familial resemblance. Or was he merely seeing what he wanted to see for his own reasons?

“We’d better get going if we want to catch the plane,” he said.

“Plane? You didn’t say anything about a plane.” Her olive complexion paled to white.

“Why, is there a problem?”

As if to gather her courage, she inhaled deeply. “No. Of course not.”

But Clayton didn’t believe her for one moment.

Only when she was settled in the car outside Logan International Airport did Mikki’s queasiness subside. She stretched her arms to relieve the tightness. Flying was highly overrated, she decided. She glanced toward her amused traveling companion.

“What’s so funny?” she asked.

“She speaks. Oh, speak again, bright angel.”

“Big deal. You can quote Shakespeare.” Maybe her conversation had been lacking during the short flight, but neither had he been Mr. Eloquent.

“You’ve never flown before.” His voice was pitched as if the very idea were inconceivable.

“Gee, did you just figure that out, Sherlock?”

His grin faded to a frown. “I’m sorry if that sounded condescending.”

“It did, and you are.” Or perhaps she was overreacting. Nothing he said or did seemed intentional, but Clayton had a way of making her feel defensive by his polished presence.

“Then you’d better learn from a master, because if you turn out to be Richard’s daughter, you’ll need all the arrogance you can muster to survive in that family.”

She arched an eyebrow at the harshness in his tone. “You sound as if you know them well.”

“I should. Richard is married to my Aunt Alicia.”

Aunt Alicia. Why did that name cause her nerve endings to stand at attention? She closed her eyes, but she couldn’t put a face to the distant memory.

“Are you all right?”

“year.” She glanced out the window as the car started to move. “I thought you were his lawyer or something.”

“I work for him, but I’m not a lawyer.”

“Oh,” she mumbled and waited for him to elaborate. Silence lingered. “How long a drive do we have?”

“About an hour. Put on your seat belt and enjoy the scenery.”

Once they left the city of Boston, there were miles of beautiful scenery to enjoy. Seven years in New York had dimmed her memories of lush green foliage. She thought about Kansas and better times, before her mother married Max. Before.... No! She would not dwell on a past she couldn’t change. The wrongs she’d committed had been done to protect the only mother she’d ever known.

How much of her past did Clayton know? Apparently he had been very thorough in his investigation, but juvenile records were sealed. That he had brought her this far meant he couldn’t disprove the information he had received.

She felt, rather than saw, his curious stare. His scrutiny unnerved her. She slumped deeper in the soft leather seat and did her best to ignore him. She failed miserably.

Outwardly Clayton was a flawless example of the male species. Tall and lean, he personified every fantasy she’d dared to imagine, and a few she hadn’t thought of yet. He had invoked a sexual awakening in her that was better left in a dormant state.

“I’m surprised you haven’t asked any questions about your family.”

“We haven’t established that they are my family,” she reminded him. He wasn’t convinced. Apparently the very fact that she worked in the diner was a strike against her.

“Well, your coloring is right.”

“Only five million people in New York have brown hair and brown eyes.”

He shook his head. “It’s different. Both William and Joseph have that same shade. Almost but not quite black.”

“How lucky for them,” she said drily.

“Not really. Judging by Richard, you’ll all go completely gray relatively early.”

“Are you going to clue me in as to who William and Joseph are, or do you assume I already know?”

His gaze remained on the long road ahead. She noticed a hint of a smirk. “Don’t tell me you can’t remember your beloved cousins.”

Her patience snapped. “I’m not sure which bothers you more—the fact that I might be Richard Hawthorne’s daughter or the thought that I’m not. Either way, I’m getting damned tired of your insinuations.”

Clayton groaned. She was so close to the truth, he marveled at her perception. He wasn’t sure which outcome he wanted more. As a child, he had witnessed the kidnapping of Megan Hawthorne. The memory still haunted him. Twenty years of false leads and outright cons had killed any hope he’d had for a favorable outcome. But twenty years of silently blaming himself had never allowed him to stop trying.

Every detail about Mikki fit. A little too well. Why had some anonymous person come forward now? Granted, anyone who had followed the case could have pieced together enough information to get his attention. That same person had to know that a DNA test would reveal a phony. So, why hadn’t he insisted that Mikki submit to one before bringing her to meet Richard?

“Stop,” Mikki shouted.

Instinctively he slammed the antilock brakes. His heart hammered in his chest. He scanned the area, expecting to find something in the road. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong. I just wanted to stretch my legs.” She slipped out of the car before he could stop her.

Mikki sprinted across a baseball field with the exuberance of a child. Although numerous benches lined the local park’s trails, she plopped herself down in the middle of center field and turned her face up to the sun.

Once his pulse rate slowed, he stepped outside, too. How odd, he thought. He traveled this road every day and had never noticed the small park before.

He glanced at his watch, then shrugged. What difference would a few more minutes make? He closed the distance between them.

As he drew alongside of Mikki, she cupped her fingers around his ankle, halting his last step. For one moment he was reminded of the way Megan, the toddler, used to latch on to him when he had tried to leave a room. That little imp had been the only member of the Hawthorne family besides Richard who hadn’t treated him like a poor, orphaned charity case, and he’d failed them both when it counted.

“Be careful. You almost stepped on a flower,” she said.

He shook off the faded memory. Back in the present, the feel of her firm grip on his leg brought another image to mind. More sensual, but equally as disturbing. He willed his body to remain rigid. “What flower? That’s a common weed.”

She let go of his leg and plucked the yellow cap from the grass, tucking it behind her ear. “It’s a dandelion, but then anything common would probably be a weed to you—myself included.”

Common? No, Mikki was unique. She was three miles away from a meeting that might change her life forever, and she preferred to roll around in a field of grass.

“Take a load off your feet, Clayton. Or are you afraid of getting grass stains on your rear end?”

“We’re almost there.”

“Am I throwing you off schedule?”

He wouldn’t admit now that he had indeed made a schedule. His trip to New York had been treated like any other business trip. Only Mikki wasn’t a client or an employee, and he couldn’t make her conform to the strict timetable he had set for himself. “We have a few minutes, I suppose.”

Amusement flickered in her dark eyes. “Is there too much starch in your collar, or are you always this stuffy?”

He grinned and dropped down on the plush grass next to her. “It comes naturally.”

“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.”

“We’re here,” he said simply.

As he drove up the winding driveway, Mikki could do little more than gape. She felt an overwhelming urge to run. There had to be a mistake.

“Say something, Michelle.”

“Holy Jeez, Toto. We’re not in Kansas anymore.”

Three

Richard rose as Clayton entered the study. For a man who had suffered a heart attack just one month earlier, Richard looked remarkably well. His face flushed with anticipation, and his eagle eyes were clearly searching for some sign of good news.

“I expected you earlier.”

Clayton felt the tug of a grin. “She’s not a woman to be hurried.”

“Where is she now?” Richard asked.

“I had her shown to a room to do whatever it is that women do when they lock themselves in the bathroom.”

Richard’s hearty chuckle echoed off the solid oak walls. “So, what was your impression of her?”

Clayton lowered himself in a chair across from the mahogany desk. Many of his personal impressions were not of the nature he could share with the man who might be her father. She was sexy, sensual and hypnotically compelling. A man would have to be blind and suffer sense deprivation not to notice her. And despite the impression the family had of him, he was neither blind nor without normal male desires.

Although he knew Richard would expect a full report, discussing Mikki as if she were a business prospectus left Clayton with an odd sensation. Guilt, he presumed, but why? She might be giving an Oscarwinning performance.

“Everything checked out so far,” he said.

Richard perked up with premature excitement. “So, is she little Meg?”

Little Meg. Clayton thought of the dark-eyed beauty. Mikki was not the pesky little brat he remembered from childhood, but a striking, complicated woman. “She might not be.”

“What are you saying, Clay?”

“Be careful. Don’t let your hopes cloud your judgment. This is not the first time.”

Richard waved his hand impatiently. “You can’t prove she’s lying.”

“Because she’s not claiming anything at all. She might be as innocent as she seems, but that doesn’t mean she’s Meg,” Clayton warned. He would be wise to take his own advice, because he had actually started to believe in the possibility himself.

He poured himself a shot of bourbon from the bar and swallowed the warm, amber liquid. To get through dinner, he would probably want a few more, but unfortunately, he needed to remain clearheaded for the night ahead.

Mikki sat on the edge of the sleigh bed. The last time she had seen a room like this, a customer had left a copy of House Beautiful at the diner. Though large and opulent, the room felt like a cage she had been locked in for viewing by the paying public. Restless, she decided to seek out Clayton.

She stepped into the hall. Her shoes clacked against the marble floor as she walked to the staircase. The light fragrance of fresh flowers was a welcome change from the humid smog of the city. At the bottom landing she paused to view a painting. She recognized the name of the artist, but the sterile cubist picture left her cold.

“A little early to be appraising the inventory.”

The deep voice, laced with contempt, gave her a start. She whirled around and met the chilling glare of the stranger. “Excuse me?”

He took a menacing step forward, then staggered. The smell of gin assaulted her. “So, Meg...”

“Mikki. And you are?”

A sneer marred his handsome features. “Don’t you know?”

“Should I?”

“What? No welcoming kiss for your favorite cousin?”

Not even if he was sober, she thought. So, he was one of the beloved cousins Clayton had spoken of earlier. She guessed him to be in his mid-thirties, although his behavior was adolescent. “Joseph?”

He tipped his head. “Right the first time. But then I expect that Clayton has coached you well.”

She laughed in spite of her anger. Clayton had been more guarded with his information than a courier holding national security secrets.

“It’s nice to see you entertaining our guest, Joseph.” Clayton’s timely arrival spared her from having to answer the accusation, but she doubted the grilling was over.

Joseph clenched his fingers into tight fists. “If it isn’t our esteemed president back from the hunt.” His gaze swept over Mikki. “Pick up a little roadkill on the trip?”

She wiped her palms against her linen skirt. “Last time I checked, I was still breathing.”

Clayton cupped his hand around her elbow. “He is better without a half bottle of gin in him. However, he prefers life from the bottom of the bottle.”

She realized that she was about to learn how slowly twenty-four hours could pass. With only Clayton to count on for support, her dreams were crumbling like stale crackers.

Joseph stumbled away and Clayton shrugged an apology. “I should have warned you.”

“Hey, no one will accuse you of failing to show a woman a fun time.”

“I’m sure my last few dates would disagree.”

“Maybe that’s because you didn’t bring them home to meet the family.”

His fingers tightened perceptibly. “They’re not my family.”

“I thought your aunt is married to Mr. Hawthorne.”

“That’s true. But in this family, blood is everything.”

No one knew that better than he did. For twelve years he had worked for Hawthorne Enterprises, the last four as president. A position he would lose if Richard’s condition worsened. Only a blood relative could inherit the company. If Mikki wasn’t the missing heir, William and Joseph would eventually gain control. The thought of those two pampered playboys ruining the business made Clayton ill.

He glanced toward Mikki. Her wide eyes reflected the effects of Joseph’s stinging comments. Just because she didn’t dress in a thousand-dollar suit or have her hair and nails done weekly, this didn’t take away from her natural beauty.

He searched for a compliment that would ease the hurt. “Dinner will be served soon.” He groaned inwardly. That was the extent of his charm and sophistication? How did this woman turn him into a social idiot?

“My head on a silver platter, no doubt,” she muttered.

“No. Rack of lamb, string beans almandine and new potatoes sauteed in sweet butter.” Mikki was strictly dessert. Luckily, he had sworn off sweets. Before his wandering thoughts gave him more than a toothache, he led her to the salon. “There’s someone I’d like you to meet first.”

She paused at the doorway and took a deep breath. After her confrontation with Joseph, he understood her reluctance.

His aunt rose as they entered the room. Her warm smile greeted them. “Clay. And you must be Meg.”

“Mikki,” he said, with deliberate emphasis, “I’d like you to meet my aunt Alicia.”

“No, no. She’s Meg. I can tell.” Alicia shook her head. His aunt wanted Michelle to be Megan Hawthorne almost as much as Richard. Alicia had never forgiven herself for failing to stop the kidnapping, and the family had never allowed her to forget. As if she could have overtaken two burly men with the help of one scrawny eleven-year-old. “Look at her, Clay. She’s only gotten prettier.”

Mikki looked to him for a response.

“Yes, she’s pretty, I suppose.”

“Well, don’t choke on the words,” she said for Clay’s benefit and offered her hand to Alicia. “It’s nice to meet you, Mrs. Hawthorne.”

“Please call me Alicia. Your father will be down any moment. The doctor told him to slow down, but he wouldn’t allow you to greet him in his bedroom like some invalid.”

“He hasn’t been well?” Mikki asked.

Alicia shot a stern glare at her nephew. “You didn’t tell her about her father?”

Clayton shook his head. “The subject never came up. Mikki shows a remarkable lack of curiosity about the Hawthorne family tree.”

“You flatter me,” Mikki said. “There’s nothing remarkable about it. You’re not convinced that I belong here. Why should I dare to assume I do?”

Alicia smiled sadly. “My Clayton is far too conservative and serious. He thinks everyone has an ulterior motive.”

Mikki blew a puff of air, lifting the wisp of bangs on her forehead. “That’s not conservatism. It’s paranoia.”

“Only if I’m wrong,” he said.

A moment later Clayton watched in astonishment as Richard made his grand entrance. His slow, shuffling steps implied a frailness that hadn’t been evident earlier. For some reason, he seemed to want to appear more weak and helpless than he actually was. Who was this charade for? Mikki, or the rest of the family?

“Hello, Michelle. I’m glad you accepted my invitation.” Richard extended his hand in a greeting.

Mikki touched him lightly, as if afraid of hurting him. “Thank you.”

“I trust the plane ride was uneventful.”

Clayton couldn’t stop the grin twitching at the corner of his mouth. From liftoff to landing, the trip had been an ordeal for her.

She glowered at him, then returned her attention to Richard. “It was fine, thank you, sir.”

“Please, call me Richard.”

A lull in conversation followed. Both Mikki and Richard seemed at a loss for words. They looked relieved when dinner was announced.

A relief that was shortlived once the rest of the Hawthorne clan descended on the dining room.

Mikki nervously twisted the napkin in her lap. A cold supper took on a whole new meaning. The verbal barbs moved around the table faster than the main course. Most were directed at her, coated in syrupy sweetness meant to sound like polite conversation. William and Joseph, flanking her like a pair of granite book ends, launched a subtle attack of patronizing questions apparently trying to trap her into revealing something incriminating.

Through all the carryings on, her glance kept returning to the patriarch at the head of the table. She searched for similarities between them, and she suspected he was doing the same. He hadn’t stopped staring at her since their introduction. His drawn face lifted in a smile from time to time. She wondered how Richard Hawthorne would be affected if this did turn out to be some elaborate hoax perpetrated by her stepfather.

“So, Mikki... May I call you Mikki?” Joseph’s arrogant grin mocked her.

“Sure, Joey. May I call you Joey?”

William snickered. “Charming, Clayton. Wherever did you find her?”

“In New York,” Clayton replied drily.

“The least you could have done is dressed her up a little better before you passed her off on Uncle Richard.”

“That’s enough, William!” Richard’s rigid tone silenced the room.

Conscious of her simple clothing in the presence of all the designer suits surrounding her, Mikki squirmed in her seat.

“Forgive me, Uncle. I just can’t stand to see another hustler building up your hopes. After all this family has given him, I’m surprised that Clayton would be a party to it,” William said.

Mikki shot a sideways glance toward Clayton. Despite an almost surreal control, his gray eyes sparked with fury. The undercurrent of tension was so thick it could be cut with a knife.

“Michelle is our guest,” Richard said. “Show her respect.”

Mikki checked her watch. How much longer would this dinner take? Certainly Clayton didn’t expect her to spend the night in this house. She’d never thought to ask.

The conversation changed to business, giving her a moment of reprieve and putting Clayton on the receiving end for a while. William and Joseph wore their resentment of Clayton like a banner. The only ray of light was Alicia.

Clayton staunchly defended any hint of a nasty comment directed toward his aunt. Despite their bitterness, the brothers seemed to fear their stepcousin. Unfortunately, that left her as the target for their mudslinging once again.

“So, Mikki. I understand you’re a waitress in a diner. That can’t pay very much.” Joseph’s cool politeness masked an accusation.

“It pays the bills.”

“But not on a house like this, I’d wager,” William chimed in.

“I wouldn’t know. Would you?”

Apparently she’d struck a nerve. William’s face darkened. He finished his glass of wine and rose unsteadily. “I’ve had enough of this penniless street urchin.”

“Shut up,” Clayton growled through clenched teeth.

“No. If she’s Meg, I’m the king of England.”

“There is no king of England,” Mikki said.

“And Megan Hawthorne is dead. Why won’t you all just accept that?” William yelled.

Richard, shaking slightly, dropped his fork on his plate. “No. I won’t accept that.”

“If you’re so sure, Uncle, then she shouldn’t object to a blood test.”

Mikki swallowed hard. “Excuse me?”

“A DNA test.” William cocked his eyebrow. “Is there some reason you wouldn’t consent to one?”

Although the request shouldn’t have been unexpected, a wave of anger washed over her. She tossed her napkin on the table and sprung to her feet. “With all due respect to you and your wife, Mr. Hawthorne, I don’t care to know if I am related to this family.”

She turned and walked from the table with all the dignity she could muster. Behind her, the raised voices jumbled together, fading into oblivion as she sprinted out the front door.

Clayton pushed back his chair from the table. “Nice going. Now we’ll have to drag this out even longer.”

“Oh, what’s the difference?” Joseph snapped. “It’s not as if she could actually be Meg.”

“Do you know something the rest of us don’t?”

Joseph looked as if he was about to say something, then shrugged instead. “No.”

“I thought not.” Clayton nodded an apology to his aunt and Richard, then went after Mikki.

By the time he stepped outside, Mikki was halfway to the main road. He thought she had left the table to make a point, but apparently she had no intention of returning. The crazy woman. She didn’t even have her purse. Where did she plan to go?

He started on foot, then decided to take the car. She had removed her shoes to run at a steady pace. His luck with women had been consistent lately, he thought humorlessly. It seemed they couldn’t get away fast enough. Although, Mikki was the first to run out in the middle of dinner.

As he pulled the Lexus onto the road, he saw her turn the corner. Great! Old Mrs. Westbrook was getting the show of her life. He ignored the nosy woman and pulled alongside Mikki.

“Get in,” he called out the window.

“Get lost,” she snapped, and continued to walk at a brisk pace.

“Don’t make me put you in the car by force.”

“You and what army?”

“Please, Mikki. The neighbors are watching.”

She stopped and folded her arms across her chest. “I want my return ticket, and I want to go to the airport.”

“The flight isn’t until tomorrow.”

“I’ll sleep in an airport chair.” She didn’t appear to be open to negotiation.

“All right. Get in.”

She opened the door and flopped into the seat with a deep sigh. He pushed the electronic lock and proceeded down the road. After ten minutes of stony silence, she turned toward him. “This isn’t the way to the airport.”

“I know.”

“Stop this car. Now!”

He clasped his hand around her wrist to keep her from grabbing the wheel. “Just relax.”

Eyes as dark as midnight glared murderously at him. “You lied.”

“I said I would take you to the airport, and I will. Tomorrow.”

“This is kidnapping.”

“There’s a phone in the glove compartment. Call the police.”

“I can’t. You’re holding my hand.”

He released his grip. What was he doing? He had never taken a woman to his house before, let alone lie, threaten and kidnap one to get her there. Was he having his midlife crisis early? She inspired him to do things so out of character, he didn’t recognize himself.

With a moan of displeasure, she settled into the bucket seat and rested her head against the window. Her fingers clenched into tight fists. Could he blame her for being furious?

The Hawthorne brothers had behaved true to form throughout dinner. Only Mikki failed to react as expected. How could he bring up the subject of a blood test now? He would consider himself lucky if she consented to meet with Richard again before returning to New York.

“Are you hungry?” he asked.

Silence.

“You didn’t eat much at dinner.”

Silence and a vicious scowl.

“Was it the food or the company?”

Her answer was a most unladylike gesture and one he probably deserved.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

“You knew that would happen.” Her gaze held his in accusation.

He looked away and shrugged ruefully. “I had an idea it might.”

“But my feelings didn’t matter, did they?”

“That’s not true. I didn’t think you would care.” She recoiled. He was sinking deeper with each word. “I mean...”

“I know what you mean, Clayton.” She uttered his name with distaste. “A penniless street urchin like me would put up with anything to get her hands on a chunk of the Hawthorne fortune.”

He shook his head in adamant denial. “No! I meant that I’ve been ignoring their bad manners for so long, I just assumed you would, too.”

She arched her eyebrow skeptically. “I must be getting soft. You almost sounded sincere that time.”

Clayton gave his full attention to the road ahead. She was soft, all right, and in all the right places. The thought made him anything but soft. He wasn’t having a midlife crisis. He was reverting to the adolescent days of raging hormones, a realization that chipped at his control and made him anything but happy.

Four

Mikki blinked her eyes and cursed her own foolishness. Despite popular belief, dreams weren’t free. They exacted an emotional price far greater than she could afford to pay.

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.”

She smiled. “I don’t believe you ever had a sense of humor.”

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