A Touch of Persuasion Read online

  Cammie frowned at a smudge in the corner of the drawing. “I need some more paper,” she said, close to pouting. “This one’s all messed up.”

  “It’s fine, sweetheart. You’ve done a great job.” At five, Cammie was already a perfectionist. Olivia worried about her intensity.

  “I have to start over.”

  Sensing a full-blown tantrum in the offing, Olivia sighed and produced another sheet of clean white paper. Sometimes it was easier to avoid confrontation, especially over something so minor. Did all single mothers worry that they were ruining their children forever?

  If Cammie had a father in her life, would she be less highly strung? More able to take things in stride?

  Olivia’s stomach pitched. She wouldn’t think of Kieran right now. Not until Cammie was safely away.

  She would miss her baby while Cammie was gone. The hours of reading storybooks. The fun baking experiments. The leisurely walks around the neighborhood in the evenings. The silly bathtub bubble fights. They were a family of two. A completely normal family.

  Was she trying to convince herself or someone else?

  She desperately wanted for Cammie the emotional security Olivia had never known as a child. The simple pleasure of hugs and homework. Of kisses and kites.

  Olivia had been raised for the most part by a series of well-meaning nannies and tutors. She had learned early on that expensive Parisian dolls were supposed to make up for long absences during which her parents ignored her. The stereotypical poor little rich kid. With a closet full of expensive and often inappropriate toys, and a bruised heart.

  Olivia remembered her own childish tantrums when her parents didn’t bring presents she wanted. Thinking back on her egocentric younger self made her wince. Thank heavens she had outgrown that phase.

  Maturity and a sense of perspective enabled her to be glad that her parents were far more invested in Cammie’s life than they had ever been in their own daughter’s. Perhaps grandparenthood had changed them.

  Olivia’s determination to live a solidly middle class life baffled Lolita and Javier, and they did their best to thwart her at every turn, genuinely convinced that money was meant to be spent.

  The weekend party was an example of the lifestyle Olivia had tried so hard to escape. It wasn’t good for a child to understand that she could have anything she wanted. Even if Olivia died penniless—and that wasn’t likely—Cammie stood to inherit millions of dollars from her grandparents.

  Money spoiled people. Olivia knew that firsthand. Growing up in Hollywood was a lesson in overindulgence and narcissism.

  Cammie finally smiled, satisfied with her second attempt. “I wish Lolo had a refrigerator. My friend Aya, at preschool, says her nana hangs stuff on the front of the refrigerator.”

  Olivia smiled at her daughter’s bent head. Lolo owned several refrigerators, all in different kitchens spread from L.A. to New York to Paris. But it was doubtful she ever opened one, much less decorated any of them with Cammie’s artwork. Lolita Delgado had “people” to deal with that. In fact, she had an entourage to handle every detail of her tempestuous life.

  “Lolo will love your drawing, Cammie, and so will Jojo.” Olivia’s father, Javier, wasn’t crazy about his nickname, but he doted on his granddaughter, probably—in addition to the ties of blood—because she gave him what he craved the most. Unrestrained adoration.

  Cammie bounced to her feet. “I’m gonna get my backpack. They’ll be here in a minute.”

  “Slow down, baby....” But it was too late. Cammie ran at her usual pace up the stairs, determined to be ready and waiting by the door when the limo arrived. Olivia’s parents were taking Cammie to Euro Disney for a few days in conjunction with a film award they were both receiving in Florence.

  Olivia had argued that the trip was too much on the heels of the over-the-top birthday party, but in the end she had been unable to hold out against Cammie’s beseeching eyes and tight hugs. The two adults and one child, when teamed against Olivia, made a formidable opponent.

  Cammie reappeared, backpack in hand. Olivia had her suitcase ready. “Promise me you’ll be good for your grandparents.”

  Cammie rolled her eyes in a manner far too advanced for her years. “You always say that.”

  “And I always mean it.”

  The doorbell rang. Cammie’s screech nearly peeled the paint from the walls. “Bye, Mommy.”

  Olivia followed her out to the car. In the flurry of activity over getting one excited five-year-old settled in the vehicle, Lolita and Javier managed to appear both pleased and sophisticated as they absorbed their granddaughter’s enthusiasm.

  Olivia gave her mother a hug, careful not to rumple her vintage Chanel suit. “Please don’t spoil her.” For one fleeting second, Olivia wanted to share the truth about Kieran with her parents. To beg for guidance. She had never divulged a single detail about her daughter’s parentage to anyone.

  But the moment passed when Javier bussed his daughter’s cheek with a wide grin. “It’s what we do best, Olivia.”

  The house was silent in the aftermath of the exodus. Without the distraction of Cammie, the evening with Kieran loomed menacingly. Olivia wandered from room to room, too restless to work. Cammie would be going to kindergarten very soon. Olivia had mixed emotions about the prospect. She knew that her highly intelligent daughter would thrive in an academic environment and that the socialization skills she acquired with children her own age would be very important.

  But it had been just the two of them for so long.

  And now Kieran seemed poised to upset the apple cart.

  When Olivia felt her eyes sting, she made a concerted effort to shake off the maudlin mood. Life was good. Her days were filled with family, a job she adored and a cadre of close, trusted friends. Kieran wasn’t part of the package. And she was glad. She had made the right choice in protecting Cammie from his selfishness.

  And she would continue to do so.

  The remainder of the day was a total loss. She had a series of watercolors due for her book publisher in less than two weeks, but putting the finishing touches on the last picture in the set was more than she could handle today. She loved her work as a children’s illustrator, and it gave her flexibility to spend lots of time with Cammie.

  But the concentration required for her best efforts was beyond her right now. Instead, she prowled her small house, unable to stem the tide of memories.

  They had met as expatriate grad students at a traditional English country house party hosted by mutual friends. With only six weeks of the term left, each knew the relationship had a preordained end. But in Olivia’s case, with stars in her eyes and a heart that was head-over-heels in lust with the handsome, charismatic Kevin Wade, she’d spun fairy tales of continuing their affair back in the U.S.

  It hadn’t quite turned out that way. During the final days of exam week, “Kevin” had simply disappeared with nothing more than a brief note to say goodbye. Thinking about that terrible time made Olivia’s stomach churn with nausea. Her fledgling love had morphed into hate, and she’d done her best to turn her back on any memory of the boy who broke her heart. And fathered her child.

  After a quick shower, she stared at her reflection in the mirror. Even if Olivia wanted to follow in her mother’s footsteps, she would never have stood a chance in Hollywood. She was twenty pounds too heavy, and though today’s pool of actresses was more diverse, many directors still preferred willowy blondes. Olivia was neither.

  By the time the limo pulled up in front of her house, Olivia was a wreck. But since birth, she’d been taught “the show must go on” mantra, and to the world, Olivia Delgado was unflappable. For six years, she had spun lies to protect her daughter, to make a life so unexceptionable that the tabloids had long since left her alone.

  An unwed mother in Hollywood was boring news. As long as no one discovered the father was a Wolff.

  Tonight Olivia would be no less discreet.

  She had dressed to play a p
art. Confident and chic were the qualities she planned to convey with her taupe linen tank dress and coral sandals. Though she had not inherited an iota of her parents’ love for acting, she had inevitably learned from them along the way what it meant to present a serene face to the world, no matter if your life was in ruins.

  Kieran Wolff’s hotel was tucked away in a quiet back street of Santa Monica. Exclusive, discreet and no doubt wildly expensive, it catered to those whose utmost wish was privacy. The manager, himself, actually escorted Olivia to the fifth floor suite.

  After that, she was left to stand alone at the door. Instead of knocking, she took a few seconds to contemplate fleeing the country. Cammie was everything to her, and the prospect of losing her child was impossible to imagine.

  But such thoughts were defeatist. Though she might not be able to go toe-to-toe with the Wolff empire when it came to bank accounts, Olivia did have considerable financial means at her disposal. In a legal battle, she could hold her own. And judges often sided with a mother, particularly in this situation.

  She had no notion of what awaited her on the other side of the door, but she wouldn’t go down without a fight. Kieran Wolff didn’t deserve to be a father. And if it came to that, she would tell him so.

  Deliberately taking a moment to shore up her nerve, she rapped sharply at the door and took a deep breath.

  Kieran had worn a trail in the carpet by the time his reluctant guest arrived. When he yanked open the door and saw her standing in the vestibule, his gut pitched and tightened. God, she was gorgeous. Every male hormone he possessed stood up and saluted. A man would have to be almost dead not to respond to her inherent sexuality.

  Like the pin-up girls of the 1940s, with legs that went on forever, breasts that were real and plenty of feminine curves right where they should be, Olivia Delgado was a vivid, honey-skinned fantasy.

  But today wasn’t about appeasing the hunger in his gut, even if he had been celibate during a recent, hellacious foray into the wilds of Thailand. Bugs, abysmal weather and local politics had complicated his life enormously. He’d been more than ready to return to central Virginia and reconnect with his family. Not that he ever stayed very long, but still…that closely guarded mountain in the Blue Ridge was the only place he called home.

  With an effort, he recalled his wayward thoughts. “Come in, Olivia. I’ve ordered dinner. It should be delivered any moment now.”

  She slipped past him in a cloud of Chanel No. 5, making him wonder if she had worn the evocative scent on purpose. In the old days, she had often come to his bed wearing nothing but a long strand of pearls and that same perfume.

  He waited for her to be seated on the love seat and then took an armchair for himself a few feet away. In the intervening hours, he’d rehearsed how this would go. Having her here, on somewhat public turf, seemed like a good idea. He was determined to keep his cool, no matter the provocation.

  They faced off in silence for at least a minute. When he realized she wasn’t going to crack, he sighed. “Surely you can’t deny it, Olivia. You were a virgin when we met. I can do the math. Your daughter is mine.”

  Her eyes flashed. “My daughter is none of your business. You may have introduced me to sex, but there have been plenty of men since.”

  “Liar. Name one.”

  Her jaw dropped. “Um…”

  He chuckled, feeling the first hint of amusement he’d had since he saw the article about the party. Olivia might look like a woman of immense sophistication and experience, but he’d bet his last dime that she was still the sweet, down-to-earth girl he’d known back at university, completely unaware of her stunning beauty.

  “Show me her birth certificate.”

  Her chin lifted. “Don’t be ridiculous. I don’t carry it around in my purse.”

  “But you probably have it at the house, right? In order to register her for kindergarten?”

  She nibbled her bottom lip. “Well, I…”

  Thank God she was a lousy liar. “Whose name is on the birth certificate, Olivia? You might as well tell me. You know I can find out.”

  Suddenly she looked neither sweet nor innocent. “Kevin Wade. Is that what you wanted to hear?”

  The sharp pain in his chest took his breath away. “Kevin Wade…”

  “Exactly. So you can see that no judge would think you have any rights in this instance at all.” Her eyes were cold, and even that realization was painful. The Olivia he had known smiled constantly, her joie de vivre captivating and so very seductive.

  Now her demeanor was icy.

  “You put my name on her birth certificate,” he croaked. It kept coming back to that. Kevin Wade was a father. Kieran had a daughter.

  “Correction,” she said with a flat intonation that disguised any emotion. “In the hospital, when I gave birth to my daughter, I listed a fictional name for her father. It had nothing to do with you.”

  He clamped down on his frustration, acknowledging that he was getting nowhere with this approach. Unable to sit any longer, he sprang to his feet and paced, pausing at the windows to look out at the ocean in the far distance. One summer he had lived for six weeks on a houseboat in Bali. It was the freest he had ever felt, the most relaxed.

  Too bad life wasn’t always so easy.

  Olivia continued to sit in stubborn silence, so he kept his back to her. “When you hired an investigator, what did you find out about me?”

  After several seconds of silence, she spoke. “That your real name is Kieran Wolff. You lost your mother and aunt to a violent abduction and shooting when you were small. Your father and uncle raised you and your siblings and cousins in seclusion, because they were afraid of another kidnapping attempt.”

  He faced her, brooding. “Will you listen to my side of the story?” he asked quietly.

  Olivia’s hands were clenched together in her lap, her posture so rigid she seemed in danger of shattering into a million pieces. Though she hid it well, he could sense her agitation. At one time he had been attuned to her every thought and desire.

  He swallowed, painfully aware that a king-size bed lay just on the other side of the door. The intensity of the desire he felt for her was shocking. As was the need for her to understand and forgive him. He was culpable for his sins in the past, no doubt about it. But that didn’t excuse Olivia for hiding the existence of his child, his blood.

  “Will you listen?” he asked again.

  She nodded slowly, eyes downcast.

  With a prayer for patience, he crossed the expanse of expensive carpet to sit beside her, hip to hip. She froze, inching back into her corner.

  “Look at me, Olivia.” He took her chin in his hand with a gentle grasp, lifting it until her gaze met his. “I’m not the enemy,” he swore. “All I need is for you to be honest with me. And I’ll try my damnedest to do the same.”

  Her chocolate-brown eyes were shiny with tears, but she blinked them back, giving him a second terse nod. He tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear and forced himself to release her. Touching her was a luxury he couldn’t afford at the moment.

  “Okay, then.” He was more a man of action than of words. But if he was fighting for his daughter, he would use any means necessary, even if that meant revealing truths he’d rather not expose.

  He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, and dropped his head in his hands. “You were important to me, Olivia.”

  A slight humph was her only response. Was that skepticism or denial or maybe both?

  “It’s true,” he insisted. “I’d been with a lot of girls before I met you, but you were different.”

  Dead silence.

  “You made me laugh even when I wanted you so badly, I ached. I never meant to hurt you. But I had made a vow to my father.”

  “Of course you had.”

  She could give lessons in sarcasm.

  “Sneer if you like, but the vow was real. My brothers and cousins and I swore to my father and my uncle that if they would let us go off to college
without bodyguards, we would use assumed names and never tell anyone who we really were.”

  “So it was okay to sleep with me, but you couldn’t share with me something as simple as the truth about your real name. Charming.”

  This time it was Olivia who jumped to her feet and paced. He sat back and stared at her, tracking the gentle sway of her hips as she crisscrossed the room. “I was going to tell you,” he insisted. “But I had to get my father’s permission. And before I could do that, he had a heart attack. That’s when I left England so suddenly.”

  She wrapped her arms around her waist. “Leaving behind a lovely eight-word note. Dear Olivia, I have to go home. Sorry.”

  He winced. “I was in a hurry.”

  “Do you have any clue at all how humiliated I was when I went to the Dean’s office to beg for information about you and was told that Kevin Wade was no longer enrolled? And they were not allowed to give out any information as to your whereabouts because of privacy rules? God, I was embarrassed. And then I was mad at myself for being such a credulous fool.”

  “You weren’t a fool,” he said automatically, mentally replaying her words and for the first time realizing what he had put her through. “I’m sorry.”

  She kicked the leg of the coffee table, revealing a hint of her mother’s flamboyant temper. “Sorry doesn’t explain why suddenly neither your cell phone nor your email address worked when I tried to reach you.”

  “They were school accounts. My exams were over. I knew I wasn’t coming back, so I let them go inactive, because I thought it was the easiest way to make a clean break.”

  “If you’re trying to make a case for yourself, you’re failing miserably.”

  “I never wanted to hurt you,” he insisted.

  “They call them clichés for a reason.” The careful veil she’d kept over her emotions had shredded, and now he was privy to the pure, clean burn of her anger.

  “Things were crazy at home,” he said wearily. “I stayed at the hospital round-the-clock for a week. Then when Dad was released, he was extremely depressed. My brother Jacob and I had to entertain him, read to him, listen to music with him. I barely had a thought to myself.”