by Linda Kage
As her son continued to play between them, Leah eyed him miserably, intensifying the despair brewing inside him. If only he could return to his happy place, the ache would go away. He wouldn't have to deal with—
"You're a recovering alcoholic, Cameron," Leah stated firmly, jerking him back to reality. "You can't afford a relapse, small or otherwise."
He sighed and pressed a hand to his skull where his hangover wasn't slacking off. It hadn't been his intent to drink at all last night. He'd been so sure he could deal with the date sober. But when the memories had crashed down around him, he'd needed to escape the pain and darkness. He'd have done anything to forget.
The funny thing was, he hadn't thought of Sienna once last night, not from the very moment he'd looked up into a pair of big blue eyes and grinned at Olivia Donovan.
"Drinking once a year on the anniversary of my wife's death should be allowed," he muttered. "Give me that much at least."
"No," Leah stated.
Shocked, Cameron lifted his face. Usually, people backed off when he mentioned Sienna. He did it seldom, but it was always a good way to get concerned loved ones off his case and nab himself some leeway. Yet Leah didn't budge.
Weird.
"It's been, what, nine years," she said. "You need to get over this."
"Ten," he gritted out. "It's been ten years."
Leah finally softened. Her face transformed as she reached for his arm. He pulled back before she could touch him.
"I'm sorry," she said. She sounded genuinely remorseful too, until she added, "But this time you're not just hurting yourself. You brought an innocent woman into it."
Innocent? In his mind's eyes, Cameron caught a flash of Olivia Donovan in her black leather bustier with her plush tits about to spill out the top, telling him he could do anything he wanted to her if only they'd marry. He almost snorted in his sister's face. Yeah, right. Real innocent.
"What're you going to do with her?" Leah asked.
Remembering exactly what he'd already done with her, Cameron refrained from snickering. He picked up one of his nephew's toys and shrugged, tossing the block between two hands. "I'm not going to do anything. She's calling her mother as we speak to come get her. I've already talked to Bos. He's going to work up the divorce or annulment papers, or whatever."
Leah arched a brow.
"What?" he said. "Did you want me to stay married to her?"
"No," she muttered and let out an irritated sigh. Then she growled. "Why can't you just stop this depression? A divorce might save you this time, Cameron. But what about next time? Why won't you just let your family help you?"
"Help me do what?" They couldn't bring Sienna back. They couldn't take the guilt and remorse off his shoulders. They couldn't fix shit. There was nothing they could do but hurt right along with him.
"Cam," she bit out, gritting her teeth. But movement from the doorway caused both brother and sister to glance up.
Wearing his dress shirt with the arms hanging down over her hands and her fingers constantly working the cuffs in a nervous gesture, Olivia hunched in the doorway. She looked on the verge of another crying jag.
"She's already gone back home," she said, her voice cracking.
She looked about as scared as a lost lamb, and Cameron's frustrations grew. If what she'd told him about her mother was true, then she was just as innocent in this situation as he was, and the whole night had been one big, avoidable accident.
God. Exactly what he didn't want to deal with.
"Okay," he said, remaining as calm as possible. "Where's home?"
Her shoulders heaved as she sucked in air. "Pasadena."
He nodded. "Fine. Tomorrow, I'm headed home myself. I'll just have my pilot detour us by your place on the way."
"But you're going in completely the opposite direction of California," Leah cut in.
Cameron gave his sister a sour look. "What would you rather have me do? Take her back to KC with me?"
"Well, she is your wife."
Cameron growled and tossed down the block he'd been holding. It hit another that happened to be a vital foundation piece to the structure his nephew was building. As the entire stack went tumbling, four-year-old Aiden burst into devastated tears.
Leah gathered her sobbing son into her arms and held him to her chest as she glared at Cameron. "Look what you did," she said accusingly. She cooed to Aiden and struggled to her feet. With a final scowl at Cam, she carried her son from the room, telling him they'd go do something else and leave mean old Uncle Cameron alone.
Cameron sighed and shoved over another pile of blocks. He glanced at Olivia, who watched him with untrusting eyes.
God, he needed a drink.
Feeling his nasty mood spark, he decided to take it out on her. "So, how am I supposed to know you're telling me the truth?"
Her story was too fishy. None of it added up. He was having a hard time believing she'd stumbled across him by mere coincidence when he was the one guy she claimed to be avoiding.
When Olivia frowned in confusion, he explained, "Maybe you wanted to do exactly what Mommy told you to do. Maybe you followed me to that bar last night and waited until I was good and plowed before strolling over in that tight little number."
"No."
He snorted when Olivia shook her head emphatically. "You know, maybe Mommy didn't want to keep me as a son-in-law at all. Why would she need to? If you could talk me into marrying you, which you did, then you could just keep me in bed long enough until we bypassed the opportunity to get a nice simple annulment and had to go through a divorce instead, where you'd take half of everything I own."
Olivia's jaw dropped. "I don't want anything from—"
"But you know what?" Cameron cut in. "You can go ahead and take it. I don't give a rat's ass. I can be poor and miserable just as easily as I can be rich and miserable."
"You're wrong," Olivia told him, shaking her head again.
But Cameron wasn't buying it. "You know what's wrong? You. It's just plain wrong to go out, planning on seducing a complete stranger just because you know he's rich. Some people would call that stealing, you know. You didn't even earn it. Oh, wait. I guess you did. You screwed me real good last night, didn't you? Well then, it must be time for me to pay my whore. Except you're a little more pricey than most, aren't you?"
Gasping, Olivia took a step back. "Why, you awful, awful man. I see why your wife killed herself."
Six
Olivia's hands fisted inside the sleeves of Cameron Banks' longsleeved shirt. If they'd been free, she would've slapped him. As it was, her words seemed to knock him back as effectively as any physical blow she could've produced. He blanched and lurched a step in reverse. But he stopped moving so abruptly, she wondered if he'd been petrified. Then he swallowed, and by the expression on his face, he was ingesting razorblades.
For one awful, drawn-out second, she feared he might burst into tears. His bottom lip trembled and his eyes went moist. It took her a moment to remember what she'd said in her rage. When she realized she'd accused him of driving his first wife to suicide, she stopped breathing, appalled by herself.
Oh, God.
Olivia could actually see where all his insults toward her originated. Her tale was ludicrous. If she were him, she'd probably think she was merely following her mother's orders too. She always had before. But his words had hurt, so she'd lashed back with the first thing she could think to say.
Her mother always made similar comments, telling Olivia her father had killed himself to escape such an awful daughter. Over the years, she'd grown numb to the barbs, had actually become immune to them. So it was a little surprising to see how adversely they affected Cameron Banks.
Ashamed she'd reverted to one of her mother's techniques, she sank back a step. His agony-filled face started to blaze with color, making Olivia's eyes widen. Instead of fearing he might cry, she suddenly worried he would attack. His nostrils flared and his eyes cleared, turning a hard, dangerous black.
"That's it," he said from between his clenched teeth. "You're getting the hell out of here. Right now. I don't care if I have to drive you to California myself. Get your things. You're leaving."
Olivia blinked rapidly, trying to beat down the sudden urge to weep. She felt awful. God, why hadn't she slapped him instead? She must be the lowest life form on earth, worse than the scum that grew on pond scum.
"I...I don't have anything," she whispered, her voice small and timid.
"Just my top." She looked down at the baggy shirt adorning her body. "What about your—"
"Keep it," he bit out. "Go get your top and let's go. Now."
Not wanting to argue, Olivia rushed back to the room where she'd spent the night in his arms. As she snagged the piece of black leather off the bed, she caught sight of the empty condom wrapper on the floor. It had been intended for his use, and he had indeed used it. Suddenly sick, she glanced away.
If Vivian found out about this, she'd be thrilled. The one time Olivia had tried to break free, she'd ended up doing exactly what her mother wanted. Her stomach roiled; she thought she might vomit.
She'd been a fool to attempt rebellion.
Tucking the bustier under her arm, she rushed from the room and away from the glaring reminder of her failed try at a new start.
Cameron stood waiting by the opened front door, impatiently jiggling his keys. He stormed outside when he saw her, and Olivia followed.
He drove them to the airport in stony silence. Too miserable to speak, she remained mute.
She was returning to Vivian. Dear Lord, she had to go back.
Shadowing her the entire way, Cameron accompanied Olivia to the front desk to buy a ticket. When she heard the price, she counted the cash on her and was panicked when she discovered she didn't have enough money, not by half.
Grumbling, Cameron jerked his wallet from his back pocket and paid her fare. He didn't glance at her once as he did so. Olivia didn't bother to thank him. She instinctively knew he'd only snap at her if she tried.
After that, he escorted her to her terminal. She bit her lip as she walked beside him, unable to understand why he was being nice to her when he was still obviously so mad. His presence comforted Olivia, though. Glad she wasn't by herself and grateful he was being considerate despite his animosity, she hovered next to him and tried to think up something to say.
Realizing this was the last time she'd see him, she lifted her face. Maybe it was the physical intimacies they'd shared, but suddenly she felt a connection to him. She didn't want to leave. She was going to miss him. Last night had been nice.
He'd been the best time she'd ever had.
She didn't want his abhorrence. She wanted to somehow fix the rift. When they called her flight, she bit her lip. Now or never.
"I'm sorry," she said quietly and a little desperately. "It was a stupid thoughtless thing to say." He refused to meet her gaze, and Olivia swallowed her disappointment. "I didn't mean it. I just...I—"
"I'll have my lawyer send you the papers through the mail," he said, then turned and stalked off only to pause a few feet later and pivot back. "You're positive you'll be okay? If you're that scared of her, I can—"
"I'll be fine," Olivia said, her eyes opening wide at his way-too-kind offer. She waited until he nodded and turned away again before she blinked back the tears.
As she watched him walk out of her life, her shoulders slumped. He might've been the one man she'd wanted to avoid, but he'd given her something no one else ever had: a night full of hope.
~ * ~
Pasadena, California
Nauseated, Olivia stepped from the back seat of her mother's town car and shivered as a chill of dread raced up her spine. She murmured a thank you to the butler who held open the door for her and then paused to stare up at the house.
The adobe-styled mansion with its clay-shingled roof was the only home she'd ever known. She'd grown up here. So why did it feel more like she was returning to a prison she'd tried to escape? Why didn't she look forward to going inside her own home?
Because Vivian was in there.
Honestly, though, Olivia didn't know where else to go. She had no close friends that would take her in. There wasn't any family left that would claim either Vivian or her daughter and, well, that was about it.
The closest people to Olivia were her maid and hair stylist, and she couldn't pull either Rosa or Grace Ellen into her problems. Her mother could destroy them both with a single phone call, getting one deported and the other arrested for writing worthless checks.
No, she couldn't depend on anyone else. This was her life, the life she'd chosen for herself, and she needed to deal with it. Straightening her shoulders with a courage she didn't feel, she started forward.
Her d'Orsay heels clicked on the cobblestone path, reminding her of one of those horror movies where the lone sound of high heels on concrete echoed through an empty parking garage just before the killer pounced. The perfect drum roll for her own impending doom.
The door opened before she reached it. She stumbled a step. Rosa peered out at her, eyes wide.
"Miss Donovan," she said, though her voice cracked with trepidation, "Mr. and Mrs. Roark are waiting to speak with you in the breakfast room."
Olivia's face drained of color. The breakfast room. Of course, Vivian would summon her to the room where her father had died. Vivian was a pro at psychological warfare.
"Thank you, Rosa," she murmured and started her way toward her destiny.
Still wearing Cameron's extra-large shirt, her fingers balled around the excess cloth covering her cold, clammy hands, taking comfort in the small protective warmth it provided. Her 'husband' probably wouldn't be pleased about providing any kind of support for her, but she appreciated the soft cotton of his shirt anyway.
Vivian sat at the head of the table, reading a Wall Street Journal. A full meal was spread out on the ecru tablecloth. Nolan sat at her left elbow, the slight tremor in his liver-spotted hands showing his age as he split open a roll and buttered it.
Only breakfast was eaten in the breakfast room. Down the hall, a large grandfather clock chimed letting her know it was noon, way past time for a morning meal.
She bit back a shudder, knowing the only reason Vivian would eat lunch in here was to torture her. The wave of déjà vu that struck almost brought her to her knees. Her mother had planned it well, set up everything the same way it had been that morning. She wanted Olivia to remember. And remember she did. Vividly.
Olivia's heels announced her arrival. Vivian lowered her paper and glanced at Olivia as if surprised.
"Darling," she called almost pleasantly, ushering Olivia further into the room. "Join us for lunch."
Olivia swallowed, hesitated, then moved forward. Easing into the chair at Vivian's right, the same place she'd been sitting when her father had killed himself, she folded her hands in her lap and eyed the food, hoping she didn't vomit.
"Eat," Vivian said with a congenial smile.
"The chicken is divine," Nolan added.
Olivia pressed a hand to her quaking stomach. "I'm not hungry."
"EAT," Vivian roared.
Olivia jumped at the unexpected bellow. Fumbling as she picked up her knife and fork, she cut into the breaded chicken on her plate, dicing it into tiny bite-sized pieces. Her mother glared, but she studiously ignored the woman, concentrating on slicing each portion precisely.
"Whose shirt is that?"
Olivia sank back and clutched the fabric to her chest as if she thought her mother might rip the cloth off her.
Vivian glowered. "Olivia, I asked you a question."
A remaining spark of her rebellion must've been lingering inside her from the night before, smoldering like a glowing ember ready to be blown on and ignited, because she lifted her chin and said, "Why, Mother, don't you know? It belongs to Cameron Banks."
She only said the truth because she knew Vivian would never believe it. Which she didn't. Lurching t
o her feet, Vivian stood so fast her chair overturned. Before Olivia could duck or brace herself, her mother's arm swung around and her palm cracked against Olivia's jaw. Long Frenchtipped nails sliced open her cheek, and Olivia wrenched backward, falling from her chair and onto the floor. She'd barely landed on all fours when her mother grabbed her by her hair and twisted, yanking her head up, forcing her to her feet. Olivia cried out; tears stinging her eyes.
"You're lucky he wasn't at the convention last night," Vivian hissed, puffing coffee-scented breath in her face. "If he had showed up, and you'd pulled this little stunt, I'd be very upset right now, Olivia."