Hot Commodity

by Linda Kage

  Olivia whimpered.

  "Where were you?"

  When she didn't answer, Vivian tightened her hold on Olivia's hair briefly before shoving her back to the floor. Olivia began to scramble up until she noticed Nolan suddenly there, looming over her and staring with a cold, dead gaze as if he would push her right back down if she tried to stand.

  She stayed down.

  Vivian snorted. "God, you're just like your father." She sneered. "All he ever thought about was what woman's legs he could spread next."

  Olivia didn't move, but lay as still as death on the cold tile at her mother's and stepfather's feet with her arms curled protectively around her head.

  "You owe me!" Vivian added, nudging her in the ribs with a sharptoed shoe as if trying to get her attention. "Every day, you sit around my house and spend my money on your shopping sprees. Well, it's time to pay up, little sister. You will meet Banks and you will work your damnedest to seduce him. Do I make myself clear?" When Olivia didn't respond fast enough, Vivian stomped her foot, causing the floor to vibrate around her. "Do I?"

  "Y-yes."

  Her mother remained quiet a moment. Then she snorted. "God, you're pathetic. I must be out of my mind to think you'll ever attract a powerful man like Banks. Maybe you should just put yourself out of your misery like your worthless father did and give us all a little peace and quiet."

  Olivia stayed curled in a ball on the floor as Vivian strode from the room half a second later, closely followed by Nolan, who looked like a horny buck chasing a doe in heat.

  Cheek stinging as if it'd been carved open with a machete instead of a fingernail, Olivia let her shoulders slump in relief, glad Vivian was gone.

  Her mother had only slapped her twice before. Once, when she'd been seventeen and attempted to run away with a boyfriend. They'd been caught five miles from home. Vivian slapped her as soon as she'd been ushered through the front door. Then she'd locked Olivia in her room for two weeks. Olivia had never seen Derrick again, though she heard he'd been forcibly recruited into the army.

  The second slap came the day her father died.

  Olivia rose unsteadily to her feet and stumbled to a chair where she sank down. She realized her fingers were trembling when she lifted them to her face. Suddenly, a vivid picture entered her head. Glancing around the room, she didn't see it as it was now, but how it had been then.

  Olivia didn't mourn Roger Donovan, not as a normal daughter should. She'd never been close to him, and he'd never loved her. She distinctly remembered overhearing Roger one time say, "I had to get a vasectomy after Olivia was born because I couldn't stomach the thought of giving Vivian another worthless brat."

  Of course, a vasectomy also helped him run off and have as many affairs as he wished without the consequence of siring bastard children. Vivian didn't seem to care about his indiscretion. She said it kept him away from her. So the two parents lived happily enough, ignoring each other and the single daughter they'd created together.

  Her father killed himself on an April morning. At the time, Olivia was fifteen. It was one of those crisp spring days with lilies blooming in the yard and singing birds swarming home from their winter beak. Olivia was sitting at the breakfast table to the right side of her mother when her life changed forever.

  After taking on one new mistress, Roger had actually become enamored. He even announced he was in love. Then the word divorce was mentioned, and Vivian finally grew fed up. Thinking her husband might cause a scandal, she made Roger's lover disappear.

  But Roger hadn't taken it well.

  Olivia could still remember what she'd been eating—toast with grape jelly, a glass of orange juice, and a plate full of strawberries covered in powered sugar—when Roger barreled down the stairs to confront his wife over the matter.

  As usual, Vivian sat at the head of the table, reading the Wall Street Journal when he stalked in.

  No one looked up.

  But he stomped his foot, and Olivia finally lifted her face. When she saw the gun in his hand, she gasped, which finally gained Vivian's attention as well.

  At first, Olivia thought her own father would murder her and Vivian then and there. But that's not what happened. Roger shook, his skin glazed with sweat, as he turned the gun to his own temple and stared at Vivian with glossy, vacant eyes.

  Not once did he glance at Olivia, his one and only child. He merely glared at his wife with a bone-deep hatred and gritted his teeth.

  Vivian laughed. "Go ahead." She waved an unconcerned hand for him to proceed. "With all the insurance I've got on you, your worthless ass is worth more to me dead than alive, anyway." Not that she'd collected a penny from his suicide, but that was the kind of thing she liked to say.

  It was enough encouragement to make Roger pull the trigger.

  Blood splattered on Olivia, on her toast, and even in her orange juice.

  At first, the flash-bang of sound and spray of red rendered her motionless. Her ears rang from the explosion. She'd thought she'd gone deaf, but then she heard the thud as her father's lifeless body hit the floor.

  She looked down, and the screams that followed were ripped from her throat with a terror she'd never felt before or since.

  Vivian sprang to her feet. She lurched from the head of the table and hurled herself toward Olivia.

  Grabbing her daughter's shoulders in a vise-like grip, she shook her. But Olivia only screamed louder. Finally, Vivian smacked her full across the mouth.

  Stunned mute, Olivia gaped at Vivian with glazed eyes.

  Vivian hissed, "Listen to me. I was not in here. If anyone asks, I was not in this room when he did it. Do you understand me?" She shook her daughter again. "Olivia?"

  Olivia didn't answer. She couldn't speak. Her father was dead at their feet. Who cared where her mother had been?

  The cook came rushing into the room then, so Vivian yanked Olivia against her breasts as if she'd been comforting and hugging her baby girl the entire time. "Call an ambulance," she choked out.

  But there was no need. Roger was dead, had been dead since the moment he hit the floor.

  After the suicide, when Olivia had lied to the police about her mother's involvement, Vivian expected Olivia to step up and be her hostess and public companion. She dragged Olivia to social gatherings and took control of her life. Since then, Olivia had lived in a world her mother created for her, never once questioning it.

  Now she knew why she'd never questioned the witch before, why she never tried to buck Vivian's control.

  Still shaking from her mother's assault, Olivia pushed to her feet and went to the mirror. She lifted her fingers to the thin slash of blood on her cheek. It would probably bruise. The very thought made her want to vomit. Her mother had damaged her. She'd disobeyed Vivian, and now she was marked like a piece of bad fruit.

  Olivia suddenly realized Roger had been trying to defy Vivian as well. He'd taken on lover after lover as a way to strike back and reclaim his masculinity until he'd ended up dead for his trouble. All because he'd gone up against the mighty Vivian Helbrock.

  As a single tear slid down Olivia's cheek, she wiped it away with the sleeve of Cameron's shirt. There was no way she wanted to end up like her father, so there was no way she was going to rebel again.

  She called it survival.

  Seven

  Kansas City

  Two weeks after returning home from his trip west, Cameron received a package in the mail from the Viva Las Vegas Wedding Chapel. Curious, he opened the padded envelope and shook out the contents. When a packet of pictures and a DVD spilled into his palm, he blinked.

  The first picture was of him and Olivia Donavon, both of them drunk off their asses, posing with two hula dancers and Elvis in a white cape suit.

  For some reason, it reminded him of his first wedding. He'd rushed Sienna off to a quickie ceremony, too. As memories washed over him, Cameron carried the package to his study and pulled a box of pictures off his shelf. He fell into a deep mahogany chair and
settled the box on his lap, carefully opening the lid.

  As the top picture stared up at him, he sucked in a breath.

  Cam had met Sienna Tridell during his first semester—his first week, actually—of his junior year at Kansas University. When he'd transferred to Lawrence, his cousin begged him to volunteer some of his time at a local help center where she worked. Since he'd always been the comedian in the family and was never without a smile, Lacey thought his positive demeanor would be a good influence on the type of people she worked with.

  His unfortunate answer has been, "Sure, why not. I'll volunteer."

  On his first day, Lacey walked him down the halls and explained what he'd be doing. When he glanced into a room where a meeting was in progress, he stopped dead. His eyes latched on to one female, and he knew he was a goner.

  "Who's that?" he demanded to know.

  Lacey glanced inside. "That's the support group for bipolar patients."

  He shook his head. "No. Who's the beauty headed right this way with the long, straight black hair?"

  "Oh." Lacey pulled back to send him a leery look. "That's Sienna," she said in a hushed voice.

  Sad Sienna, he dubbed her, for he'd never seen a soul that looked more depressed than this striking individual.

  His body hummed as she drew closer, completely unaware of how his eyes devoured her.

  "Hi there," he said, anxious to get her attention.

  She jumped, startled, and glanced leerily his way. When her brown gaze slid over him, he knew he'd do anything to make her smile.

  "Hi," she responded softly, her voice monotone and lifeless. She lowered her face and kept walking.

  Forgetting Lacey and his tour of the facilities, Cameron turned and fell into step beside Sad Sienna. "I'm Cameron," he announced.

  She ignored him, but he wasn't deterred.

  "You want to go get some coffee?" he asked. "Or ice cream maybe. Or I could take you on a full date if you'd like. We could grab something to eat, catch a movie, get married. Anything you want."

  He talked to her all the way to the exit, and she stared at her feet the entire trip. At the door, she finally looked up. She studied him dispassionately with those beautiful, sad eyes that were lined with bags from lack of sleep, and gave him a slight smile. It made his heart stutter with excitement.

  "Do you want to go out some time?" he repeated on a whisper.

  "Maybe," she finally answered, then turned away and pulled open the back door of a car waiting at the curb. She glanced back at him before getting in. "Bye."

  He smiled, feeling as light as a feather. "See you around."

  Lacey, who'd followed Cameron outside to the curb where he stood watching Sienna depart, grabbed his arm and spun him around. "What do you think you're doing?"

  Cameron shook his head in confusion. "What?"

  "Sienna Tridell is a deeply troubled girl, Cam. After seeing her parents die when she was nine, she's been a manic depressive who suffers from insomnia and has a partial addiction to half a dozen different prescription drugs."

  "But she sure is pretty," he argued, flashing his infamously ornery grin.

  "She's a mess."

  Cameron didn't care. He shrugged it off. "Hey, manic depressives need love too."

  And that's exactly what he'd done. He'd given Sienna all his love. Knowing from the start how much it would take to make her smile, Cameron felt like the king of world when she smiled twice and laughed once on their first date.

  He'd never been a people-pleaser before. He was usually too much of a jokester to care all that much about anyone's feelings. But after meeting Sienna, his world altered on its axis. Suddenly, the only thing he wanted out of life was to make her happy.

  He wanted to save her. Bound and determined to pull her back from the depths of her despair, he'd centered his world around pleasing her. He'd—

  Realizing he'd shuffled through every picture and pulled out all the shots with Sienna in them, Cameron's hands started to shake. He shoved the bundle back into the box and firmly closed the lid. Then he pushed the entire container off his lap and onto the floor. The package from his Viva Las Vegas vacation landed on top with a thud.

  Getting to his feet, he started for the kitchen. He needed a drink. He needed to forget. Nothing could mellow the ache like half a dozen shots of Crown Royal. Anything to ease the tightness in his chest and the images in his head of the sexy, blonde twinkie he'd recently married.

  Frowning, he wondered idly why he always applied food to her when he mentally described her. Twinkie, Pop tart, cupcake. Then it struck him. She was too delicious. He grinned, remembering how her hair had flowed through his fingers right before he'd pushed inside her. She was good in the sack, he'd give her that.

  He wondered if she'd made it home to Mommy Dearest all right. Then he snorted. What a crock. The two were probably celebrating their victory over bagging Cameron Banks. He was a little surprised he hadn't received any word yet over how much money they wanted to rape out of him over this marriage business.

  Well, he didn't care. They could take it all.

  It hadn't been his money in the first place. He'd gotten it after Sienna died. Her father had been an insurance salesmen and he'd taken two huge policies out on him and his wife. All the money had gone to Sienna when they'd died, and then it had gone to him when she died. Suddenly stuck with nearly half a million dollars, Cameron had wanted to throw it all away. So, he'd bought stock with it, the riskiest ventures on the market, hoping it'd be gone within the month.

  That had been back when the economy was booming. So, by some twist of blind luck—or bad luck, in his opinion—his investments had ended profitably. Half a million turned into five almost overnight and a bitter, shocked Cameron had no idea what to do with all that capital. He invested again, and again, and now, he had more millions than he could ever need. All because his wife had offed herself.

  Cameron groaned and closed his eyes. Olivia Donovan and her mother could take every freaking cent. He didn't want it.

  When he reached the kitchen, he discovered he didn't have any alcohol in the house. He'd dumped every bottle three years ago when he'd gone sober.

  God, this night was going to suck.

  Unless he made a quick run to the store.

  ~ * ~

  Chicago, Illinois

  Olivia was sure she'd seen the last of Cameron Banks.

  It had been three weeks since her rebellious night in Vegas. The bruise on her face had faded and her mother hadn't mentioned the incident again.

  She hoped Vivian had gotten over her ludicrous idea of marrying Olivia off.

  Her mother was like that sometimes. She'd devise a plan and be all hot and bothered over it for a few weeks and then suddenly lose interest and hop onto some other idea. Then again, Olivia thought it'd be funny if Vivian persisted and Cameron openly rejected her.

  Smiling at a waiter who offered her a drink off a silver platter full of fluted glasses, Olivia shook her head, and the man moved on. Vivian had dragged her to Chicago for yet another business convention. She'd spent four hours sitting next to Vivian through a long, boring presentation about new insurance claims, and now she was standing in an elegant ball room, surrounded by a flood of complete strangers.

  She'd caught sight of her mother ten minutes ago talking to some congressman from Massachusetts. But thankfully, she couldn't spot the witch at the moment. And she'd just ditched the opera house owner from Nashville, which was a relief. To keep him from gawking down her dress, she'd been lifting her hands to her mouth and stuffing all sorts of hors d'oeuvres down her throat in hopes of blocking his wandering eye. For a while there, she'd been afraid she was going to pop if she ate another bite. But fortunately, Mrs. Nashville had come along and swept him away.

  Olivia wished she could escape up to her hotel room. But Vivian would kill her if she did.

  In the past few days, her mother had actually treated her decently, for lack of a better word. She'd even bought her daugh
ter the dress she was wearing tonight. Olivia had to admit, she loved the dress. It was a soft, long, elegant number with spaghetti straps and—

  She let out a small scream and pulled to a stop before smacking directly into Cameron Banks.

  Crap. No wonder why Vivian had been buttering her up.

  Champagne flute in hand, Cameron lifted it in salute and sent her a sloppy grin. "Hey there, beautiful," he slurred out. "Fancy meeting you here."

  Olivia pressed her palm to her heart and closed her eyes. When she opened them, he was still there, bigger than life, beaming his adorable lopsided smile and looking devastating in a tux.