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

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

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

Now he wasn't sure.

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

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

Unless she were after something.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

What could make Ms. Adams beam like that?

He'd find out. That went without saying.

Chapter Eleven.

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

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

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

The banging persisted.

Then the noise became louder.

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

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

"Well?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The bathroom door opened.

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

"I'm taking a bath," she said inanely. She draped her arm across her b.r.e.a.s.t.s to hide herself from his avid gaze.

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

Covering her b.r.e.a.s.t.s with one arm, she pointed with the other. "Out."

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

"Pick another one."

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

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

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

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

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

"Where's your rubber ducky?"

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

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

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

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

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

No-she couldn't do that again.

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

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

Chapter Twelve.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And, G.o.dd.a.m.n, she'd grown up nicely.

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I came to say sorry."

Her brow furrowed. "What?"

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

"You didn't?"

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

"I really don't know."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

s.p.a.ce. He needed to get out of here.

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

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

He was better off not knowing.

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