Hot & Bothered (6 page)

John merely shrugged. “If they don't feel like sharing, I'll go talk to the cab companies and see if any fares were picked up in this neighborhood on the night of your father's death. If I get a hit, I'll talk to the cab driver and show him Jared's picture. And if that doesn't produce anything, I'll take his photo to the airport and bus station to see if anyone remembers selling him a ticket.” He reached across and stroked gentle fingertips atop the hands she hadn't even realized she'd clasped tightly on
the smooth cherrywood surface of the desk in front of her. “I will find him, Victoria.”

She appreciated the reassurance, but his touch registered clear down to her toes, and she sat back in her chair, easing her hands out from beneath his long fingers. Looking around the office to avoid meeting his eyes, she found the distraction she sought and frowned in puzzlement. “There's something wrong with this room. I can't quite put my finger on it—whether it's a dimension or a spatial aberration, or maybe it's just the color scheme, which isn't my cup of tea. But
something
about the office is off. It bugs me that I can't figure out what.”

He leaned back, his dark eyes bright with interest. “That's right—you're an architect. As I recall, you were on the fast track at some hotshot firm when I knew you. You were in line to become…an associate, wasn't it? Did that happen for you?”

“No. Well, they offered me the position, but I had to turn it down.”

“You're kidding me!” Straightening, he stared at her. “I remember you being totally psyched about that promotion—wasn't it your design or something that landed a big contract?”

“Yes.” She smiled at the memory.

“So, why the hell would you turn down something you'd been working so hard to attain?”

“Esme.”

“You walked away because you had a kid? That's kind of a fifties attitude, don't you think? News flash, darlin', lots of women actually handle both.”

“Well, thank you for the tip, Miglionni.” Anger erupted and for once it didn't occur to her to try to contain it. “You think it was an easy decision? I
loved
that job and I was
damn proud of my work. But it also required putting in more than sixty hours a week and I've got a little news flash of my own,
darlin'.
I know what it's like to have a parent whose work is more important than his kids. I wanted better for my child.”

Feeling agitated and restless, she climbed to her feet. She had to get out of here. Somehow Rocket pulled a multitude of feelings and sensations out of her without even trying, and she wanted no part of them. The last time she'd felt this way had also been with him, and in the end it had nearly broken her heart. So she was
so
gone. But first…

She stared down the length of her nose at him. “I have a suggestion for you. Go talk to those women who do it all. Ask them if they'd stay home with their children if they could afford it. You might be surprised at how many would leap at the chance. I know I'm fortunate to have the resources that gave me a choice, so guess just how much your input means to me? You're the
last
person I'd ever solicit an opinion from on parenting. My God, you bullied your way into moving in here with unfounded accusations that I never in a million years would have thought to do. Not to mention that subtle threat to make things ugly for everyone involved if you weren't given the opportunity to get to know your daughter.” She ignored the fact that she was using him in return for protection.

“
What
subtle threat? I haven't said one freaking word that could remotely be construed as a threa—”

“But now that you've gotten what you wanted,” she said right over the top of him, surprised to find she was all but quivering with fury, “funny thing. I haven't seen you make any effort to spend so much as
five minutes
with Esme since I introduced the two of you.”

John stared at the passion in Victoria's face and felt his
heart pound in his chest. This was the woman he remembered, with her electric eyes and intense fervency. The cool and reserved socialite he'd been dealing with since entering the Hamilton mansion annoyed the hell out of him, but he almost wished she'd come back. At least she didn't confuse him so much, and God knew she was a whole lot easier to hold at arm's length. This woman he wanted to throw down on the desk and have the kind of red-hot head-banging sex he remembered from six years ago.

She made a sound of disgust deep in her throat and he realized he'd been staring at her too long without responding to her accusation. Before he could say a word she'd whipped around on her expensively shod heels and he watched her hair bell out then settle back into place as she stalked from the room. The door closed behind her and he threw himself back into his chair. Swearing, he rammed his fingers through his hair and ground the heels of both hands into his scorched eyes.

What the hell was he doing here? He knew nothing about being a parent.
Less
than nothing. The truth was, just the thought of it scared the bejesus out of him.

And wasn't that one for the books? In the ordinary run of events he wasn't a man prone to fears. The day after graduating high school he'd forged his old man's signature so he could join the Marines and he'd spent the next fifteen years in every hellhole and hot spot in the world. It wasn't that he'd never been afraid, of course—only a fool went up against trigger-happy terrorists armed with the latest in automatic weaponry without a healthy dose of fear to keep him cautious. But he'd learned to take in stride the kind of things that would probably start the average guy's bowels to churning.

Wasn't it a hell of a note, then, that a tiny peanut of a
girl with a mess of hair and big dark eyes should be the one to strike terror in his soul?

He'd deliberately stayed out late last night and had left before breakfast this morning in order to avoid running into Esme. Not that curiosity wasn't gnawing at him like a rat on cheese. He wanted to know everything about her—what kind of toys did she like, which vegetables did she hate, did she like to be read to? Or maybe five-year-olds read for themselves—what did he know about such matters? He'd like to discover the answer to that, too. But the voice in his head that had kept him one step ahead of his father's fists, one dodge away from bullets sprayed by captors of the political hostages he'd been sent to retrieve over the years, whispered warnings to keep his distance.

He should probably head back to Denver and let Victoria get back to her well-structured life. Hell, let her raise little Esme any way she saw fit; she was obviously an excellent mother.

He, on the other hand, knew bugger-all about being a father.

But much as the idea appealed to him, he knew he wasn't going to do it. Not yet at any rate. Gert had the office running with the precision of a German-made engine, and he'd caught up on all of the cases requiring his attention in Denver. Then, too, he still had a number of people to contact here.

Besides—his jaw stiffened—there wasn't a female born who could make him tuck tail and run. Not some little bit of a thing less than three feet tall and not her leggy mother, either.

Tori probably hadn't meant it as such, but she'd issued him a challenge. She'd all but accused him of being too chickenshit to get to know his daughter. And, fine, he'd
admit it—that was exactly how he'd behaved. Didn't mean he couldn't do better, though.

It might take a little time for him to gird his loins. But John Miglionni didn't run from any challenge.

“H
ERE, SWEETHEART
.” V
ICTORIA
stooped to untuck a narrow ruffle that had bunched beneath the strap of Esme's backpack. Glancing into her daughter's dark eyes, she smiled at the excitement shining there. She smoothed the hem of the little retro flower-power tank top over Esme's cotton shorts, then brushed back a stray tendril of baby-fine hair that had escaped the little girl's fat braids. “Do you have everything you need?”

“Uh-huh.” Esme fidgeted away from her mother's fussing fingers. “I'm tidy, Mummy,” she said impatiently. “When's Rebecca gonna be here? I been waiting for
ever.
”

“Or at least five minutes, anyhow.” Victoria struggled to keep her amusement to herself. She heard footsteps coming up the steps of the portico and patted Esme's arm. “There. That's probably Rebecca and her mum now.”

Instead of the expected knock, however, the big mahogany door simply opened, bringing a wash of sunlight into the house. Then the door clicked closed and there stood John. A fierce scowl marred his brow, but the instant he saw Tori and Esme in the foyer, it disappeared. His eyes were slow to lose their storminess and remained watchful, but the glower was immediately replaced by a courteous curve of his lips.

The insincerity of that smile irritated Victoria no end.
Good Lord, he seemed more like a soldier to her now than he had six years ago when he'd still actually been one. Back then, at least, he'd never hesitated to exhibit emotion, and his expression had always been open. These days she couldn't tell what he was thinking.

“Hullo, Mr. Miglondoanni!”

Victoria's heart clutched at the bright expectancy in her daughter's face as she stared up all unknowing at the man who'd fathered her. But she managed to say calmly, “It's Miglionni, sweetie.”

“It's a mouthful either way, especially when the mouth trying to pronounce it belongs to such a dainty little thing.” He smiled down at Esme, and this time genuine humor warmed his eyes. “Instead of trying to wrap your lips around all those syllables, why don't you just call me—” with a quick glance at Victoria, he cleared his throat “—John. That would probably be simplest.”

“'Kay.”

He dropped to a crouch in front of her and reached out long, tanned fingers to the braided and bespeckled doll that peeked over Esme's shoulder from her backpack. “Who is this? Your sister?”

“No, silly. That's my American Girl doll. Her name is Molly Mack-'n-tire.”

“She's very cute.” He hesitated, clearing his throat again as patent uncertainty dimmed the usual lady-killer wattage of his charm. “Nearly as cute as you,” he added and gave her a small, crooked grin so diffidently sweet it made Victoria blink.

“Oh, you.” Esme giggled in delight and gave him a flirtatious poke with one soft little finger. It didn't cause so much as a dimple in the soft cloth stretched across his hard chest. “Do you like her Route 66 frock?”

“Yeah, sure. It's very, uh…blue.”

“Yes, lovely, isn't it? It's new. Mummy sent away for it on the inner net.”

“Internet, Esme.”

“Uh-huh.” The little girl didn't spare her so much as a glance. Her bright-eyed gaze was locked firmly on Rocket. “I have a playdate with Rebecca Chilworth. She and her mummy are s'posed to pick me up, but they're late. Rebecca's my best friend, you know. Fiona Smyth was my best friend, but now that I live in the States, Rebecca is. Her and
my
mummies usta know each other a long time ago. Do you have a best friend?”

“Yes, I have two.” He looked a little dazed, but added gamely, “Their names are Cooper and Zach. We were in the Marines together.”

Her brow puckered in confusion. “What's that?”

“They're soldiers, Es,” Victoria interjected. “Like the Queen's Guards at home.”

“Only better,” John added. “A Marine wouldn't be caught dead in one of those tall-ass furry hats.”

None of which appeared to enlighten Esme, so Victoria added, “You know, sweetie. Like what Mr. McIntire is in.”

Her daughter's whole face lit up and the look she flashed John couldn't have been more awed if a super-hero had suddenly sprung to life. “You been over the seas, then?” she demanded.

“Yes. I've spent quite a bit of time in other countries.”

“Molly's papa is over the seas, and she has to make sack fries.”

John's expression not only lacked comprehension, he looked downright stupefied. Esme's gregarious chatter could do that to a person, so Victoria decided to take pity on him. But she didn't bother to swallow the little smile
that quirked her lips. It was refreshing to see him at sea in his dealings with a female.

“Glad to see you're having a good time,” he growled and her smile grew.

“Oh, I am.” But she saw Esme's baffled expression and straightened her face. “Each of the American Girl dolls are set in a different era,” she informed him. “And part of their appeal lies in the books that come with them, with settings in the doll's specific period in history. Molly's stories describe life on the home front during World War II, from the challenge of having a father who's overseas, to the sacrifices her family makes to help their country win the war.”

Esme beamed at the dark-haired man in front of her. “Sack fries,” she agreed. “Mummy says that's part of what makes Molly a hair win.”

“Heroine, sweetie.”

“Ah.” Then John, too, grinned, a slash of white so reminiscent of the carefree, I-can-charm-your-pants-off, you-gotta-love-me smile that had first sucked Victoria into his orbit all those years ago she felt her knees grow weak and her thighs clamp tight.

She unlocked the latter and took a hasty step away to give herself some distance before she did something foolish like reach out and run her fingers over the same hard surface her daughter had poked. Hot awareness surged so fast and furiously through her system that blisters were no doubt popping up in its wake, and she gave silent thanks when the doorbell rang. She crossed the entryway and opened the door, greeting Rebecca and her mother with even more warmth than usual.

With the arrival of her friend, Esme lost interest in John so fast and completely it made his head swim. He'd
been doing okay there for a while, but apparently she had bigger fish to fry now, and there was a lesson to be learned from thinking he'd been making some kind of headway. He watched as she threw her arms around Tori's neck, pursed her little rosebud lips for an enthusiastic smooch, then tore away and clattered out the door, exchanging machine-gun-rapid patter with a little curly-haired dishwater blonde he could only assume was the aforementioned best friend Rebecca. Being able to charm a little girl for five minutes didn't mean he knew squat about kids in the long term, he reminded himself.

“I'm sorry we're late,” a more mature version of the little blonde said breathlessly to Victoria, pulling his attention away from the children who were climbing into a minivan parked on the circular drive. “I overestimated how quickly I could run a few errands. And Lord knows—”

“
Ma
-mmmm!”

With a shrug and an assessing, curious glance at him, Rebecca's mother moved toward the door. “The natives are definitely restless. I'll have Esme back by six.”

“Thanks, Pam.”

Victoria walked the woman out and John listened to a flurry of farewells and slamming car doors. Then between one moment and the next she was back, closing the front door behind her as silence settled over the entryway. Blowing a strand of hair out of eyes that were alight with humor, she grinned at him. “Whew.”

She was mussed and flushed, and looked so much like the Tori he remembered that he experienced a sudden sharp desire to pin her against the door at her back and rock his mouth over hers. Man, just one little kiss, that was all he asked. Just to see if the new, uptight Victoria had the same addictive flavor that had lived on in his mind
all these years. Heartbeat picking up tempo, he took a determined step forward.

She scooped her hair back. “So, tell me. Why were you in a bad mood when you came in?”

He halted, jerked back to the present. “What?”

“When you let yourself in a while ago, you looked furious. Then you saw Es and me and slapped on your company face. Which was pretty smarmy, by the way.”

O-kay.
He took a large step back. That wasn't the brightest plan he'd ever had. Hell, he had professional standards to maintain here. But still…“What do you mean, smarmy?”

“Come on. The way you went from being clearly out of sorts to that phony hail-fellows-well-met smile? Smarmy with a capital smar, Miglionni. I thought for a minute there you were going to try to sell us a used car.”

“Yeah?” He stepped forward again. “So what about you, then?”

She, too, took a step forward, her chin angling up at him. “What
about
me?”

“You've been giving me that little society-princess smile since I first landed on your doorstep, when both of us know damn well that if you had your way I'd be six states away. What's that all about?”

“Good manners.”

“Uh-huh. So let me get this straight. When you do it, you're Little Ellie Etiquette, but when I do it I'm a used-car salesman?” He shrugged. “That's fair.”

The last thing he expected to see was the wide, amused grin she flashed him. “No, it's not, but somehow it seems different when I'm the one doing it. I suppose, though, that it's just as much a way for you to keep your feelings to yourself as it is for me.”

Damn. He started measuring the distance between them and the door again, deciding that pressing her up against an unyielding surface was a mighty fine idea after all. Screw professionalism. Stacked up against the thought of getting his hands in that hair, kissing those lips, it was highly overrated.

And if
that
wasn't dangerous thinking, he didn't know what was. Stuffing his hands into his slacks pockets, he took a large step back, feeling like he was performing some spastic do-si-do but determined to put distance between them. “You wanna know what was bugging me?”

“Yes. If you'd like to tell me.”

Sunshine from the leaded-glass entry sidelights shone in her eyes, picking out the gold flecks in her moss-green irises. Feeling a sudden need for an emotional, as well as physical, distance if he wanted to keep himself from doing something they'd both regret, he said flatly, “It was the conversation I had with the police about Jared. I was thinking about the lead detective, who's a donut-eating lard-ass too lazy to look at anyone else when he's got a nice, convenient scapegoat in your brother.”

That gave him the distance he wanted, but seeing the humor wiped from her face gave him no satisfaction. On the contrary, the strained worry he was responsible for putting in its place made him feel like a school-yard bully. Pulling his hands from his pockets, he leaned toward her.

Only to watch her back snap poker-straight and her expression smooth out into the bland aloofness he hated. It should have put his back up. Instead her words played back in his head.
I suppose, though, that it's just as much a way for you to keep your feelings to yourself as it is for me.

Shit.

He reached for her hand. “Come on.” Tugging it gently,
he led her down the hallway toward the office she'd assigned for his use. “Let's go sit down and talk about it.”

A moment later he seated her in the chair facing his desk, then circled it to take his own. “Can I have Mary bring you anything? Some iced tea, maybe? Something stronger?” He wasn't exactly accustomed to summoning servants, but he'd been the housekeeper's golden boy since he'd questioned her and the rest of the help yesterday, so what the hell. Might as well take advantage. No one understood better that he was likely to drop out of favor just as quickly as he'd come into it.

Victoria merely shook her head, however.

“She agrees with you, by the way.”

She blinked at him. “Mary does? About what?”

“Jared's innocence.”

That got her attention and John saw with satisfaction a spark of anger igniting in her eyes. He considered that a big improvement over the defeat that had dulled them.

She straightened in her chair. “You questioned Mary?”

“Yes, ma'am. And the cook and the two girls who come in once a week to clean, as well. Oh, and the gardener.” He gave her a smile he knew would aggravate the hell out of her. “And except for the gardener, who's still hacked off at Jared for running over his dahlias with the car, they all agree the kid couldn't have killed your father. Swore that he wouldn't hurt a fly.”

“
I
told you that!”

“Yes, you did. But I take nothing on faith and no one's word is good enough for me. I'm not satisfied I'm even getting in the vicinity of the truth, in fact, until I've double—and preferably triple or quadruple—checked every statement I take, every assertion I hear. That, darlin', is what you're paying me for.”