Return to You (12 page)

The door didn't budge.

"Damn," he muttered under his breath. He
rattled the handle.

"Breaking it isn't going to help."

He turned around. She was leaning against a
bag of petrified cement, arms akimbo. "It's better than doing
nothing."

"If I didn't know better, I'd say you were
genuinely upset by this."

"What the hell is that supposed to
mean?"

"Who did you have to bribe to lock us in
here?"

He held his hand out. "Wait
a minute. You think
I
had something to do with this?"

Even in the dim light he could see the
sardonic arching of her eyebrow. "If the padlock fits..."

Michael shook his head, figuring it was
better than shaking her. "I didn't do this. The last thing I want
is to be confined in a small space with you." Okay, that didn't
come out the way he intended, but at least it got her to drop her
casual pose.

"Great," she bit out. "Then we're in
agreement."

Placid, Olivia was beautiful. Livid, she was
a sight to behold.

With a flip of her hair, she whirled around
and cautiously worked her way to the back of the shed. The way her
tight pants fit her entranced him. He bet she wore sexy panties
like the ones she sold in her store.

He snapped out of it in time to catch up to
her before she disappeared around the corner. "What are you doing?"
he asked.

"Getting us out of here. Hold this." She
handed him the flashlight.

He watched her drop to her knees and crawl
alongside the wall, feeling around.

"Hold the beam steady."

He cocked his brow but did her bidding. Then
he realized what she was looking for. "Ah, the secret passage
way."

"About time you remembered. Unless you
deliberately forgot," she mumbled.

He let that pass. Right now, the most
important thing was to let her find the flap they used to call
their secret passage way. In reality, it'd probably been a dog
entrance at one time. He'd never been one to get claustrophobic but
the walls were beginning to close in on him, pressing him closer to
Olivia.

He took a step back.

"Hold the goddamn flashlight steady." She
felt around for another ten seconds before she dropped her hands
and sat back on her heels. "Hell."

"What is it?"

"It's been nailed shut."

"Shit."

She glanced up at him. "You sound like you
mean that."

He raked his hair back, not caring that his
hands were covered in dust and cobwebs. "I didn't plan this,
Olivia."

She studied him for what seemed like ten
minutes before she asked, "What were you doing here?"

"Looking for a couple things we need for the
shoot tomorrow."

"Don't you have lackeys that do that
work?"

"Sure, but Parker sent them off for the
afternoon." The puzzle pieces fell into place. He leaned back
against a full burlap covered sack. "How about you?"

"Gran sent me to call Parker in for dinner."
She gave him a rueful smile. "I guess we were both set up."

"Looks that way."

She looked around. "You think they'll come
let us out soon?"

"Nope."

She sighed. "I didn't think so either."

"Come on." He held his hand out to help her
up.

She eyed it suspiciously.

"Do you know if the batteries in the
flashlight are fresh?" When she shook her head, he said, "Then we
need to find the old lamps and see if there's still kerosene left
around."

He felt a surge of triumph as she placed her
hand in his, but he carefully kept his face expressionless. Her
hand felt warm and soft, and it would have been easy to hold on to
it forever.

Once she got to her feet, she pulled her
hand out of his and cleared her throat. "Do you remember where the
lamps were?"

He looked around. "Weren't they in the
back?"

She shrugged, flicking her hair over her
shoulder. "Your guess is as good as mine." She pushed past him and
led the way.

He didn't mind. He held the flashlight, and
the view was amazing from here.

"Here they are." She lifted a lamp thickly
coated with webs. She handed it to him and wiped her hands on her
pants. "Gross."

"Hold this." He gave her the flashlight and
reached for a bottle that looked like kerosene.

New kerosene. The lamp was covered with
years of dust, but the bottle looked like it was just picked off a
store shelf yesterday. On the same shelf was a new book of matches,
clean blankets, and what looked like a picnic basket.

He shook his head and started filling up the
lantern with fuel. "At least this was a well-planned set up."

"What?" Olivia leaned over his shoulder to
look.

Her hair brushed his neck, and he spilled
some kerosene. If he turned his head a little, he'd be able to kiss
her.

"Someone thoughtfully left us new supplies."
He lit the lamp. "Including clean blankets and food."

"Thank God." She grabbed the basket and
peeked inside. "I'm starving."

He successfully lit the lantern—he wasn't
really surprised to see it had a fresh wick—and placed the glass
shield on it. He turned to face Olivia and found her frowning into
the basket. "What's wrong?"

"The conspiracy is wider spread than I
thought."

"Conspiracy?"

"Yeah. Of course Gran was involved in
setting us up but apparently so was my father." She held up a
champagne bottle. "A 1996 Cristal. Parker's champagne of
choice."

"Son of a bitch," he said as it sank in.

"I can't believe you didn't suspect
something was up. You were always the first to imagine complex
plots when we were kids."

"But I've learned that things are usually
simpler than they seem." He ran his hand through his hair.

"Not this time. Even your mom was involved."
She pulled out a pack from the basket. "Sally's chocolate chip
cookies."

"That can't be true. She warned me to stay
away from you. Let me see." He took the bag of cookies and
sniffed.

Olivia smirked. "Believe me now?"

"Damn."

"Sucks, doesn't it?" She grabbed a blanket,
arranged it on the floor with one hand, and dropped the food basket
on it before sitting next to it.

"What are you doing?"

"I'm eating."

"Right now?"

She shrugged and pulled out a sandwich. "I'm
starving and it doesn't look like we're going to be let out of here
any time soon. Want half? It's turkey and avocado."

He flashed back to the first grade when he
lost his lunch in a bet against River Sheridan and Olivia offered
him half of hers, much in the same way.

Only then it was peanut butter and jelly and
she wore a cookie monster T-shirt with bell-bottom jeans instead of
pants with thong panties underneath.

He plopped down next to Olivia and took what
she offered. "Thanks."

They ate in silence. Olivia mostly avoided
his gaze, but he couldn't take his eyes off her.

Oh man, he was in trouble.

Chapter Seventeen

Why was he staring at her like that? Did she
have avocado all over her face? Olivia surreptitiously wiped her
mouth with a cloth napkin she found in the basket.

No, he still watched her.

Refusing to let it unnerve her, she finished
her half of the sandwich, pulled out a cookie, and rummaged through
the rest of the basket while she nibbled on it.

At least Gran had stocked them up in style.
There was an assortment of fruit, several more sandwiches, and some
pastries. At the bottom were champagne flutes.

"Why not?" She picked up the wine bottle.
Knowing this was her dad's contribution, did that mean Lainie
bought it? The thought that Lainie could be a part of this and not
say anything bugged her. A lot.

"Treat would approve," she said to distract
herself as she peeled the foil off the top.

"Who's Treat?" Michael asked sharply, taking
the bottle from her hands.

"A friend."

"Does Lurch know?" He popped the cork like
he did it all the time.

"Stop calling him Lurch. His name is Rick."
She shouldn't feel this inane smugness at his jealousy.

"I can't believe
Rick
would approve of his
woman entertaining other men."

She really should tell him Treat was Eve's
husband, but her shoulder devil prodded her into silence. "I'm my
own woman, and Rick knows that." She pulled out the champagne
flutes that were, of course, in the basket as well. "Though he
might make an exception for you."

Michael grunted. "I'm not other men."

No, he wasn't. And—God help her—that was the
problem.

He poured champagne into the glasses she
held out. As he took one from her, his hand brushed hers. She
cursed the goose bumps that rose on her arms. She was tempted to
take a swig to calm down but then remembered the last time she used
wine as an anesthetic and set her glass on the floor after a chaste
sip.

"That's it?"

"Maybe later."

He shrugged. "Suit yourself."

She watched the muscular column of his neck
as he swallowed and her mouth went dry. She crawled to the shelf.
There had to be some bottled water somewhere.

"When do you think they're going to let us
out of here?"

She looked up. If she didn't know better,
she'd swear there was a touch of desperation in his voice. She must
have imagined it. In the dim light of the lantern he looked exactly
like what he was—a confident, virile, successful man.

Olivia frowned. "Why are you here?"

He glanced at her like she'd lost her mind.
He drew it out slowly, like she was having a hard time
understanding the concept. "To make a movie."

She rolled her eyes. "I know that. I mean,
why Mill Valley?"

"You've asked this before."

"And I think it's time you gave me a
straight answer."

"You think I haven't?"

"You always hated Mill Valley. I thought
you'd cut off your nuts before you'd come back here."

"You're right." He chuckled softly. His
laugh touched her deep inside where she hadn't been touched in a
long, long time. He smiled ruefully. He lifted his knee and rested
his arm in it. "I wouldn't have come back on my own volition."

"Well?"

He sighed and ran a hand through his hair.
"Your father cut me a deal. If I made this movie, following his
every dictate, he'd let me out of my contract."

"I hope you got that in writing." Parker was
devious.

"Of course. Your father's devious."

She smiled. "Why do you want out of your
contract?"

He stared at her like he was debating how
much to tell her. Finally, he said, "I want more."

He glanced at her like he expected her to
say something. When she waited silently, he continued. "You know
how I always wanted to direct?" She nodded. "Well, I should have
been more specific."

"How do you mean?"

"I don't want to make any
movie." His impassioned voice stirred her blood, just like it used
to when he spoke about something he really cared about. "I want to
make art. I want people to walk away from my work and
think
. I want them to be
affected."

"You're not accomplishing this with what
you've been doing?"

"The last few movies I've made have been
crap."

He sounded like a petulant boy and it made
her grin. "Why do you say that?"

"They were typical Hollywood,
happy-ever-after shit."

"I'm sure they were more than that." Sure
they were commercial, but they were skillfully made and the
direction was superb. Not that she'd tell him that. No sense in
inflating his King Kong sized ego.

"Have you seen any?"

All of them. "I think I caught one."

"What did you think?"

"You're talented, Michael. You know that."
Before he could reply, she asked, "So why can't you make the movies
you want at Parker Pictures?"

"I'm indentured. I make what's given to me."
He held his hand out. "Don't get me wrong. Without Parker I
wouldn't be where I am now. I'd probably still be struggling to get
my foot in the door. But I'm ready to move on."

She nodded. "You'll do it. You always
accomplish what you set out to do."

The way he stared at her bothered her in a
warm, squishy kind of way. He reached out and coiled a lock of her
hair around his finger. "You've always believed in me."

She laughed, and even to her ears it sounded
nervous. She tried to pull back, but he wouldn't let her.

"I've missed you, Olivia." His voice was low
and raw, like it pained him to admit it.

She opened her mouth, ready
to make a sarcastic retort, but she couldn't. Gran's words came
back to her.
You need to move
on.

He tugged on her hair. She was so close to
him. She could feel heat from his lips. She knew how they'd feel on
hers, scorching and persistent and so right. She knew how they'd
make her feel—breathless, like she was falling through space.

Michael lowered his mouth to hers.

She wanted to protest. She wanted to grab
him and eat him alive.

Moving on didn't mean going backwards. She
shouldn't do this.

That was her last thought before his lips
touched hers and she was lost.

Chapter Eighteen

Michael didn't mean for it to happen. In
fact, even as his tongue played hide and seek with Olivia's, he
wondered what the hell he was doing. He only knew there was no damn
way he was stopping.

She tasted delicious—sweet and rich. The
taste of chocolate lingering on her lips was erotic. He'd never be
able to face chocolate chip cookies again without getting hard.

He speared his fingers into her hair at the
nape of her neck and tilted her head. His left hand wrapped around
her ribcage, high enough so it brushed underneath her breast.