Janice Maynard
JANICE MAYNARD came to writing early in life. When her short story The Princess and the Robbers won a red ribbon in her third-grade school arts fair, Janice was hooked. She holds a BA from Emory and Henry College and an MA from East Tennessee State University. In 2002 Janice left a fifteen-year career as an elementary teacher to pursue writing full-time. Her first love is creating sexy, character-driven, contemporary romance. She has written for Kensington and NAL, and now is so very happy to also be part of the Harlequin family—a lifelong dream, by the way!
Janice and her husband live in beautiful east Tennessee in the shadow of the Great Smoky Mountains. She loves to travel and enjoys using those experiences as settings for books.
Hearing from readers is one of the best perks of the job! Visit her website at www.janicemaynard.com or e-mail her at [email protected]. And of course, don’t forget Facebook (www.facebook.com/JaniceMaynardReader Page). Find her on Twitter at www.twitter.com/Janice Maynard and visit all the men of Wolff Mountain at www.wolffmountain.com.
For Deener,
Your energy, enthusiasm and joie de vivre challenge the rest of us to embrace life more fully! I am glad you are my friend!
Kieran stood on the front porch of the small, daffodil-yellow house and fisted his hands at his hips. In the distance, the sounds of a lawn mower mingled with childish shouts and laughter. The Santa Monica neighborhood where he had finally tracked down Olivia’s address was firmly, pleasantly middle class.
He told himself not to jump to conclusions.
The article he’d clipped from one of his father’s newspapers crackled in his pocket like the warning rattle of a venomous snake. He didn’t need to take it out for a second read. The words were emblazoned in his brain.
Oscar winners Javier and Lolita Delgado threw a lavish party for their only grandchild’s fifth birthday. The power couple, two of the few remaining MGM “Hollywood royals,” commanded an A-list crowd that included a who’s who of movie magic. Little “Cammie,” the star of the show, enjoyed pony rides, inflatables and a lavish afternoon buffet that stopped just short of caviar. The child’s mother, Olivia Delgado, stayed out of the limelight as is her custom, but was seen occasionally in the company of rising film star Jeremy Vargas.
Like a dog worrying a bone, his brain circled back to the stunning possibility. The timing was right. But that didn’t mean he and Olivia had produced a child.
Anger, searing and unexpected, filled his chest, choking him with confusion and inexplicable remorse. He’d done his best to eradicate memories of Olivia. Their time together had been brief but spectacular. He’d loved her with a young man’s reckless passion.
It couldn’t be true, could it?
Though it wasn’t his style to postpone confrontation, he extracted the damning blurb one more time and studied the grainy black-and-white photo. The child’s face was in shadow, but he knew her family all too well.
Did Kieran have a daughter?
His hands trembled. He’d been home from the Far East less than seventy-two hours. Jet lag threatened to drag him under. Things hadn’t ended well with Olivia, but surely she wouldn’t have kept such a thing from him.
The shocking discovery in his father’s office set all of Kieran’s plans awry. Instead of enjoying a long overdue reunion with his extended family on their remote mountaintop in the Virginia Blue Ridge, he had said hello and goodbye with dizzying speed and hopped on another plane, this time to California.
Though he’d be loath to admit it, he was jittery and panicked. With a muttered curse, he reached out and jabbed the bell.
When the door swung open, he squared his shoulders and smiled grimly. “Hello, Olivia.”
The woman facing him could have been a movie star herself. She was quietly beautiful; a sweeter, gentler version of her mother’s exotic, Latin looks. Warm, sun-kissed skin. A fall of mahogany hair. And huge brown eyes that at the moment were staring at him aghast.
He probably should be ashamed that he felt a jolt of satisfaction when she went white. The urge to hurt her was unsettling. “May I come in?”
She wet her lips with her tongue, a pulse throbbing visibly at the side of her neck. “Why are you here?” Her voice cracked, though she was clearly trying hard to appear unconcerned.
“I thought we could catch up… for old times’ sake. Six years is a long span.”
She didn’t give an inch. Her hand clenched the edge of the door, and her body language shouted a resounding no. “I’m working,” she said stiffly. “Now’s not a good time.”
He might have been amused by her futile attempt at resistance if he hadn’t been so tightly wound. Her generous breasts filled out the front of a white scooped-neck top. It was almost impossible not to stare. Any healthy man between the ages of sixteen and seventy would be drawn to the lush sexuality of a body that, if anything, was more pulse-stopping than ever.
He pushed his way in, inexorably but gently. “Perhaps not for you. I happen to think it’s a damn good time.”
She stepped back instinctively as he moved past her into a neat, pleasantly furnished living room. Though it was warm and charming, not an item was out of place. No toys, no puzzles, no evidence of a child.
On the far wall, built-in bookcases housed a plethora of volumes ranging from popular fiction to history and art appreciation. Olivia had been a phenomenally intelligent student, an overachiever who possessed the unusual combination of creativity and solid business sense.
A single framed picture caught his eye. As he crossed the room for a closer look, he recognized the background. Olivia had written her graduate thesis about the life and work of famed children’s author and illustrator Beatrix Potter. On one memorable weekend, Olivia had dragged Kieran with her to England’s Lake District. After touring the house and grounds where the beloved character Peter Rabbit was born, Kieran had booked a room at a charming, romantic B and B.
Remembering the incredible, erotic days and nights he and Olivia had shared on a fluffy, down-filled mattress tightened his gut and made his sex stir. Had he ever felt that way since?