His Seductive Proposal. Maureen Child

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      A strange house. Odd night sounds. And dreams that were riddled with images of Kieran Wolff. No wonder Olivia slept poorly. She had no more defenses against him now than she had as a naive university student. All he had to do was crook his little finger and she fell into his arms without protest.

      It was infuriating and humbling and, if she were honest, exciting. Her days since Cammie was born had been pleasant. And the white-picket-fence life she had so deliberately created was good. Really good. But what woman—still two years shy of thirty—should be willing to settle for that?

      Kieran’s recent intrusion into her life was a jolt of adrenaline. Now she was scared and aroused and worried and challenged, but she wasn’t bored.

      Finally, at 4:00 a.m., she fell into a deep sleep, only to be awakened at the crack of dawn when Cammie crawled into bed with her. Crossing three time zones was not an easy adjustment for a child.

      Olivia yawned. “Good morning, sweetheart.”

      “What are we going to do today?” Cammie snuggled close, her small, warm body a comfort Olivia never tired of.

      “I think Kieran wants to hang out with us. Is that okay?”

      In the semidark, her daughter’s face was hard to read. “Yep. I like him.”

      That was it. Four short words. But hearing her daughter’s vote of confidence relieved at least some of Olivia’s concern.

      Olivia dozed off again. When she woke, Cammie was gone, and light streamed into the room. Good Lord. She was a sweet kid, but mischievous at times. Olivia stumbled from her bed and rushed through the connecting passageway to Cammie’s whimsical bedroom. She stopped short when she realized that Cammie was sprawled on the floor on her stomach alongside Kieran, who was aligned in a similar position.

      Both of them were playing with an expensive model train set. A small black engine choo-chooed its way around a figure-eight track. Seeing the two of them side by side wrenched something inside her chest and brought hot tears to her eyes. She blinked them back, refusing to dwell on what might have been.

      Kieran looked up, his gaze raking her from head to toe, taking in the flimsy silk nightie that ended above her knees, her thinly covered breasts, her tousled hair. “Rough night, Olivia?”

      His bland intonation was meant to bait.

      “Slept like a baby,” she said, glaring at him when she thought her daughter wouldn’t see. Kieran looked delicious… clear-eyed and dressed casually in jeans and an old faded yellow oxford shirt with the sleeves rolled up. His big masculine feet were bare, and Olivia discovered that there was no part of him that didn’t make her heart beat faster.

      He motioned to a nearby tray. “Cook sent up fresh scones and homemade blackberry jam. And there’s a carafe of coffee.”

      Cammie had barely acknowledged her mother’s presence, too caught up in the new entertainment. Olivia shifted her feet, reluctant to parade in front of her host to get a much-needed cup of caffeine. The awkward silence grew.

      Kieran took pity on her. “Go take a shower if you want to. I’ll pour you some coffee and set it on the nightstand. Okay?”

      “Thanks,” she muttered, escaping to the privacy of her room. In twenty minutes she had showered and changed into trim khakis and a turquoise peasant shirt that left one shoulder bare. She hadn’t needed to wash her hair this morning, so she brushed it vigorously and left one swathe to lie over the exposed skin.

      The coffee awaited as promised. She drank it rapidly and went in search of a second cup. What she saw stunned her. Cammie, often shy around strangers, sat in Kieran’s lap in a sunshine-yellow rocker as he read to her from an Eric Carle book.

      The two of them looked up with identical expressions of inquiry. Cammie’s typical smile danced across her face. “You look pretty, Mommy. Kieran’s going to take us to the attic.”

      Olivia glanced down ruefully at her fairly expensive outfit. “Do I need to change?”

      Kieran laid the book aside and shook his head. “The Wolff attic is more of a carefully maintained museum than a dusty hiding place. You’ll be fine.”

      While Cammie took another turn with the train, Kieran spoke, sotto voce to Olivia. “She’s right. You look lovely.” He brushed a kiss across her cheek. “I wanted you when I woke up this morning.”

      The gravelly statement sent goose bumps up and down her arms. She glanced at Cammie, but the child was oblivious to the adult’s tension. “You shouldn’t say things like that. Not here. Not now.”

      He shrugged, unrepentant, and suddenly she saw the source of Cammie’s mischievous grin. Circling Olivia’s waist with one arm, he pulled her close and whispered in her ear, his hot breath tickling sensitive skin. “If you had stayed in my bed last night, neither of us would have gotten any rest. Remember the evening after the Coldplay concert? We didn’t sleep that night at all.”

      His naughty reminiscence was deliberate. In a hotel room high above the streets of London, they had fallen onto the luxurious bed, drunk on each other and the evening of evocative music. Again and again he had taken her, until she was sore and finally had to beg off.

      The resultant apology and intimate sponge bath had almost broken his control and hers.

      “Stop it,” she hissed. “That was a lifetime ago. We’re different people.”

      “Perhaps. But I don’t think so.” He bit gently at her ear lobe, half turned so Cammie couldn’t see his naughty caress. “You make me ache, Olivia. Tell me you feel the same.”

      She broke free of his embrace. “Cammie, are you ready for the attic?”

      Kieran grimaced inwardly, realizing that he had already strayed from his plan. As long as he pushed, Olivia would run. Only time would tell if another tack would woo her in the right direction.

      As they climbed the attic stairs, Cammie slipped her little hand into his with a natural trust that cut him off at the knees. Frankly it scared him spitless. What did he know about raising a kid? He’d been too young when his mother died to have many memories of her. And when his father imploded into a near breakdown, the only familial support Kieran had known was from his uncle, his two brothers and his cousins, all of whom were grieving as much or more than he was.

      He halted Cammie at the top of the stairs. “Hold on, poppet. Let me get the switch.” It had been years since he had been up here, but the cavernous space hadn’t changed much. Polished hardwood floors, elegant enough for any ballroom, were illuminated with old-fashioned wall sconces as well as pure crystalline sunbeams from a central etched glass skylight. Almost thirty years of junk lay heaped in piles across the broad expanse.

      Olivia’s face lit up. “This is amazing… like a storybook. Oh, Kieran. You were so lucky to grow up here.”

      Though her comment hit a raw nerve, he realized that she meant it. Seeing the phenomenal house through a newcomer’s eyes made him admit, if only to himself, that not all his memories were unpleasant. How many hours had he and Gareth and Jacob and their cousins whiled away up here on rainy days? The adults had left them alone as long as they didn’t create a ruckus, and there was many a time when the attic had become Narnia, or a Civil War battlefield, or even a Star Wars landscape.

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