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None of them touched his heart or sent his libido into orbit with a simple look.
He’d realized his mistake early, but fought his feelings, sure they were temporary. While he’d never missed a woman before, he was confident that what he’d been feeling was not love. So damn sure of himself that he’d ignored his own heart because his mind said that love and marriage would come later in life, and not to a career minded woman he would have to share with the rest of the world.
For a man who was so rarely caught wrong, he’d done a spectacular job of messing up.
He’d finally given into his urges to call her and she’d told him she never wanted to hear from him again and hung up on him. He’d tried to call back, but she hadn’t answered. He’d been furious, or so he’d told himself for his pride’s sake. It had taken another two months for him to acknowledge that what he felt was hurt and he’d tried calling again.
This time she had not even done him the courtesy of speaking. She’d simply hung up and it was then that he realized he was not dealing with an angry woman, but one who was in pain. And he felt like hell, knowing it was his fault. Maybe she was better off without a selfish bastard like himself in her life.
He’d convinced himself of that for another two months. Until the weekly report came in from his investigator. Okay, he was obsessed, but he needed her. She refused to have anything to do with him, so he kept track of her, got copies of all her work, watched the commercial she’d made over and over again until he felt like some kind of seedy stalker.
He thought she looked like something was missing…her spark of animation. Then he would tell himself he was being self-serving believing that. But when the report came back that she was no longer modeling and had canceled her contract with her agent, he knew something was very wrong and he was determined to find out what and fix it.
If he could.
He tormented himself with the thought that she might have found someone else, but the investigator had no evidence of her dating. Not that he was watching her that closely. Miguel wasn’t really a stalker. Nor was he willing to invade her privacy completely. But there was no public evidence that Amber had gotten involved with another man.
Grateful for that small favor, Miguel stumbled into the hotel room in California. He would sleep and then go to see Amber tomorrow.
His cell rang and he thought about letting it go, but saw the caller was his investigator.
He flipped the phone open. “Menendez here.”
The investigator spoke in rapid Catalan, but Miguel had no trouble understanding.
“Amber is living with her mother in George Wentworth’s home? And she’s working for him? In what capacity?”
He didn’t know what shocked him the most, that Amber had moved away from her beloved warm beach, that she was living with a man old enough to be her father or that she was working for him. But the investigators next revelation, sent Miguel’s mind reeling in a free fall.
George Wentworth’s daughter was almost a mirror image of Amber Taylor. The investigator had done some further checking and discovered that Wentworth had twin daughters, but one of them had disappeared from the hospital less than a week after birth. There was only one conclusion to draw from this, considering how alike Amber and Eleanor Christofides were in looks. Amber was George Wentworth’s daughter.
Miguel didn’t know how her mom fit into this strange turn of events, but the fact that she was living in Wentworth’s house right now, too, said something.
He was tempted to order an immediate flight to the East Coast, but common sense prevailed. If he was exhausted, his pilot would be, too. He needed sleep before seeing Amber and time to digest this new information.
He called and ordered an early morning takeoff instead, then despite all the stuff crowding his brain, he slept.
Amber schooled her features into a pleasant expression and then went downstairs to meet her family for dinner. Ellie and Sandor were here, too, and she knew that she had to be careful to project positive emotion or her sister was going to start asking questions again.
In some dim part of her brain, it surprised her that her mom was easier to fool than her sister. But maybe that was because Helen Taylor seemed as intrigued by George Wentworth as Amber was. Though for obviously different reasons.
At first, Amber had thought the interestwas because he was her father, but after moving to Boston, she’d come to see that her mom’s fascination with her father was much more personal. She was glad for her mom even if the joy didn’t reach all the way inside. Her brain told her this was a good thing and that if her heart could feel anything, it would be happy.
Ellie was smiling and chatting with their father when Amber walked into the living room, but her sister jumped up and rushed over for a hug when she saw her.
Amber returned the embrace, careful not to pull away too quickly.
Ellie kept hold of her arms as she stepped back a little and looked to Amber closely. “You look great.”
“Thank you. You, too.” Ellie didn’t dress as trendily as Amber, but she always looked nice and this evening was no exception.
“How are you liking your new job?”
“I like it, more than I expected even, but Mom’s fascination with financial details rubbed off somewhere along the way.”
“And she’s wonderful at it, too,” her mom chimed in, her voice warm.
“So her supervisor tells me,” her dad said with a smile and a small one-armed hug for her mom.
