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‘I sure hope so,’ Monroe agreed, dismissing Halle as he booted up his computer and printed out a ream of papers.
His voice droned on detailing all the ‘Xtreme Trust-Building’ exercises that had been arranged for them over the next two weeks while Luke jotted down notes in his reporter’s notebook. Halle couldn’t hear a word of it over the angry buzzing of a thousand killer bees in her skull.
She’d come all the way to Tennessee to stop Luke writing a book that would expose her and her children to the glare of publicity. And she’d got him to agree not to name her in his article. But what if, by protecting herself, she’d exposed Lizzie instead?
She wanted to whack Luke over the head with a large, blunt object. A six-inch vibrator would have done the job nicely. Unfortunately, hers was back in London sitting in her bedroom drawer, gathering dust.
‘What the hell was that about?’ Luke slammed the cabin door, happy to see Halle stiffen before she swung to face him. ‘We had an agreement. And you don’t get to circumvent it by blabbing to Monroe.’
He’d held on to his temper while she sulked through Monroe’s outline. He’d even let her waltz off as soon as they’d left the guy’s office, but now they were back in the safety of the cabin, well away from prying eyes, he was getting a few things straight. No way was he letting her stay in another cabin. He didn’t care if she needed Wi-Fi. She wasn’t in charge any more.
She stormed forward, her face furious. Well, at least he’d got past the epic sulk.
‘How dare you think you can use Lizzie in your article, you unscrupulous hack. Well, I’m telling you now it’s not going to happen. Because I will sue your bloody socks off if you try.’
‘What?’ The single word barrelled out on a shocked gasp. Her accusation had come from so far out of left field he hadn’t been able to brace before it had smacked into him. ‘Exactly how much of an arsehole do you think I am? I’m her father, dammit, her welfare and well-being are just as important to me as they are to you.’ If not more so, he thought, trying to repel the sharp slither of guilt stabbing under his breastbone.
Maybe that hadn’t always been the case. Maybe he had been crippled by doubt once, reacting out of fear and self-loathing to Halle’s pregnancy and the prospect of fatherhood. But he’d made peace with himself about that years ago.
She’d made him sign a secrecy clause, made him agree not to tell Lizzie where they were. The stipulation had rankled when her solicitor had sprung it on him a week ago. He didn’t like being put in a situation that might force him to lie to his daughter if she asked.
But he was livid about it now. Did she seriously believe he would use his daughter to sell a damn article?
He’d been a good dad. Maybe not a perfect dad, because he’d been learning on the job. But he’d been through hell and back to get himself straight, to heal those parts of himself that had destroyed his relationship with Halle and nearly destroyed his relationship with his child. And he’d proved himself in all the years since, proved that he loved his daughter.
He was here now because he wanted an equal place in Lizzie’s life. And he was through being sidelined by Halle. And made to feel as if he didn’t deserve to be Lizzie’s dad because he’d run once when he was a terrified kid with issues he couldn’t control.
He refused to be put on the defensive about that again. By someone who didn’t know the first thing about his parenting skills.
/> He grasped her arm, tugged her forward until they were nose to nose, the fury and hurt at her accusation making his fingers shake.
‘The article’s going to be about Monroe, his resort and his crackpot methods,’ he sneered, determined to get at least one thing straight. ‘I agreed not to name you in it, but no way in hell would I name Lizzie, or expose her in any way. I love my daughter. I would never intentionally hurt her. And I happen to be a well-respected journalist.’ His voice rose as outraged pride came to the fore. ‘I don’t need to exploit my daughter to sell my work. My byline is more than enough. And I didn’t need a bloody confidentiality clause to keep me in line.’
‘OK.’ She stepped back, her pale skin livid with colour. ‘Let go of me.’ She tugged on her arm, and he released her, suddenly brutally aware of the warmth of her skin beneath his thumb.
‘OK? That’s all you’ve got to say?’ he asked, as stunned by her sudden capitulation as he was by the colour darkening her face now to a rich rosé.
‘I’m sorry,’ she murmured, stunning him even more. She was? ‘I’m tired and jet-lagged and I lost my temper. And I guess I overreacted …’ She paused, obviously struggling to find the words. ‘That’s not why I asked you to sign the confidentiality clause.’
‘Then why did you?’
‘Don’t pretend you don’t know.’ Her cheeks were shining like beacons now, setting off the gold flecks in her irises and disconcerting him. The short hairs on his nape stood to attention. Because there was something fizzing in the air that didn’t feel like fraying tempers any more. Something that felt a lot more dangerous.
Then his gaze got stuck on the full bottom lip she’d trapped between her teeth. And the danger level increased.
‘I’m not pretending I don’t know. I’m telling you I don’t,’ he said, forcing his gaze away from her mouth, only to get it trapped in her eyes. Drawn in by those tempting gold shards, shining in the hazy amber. ‘Why didn’t you want me to talk to Lizzie about the article?’
‘I just …’ She paused. ‘I didn’t want Lizzie knowing we were coming here together and getting any ideas.’
‘Ideas? What ideas?’
Her breath shuddered out and he felt the echo of her sigh. Pretty much everywhere.
‘She used to draw pictures, lots of pictures in her free time at primary school.’ Pictures? What pictures? ‘After Aldo was born, she stopped doing them. I guess she got distracted, wrapped up in her new baby brother. But before … Every Friday she would run out of the school gates and hand me another one.’
‘I still don’t know what you’re talking about.’ What did Lizzie’s artwork as a kid have to do with anything?
‘Didn’t she ever draw you pictures? She must have.’
