Millionaire Dad's SOS

A woman who hid a sharp tongue behind her soft lips. A woman whose wickedly intelligent eyes could make lesser men forget themselves.

Zach pushed till his muscles burned.

Forgetting himself was not an option. It would mean forgetting a little girl who had no one else left in the world to protect her bar him.

His daughter. A daughter only a handful of trusted people even knew about.

No one else could know. Not yet. Not now.

She was so very young. Her life so recently upheaved. It was all he could do to keep her safe.

To do that he had to keep her from those in the media who would carelessly make bold, loud assumptions about her future before she ever had the chance to find her footing in the present.

He knew full well how even the most innocent of comments at that age could influence how one thought about oneself. He’d met more than one person in a position of power who’d taken some kind of sick pleasure in telling a lonely orphan kid that he was nobody and would grow up to be even less. Decades on he still remembered each and every one.

He’d never forgive himself if that happened to her because of her relationship to him. And that meant keeping her identity concealed from those for whom Meg Kelly was their most prolific source of sustenance.

Eyes on the horizon, he ran until his shins ached, his heels felt like rock, and his body was drenched in thirty-five-degree sweat.

He ran until the ugly faces from his past became a blur.

He ran until it no longer mattered how long he’d now been in lock-down in this middle-of-nowhere place trying to make his round life fit into a square hole.

He ran until he was too exhausted to be concerned that he was trying to be a father when, having never had one himself, he had no real clue what the word meant.

He ran until he could no longer quite remember the exact mix of colours it took to make up the most bewitching pair of feminine blue eyes he’d ever be likely to see.

CHAPTER THREE

POST-BREAKFAST, post long hot shower, make-up done, hair coiffed, and changed into a vintage pink designer sundress—the exact kind of body armour she’d have preferred to have been wearing when meeting the likes of Zach Jones—Meg’s skin still felt all zingy.

Not good zingy either. Uncomfortable zingy. Miffed zingy. It didn’t take any kind of genius to know it was all his fault.

Standing in front of Waratah House she held the resort map in front of her, turning it left ninety degrees, then right. Rylie and Tabitha thought she was taking a nap, as they were. All the zinging made that absolutely impossible, so she’d snuck out.

‘Excuse me?’ she said to a passing couple. ‘Do you happen to know which way’s north?’

The gent pointed without even thinking. Amazing. Then his hand remained outstretched, his mouth agape even after she’d hit the bottom of the wide steps and was heading north towards the bulk of the resort, her ballet flats slapping against the stone path.

Her calves were so tight she winced with every step. The blisters on her heels stinging as if they were teaching her a lesson for not wearing high heels.

Message well and truly heard, she wasn’t going to push her luck by going the week without her beloved caffeine as well. She was going to find something sweet and dark and rich and bad for her if she had to hike down the mountain, flag a passing truck and barter her shoes for some at a local milk bar.

The fact that what she craved sounded a heck of a lot like Zach Jones only made her walk faster.

It really was the strangest thing. She was used to people bending over backwards to get her endorsement, to have her wear their product, mention their charity, look sideways at whatever they were touting. Not that she ever agreed unless it was something she’d advocate even without being asked.

Zach Jones, on the other hand, had all but suggested he’d really prefer it if she and her friends would just clear off. To Las Vegas, no less. As far, far away from his resort as possible seemed to be his main point.

Far, far away from him.

Yet there was no mistaking the zing of electricity when he’d touched her. No denying the way the tension vibrating throughout him had melted away when she’d made him laugh. No confusing the way he’d taken his time getting to know her body when she’d unthinkingly told him to take his fill.

And absolutely no doubting, whatever beef he had with her, it was very very personal.

She was nice, for Pete’s sake! She worked her backside off. She was kind to small animals. She gave everyone a fair go. Why shouldn’t she expect to be treated the same way?

It was as though the guy had been given a torch and a map pointing him right towards her Achilles heel—a terminal relic of a childhood spent doing whatever it took to get even a hint that her father cared. That heel couldn’t be soothed with antiseptic cream and Band-Aids.

‘Grrrrr!’ she shouted to the wide-open sky.

When she glanced down a group of guests in matching pale green Juniper Falls Rainforest Retreat brand tracksuits doing t’ai chi on a mound of grass were looking her way. From nowhere one of them pulled out a mobile phone and took her picture.

It shouldn’t have surprised her. It happened every day.

But being on holiday she’d been silly enough to let down her guard. Enter one tall, dark, handsome businessman and her usual cool had gone up in smoke. She had to pull herself together quick smart.

The kind of attention that followed a down-and-out It Girl was far worse than for one who went about her business with cheerful grace. Not only would that adversely effect the family—God, the horror of ever being on the end of that conversation—the one part of her life that was truly her own, her one beautiful unspoiled secret, her time volunteering at the Valley Women’s Shelter, would be gone.

Zach Jones was a very lucky man. They both seemed to want the same thing—for this next week to be drama free. She’d just have to keep Rylie away from Zach, Zach away from Tabitha, and herself aware of the whereabouts of all three so that she could relax. Ha!

Meg picked what felt, and tasted, like birdseed from between her teeth. If she was looking for a reason to really not like him she realised she had one. It was his fault her belly was full of nothing bar raw oats bathed in pale soy milk, bite-sized chunks of some mysterious organic fruit and a green drink so thick and speckled it looked as if it had been scooped out of primordial ooze.

She needed chocolate. And coffee. And bad.

She pulled herself together and waved cheerfully to the group. ‘Good morning, all!’ she called out.

A few people waved back. Several more mobile phones went click-click before the wellness facilitator clicked his fingers loudly and reminded them it would be best to leave their mobiles in their rooms while working towards a mind free of distractions.

Then she skipped up the path as fast as her sore muscles and flat shoes would carry her.

Skirting the eastern edge of the resort grounds, Meg passed an array of cosy guest bungalows peeking out of the edge of the rainforest. One was completely covered in creepers, the next had been built on stilts above a bounty of ferns. Another bungalow had obviously been built around an existing tree. Each was more charming than the last. But unless the gingerbread house from Hansel and Gretel appeared next she wasn’t slowing.

Coffee, chocolate, coffee, chocolate, chugged in her mind along with each step. The large outbuildings she’d seen on the map had to contain food for the staff. Food she planned on sweet-talking her way.

A handful of minutes later Meg’s foot slipped a tad and she realised she was no longer on the white stone path that guided guests everywhere around the resort. Thicker, less perfectly trimmed grass slid underfoot. And the rainforest encroached more tightly on all sides.

She was so hot she was puffing like a steam train. Her brow, her underarms, and the spots behind her knees were slick with sweat. And she realised she had no idea where she was.

A gap appeared in a moss-covered rock wall peeking through the underbrush ahead. A faint path had been beaten into the grass at her feet by regular footsteps so she did all she could think to do and followed.

Barely a dozen steps beyond she found herself in a garden—tiered, and lush with wildflowers in the most amazing, vibrant colours the likes of which she’d never seen.

And beyond that…

A house. But what a simplistic word for the structure crouching silently before her.

A large octagonal structure had been built tight against a rising embankment. It had a pointed thatched roof and more windows than walls. Rope bridges led from the yard up to the front door, and then again from the front door to several separate enclosed rooms scattered haphazardly about the hill face. A meandering creek ran beneath, and a wide deck wound around the lot.

Her brother Cameron, the engineer, would go absolutely nuts for the place. She just stood there and admired the heck out of it, not noticing a rhythmic squeaking sound until it stopped.

She glanced towards the space where the noise had been to find a young girl staring at her. Her small hands were wrapped about the handles of a swing, legs locked straight as she used her feet as a brake to halt her progress through the air. Her long dark hair was pulled back by a yellow headband and flickering in the light breeze.

She must have been six or seven, around the same age as her brother, Brendan’s eldest girl, but with her loose footless pink tights and pink floral shoes browned by mud she was deliciously messy where Violet and Olivia were always picture perfect. As always happened when unexpected thoughts of her favourite girls came to her, Meg’s heart gave an anguished little skip. The skip was always part love, part fear.

Right now they were such innocents. But without their mum around any more to give them balance they were becoming deeply indoctrinated into the Kelly way of life. Meg’s greatest hope was that somehow, some way, they would have a choice in how their lives turned out that she’d never had. And that being the granddaughters of Quinn Kelly didn’t eventually smother those sweet natures for good.

‘Hi,’ the young girl said, and Meg blinked to find herself on the other end of a long, flat, intense stare.

Shoving her concern for the next generation deep down inside where it couldn’t shake her, she took a deep breath and smiled.

‘Hiya,’ Meg said.

The little girl shuffled her feet through the muddy ground till her legs dangled beneath the rubber swing and her hands slid down the chains. ‘I’m Ruby,’ she said.

‘It’s a great pleasure to meet you, Ruby. I’m Meg.’

Ruby’s mouth twisted as she fearlessly stared Meg down. Meg bit back a smile. She was being sized up.

When Ruby came back with ‘I’m seven and a half,’ she knew she’d come up to muster.

‘Seven and a half? That’s impressive. I’m a tad older than seven too, and I’m lost. Any chance you can read a map?’ Meg waved hers back and forth.

Ruby merely blinked at Meg, giving her time to work out the answer for herself.

‘No?’ Meg slowly tucked the map back into the front of her dress. ‘Fair enough. I couldn’t read a map at seven any better than I can now.’

From nowhere her father’s voice came to her. How simple do you have to be not to be able to tell up from down, girl? She placed a hand over her thudding heart and begged it to calm down.

And for good measure found herself, once again, cursing Zach Jones.

It was his fault the resort menu contained nothing remotely normal, thus sending her out into the blinding heat in search of sustenance. It was his indifference that had made her crave comfort chocolate in the first place. He’d started the chain reaction that was bringing up long-since-buried feelings now fanning out like a swarm of angry bees whose nest had been poked with a really big stick. She had no idea what one was meant to do to mollify angry bees, but as for her…

Her hand fell limply to her side as she sniffed the air. ‘What’s that heavenly smell?’

‘Chocolate muffins,’ Ruby said. ‘My nanny cooks them. I don’t like muffins much.’

‘You don’t like muffins? And you call yourself a seven-year-old!’

Ruby’s mouth quirked ever so slightly. Her eyes narrowed for several moments before claiming, ‘My dad likes them so I get her to make them for him so he can take them to work and I just eat the leftovers.’

‘I see.’ Meg licked her lips and looked to where the smell was coming from. The sight of that dramatic dwelling reposing peacefully, silently, privately within the forest had her letting out a long, slow, soothing breath. ‘That is one amazing house you have there, Miss Ruby.’

‘It’s not mine. It’s my dad’s.’

Meg’s eyes swerved back to Ruby to find her toes had slunk together, her chin had dropped and her whole body had curled into itself.

With Violet and Olivia firmly in mind, Meg made sure she had the girl’s full attention before she said, ‘You have your own bedroom, right? Fridge privileges. Access to the TV remote.’

Ruby thought a moment, then nodded.

‘Then that means it’s your house too.’

Ruby looked up at the house thoughtfully. Meg did the same, wondering how close the kitchen might be. And if she might be able to outrun the nanny. Then it occurred to her—it was midmorning on a weekday.

She spun back to Ruby. ‘Shouldn’t you be at school?’

Ruby’s mouth puckered into a defiant little pout and her chin lifted a good two inches. ‘I have a sore throat.’

Meg’s eyes widened as she let her gaze run over the swings, and the Frisbee resting next to them on the lawn. If the kid had a sore throat she’d give up chocolate for ever. Still, Ruby’s rebellious streak hooked her. Maybe the kid was more like her than her nieces after all.

‘A sore throat, you say.’

Ruby nodded, then added a couple of terrible attempts at a sniffle for good measure.

‘You know what?’ Meg said, tapping her chin with her finger. ‘When I was seven and a half and got a sore throat, I found the days went so much quicker if I actually went to school. I know, sounds crazy, huh? But truly, by the time I got home I’d forgotten all about my throat and why it felt sore in the first place!’

Ruby eyed her down a moment before admitting, ‘It has been a very long day.’

Meg laughed before hiding it behind a cough. ‘Okay, now the lesson’s done, you didn’t hear this from me. But if I did stay home from school I let my mum smother me with ice cream and tuck me up with blankets on the couch while I watched daytime TV. That way she knew where I was and I felt better at the same time.’

Ruby blinked, but her expression didn’t change a jot as she said, ‘My mum’s gone.’

‘Gone?’

Ruby nodded.

And then Meg knew from the look in the kid’s eyes ‘gone’ meant she wasn’t coming back. She took a step towards the small girl and knelt down in front of her. ‘Oh, sweetheart.’

Why God let some kids grow up so quick she’d never understand. Now she did understand.

Now she did understand the sore throat all too well. Classic ‘get Daddy’s attention’ manoeuvre. But come on, what kind of father didn’t give his little girl attention when he was the only thing she had left?

The guy obviously had no idea Ruby’s attentionseeking behaviour could escalate so fast and in ways more dangerous than he would ever believe possible. Then again, maybe he knew, and maybe he simply didn’t care.

Meg nibbled at her bottom lip as she glanced back to the house. This wasn’t some shell-shocked urchin at the Valley Women’s Shelter happy to have a pair of warm, comforting arms around her no matter who they belonged to; this was a spunky, healthy-looking kid, surrounded by toys in a multimillion-dollar home. A home Meg was currently trespassing on.

She stood and took three steps back. ‘Sweetheart, I’m sure your dad knows where the ice cream is kept too.’

This time at mention of her father Ruby sat bolt upright. ‘He’s busy. He has an important job with lots of people counting on him. He works all week while I’m at boarding school and only comes home weekends when I come home. But I could go get him now if I really wanted to. To tell him about my throat and all. I just don’t want to.’

‘He works at the resort?’ Meg asked. The imaginary huffy bees were back, swirling about her head with increased volume and intensity.

Ruby said, ‘He owns this one and lots more all over the world. He’s going to take me on his plane and show me all the others one day. He promised. Just not right now. I have school when I’m not sick. But some day.’

Meg heard not much more than blah blah blah as she stared down at Ruby. The dark hair, the wary dark eyes, the natural intensity that even a supposed sore throat couldn’t dampen. Once she saw the similarity it was so blaringly obvious she felt like a fool for not noticing it sooner.

Her blood pounded so loudly in her ears her voice came out rather more flat than she would have liked when she said, ‘You’re Zach Jones’s daughter.’

Ruby’s eyes flashed with the first spark of real enthusiasm and Meg knew she was right even before the girl said, ‘Do you know my dad?’

Did she know Ruby’s dad? Not a jot.

Zach Jones had a daughter. A daughter whose mother was gone.

Hang on, he had a daughter with a mother Rylie hadn’t even known about and Rylie was such a proficient muckraker she probably already knew who really killed JFK and was awaiting the right moment to reveal all.

He had a daughter who was at home sick, or pretending to be. And the only reason Meg saw that Ruby might not want him to know was in case he only proved to her he didn’t give enough of a damn about her to care.

Meg’s fists clenched at her sides, a scene to end all scenes threatening to erupt from within.

She’d seen it time and again listening to stories told by countless women at the Valley Women’s Shelter—men, focused on themselves, on their work, on their local bar, who blithely disregarded their children’s need to be loved. Hell, she’d seen it with her own eyes. She’d felt it with her own heart.

Thankfully she’d taken measures in order for it never to happen to a child of her own. Conclusive measures. Unfortunately none of that helped her from feeling threadbare watching neglect happen to someone else.

Her gaze cleared to find Ruby was still looking up at her with her father’s uncompromising gaze. And while she knew the second she’d found out who Ruby’s dad was she should have walked away, she still said, ‘As a matter of fact I met your dad only this morning.’

‘What did he say about me?’

What did he say? Well, he was actually pretty darned arrogant. He said back off. He said lie low. He said…

Meg’s fingers unfurled from her palms. He’d said he was determined that the privacy of all staying at the resort remained upheld.

He was talking about himself. Him and his anonymous daughter. A daughter who no longer had a mum.

She closed her eyes to hide the mortification that she had beamed her flirty little smile at a man who’d lost his…wife? Lover? Ex? What did it matter? He’d lost the mother of his child.

Far too many adult-only concepts to share with a seven-and-a-half-year-old.

Instead, she gathered up her cheeriest smile and said, ‘I’m such a yabberer I’m sure I didn’t let him get a word in edgewise. If he’d had the chance I’m sure he would have said plenty. How could he not? A daughter who lets her nanny make chocolate muffins even though she doesn’t like them but her dad does. You’re a gem!’

Ruby tried for a smile herself, but her slight shoulders drooped, giving her away. Meg’s heart twitched far harder than she liked for the little girl. She couldn’t let herself get attached. There was no way it could end well.

She opened her mouth to say her long-overdue goodbye when something out of the corner of Ruby’s eye had her springing from the rubber seat like a jack-in-the-box. ‘I have to go!’ she shrieked.

Meg glanced up at one of the small detached rooms to see the wooden blinds snap shut. A flash of silver hair, not dark and curling, meant her heart didn’t stop, but it certainly thundered hard enough for her to know she’d pushed her luck far enough.

Ruby took a last quick step forward. ‘You won’t tell my dad I was on the swings, will you?’

Meg laughed. ‘Not a chance.’ Probably best for her continued health if she didn’t bring any of this up with the man at all.

‘I won’t tell him you were here either, okay?’ Ruby said.

Meg laughed again. ‘That would be fine with me.’

Ruby gave a quick, sweet, girlish wave, and then ran off towards the flickering blinds and freshly baked chocolate muffins, her long hair swinging behind her as she skipped up onto the longest rope bridge and was soon consumed by her astonishing home.

Meg spun on her heel and vamoosed back along the makeshift path, through the gap in the rock wall and out onto the manicured grass of the resort proper. She headed in a direction she thought was probably south. If it wasn’t, someone would put her to rights soon enough.

Her breaths shook as the adrenalin she’d held at bay finally spilled over.

What if when she’d smiled her flirty little smile Zach had smiled back? What if when she’d made him laugh she’d let herself join in? What if when he’d touched her he’d liked it too much to let her go? What if things had happened between them and she’d gone in deep before he’d decided to let her know that he had a little girl?

It had taken her nearly thirty years to get to the point where she finally felt as if she had a handle on her celebrity. There was no way she would knowingly expose a child to it.

It gave her the perfect excuse to wash her hands of the whole situation, get on with her holiday, and forget the lot of them even existed.

Damn him! He’d started this. By including her in his convoluted duplicity he’d made her a part of it. And having met Ruby, talked to her, looked in her eyes and seen herself mirrored right on back she couldn’t let it go.

He might not know it yet, but Zach Jones needed her help. And for the sake of a bright, sweet, adoring little girl who needed him it appeared he was going to get it.

CHAPTER FOUR

MEG rushed to find the Wellness Building to meet the girls for that day’s internal reflection class. While they tried to locate their chi she had every intention of pretending to meditate while dreaming up the perfect way to broach the subject of his daughter when she bumped into Zach Jones again.

With an objective in sight, despite the flat shoes and sore muscles, she had a decided spring in her step when she rounded a thick bank of head-high reeds.

Until she came face to face with a human rear-end.

Male it was, bent from the waist. Knee-length khaki cargo shorts sculpted a magnificent rear belonging to a tanned, solid man fiddling with something in a cooler. And even though she couldn’t see the colour of his hair, or the breadth of his shoulders, or the shape of his arms or any of the other bits that seemed to be permanently imprinted on her mind, she knew it was Zach Jones.

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