A Hint Of Scandal

Not when it was another woman’s man. Dear God, he belonged to her twin—the one person who had stood by her no matter what.

Somehow Olivia held on to a semblance of composure as she smiled and talked to the guests, nodding enthusiastically as Kim and Alexander’s friends raved on and on and about how perfect they were for each other, pretending to know them. If they thought it was strange that the always intelligent and articulate Kim was mostly silent, they could put it down to the excitement of being a new bride.

She had to bite the inside of her mouth to stop thrusting her tongue out as her father praised Kim’s success to anyone who would hear... If only he knew...

She had no idea how she lived through the torturous dance with Alexander. Each sinuous, slow movement threw her against his muscled strength, with the pulsating energy between them winding her up, the scent of him seeping into her every pore. Her muscles groaned at her stiff posture by the time the dance came to an end. Only the enticing prospect of sinking into the claw-foot bathtub with numerous silver faucets she had spied back in Kim’s suite kept her standing.

Just as she released a breath of relief and untangled herself from Alexander the front man of the lively native band announced the bride’s dance with her father.

No, no, no.

Olivia froze midway on the polished lacquer floor, feeling the color leach out of her face. Fear gripped her insides in an unforgiving knot, and the corseted bodice of her gown was crushing her lungs as her father walked toward her, a genial smile on his handsome face, the very image of a loving father, his stride purposeful as ever.

She couldn’t do this. She couldn’t dance with him—not without the whole pretense blowing up in her face. She shivered, sliding into the skin of that clumsy fifteen-year-old forced to dance with her father on her birthday. Stand up tall and look me in the eye. She could still hear the caustic hiss of his disapproval when she had accidentally trod on his toe, could still feel the painful, cutting press of his fingers on the skin of her shoulders, eroding another piece of her.

The more he criticized, the more she had faltered. He would have gone on forever except Kim had intervened, claiming her turn, and proceeded to pacify him with her perfection. Always. Kim had done it to divert their father’s attention from her. Liv knew that. But in the end her twin’s perfection had only showcased Olivia’s failure even more.

The memory coursed through her like acid, eating away at the armor she had grown, exposing wounds that she had thought covered, if not healed. She gasped for breath when a guest stopped her father. She hadn’t talked to him in six years and she couldn’t now. He would know in a nanosecond that she wasn’t Kim. And he wouldn’t even go along with it until she could explain. No, he would bring holy hell down upon her right there, until the whole world gleefully concluded that Olivia Stanton had once again screwed up—and this time her own sister’s life.

Pain sliced through her, robbing her of breath. The very intensity of it was still so raw. She wanted to be able to look him in the eye, not to flinch when she saw the corroding disappointment in his gaze. But she couldn’t, because nothing had changed. She just wasn’t good enough—not now, not ever. Not even to be a stand-in for her perfect sister.

She rubbed her forehead with trembling hands and turned toward the exit, her legs rubbery. “My head feels awful. Please apologize to my father,” she threw at Alexander.

She could feel his razor-sharp gaze drill into her back until she stepped out of the banquet hall. But she couldn’t look back. Right now, all she needed was to escape.

* * *

Picking up a champagne flute from a passing waiter, Alexander stilled and stared at Kim’s retreating form. She looked pale and intensely troubled, her hurried gait anything but graceful. And even as he watched she tottered on those heels. The doubts that had been niggling at him all evening crystallized into irrefutable truth, shock stunting his movements.

The woman running away as though the devil was on her heels was Olivia Stanton, the embodiment of everything he despised in a woman—selfish, impulsive and scandalous—who could wreck everything: his reputation, his sister’s care. With one reckless word or action.

Kim would have never run at the sight of her father. No, it was Olivia who couldn’t run fast enough. After all, the rift between Jeremiah Stanton and his younger daughter was continuing fodder for the tabloids, among other things.

Fury washed up through him in tidal waves, an incessant drumbeat drowning out the innocent chatter around him. Why had they switched? When had they switched?

The answer came to him with crushing clarity. He had slipped the wedding ring onto Olivia’s finger, his gaze snagging on her lips, fascinated by the blood-red lipstick, wondering how he had missed this side of a woman he had known for six months.

Everything he had worked for his entire life now rested in the hands of a good-for-nothing party girl who didn’t know the meaning of responsibility.

The crack of the champagne flute in his hand pulled him out of the red mist. Ignoring Jeremiah’s concern, he took a turn toward the exit.

He made his way to the suite that Kim had occupied since her arrival at his mansion a week ago, his steps unhurried in contrast to the blistering anger coursing through him.

Olivia was going to rue the day her self-centered, worthless existence had entered his life.

CHAPTER TWO

HAVING NOT FOUND her in the suite, he’d looked out at the beach view. Something white and gossamer shimmered in the moonlight, contrasting against the dark backdrop of the ocean.

His heart racing, Alexander quickened his steps over the landscaped wooden floor. The minuscule light thrown by the artistically placed lanterns along the gravel path did nothing to make his mounting fury abate. Disbelief poured through him, stalling his usually quick thought processes. He hurried past the artificial landscape, reaching the untouched strip of beach behind the mansion that was his private haven.

He came to a standstill, his heart pounding. Used to the pitch-dark of the night, he turned his head in time to see a flash of alabaster skin, a pale shoulder above the powerful waves. She was about half a mile ahead, and even in the moonlight he could see that she was struggling, her strokes not very elegant or even strong.

The wedding dress and the silver sandals lay in a pile on the sand. The rip in the lacy neckline was visible even in the limited light, a testament to the rush she had been in. The custom-made diamond necklace, his wedding gift to Kim, glittered on top of the lace.

He glanced around the beach he knew like the back of his hand. Miles of sand and ocean stretched on either side. There would be no one around except his security men at the far end of the estate. No guest was allowed to venture into this private strip. She could drown and no one would know.

His hands fisted at his sides. Olivia Stanton gave new meaning to recklessness. Undoubtedly Kim was somewhere cleaning up her mess while Olivia lazed around in the aftermath of her upheaval. Only she had messed with the wrong man this time. Someone should have taught the selfish woman a lesson a long time ago.

Alex settled down on a lounger, his anger under control and something more insidious crawling into its place. Just how far was the wild Olivia willing to take her pretense?

* * *

Olivia sucked in a greedy breath as another wave sluiced over her, pushing her back a little more. She wanted to linger in the water, but her shoulders and arms were beginning to hurt. She had never been the greatest swimmer, but the cold water had pierced through the bubble of anguish that had swathed her, choked her. The dark silence of the moonlit night had been a diversion—at least for a few minutes.

She grunted and pushed through the water at a pace that had her arms feeling like lead weights, her thighs groaning at the exertion. She was always going to be a coward when it came to her father, never daring to stand up to him. She would always run instead.

She reached the sand with a guttural groan, her limbs feeling like rubber. She lay facedown, her lungs a deadweight in her chest. Sand stuck to her wet skin and hair, chafing at her. She had narrowly missed her father’s wrath but she still had Alexander to deal with. If Kim didn’t return soon.

Mere seconds after the thought, the hair on her nape stood up, her skin prickling with a panic she couldn’t shake off.

“Are you naked?”

The question startled her, laced with a huskiness that gave her goose bumps. She tilted her head up in the direction of the voice. Alexander was sprawled on a lounger half a foot away, an arm flung behind him casually, watching her, his expression hidden by the fan of his lashes.

Yet there was nothing casual about his gleaming blue eyes, or in the calculating appraisal in them as they traveled over her. With his jacket gone and the neck of his white shirt unbuttoned, which exposed a thoroughly distracting strip of brown flesh, he wasn’t the hardheaded businessman anymore. Instead, a touch of roguish danger simmered around him.

Olivia swallowed. She had run straight to the beach as if the devil himself were after her, the only thought in her mind to flee. Now he had another point against her. The idea of slipping back into the water with the possibility of sinking like a stone held more allure than facing him.

She sat up slowly and scrunched her knees to her chest. Pretending to be brushing off the sand on her legs, she gripped them, waiting for the shaking to subside. Refusing to look at him, she stared straight ahead, the tranquility she had found earlier evaporating like a mist. Her fingers slipped on her legs as he moved closer and came to a standstill near her.

She gave up the fight and turned. His feet were coming into her view. Nothing there that would make her feel even a little better—like a lot of hair on the toes or a couple of unsightly growths. No, instead, they were large brown feet, with evenly spaced toes. “You know what they say about men with large feet, Olivia.” Her friend Amelie’s declaration skated into her head and she grinned.

Not now, Liv. “Of course I’m not naked.” Why did she sound so unsteady? Dusting away the remnants of sand, she stood up, still not meeting his eyes. “I need a shower.”

With a small movement he shifted his body to block hers. His fingers settled on her bare shoulders.

Liv shivered, the hot press of his fingers searing her skin. “Alexander—”

His finger moved to her mouth, effectively silencing her. “You robbed me of the pleasure of ripping that dress off you. At least let me look at what I would have discovered.”

Her tummy took a roll as he took a step back. Look away, Liv. Through sheer willpower she resisted the temptation to meet his gaze. Only that was worse. With her eyes closed every other sense became hyperaware. Her ears tuned in to the sound of his fractured breathing, her nose was filled with the scent of sea and male arousal, and her skin tingled as though he’d run his hands all over her.

Alex couldn’t take his eyes off her body. Heat surged through him, tautening his lower belly. His blood was flowing hotter and faster, making a beeline to regions south. He hadn’t asked the question to be censorious. He had been genuinely curious. She had surfaced out of the water and had lain there, the whoosh of her uneven breathing puncturing the silence all around. Her alabaster skin shimmered in the moonlight. The dip of her back and the curve of her butt sent a swift kick of lust to his groin.

Now he understood. She wore nude-colored underwear. At this close distance it was quite modest, compared to the lacy underwear flaunted in every fashion magazine. But then, those lacy, gossamer bras and thongs left nothing to the man’s imagination.

She looked earthily sexy. Her wild brown hair was tinted with shades of gold. Her breasts rose and fell with her shallow breathing. The sight of her taut nipples behind the thin fabric made his throat dry up. The dip of her waist, the curve of her hips, her toned legs—every inch of her body was an invitation of pleasure, would drive even the most sensible man to distraction.

Color suffused her cheeks at his continued scrutiny. “You’re staring at me.”

He hadn’t meant to. He didn’t want to. But she had a body made for sex. Was that why men lost their minds around her? Weak men, who cracked at the first sign of temptation and then it was just a downward spiral. Like his father. The passing thought about his father was enough to cool his desire—more effective than an electric shock.

He took a step back, his senses still reeling. “You’re an awful swimmer.”

Her chin lifted. An imperceptible movement both defiant and hurt.

“If you had drowned no one would even have heard you.”

Olivia felt heat creeping up her cheeks. The strong tide had been the reason she had finally waded out. She couldn’t admit that to him, though. Summoning every ounce of her meager willpower, she stayed still. Her fingers twitched for action. Either to push him off or sink her fingers into his tousled hair. “I didn’t drown.”

A smile spread from his mouth, tugging one corner of it upward, creating a delicious dimple. Sinuous heat slithered through her, pooling toward her groin.

His fingers moved to her nape and pressed gently. “I’m glad.”

He was pure sex on legs when he smiled like that, and he knew the power he wielded. But that didn’t stop the prickle of sensation that crept up along her skin. His contempt she could handle. His seduction, not so much. She took a step back, away from the warm invitation of all that male heat.

He tugged at her wrist, leaving her no choice but to turn around. “Where are you going?”

She folded her arms against her chest, preparing to do her best to sound like her twin. Doubly hard when her heart was galloping in her chest. All she needed was to get away from here—now. Then she would lock herself up until morning. Not that she was scared of him. It was her own aching need, her utter lack of control that she didn’t trust. “I would like to sleep alone tonight.” She fluttered her eyelashes, praying the man had a decent side. “Please, Alex.”

“Fine.”

The weight lifted from her shoulders. Before she could think of a response, he pulled her down with him, until they were both sitting down, shoulder to shoulder.

“Kiss me.”

Olivia couldn’t decide whether to laugh or cry. “But...”

He raised a brow, a mocking smile curving his sexy mouth. “One kiss. You can’t deny your husband that.”

What woman refused to kiss her husband on her wedding night? But kissing him was tantamount to...

He frowned, his thumb moving over his lush lower lip. It was a deviation in the stark landscape of his face. “You’ve been acting strange all evening. I’m beginning to wonder—”

She moved toward him, striving hard to ignore the low thrum of anticipation building up inside her. She had no right to kiss the man. Kim had better have a damn good explanation for this charade. Or Alexander would... She didn’t even want to contemplate his reaction when he discovered the truth. Goose bumps rose up on her skin, dulling the edge of her desire.

His hands folded across his chest. His gaze devoured her. He was leaving it all to her. With her hands on his forearms she anchored herself and bent forward, making sure no other parts of their bodies touched.

Her eyes flew shut the moment she felt his breath upon her mouth. Tilting her head to the side, she touched her lips to the corner of his mouth, aiming for minimal contact. Every good intention vanished like a puff of smoke as the taste and feel of him singed her. Primal need spiraled through her, leaving a trail of agony in its wake. A groan she couldn’t control escaped her. Her hands locked on his chest between them. Their legs were in a tangle. She tucked her head into the crook of his neck, inhaling the wild scent of his arousal, fighting to control her own.

“Say yes,” he rasped near her ear.

Oh, how she wanted to find his mouth again with hers, to run her hands all over his corded strength. Swift on the sinful thought’s heels guilt shot through her, paralyzing every nerve ending, flushing her with shame from within. Contrary to the fact that the media frequently portrayed her as a poster child for scandal, there was a line Olivia wouldn’t cross.

Not again.

She pushed him back with a grunt, frustration and disgust vying within her. “No.” She pressed her fingertips into her arms, finding a perverse satisfaction in her painful grip. Trying to regulate her breathing, she offered him a smile. “I mean, not tonight. I’m really tired.”

He shot her a hard look, coating the very air between them with a chilly frost. “You taste like scotch and the ocean. And yet Kim can’t stand even the smell of alcohol.”

She twisted around so quickly that her head spun. His mouth was set into an unforgiving line and his gaze lanced her, the force of his contempt a live wire between them. He knew it was her.

She launched at him, outrage giving her much-needed momentum. “You know.” His arms between them warded off her blows with little effort. She didn’t care. “You know and you still forced me to kiss you. You bastard.”

Her words fell off him like waves pushing at the sand. His face hard as granite, he grabbed her wrists. “I wanted to see how far you would go.” His mouth tightened and his words were a quiet, menacing whisper. “Color me surprised to discover even Olivia Stanton has some morals.”

She didn’t think. She fisted her hand for a punch. Only his right hand gripped her wrist, his movements quick and agile. She struggled, remembering how hard she had found it to pull herself back from the temptation of his body. And the arrogant jerk had been testing her!

If she hadn’t pulled back when she had...if she hadn’t found that last ounce of sanity...to think how low she would have fallen....

A sob built inside her. His hands held hers down at either side. He could have easily twisted her arm behind her and hurt her. She wouldn’t have blamed him. He didn’t. A moan escaped her as he flipped her easily, sandwiching her facedown between the sand and his hard body.

Hating her complete loss of restraint, she wiggled to be free. The silky sand shifted and glided beneath her until his hard body slipped and covered hers in a sinuous whisper that made her mouth dry. His body slammed into her from behind with just enough force to still her.

“Stop it, Olivia.”

His breath sounded choppy and disjointed as he raised himself away from her. But it was too late. The incredible caress of his erection against her backside was etched on her body forever.

“I don’t want to hurt you.”

He already had. Olivia breathed in and out, sand flying into her mouth, hating the gnawing sensation in her stomach. Why would Alexander King’s opinion have the power to hurt her? She gave that power to no man, not anymore—not since she’d realized she was only asking for more heartache.

She raised her head and turned around. She could do nothing about the trembling in her stomach, but she filled her words with scorn. “I kissed you because I was pretending to be Kim. And, yes, for some unfathomable reason I’m attracted to you. But the whole world knows I’ve the worst taste in men. What’s your excuse?”

* * *

He didn’t have one.

Alexander couldn’t remember the last time he had been so aroused, felt so out of tune with his own body. He usually had no problem controlling his needs as it suited him. Yet in that moment he’d had to summon the last ounce of his self-discipline to stay still. Adrenaline pumped through him, begging for release. He sucked a breath in and counted to ten. His muscles burned. He clenched his teeth.

He loosened his grip on her wrists. Her skin was smooth against his fingerpads. Greedily he drank in the luscious temptation she presented. His thighs shook with the need to lean back into her so that he could feel the inviting cradle of her butt against his erection. Desire rattled through him. He moved his fingers up her arm toward the delicate arch of her neck. She gasped. He jerked back as though burned.

What the hell was he doing? He needed to find out where Kim was, get on a flight to Paris... Instead, he...

He moved to his knees and pulled himself away from her, his mind whirring. “What you provoke in me is a physical reaction—purely animalistic. Temporary insanity fueled by six months of abstinence. There’s nothing more I despise in the world than a man or a woman who can’t control those impulses.”

As though the fight had left her, she sagged into the ground, careful to move her body away from his. “Please, Alexander. Let me go.”

Shifting back, he stared at her, unwilling to touch her even to pull her up.

She sat up and pushed her hair out of her face, her movements jumpy, her willowy body trembling. His gaze fell to the impressions on her wrists. He sank back to his knees with a silent thud, feeling an invisible punch to his gut. Dear God, he had done that to her. Even in the silver light of the moon there was no mistaking the light red marks on her wrists.

Whatever she had done, however much she had provoked him, there was no excuse. Everything he hated within himself, everything he kept tightly bound, had snapped free in a matter of seconds. Shame spiraled through him, cooling his desire, drenching him in a cold sweat—a familiar sick feeling that greeted him like an old friend.

To use brute strength to control...it was the lowest he could sink to.

He pulled her hands into his and cursed when she pulled back like a frightened cat. “We should run some cold water on your wrists.”

She stood up, dusting away the sand from her body, her gaze pointedly looking away from him. “I’ve had worse. This is nothing.”

He hated the clawing need to explain that he wasn’t that man. But he wouldn’t be able to look at himself if he didn’t. “You probably don’t expect better from the men in your life.” He ignored her gasp. “I expect better of myself.” He tilted his head, seeking again the proof of his boorish behavior. “I apologize, Olivia. Nothing justifies my behavior.”

Her gaze studied him, disbelief pouring out of her stiff shoulders. “I provoked you. I—”

He shook his head. “That’s the pathetic excuse of a weak man.”

She opened her mouth to argue but he cut her off.

Stepping back from her, he fisted his hands by his side. “Get dressed. I’ll see you inside.” His words were clipped, his anger at himself coating his throat. “And don’t even think of leaving.”

CHAPTER THREE

IF ALEXANDER HAD assumed that he would be less distracted with her dressed, he was wrong. Just as he stepped into the huge open-plan kitchen Olivia entered through the high archway, covered in his white robe, the one Kim had borrowed from him two days ago, her honey-gold hair gleaming wet, her skin glowing pink.

He pulled his gaze away from the vee of the robe and poured himself a drink from the bar. The sounds of her puttering around the kitchen beat a tattoo in his head. His patience running dangerously thin, he guzzled down his scotch. The erotic reminder of how it had tasted on her was forever imprinted on his mouth.

“I’m waiting, Olivia.”

She slammed the door on the state-of-art steel refrigerator and leaned against it. “Is there any chance of finding food in this godforsaken mansion? Or do you expect me to die of hunger?”

He pushed a chair back and sat down, stretched his legs. A slow ache was beginning to build behind his left eye. “Where’s Kim?”

She glared at him and started digging around in the numerous cabinets. “I don’t know.”

“Don’t play games with me.” He raked a hand through his hair. This morning his life had been mapped out perfectly. He’d been about to marry a woman who was sensible, undemanding—someone who aroused nothing in him except affection and respect, someone who would stand by his side as he gave his sister the life she deserved. Instead, he had slipped the diamond ring on the finger of her antithesis.