Seduction on the Sand (The Billionaires of Barefoot Bay #2)(47)
“What’s this about?” he asked, getting a sense that it wasn’t about seeing her soaking wet, either.
“I just need your signature.”
“Oh.” Relief washed through him as he let out a breath he’d been holding since he heard the edge in her voice. “You just want an autograph?”
“No, I want your signature.”
That couldn’t be good. “Listen, sweetheart, I have to play a ball game. So, later’s better.” Later, he’d be surrounded by his rec softball team and some pro ballplayers, safe from any accusations, blackmail, or sob story she might fling at him.
“Over here.” She gestured toward an empty table on the patio that had been transformed into a press conference just a few minutes ago. The wait staff of the Casa Blanca Resort & Spa were already cleaning up, and the event attendees had all gone to the beach to watch the game.
Which was where he suddenly wanted very much to be.
“Whatever it is, make it fast,” he said, irritation and maybe a little fear taking all the tease from his tone. She was hot, no doubt about it, but he smelled trouble. Big trouble in this little package.
She responded by scraping a chair over the wooden deck as she pulled it out...for him. He stayed where he was while she took the other chair and opened up a large handbag.
Damn it, he hated women who had to have all the control.
“Okay...Liza.” He rolled the name on his tongue, taking time to appreciate the sassy and sexy sound of it and wishing she were just a little more of both. Why the hell couldn’t he remember where and when they’d met?
“I really think you’re going to want to be sitting down for this.”
Son of a bitch. “What do you have?” he asked, irritation prickling his spine. Irritation and worry.
He’d sworn on his life that there wouldn’t be any more trouble, no more headlines, no more...sex tapes. Oh, that had been a bad week.
She placed a large manila envelope on the table.
“Pictures?” he guessed with a choke. “How original.” Every stinking blackmailing female in a nightclub had their secret cell phone shots. Which was why he’d sworn off nightclubs, too. “Oh, don’t tell me, TMZ has offered five figures.” He took a step closer, unable to resist knowing what she had.
Not that it would surprise him. “Let me guess. You’ve got ‘Naughty Nate’ bare-ass naked in Vegas or Cabo. He’s got a joint in one hand and a fifth of Tito’s in the other. Some dot-com billionaire’s wife has her hand on his johnson and they’re about to fall into a hot tub with four more blondes.”
Sickening that he could describe that situation just a little too clearly. No wonder he was in such hot water. And not the kind with four blondes waiting for him.
She didn’t answer, but slid a long white paper from the envelope and a spiral notebook.
What the—
“Nate! You’re on deck!”
He ignored the announcement, hollered from the sand, instead dropping into the chair next to her.
“So, how much?” he demanded. “You want me to beat the highest bidder?” The question went against everything he’d been taught as a member of a family with the ironic—and iconic—last name of Ivory. A family that was anything but pure and had trained all members that the first check was just that...the first. A blackmailer never went away.
But he absolutely refused to get embroiled in one more scandal and, damn it, if he had to pay to get rid of her, he would. Whatever it took to prove to Wilhelmina Ivory that he was worthy of the family name she and the General had built from nothing.
His grandparents had given him one last chance, and he was not about to blow it.
“I don’t want you to beat the highest bidder.”
Okay, not money. Access to the Hollywood studio his older brother ran? A meeting with his other brother, the senator? Maybe inside-trading information from his cousin on Wall Street?
“Everybody wants something, Liza,” he said on a sigh. Especially from an Ivory.
For the first time, the closest thing to a sweet expression settled on her lovely features. Her lips softened from a tight line to a soft hint of a smile. Dark brows unfurrowed, and a slight blush of pink deepened her creamy complexion.
“Yes, everybody does want something,” she whispered. “And I want you to sign this document.”
She slid the paper toward him. “And then I will go away and you can play softball and drink in Cabo with other guys’ wives and have cocktails on your yacht.” She slathered the last word with disdain.
“I promise, you will never see or hear from me again.”
A few minutes ago, that would have disappointed him. But now? He had to slide off his shades to read the paper. “What is this?”
She didn’t answer as he focused on the words.
He blinked at the legalese, his name typed neatly in the blanks. And hers. And... Dylan Nathaniel Cassidy, age four.
“Who is Dylan?”
“Your son.”
The words slammed like a power-punch to his temple, and for a second he actually saw stars. A kid? He’d been so careful. His whole freaking life, he’d been so damn careful about this. Very slowly, he lifted his gaze from the page to her face, digging like a dog in dirt for a shred of a recollection of this woman, a date, a night, an encounter, a damn quickie in the back room of a party.