were dead for real.”
Isabella lost her
smile, her eyes studying Cleo closely; before she could question the shadows
she saw lurking behind the happy greeting, Lucas growled and she looked up into
angry cat eyes that, moments before, had been lazily satisfied. Oh, crap.
“Cleo?” His voice was
a low rumble of controlled anger. “How did you know Miley was alive?”
Cleo turned to her
father and Isabella dropped her hands from her face. The smile dropped off
Cleo’s face when she remembered they had an audience. Isabella turned so that
they were shoulder to shoulder facing Lucas and the men lining up behind him.
She blew out a breath and took Cleo’s hand.
“Cleo knew because I
told her,” Isabella said. Her chin went up and her eyes narrowed when Lucas
growled again.
But he only had eyes
for his daughter at that point. “You knew Miley was in trouble and you didn’t
tell me?”
“I asked her not to tell
anyone . . .,” Isabella started, only to have Lucas hold up a hand and flash a
furious look her way that had the moisture dry up in her mouth.
“I will deal with you
in a minute,” he bit out. “Right now I want to know why my daughter decided to leave you hanging in the wind if she knew you were in trouble.” His
eyes were firing and Cleo stood straighter under the blaze, even as he kept
talking and fanning the flame. “Why she did not tell me so that I could help
you get out of it.” His voice dropped and seemed to gain intensity as the
words came from some cold place deep inside. “She can explain why I spent two
years thinking you were dead, when she could have told me the truth at any
time.”
Cleo’s eyes narrowed,
her mouth tightened as the color in her cheeks attested to her rising
temperature. “Why would I tell you? Until I saw her walk out of your bedroom
with your mark, I had no idea you even liked her.” Cleo’s voice rose, where
her fathers had dropped, but the emotion behind the words was no less angry.
“You should have told
me.”
“Why? When do you tell
me anything? She was my friend and you fired her for no reason. Then you
refused to discuss her. Tell me, Dad ,” she said, her words a bite of
frigid cold that stung. “Why would I tell you anything , when you closed
down every time I tried to bring her up?”
“You should have
brought it to me if you knew she was in trouble.”
“How would I know that
you would help her?” Cleo snapped out the words, her own growl backing them up.
“You fired her. She was my friend and you sent her away. Not once,”
Cleo spat out, clearly as furious as her father, “did you think about how much I would miss her. I was a 17-year-old girl surrounded by men when Miley
came to us. She was the one who got me through my teens. She taught me how to
wear make-up and shop. She was the one I talked to about boys and music. And
you fired her for nothing, the one person I could talk to. How could I
possibly know that you would even care that she was in trouble?”
“Cleo . . .” He closed
his eyes and took a breath clearly holding on to his patience. “Maybe you have
a point. I should have explained what was happening and why I did what I did.
But you were seventeen, sweetheart, and a father does not tell his teenage
daughter that he’s in love with a woman and scared out of his mind that he will
do something to put her in harm’s way.” At his words, Isabella felt her entire
body freeze up, but while the words ‘in love with a woman . . .’ reverberated in
her head, Lucas was going on, his eyes only for Cleo at that moment. “I should
have talked to you about her, I knew you were close, just not how close . . . But,
bottom line Cleo, is that Miley was in trouble and I could have helped her, and
you know,” he stepped forward and placed his hand on the side of his daughters
face, holding her tight enough to make his point, “You know , Cleo, that
I would have
Isabella lost her
smile, her eyes studying Cleo closely; before she could question the shadows
she saw lurking behind the happy greeting, Lucas growled and she looked up into
angry cat eyes that, moments before, had been lazily satisfied. Oh, crap.
“Cleo?” His voice was
a low rumble of controlled anger. “How did you know Miley was alive?”
Cleo turned to her
father and Isabella dropped her hands from her face. The smile dropped off
Cleo’s face when she remembered they had an audience. Isabella turned so that
they were shoulder to shoulder facing Lucas and the men lining up behind him.
She blew out a breath and took Cleo’s hand.
“Cleo knew because I
told her,” Isabella said. Her chin went up and her eyes narrowed when Lucas
growled again.
But he only had eyes
for his daughter at that point. “You knew Miley was in trouble and you didn’t
tell me?”
“I asked her not to tell
anyone . . .,” Isabella started, only to have Lucas hold up a hand and flash a
furious look her way that had the moisture dry up in her mouth.
“I will deal with you
in a minute,” he bit out. “Right now I want to know why my daughter decided to leave you hanging in the wind if she knew you were in trouble.” His
eyes were firing and Cleo stood straighter under the blaze, even as he kept
talking and fanning the flame. “Why she did not tell me so that I could help
you get out of it.” His voice dropped and seemed to gain intensity as the
words came from some cold place deep inside. “She can explain why I spent two
years thinking you were dead, when she could have told me the truth at any
time.”
Cleo’s eyes narrowed,
her mouth tightened as the color in her cheeks attested to her rising
temperature. “Why would I tell you? Until I saw her walk out of your bedroom
with your mark, I had no idea you even liked her.” Cleo’s voice rose, where
her fathers had dropped, but the emotion behind the words was no less angry.
“You should have told
me.”
“Why? When do you tell
me anything? She was my friend and you fired her for no reason. Then you
refused to discuss her. Tell me, Dad ,” she said, her words a bite of
frigid cold that stung. “Why would I tell you anything , when you closed
down every time I tried to bring her up?”
“You should have
brought it to me if you knew she was in trouble.”
“How would I know that
you would help her?” Cleo snapped out the words, her own growl backing them up.
“You fired her. She was my friend and you sent her away. Not once,”
Cleo spat out, clearly as furious as her father, “did you think about how much I would miss her. I was a 17-year-old girl surrounded by men when Miley
came to us. She was the one who got me through my teens. She taught me how to
wear make-up and shop. She was the one I talked to about boys and music. And
you fired her for nothing, the one person I could talk to. How could I
possibly know that you would even care that she was in trouble?”
“Cleo . . .” He closed
his eyes and took a breath clearly holding on to his patience. “Maybe you have
a point. I should have explained what was happening and why I did what I did.
But you were seventeen, sweetheart, and a father does not tell his teenage
daughter that he’s in love with a woman and scared out of his mind that he will
do something to put her in harm’s way.” At his words, Isabella felt her entire
body freeze up, but while the words ‘in love with a woman . . .’ reverberated in
her head, Lucas was going on, his eyes only for Cleo at that moment. “I should
have talked to you about her, I knew you were close, just not how close . . . But,
bottom line Cleo, is that Miley was in trouble and I could have helped her, and
you know,” he stepped forward and placed his hand on the side of his daughters
face, holding her tight enough to make his point, “You know , Cleo, that
I would have
Similar Books
