Revenge Read Online Free Page A

surrounded the river, Max McKee generated a kind of sexual energy that should have been reserved for movie stars and professional athletes. His lips were thin, nearly cruel, and the spark in his eyes was as cold as a Blue Norther.
    Skye could barely breathe. She reached for her drink, nearly toppling it over onto the table.
    His large, work-roughened hand was clasped around the chubby fingers of a springy-haired girl of five or six. His daughter. An ageless pain ripped through Skye’s soul as she stared, speechless, at man and child.
    She was vaguely aware that the other patrons had turned their heads, drawn to the silent scene unfolding in front of the counter.
    Max, as if suddenly aware that he was causing a stir, pulled on the little girl’s hand and guided her toward the booth where Skye sat frozen. His features, already hard angles and planes, seemed to turn more grim, and his eyes, shaded by thick gold-brown brows, were the same piercing, angry sea green that she remembered.
    He slid onto the bench of her booth and glared at her without a speck of joy. “I heard you were coming back,” he said without so much as a hello.
    â€œBad news travels fast.”
    He snorted. “The big city lose its attraction?”
    â€œSomething like that.”
    â€œMax, what’ll it be?” The heavyset waitress appeared, pad and pencil ready, smile wide for the son of one of the richest men in the county.
    â€œCoffee for me. A swirl cone for—”
    â€œIn a dish!” the child insisted.
    â€œIn a dish,” he repeated, “for Hillary.”
    Hillary. A beautiful name for a pretty little girl.
    â€œThat’s it?” the waitress—her name tag read Sarah—asked, smiling broadly, almost flirting with Max.
    â€œThat’s it.”
    Sarah scooted away, leaving a yawning silence. Skye fiddled with her glass but managed what she hoped seemed like a genuine smile. “So, you’re Hillary,” she said, turning her attention to the curly-haired sprite who was playing with the salt-and-pepper shakers.
    â€œWho’re you?” the imp asked.
    â€œThis is Skye...Donahue?” he asked, then glanced pointedly at her ringless left hand. “Dr. Donahue.”
    Skye lifted a shoulder. “You can call me—”
    â€œDr. Donahue,” Max cut in.
    â€œYou can’t be a doctor,” Hillary said, her little brow puckering in concentration.
    â€œWhy not?”
    â€œYou’re a girl.”
    â€œA woman,” her father corrected as his eyes locked with Skye’s for an instant. Skye felt her pulse pounding in her throat. A tickle of a memory, of a dewy field and wild flowers, of sunshine and laughter, of kisses and cold wine, touched at her mind, but she shoved it steadfastly away. She would not, would not, remember all those rose-colored memories of her first love with the man bold enough to seat himself squarely across from her. The man who had turned out to be as ruthless as his father.
    â€œThat’s right,” Skye said, forcing herself to concentrate on the conversation, “but just because I’m a woman—or you’re a girl—doesn’t mean you can’t do anything you want to.”
    â€œI don’t want to be a doctor.” Hillary wrinkled her nose at the prospect and grabbed her spoon. “I hate shots!”
    Skye couldn’t help but smile. “What do you want to be?”
    â€œA bride!”
    Skye’s throat turned to sand. “A...a bride. Well, I suppose you can do that, but—”
    â€œBut you might want to have a backup plan, just in case things don’t go the way you think they will,” Max said to his daughter, though the words, spoken so coldly, could only have been meant for Skye.
    Sarah brought Max his coffee and his daughter a towering dish of already-melting soft ice cream. Hillary, rather than accept a booster chair, knelt instead and, half-bouncing on the