by Liz Fielding
They would both be free…
‘Here,’ she said, raising the stakes, touching her lower lip, anticipating the same exhilarating, no-holds-barred kiss with which he’d stopped her walking away. Would use this time to carry them both over the threshold of restraint and beyond thought.
But he did no more than touch her lower lip, tasting it with his tongue. It was all she could do to remain on her feet; her only compensation was knowing how hard this must be for him. To hold back, wait. It would have been difficult to say which of them was trembling more, but he was forcing her to make all the moves, insisting that she be the one to tip it over the edge from a teasing game into a dark and passionate reality.
‘Now, Max,’ she said. Unfastening her dress, she let it fall in a shimmering puddle of silk at her feet, leaving her naked but for the scrap of silk and lace at her hips, lace-topped hold-ups, high-heeled sandals.
His response was to pull loose his tie, remove his jacket and toss it aside, finally turning the key in the lock without ever taking his eyes off her.
She’d thought she’d die with the sheer force of desire his first kiss brought bubbling to the surface, but now every cell in her body seemed to sigh, melt as his mouth kissed a slow seductive trail over her breasts and down across the soft curve of her stomach.
In that moment she felt like a conqueror, a queen receiving tribute from a vanquished king whom she’d made her slave.
But then he hooked his thumbs under the ties of her silk panties removing the last barrier between them, using his mouth until ‘now’ became not a command, not permission to touch, but a whimpering entreaty, a plea for his hands, his body, for all he had to give, and she knew that she’d made a mistake.
As he finally took pity on her, responded to her ‘Max…please…’ lifting her acquiesent body in his arms, carrying her to the great four-poster, she discovered that, far from being the one in control, she was the conquered.
Louise woke in a series of gentle waves. First there was a boneless, almost out-of-body consciousness in which she was dimly aware that it was morning, but felt no pressure to do anything about it. Then came a gradual awareness of a soft pillow beneath her cheek, limbs heavy with the delicious languor of utter contentment.
She nestled down into the pillow, unwilling to relinquish her dreams.
Something warm tickled her shoulder.
She twitched away, burrowed deeper.
It happened again and this time she reached to pull up the sheet, tuck it in, but instead of the sheet her hand encountered warm skin over hard bone.
Her face still buried in the pillow, she flattened her hand over a nose that wasn’t quite straight, a mouth blowing soft, warm breath against her palm.
Not a dream, she thought, as finally awake she recalled where she was, who she was with. Every word, every touch, every little whimper as she begged him to love her. Every fierce sound she’d wrung from him in return…
She turned her head, opened her eyes.
Propped on an elbow, he’d clearly been watching her, waiting for her to wake. The fact that he’d grown impatient sent a ripple of delight coursing through her veins and she slid her fingers through his hair, fantasy fulfilled; she had never seen his short, thick, perfectly groomed hair without wanting to do that. Disturb the outer perfection, shatter his control. She’d done that, she thought, in a moment that was pure victory. Then she rolled over onto her back, drawing him to her.
She’d wanted to be free of him, of the dark primal need for him that had destroyed every other relationship. But there was no hurry. She had until the fourteenth to put together her PR and marketing plan. All the time in the world.
‘Did anyone ever tell you, Max,’ she said, ‘that when you wake a woman from her dreams, you have to replace them with something more…substantial?’
‘First you have to tell me your dreams, my sweet,’ he said, his smile slow and lazy, his eyes smoky-soft in the early-morning light. ‘Tell me all your dreams, your wildest fantasies, and I promise you that I’ll do whatever it takes to make them come true.’
‘You promise?’ The word sent a tiny shiver of apprehension sweeping through her. She dismissed it, said, ‘Have we got that long?’
CHAPTER EIGHT
‘WELL, that’s a give-away smile. Who is he?’
Louise, lost in her thoughts, hadn’t realised she was smiling and abruptly straightened her face. ‘He?’
‘Oh, come on.’ Gemma, her PA, was grinning fit to bust herself. ‘Only a nomination for an award, or a new man in your life, could put a smile that wide on your face. Since it isn’t the award season…’ She held out her hands, palms up, in a gesture that said ‘case proved’. ‘So, come on. Give.’ Then, slapping her forehead, ‘No, don’t tell me-’
‘If you insist,’ Louise replied, more than willing to change the subject. ‘Did Max send over the artist’s impressions of the Qu’Arim restaurant? He said he’d have them here by lunchtime.’
Was her voice quite steady as she said his name? Should saying ‘Max’ be quite such a secret pleasure when she was supposed to be clearing him from her system?
‘You’ve used your royal connections to hook yourself a Meridian prince,’ Gemma continued as if she hadn’t been interrupted. ‘That’s the reason you stayed over for an extra day.’
‘Just call me Princess Louise,’ she agreed. ‘The drawings?’
‘Hmm, not a prince. You didn’t blush.’
‘I’m a PR consultant, Gem. I do not blush.’
‘If you say so.’ Then, ‘You can’t have any secrets from your PA, Lou. It’s not allowed. If I don’t know what you’re up to,’ she said, sitting down and propping her elbows on the desk, ‘I won’t be able to fend off questions from the press when they get wind of it.’
‘Don’t worry about it. In the unlikely event that the press should show any interest in who I’m dating you have my full permission to tell them everything you know.’
‘Unlikely? Are you kidding? You dropped off the gossip planet when you split with James. As far as the diary hacks are concerned, you owe them three years’ worth of copy.’ Then, her chin in her hands, ‘So, you are dating?’
‘No, Gemma.’
‘Sorry, not convinced. A girl doesn’t get that kind of glow without some serious attention from a man who lights up her soul.’
Max did not light up her soul. She wasn’t that kind of fool. Every other part of her, maybe…
‘I’ve been taking vitamins,’ she said.
‘What kind? I want some.’ Then, ‘Really not dating?’
‘You mean the institution where a man asks a woman out, takes her out to a concert or for a meal or whatever he believes is the fastest way between her sheets?’
Gemma nodded expectantly.
‘No. I’m not doing that.’
It was true.
Dating was part of the getting-to-know-you ritual in which a couple circled around each other, tested each other against their own lives to see if they were a fit. Or, failing that, whether the sexual attraction was powerful enough to counteract common sense…at least for the time being.
With Max it wasn’t like that.
They didn’t have to play that game. They’d known each other all their lives. Why waste time sitting opposite one another in a fancy restaurant where the whole world could see them making small talk and leap to its own conclusions, when they could be sharing supper in bed? Why waste time providing gossip for the tabloid diary writers?
Besides, the secrecy added a certain piquancy, an extra level of excitement to their affair.
‘You’re smiling again,’ Gemma said.
‘I can’t think why when I’m still waiting for those drawings.’
‘They haven’t arrived yet.’ Then, turning her head as someone came into the outer office, ‘Correction, the boss has brought them himself.’
‘Max?’
Louise saw the exact moment when Gemma realised the truth. Not that she said anything.
She didn’t have to. She looked at Max standing in the doorway, holding not just the large envelope containing drawings of the Qu’Arim restaurant, but a spray of dusky pink roses, glanced back at Louise and then pointedly removed herself from the office, closing the door behind her.
‘Were all the couriers busy?’ Louise asked as he dropped the roses on her desk.
‘The message I’m delivering is far too personal to entrust with a spotty youth on a motorcycle.’
His hands braced on the arms of her chair, he bent to kiss her, taking his time about it.
The thrill, the tiny shock of delight, was still as new, as startling as the first kiss they’d shared. It made her feel like a giddy eighteen-year-old. And as old and knowing as time.
He pulled back an inch. ‘Besides, I’m on my way to talk to the accountants.’
‘And you decided to take the long way round?’
He grinned, propped himself on the desk. ‘Not because I need the exercise.’
‘Oh, please, I’m not complaining,’ she said, laughing. ‘But I fear that we’ve just been rumbled.’
‘Rumbled?’ He glanced at the closed door. ‘Gemma?’
‘I think the flowers might have been the give-away.’
‘A gift from a grateful employer.’ Then, ‘What, Oliver Nash never sent you flowers?’ he asked, glancing at the vast arrangement that had been delivered to the office, a personal thank-you for the HOTfood launch.
‘He sends Flowers,’ she said, emphasising the capital F with a broad gesture that suggested vast quantities of hothouse blooms. ‘And they are delivered by messenger. He doesn’t drop by with a bunch of roses from the flower seller on the corner.’
‘His mistake.’ He grinned, looked at the roses. ‘Although I didn’t set out with flowers in mind, I have to admit. It was just when I saw these they reminded me of you.’
‘You needed reminding?’
She picked them up, ruffled the velvety petals beneath her fingers and then, aware that he was waiting for her to ask in what way exactly they had reminded him of her she looked up, inviting him to elaborate.
‘Reminded me specifically of the moment when you dropped your dress at your feet. They’re exactly the colour of the incredibly small amount of underwear you were wearing, wanton hussy that you are-’
‘Sh!’ she said, her face turning the same colour as the roses.
‘A wanton hussy who blushes like a schoolgirl.’
‘I don’t!’
He didn’t argue, just reached out, hand closed, and rubbed her hot cheek with the back of his fingers.
‘Is it such a big deal, Lou? Gemma knowing? People saw us dining with Patsy and Derek last week.’
‘No one we knew.’
‘Maybe not. But the maître d’ recognised me and when one Valentine eats in a restaurant that’s not his own, it’s gossip. When two of us do it, it’s news. You’re not exactly low profile, Lou, and Patsy didn’t opt for discretion in her choice of restaurants. She wanted to show you off.’
Louise groaned. ‘I know. Half the staff at that place are probably Diary stringers for the redtops, but I couldn’t bear to disappoint her when she was so excited.’
‘No, of course you couldn’t.’
‘From now on we’ll have to be more discreet.’
‘Will we?’
‘Please, Max,’ she said, imploring him to understand.
‘You have a problem being seen out with me?’ He shook his head. He was still smiling, but not right up to his eyes. ‘And I thought the reason we stayed in was because you couldn’t get enough of my body.’
‘Well,’ she said, desperate to tease him back to a smile, ‘there’s an upside to everything,’
‘But?’
‘But nothing. I don’t care about other people, Max, only Dad. He’s just getting over his heart attack…’
‘And you think if he knew that I was sleeping with his little princess the shock would kill him?’
‘I’m not…I’m not prepared to take the risk, are you?’ she said, flaring up briefly at his lack of sympathy. Then, silently begging him to understand. This affair was too hot to sustain itself for long; it would burn itself out in its own heat soon enough…‘You know how he feels about your father.’
‘Bitter. Chip on his shoulder a mile high.’ Max was not with her on this one. ‘But I’m not my father. Besides, don’t you think he should have got over that at his age?’
‘Try to understand, Max. Your father was the son of an adored second wife while my father saw his own mother abandoned, without support, dying of pneumonia.’
‘The country was at war, Louise. Life was hard for everyone.’ Then, ‘It’s not just that, though, is it?’
She shook her head. ‘No. Your father had everything. Not just two loving parents, but looks, charisma, women falling at his feet.’
‘Children of his own?’
‘Sons,’ she said, the word like a knife to her heart. But even as she said the word she finally understood why her father had wanted to keep the fact that she was adopted a secret. No, not so much a secret as sweeping it under the carpet. Pretending it wasn’t so. Because even in this, most basic of human functions, he’d been eclipsed by his younger, more glamorous half brother…
He’d never been able to forgive his father for being there for Robert. Caring more about Robert. Never able to forgive Robert for having everything.
Was she falling into the same mistake? Unable to forgive, to move on?
He didn’t deserve that from her.
‘He’s finally caught up in the son stakes,’ Max reminded her.
She shook her head.
‘But even in that he was deprived, don’t you see? He didn’t know they existed until last year. He blamed William Valentine for that, too.’
He shrugged. ‘To be honest I have more sympathy with your mother. Have you been to see her recently?’
She shook her head.
‘She needs you, Lou. No matter how much you enjoy Patsy’s company, Ivy’s your mother too.’
‘You think she’d understand…this? Us? Approve?’
‘Like Patsy, you mean?’
Maybe that was why she’d enjoyed the evening with Patsy so much. She hadn’t judged them. They hadn’t had to hide their feelings from her.
‘As my mother, Max. As John Valentine’s wife.’
‘The reason Patsy isn’t bothered, Lou, is because she hasn’t been involved. There’s no history.’
‘That’s not true!’
‘For Ivy, you’re her whole life. Talk to her, Louise.’
‘Not about us,’ she said, not wanting to go there. Determined to keep him with her on this one thing. ‘This isn’t…’
‘Isn’t what?’
She shook her head. ‘Serious,’ she said, opting for the easy answer.
‘Not serious?’ There was a momentary pause. ‘Are you telling me that you’re just playing with me? That all you want is my body?’
‘Absolutely,’ she said, grabbing at this chance to turn it into a joke.
‘Is that right?’ He let the past go and, with an imperceptible contraction of the lines fanning out from the corners of his eyes, began a slow, seductive smile that made her forget all about her mother, her father, instead jolting her into one-hundred-per-cent awareness of him. ‘Are you sure it isn’t because being with me makes you feel just the tiniest bit…wicked?’
‘Only “the tiniest bit”?’ she managed, through a throat apparently stuffed with cobwebs. ‘I was hoping for much better than that.’
His answer was to open his hand, cup her head, lean forward and kiss her, long and deep, his tongue a silky invader that ransacked her mouth, turning her limbs to water.
‘Better?’ he asked, when he’d done and she lay back, limp in her chair.
‘Much better,’ she said, smiling like an idiot in a way that would have confirmed all Gemma’s darkest suspicions.
Blissfully better.
Her plan had been
to gorge on a glut of Max Valentine so that she would lose her appetite for his kisses, his love, but the truth was that they were addictive; the more she had, the more she wanted.
With him she held nothing back. There was no reserve. He turned her on like a searchlight.
‘So,’ she said, her voice pure vamp, ‘do you want to make out on my desk?’
He kissed her once more, but briefly, before straightening. ‘While I’d love to stay and play, sweetheart, I’ve got an appointment that won’t keep,’ he said, backing towards the door, grinning. ‘But hold that thought until our evening meeting. I’ll see you on my desk at six-thirty…’
‘You’re walking out on me?’ Okay, so she hadn’t actually meant it. Well, probably hadn’t meant it. But no way was she letting him get away with that…
‘It isn’t easy,’ he assured her, but he kept on walking.
She let him reach the door before she said, ‘So you don’t want to check that the underwear really does match the roses, then?’
He lost the grin. ‘You’re wearing it?’
‘There’s only one way to find out.’
When he’d gone, Gemma appeared in the doorway. ‘Max was in a hurry.’
‘He was late for an appointment with the accountant.’
Believing her had been his first mistake; coming back to check for himself had been his second.
Two out of three wasn’t bad.
She’d felt the need to test her power, make it as hard as humanly possible for him to leave, but he’d eventually managed to tear himself away. Late, it was true, but still not here. Not that she should be surprised. Max had always taken his responsibilities seriously. Put Bella Lucia before anything-anyone-else. It was, now she understood him a little better, easier to see why.
‘So?’ Gemma picked up the roses. ‘Do these go in water or the bin?’ She sniffed them, pulled a face. ‘They’ve got no scent,’ she said, as if that settled it.
‘Max didn’t buy them for the scent.’ And her smile returned as she remembered exactly why he’d bought them. For the moment he was finding more than enough time for pleasure. ‘Put them in water, Gem. I’ll have them on my desk.’