He held out a hand, but thankfully didn’t touch me. “Don’t back out on this,” he said urgently. “We’re engaged. That’s real.”
Did he think I was going to drown my sorrows on some young cock?
He took a step toward me but I shook my head. “The media doesn’t matter. It’s you.”
“What?” He was standing in front of me naked, looking like life was about to kick him in the balls and he had no way to protect himself.
“I don’t…” love you. No. I couldn’t say that. “I want a different life. I am who I am. You are Max Banks. We don’t fit.”
He sucked in a slow breath, and I could see his shoulders were tensed, but his voice came out calmly. “I am Max Banks. And I have a career and commitments, debts that my mother has accrued that I can’t walk away from. Trust me, if I could walk away from my life to be with you, I would do it in a heartbeat. But I can’t.”
Some of my anxiety faded. “You’re protecting your mother.”
He nodded. “And if you will let me, I will protect you, to the best of my ability.”
“What does that mean?”
“Financially, emotionally, physically. However you need me.”
“Within the glare of a media spotlight.”
Seconds ticked over while he stared at me. “I can’t make that go away. I can try to distract them. In fact, our marriage would be a great way to stop them hounding you.”
“Marriage?” The room seemed to echo, as if there wasn’t enough oxygen, or my ears were about to start buzzing. How were we up to marriage so quickly?
More seconds ticked over while Max stared at me. “That’s usually what follows an engagement. But people break engagements. The media won’t relent until…” He frowned. “If we’re quick, we could tie the knot before my series starts filming—”
I held out a hand. “Stop. You want us to get married before you start filming?”
This was exactly what Rosie had suspected, and as I stared at his naked body, remembering the feel of it against mine, I had a sudden sharp premonition that I’d never touch it again.
I’d just had the best sex of my life with a man I’d fallen in love with, a man who had told me in every way conceivable that he loved me. And he’d just proposed. Not only that, I’d accepted his proposal, and I didn’t trust him.
I didn’t trust him.
He shook his head. “Do you think this, between us, this is a scam? A publicity stunt?”
“Rosie does.” I crossed my arms, feeling colder by the minute. “But I didn’t believe her.”
“And now?” He gazed at me as the seconds ticked over. “Now you believe her? Now that I’ve asked you to marry me…” He shook his head again. “And you accuse me of not being trusting. Fuck.” He turned away, and put both hands up behind his head, flexing that magnificent back. I couldn’t see if his eyes were closed, but I imagined they were.
“You’re Max Banks,” I said, as if it was an accusation. Because really, that was all I had. I wanted to imagine that if he was a nobody like me, we wouldn’t be having this conversation and I might be able to get over the damage my father had done and believe that love was good. Maybe, by now we’d be showering so we could snuggle into bed and fall asleep together.
Instead, he dropped his arms and walked out, but at the door he said, “I’ll sleep in the second bedroom.”
Before he could go, I asked, “Do you want me to leave?”
He turned back slowly, and for a split-second I was blindsided by how physically beautiful he was, from the top of his tousled black hair to the soles of his feet and every sexy inch in between.
He kept his attention on my face, however, and said, “I never want you to leave. But I can’t make you believe me. I’d like you to stay so we can talk in the morning. Will you do that?”
“I’ll…stay.” I was full of doubts, about him, about what Rosie had said, and about myself. Maybe a good night’s sleep would clear my mind.
He nodded, and then his gaze swept over me, from the messy red curls past my chilled nipples to those shaved pubes. and down the legs that he was always telling me he adored. When he met my gaze, his eyes were so empty it made my heart ache, then he said, “I have no agenda. I just love you. Clearly, that’s not enough.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
“What are you doing here?” Rosie stepped away from the hospital bed and grabbed my arm with a quick, “We’ll be back,” to Angela. Then she steered me out of the hospital room and down the corridor to the waiting room where we’d all hung out the previous night.
The moment we were alone she said, “Do you even look at the media?” Her pretty apricot shift and matching heels should have made her look fresh, but her eyes were tired and there was something about the set of her mouth that spoke of disappointment. I hoped it wasn’t with me.
“I avoided the front entrance. Traci brought me here and we came in the back—” I glanced back at Traci who was watching us from the end of the corridor.
“Television?” Rosie snapped. “Have you switched it on today?”
“Why would I?”
Had Max announced our ‘engagement’? After waking up to a note that said, I had to go. I’ll call you, it seemed unlikely, although he had organized for Traci to escort me to the hospital. That was thoughtful.
Rosie let out a slow breath. “Angela’s been dragged into this now.”
What? I stared at her with no comprehension at all. Bad enough that I’d woken to an empty penthouse. Now Rosie was mad with me. “What are you talking about?”
She pulled a phone out of her oversized grey handbag and fiddled with it for a moment before showing me a video of Tug Dunn, host of the morning television show Sunshine. The moment I saw his face, I remembered that he’d interviewed Angela and given her a big break after the Noah Steele duet at Bohemian Brew which had gone viral on YouTube.
This time, however, Tug was speculating about why the Colonial Cougar had cut short her ‘wild night’ with young Hollywood spunk Tyler Bennett to race to the hospital where sources said her friend, the diva Angel, had been admitted for emergency treatment. Was Angel hurt? Could she have lost her baby?
“No…” Horror spiraled through me and I couldn’t hear any more. I pushed the phone back into Rosie’s hands as if it was poison.
She turned it off and dropped it back into her handbag. “Angela is my client,” she said crisply. “I have to protect her.”
“I have to,” I shot back. “She’s my best friend.” One of the three most important people in my world. “Tell me how to fix this.”
“Go away.”
We stared at each other in the silent waiting room and the blood pounding in my brain was deafening. I shook my head. “Angela needs me,” I said, but there was no conviction in my voice.
Rosie’s stonewall expression never shifted. “She has her husband and two friends who aren’t responsible for the world knowing about her private grief. That’s enough.”
“You don’t get to choose—”
“Yes, I do.” Rosie crossed her arms. “When this broke, Jack asked me to manage it. Angela doesn’t know about it yet.” She stared me down. “I plan to keep it that way for as long as I can. She’s got enough to deal with.”
“But I love her.” I sounded pathetic. Pain was pouring through an open hole in my chest and I wanted it to stop, so I shook my head. “We’ve been friends for twenty years. She’s never shut me out. She never would.”
“I am,” Rosie said coldly. “I’ll tell her that you’re possibly contagious and keeping away.”
“But I have to tell her—”
“You can phone her,” Rosie’s already quiet voice dropped an octave. “So long as you don’t breathe a word about this getting into the press.”
She didn’t need to threaten me. I’d already made things a hundred times worse than they needed to be. Angela would be on the edge of her emotional control as it was. I’d never push her further.
I swallowed si
ckly and nodded. “I’ll go back to Belandera.” There was nothing for me in Sydney anymore. “The media circus might follow me.”
“You can try.”
I wanted to crawl into a hole and die, but as I stared at Rosie, I realized I had one last thing I could offer, so I blurted, “Max asked me to marry him last night.”
Rosie became so still it was frightening. “Was he genuine?”
“I don’t know. But the media won’t care. It might distract them from Angela.”
“It will distract them from Angela.” She nodded several times, never taking her eyes off me. “You’re not lying?”
“I’m not that smart.” I hated saying that aloud but it was true. “And if he was angling for a publicity stunt, then so be it. I don’t care what they say about me, if it means Angela can grieve in peace.”
“Will you front the press and tell them he’s your fiancé?”
I nodded, but the bottom was falling out of my stomach, and I could feel how cold my face had become. I hoped I wouldn’t faint.
She pulled out her phone and punched in a number. When it answered she said, “Tug, it’s Rosie. I’ve got your Colonial Cougar standing in front of me. Max Banks proposed to her last night and if you want to be the one to break this story and get an exclusive interview with her, you need to be at my office in half an hour. Bring a cameraman and don’t tell another soul.”
She listened for a few seconds then said, “Sure. You can confirm it with him over the phone during the interview. He won’t be there, but she will. And Tug, stop running the crap about Angel. It’s distressing her. No woman wants half the country speculating about whether she’d lost her baby. You’re a shit for stirring that up in the first place, and if you ever do that to one of my clients again, this will be the last interview I get you. Understood?”
She hung up without waiting for a reply, then said to me, “Wait here. I’m going to say goodbye to Angela, and then you and I are going to my office, where you will look like a happy bride-to-be, and lie through your teeth if you have to.”
She didn’t wait for my response either, and when I was alone, I suddenly thought about Max, wondering if I should tell him a shit-storm was coming. My heart ached at the idea that he’d see me on television and think What the fuck? But I simply had to do it.
The alternative—-that Angela could become even more upset…
I couldn’t bear that.
Besides, the longer I was away from him, the more unlikely his romantic proposal seemed. As much as I hated it, I could hear my father’s voice in my head saying What were you thinking, that a bigshot like him would be interested in a stupid slut like you?
I knew Max had enjoyed the sex between us—you couldn’t fake that—but the idea that he actually wanted me forever was so ridiculous, it had to be a scam, so in the end, he could hardly complain about the media attention. He’d wanted to marry me before he started filming the series, so maybe this dramatic announcement would create enough buzz for his show that I wouldn’t have to go through with the ceremony.
I hoped so. Because it would be far too painful to marry someone I loved so much, knowing it wasn’t real.
When Rosie came back, her frown had deepened, but I simply followed her out of the hospital into the carpark where Traci left us, making me promise to call her when Rosie had finished with me. Then Rosie’s driver took us to her offices where she dressed me in a spare outfit she kept there, a cream power suit with matching heels that thankfully I wouldn’t need to walk in.
I sat silently while one of her staff put makeup on me and turned my haphazard bun into a high straight ponytail. When she was finished, I looked like a model—one of those spindly ones with the high cheekbones and vacant eyes.
I tottered to the couch in Rosie’s office and sat, waiting for her. Two minutes later the door opened and she came in, followed by Max. That was so unexpected, my hands instantly clenched into fists in my lap and I had to swallow several times to get past my breathless reaction.
He was so handsome, so charismatic as he interacted with Rosie and her assistant. It was like watching someone I didn’t know, as if he was back to being the star I’d only ever seen on TV.
He was asking about networks and lighting, then he turned to me and said, “You ready for this, pumpkin?”
His expression was so flat—it was so obviously an act—I felt an instant prickle of heat rising up my body, making my throat tight and my eyes hot.
Don’t cry. Don’t you dare cry.
“I’m fine,” I said and swallowed again, then tried for a more even tone. “Looking forward to taking attention away from Angela.”
“Of course,” he said, and sat beside me. Then he looked up at Rosie. “Is this good?”
“Perfect,” she said. “Dunn is just parking downstairs. Five minutes.” Then she left the room with her assistant.
Max moved his shoulders as if he was trying to relax them. When that was done, he simply sat beside me, looking straight ahead, saying nothing at all.
I could smell the delicious hot-skin scent of him and could see those beautiful hands I’d adored when they’d been on my body. His prim mouth, that had given me so much pleasure, was right there. But it felt like sitting next to a stranger on a bus.
There was nothing between us. No spark. No human connection. It was as if he was preparing to act out a scene, and had to hold his focus completely.
The hole that had gaped in my chest in the hospital suddenly widened, like a chasm that was about to engulf me. I love this man. I could feel that pounding through my veins, like a mantra that wouldn’t be denied. And yet…I was about to do something that was likely to push us apart, irrevocably.
Before I could stop myself, I said, “I’m sorry…about this. Interview.”
“I’m not,” he said quietly, although we were alone in the room. “I want to marry you.” He kept staring straight ahead, with that non-expression that I couldn’t penetrate.
“Is that…because you want publicity for your series?” Please tell me the truth.
He kept staring straight ahead, as if he couldn’t bear to look at me. “Right in this moment, that doesn’t matter. You want to distract attention away from Angela. I want to protect you from media attacks. This serves both purposes.”
“But…” Do you actually love me?
The office door opened.
“In here,” Rosie said as she ushered in Tug Dunn, the blond tousle-haired ‘surfer doll’ who had the housewives’ hearts pattering as they watched their morning television. Tug’s unnaturally white teeth and crystal blue eyes—had to be contact lenses—were just as pretty in real life. Even if he wasn’t a celebrity, he’d turn heads. He was that good looking.
Did nothing for me, however, and I couldn’t even raise a smile as Rosie introduced us and he shook my hand. My brain was desperately gnawing on what Max had just said. He was doing this to protect me from the media. Surely that meant he loved me. But, then why was he acting so stiff? Was he angry with me about mistrusting him? Had I made that worse by asking him again?
But surely, if I was going to marry him, I deserved the truth.
Max seemed to be suffering none of my confusion. In sharp contrast to my subdued welcome, he beamed a fake smile at Tug and said, “Good to see you, mate,” as he stood and shook hands. Then as Tug turned to direct the cameraman, Max sat again and his expression faded back to nothing. It was like sitting next to a beautiful mannequin.
“Let’s start then,” Tug said, and as the camera was focused on him, he rattled off a preamble about Max’s visit Down Under, a lightning attraction and an unlikely romance.
When he’d finished and the camera man stopped filming to turn the camera and set it up facing us, Rosie said, “Why don’t you two hold hands?” She sounded normal enough, but her mouth was set in that disappointed downturn.
“Certainly,” Max said, and he picked my hand up off my lap and held it firmly, although awkwardly, it felt to me.
&
nbsp; “Fritha,” Rosie said, her voice a little sharper this time.
I glanced at her and she made a finger gesture at her lips, suggesting I smile.
I sucked in a deep, slow breath and pasted one on, but I doubted it carried to my eyes.
Tug frowned. “Is she nervous?” He was waiting for the cameraman to finish setting up.
Rosie shook her head. “Just pissed off that you upset Angela.” She held his gaze and lowered her voice further. “If something happens and she does lose this baby, Tug, I am going to come after you. I hope you realize that.”
His genial smile faded. “My mistake. I’ll retract—”
“Yes, you will, and you won’t say another word about her.”
He nodded, and despite everything that was going on, I was awed at how tough Rosie was. In less than two hours she had to tell her daughters that their daddy didn’t live there anymore, yet she was advocating for Angela as if she had no other matters on her mind.
The cameraman said, “When you’re ready.”
I forced my smile wider just as Tug said, “So Max, would you like to tell us your good news?”
The camera was on us, so I watched Max’s face, with what I hoped was a happy bride-to-be expression. I don’t know what I expected from him, but I was completely unprepared when he smirked at Tug and said, “Cheers, mate,” in that same brash way he always did on his show. In that moment, the oily charisma of his Max Banks persona washed over me and it made me nauseous.
Somehow, the man I’d made love to and poured my heart into, was gone. In his place was a cocky, bad boy who went on to tease Tug about his hair before he kissed my hand and told a wild story of a penpal relationship that had developed between us after a chance meeting at a food festival last year.
It all sounded so plausible, so normal, and it was only when Tug said, “But what about Fritha’s reputation as a Cougar?” that things started to unravel.
Max leant forward slightly and his fingers tightened on mine. “That’s my future wife you’re talking about, mate.” His voice was quiet and sounded like it was throbbing with the tension I could feel in his hand as he added, “You might want to retract that.”
Husband Rollover (Husband Series Book 4) Page 22