Miserably, she curled up on her side away from him, and forced herself to close her eyes and not.. .not.. .give way to the gremlins of uncertainty gnawing at the edges of her mind. He had said it was over and he would never deceive her! It was not his style.
She slept poorly, chased by uneasy dreams. Then, just as the sky began to lighten, she awoke to find his body pressed against hers, hard and ready. Without a word, she turned into his arms and opened herself to him.
They fused with a passion touched by desperation. Time and again he tormented her, withdrawing almost completely and then, when she was ready to weep with need, plunging deep within her, rapidly, fiercely, as if he were seeking to take hold of her soul. “I missed you last night,” he told her hoarsely, between thrusts. “Don’t let silly unfounded fears come between us like that again.”
The woman who rang the doorbell at precisely nine-thirty on the morning of the interview could not possibly be Willow Mdllenry, Gabriella decided, barely masking her surprise There were no long red fingecnai no hard un smiling mouth, no dark hair secured in a sleek French twist.
This woman was shorter than Gabriella by a good six inches, with a sweetly rounded body, warm brown eyes and gleaming light brown hair curling softly around her face. She wore a buttery-yellow linen suit with a skirt
which came to just below her knees, and sensibly stylish sandals with a bit of a wedge heel. Her nose was slightly freckled, her mouth rather full and defined by tawny lip gloss, her smile wide and generous. Not a beauty, by any means, but definitely pretty—and still frighteiñngly ca pable.
“Good morning, Mrs. Logan, I’m Willow, I see you’re ready, that’s good,” she rattled off, breezing into the pent house with an armful of creamy-pink roses and a large straw bag extravagantly embroidered with bright orange raffia marigolds.
Gabriella couldn’t take her eyes off the bag. She’d ex pected an alligator briefcase. And veiy high heels.
“We’ll need coffee,” Willow declared, making a bee line for the kitchen.
“I’ll make some,” Gabriella offered, trailing after her in stunned amazement. This woman a marriage wrecker? Absurd! She was too.. .wholesome.
“No need,” Willow warbled. “I came prepared. I’ll just arrange the roses before I do anything else.”
“I already have flowers—”
“Well, you know what they say. You can never have too many flowers or be too thin, though I’d say you’re coming pretty close to disproving the latter! You’re so slender, a person could almost snap you in half with her bare hands.”
“I’ll go find you a vase,” Gabriella said, trying not to back away too hastily. Willow McHenry’s hands were as capable as the rest of her, and looked more than equal to the task.
“I’ll do it. Max made it very clear that you’re not to be put to any extra trouble, so please just Sit and relax— on the terrace would be best, so that you’re not in the way while the camera crew sets up. You look lovely, by the
way. Your photos don’t begin to do you justice.” She pulled open the door to a corner cupboard and peered inside, rising up on her toes to gain a better view. “What happened to the vases which used to be in here?”
“1 moved them,” Gabriella said, a prickle of annoy ance riding up her spine. Whose kitchen was it, anyway?
“I see. In that case, if you’d be so kind...?” Willow’s raised eyebrows and upturned palms spoke volumes, but just in case her request wasn’t coming across clearly enough, she followed up with, “Where did you put them, dear?”
“In the storage room.”
“Ab!” She bustled unerringly across the foyer to the little room under the stairs.
Gabriella watched in numb fascination and reminded herself that Max had almost missed his flight to New Mexico the day before, because he hadn’t been able to tear himself away from her. That was the important thing, not the proprietary way his assistant had swept in and usurped the role of lady of the house!
“I brought a list of questions you’re likely to be asked,” Willow announced, reappearing with a Waterford rose bowl and tall antique urn. She set them down on the counter and reached for a folder in the straw bag. “Here they are. Why don’t you go look them over and leave me I to take care of things in here? As soon as it’s brewed, I’ll bring you some coffee. Are your parents here, by the way?”
“Yes,” Gabriella said. “They’re enjoying the morning sun on the terrace.”
“How sweet. You must introduce them to me when I have a moment.”
She reached into the bag again, and brought out a sack ‘of coffee beans, a carton of light cream, and a small round
cake tin with a picture of the late Princess Diana on the lid. “Oatmeal cookies,” she explained, noticing Gabriella’s curious glance. “I baked them myself, just this morning.”
You probably spin your own knitting wool and do prize winning petIt point, too! Gabriella thought uncharitably, and hurriedly left the room, more annoyed with herself than the amazing Ms. McHenry.
i’ll phone you every night, Max had promised, before he’d dashed through the departure gate at the airport. Honey, I’m sorry to be taking off like this, but when Willow set up this meeting, she wasn’t aware you and your folks would be here, and it was too late to change things by the rime I realized the conflict.
Ha! Gabriella suspected Willow had been fully aware, but what she didn’t know was that Max had phoned his wife three times last night, and told her he missed her so much he didn’t think he could hold out until Wednesday and was trying to wind up his business a day early so that they didn’t have to wait until tomorrow to be together again.
So she had no reason to feel threatened. No reason at all. Let Willow do her worst. When it came right down to it, the only person truly capable of undermining her confidence was Gabriella herself.
Burying a sigh, she wandered into the living room and picked up the photograph of her and Max on their wed ding day. She’d worn her grandmother’s bridal veil and a dress embroidered with seed pearls. Max had worn a morning suit, and the same grim expression that had trans formed his face the day he’d learned she was pregnant...
“You’re what?” he’d roared in subdued horror, when she told him the news.
They’d been sitting outside at Gerbaud’s, Budapest’s
most famous and elegant coffeehouse, and patrons at nearby tables had turned their heads to discover who was causing such an untoward commotion.
Gabriella had cringed, and repeated the news in a whis per. “I’m going to have a...baby.”
“And you’re saying it’s mine?” He’d waved the ques tion aside and regarded her from haunted eyes. “No, don’t answer that. Who else’s could it be?”
“I’m sorry, Max,” she’d said in the same low voice. “I know this wasn’t part of your plan.”
“Was it part of yours?” he’d flung at her contemptu ously.
“Of course not! I had no idea—”
“Rigi You just happened to climb into bed with me when you were at your most fertile!”
His chest had risen in a massive sigh. “Well, never let it be said I walked away from my mistakes. If I’ve fa thered a child,, I’m prepared to face the consequences.”
Those had been his exact words, but the way he’d looked had suggested he’d prefer to face the executioner’s block. Nervously, she’d asked, “What do you mean?”
A bleak smile had touched his mouth. “Exactly what you’re hoping I mean, my dear,” he’d replied. “I’m not waiting for your father to come after rue with a shotgun before I do the decent thing. We’ll get married as soon as it can be arranged, and if anyone questions the un seemly haste of the arrangement, you can tell them in all honesty that I have to be back in Canada before the end of the month. That way you’ll be safely out of sight before you start to show, and no one but you and 1 need to know the real reason we sprinted to the altar.”
“You don’t have to do this, Max,” she’d said, seeing how much he hated the idea.
/>
“Of course I do, and that’s exactly what you’ve been counting on.”
“No. Marrying me was never part of your plan.”
“It was part of yours, though, wasn’t it?” he’d said scornfully. “The minute you clapped eyes on me, you started casting about for a way to snag me.”
“No!” she’d protested, her heart breaking. “Max, I love you!”
“You don’t even know me. I could have a prison rec ord as long as your arm and six ex-wives stashed in the closet, for all you care. What matters is that I’m rich and can afford you, and while you’d have preferred it if I’d gone down on my knees and proposed in the good, old- fashioned way, when you realized it wasn’t going to hap pen quite that asi1y, you decided to help matters along even if it did mean dispensing with your moral rectitude and putting your virginity on the block. Money’s a pow erful aphrodisiac when you don’t have any, isn’t it, Gabriella?”
She’d jumped up from her chair, uncaring that people were staring. “How dare you insult me!” she’d gasped. “I am a Sikiossy and we have never sold ourselves for money!”
“Oh, sit down and stop making a fool of yourself!” he’d said bluntly. “Your family doesn’t have a pot to pee in, the old family mansion’s crumbling around your ears and needs an injection of cash in the worst way, so when a nice North American millionaire came along ripe for the picking, you did what you had to, to reel him in.” He’d slapped a fistful of forints on the table and leaned close. “Well, congratulations, Gabriella! I hope like hell you find it’s worth what it’s going to cost you.”
It had not been, not for the longest time. The six months following had been the most miserable of her life. She’d
often wondered if, in fact, there really had been a baby and the sheer stress surrounding the days following their farce of a wedding had caused her to miscany, even though the specialist Max dragged her to see when the bleeding began determined otherwise.
“Your pregnancy test’s negative, and there’s no other physical evidence to indicate spontaneous borti’ he’d said. “Given that your cycle is irregular anyway and you’ve gone this long before without menstruating, it’s my guess your doctor made a misdiagnosis in the first place. How soon after your last period did you see him?”
“I. ..didn’t,” she’d admitted. “I just assumed.. .be cause my husband and I had made love...”
How pathetic her reasoning had sounded; how pitifully inadequate. And yet, it had been the truth, even though she’d never convinced Max of that.
“Irregular cycle?” he’d sneered with blistering anger, afterward. “Missed periods? And it never once occurred to you to mention that small detail to me? You just let me infer you’d seen a doctor and hoped I’d never find out differently? Gee, Gabriella, you’re just full of surprises, aren’t you? What’s next on your devious agenda? Twins left in a basket on the doorstep?”
Small wonder their marriage had turned into such a nightmare. But they’d been handed the chance to turn things around and this time, she wasn’t battling on her own. She had Max on her side, and she wouldn’t allow anyone or anything to drive them apart.
“Good grief!” Willow McHenry exclaimed, swanning into the room and taking a good, long lookat the wedding picture. “Better put that away, Mrs. Logan, before the interviewer sees it and decides there’s something, after all, to the rumor that your marriage is in trouble! Poor Max looks as if he’s headed for the hangman’s noose!” She
traced a fingernail polished with clear enamel over his face, then flicked her gaze to his bride. “You look gor geous though. Positively radiant. Maybe he was just ner vous, wondering how he’d ever manage to live up to your expectations.”
“Oh, he manages that very well,” Gabriella assured her blandly. “In every possible respect. I couldn’t ask for a more devoted or attentive husband.”
“Really?” Willow bathed her in one of her warm est smiles and patted her arm. “Isn’t it nice that you think so!”
CHAPThR SEVEN
GBru refused to let the remark throw her off stride—even though she was quite convinced that was its primary aim. Willow worked hard to give the impression she was as warm and fuzzy as a doting mother cat, but she knew how to unsheathe her claws and though her attacks were swift and subtle, the scratches she left behind stung.
“Well, it can stay where it is, if you insist,” she said, taking the photo from Gabriella and giving the glass a quick polish with the hem of the little apron she’d tied around her waist. The same apron, Gabriella realized with a small sense of shock, which she’d come across, her first day back at the penthouse.
Against her better judgment, she said, “Where did you find that apron, Willow?”
- “Right where I left it, dear. In a drawer in the kitchen.” That did rock Gabriella’s composure! Fortunately, the
television crew showed up just then, and the ensuing chaos as they moved furniture, strung cables across the floor, and set lights and cameras in place, distracted her enough that she had no choice but to wait for a more appropriate time to analyze this latest affront to her peace of mind.
Whipping off the little Susie-homemaker apron, Willow donned her suit jacket again and, armed with her clipboard and pencil, reverted to self-assured executive assistant very much on the job. “I’m afraid that’s out of the ques tion,” she ordained, when the interviewer, Jaclyn, a nice
111
woman in her early forties, suggested they might take a few shots of the penthouse as a lead-in to the main event. “My employer is a very private man and his home is off limits, except for this room and possibly the south-facing terrace. There’s nothing else to see on the main floor any way, except for the dining room and his office, and noth ing but two en suite bedrooms upstairs. Nothing out of the ordinary at all.”
“Well, I find this room quite extraordinary,” Jaclyn said, smiling at Gabriella and indicating the two armchairs positioned before the cameras. “You have wonderful taste, Mrs. Logan, and it’s reflected in your choice of de cor as much as in the clothes you wear so well.”
“Actually, Mr. Logan chose the furnishings in here,” Willow supplied helpfully.,
“Really?” Dismissing her rather sharply, Jaclyn turned back to Gabriella. “Let’s get started, shall we?”
She began straightforwardly enough but though her tone remained sympathetic, inevitably the subject caine around to the rumors of a troubled marriage. “You and your husband are apart much of the time,” she said tact fully. “How do you respond to the speculation that this has put a severe strain on your relationship?”
“It’s true that our careers often take us in different directions, but we both recognize it’s the quality of the time we spend together that counts, and not necessarily the quantity.” Fully aware of Willow hovering in the background., Gabriella stroked her finger fondly over the wedding photo on the table beside her, then looked di rectly into the camera. “But I can say without reservation that my husband and I have never been closer. Regardless of what the tabloids might hint at, we have never been happier.”
Jaclyn leaned forward in her chair. “I find that quite
remarkable. So often, when a woman achieves the kind of success you’ve realized, home and family tend to fall by the wayside.”
“Not in my case,” Gabriella replied emphatically. “I am even more deeply committed to my husband now than I was on the day I married him. Realistically, my career as a model will last, at most, another few years. I intend to make my marriage last a lifetime.”
She punctuated the last remark with a glance at Willow, and only her professional training kept Gabriella from re coiling at the Ileeting expression she surprised on the other woman’s face. The full and smiling mouth was pinched in a grimace as if its owner was hard-pressed to keep it silent, but most shocking was the unbridled rage blazing from those hitherto friendly brown eyes.
Then, just as swiftly, the genial mask fell into place again and the moment passed. �
�Congratulations, every body! I think that went very well,” Willow announced, resuming charge as the interview came to an end. “Gabriella, thank you for allowing us to make such a mess of your living room, but rest assured I’ll see to it that everything’s returned to its proper place before I leave.”
Gabriella, though, felt anything but reassured. In her line of work, she’d come across too many women eaten up with jealousy not to recognize it when it was staring her in the face. Willow might like to give the impression she was content to be known only as Ms. McHenry, Max’s loyal assistant, but in reality she aspired to much more. Her ultimate goal was to be Mrs. Max Logan, and she wasn’t going to let the small matter of a current wife stand in her way. And that, without question, made her Gabriella’s enemy!
* * *
Something was wrong. He heard it in Gabriella’s voice when he phoned to tell her he wouldn’t make it back before Wednesday afternoon, after all, and he heard it again when he called from Denver to explain his con necting flight was delayed because of mechanical prob lems. Her responses were too careful. Too flat. And that made him uneasy as hell, though if truth be told he’d been antsy ever since the previous week’s unsettling conver
sation with Willow. -.
He’d thought they understood each other had believed she recognized that incident eight months earlier for what it really had been: the brief and isolated lapse in judgment of a lonely man who came to his senses before any real
damage had been done. -
Now, he was no longer so sure Willow saw things quite that way. His gut instinct warned him that what he’d long ago dismissed as something that ended before it properly began, she had blown out of all proportion and turned into a major affair. He couldn’t put his fingeron anything spe cific; it was more that a lot of little things, though piddling in themselves, assumed disturbing significance when added together.
He wasn’t a superstitious man, and he didn’t believe in courting trouble. But he was no fool either. He kiiew bet ter than anyone that if it did occur, ignoring it wouldn’t make it disappear. A man who’ wanted to stay in control of his own life and protect the people and things he cared about, had to take action and neutralize a problem before it ran amok.
The Millionaire's Marriage Page 10