The car had pulled up in front of the hotel. This was it. He would lead her back up to their suite and hopefully unzip that tight-fitting bodice, learn her body just a little bit more. Then tomorrow they would return to Cornwall and say their goodbyes. No hard feelings. Just warm memories. He would be free to sort out all the problems with DL Media and his parents; she would be free to start her new and more exciting life. A life he had helped her to kick start.
How very altruistic of him.
He couldn’t have planned it better.
And he might feel a little hollow inside now, but give him a week and Cornwall, London and Ellie Scott would all be distant memories. His life was complicated enough without adding long-distance relationships to it.
Besides, she didn’t even want a relationship. Not with him. And that was absolutely fine.
* * *
Had she said something wrong?
Max’s hand was around her waist, his fingers absentmindedly caressing the silky material of her dress, every touch sending sparks fizzing along her nerve-endings. The shock of winning, the champagne, the buzz of the whole evening and the last twenty minutes in such close proximity to Max had combined to create a perfect maelstrom of excitement—and she knew just the perfect way to work it out.
She tapped her foot, willing the lift on. As far as Ellie was concerned they couldn’t get back to the privacy of their room soon enough.
But Max was distant, mentally if not physically, and had been for most of the journey. Was he thinking about work? Planning his next step? The room tonight had twittered with gossip over DL Media’s crisis. It had to be weighing on him.
She’d miss him. It had only been a week, but he had made such an impact on her life, crashing into it like a meteorite and shaking up everything she’d thought she knew, thought she wanted, thought she was. He’d challenged her, excited her, pushed her.
It was only natural that she would miss him. But his life was far, far away...a whole ocean away. And she hadn’t even started to live hers yet.
It was time she did.
His arm remained around her waist as they walked the few short steps from the lift to the suite door, stayed there as he unlocked it and ushered her in.
The velvet cushions, gilt trimmings, opulent colours and brocade hangings hit her again with their over-the-top luxury. Ellie had somehow grown fond of their ridiculous suite. She had been reborn there. In less than forty-eight hours had made some huge changes. She just hoped that back in her own home she could keep the clarity and confidence she had gained here.
‘Congratulations again. I thought we should celebrate.’
Max steered her over to the glass table. A complicated arrangement of lilies, roses and orchids dominated its surface, flanked by a bottle of vintage champagne chilling in an ice bucket, a lavish box of chocolates and a small purple tub.
‘Champagne?’
Max followed her gaze. ‘This is the hotel’s Romance Package,’ he murmured, his mouth close to her ear, his breath warm on her neck. ‘Champagne, chocolate and massage oil.’
His eyes caught hers, full of meaning. Wherever he had been he was back. Back with clear intent.
He reached out and plucked the tub from the table. ‘Sensual Jasmine with deep chocolate and sandalwood undertones. Feeling tense, Ellie?’
The promise in his voice shot straight through her.
Ellie shivered. ‘A little.’ It wasn’t a lie.
‘That’s good. We can do something about that.’
Ellie swallowed, her eyes fixed on the small purple tub as he casually twisted it round and round in those oh, so capable fingers. ‘We can?’
‘Oh, yes. But you may want to disrobe first. I believe these oils can get rather...’ His smile was pure wicked intent. ‘Messy.’
‘Messy?’ Had she just squeaked?
‘Oh, yeah. If you do it right, that is.’
She’d bet a year’s takings that Max Loveday would do it right.
She stood there dry-mouthed as he picked up the bottle of champagne, deftly turning the wire and easing out the cork with practised ease.
‘Well?’ He poured champagne into one of the two flutes waiting by the bottle. ‘What are you waiting for?’
Did he mean...? ‘You want me to take my dress off?’
‘Honey, I want you to take everything off. I have plans involving this...’ He held up the champagne bottle. ‘This...’ He held up the massage oil. ‘And your naked body. So come on: strip.’
Her breathing shallow, Ellie reached for the zip at the side of her dress. Her hands were clumsy, struggling to find the fastener, to draw it down the closely fitting bodice. Finally, finally, she pulled it down and let the dress fall away, standing in front of him in just her underwear.
At least it wasn’t sensible this time. Tiny, silky wisps of black and red exposed far more than they concealed. It had taken all her resolve to put them on earlier, but hearing his sharp intake of breath, watching his eyes darken, filled her with a sensual power she had never felt before.
He might be issuing the demands, but she was the one in command.
She looked him clearly in the eye, didn’t flinch or look away. ‘Your turn. You said yourself things could get messy.’
Appreciation filled his face. ‘You’re playing with fire,’ he warned as his hands moved to his tie. ‘Be careful you don’t get burned.’
‘Oh, I’m counting on it.’
Ellie turned and walked into the master bedroom, head high, step confident even in those heels. She didn’t need to turn around to see if he was following her. She knew he would be right behind her.
CHAPTER NINE
WHAT WAS THAT NOISE? An insistent buzz, as if an angry mosquito was trying to wake them up. An extremely loud, extremely angry mosquito.
Ellie reluctantly opened her eyes but it made no difference. The room was still dark. She put out her hand and encountered flesh; firm, warm flesh. Mmm... She ran her fingers appreciatively over Max’s chest, learning him by heart once again.
Buzzzzz...
The mosquito had returned. Only it was no insect. Judging by the furiously flashing lights and the way it was dancing all over the bedside cabinet it was Ellie’s phone making the racket.
Who on earth...?
Was it the shop?
Her heart began to speed up, skittering as frantically as her continuously buzzing phone as she pulled herself up, hands slipping on the rumpled sheets.
The buzzing stopped for one never-ending second, only to start up again almost immediately.
‘What’s that?’ Max turned over, his voice thick with sleep.
‘My phone. I don’t know. It must be a wrong number.’
Please let it be a wrong number. Terrifying images ran through her mind in Technicolor glory: fire; flood, theft. All three...
Finally she got one trembling hand to the phone and pulled it over, pulling out the charging cable as she did so. Turning it over, she stared in disbelief at the name flashing up on the screen.
Mum.
What on earth...? She accepted the call with fingers too clumsy in their haste. ‘Mum? Is everything all right?’
There was a pause, and then Ellie heard it. It was like being catapulted back in time. A painful, breathtaking blow as the years rolled back to the moment a policeman had knocked on the door and their lives had been irrevocably altered. That low keening, like an animal in severe distress.
She had hoped never to hear that noise again.
‘Mum?’
‘Ellie? Ellie? Oh, thank goodness, darling. It’s Bill.’ The words were garbled, breathless, but discernible.
Not now...please not now.
But even as her mind framed the words she pushed the thought away, shame swamping her.
How could she be so selfish when catastrophe had torpedoed her mother’s happiness once again?
And what of Bill? Big, blustering Bill? She barely knew him, not really, but he had supported her mother, loved her, given her a new life, a new beginning.
And if it was easier for her mother to cope without Ellie, the spitting image of her dad and so similar to her brother, a constant reminder of all that Marissa Scott had lost, then how could Ellie really blame her? Didn’t she herself shy away from anything that reminded her of what she only now appreciated had been an extraordinarily perfect childhood?
‘Mum, what’s happened? Is he...?’ She couldn’t bring herself to utter the last word.
‘He’s had a heart attack. He’s in Theatre now.’
Oh, thank God...thank God. ‘Where are you? In Spain?’
She looked up, but Max was already firing up his laptop, phone at the ready. His poor PA was probably on hand to take his instructions. Relief shot through her. She knew instinctively that this time she wouldn’t have to do it all alone. That he would sort out a flight, at least; probably cars, hotels...
‘No, we’re in Oakwood. Bill’s daughter had a baby, so we came back for a visit.’
They were back in England, in close proximity to London. But they hadn’t told her, hadn’t suggested a trip to Cornwall, asked to see her. It wasn’t the time for selfishness but Ellie couldn’t help the sore thud of disappointment. Couldn’t stop her mouth working as she swallowed back the huge, painful lump.
Knowing and understanding her mother’s need for distance didn’t stop it hurting.
But she had called now. She was in pain and she needed her daughter.
‘I’m on my way. Give me a couple of hours. Do you need anything? Food? Clothes?’
‘No, no. I’m okay. But, Ellie? Hurry, darling.’
* * *
Her face was pale and set, but there was strength in the pointed chin, in the dark, deeply shadowed eyes. A feeling of indomitability. Max had the sense Ellie had been here before, travelling through the night to support her mother.
‘What about our things? Your hire car? You don’t need to come with me.’ They were the first words she had said since the town car had pulled up outside the hotel and they had exited the ornate lobby to find themselves in the strange, other-worldly pre-dawn of London.
Not quiet, London could never be completely still, but emptier, greyer, ghostlier. The chauffeur drove them at practised speed through the city streets, soon hitting suburbs as foreign and anonymous as every city’s outskirts. Warehouses and concrete gave way to residential streets and then to fields and motorways.
‘It’s fine. Lydia will take care of it all.’ He had already fired off several emails to his PA, and even though it was late night back in Hartford she had replied, was seamlessly sorting everything out. ‘Our clothes will be packed up and sent back to Cornwall, and the car is getting picked up by the hire company.’
She nodded, but her attention was only half on him as she stared out of the window at the rapidly passing countryside. She was back in her usual grey. The scarlet dress was still lying on the floor of the sitting-room, a bright red puddle of silk. Make-up free, her hair pushed back behind her ears, the only hint that the evening had happened was the faint scent of jasmine on her skin; on his skin.
He shut his eyes, images of her passing through his mind like scenes from a film. Her body, long, slender, slick with oil, as his hands moved firmly over silken skin.
‘What about work? DL needs you.’ Her voice was toneless.
He opened his eyes, the last remnants of the night before fading away. Not the time or place, he scolded himself. ‘It’s fine. Let’s see what your mother needs and I can worry about DL later. The hospital will have WiFi, won’t it?’
She nodded. ‘I guess. It’s a long time since I’ve been there. Not since Dad and Phil...’ Her voice trailed off.
‘Your mom’s back in your old home town?’
No wonder she looked so haunted.
‘For fourteen years I thought it was the most perfect place in the world.’ Her voice was wistful. ‘I danced. Did you know that?’
‘No, but I should have guessed.’ Of course she had danced. That long, toned slenderness was a dancer’s legacy.
‘I danced, played in the orchestra and was a member of the drama society. Phil played rugby and swam. We were like a family from an advertisement, with the golden Labrador to match.’
She turned towards him, her chin propped in her hand, her eyes far away.
‘At weekends we’d all bike out for picnics in the countryside and then we’d pile on the sofa for family film and pizza night. I guess Mum and Dad must have argued, and I know Phil and I did, but when I look back it’s like it’s painted in soft gold. Always summer, always laughter. And then it all went wrong...’ Her voice trailed off.
‘The car accident.’
She nodded. ‘Mum blamed herself. Dad had been travelling and was jetlagged, but she hated driving on ice so she persuaded him to pick Phil up from a swim meet. It was a drunk driver. The police said there was nothing Dad could have done. But Mum always thought if he hadn’t been so tired...’ She blinked, and there was a shimmering behind the long lashes.
Max’s chest ached with the need to make it all right. But how could he? How could anybody?
‘It must have been terrible.’
‘I think that’s why Mum had a breakdown. So she didn’t have to face the guilt. But I had to face it all: insurance, funeral-arranging, keeping the house going. I gave up dance, drama, friends, my dreams. There was school, there was Mum and there were books—the only escape from how grey my life had become.’
‘But you got away.’
A new town, a new life. The loneliness of that life was beginning to make a twisted kind of sense to him. Could he say the same for his own choices?
Ellie nodded. ‘It took a while. When I finished school I was supposed to go to university, but I couldn’t see how she would cope without me and I was too proud to ask for help. Then Mum met Bill at her support group and suddenly she didn’t need me any more. Worse, it was as if she couldn’t bear to see me...like I made her feel guilty. She went from not being able to cope without me to not wanting to be near me. I lost everything all over again.’
Max didn’t know what to say. Was there anything he could say? Anything that could wipe away over ten years of loneliness and grief?
He reached out instead, took her cold, still hand in his.
* * *
Ellie clung on, glad of the tactile comfort. His hands were warm, anchoring her to the here and now.
‘What did you do then? Is that when you got engaged?’
The chill enveloping her deepened. Engaged. It was such happy word. It conjured up roses and diamonds and champagne. She hadn’t experienced any of those things. Just an ornate ring that had belonged to Simon’s grandmother: an ugly Victorian emerald that she had never dared tell him she disliked.
Simon was her secret shame, her weakness. She had never been able to tell anyone the whole story before. But there was a strength in Max’s touch, in his voice, that made her want to lean in, to rest her burden on his broad shoulders. Just for a while.
She took a deep breath. She had said so much already...would a little more hurt? ‘I hadn’t seen much of my friends out of school, but it was still a shock when they went to university. So I got a job at the solicitors where my father had worked, just to get out of the house. Everyone there was a lot older, and I knew, of course, that they had only employed me to be kind.’
‘Simon...’
She waited for the usual thump in her chest, the twist of dread to strike her as she said his name. But there was nothing. It was just a word, an old ghost with no way to harm her. Not if she didn’t allow it.
Ellie carried on, her voice stronger. ‘Simon was the only person there who didn’t talk to me like I was a child. After the first couple of weeks I had a huge crush on him.’ She shook her head, a bitter taste coating her mouth at the memory of her naïve younger self. ‘He knew, of course. Enjoyed it and encouraged it, I think.’
She fell silent for a moment, the memory hitting her hard. Her mother’s happiness—one she couldn’t share. The resentment she hadn’t been able to bring herself to acknowledge because it was so petty and mean; resentment that she had given up her childhood and future for her mother and now she was the one being left behind. And the coldness of her isolation. The dawning knowledge that her mother not only no longer needed her but somehow no longer wanted her.
Ellie shivered and Max put an arm around her, pulling her in close, holding her against his warm strength.
She turned into his comforting embrace, her arms slipping around him, allowing herself the luxury of leaning on him, into him, just this once. She inhaled deep, that smell of pine and salt, of sea and fresh air that clung to him even after two days in London.
‘Looking back now, I can see that I was just desperate to feel loved, cared for. Simon sensed it, I think...my indecision, my loneliness...and he made his move.’
Her mouth twisted.
‘He was very clever. One moment he would flatter me, make me feel like the most desirable woman alive. The next he would tease me, treat me like a silly schoolgirl. He’d stand me up and then turn up to whisk me away on an impossibly romantic date. I never knew where I stood. As he intended.’
She swallowed.
‘And right from the start I tried to be what he wanted. To wear my hair the way he liked, dress in a way he approved of. He never actually said anything—but he would get this look, you know? This terribly disappointed look. Sometimes he would stop speaking to me altogether, not contact me if I really displeased him, and I would never know why. I’d have to figure it out. I used to sit alone in the empty house and cry, stare at my phone willing him to text me. When he finally spoke to me I’d be so relieved I would promise myself I would never upset him again. I learned what was expected of me, what would make him smile in approval. My food, my clothes, the books I read, the films I watched—all guided by him. I thought I was in love. That he protected me, cared for me.’
A Will, A Wish...A Proposal (Contemporary Romance) Page 12