by Maggie Cox
‘What? It’s a perfectly respectable blouse and not the least bit provocative!’ Defensively, Maya touched her hand to her chest. Instantly she saw Blaise’s gaze go straight there and his jaw tightened.
‘Well, I find it provocative!’
‘That’s hardly my fault.’
‘It is your fault,’ he insisted belligerently, ‘because you chose to wear the damn thing!’
‘This is ridiculous. You’re only behaving like this because—’
‘Because what, Maya? I’d really like to hear your thoughts on the matter.’
She squirmed uncomfortably as a wave of scorching heat all but glued her to the chair. ‘It’s because—oh, I don’t know!’
‘Liar.’
‘All right, then. You find what I’m wearing provocative because clearly you’re frustrated,’ she exclaimed in exasperation, wishing that just looking at him didn’t drive every other thought from her head other than the one that said she wanted him so badly it hurt.
‘Damn right I’m frustrated,’ he replied, and there was a lascivious gleam in his eye that made Maya squirm even more. ‘How in hell am I supposed to work when just the sight of you is driving me crazy?’
Not knowing how to answer that question, Maya examined her linked hands in her lap and felt everything—including the tips of her ears—burn.
‘Perhaps…’
Getting up, Blaise walked slowly round the desk to join her—reached out and started gently massaging her shoulder. Feeling her body and her resolve melt at his touch, Maya was momentarily dazzled by the glint of a gold signet ring set with a diamond that he wore on his little finger.
‘Perhaps what?’ she asked, turning to regard him.
‘Perhaps between the two of us we can find a way to alleviate some of my frustration…before we start work, I mean…’ His voice was huskily sinful. It rolled over her like tropical waves of heat lapping at the shore of her already highly sensitised body.
‘Blaise, please don’t—’
‘Please don’t what?’
He was smoothing his hands down the sides of her arms, his palms glancing deliberately against her breasts. Hot needles of pleasure and desire caused Maya’s nipples to surge and prickle to the point of pain inside her bra.
‘This is madness, Blaise. I can’t—I can’t think straight when you do things like that to me.’
‘I’m not asking you to think.’
‘But I’m here to work, not to—not to succumb to your highly provocative ways of distracting me!’
‘No?’
He bent to kiss her, but Maya stoically turned her face away at the last moment, and his intended kiss glanced off the side of her mouth instead.
‘We—you really need to work, and I’m meant to be helping you.’
There was a well-timed—or perhaps not so well-timed—knock at the door. Stepping instantly away from her side, Blaise cursed softly under his breath.
‘Come in!’ he called out, his tone definitely disgruntled.
Lottie walked in, carrying a tray with a full cafetière alongside a plate of biscuits. ‘Thought you might like some coffee to keep you both going while you work,’ she said brightly, carefully depositing the tray on the desk.
‘Thanks, that’s great.’
Her employer’s smile was tense. Maya knew he was definitely put out by the intrusion. The housekeeper glanced sideways at her. ‘That’s a very pretty blouse you’re wearing, my dear.’
‘Thank you.’ Maya didn’t dare look at Blaise after this comment. However, Lottie’s interruption did give her some valuable time to restore common sense to the situation, and she seized the opportunity to effect some much needed distance between them, even knowing he would probably taunt her about it later.
‘Excuse me, but I need to go and sort out which books I’ll need for our research.’
‘For God’s sake, Maya, I—’
But she’d already left the room before Blaise had even finished the sentence.
Maya had absolutely done the right thing, disappearing for a while. Blaise had had no choice but to get down to some work. It wasn’t easy when his mind was taunted by too erotic images of her, but once he started to write the story totally absorbed him, drawing him into the drama that was unfolding on the cinema screen of his mind and making him forget everything—even her.
Yet that wasn’t completely true. In the play, the female lead of the piece had helplessly turned into Maya, and Blaise found to his surprise that he was becoming more and more emotionally involved in the character than with any other female part he had ever written. It was a strange process, what he did for a living. He believed he was far more capable of expressing emotion in his writing than he was in day-to-day life. Subconsciously he supposed he blamed his parents for that. God knew they’d expressed enough stormy emotion throughout their married life to make any child of theirs either abhor it or shun replicating it as far as possible.
Disturbingly uncomfortable echoes from the past gripped him for a few frozen moments…so much so that he swore he could hear his mother’s anguished cries coming back down the years to haunt him. Such an incident had not occurred for ages. He couldn’t help wondering why memories of his not so happy family should surface now. Determinedly, Blaise refocused on his work. After writing a particularly stirring scene between his female lead and her soldier suitor, he reached for the half-full cafetière and poured himself another cup of coffee. At least two hours had passed since Lottie had made it, and the dark bitter brew was barely warm, but he drank it all the same, mulling deeply over the words he had put onto the page in front of him.
The door to the connecting office opened and Maya reappeared.
‘I don’t want to disturb you, but I’ve been looking through some of the books on my shelf and making notes about what you might need—it’s just an educated guess, I’m afraid, since we haven’t discussed it in any length, but I thought I’d go upstairs to the library and see what I could find there.’
‘Maya?’
‘Yes?’
Blaise found himself hypnotised by her wide innocent gaze. ‘I’ve scribbled down a short list of some things that might be useful.’ Tearing out a page from his own book, he held it out to her. Glancing down at the contents, she couldn’t hide the unfeigned excitement in her eyes, causing him to muse silently that she was the first woman he’d been intimately involved with who had expressed a genuine interest in his work. A frisson of unashamed pride and pleasure rippled through him.
‘I’ll crack on, then.’
‘Take your time. We’ll catch up later and talk over what you’ve got. I’ll also need you to type out what I’ve done today.’
‘That won’t be a hardship. I’d love to see how the story’s progressing.’ Reaching the door that led into the hallway, Maya paused to venture a friendly smile. ‘I hope the writing is going well for you,’ she said encouragingly.
‘I’m not doing badly so far.’ He grinned back. ‘By the way, I didn’t congratulate you on conquering your fear around dogs and taking Sheba for a walk earlier.’
‘I loved being with her. And I think it’s just like you said it would be…somehow I got the sense that she’s looking after me and wants to protect me.’
Did she but know it, the expression on her face just then was like a lost little girl who’d just been found, and all Blaise’s suppressed longing for her of that morning came hurtling back to the fore again…
When Maya arrived upstairs, a cloak of silence descended like muffled snow all around her. As she walked down the long, stately corridor towards the library, a shiver chased down her spine. There were ghosts here…just like she’d sensed when they’d been walking by the wall outside… Only these weren’t ghosts of marching Roman soldiers—these were ghosts of family now gone.
She wondered why Blaise barely talked about his parents. After all, he had inherited the family home, and had already told her he’d lived here with them when he was young. Had something unpl
easant happened between them? He’d already indicated that his father had had an explosive temper. Was that why he seemed so reticent about discussing his childhood?
Frowning, Maya reached the library and pushed open the door. It was cool inside and, tucking her pad against her chest, she folded her arms to get warm. The room was stunning, decorated in the style of its Jacobean ancestry, but with some smart contemporary pieces of furniture dotted around too. Best of all, it was lined with bookshelves from floor to ceiling that were jam-packed with books, and in the middle of the far wall was the most beautiful inlaid marble fireplace. Above it hung a striking portrait of a handsome young dark-haired man. Moving closer to examine the picture, Maya felt a jolt a bit like a small lightning strike, jagged through her insides. The name of the artist was scrawled at the bottom right-hand corner, plain for all to see…Alistair Devereaux.
How did Blaise come to own one of her father’s paintings? Why had he never told her about it? Studying the painting, with its exquisite confident brushstrokes and bold use of colour, Maya was catapulted back in time. Suddenly memories of all her father had meant to her—his love for her, his neglect of her and finally his complete and utter desertion of her—crashed down over her head. Furiously wiping her tears away, she was poignantly struck right then by how dangerously strong her feelings were becoming towards Blaise.
She should look out. If she got too close to him would he ultimately neglect her, reject her and desert her? Why shouldn’t he do all those things? she asked herself. He was in the arts, as her father had once been, was well known by the media and fêted by an adoring public. What she knew of him so far seemed to suggest that he was fairly wary of commitment too…She’d be an utter idiot to let her heart be ensnared by such a man—no matter how charming, handsome, talented or good in bed. She’d best just stick to her resolve of having an affair and expect nothing else…because she knew without a doubt that her self-preservation depended on it…
At dinner that night, after what had turned out to be a very satisfying day’s work, Blaise returned his half-drunk glass of Chardonnay to the table, avidly studying Maya’s softly shadowed features in the flickering candlelight.
‘By the way, tomorrow I’m giving you a car for your use while you’re here. I thought you might like another MG, since you seem to know so much about them. What do you think?’ he asked.
Carefully Maya touched her white linen napkin to her lips. She was wearing a very becoming multi-coloured maxi-dress, its swirls of soft verdant green in the pattern of the satiny material complementing the vivid emerald of her eyes, and Blaise found himself admiringly musing if there was a colour in existence that didn’t complement her? He very much doubted it.
‘Are you sure? If it’s anything like the one we drove to Camden in it must be your pride and joy.’
‘I trust that you’re not going to be reckless and drive it into a brick wall. And if you do…’ He lifted his broad shoulders in a careless shrug. ‘I think I’ll get over it. At the end of the day it’s only a car.’
‘My father was extremely possessive and protective about his cars. If any one of them had been damaged in any way, I don’t think he would have got over it so easily.’
‘Was he as possessive and protective about you?’
‘I think you already know the answer to that question.’ She gazed at him steadily, and there was an air of defiance about her unwavering stare. When Blaise didn’t probe further, she sighed, saying, ‘I have a question for you. Why didn’t you tell me you owned one of my father’s paintings? The one in the library—though for all I know you may have others you haven’t told me about.’
‘I only have the one. The portrait of a young actor my father was mentoring. It was left to me when my parents died. To tell you the truth, I did plan on telling you about it, but I guess I just got wrapped up in work and forgot.’
‘You didn’t think I’d be interested in such a pertinent piece of information, seeing as the painter was my father?’
‘Seems to me you have a lot of unresolved business concerning your father, Maya, and I get the feeling it really haunts you.’
‘And it seems to me that you have a lot of unresolved business concerning your past too, Blaise! Or else why are you so reluctant to even talk about it? It’s like you’ve built some kind of—of fortress around the subject, with a sign saying “Keep out”.’
Inside his chest, Blaise’s heartbeat accelerated. He’d been anticipating some pleasant and relaxed small talk over dinner, before finally doing the thing he craved the most…taking Maya to bed and enjoying a long, uninterrupted breathless night’s lovemaking. What he hadn’t been anticipating was that she would be challenging him on the one part of his life that he kept strictly private. The one topic that wasn’t open to casual after-dinner conversation. He twisted his lips into a grimace.
‘We all have skeletons in the closet, Maya. Why don’t we just leave mine where they are?’
‘What are you so afraid of? Aren’t playwrights supposed to be bold and daring? Aren’t they interested in exploring the mistakes of the past? Isn’t that what you’re doing in the play you’re writing now?’
‘What about your father’s mistakes?’ Blaise demanded, sensing his temper rise. ‘It’s clear you’ve been pretty damaged by them. What the hell good does it do to keep on revisiting the past? Answer me that!’
Across the table, Maya’s shoulders drooped a little in an expression of defeat. ‘You’re right. I probably am damaged by what my father did—the way he lived and the way he died. I suppose I’m just trying to understand it all, really…that’s all. I’m trying to understand it so that if I have children of my own I won’t ever do what he did—put myself and my career and my so-called friends first, so much so that the children are neglected and left to fend for themselves. I’ll show them every day that they mean the world to me, and love them so much that they’ll never have a moment’s doubt that they’re not my top priority—no matter what else is going on in my life!’
Seeing the determination and distress mirrored in her lovely features, Blaise felt his heart helplessly contract. Recalling his own father’s vile temper, and what the consequences of that had been like for him and his mother, he realised his home life had been a fairytale compared to what Maya had been through. There were no doubts in his mind that she would make a terrific mother one day…not to mention a wonderful wife to some very, very fortunate man.
‘I found his body after he’d hung himself,’ she told him softly.
CHAPTER TEN
SHAKING his head in disbelief, Blaise sensed his stomach violently turn over. ‘What?’
Maya stared down at the table. Her long dark hair fell gently forward, partially shielding her.
‘He was in his studio…I’d just returned from buying some groceries—he never thought about food when he was working and the cupboard was bare.’ She glanced up and grimaced. ‘I called out to him but he didn’t answer. I knew he was working, trying his best to get something new going after a long period of not being able to work at all, so I put the food away and made us both a cup of tea.’
‘You don’t have to go on if this is too painful.’
‘I want to. I haven’t spoken to anyone about it for a long time, and I—and I need to.’
‘Then I want to listen.’
‘Anyway…I knocked on the door and called out again—not so loud as to disturb him from his train of thought, just clear enough that he could hear me. Still he didn’t answer. I carefully opened the door and glanced in.’
Her chin wobbled a little, and Blaise’s breath was suddenly trapped inside his chest.
‘He was hanging by a rope he’d tied onto the chandelier—it was a fairly hefty, lavish affair—and little shards of glass lay shattered and broken beneath his feet on the table that he’d dragged over so that he could—so that he could—’ Covering her face with her hand, she began to cry softly.
For a frozen second Blaise couldn’t make himse
lf move. Then he was on his feet, moving swiftly round to her side, pulling her gently upright and guiding her head down onto his chest. Almost immediately her hot tears dampened his shirt, and he rained tender little kisses over her silken hair, breathing in her sweetly perfumed shampoo and feeling her slender body shudder against him.
‘Cry as much as you want to, sweetheart,’ he crooned. ‘I won’t let you go. I’ll just keep on holding you.’
‘This isn’t what you hired me for…to behave like some emotional wreck and have you take care of me.’
‘Are you crazy? Do you honestly think it’s a hardship for me to hold you like this after what we’ve shared?’
‘All these years,’ she whispered against his shirt, ‘I’ve kept on thinking that if I’d only got back sooner…or if I hadn’t gone to the shops at all…he might—he might still be here…’
‘No, Maya…sweetheart, I think you’re wrong.’
‘How do you know?’ Trustingly, hopefully, she raised her face to his.
Folding his palms round her slim upper arms, Blaise breathed in deeply. ‘It sounds like he’d let himself descend too low into the pit of despair to be rescued by anyone…’ Unable to resist, he traced the tracks of her tears with the pad of his thumb. ‘Least of all you. He was meant to take care of you, Maya…not the other way round.’
‘What if he tried his best to take care of me but he just couldn’t? I can’t keep on blaming him for that.’
Even now she was still protecting him, Blaise realised with incredulity. After all the man had put her through!
‘You don’t have to keep on blaming him, but he absolutely did not try his best to take care of you, Maya. Whatever you say, however much you may want to jump to his defence, he didn’t try his best at all. He may have been an incredible artist, but it was his only daughter he should have lavished his love and devotion on first…even before his art.’
‘To be honest, I think that sometimes he used his painting to escape the world—but don’t we all do that in one form or another at times of stress or worry? Try to escape? Can I tell you something else? I don’t always feel so forgiving towards him. Sometimes I hate him for what he did…how he behaved, how he put people who didn’t even care about him before me. But the truth is I also loved him very much.’