“I am serious. No more games. No more pretend. I want you, Vivienne.”
It was the gravity of his tone that seeped into her mind.
“I want to take care of you,” he added into the silence, his eyes boring into hers. “I want you to belong to me.” He hesitated for one long second as her world turned upside down, then added, “I want to belong to you.”
Thoughts froze in her head, her heart seeming to go still in her chest. She couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe. “What?”
“We are meant to be together. This”—he gestured to their bodies twined together—“you and me, is about more than lessons and forgetting. It’s time we both faced it.”
With those words, her mind broke free. “No!” She jerked away, pushing so fiercely, so suddenly, that surprise gained her release. When he rolled off her, she leaped up from the floor, her thoughts wild and raging.
“Vivienne—”
“No! I don’t want to hear any more. This is craziness.”
Max got to his feet. “It’s not crazy, it’s the truth, and you know it.”
She gaped at him. “People don’t belong to each other.”
“You know what I mean.”
“No! I don’t have the foggiest idea what you mean. How can you go from hating that you want me—which, thank you very much, you have made abundantly clear—to now wanting to . . . to . . . belong to me!”
She started to pace, acutely aware that Max stood very still.
“True,” he said, “I’ve resisted my attraction to you—”
“But now you’ve decided to go with it?”
She heard the sarcasm, knew she resorted to it when she felt panicked or trapped.
He took a step toward her, but she warded him off with her hand. “No!”
“Vivienne, I hated the loss of control you made me feel.” His features took on a strength and power that went beyond the ruthless control he always maintained. “But I’ve realized that the only thing that is weak is if I refuse to admit that I love you.”
Air rushed into her lungs. He loved her? This dominating man loved her?
Fiercely, she slapped her hands over her ears, tears burning. “No, no, no! No love!” She found her purse and rummaged frantically around in it until she located her keys. She could feel Max behind her, staring at her in shock.
“This was never about love,” she stated. “This was about sex, and fun, and a way to forget until I could find my way out of the mess I was in.”
“I realize it might have started out that way—”
“Might?”
“But you can’t get around the fact that things have changed.”
She pivoted and looked him in the eye. “Maybe you can’t get around it, but I can. Love me if you have to, but I’m not interested in loving you back.”
Yanking on her coat, she started for the door. But Max caught her arm, forcing her to look at him. “You can’t just walk out and expect this to go away.”
She closed her eyes, wondering how she had come to this point. “Why can’t we just forget this happened?” she whispered desperately. Her gaze flickered to his face, and she offered him a feebly hopeful smile. “We’ll ignore the L word. Pretend that everything is back to normal—you and me at each other’s throats. It’ll be great.”
He didn’t smile. His expression was grim. “Why can’t you accept what’s happened between us?”
She nearly resorted to some flip remark, but she swallowed it back. Emotion welled up, and burst inside her. The tears slipped over, streaking down her cheeks. “Because I’m not so good in the love department.”
Now he looked mad. “Stop joking for just one second,” he ground out.
“I’m not!” She turned away. “Everyone I have ever loved leaves me.”
“Like who?”
She blinked. “Who?”
“Hell, have there been more than Grady?”
She whirled back to him, relishing the anger that surged up. “No, there wasn’t anyone before Grady. And Grady isn’t the point. He never was the point. I could afford to marry Grady because I didn’t love him.”
She cut herself off. She couldn’t believe she had admitted it to him—and to herself.
“What are you talking about, Vivienne?”
But she was in too deep to stop now. “I’m different from everyone. I don’t fit in.”
“Vivienne—”
“Look at me! Remember all those zillions of friends I told you about? I made them up. I don’t have any friends. What normal person doesn’t have friends?”
“That doesn’t make you bad. That makes you lonely.”
“I don’t know how to open up. I don’t know how to love people back.” She hesitated, then plunged ahead. “I never loved Grady, and that way he couldn’t break my heart. Bruise my pride? Sure. But I can live with a bit of battered self-esteem. That was safe. He was safe.”
She could tell Max didn’t understand, and suddenly she wanted him to. “Don’t you see, you aren’t safe. You want and need and claim. Just like my father. You want those tangible signs of success—the house, the car, the perfect princess. Just like my father. And my father breaks my heart over and over again. I’m not interested in falling in love, especially with a man who’s just like him.”
“I am not your father,” Max stated coldly. “I think that’s just an excuse because you’re afraid of a serious, mature relationship.”
She stared at him, her chest aching, her mind confused and scared. Was he right? she wondered. Was she afraid?
Shaking the thought away, she focused. She wasn’t afraid. She had survived years of dealing with people and their varied forms of loving her. She knew the ropes, understood what it meant. Loving on their terms. And she wasn’t going to do it again with this man who would demand more than she knew how to give.
“Fine. Think what you want, Max. But the fact is I don’t love you.”
She felt his anger leap up and burn through the room, his jaw tight, his hands fisted at his sides as he stared at her. The fine hairs on her arms rose when she saw the wildness in his blue eyes. A streak of terror reared, but she held it at bay. She was not afraid of his fierceness.
“No matter what you want to believe,” she continued ruthlessly, “the only interest I have in you is sex. And I’ve never given you any reason to believe otherwise.”
She saw the wildness turn to a warrior’s fury, and her heart swelled into her throat. But she didn’t run like she wanted to, or say another word of explanation or apology. She took her purse with as much calm as she could muster, then turned on her heel and strode out of the house.
Chapter Twenty-six
Max listened to the sound of Vivienne’s heels moving carefully down the steps, then suddenly hurrying before she slammed herself into the car.
He didn’t move as something raced through him. Fury? The need to erase her from his life? He didn’t know. The only thing he knew for sure was that this wasn’t the end of this conversation.
He pounded out the front door, but Vivienne had already sped down the alleyway and onto the street. Leaping into the Mercedes, he threw it in gear and roared after her into the dark night.
He knew the minute she realized he was behind her. The Olds surged forward until they were careening through the nearly deserted midnight streets, up and down the undulating hills toward the West side. He cursed when she came to Shadow Mountain, her tail-lights barely lighting up the darkness as she screeched around the corner.
“Hands at ten and two, my ass,” he muttered, taking the corner with an expert ease.
Minutes later, she turned right onto Thunderbird, then flew up the long expanse that sliced the mountain, like she was flying into the black, midnight sky. Blood ticked like a time bomb through his veins as he pursued her. Anger pushed him on. Anger and irritation and a strange stinging frustration that this woman made everything so difficult. So complicated. And when she wheeled into his driveway, stopping in the circle rather than heading to the gara
ge out back, Max slammed to a halt behind her.
They both emerged into the quiet darkness, enraged.
“You’re a maniac!” he bellowed, his voice echoing in the night.
“You’re one to talk!” she bellowed back. “You were chasing me!”
“I was following you—a big difference. And I was only driving like that to keep up. Hell, you could have been killed.”
“Ha! Not in this baby,” she shot back, banging the Olds’s trunk.
Max bit back a curse. “All I wanted to do was talk to you like an adult—”
“Ah, but of course I’m not an adult. Is that what you’re going to say? Not mature enough? Not boring enough for you?”
Aggravation ticked through him. “Boring and mature aren’t interchangeable adjectives.”
“They are in you!”
She stormed into the house. Max counted to ten, then noticed the neighbor peering out the window.
“What are you looking at?” he demanded.
Mrs. White’s eyes went wide before she leaped back, the curtain fluttering closed.
Max cursed at himself, muttering, “She’s turning me into a lunatic.”
But that didn’t stop him from charging into the house. “Vivienne!”
Her name shattered like glass through the foyer, and when he slammed the door shut he saw her on the stairs. She stood there with her hands on her hips.
“I’m done talking,” she said defiantly.
“Too bad. I’m not.”
He felt a ruthless determination sizzle through him. And it didn’t fade at the alarm he saw come into her eyes. Her defiance evaporated. She whirled around and fled. But he caught her before she made it to the top.
In one leap, he grabbed her ankle. She caught herself on the banister.
“We are not done, Vivienne,” Max said with feral precision.
Her breathing was harsh. “You know, Max, this has gotten out of hand.”
He could tell she fought for calm. She even managed some sort of a smile.
“We’re adults,” she added, “and believe it or not, I do have the ability to be mature—ultra-mature even. And ultra-mature people would go to sleep, then rethink this whole situation in the morning. So just let go of my leg like a good Neanderthal, and I’ll head upstairs to bed. I’m really exhausted, and it’s late.”
“Liar,” he ground out.
Her head tilted and he saw wryness surge in her eyes. “Maybe it’s not late to you,” she offered, her smile tight, “but I’m more the in-bed-at-ten type.”
“I’m not talking about the time, and you know it.”
“That’s right.” She slapped her palm against her forehead. “I forgot. I’m a mind reader.”
He felt the growl rumble deep in his chest. Exhaling, Max held her relentlessly, until she couldn’t do anything but sit down on the stairs, her ankle still in his hand. He studied her, could see a wealth of emotion racing across her face like clouds in a stormy sky, her pulse fluttering in her neck.
“I understand that this is hard for you,” he began, willing himself to find the calm he was used to.
Her brow furrowed, as if she wasn’t sure what to make of this new tone. She opened her mouth and no doubt would have made some smart quip, but he pressed his fingers to her lips.
“Hear me out. Just this once, don’t protect yourself with sarcasm and humor.”
Breath rushed out of her lungs, and she looked truly vulnerable, as if he had stripped her of an arsenal she depended on.
“I’m not trying to hurt you, Vivienne.” He was going to force a conversation if it killed him. “I am not like your father. I won’t leave you, and I would never hurt you. But I don’t believe for a second that all you want from me is sex. Whether you want to face it or not, there is more going on between us than that.”
It was as if a shade slipped down over her eyes, the pale gray going dark.
Unable to help himself, he pulled her closer, forcing her down a step, as if he was reeling her in with his patience and care. “Yes, you want sex. I understand that. You’re twenty-six and have never had a decent, caring relationship with a man. You think losing yourself for a few minutes in orgasm and holding close is all there is. I think it’s all you know how to deal with. The rest, anything deeper, scares you.”
She tried to jerk away, but he only pulled her down another step.
“Stop,” she pleaded.
“Not until you hear me out.”
Another step closer.
“You want more, Vivienne. I can see it in your eyes, and I can see it in everything you do when you let your defenses down and you aren’t so busy keeping everyone at arm’s length.”
He saw her throat work, saw that she was holding back the very emotion he was talking about.
“Let go, Vivienne. Let yourself admit that you want more, that you need more.”
He pulled her to where he stood braced against the banister, his body looming over hers. Unable to help himself, he let go of her ankle and leaned down to kiss the delicate bone above each of her eyes. He felt her body tremble at the touch.
“No,” she pleaded.
“I fill you, Vivienne. I fill your soul, just as tonight I am going to fill your body. I am going to spread your legs and make you come as I show you that we are meant to be together.”
Her eyes shone with tears. He wanted to be gentle, wanted to prove to her that he meant what he said. She stared up at him, and he was certain that he saw a flicker of belief—or hope. But the minute he pulled back, she leaped up and ran.
So that’s the way it would be. She would fight him. She refused to believe. She would play games to make him think she was willing to listen, then run.
Max was tired of games, and with a fighter’s roar he charged after her.
She fled up the remaining stairs and had nearly made it to her bedroom when he caught her. His weight crashed her against the wall, his chest to her back, her cheek pressed to the fine paisley paper, her arms spread like a criminal being frisked.
“You will hear me out,” he demanded, his breathing harsh, the smell of her perfume mixing with his driving lust.
She tried to push away, but her bottom only managed to cradle his cock. Instantly he hardened. Like a warrior needing possession, he pressed against her. He knew the moment she understood her mistake.
“Do you feel that?” he demanded. “Do you feel how much I want you?”
She held herself very still. He only pressed into her again. Holding her captive with his body, he reached around and cupped her sex with his hand. With infinite care, he captured her to him.
Her breath shuddered and he could feel the fire light inside her.
“You want me, too,” he whispered gently.
He turned her to face him. “Yes, there is desire and sex and lust between us. But it’s more. You’re drawn to me,” he stated, his voice ragged. “Just as I’m drawn to you.”
Tears spilled down her cheeks. She was caught, lost and drowning in his love—he could feel it. But he had to believe that his love was also her anchor. Because he had come to admit that she was that and more to him.
He realized in some deep recess of his mind that he tasted tears—his or hers, he was no longer certain. He felt the burn in his eyes, the tightness in his chest. “I love you, Vivienne, as I have never loved anyone in my life. Stop pushing me away.”
Her cry turned aching, and with force, she broke free. But instead of running, she threw her arms around his neck, and their mouths slanted together in hunger.
“I hate you,” she cried into him.
“I love you,” he told her fiercely, his hands trailing down her body to cup her hips, then lift her up.
“You’re arrogant,” she accused, kissing his eyelids.
“You’re beautiful.”
He kissed her neck, her head falling back. Ripping her white shirt free, he dipped his mouth to her breasts.
“You think you know what’s best for everyone,” sh
e stated, her voice a rasp of sound.
“I only know that we’re meant to be together.”
He wrapped her legs around his waist as they crashed into her room, the door banging back on its hinges as Max carried her inside, their lips ravenous, exploring, never parting. They lurched and stumbled their way to her bed. He laid her down, looking so tiny and delicate against the thick comforters as he stood before her, ripping at his clothes impatiently, discarding them on the floor.
He saw her take him in, saw the awe and a little fear. He was big, he knew that, and he’d have to be careful. But he wanted her, needed her. And he would make love to her tonight.
Silvery winter light drifted in through the windows as he summoned the barely held patience he needed to peel her clothes away, carefully, reverently, piece by piece, before he came down on top of her, skin to skin.
Sliding his thigh between hers, he captured her hands above her head. He felt the intensity and the madness of a need he was willing to give in to.
He saw a matching intensity in her eyes, but a wariness as well. The walls she had built around herself were precarious and crumbling, but they were still there.
“Let me into your life,” he said, as he bent his head to her breast.
He laved first one nipple, then the next, her back arching. “Yes,” he murmured. “I love your passion.”
She whimpered and moved against him, his thigh riding higher until he could feel the tight curls at her sex brush against his leg. Her body twisted as he kissed a path down her nakedness. He kissed and licked, biting, and when he let go of her hands, her fingers curled into the bedspread.
Somehow a wildness let loose, as if she had given in completely. Suddenly, she sought and demanded. She let him cherish her body, but then she’d had enough. She jerked free, coming up, then pushing him down on the mattress. With an abandon he had only guessed at, she learned his body, kissing as he had, licking and biting, taking his nipple in her mouth, his own back arching, his hands fisting in the covers.
His body screamed for release, but he forced control. Forced himself to let her do as she wanted.
She straddled his body, then reached down and cupped him, gently pushing him high. Every muscle and tendon in his body strained against release. Her palms slid up the hard length of him to his abdomen, then higher, the hot sweet lips of her sex gliding along his shaft, touching his swollen head. In seconds, knowing that if he didn’t sink inside her he’d spill himself like a schoolboy, he whipped her over, coming down between her thighs.
The Wedding Diaries Page 25