She looked up at him as he reared over her, and only then he saw her tears mixing with the wildness.
His heart went still. He wanted to close his eyes and lose himself. But he held himself back. “What is it, Vivienne? Am I wrong? Do you truly not want this?”
The words choked him. But if he was mistaken . . .
His breath caught, making him feel weak and vulnerable as he hadn’t since he was ten years old and staring at Vivienne, even then wanting so badly to touch her, to hold her, to keep her forever, that he thought he might break.
With shaking hands, she touched his lips. “Can you really love me just for me?”
The words shuddered through him. “I’ll love you forever, Vivienne. I always have.”
He thought he saw a flash of darkness flare in her eyes, but then she pulled him to her. “Then show me, Max.”
The words whispered along every nerve ending. He wanted to thrust hard and deep, but he knew he had to prepare her. Despite her insistence that she was experienced, he understood that she was innocent of true love-making.
Moving beside her, he forced her to lie flat. “Shhh,” he murmured when she tried to curl close. He gentled her with his palm, sliding his hand low until he parted the soft folds, finding the tight nub, circling. Then he slipped his finger deep, ensuring that she was wet and ready for him.
Her mouth fell open when he widened her knees, pulling them up, slipping his forearm between her thighs, caressing her with the calloused tips of two fingers. Her body seemed to hum with desire.
“Max?” she whispered, looking at him, not understanding the intensity of her body’s need.
“I won’t hurt you, sweetheart.”
He could see that she trusted him, letting him touch her as he would, until she couldn’t take it any more.
“I want you inside me,” she gasped.
And he was lost.
He came over her, sinking deep with a primal thrust and a soul-shattering roar. She was tight, and she cried out. His heart thundered and his body throbbed with the need to pound hard. But he had to go slow.
He started to pull away so he could ease their bodies together more slowly. She looked at him as if he had betrayed her.
“Don’t treat me like I’m fragile. I won’t break.”
Like a china doll behind glass.
In some recess of his mind he understood. And when she frantically moved against him, words were lost as he groaned and he forgot.
Their bodies came together with spiraling intensity. It seemed she tried to melt into him, seeking and wanting, admitting the need he had confronted her with.
They held each other, sensation shivering through them as he thrust inside her, his back arching, her hands clutching his arms. He couldn’t look away from her, and their gazes locked until her eyes fluttered closed, her lips parting, and he could feel her body shatter. Then, only then, did he bury his face in her hair and find his release.
He clutched her to him, his body on fire with sensation, each of them panting. Seconds ticked by before their breathing started to settle.
Afterward, they lay together without saying a word. They remained that way until their hearts settled, then Max lifted up on his elbow.
He didn’t say a word, just looked at her, and she clearly grew uncomfortable. A shyness that he wouldn’t have guessed at surfaced, and she turned her head away from him.
“No,” he whispered. “Don’t turn away from me ever again. We are together forever.” He kissed her brow. “I’ll never hurt you, Vivienne. Trust me.”
Then he pulled her into his arms and felt the moment she relaxed against him and was asleep.
Chapter Twenty-seven
The following morning, Vivi stood in the drive of Number 15 Pinehurst, after returning from the grocery store, a carefree, girlish smile pulling at her lips. She huddled against the cold in an oversized, navy blue bulky sweater she had found in Max’s drawer and had put on over leftover burgundy leggings and a pair of Keds.
She hugged the bag of groceries tight as she looked at the house, the perfect architecture, the perfect lot, on the perfect street. Despite its undeniable beauty, the perfection had always bothered her. But for the first time she noticed the imperfect initials carved into a square of cement between the drive and the front walk. All eight of the Landry children had signed the cement, including Max, his initials looming over the others’. So like the man.
She felt giddy at the thought that he loved her. Her. Vivi Stansfield. And he loved her just . . . well . . . because he did! Not because she was Jennings Stansfield’s daughter. Not because she would look great on his arm.
Without a worry for who saw her, she did a little dance as she hurried into the house, wanting to escape the December cold.
That morning, Max had kissed her awake. For one glittering space of time her world had consisted of nothing more than Max. She hated that he’d had to make a quick day trip to Ruidoso to view a parcel of land. But he promised he’d be back that evening for the family dinner he had arranged.
Now, hours later, the feeling of joy and happiness was still there, only mitigated by the old habit—the very bad habit—of being afraid to believe he could really care for her. And that made her mad. She refused to be someone who couldn’t let go of the past. So what if her father had wanted a daughter to parade around, a showpiece for the press? Last night Max had said that he truly loved her.
She would dive in headfirst, refusing to let her fear of being vulnerable to someone hold her back. She would open her heart to Max.
Using her key, Vivi entered the quiet house. Pat must not have dropped the girls off yet. She headed for the kitchen, but a noise stopped her.
Max!
Setting the groceries down, thrilled he had already returned, she headed for his office.
The faint sound of voices drifted toward her as she made her way down the hall, then she froze when she came to the door. Nicki pranced around wearing Vivi’s tiara and reading aloud from Vivi’s wedding diary.
“Nicki, don’t,” Lila pleaded, crying. “Vivi’s going to be home any minute.”
“So what?”
“She’ll get mad.”
“Like I care. I hope she does, and then maybe she’d finally get the message that she’s not wanted here. Look at this. She says I’m angry and afraid.”
“But I like her.”
“Too bad.”
“Max likes her, too.”
That stopped Nicki and she snorted. “Look at this one,” she said, turning the page. “I love Max! And he loves me! Yeah, right. She makes him crazy but I bet he wants to screw her.”
“Nicki!” Lila gaped.
“Don’t be a baby. Just look at all these pictures he has of her. You know Max. Vivi’s just one more notch in his belt, a conquest—just like the awards, the money, this house. Mark my words, the minute he screws her, he’ll move on. He never dates any woman for long.”
Confused, her stomach churning, Vivi tried to understand. She saw an old accordion file sitting on the floor, and just beyond, she could make out old newsprint spread out on the floor. At first she thought they were the photographs and newspaper pictures she had found at their father’s house.
Forgetting the girls, Vivi stepped into the room. She ignored the gasps. She didn’t glance at either Nicki or Lila as she made her way across the thick, hand-knotted rug.
“Don’t look!” Lila cried out, racing to her.
But it was too late. Vivi stared down at the floor, taking in newspaper photos laid out like a child’s game of Concentration. A lifetime of photos with captions.
Princess in Pink.
Daddy’s Girl Shops at Opening of Alice’s Treasure Trove.
But the two that snagged her attention were of the photo of her cutting the ceremonial ribbon at her father’s new plant. Then of her, again, dancing with her father at the debutante ball. Each with the same caption, like an echo of who the world thought she was.
A Texan Ki
ng with His Pampered Princess.
Vivi turned to the girls. “Where did you get these?” she asked, the sound of blood pounding in her ears.
Nicki looked half-scared, half-belligerent. It was Lila who answered. “They’re Max’s. I guess he’s been collecting them for a long time. It’s a total compliment though, don’t you think?”
Vivi felt as if she couldn’t take a deep enough breath as she remembered the day she had walked into his office at MBL Holdings. She had thought for a moment that he had recognized her. Then it was gone. What had he said?
“No, we’ve never met.”
Vivi gave a small strangled sound. No, they hadn’t met. But he had known who she was. He had actively pursued her. He had taken her to see that first house, then had met her at the second. Max Landry, one of the most important men in town, had dropped everything to take her to see some insignificant property.
Like she were drifting through water, she reached down and picked up the article on the Stansfield plant opening with its faded photo of her helping her father cut the ribbon, the jewels in her tiara catching the sun.
Yes, Max wanted her—but he had wanted the princess all along.
“I would never hurt you.”
She ripped the clipping in half. “Liar,” she whispered into the room.
She thought Max had been drawn to her—just her— as if he had seen something inside her, seen something deeper than what the newspaper photos had shown of her over a lifetime. She had believed he saw beneath the facade. But he hadn’t seen anything deeper.
She felt used and manipulated. And in that second the intensity she had felt for Max since the second she saw him shifted to something different, something darker, more complicated. She had let down her guard, had fallen for him. He had made her believe.
“Vivi,” Lila said, her tiny voice choked. “Please don’t be mad.”
Nicki still said nothing, though every ounce of belligerence had fled. The girl snapped the diary shut, then pulled the tiara from her head, her long dark hair catching before fluttering like wings when it finally tugged free.
Carefully, she set the book and crown on the desk.
Vivi stared at her father’s gift that she reluctantly cherished and the diary filled with her hopes, fears, and dreams. But they were empty dreams, as was clearly represented by the fact that she had continued to write in a book called My Wedding Diary even after her engagement was broken.
Without looking at either of the girls, Vivi took the tiara and diary and headed upstairs to her bedroom. Lila hurried after her. Even Nicki followed, then hovered in the doorway.
With deliberate actions, Vivi pulled out her clothes, and stuffed them in green trash bags, because she had sold all her luggage.
“Vivi! What are you doing?” Lila asked.
Vivi took everything that was important, everything that she would need. She’d send for the rest. The last thing she included was the damned tiara and diary, as if she could do nothing else.
After she had what she needed, she pulled her cell phone out of her purse, then dialed.
“Pat, this is Vivi. I need you to come and pick up the girls.”
“But—”
Vivi hung up. For a second she closed her eyes against the sound of Lila’s sobs. In some recess of her mind, Vivi knew she was running—running from Max, from these girls’ emotions that she didn’t know how to handle, and from herself.
Or was she running to something? Running to the self that she had just begun to find before she opened her heart and admitted that she loved Max?
Her eyes popped open, and she tried to pull those thoughts to the surface, to make sense of them. She walked into the bathroom, shut the door, and leaned back against it. But then her cell phone rang. Without thinking, she answered.
“Vivi? Is that you, love?”
“Mother?” she breathed.
“Vivi! My poor broken dove, I’ve heard what a mess your father has made of things.”
“Mother” was all she could say, her heart surging and breaking all at once.
“Yes, dear, I’m here, at the Camino Real hotel. You must come right away.”
And when Pat showed up, frantic and not understanding, Vivi loaded her things in the dark green Olds and rumbled off beneath the icy gray sky.
Max paced back and forth in the kitchen. “I don’t understand,” he said.
Lila and Nicki sat at the table, not saying a word.
It was late, and he had hurried back from Ruidoso for dinner with the family. And to see Vivienne.
He picked up the cordless phone and dialed her cell number. But she didn’t answer. After her voice mail came on, he spoke. “Vivienne, where are you? What happened?” He glanced at the girls, then walked out of the kitchen and into the laundry room and closed the door. With a sigh, he leaned back against the dryer. “Talk to me, Vivienne. Call me. Please.”
After a long second, he pressed the OFF button. He stared at the wall, then noticed a dry board with multicolored pens. It was a schedule, he realized, color coordinated for the types of clothes she needed to wash on what day. There were piles already ready—whites in a white basket, colors in a pink basket, and towels piled in another made of green woven plastic. She had taken the laundry room and turned it into an organized machine. Just like the house. Lists everywhere, making sure she didn’t fall down on the job.
He nearly smiled, then he remembered she was gone.
Something must have happened for her to leave. And he damn well wasn’t going to sit around hoping to find out what it was. He would find her.
Banging out of the house, he drove to every place he could think she might have conceivably gone, including the property on University. A burn started low, threatening to consume him, as he all but tore the town apart looking for her. But there was no sign.
After long, sleepless hours, the next day was no better. His brothers and sisters had come and gone from the house last night. First thing in the morning, he left without eating or reading the paper, and didn’t even say a word to the girls. He drove to Andy’s office at the bank.
“Yes, Max, I’ve talked to her, but really, I don’t know where she is.”
Before Max knew it he had the man pinned back in his fine leather chair.
“Max,” Andy gasped. “I swear, she called but she wouldn’t leave a number.”
He knew then that she was safe, that she hadn’t been hurt or lay somewhere wounded. But she didn’t want to be found. What did he feel? Upset? Fury?
A simple slow-burning rage.
Christmas was right around the corner. What a fool to have believed that he would enjoy this holiday with Vivienne. When he pulled into the drive he saw Pat’s car. She stood in the kitchen with the girls.
“Did you find her?” she asked Max the minute he walked in the door.
“No.” His jaw ticked.
“What did you do to her?” she demanded. “Why did she run out of here like that?”
Before he could answer, Chris came in from the side drive. “Is she back?”
“No,” Pat stated.
Chris banged his hands together to warm them. “What the hell did you do, Max?”
“Why does everyone assume I did something?” he shot back. “I didn’t do anything.”
But was that true? he wondered. Had he pushed her too far by making her admit that she needed him? When faced with something she didn’t want to deal with, had she run? That was what worried him the most—that she had run away from him. But why?
“We know you, Max, and we’ve seen how demanding you are,” Pat explained. “Of everyone, including Vivi.”
Max scowled. “I don’t believe it.”
Chris agreed with Pat. Then Nicki burst out in tears.
“She’s gone because I ran her off!”
The room went silent. Max’s brow furrowed. “What are you talking about?”
“It’s my fault.”
Lila started to whimper.
“Will
someone tell me what happened?” Max demanded.
It was Lila who spoke up. “She . . . found all the pictures and stuff you have of her.”
A moment passed before understanding came clear. A chill slid down his spine, and he felt all eyes on him. “What pictures?” he asked carefully.
“The ones in your brown file. Those old newspaper articles and photos you keep in your office.”
He felt as if someone had put a left hook into his gut. “She found those?”
Lila cringed. Nicki started to cry more.
“I did it on purpose,” Nicki suddenly blurted. “I was mad at her—even though all she wanted to do was help. We were in your office and she walked in.” She squeezed her eyes closed. “I was making fun of her.”
Max stood perfectly still as Nicki hurtled on, words spilling out of her as she told him about going to the party despite his command that she couldn’t go. She told him about the fake breasts, about Brandon in the back of the car, and about Vivi coming to get her. The horrible things Nicki had said.
“One minute I would like her, then the next I just hated her so much,” she whispered. “It was like everyone thought she was so great, and I couldn’t do anything right.”
Max banged his fist on the counter. “Why the hell were you going through my things?”
But just as suddenly he stopped himself. He remembered the photos his father had kept of him. He had felt violated. As if someone had been looking over his shoulder all those years without him even knowing it.
That was exactly what he had done to Vivienne, only worse because he hadn’t even known her. He stood there furious at Nicki when he should be furious only at himself. All Nicki wanted was a way to find herself, to have him see her, just as Vivienne had said. And if she had to get in trouble to do it, so be it.
With his mind reeling with brutal understanding, he leaned forward and took Nicki’s arms. He felt sick when she flinched. “Nick, I’m sorry. You and I are going to talk about you sneaking out and about all you’ve been dealing with. Just as soon as I find Vivienne.”
The Wedding Diaries Page 26