by Ginna Gray
"Are you kidding me? Knowing what I know? Uh-uh. No way, no how, no time." He shuddered. "I'd sooner remove my own kidney with a dull knife than be permanently tied to one woman."
Max laughed. Permanent. Strong word. And a strange one. Troy heard it and reacted with dread, but to Max it was the pinnacle, the brass ring.
He'd always wanted a permanent home. That was what his condo was supposed to have been when he purchased it—a comfortable, relaxing home base where he could recharge his batteries, a place that felt welcoming, a place where he felt at home. What it became, in reality, was a place to store his clothes and sleep occasionally.
Maybe that was because he didn't know how to go about creating a home. He'd grown up without a permanent base, moving from place to place, sometimes country to country, wherever his father's work took him.
As an adult he'd never felt any particular rush to return to his condo in Houston. There was nothing waiting there for him, or no one.
For the past ten years or so, at the end of a long day of business such as this one had been, all he had required was a shower and a comfortable bed. For that, one luxury hotel was much the same as another, whether it was in Paris, New York, Tokyo or any other city.
Since he married Elizabeth, however, he frequently found himself rushing to wrap up business so that he could hurry back to her, no matter how long it took to get there or how inconvenient.
Worse, sometimes in the middle of serious negotiating, he found his thoughts wandering to Elizabeth. Picturing those big blue-green eyes, her small, perfect nose, the elegant curve of her neck, her cheeks, that thick, shiny hair and how it felt to run his fingers through it.
Take today, for instance. While Troy had been pounding home to the property owners that any additional monies they would make by breaking their contract with Riordan Enterprises and going with the new bidder would be gobbled up by attorney fees, Max's thoughts had drifted off to Elizabeth.
How was she doing? What was she wearing? Did she have trouble sleeping at night without him beside her, as he had trouble sleeping without her? The pull of that one small woman and the serenity and satisfaction he experienced when he was with her drew him like a powerful magnet.
Max studied Troy as he poured himself another drink. "What is your problem with Elizabeth, anyway?" he asked. "And don't tell me you don't have one. I'm not blind."
Troy took a sip of whiskey and shrugged. "It's not Elizabeth in particular, it's her kind in general."
"Her kind?"
"Society women, the kind who love you when you've got money, but let your family lose their fortune, and quicker than you can say Dow Jones they drop you for the next poor slob with a seven- or eight-figure bank account."
"I assume you're speaking from experience?" Max inquired, watching him.
He and Troy had been friends since their senior year of college when Troy transferred from Yale to Texas Tech. It had seemed strange to Max at the time that Troy had gone from living the frat-boy life at an Ivy League school to sharing a dorm room at a state-supported Texas college.
From Troy's terse comments and little things that he'd let drop, Max had figured out the reason for the chip that Troy carried around on his shoulder. The senior Ellerbee had not only gone bankrupt the previous year, he had committed suicide, leaving his wife and family to cope with the aftermath of his failure.
Max had earned everything he'd ever had—including his education—by the sweat of his brow and the strength of his intellect, and he had no patience with a sniveling ex-rich boy's angst or anger. After only a week of sharing a dorm room, Troy had snarled at Max one time too many. In his usual blunt way, Max had told him he was sick of his complaints and his "poor me" attitude.
"You're not the first one life has kicked in the teeth and you won't be the last. So suck it up and move on, frat boy," he'd shouted at Troy in a nose-to-nose confrontation.
Surprisingly, Troy had, and he and Max had been the best of friends ever since.
"Yeah, I'm speaking from experience," Troy acknowledged.
"You want to talk about it?"
Again, Troy shrugged. "As you know, I used to have the lifestyle that your wife has always lived—old money, the best schools, all the perks those things brought. I was crazy in love with a girl back then. I'd known her since high school. I thought she loved me. But when the Ellerbee fortune went down the tubes, so did our relationship."
He turned from staring out the window and looked at Max. "That was when I decided to get serious about college. I swore that I would make as much money as I possibly could, as fast as I could."
"And then what?" Max asked.
"Then I would let her know what she passed up."
"Mmm. How's that working for you?"
Troy's mouth twisted. "It's not. I've made a lot of money, thanks to you, but whenever I think about contacting her, suddenly it doesn't seem like enough. I've got an uneasy feeling that it will never be enough. Anyway, I've never gotten up the nerve to confront her."
Max's cell phone rang and he got up and pulled it from the inside pocket of his suit coat. "Yeah."
"Mr. Riordan. This is Dooley."
Max stiffened, instantly alert. "What's wrong, Dooley? Why are you calling? Oh, damn, don't tell me that guy from New York is after Elizabeth again."
"No, sir. That's not it. I've been keeping a sharp eye out for him, like you asked. Don't you worry."
"Then what is it?"
"Well, sir, I can't rightly tell you that. I promised I wouldn't."
"You promised who, what?"
"Miss Elizabeth. She made us all promise not to tell you what has happened, and I won't break that promise, but I will say this much. If I were you, I'd get myself home. Now.
"That's all I can say. And when you do come home I'd appreciate it if you didn't let on that I called you at all."
"All right. You've got my word. And thanks for the heads-up, Dooley."
The throbbing in Elizabeth's cheek woke her. She glanced at the bedside clock and saw that it was almost six in the afternoon. She got out of bed and went into the bathroom, and groaned at the sight that greeted her in the mirror. She looked as though she'd gone ten rounds in a boxing ring. Her left eye was cut at the corner and the swelling in her cheek was grotesque. On top of that, both eyes were red and swollen from her crying jag.
After taking two more aspirin, she splashed her face with cold water and ran a comb through her hair. There wasn't much point in applying more makeup. No amount of makeup would compensate for the swelling nor cover the ghastly red-and-purple bruising.
She went into the large closet that connected both bedrooms and the bath and put on a bra and a simple, mid-calf-length jade wool dress, and stepped into a pair of strappy suede high heels. Her only jewelry was a pair of gold earrings and a twenty-inch gold chain.
"Hey, look who's here. Sleeping beauty," Mimi said when Elizabeth entered the den. "How do you feel, sugar?"
"Bruised and battered, but not down for the count yet."
"That's my girl," Aunt Talitha praised. "We Stanton women are made of stern stuff."
"I'll say," Mimi murmured, watching Elizabeth with concern.
"Oh, my dear, I still can't believe that horrible man hit you," Iona said, peering at Elizabeth's injury. "And he was angry because you chose my son over him? Humph. No small wonder, I say."
Gladys came to the doorway of the den and announced, "Dinner is ready. Oh, Miss Elizabeth, you're up. How do you feel?"
"Better. Thank you, Gladys."
They all, including Mimi, trooped into the dining room and sat down at the table, Elizabeth in her customary place at the end facing the large double doorway that led into the foyer. Gladys moved back and forth between the kitchen and dining room with serving dishes full of steaming food.
"I hope you don't mind, Iona," Elizabeth said to her mother-in-law. "We eat family style except for formal occasions."
"Mind? Goodness gracious, no. I prefer eating this way. I
'm just a simple country girl, I'm afraid."
The housekeeper had just brought in the last dish when they heard a key in the front door lock. Elizabeth sucked in a sharp breath and cast a quick look around the table at the others. "That has to be Max. Remember. Not one word."
"But, how—"
"Just do it. Please."
"Max," Iona said, flashing her son a beaming smile.
"I'll go fetch another place setting," Gladys announced to no one in particular.
"Hello, Mom." Max put his garment bag down on the padded bench in the foyer and went straight to his mother's side and kissed her cheek. "Sorry your trip was cut short. How are you? How's your leg?"
"It's fine. Just fine. This sweet little wife of yours has taken excellent care of me."
For the first time since entering the house, Max looked at Elizabeth. "Thanks for seeing after her."
Elizabeth nodded, carefully keeping the unmarred side of her face turned toward him.
He said hello to Talitha and Mimi and dropped a perfunctory kiss on Elizabeth's upturned cheek. "Just give me a minute to wash up and I'll be right with you," he said, and disappeared down the hallway.
The instant they heard the powder-room door close, everyone started whispering at once.
"You see! I told you to call him," Aunt Talitha said, pointing at Elizabeth with the butter knife she held in her hand.
"Oh, dear," his mother fretted. "I know my son. Believe you me, he's going to be mad as a raging bull."
"What's your plan, sugar?"
"I know I have no choice but to explain to him what happened, but I hope to do that when we're alone. I'll try to keep my face turned throughout dinner. Then I'll tell him later when we're in our bedroom."
"Good idea," Iona agreed, nodding her head sagely. "With his father I always found it easier to break bad news if I got him all worked up with bedroom stuff first."
Mimi choked on the sip of water she was swallowing. Aunt Talitha cleared her throat and pretended an acute interest in the silverware pattern that she'd seen every day for more than seventy years.
Elizabeth felt heat rising in her neck and face like a mercury thermometer that has just been plunged in hot water.
"Okay, that's better." Max reentered the room and took his place at the opposite end of the table from Elizabeth.
"So. What's going on?" he asked.
"Nothing," all four women blurted out in unison, then quickly ducked their heads.
Max stopped in the act of spooning mashed potatoes onto his plate and looked around the table, his eyes narrowing when no one would meet his gaze.
"I see." He passed the potatoes to Mimi and picked up the platter of chicken-fried steak and helped himself to a large piece. What were these women up to? he wondered, ladling cream gravy over his meat and potatoes. They're all straining to act natural. Too much so.
Throughout the meal an uncomfortable silence hung in the room like fog, and when someone did venture to introduce a topic, the conversation was stilted. Even Mimi was quiet.
"Is something wrong with your neck, Elizabeth?" Max finally asked.
"My neck? Why, no."
"Then why are you holding your head that way?"
"What way? I don't know what you mean."
Max put down his knife and fork and stared down the length of the table at her. "Look at me, Elizabeth."
She slanted him a sidelong look. "I am looking at you."
Max scraped his chair back and stood up. Elizabeth's heart pounded as she watched him come around the table. Everyone else watched, not making a sound. When he reached her side he said, "Look at me, Elizabeth," and he took her chin between his thumb and forefinger and turned her face up to him.
Shock, then fury flashed across Max's face. "What the bloody hell! Who did this to you?"
"What makes you think someone did it? I could have fallen."
"Uh-uh. I've been in enough barroom brawls to know a knuckle buster when I see one. Now, who did this? I want a name. Now."
"It was Wyatt Lassiter."
"Aunt Talitha!"
"The jig's up, child. He's seen the damage and he deserves to know who did it."
"Wyatt Lassiter did this? That son of a— Why in God's name would he attack my wife?"
Talking at once, Talitha and Iona jumped at the chance to retell the story, including the background of Talitha's broken engagement to Wyatt's father.
By the time they finished their tale Max was livid. Without a word, he strode back into the foyer and snatched up his overcoat.
"Max! Max, where are you going?"
"Where do you think? I'm going to find Wyatt Lassiter and give him a beating he won't soon forget."
"Max, no!" Elizabeth jumped up from the table and ran after him. She caught his forearm and clung to hold him back. "Max, please don't do this. The Lassiters are very influential people, particularly when it comes to the law. If you cross them you can kiss goodbye whatever hope you may have had of being accepted in Houston society."
"Dammit, Elizabeth, do you really think that means more to me than you do?" he snarled. His insides were roiling. He wanted—needed—to tear something apart with his bare hands.
Confused, she blinked at him and murmured low enough for the others not to hear. "Yes. Of course I do. You married me for my social connections. Don't ruin things for yourself now."
Breathing hard, Max stared at her. He was tempted to tell her…? What? That she was important to him? That he'd come to like her more than he'd expected? He doubted that she wanted to hear that. She was obviously still operating under their original ground rules.
Besides, he wasn't certain exactly how he felt about her, or that he could put those feelings into words.
His mother and Talitha joined them in the foyer while Mimi watched from the doorway.
"My boy, Elizabeth is right," Aunt Talitha said. "The Lassiters are a mean bunch. Cross one of them and you have an enemy for life."
"Anyway, son, you're too angry to go over there right now," Iona added. "The temper you're in, you'll probably get yourself arrested."
"You think I'm just going to let this slide? This creep comes into our home and assaults my wife, and I'm supposed to do nothing?"
"On the contrary, I most certainly do think you should confront the man," his mother said. "I just think that you should cool off first."
"Your mother's right. Wyatt will still be there tomorrow. Give yourself time to come up with a plan," Talitha urged. "Oh, and here's something that will verify what happened." Reaching into her pocket, she pulled out an envelope. "Just in case Wyatt has the nerve to claim innocence."
"What's this?" Max asked.
"Polaroid pictures that Dooley made just after your mother and I walloped the tar out of Wyatt. We sent him packing, didn't we, Iona?"
"I'll say. That nasty young man took off like a scalded cat."
Max looked from one woman to the next, his anger abating somewhat at the thought of these two little old ladies beating the tar out of that stuffed shirt, Wyatt Lassiter.
"All right, you win," he reluctantly gave in. "I'll wait until tomorrow morning. But I am going to have this out with Lassiter, so don't any of you try your female wiles or pleas. Got it?"
The three women exchanged glances. They were clearly not happy with his ultimatum, but they decided to take what they could get.
"All right. I won't interfere," Elizabeth said.
"Me, neither, son."
"Nor will I," Aunt Talitha agreed. "To tell you the truth, I wouldn't mind being a fly on the wall when you catch up with him."
"Me, neither," Mimi spoke up. "I'd pay good money for a chance to see that. In fact, we could probably sell tickets. There are a lot of people who'd like to see Wyatt get his comeuppance."
"Now that that's settled, let's all sit down like civilized people and finish our dinner," Aunt Talitha ordered.
With somber faces, they all complied.
Max picked up his knife and fork and cut
into his steak, but his gaze kept returning to Elizabeth's face. "You're going to have to call and cancel our dinner with the Drexels and any other social commitments we have," Max said after a while. "As swollen and bruised as your eye and cheek are, it'll be a while before you look normal again."
"I know," Elizabeth replied in a subdued voice. "I've already canceled everything."
"Good."
Later that evening, as soon as they were alone in their bedroom, Elizabeth broached the matter that had been eating away at her ever since she'd stormed out of the house the previous Sunday afternoon.
Taking off her gold earrings on the way, she walked to her dressing table. "Max, we have to talk."
"Okay," he said, disappearing into the closet.
Elizabeth unfastened the gold chain from around her neck, dropped it and the earrings into a cut-glass bowl on top of the dressing table, then went into the closet as well.
"We need to talk about your Dallas project."
"What about it?" Paying only scant attention, he pulled off his tie and hung it on the rack, then started unbuttoning his shirt.
"I did not leak information about it to anyone, nor did my attorney. It was Wyatt."
"Yeah, I know." He pulled his shirttails from beneath the waistband of his trousers and tossed the shirt into a satin-lined hamper.
Elizabeth stopped her contorting efforts to reach the long zipper down the back of her dress and turned her head to stare at him. "You know?"
"Yeah. You need some help with that?" he asked, and without waiting for her answer he walked over to stand behind her. "You've got some hair caught in the zipper."
"Since when?"
"Since when did you get your hair caught? Hell, I don't know."
"Very funny. I was talking about your project." The hair came free and Max unzipped the garment all the way to the bottom. Elizabeth stepped out of the dress. Wearing only skimpy lace panties, a matching bra and high-heeled strappy slides, she walked to the area in the closet where her dresses were and hung the garment on a padded hanger.
Damn, Max thought, staring at the three-inch swath of dark teal lace that miraculously clung to her lower hips and firm little tush. He'd thought the thong she'd worn the last night they'd made love was sexy, but looking at her in that little wisp of lace made his mouth go dry.