by Mary Lyons
It seemed an age before Max finally raised his dark head, looking down at her flushed cheeks as she slowly opened her eyes.
Mentally paralysed for a moment, she gazed up at him in confusion, dazed and bewildered by his assault on her long-dormant senses. But as the harsh, cold facts of life finally broke through the miasma in her stunned mind, she gave a horrified sob as she tore herself from his arms. Fighting to control her ragged breathing, she stared at him in utter consternation.
What had she been doing? Panting as if she’d just run a mile, and totally appalled to find herself still quivering with sexual hunger, Amber almost collapsed with shame. How could she still be attracted to a man who, not content with callously abandoning her all those years ago, was now clearly intent on asserting his parental rights to her daughter? There was only one possible conclusion: she must be stark, raving mad!
Max’s face was taut and strained, pale beneath his tan, his blue eyes glittering like steel chips. And while he, too, appeared to be breathing roughly, he seemed to have no difficulty in finding his voice.
‘That was a mistake—and not one I have any intention of repeating,’ he told her grimly. ‘At the risk of sounding tedious, I’ll repeat what I said a few moments ago. I want to see my daughter.’
‘Well, that’s just too bad—because she’s not here!’ Amber retorted savagely.
A moment later, she could almost sense the blood draining from her face, suddenly feeling quite sick as she realised that she’d just made a really terrible, terrible mistake. Because, if she’d ever hoped to deny the fact that Max was Lucy’s father, she had now thrown away any chance of doing so.
CHAPTER FOUR
HOW could she have been such a fool?
Practically throwing the bread tins into the hot stove and loudly slamming the oven door shut did nothing to soothe Amber’s fury with herself at having been such an idiot.
There was little comfort to be gained in realising that it wasn’t entirely her fault; she’d been so emotionally shattered by Max’s kiss that she hadn’t even known whether it was night or day—let alone been capable of withstanding a tough cross-examination. Unfortunately, once she’d made the colossal mistake of telling him that Lucy was away from home, there had been nothing she could do to repair the damage.
If only she could have taken refuge upstairs in the privacy of her own bedroom, giving way to tears of overwhelming rage and anger—both with Max and herself. Unfortunately, with her mother’s lunch to prepare, she had no choice in the matter. But there seemed nothing she could do to stop her hands shaking, her knees knocking together like castanets as she recalled Max’s swift stride over the faded bedroom carpet, his hard blue eyes staring intently down at her trembling figure.
It had been no contest. He hadn’t even needed to raise his voice. Once she’d glimpsed the flush of anger beneath his tanned skin, a pulse beating in his formidable jawline and the cruel, tight-lipped expression on his face, she’d immediately caved in.
‘I’m telling you the truth. I...I really wasn’t lying,’ she had assured him quickly, her eyes sliding nervously away from his hard, steely gaze. ‘Lucy really isn’t here at the moment.’
‘I’m pleased to hear that you’ve decided to be sensible, and that there’s at least one battle I won’t have to fight,’ he’d grated, his words accurately confirming her own dismayed thoughts. ‘So, where exactly is my daughter?’
‘She...she’s in London, with Rose Thomas’s family,’ Amber had muttered helplessly, being forced to explain that Lucy wasn’t due to arrive back home until tomorrow, before Max had allowed her to leave the room.
Leaning wearily against the warm stove, Amber desperately tried to pummel her mentally weary brain into some sort of clear, cohesive thought. But it seemed an almost impossible task. She couldn’t seem to banish from her mind the images of Max’s sensual mouth poised above her own, her body still quivering in response to the erotic seduction of his lips and hands.
Oh, help! What on earth was she going to do? she moaned silently, knowing that there was virtually no chance of her being able to stop Max seeing Lucy tomorrow. And then, what? Would he insist on telling the little girl that he was her father?
Almost whimpering at the thought of her small daughter’s safe, secure world being smashed to pieces, Amber knew that there was nothing she could do to prevent it happening. However, there was no evading the harsh fact that, having been without a father all her life, Lucy might well be thrilled to discover she was the daughter of such a handsome, successful man. A man who could easily, for instance, buy his child anything her heart desired—even the pony, which the little girl had been wistfully hankering after for the past two years.
However, according to Mr Glover, Max wasn’t a married man. So, without an established family of his own, it seemed unlikely that he was seriously intending to drag Lucy away to live with him in London—or wherever he was living at the moment. Even if he attempted to do such a thing, she was certain that the law must be on her side. Surely no judge would agree to a child being torn away from her natural mother? But since his claim to be interested in buying this house was obviously a total red herring, she must try to work out exactly why Max was here and what he hoped to achieve.
Unfortunately, and however much Amber tried, she could only come to one conclusion. It looked as if Max not only wanted to see the little girl, but he was also going to tell Lucy that he was her real, long-lost father.
But that wasn’t all. While Amber was ashamed to be so pathetically small-minded, she dreaded the thought of Lucy’s illegitimacy becoming widely known. Even thinking about all the hullabaloo and juicy, scandalous gossip—which was bound to run like wildfire around the small town—was enough to make her feel faint and dizzy.
‘Ah, there you are,’ Max said, almost causing her to jump out of her skin with nerves as he silently entered the room. ‘I was just wondering where you’d got to.’
‘This kitchen is strictly off limits to paying guests,’ she informed him stonily, noting that he’d removed his suit jacket and tie, and was now wearing a black, V-necked cashmere sweater over the open-necked shirt, whose white collar only seemed to emphasise his deep tan and the firm muscular cords of his strong neck.
‘But that restriction hardly applies to me,’ he drawled coolly. ‘Especially since we’ve established the fact that I’m now practically one of the family.’
Amber glared at him, desperately clamping her lips together in an effort to suppress an extremely rude reply.
Life was so damned unfair! Surely, if there was any justice in the world, this wretched man would have come to a sticky end a long time ago. But it seemed her friend, Rose, had, alas, been quite right. Instead of succumbing to a richly deserved and malignant fate, he was now obviously very rich, highly successful—and even more devastatingly attractive than ever.
‘I’m told that you’re a wonderful cook,’ he murmured, his eyes flicking over her slender figure before glancing at the large pan of soup bubbling on the stove. ‘And I must say, that smells absolutely delicious,’ he added, with such an engaging smile that her heart almost missed a heat.
‘Get lost, you smooth bastard!’ Amber muttered under her breath as she turned away, reaching up for an apron hanging beside the stove.
‘What did you say?’
‘Oh...er...nothing,’ she mumbled, determinedly keeping her back to him, her face flushed with anger, and she mentally cursed her fumbling fingers, suddenly all thumbs as she attempted to tie the apron strings into a bow.
‘What are you giving your mother for lunch?’ he enquired, moving across the room to lean casually against the large oak dresser.
Amber shrugged, taking the bread out of the oven before placing a tray on the table. ‘I can’t think why you’re interested. However, if you must know—my mother’s having freshly baked bread with home-made leek and potato soup, followed by apple pie and cream. I do hope the menu meets with your approval?’ she added sarcastically
.
‘It most certainly does. I hope you’ve got enough for me, too.’
‘What...?’
‘I had to leave London at the crack of dawn this morning. Which means that I haven’t had a thing to eat all day.’
‘Talk about damn cheek!’ she gasped, almost unable to believe that she’d heard him correctly. ‘First you kidnap me in broad daylight, then you invite yourself to stay in this house, assault me upstairs in the bedroom, and now...’ She waved a wooden spoon wildly in the air. ‘Now you’re calmly expecting me to serve you lunch!’
‘Come on, Amber!’ he grinned wolfishly at her. ‘That kiss was hardly what I would call an “assault”. In fact, I was amazed to discover just how enthusiastically you responded to...’
‘I did nothing of the sort!’ she snapped furiously, her cheeks burning with embarrassment. ‘I was just taken by surprise, that’s all.’
‘Oh, really?’ he drawled, a clear note of disbelief in his voice, before adding firmly, ‘I suggest that we both do our best to forget the whole unfortunate episode.’
‘Yes...well, that seems a good idea,’ she muttered, carefully avoiding his eye as she laid the cutlery on her mother’s tray.
‘However, I wasn’t kidding,’ he told her with a disarming smile. ‘I really am extremely hungry.’ When she remained stubbornly silent, he added plaintively, ‘Surely you can’t refuse to feed a starving man?’
‘Oh, no? I wouldn’t like to bet on it,’ she retorted grimly.
You really had to hand it to Max, she told herself, not knowing whether to burst into tears or scream with hysterical laughter. His capacity for sheer, brass nerve was totally amazing! And since he was also clearly intending to make her present life as difficult as possible, this whole ghastly situation was rapidly becoming a complete farce.
Astonishingly, she found herself giving a dry, ironic bark of grim laughter. ‘Oh...all right. I’ll give you lunch. But only because at least one of us ought to behave like a civilised human being,’ she told him coldly before carrying the tray upstairs to her mother.
Unfortunately, Violet Grant was feeling fretful, one minute saying that she wasn’t hungry, and the next demanding to know why her daughter was late with her meal.
Determined not to let the older woman know about Max’s visit—not too difficult, since her mother’s rooms were in a separate wing at the side of the house—Amber was forced to spend some considerable time trying to calm her mother down and make her more comfortable. All to no avail.
‘If only dear Clive were still alive. He would never have agreed to sell this house,’ Violet muttered in a querulous tone of voice. ‘Clive was such a kind, generous man. I hope you realise just how lucky you were to be married to him,’ she added peevishly. ‘Husbands like that don’t grow on trees, you know.’
‘No, I know they don’t,’ Amber agreed quietly, refusing to be drawn into a silly quarrel as she tried to coax the older woman to drink her soup.
While her mother’s grouchy remarks were entirely out of character, and solely due to her acute depression about the sale of their house, she had to admit that Violet was right. Clive had indeed proved to be an exceptionally kind and generous husband. Not that she had ever dreamed of marrying him all those years ago when she’d been so madly in love with Max Warner.
Amber could still recall with remorseless clarity her feelings of overwhelming fear and panic when a London doctor had confirmed that she was expecting a baby. With the family house sold to pay her father’s creditors and her mother still in hospital, she’d been staying with her aunt, who lived in a gloomy old house in Kensington. But urgently needing to earn some money to feed and clothe herself, she’d been lucky enough to find a temporary Christmas job in the Men’s Gifts section of a world-famous department store.
It had been a long time before Amber forced herself to accept the hard, brutal truth that Max was never going to get in touch with her. And even longer to come to terms with the bitter pain and humiliation of his cruel desertion. Having always known about Max’s wild reputation as a breaker of hearts, she knew that she had only herself to blame for having been so starry-eyed. So high on cloud nine, that while she’d given him her future address and phone number in London, she had no idea of where to contact him in America.
Where could she go? What was she going to do? Day after day, the questions seemed to pound away like sledgehammers in her brain. There was no way she could tell her aged spinster aunt about the baby. Nor could she bring herself to consider terminating the pregnancy. In fact, during her long working hours, it seemed as if she was merely existing on autopilot, smiling blankly at her customers while all the time her mind was in a ferment as she desperately tried to think of a solution to her problem. And then, one day, she found herself selling some cuff-links and a tie to an old friend from her childhood.
The orphan grandson of a wealthy landowner, Clive Stanhope had been raised at Elmbridge Hall before being sent away to boarding-school on the death of his grandfather. Although Amber had only met him briefly since he’d inherited the Hall and its large estate, he seemed delighted to see her again, and insisted on taking her out to dinner.
Clive had proved to be a warm and amusing companion, managing to lift her dismal spirits by making her laugh. Discovering that they had many interests in common, he’d also been very kind and sympathetic about her father’s death and her mother’s hospitalisation. So much so, in fact, that she was astounded to find herself telling him about her pregnancy and her desperate worries about the future.
‘There’s a simple answer to that problem,’ he’d told her cheerfully, tossing back a large glass of wine. ‘The solution is to marry me—and we can then both live happily ever after!’
Convinced that he was joking, she’d laughed at such a ridiculous idea. But after listening to Clive’s explanation of just how lonely he found his grandfather’s huge old house, and his aimless existence, which seemed to revolve around drink and gambling, she found herself feeling very sorry for the supposedly lucky, rich young man.
‘To tell the truth, Amber, I seem to have made a complete and utter mess of my life so far. But at least I’ve still got enough sense to know that I must try to pull myself together. And if I had someone like you by my side—someone to help turn that draughty old house into a home—I’m quite sure that I could straighten myself out.’
Despite her protests that she couldn’t possibly agree to such a mad suggestion, Clive had pointed out that his proposal of marriage would solve many of her urgent problems. ‘The only money you’ve got is what you can earn, right? So, what happens when the baby arrives? Will you give him or her up for adoption? Or are you planning to try to live on what little you can dig out of the Social Services? Because you only have to read the newspapers to know what a nightmare scenario that can be!
‘And what about your mother?’ he continued. ‘She’s not likely to be happy living in a small, cramped apartment—even if you could afford to pay the rent. And while you haven’t told me the name of your lover, I imagine you must still be in love with him. So, I would hardly expect you to leap into bed with me,’ he’d grinned.
‘Quite honestly, Amber, I don’t see any reason why two people—who happen to be good friends—shouldn’t come together for their mutual benefit. Give yourself time to think about it,’ he’d urged before driving her home to her aunt’s depressingly gloomy house.
Amber had spent sleepless nights trying to think what to do for the best. But, in the end, it was the desperate need to place a roof over both her mother’s and the baby’s head that had finally made up her mind. Clive had been delighted at her agreement to marry him, suggesting a quiet register-office wedding in London before their returning to live in Elmbridge.
There had been some gossip, of course, but when Lucy was born, most people seemed pleased that the once hopelessly wild Clive Stanhope had finally settled down and become a sensible, down-to-earth family man. For her part, Amber had been deeply grateful
to Clive, both for looking after her and the baby, and his patience with her mother, who’d come to live with them on leaving hospital. ‘I’m very fond of your mother even if she’s sometimes as nutty as a fruit cake!’ he’d laughed. ‘In fact, as far as I can see, we’ve got years and years of happiness in front of us.’
And so they might have had, if Clive hadn’t died in a car accident when Lucy was barely a year old. It had been such a deeply unhappy and worrying time that Amber had barely been able to mourn the loss of poor Clive. All her energies had been consumed in the struggle to survive the horrendous financial problems resulting from his premature death. And although she’d managed to keep going for the past seven years, it now seemed dreadfully ironic that Max should have come back when, for the second time in her life, she was about to lose the roof over her head. Surely, if there was any justice in the world, she ought to be free of the man who’d caused her so much pain and torment all those years ago?
But as she carried her mother’s tray downstairs, she knew that life was never particularly fair or easy. And she couldn’t help wondering if she’d always known, deep in her heart, that their brief love affair had been just a dream within a dream. That the sense of having found a secret measure of time—with the rest of the world fading into a grey mist about the sunlit, radiant figures of Max and herself—had been nothing more than a foolish delusion.
If so, she’d certainly paid in the past for such folly in torment and heartache. And now, it seemed, she was going to have to pay yet again. Because, with Max’s return, there seemed absolutely nothing she could do to prevent her whole world from being smashed to smithereens.
Feeling sick and queasy with nervous tension, Amber stared down at the food in front of her, unable to do more than push it around her plate. Unlike Max, who’d demolished a large bowl of soup, together with umpteen slices of fresh brown bread and butter, before finally wolfing down two large helpings of apple pie and cream.