Grand Passion (23 page)

“Oh, for heaven's sake,” Cleo muttered.

Roarke came to a halt less than two feet away from Max. “You don't love her. You never did love her. You're just trying to use her. I'll be damned if I'll let you do it.”

He swung wildly.

“No,” Cleo shouted. “Don't hit him. He didn't do anything.”

She leaped in front of Max just as Roarke's fist came crashing toward its target. At the last instant, Max realized that the blow was going to strike Cleo.

He grabbed Cleo's shoulder and spun her aside, out of the path of Roarke's fist. Unfortunately the maneuver did not give him time to use the cane in self-defense. Instead it took him straight into the path of the punch.

Cleo stumbled and fell. In an effort to avoid hitting her, Roarke obviously tried to pull his punch at the last second. But it was too late. His fist clipped the side of Max's jaw.

Max staggered, lost his balance, and sprawled back against the front desk. As he slid gracefully to the floor, he saw Cleo reach for the vase that sat on the corner stand. She grabbed it with both hands and took aim at Roarke's head.

Max didn't know whether to laugh or curse. He was not accustomed to having anyone leap to his defense. It was a pleasant novelty, but enough was enough. If things went any further, someone was going to get hurt.

“Put the vase down, Cleo.” Max sat on the floor, propped against the desk in what he hoped was a suitably dramatic fashion. He groaned and gingerly fingered the side of his jaw. “I quit, Winston. You're the winner.”

Roarke stood over him, breathing heavily. “Bastard.”

“Don't you dare touch him,” Cleo said to Roarke. “Get away from him.” She set the vase down on the stand and dashed across the room to Max's side. “He's not sleeping with your wife.”

“How do you know?” Roarke demanded.

“Because he's sleeping with me.” Cleo touched Max's face with gentle, questing fingers. “Isn't that right, Max?”

“Right,” said Max.

The sound of running footsteps overhead made everyone, including George, look toward the staircase.

Ben came thundering down the stairs first. His hair was tousled, and his shirt was unbuttoned. He was trying to fasten his jeans. Trisha was right behind him. She was tying the belt of her robe as she hurried down the steps.

Sylvia and Sammy brought up the rear. Both were in their nightclothes. Sammy was yawning.

“What's going on down here?” Ben scanned the lobby scene quickly. “Cleo? Max? Are you guys okay?”

“No,” Cleo said.

“Yes,” Max said, overriding her. “Allow me to introduce Roarke Winston. He's Kimberly's husband. He was under the mistaken impression that I was spending the night with his wife.”

Ben glared at Roarke. “No way, man. Max isn't messin' around with your wife. He and Cleo are like a couple, y'know?”

“Is that right?” Roarke asked with cold disbelief.

“Damn right,” Ben said authoritatively. “In fact they're going to get married.”

“Uh, Ben,” Cleo began carefully.

Ben ignored her. “Isn't that right, Max?”

Max knew a turning point when he saw one “Right.”

O
kay, so maybe we jumped the gun a little,” Ben said.

“We?” Max eyed the pipe joint that was less than four inches above his head. He was not in a good mood, and his bad attitude this morning had nothing whatsoever to do with the fact that he was sprawled on his back beneath the bathroom sink in room one-oh-one.

“So I kind of rushed the announcement,” Ben admitted.

“You think so?” A drop of water from the leaking pipe fitting hit Max on the forehead. “Dammit.”

“Give me a break, Max, I had to think fast last night. That guy Winston was really pissed. He looked like he was going to take the place apart.”

“Hand me the other wrench.”

“Look, I know you got clipped, but you weren't really hurt.” Ben stooped down and thrust a wrench into Max's hand. “Besides, I'll bet you walked right into Winston's punch.”

“I did not walk into it. Hand me a rag.”

“You sure?” Ben crouched down on his haunches and handed Max a scrap of an old inn towel that was frayed and torn. “He's no fighter. He's too soft. You can't tell me he took you with a sucker punch.”

“I was unable to duck because I was too busy trying to shove Cleo out of the way,” Max said with great dignity. He wiped the dripping joint with the rag and adjusted the new wrench.

“Yeah? Is that how it happened?” Ben frowned at the pipe joint. “I thought maybe you deliberately took the punch so Cleo would feel sorry for you and fuss and stuff. Which she did.”

“Not for long.” Max took a grip on the wrench handle and tightened the pipe fitting with ruthless force.

The fact that Cleo had not hovered very long last night after discovering that he was unhurt was one of the chief reasons for Max's foul temper this morning.

She had not only failed to play the ministering angel for more than a few brief minutes, she had not returned to his room after the uproar had died down. Nor had she invited him to hers.

Cleo had recovered her professional innkeeper aplomb almost immediately. She had risen from Max's fallen body, checked the confused Winston into one of the inn's best rooms, and sent everyone back to bed. She had then retired to her own bedroom without so much as a good-night kiss for Max.

“Take it easy or you'll strip the threads,” Ben warned.

“You want to take over?”

“No, that's okay. I've fixed a lot of leaking pipes. I know how it's done. You're supposed to be getting experience, remember?”

“You're supposed to be giving helpful advice, remember?”

“Hey, you're doin' okay, man. A real natural. Anyhow, about last night.”

“What about it?” Max surveyed the pipe fitting. Another drop of water oozed out of the metal joint.

“Well, I know we all kind of rushed things by making that big announcement about you and Cleo getting married.”

“Yes.” Max gave the wrench another twist. “You did.”

“But it's not like you aren't planning to marry her, or anything like that,” Ben pointed out earnestly.

“Is that right?”

Ben scowled. “What the hell's that supposed to mean?”

“Maybe it means I want to take off for a few days and go work in a gas station while I think things over.” Max wiped the joint again. It looked dry.

“Come on, Max, that was a cheap shot. We both know you aren't going to take off the way I did. You aren't spooked.”

“No, but I think Cleo is. Turn on the water.”

“Huh?”

“I said, turn on the water.”

“I heard that.” Ben got to his feet and turned on the faucet. Water gushed into the sink. “What did you mean about Cleo being spooked?”

“You saw her last night.” Max watched to see if the joint was going to start dripping again. “After she figured out that I wasn't dying, she did a damn good job of pretending I didn't exist. She couldn't wait to send everyone, including me, off to bed.”

“I guess she was a little embarrassed.” Ben turned off the faucet. “You guys hadn't announced anything yet.”

“We hadn't announced anything because there wasn't anything to announce. I think this thing is fixed. For your information, Cleo and I have not discussed marriage.”

“You sure?”

“Yes, I'm sure. It's not leaking at all now.” Max was aware of a pleasing sense of satisfaction. He was getting good at this plumbing business. “Dry as the Sahara.” He started to work himself out from the tight confines of the sink cabinet.

“Shit, Max, will you stop talking about the damn pipe?” Ben's face was tight with worry. “Why haven't you asked Cleo to marry you? We all know you're sleeping with her.”

“What's that got to do with it?” Max flattened one palm on the countertop and levered himself to his feet. He winced at the twinge in his thigh.

“What do you mean?” Ben demanded. “You know damn well what I'm talking about. We've all known Cleo for a long time. As far as anyone in the family knows, you're the first guy she's ever been serious about.”

“What makes you think she's serious about me?” Max turned on the faucet full force again and leaned down to study the pipe connection under the sink. There was no sign of moisture around the fittings.

He realized it was probably idiotic to take so much satisfaction out of the knowledge that he had repaired the leak, but he couldn't help it. Nothing like a little immediate, short-term gratification to take a man's mind off bigger problems, he thought.

“Don't give me that,” Ben said. “Cleo wouldn't be sleeping with you if she weren't serious about you. Come on, Max, quit jerking my chain. You're going to marry her, aren't you?”

“Yes.” Max turned off the faucet and wiped his hands on the rag. “But first I've got to talk her into it, which might be a lot harder than you seem to think.”

“Why?” Ben looked baffled.

“Because you and the others put her under a lot of pressure last night when you made your big announcement,” Max said with a patience he did not feel. “She was just getting used to me. She was nowhere near ready to talk about marriage. Now the whole family is acting like it's a fait accompli.”

“What's a fait accompli?”

“A done deal.”

“Oh.” Ben frowned. “You think she's really upset?”

“As I said, she's feeling pressured. People do weird things when they're under pressure.”

Ben looked suitably alarmed. “Like what?”

“Like dig in their heels and make life difficult for the people they think are trying to pressure them.”

Ben nodded in sober comprehension. “But you can handle her, can't you?”

“First I've got to get her to start talking to me again.” Max tossed the wet rag into the tool kit.

Ben brightened. “That shouldn't be any problem. Cleo likes to talk.”

Trisha whisked dirty plates and glasses off one of the dining room tables and stacked them in a plastic tub. “Do you want to talk about it, Cleo?”

“No.” Cleo bundled up a tablecloth and the used napkins from another table. The familiar routine of clearing the dining room after the small breakfast crowd had departed was doing nothing to soothe her nerves this morning. She had spent a sleepless night, and she felt as if she were walking an invisible tightrope.

“We know you're a little upset, Cleo,” Sylvia said from the other side of the empty dining room. Dishes clattered cheerfully as she removed them from a table. “But I'm sure you'll feel better if you talk about it.”

“What is there to say?” Cleo jerked another tablecloth off a table with enough force to make it snap in the air. “I have been humiliated, embarrassed, and generally mortified beyond belief.”

Andromeda appeared in the doorway. “Now, dear, there's no need to be so agitated. We all know how you feel about Max.”

Cleo scanned the expectant faces of her friends. “You do? Well, that's just ducky. I'm glad somebody does, because I don't.”

Sylvia smiled gently. “Cleo, let's get real here. You're sleeping with him.”

“So what?” Cleo said.

Trisha exchanged a glance with the others. “Between us, we've known you for over three years, Cleo. This is the first time any of us has seen you really interested in a man.”

Andromeda smiled serenely. “This is definitely the first time you've had an affair during the whole time I've been acquainted with you, dear.”

Sylvia dropped another stack of plates into the bin. “Admit it, Cleo, Max is something special.”

“That doesn't mean he wants to marry me,” Cleo muttered.

Trisha glanced at her, astonished. “What are you talking about? He said he was going to marry you. I heard him myself.”

“So did I,” Sylvia said quickly.

“I am so sorry I missed the big scene.” Andromeda sighed. “It sounds wonderfully romantic.”

Cleo whirled around, her arms full of dirty tablecloths. “It was not romantic. It was a disaster. Max was lying there on the floor, injured. Roarke Winston had accused him of sleeping with Kimberly and was getting ready to hit him again. All George could do was slam the desk bell like a crazy person. Things were in complete chaos.”

“And that's when Ben and the others arrived?” Andromeda asked cheerfully.

“Yes.” Cleo dumped the dirty tablecloths into a pile. “And that's when Ben, in his infinite wisdom, announced that Max was going to marry me.”

“And Max agreed,” Andromeda concluded happily.

“It was not like he had a lot of choice under the circumstances,” Cleo said. “The man was under enormous pressure. After all, Roarke Winston was threatening to beat him to a pulp.”

Andromeda looked thoughtful. “Somehow I don't think pressure bothers Max too much.”

Sylvia nodded. “Andromeda's right. Max wouldn't say something like that, regardless of the circumstances, unless he meant it.”

“I agree,” Trisha said.

Cleo felt trapped. “I don't care if he did mean it.” She picked up the basket of dirty tablecloths. “Just because Max agreed to marry me doesn't mean I intend to marry him.”

Andromeda frowned. “Whatever are you talking about, dear?”

Cleo lifted her chin. “Don't you understand? There are two things wrong with this situation. First, Max has never asked me to marry him. Two, I'm not at all sure I would marry him even if he did ask me.”

Sylvia, Trisha, and Andromeda stared at her. In the ensuing shocked silence, Daystar emerged from the kitchen. She stood, hands on hips, and eyed Cleo speculatively.

“Why wouldn't you want to marry him?” Daystar asked bluntly. “It's as plain as the nose on your face that you love him.”

“That does not mean that Max Fortune is good husband material,” Cleo said through gritted teeth.

“I disagree,” Andromeda said calmly. “I'll admit I had a few qualms about him at first, but that was only because we didn't know much about him.”

“Well, now we know a lot more about him, don't we?” Cleo retorted. “And a lot of what we've learned lately makes me have real doubts about marrying the man.”

“Cleo, Max loves you,” Sylvia said quietly.

Cleo tightened her grip on the basket of dirty tablecloths. “Don't be too sure of that. To be perfectly frank, I'm not sure Max knows how to love.”

“Oh, dear,” Andromeda murmured. “Whatever do you mean?”

Cleo sighed. “Max knows how to collect the things he wants, and I think that he does want me. At least for the moment. But wanting isn't the same thing as loving, and I have no wish to become a part of Max Fortune's collection of fine art.”

Trisha stared at her. “Cleo, I'm sure you're wrong.”

“Am I? I'm the one who's been sleeping with him. I know him better than any of you, and I'm here to tell you that Max has never once said anything about love. Kimberly Curzon-Winston may be right. He may not know the meaning of the word
relationship
.”

“How would Ms. Curzon-Winston know anything about Max?” Sylvia demanded.

“Because she was engaged to him at one time.”

They all stared at her in amazement.

Satisfied with the effects of her small bombshell, Cleo headed for the swinging door. When she reached it, she turned around and backed through it.

She collided with Roarke Winston, who was on his way out of the kitchen into the dining room. The impact sent the tablecloths in the bin flying in a variety of directions.

“Excuse me.” Roarke disentangled himself from a tablecloth. He smiled ruefully. “I seem fated to crash into you, Ms. Robbins. Sooner or later, I'm going to do some damage.”

“Don't be ridiculous. And please call me Cleo.” She quickly collected the fallen tablecloths. “What were you doing in the kitchen, Mr. Winston? Or should that be Curzon-Winston?”

Roarke's eyes darkened with annoyance. “No, it damn well is not Curzon-Winston. My wife can call herself anything she likes, but my name is just plain Winston. I'd rather you called me Roarke. And the answer to your question, Cleo, is that I went in there looking for you. Someone said you were helping to clear the dining room. I was on my way to find you.”