Grand Passion (31 page)

Max put a hand on his shoulder. “Listen to me, my friend, I am going to give you some words of wisdom that I want you to remember for the rest of your life.”

Ben sobered and looked at Max with an intent expression. “I'm listening.”

“It is okay to screw up once in a while,” Max said. “Got that?”

“Yeah.” Ben started to grin again, but his eyes stayed serious for a moment longer. “I think I can remember that.”

“He's here, he's here!” Sammy shouted. “I see O'Reilly! He's just getting out of his car.”

“Wearing his green suit?” Max asked.

“Nope. He's got a tux on, just like us. And he's carrying a big present all wrapped in shiny paper.”

“We're all set, then,” Max said. “Let's go.” He picked up his black jacket and shrugged into it. Then he turned to take one last look at Ben and Sammy. He smiled slightly. “We're going to wow the ladies, my friends.”

Ben and Sammy exchanged grins.

O'Reilly was pacing back and forth in the lobby and glancing nervously at his watch when Max, Ben, and Sammy arrived downstairs a few minutes later. George, who had come in early to cover the office while the family went to the wedding, smiled.

“What kept you?” Max asked O'Reilly.

“Tell you later,” O'Reilly said quietly.

“Hi, O'Reilly.” Sammy ran up to O'Reilly and stopped short right in front of him. “I was afraid you weren't coming.”

O'Reilly went down on his haunches in front of Sammy. He grinned. “I told you I'd be here, didn't I?”

“Uh-huh.” Sammy's eyes reflected his enormous relief. “Ben said maybe your car broke or something.”

“Nope, I just had some business to take care of. Hey, let me look at you, kid. Aren't you all spiffed up? I can see Max has been at work. He's the only guy I know who actually knows how to tie a bow tie. Mine is pretied.”

“Max says I have to look good on account of I'm supposed to guard the rings,” Sammy explained.

“A very important job,” O'Reilly said. He got to his feet and nodded at Ben. “So this is the big day. You ready?”

“Ready as I'll ever be,” Ben said, but his eyes were eager. “The family is sending me and Trisha to Hawaii. Can you believe it?”

O'Reilly slanted a glance at Max. “Yeah, I can believe it.” He handed his gift to Ben. “This is for you and Trisha.”

“Hey, thanks.” Ben gave the package to George. “Put this with the others, okay? Trisha says we'll open the presents when we get back.”

“Will do,” George said. He stashed the gift behind the desk. Then he regarded Ben with approval from beneath his bushy brows. “Best of luck to you, Ben.”

“Yeah, well thanks.” Ben looked at Max. “I guess this is it, huh?”

“This is it.” Max took one last assessing look at his charges. He frowned briefly when he saw that Sammy had a smudge on the tip of his nose. “How did you get that?” he asked as he grabbed a tissue from the box behind the front desk.

“I dunno.” Sammy stood still while Max rubbed off the smudge. “Maybe from Lucky Ducky.”

“Right. I should have known.” Max tossed the tissue into a small trash can behind the desk. “Everyone in the car.”

Sammy raced out the front door. Ben followed at a slightly slower but no less enthusiastic pace.

Max waited until they were out of earshot before he looked at O'Reilly. “How serious?”

“I wish to hell I knew the answer to that,” O'Reilly said. “I'll give you the whole story later. In the meantime, I don't think Cleo should be left alone for even a few minutes.”

Max's insides froze. “Christ, O'Reilly, you can't just drop that on me and then say you'll tell me the rest later.”

“It's a long story. I don't want to talk about it in front of Ben and Sammy.”

“It has something to do with the death of her parents, doesn't it?”

“Maybe. I just don't have all the answers yet, Max. I'm sorry.”

“Goddamn it to hell.” Max took a savage grip on his cane and went toward the Jaguar.

“Would you believe this is the first wedding I've been to since my own?” O'Reilly asked an hour and a half later as he stood with Max near the buffet table.

“That's two more weddings than I've attended.” Max bit into an exquisite salmon canapé that he had just plucked from the table.

“Could have fooled me,” O'Reilly said. “You looked like you knew just what you were doing when you took up the position of best man.”

“It's the clothes.” Max swallowed the canapé. “A man who wears the right clothes for the job always looks like he knows what he's doing, and that's half the battle.”

“That sounds like one of Jason Curzon's bits of wisdom.”

“It is.”

Max scanned the crowd, searching for Cleo. She stood with a group that included a number of towns-people as well as Andromeda and Daystar. Cleo's hair was swept up in a chignon that was more tightly secured than the usual careless knot she wore. The style was decorated with a row of yellow roses that were a beautiful contrast to the deep red highlights in her dark mane.

She looked achingly feminine in her low-necked, tight-waisted yellow gown, Max thought. But, then, the sight of her always made him ache. He wondered if the need for her would ever diminish. He doubted it. He suspected it would only intensify over the years.

The women of Cosmic Harmony had turned the graceful old resort lodge into a fantasy extravaganza done in yellow and white. All the stops had been pulled out for the wedding. In the center of the room a glowing Trisha, dressed in a floor-length creamy white gown and a tiny hat and veil, stood near Ben. Ben looked as if he had just been crowned king of the world. He caught Max's eye and grinned.

Sammy was dashing here and there in the crowd and helping himself to everything that looked like it contained sugar.

“The kid's going to be overstimulated tonight,” O'Reilly observed. “Where the hell do they get so much energy at that age?”

Max turned his head at the wistful tone in O'Reilly's voice. “Damned if I know. Let's have the whole story, O'Reilly. Take it from the top.”

O'Reilly stuffed a canapé into his mouth. “I took a second look at everything I could find that dealt with the death of Cleo's parents. She's been right about one thing all along; her father wasn't the kind who suddenly ups and shoots his wife and then himself.”

“That's what everyone always says after it happens.
He seemed like such a nice man
.”

“Yeah, I know, but in this case, Cleo has a point. Neither Mr. nor Mrs. Robbins had a history of violent outbursts. Neither appeared to suffer from depression or suicidal tendencies. There had been no recent financial reverses for them. Neither had been diagnosed with a fatal illness.”

“In other words, no obvious motivating factors.” Max watched Cleo. “No wonder she hasn't been able to buy the story the authorities gave her. She knew them too well to believe it.”

O'Reilly scowled thoughtfully. “I think there's a real possibility that there was something else going on, and when Eberson started looking into the situation, he triggered a response.”

“From someone who did not want the situation investigated?”

“Yeah. Maybe. I just don't know yet, Max.”

“Had Robbins recently fired someone who might have been crazy enough to murder him in retaliation?”

O'Reilly shrugged. “He was a businessman, owned a good-sized electronics firm. He had fired a few people over the years. Part of the job. But I couldn't find any evidence to indicate that any of them were deranged or had made threats. The police probably checked that angle at the time, too.”

“Anything else?”

“The only other thing I turned up was that Robbins had testified for the prosecution at a murder trial two years before he was killed. I don't know if there was any connection, but I do know that the guy was convicted and sent to prison.”

“A long shot.”

“I know, but it's all I've got at the moment.” O'Reilly glanced at the buffet table. A strange expression lit his eyes. “What the hell is that thing floating in the punch bowl?”

Max followed his gaze. “That's Lucky Ducky. He can swim anywhere. You wouldn't believe some of the places he turns up.”

“No kidding?”

“No kidding. I suppose I'd better get the duck out of the punch before someone notices.” Max started toward the large crystal bowl.

“Max?” Cleo called.

He stopped and turned around. “Right here, Cleo.”

“Oh, there you are.” Cleo emerged from the crowd looking cheerfully harried. “I've been looking all over for you and O'Reilly. The photographer is ready to take the next batch of pictures. Come on, let's go before Sammy runs off again.”

“Photos?” Max looked at her, bemused. “Of O'Reilly and me?”

“Of course. And the rest of us, too.” Cleo smiled brilliantly as she took his hand. “The photographer has finished the portraits of the wedding couple. We're ready to do the family photos now.”

“Family photos?” Max looked at O'Reilly.

“Don't mind him,” O'Reilly said to Cleo. “Max isn't used to being included in pictures of a family.”

“Well, he'd better get used to it,” Cleo said dryly. “Daystar is thinking about taking up photography as a hobby.”

“You sure you want me in the shot?” O'Reilly asked.

“Sammy and Sylvia insisted,” Cleo said.

“Yeah?” O'Reilly looked inordinately pleased.

“Yeah,” Cleo said. She grinned.

Ten minutes later Max found himself standing together with Cleo, Andromeda, Daystar, Sylvia, O'Reilly, and Sammy. They formed a tight, warm circle around Ben and Trisha.

“Big smiles, everyone,” the photographer ordered unnecessarily.

“Wait,” Sammy yelped. “I forgot Lucky Ducky.”

“He's in the punch bowl,” Max said. “You stay here. I'll get him.”

A short while later the photographer finally snapped the picture. The family portrait was complete with a rubber duck.

I
trust you have my usual room ready for me, Ms. Robbins?” Herbert T. Valence asked brusquely as he filled out the registration slip in his precise handwriting. “I don't care to be shifted around from room to room.”

“Yes, I know, Mr. Valence. Two-ten is ready for you.” Cleo maintained her best professional smile as she handed the key to Valence. “And you may use the parlor for your seminars, just as you have in the past.”

Valence clicked his pen five times before replacing it neatly in his jacket pocket. “I hope there won't be any problems with the electricity this time.”

“Let's keep our fingers crossed that we won't get any severe storms this weekend,” Cleo said with determined cheeriness.

“I don't believe in luck,” Valence said. “I've already checked the forecast, and it's supposed to be clear most of the weekend.”

“Wonderful. Well, it looks like you've got a nice crowd this time. We've checked in fifteen people who say they're here for your workshop.”

“Fifteen is the ideal number of people for my seminar. I can't guarantee results if I'm forced to deal with a larger crowd. And I am known for getting results. I have a reputation to maintain, you know.”

“Yes, Mr. Valence. So you've said.” Cleo told herself that it was worth putting up with Valence's odd little ways because of the business he brought to the inn. But occasionally she wearied of his cold, inflexible personality and small, obsessive mannerisms. “I hope you enjoy your stay.”

Valence frowned as he turned away from the desk. “I am not here to enjoy myself, Ms. Robbins. I am here to conduct business.”

Cleo wrinkled her nose at his back as he walked briskly toward the stairs. “You know something, Sylvia? I think Mr. Valence is getting worse. He seems awfully tense tonight.”

Sylvia stuck her head out of the office and smiled. “Think of the money.”

“I know. Maybe he's just overmotivated. Does it strike you that Max and Herbert T. Valence have something in common?”

“Like what?”

“A reputation.”

Sylvia chuckled. “You've got a point. But there's a big difference between Max and Herbert T.”

“What's that?”

“You love one, and you're not particularly fond of the other.”

Cleo froze. Then she spun around. “What did you say?”

“You heard me. You love Max.”

Cleo looked at her anxiously. “Is it that obvious?”

“You've given him everything he wanted, including yourself. You're a generous woman, Cleo, but you've never been that generous with any other man. You've always protected yourself on some level. Except with Max.”

“I knew he was different the minute I saw him. He was the man in the mirror,” Cleo whispered. “The one in my book.”

“I had a hunch that was exactly who he was.”

Cleo ran her fingertips along the polished edge of the front desk. “I've become part of his collection.”

“Fair's fair, isn't it? You've made Max a part of your family.”

Cleo hesitated. “I'll tell you something I haven't told anyone else. Sometimes I'm a little afraid, Sylvia.”

“Afraid of Max? I don't believe it. You can trust Max with your life, and you know it.”

“That's not what I mean.” Cleo gripped the edge of the desk. “I'm afraid that he won't let himself love me. He knows how to go after what he wants, and he knows how to hang on to it. But he's been protecting himself for a lot longer than I've been protecting myself. He's got it down to an art. You should pardon the expression.”

“Have you told him that you love him?”

“No,” Cleo shook her head quickly. “I didn't want to push him. I guess I've been waiting for him to wake up one morning and realize he's in love with me. But sometimes I'm not sure he'd recognize love if it whapped him in the face. Men can be so dense sometimes.”

“You may have to make the first move, Cleo. I'm not sure Max can.” Sylvia ducked her head into the office.

Cleo stared at one of the three seascapes left on the lobby walls. The other two were now upstairs in the attic.

But she did not see Jason's foamy seascapes when she gazed at the nearest painting. Instead she looked into the phantom mirror where her deepest secrets were hidden. The figure in the silvery reflection was no longer a mysterious shadow. He was Max, the man she had been waiting for all her life. He had walked into her life and set her free.

But Cleo knew that she had not yet returned the favor. Max was still trapped in the mirror. She had not yet succeeded in freeing him.

Cleo and Max did not climb the stairs to the attic room until nearly midnight.

Cleo was exhausted. The crowd that had checked in for Valence's seminar had been more motivated to party than to study the five steps to success and prosperity. They were still making a lot of noise downstairs in the lounge, but George had assured her he could handle the situation.

“Any more groups like this one and Mr. Valence can take his show on down the road.” Cleo flopped on the edge of the bed, pulled off her silver shoes, and removed the clip from her hair.

“I think this bunch is already fairly well motivated.” Max watched her shake her hair free. He smiled the faint, enigmatic, utterly sensual smile of the man in the mirror. “And so am I.”

“You've had a hard day.”

“The hardest part is yet to come.” He made his way across the room. When he was standing directly in front of her, he set aside his cane and framed her face with his hands. “But I think I'll rise to the occasion.”

“Since when did you become the master of the double entendre?”

“Since I read chapter fifteen.” Max eased her onto her back and came down on top of her. “Funniest chapter in
The Mirror
.”

“I'm glad you enjoyed it.” He was warm and heavy and deliciously male. Cleo felt her tiredness slip away. It was replaced by a sense of deep anticipation.

Max looked down at her. His eyes darkened. “I enjoy everything about you, Cleo.” His mouth covered hers.

She smiled slowly beneath his kiss. Then, rousing herself slightly, she pushed him gently off of her and got to her feet. She took off her glasses and put them down on the side table. Feeling wonderfully wicked, she started to unbutton her oxford cloth shirt.

“Did you read chapter sixteen, by any chance?” she asked.

“Another one of my favorites.” Max rolled onto his back and folded his arms behind his head. The faint smile edging his mouth was full of lazy, seductive challenge. “Going to act it out for me?”

“If you like.”

“I like.” His voice was husky with desire. “Go slow. I don't want to miss a single word of the story.”

Emboldened by the sensual encouragement that she saw in his eyes, Cleo slowly finished undoing her shirt. She let the edges hang over her breasts, concealing and revealing.

“Don't forget the mirror,” Max said softly.

Cleo walked over to the mirror and looked at her slightly blurred reflection. Her hair was flowing free and wild around her shoulders. Her eyes were shadowed and mysterious. She looked intriguing and exotic, she thought.

She was the fantasy, but she was also the creator of the fantasy. She was both seducer and seduced. A sense of her own power as a woman flowed through her.

Max did not stir on the bed. Cleo knew he was watching her as she watched herself in the mirror, willing her to plunge them both deeper into the world behind the silvered glass.

Her fingers trembled a little as she undid the fastenings of her jeans. She eased the denim slowly down over her hips, leaving her filmy panties in place.

Her eyes never left the mirror as she stepped out of the jeans. Her shirttails fell to the top of her thighs, barely covering the curve of her buttocks. She could see the dark thatch of curling hair through the silk of her panties and knew that Max saw it, too. She sensed the smoldering wildfire of his desire and knew a sweet, singing joy that she could create this reaction in him. It gave her a heady sense of feminine power and at the same time made her feel infinitely generous.

“I'm on my knees,” Max assured her softly.

She met his gaze in the mirror and knew that the power she was feeling was inextricably linked to the power in him. It could not be savored to the fullest unless it was in the presence of an equal and opposite force.

Max radiated his own power, and she was as bound by it as he was by the power in her.

“So am I,” she whispered.

Max's mouth curved in a smile that made Cleo's knees weak. “That should make it even more interesting.”

It also created a bond between herself and Max that was unlike anything she had ever known. She wondered if Max felt the strength of the connection.

Cleo raised her hands and removed her shirt with a gentle shrug. It pooled on the floor at her feet. She saw the rosy crests of her own breasts in the mirror and felt the heat of Max's gaze.

“Imagine that I'm touching you,” Max said.

Cleo met his eyes in the glass. “But you aren't touching me.”

“Look into the mirror and pretend that I'm standing right behind you. My hands are on your breasts. I can feel your nipples beneath my palms. They're small and firm, like raspberries.”

“Raspberries?”

“Raspberries and cream. Very sweet,” Max said. “Very fresh. I want to taste them. Can you feel my tongue on you?”

A wave of heat flowed through Cleo. Her nipples became hard and full. She closed her eyes, but the sensation only intensified. “Yes. I can feel your mouth on me.”

“What does it feel like?”

Cleo concentrated. “Hot. Wet. Powerful.”

“You make me powerful, Cleopatra. Where do you want me to touch you next?”

“Lower.” Cleo opened her eyes again and stared at her slightly unfocused image. “I want your hands to go lower.”

“There, between your legs?”

“Yes.” She shuddered as she felt the coiling, tensing sensation radiating up through her.

“You feel so good, Cleo. Soft and warm.” Max paused, as if he were actually exploring her with his fingers. “You're getting wet for me, aren't you?”

“Yes.” Cleo felt the dampness between her thighs. She looked into the mirror with a knowing expression. “You're getting hard for me, aren't you?”

“I'm going out of my mind,” Max said. “Put your hands on top of my fingers.”

“Where are your fingers now?”

“Wherever you want them to be.”

“Here,” Cleo whispered. She brushed her fingers lightly over her silken panties. Then she drew them up across her belly. Slowly and deliberately she cupped her breasts and offered them to the man in the mirror.

“I think I've had about all the fantasy I can handle tonight,” Max muttered. “I don't know about you, but I need the real thing very badly.”

“So do I.” Shivering with her need and excitement, Cleo turned away from the mirror and walked over to the bed. “There's something that I've been meaning to tell you, Max.”

He looked up at her with eyes that were dark with soul-shattering desire. “What's that?”

“I love you.”

Without a word, Max reached up and pulled her down on top of him. He captured her head in his hands and crushed her mouth against his own.

Cleo awoke hours later, aware that she was alone in the bed. She turned her head on the pillow and saw Max across the room. He loomed near the window, a ghostly shadow silhouetted against the blackness of the night. She knew from the angle of his body that he had both hands folded on top of the hawk on his cane.

“Max?”

“It's all right, Cleo. I'm just doing some thinking. Go back to sleep.”

“I can't sleep with you prowling around the room,” she grumbled. “Is something wrong?”

Max was silent for a moment. “I don't know.”

She had never heard that tone in his voice. Cleo sat up quickly. “What is it, Max?”

“Remember the feeling you said you had that day when someone stalked you in the fog?”

“I remember it,” she said. “I believe it's called a sense of impending disaster.”

“It's also called having the sensation that someone just walked across your grave.”

“My God, Max.” Cleo was unnerved. “Is that how you feel right now?”

“Yes.”

She wondered gloomily if her declaration of love earlier had caused this disturbing air of unease around him. He had never responded to her confession, although he had made love to her with an intensity that had shocked her senses.

It had been a risk. She had realized that at the time. Max was not accustomed to love, she reminded herself. There had been no way of knowing how he would react to being told that he was loved.

Cleo tortured herself on the altar of
perhaps
.

Perhaps being loved made Max feel trapped. Perhaps he did not want that kind of pressure. Perhaps he was ambivalent about being the one who was loved. Perhaps all he really wanted was to belong to the Robbins' Nest Inn family. Perhaps he only wanted Cleo because she could give him a home.