Grand Passion (9 page)

Cleo blinked once or twice as if she were inside a cave gazing out into bright sunlight. With a soft, low groan, Max lowered his mouth to hers.

Cleo shuddered at the first touch of his lips, but she did not pull away. She tasted him as if sampling a new, exotic wine. The nibbling sensation at the edge of his lips nearly sent Max beyond the reach of his self-control.

He brushed his mouth lightly across hers, teasing forth a tentative response. There was feminine eagerness shimmering just beneath the surface. He could feel it.

But he could also feel the hesitation in her. She wanted him, he realized, but something was holding her back. It was as if she was not quite certain how far she wanted to go down this particular road.

He also sensed that there was an awful lot of ice between him and the flame that burned inside Cleo. But the fire was there, waiting to be set free.

He opened his mouth on hers. Cleo hesitated a moment longer, and then she gave a small, murmuring sigh and put her arms around his neck.

Max suddenly realized that he had been ravenous for a very long time. Cleo's mouth was sweet and ripe, incredibly fresh. After the first taste, he wanted to devour the fruit. Never had anything tasted so exquisitely good.

He urged her lips apart. She followed his lead, allowing him into her moist warmth.

There were two ways to deal with ice, Max reminded himself. One could melt it or one could chop through it with an axe. The latter was far and away the fastest method, and he was in a hurry.

He started to haul Cleo up off the floor and into his lap.

She gasped softly under the assault. Max felt the incipient panic in her. So much for the fast approach. He took a deep breath and kept a savage grip on his clamoring need.

He lifted his mouth from Cleo's reluctantly and looked down into her bemused eyes.

“I'm sorry,” Cleo whispered.

He smiled slightly. “I'm the one who probably should be saying that.” Except that the only thing he was sorry about was that she had drawn back before he could finish what he had started.

She smiled tremulously. “Don't apologize. It's just that I wasn't prepared to have a very private fantasy come to life.”

“Fantasy?”

Cleo eyed him warily. “Don't pretend that you haven't read chapter three.”

“Chapter three?” Max was getting confused.

“That's the chapter in my book in which the man in the mirror puts a red ribbon around the woman's throat and draws her into the glass. She steps into his world, and he makes love to her there.”

“Just as I did to you?” Max was pleased with himself.

“Yes. Just as you did to me. Except that you didn't exactly make love to me, did you?” She touched her full, soft mouth. “You only kissed me.” Cleo scowled briefly. “Are you sure you didn't read chapter three?”

“Very sure. But I will definitely read it before I go to bed tonight,” Max promised. “And possibly chapter four as well.”

Cleo's cheeks burned a brilliant shade of pink. “Maybe it would be better if you didn't. I think you've read far enough to get an idea of what
The Mirror
is all about.”

Max held her eyes. “There's no way I can stop now.”

Cleo gazed at him with a disturbingly serious expression. “Maybe we'd better get something clear here. If you're looking for an entertaining interlude out here on the coast, forget it. I don't do entertaining interludes.”

“Neither do I,” Max said.

She picked up her glasses and pushed them firmly onto her nose. Her face was flushed, but her eyes were steady and clear. “To be perfectly blunt, I don't do interludes at all, entertaining or otherwise.”

“Not at all?”

“No.”

“Never?” Max persisted, curious.

Cleo got to her feet and retreated to the shadows of her fanback chair. She gazed out into the night for a long while.

“Once, a long time ago, when I was twenty-three, there was a man. But we broke up after my…after my parents died. There hasn't been anyone since.”

“Why not?” Max asked, greedy for every scrap of information he could collect. He wanted to learn everything there was to learn about her, he realized. He had to dig down through the layers and find all the closely guarded secrets.

“I don't know why not.” Cleo's eyes flashed with a sudden shower of angry sparks. An instant later the fireworks vanished as quickly as they had appeared. “That's not entirely true. A therapist told me that I've never been able to cope with the way my parents died.”

“How did they die?”

Cleo looked down at her clasped hands as if debating how much to tell him. She appeared to come to some sort of decision. “They say my father shot my mother and then turned the gun on himself.”

“Jesus,” Max muttered.

“The theory is that I can't reconcile the fact that they loved each other with the way they died. It's impossible for me to believe that the bond my parents shared was tainted by some sick obsession of my father's.”

“There's a certain logic to that,” Max said quietly. “Look, Cleo, I'm sorry I pushed for so many answers. I had no right to do that.”

“Damn.” Cleo shot to her feet and walked to the glass wall. “I don't know why I'm telling you all this. You're the second man I've confided in today. I guess this business with the anonymous notes and the ribbons has me more rattled than I thought.”

Max narrowed his eyes. “You told Hildebrand about your parents?”

“He made me mad when he said I wasn't pure enough to be a politician's wife.” Cleo sighed. “I got kind of mouthy, I guess. Told him I had another skeleton in the closet besides
The Mirror
. I couldn't resist pointing out that the press would probably have a field day with the facts surrounding my parents' death.”

“I see. How did he take it?”

Cleo shrugged. “Oh, he was well and truly shocked. Max, I'm sorry I got into all this with you tonight. It's a very private matter. Until today no one but the family has known what happened to my folks.”

“I don't intend to discuss it with anyone else.”

“I didn't think you did.” She bit her lip. “I just wanted you to realize that I'm not a good candidate for a quick fling or even a long-term affair.”

Max reached for his cane and got slowly to his feet. He folded his hands on the hawk and stood watching Cleo. “I won't push you into anything you don't want.”

Her answering smile held a curious blend of uncertainty and relief. “Thanks for understanding. I'm sorry about what happened here tonight. It was my fault.”

Max smiled to himself and headed for the door. “Don't be too sure of that. See you in the morning.”

“Max?”

“Don't worry, Cleo. From here on out, we'll do it by the book. Your book.”

S
hortly before dawn the next morning Cleo gave up trying to sleep. She pushed aside the quilt, got out of bed, and crossed the room to cast an appraising eye at the weather.

The dark sky was overcast, but it was not yet raining. There would be plenty of time to get in a brisk walk along the top of the bluffs before the next storm struck.

After the restless night she'd just spent, she needed to clear her head with the crisp, cold sea air. Perhaps later in the day she would go to the meditation center at Cosmic Harmony. Unfortunately there wasn't time to do that this morning. Cleo wanted to be at the inn when the morning rush started in the kitchen. As Jason had once observed, there was no substitute for close supervision in a small operation such as the Robbins' Nest Inn.

Cleo felt a twist of sorrow at the memory of her friend. She eased it aside as she stepped into a pair of jeans and put on a blue oxford cloth shirt. Jason would not have wanted her to dwell too long on his passing, she reminded herself as she laced up her gold sneakers. Jason Curzon had believed in living for the future, not the past.

She grabbed her hunter green down parka on the way out the door. She made her way downstairs and walked through the still slumbering inn. Gentle snores from the vicinity of the office told her George was still on duty and as alert as ever.

She let herself out through the door at the back of the kitchen. Andromeda, Daystar, and the morning crew from Cosmic Harmony had not yet arrived. And the guests would certainly not be stirring for a while.

The chilled air hit her like a tonic when she stepped outside. The night was giving way slowly to the gray light of the new day. The biting cold made Cleo abruptly aware of the fact that she had forgotten her gloves. She stuffed her hands into her jacket pockets and started off along the bluff overlooking the sea.

She wanted to think about a lot of things this morning: the dream, Benjy's disappearance, Trisha's problems. She needed to deal with all of them. But her mind resisted her efforts to concentrate on any of those issues. No matter what she did, it kept spinning back to the one, single event that had dominated her thoughts for most of the night: Max's kiss.

It was the first time she had kissed a man since her parents' death and not felt the subtle sense of wrongness that had tainted every other relationship she'd had.

All she had experienced with Max last night was a wondrous sensation of exultant joy. She had wanted him,
really
wanted him.

The passion that she had known lay buried inside her had awakened and responded to the touch of a real man at last. Relief soared through her at the realization that she had found the one who could help her free herself.

The man in the mirror had finally walked into her life.

But to Cleo's chagrin, things were not as clear as she had expected them to be if and when she found the right man. There were so many unknowns about Max Fortune, so many uncertainties.

One of the factors that troubled her the most was that he did not seem to be responding to her in the same way that she was responding to him. She had been so sure that if she ever encountered the man in the mirror in the real world, she would not only recognize him immediately; he would also recognize her. She knew from the things her mother and father had said that they had known they were meant for each other from the first moment they met.

But when Cleo had looked into Max's eyes last night, she had seen not just sexual desire, but a disturbing element of calculating control. She sighed unhappily at the thought. She had to face the fact that although her response to him had been instantaneous, pure and unfettered, Max Fortune apparently had his own agenda.

That made him dangerous. Theoretically it should have set off her finely tuned alarm system.

So why wasn't she getting that old, familiar feeling of wrongness about him? she wondered.

She recalled the way he had put the red satin ribbon around her throat and drawn her to him in a perfect imitation of a scene in chapter three of
The Mirror
.

A little too perfect, she thought wryly. She'd be willing to bet that Max actually had read that chapter before seeking her out last night.

The feeling that she no longer had the dawn to herself made Cleo turn her head and glance back over her shoulder. She managed a polite smile of greeting for Herbert T. Valence, who was striding briskly along behind her.

Valence was nattily dressed as always in an expensive-looking camel coat, paisley print silk scarf, and a pair of taupe leather shoes. Whatever brand of mousse or spray he had used to anchor his silver locks into place was impervious to the snapping breeze. Not a single hair was moving in the brisk breeze. The diamond on his pinky sparkled in the early light.

She appeared to be inundated with spiffy dressers these days, Cleo reflected, amused. The combined sartorial elegance of Max and Herbert T. Valence was definitely elevating the inn's image this weekend.

“Good morning, Ms. Robbins.” Valence bobbed his head with birdlike speed.

“Good morning,” Cleo said. “I didn't hear you coming up behind me. Out for a morning walk before your next seminar session?”

“I make it a point to walk one mile every day,” Valence informed her. “Proper aerobic exercise is essential to a successful attitude.”

“It's always nice to meet someone who practices what they preach.”

“I have a reputation to maintain, Ms. Robbins. I can only do that if I live by my own five basic rules of success.”

“What are your five rules, Mr. Valence?” Cleo asked curiously. “Or don't you hand those out for free?”

“As we have a professional relationship, I don't mind giving you my five rules.”

“How kind of you.” Cleo wondered if the list would include clicking his pen exactly five times before replacing it in his coat pocket and always staying in the same room at the inn. During the course of her so-called professional relationship with him, Cleo had had occasion to observe a long list of such eccentricities in Valence.

Valence held up his hand and pointed to his thumb. “The first rule is to concentrate on the objective.” He pointed to the next finger. “The second rule is to prepare a plan to meet that objective. The third rule is to resist the impulse to deviate from the plan. The fourth rule is to pay attention to every detail and to make certain it is covered before proceeding with the plan.”

“And the fifth rule?” Cleo asked.

“The fifth rule is to always think in terms of success, never in terms of failure.”

Cleo considered that. “But what happens if one does fail, Mr. Valence?”

Valence tilted his chin at a proud angle. “Failure is not an acceptable outcome for those who orient their lives toward success. I assure you that I did not acquire my reputation by making mistakes, Ms. Robbins.”

“Must be kind of tough having to live up to that kind of reputation,” Cleo mused.

“The rewards more than outweigh the effort involved,” Valence said. “You should know what I'm talking about, Ms. Robbins. Look at what you've accomplished at your age. You're the owner and proprietor of one of the most successful inns on the Washington coast. How did you talk a bank into loaning you the kind of money it must have taken to open Robbins' Nest?”

Cleo looked out over the steel gray sea. “I had some money of my own.”

“Ah, I see. Family money, then.”

Cleo thought of the trust fund she had inherited after her parents' death. “Yes.”

“I apologize for my questions,” Valence said a bit gruffly, as if he had suddenly realized he might have intruded on Cleo's privacy. “Didn't mean to pry. The thing is, I'm always interested in success stories. I guess you could say I collect them.”

“You collect them?”

“Yes, indeed. Whenever I find an interesting one, I like to dissect it. Find out how it happened. I learn things from it that I then incorporate into my seminars.”

“Well, there's not much to my story, Mr. Valence,” Cleo said. “I bought the inn with my inheritance. With the help of some good friends, I've made it work. That's all there is to my tale.”

Valence bobbed his head again. “You've certainly got an unusual group of employees. Your kitchen staff all look like they're from some New Age commune, and that new one, the man with the cane, doesn't dress or act like hired help.”

“Well, he is hired help,” Cleo said shortly. “But I don't know how long he'll be staying.” That realization made her catch her breath. The thought of Max leaving sent a flash of pain through her. She realized she did not want to lose the man in the mirror now that she had finally found him.

“In my opinion, his manner is far too arrogant for his position.”

Cleo smiled to herself. “I'll speak to him about it.”

“I suggest you do that.” Valence glanced at his chunky gold watch. “I should be getting back to my room, I suppose. I want to go over my notes. Before I bid you good day, however, Ms. Robbins, there is something I wish to discuss.”

Cleo stifled a groan. “What's that, Mr. Valence?”

Valence gave her a disapproving look. “I trust there will be no more upsetting occurrences such as the loss of electrical power that I was obliged to endure yesterday afternoon.”

Cleo smiled wryly. “I'm afraid that sort of thing is beyond my ability to control, Mr. Valence. We'll do our best, but I can't guarantee anything, especially during a storm.”

“If you cannot promise a reliable power source, I may be forced to select another location for my seminars,” Valence warned.

“As I said, Mr. Valence, we'll do our best to keep you up and running.”

Valence grunted a rather dissatisfied response. “Well, that's that, then. We shall just have to see, won't we?”

“I guess so,” Cleo said. “Have a good day, Mr. Valence.”

“Thank you. Same to you.”

Valence stopped, made a neat one hundred and eighty degree turn, and started back toward the inn.

Cleo watched as he tucked his chin into the warmth of his expensive coat and leaned resolutely into the crisp breeze. Then she continued on her way along the bluffs. She thought about what she had just told Valence about Max.
I don't know how long he'll be staying
.

An excellent reason for being extremely cautious, Cleo thought. Max was definitely an unknown quantity, even if she did have the distinct sensation that she had been waiting for him all of her life.

* * *

Cleo delayed the family meeting on Trisha until after the last of the crowd of seminar attendees had checked out the following day. She held it during the lull that ensued in the afternoon before preparations began for the evening meal.

Andromeda, Daystar, Trisha, Sylvia, and Cleo sat down on the benches of the kitchen nook. Trisha looked at the others and burst into tears.

“There now, dear, don't fuss so.” Andromeda handed her a napkin to blot her eyes. “You aren't the first woman to find herself in this sort of situation, and you won't be the last. The important thing to remember is that you aren't alone.”

“I thought he loved me,” Trisha whispered.

“I think he does,” Cleo said gently. “But Benjy's confused about a lot of things.”

“Too confused to use any birth control, apparently,” Daystar muttered. She gave Trisha a severe look. “I seem to recall mentioning the subject to you a while back, young lady. What went wrong?”

Trisha started to sob heavily. “I'm sorry. I just wasn't thinking. You don't know what it's like.”

“Don't I?” Daystar snorted. “I'm sixty-two years old, my girl, and I didn't spend those years in a box. Believe me, I know what it's like. Passion is no excuse for stupidity. A woman has to use her head. She has to stay in control of the situation.”

Trisha cried louder.

Cleo glared at Daystar. “For heaven's sake, this is getting us nowhere.”

Andromeda gave her friend a scolding look. “Cleo's right. There's no point lecturing poor Trisha now. The damage is done. We have to go forth from here. As that Mr. Valence has been telling everyone all weekend, we have to think positive. Problems should be looked upon as opportunities.”

“You're right. I'm sorry.” Daystar patted Trisha with gruff affection. “Don't worry, Trisha. We're going to survive this.”

“It was all my fault,” Trisha wailed.

“It takes two,” Cleo said firmly. “Benjy had just as much to do with this as you did.”

“The difference is that Benjy can walk away from it,” Daystar said bluntly. “Trisha can't.”

“You know,” Andromeda mused, “I'm surprised that Benjy did walk away. I thought that boy was finally getting his act together, as they say. He was working hard here, attending classes at the community college part-time. He was even starting to talk about the future in a positive manner. I really believed he was going to make it.”

“He was trying,” Trisha said loyally. “I know he was.”

“I agree,” Cleo said. “And I know he cares for Trisha. I imagine he's feeling pretty scared at the moment.”

“Maybe we should have gotten some professional counseling for the boy,” Andromeda said.