Revealed: His Secret Child (10 page)

Gillian shook her head. “I'll catch you later.”

“We're still on for coffee?” Maggie asked.

“Absolutely,” Gillian said a little too brightly before turning for the door.

Max hadn't realized the two women knew each other. But given Maggie's surprise, it didn't look as though Gillian had told her anything about their marriage.

He opened the exit door for her and when she would have walked past him without stopping, put a hand on her shoulder, and waited till she turned to him. “I'll see you tonight.”

Her gaze dipped to his lips and a small secret smile played about her mouth as she nodded.

“Y
ou look tired.” Gillian looked up to see Max standing in the bathroom doorway watching her.

She straightened. She'd been leaning on the edge of the bath, her fingers trailing in the water as Ethan played. It wasn't surprising that she might look tired considering the turn their relationship had taken. Since that day in his office over a week ago their nights had become a time of shared passion.

“You really know how to make a gal feel good.” She said it blithely, pretended she was indifferent to his thoughts of her. But he was right. She was tired.

His gaze stayed steady on her, blue and intense.

Weariness vanished as sensation skittered down her spine. No matter how tired she might be he had that same effect on her. “Have you eaten?” he asked.

“Not yet. I was going to fix myself some dinner after I put Ethan to bed.”

He watched her for long moments till, uncomfortable under
his scrutiny, she turned back to Ethan. “Bath time's over, buddy. Pull the plug and stand up.”

Max materialized beside her holding a towel. As the water drained from the bath, Ethan stood and held his arms up to his father. Such simple trusting, no second-guessing, no wondering.

Max had left a message on her phone saying he wouldn't be home in time for Ethan's dinner. As her son had eaten she'd tried to be grateful that she didn't have the confusion of Max's presence, didn't have to hide anything of herself. But like her son, who'd asked for Daddy, she knew that an intransigent, insensible part of her missed him.

Just for the adult company, she told herself, knowing it was a lie.

They did things together at home. Some as a family but many, many things where it was just the two of them. But apart from that one time in his office she didn't see him outside of home. They'd never been out in public together. And even within their home he kept so much of himself from her still.

She knew his family had called asking to see them again, but she'd heard him on the phone making their excuses, putting them off to some unspecified date. He'd yet to mention Dylan to her.

As Max lifted Ethan from the bath, she stood. Max's gaze dipped to her chest. Her T-shirt clung damply to her breasts. His Adam's apple slid as he swallowed and then turned away.

They were tucking Ethan into bed when there was a knock at the door. “I'll get it,” Max said as he left the room.

Ten minutes later Gillian followed the sound of voices downstairs to find Max and Mrs. McDonald engrossed in conversation.

Mrs. McDonald practically beamed at her. It appeared even her elderly neighbor wasn't immune to the appeal of Max. “It's
well past time you had an evening out. It's been far too long. And so nice of your young man to arrange it. It's about time you had someone looking out for you.”

“An evening out?” She looked from her neighbor to Max.

“Yes,” he said. “Let's go.”

“Where? I'm not ready to go anywhere. Look at me.”

And so he did, and she wished she could retract the command because his gaze on her always elicited a response. “Maybe a jacket, it'll be cool out. But other than that you are ready. Trust me.”

Outside, he reached for her hand, wrapping his fingers around hers.

That simple touch felt so natural. So good.

“Where are we going? What have you got planned?” She knew he wasn't planning what her undisciplined mind had leaped to as soon as she asked the question.

He smiled. “Trust me.”

Trust
was such a loaded word between them, Gillian made no response.

He drove to the ocean. Once there, he pulled a blanket and a hamper from the trunk and carried them down to the beach, spreading the blanket out and inviting her to sit. The sun had already set but the sky was still light though quickly fading. He poured a glass of wine and handed it to her.

Pleasure and ease stole through her as waves washed to the pebbled beach and she sipped the light fruity sauvignon blanc.

Later, when he topped up her glass unasked, she turned to him. “What's this about, Max?”

“This is about you,” he said after a pause.

“About me?”

“You looked tired. And tense. And I wanted to do something for you. I didn't know if you'd let me take you away somewhere, but I figured this would be okay.”

She wanted to argue, to tell him he was wrong. But he wasn't. He was so right and it was unsettling to think that he'd both noticed and chosen to do something about it. Underneath the no-nonsense exterior lay something softer, someone who thought of others. “Thank you,” she finally said. “This is lovely.”

He handed her a plate of food, prepared, she assumed because of the array of delicacies, by one of the more expensive local restaurants.

She didn't want to need him, or rely on him, or even enjoy his company too much. The kind of one-sided attachment that went beyond the physical that could only lead to hurt.

“Now, eat and drink and relax.”

It was surprisingly easy to follow his suggestion, a relief almost. Thoughts of her situation ebbed away till all that was left was the dwindling evening and her ever-present awareness of Max as he leaned back on his elbows, his legs stretched in front of him, his gaze trained out to sea.

When they'd eaten, they walked along the beach. Once again he took her hand. Once again she was far too aware of the touch, that tentative connection.

As the first stars came out they turned back for the car. “Are you going to tell me about Dylan?”

His grip tightened around her hand. They walked on several more steps. “No. Not now.”

She got the feeling he meant not ever.

Gillian stopped. “I think it's important.”

“It's not something I want to talk about.”

“But—”

He pulled her into his arms and kissed her, covered her lips with his to seal away the words she'd been going to say. It was no more than a diversionary tactic and she knew better than to be diverted by it.

She knew better. But the heat of him overpowered the weak
voice of reason. The sensation of his lips on hers stole words and breath. His hands around her shoulders pulled her into a world where it was just her and him.

His mouth moved over hers, at once seeking and giving. Tongues twined in an erotically familiar dance.

She almost wept with the wanting of him. Only him.

He knew how she liked to be kissed, knew precisely how she liked to be held and touched. His palm was warm against the curve of her waist, warmer as it slid upward beneath her T-shirt, hot as it cupped the shape and weight of her breast, his thumb roving over hardening nipples, sending shards of heat arrowing through her. Intense. Sudden. Needy.

Her hips rocked against his as her hands slid beneath the soft skin-warmed cotton of his shirt and found greater warmth in the strong contours of his back.

He kissed her in the moonlight and when he was kissing her, nothing else mattered. Everything was perfect in her world. And building to an even greater perfection.

For the longest time they stood locked together on the beach. And had it not been for that very fact—that they were in the middle of a public though deserted beach—that kiss would have led to so much more.

It was Max who ended it, lifting his head, and for just a moment holding her to him, his arms locked behind her, as though she meant something to him, before dropping his hand to hers and leading her back to the car.

 

“Earth to Gillian.”

Gillian stopped the slow stirring of her coffee and looked up. Maggie sat opposite, watching her, curiosity in her gaze.

She and Maggie had a semiregular coffee date here at the Bistro by the Sea, using the time to catch up on each other's news or plan a movie evening. Today they sat outside enjoying the mild spring sunshine.

“Where were you?”

They were close but not close enough that Gillian could tell her friend that she'd mentally been back in Max's office, on his desk. She wasn't
that
close to anyone. Seeing Maggie for the first time since that day at Cameron Enterprises had brought it back to the forefront of her mind.

“I was thinking about work stuff.” It was a stretch, but she
had
gone to Max's office that day with the intention of discussing work. Even if she'd ended up half-naked on his desk.

A gentle breeze blew in from the sea and Maggie touched her fingers to the bun at the back of her head, checking it was still neatly contained. “And here was me,” she said sweetly, “thinking it might be the fact that you got married without so much as telling me, that was occupying your thoughts.”

Gillian set her spoon down. “Did Max say?”

“Max?” Maggie squawked. “You married Max Preston? That's why you were with him the other day.”

She grimaced. “I guess that means he didn't say.”

Maggie shook her head emphatically.

“Then how did you know?”

“Your ring.” Maggie nodded at Gillian's left hand resting on the table.

“Oh.” Gillian slipped her hand to her lap. “It was kind of a hasty decision.”

“Obviously, given that last time we talked about relationships you refused to so much as even consider the possibility of dating. You were too busy, you said. You didn't have time or space in your life.”

“It's a long story.”

Maggie watched her closely.

“And I will tell you. Soon. I'm just not ready to talk about it yet, it's too…”

“Personal?”

“I was going to say confusing, but personal as well.” How did she explain to Maggie, a true romantic under her sometimes dowdy exterior, that she'd married without love? That she'd married because Max had given her no choice, but that beneath the surface of their relationship currents swirled? Deep unfathomable currents that were pulling her in, sweeping her to she didn't know where.

Maggie watched her awhile longer and then nodded. “Well, whenever you are ready…”

“Thanks.”

Maggie sipped her coffee. “What about the professional side of things? How does marrying Cameron Enterprises' head of PR affect your work with the
Gazette?
”

“It doesn't. We have an understanding where neither of us discusses our work.” Which fortunately or unfortunately meant she hadn't felt obliged to tell Max about the article that would be running in tomorrow's
Gazette.
Another article questioning Rafe Cameron's motives and intentions.

“That must be hard.”

“Not really. I can keep business and pl—personal separate.” She'd been going to say “pleasure.” Pure, hedonistic, fiercely erotic pleasure.

“And yet you claim it's business that's occupying your thoughts. Clearly your work is far more enthralling than mine. Is it this wrangle you're getting into with Cameron Enterprises?”

A wrangle? Probably a good word, or a tangle, and not with Cameron Enterprises but with Max. Her husband. “It's really not that interesting.” Confusing maybe, mixed with illicit excitement and a sprinkle of fear.
Don't think about it. Not now,
she warned herself. She was here to talk to Maggie and part of the benefit of seeing her friend was the hope that she could forget her own situation. “From what you said on
the phone, yours is the job that's about to get interesting. Tell me more.”

Maggie narrowed her eyes suspiciously but accepted the change of subject. She drew in a deep breath. “Do you know William Tanner?”

“The CFO Rafe brought out from New York as part of his takeover crew.”

“Yes. He has an executive assistant in New York but she's handling everything long-distance, and Cameron Enterprises is looking for someone for him who'll be based here.”

“And you're applying? That's terrific.”

“I'm thinking about it.”

“Maggie, you
have
to apply.”

“I want to, but it would be such a big step up from the general secretarial work I've been doing.”

Gillian watched closely as Maggie cut her bran muffin carefully in half. “You're ready for more of a challenge. We talked about that very thing the last time we had coffee.” Maggie was smart and savvy but she hid her light behind a bushel and her looks behind her ill-fitting suits and glasses.

“You're right. I've got the skills.”

“So what is it that's holding you back?”

“It's William Tanner. His reputation precedes him.” Maggie halved each of the halves again.

“What's wrong with him? Horns, a tail and a red pitchfork?”

Maggie laughed and set her knife down. “Almost. Word is he's tough as nails. His executive assistants don't always last that long—the last two temps filling in for his permanent one when she was away on maternity leave lasted no more than a few weeks each.”

“They were temps, you're not. Cameron Enterprises employs only the best. You, being a case in point.” Max being another, she thought. “William Tanner will be lucky to get you, because
you're smart and capable, and if he has even half a brain he'll realize that pretty darn quickly.”

“Thank you.”

“For telling you the truth? Anytime.” A woman pushing a sleeping baby in a stroller walked past, snagging Gillian's attention.

“Can I tell
you
a truth?”

She didn't like the note of warning she heard in Maggie's voice. “Will you listen to me if I say no?”

“No. Because it's just a little thing but I think you need to hear it.”

Gillian sighed. “Go on then.”

“I don't know Max real well.”

No surprises there, Gillian thought, even when she'd been dating the man for six months she hadn't been able to claim that she knew him well.

“But he has a reputation for being fair and he's good at what he does, and you can talk to him about anything to do with work.”