Grand Passion

  “I said I wanted to marry you, not collect you,” Max whispered savagely. He put his wine glass down carefully on the small inlaid table near the Sheraton chair. He was afraid that if he kept the fragile crystal in his hand he would snap the stem. He was gripping the carved hawk on his cane so tightly that the muscles in his wrist ached.

  “Is there a difference in your mind?” Cleo asked.

  “Yes, damn it. Cleo, you said you were angry this morning because I hadn't asked you properly. I'm trying to do it right.”

  “It wasn't just that you hadn't asked.”

  “Cleo.”

  Max took a step toward her and stopped abruptly when he saw her move back a pace. She was going to refuse. Anguish ripped through him. He felt more pain than he had ever known in his life. He could feel it gnawing at his vitals, eating him alive. This was worse than when Jason had died.

  Cleo's eyes were wide and luminous. When he took another step toward her, she held up a hand as if she were warding off the devil himself.

  “Max, why do you want to marry me?”

  “Because I want you.” The words were torn from him, leaving a raw, gaping wound. He wondered if he would bleed to death right there on the Oriental rug.

  Cleo's gaze seared Max's soul for a moment longer, and then, with a small, soft cry, she went into his arms.

  “All right,” she said into his shirt. “I'll marry you.”

  Max felt the wound inside him start to close. He was going to survive, after all. He let the cane fall to the rug as he folded Cleo tightly against him. The volatile emotions that had been raging through him were transmuted into a wild, desperate hunger.

  He needed her more than he had ever needed anything in his life.

  As if she sensed his need, Cleo raised her face to his. Max kissed her heavily. When he felt her response, he groaned and pulled her down onto the rug.

  “Max.”

  He tugged at her clothing, pulling off her shirt and yanking open the fastening of her jeans. He managed to get the denims off together with her silver shoes. Then he fumbled awkwardly with the zipper of his trousers. He didn't even bother trying to take them off. He knew he wouldn't be able to manage the task.

  Cleo reached up for him, parting her legs and opening her mouth for him. He fell on top of her like a starving man on a feast.

  A moment later he was where he needed to be, deep inside Cleo. She was warm and soft and snug, and he was home.

  Cleo opened her eyes and looked up at the canvases that peered down at her like so many dark, tormented eyes. Max's taste in art definitely did not tend toward the sweet or sentimental.

  The pictures that hung on the walls of his secret lair exhibited the same riveting combination of savagery and civilized polish that he did. And they were just as complicated and enigmatic as he was.

  Cleo knew that, for better or worse, she had just allowed herself to be collected by Max Fortune.

  The only things in this room that gave her hope were the inexpensive copies of the children's books that she had discovered amid the valuable tomes in his bookcase. She smiled.

  “Cold?” Max sat up slowly. His eyes darkened with satisfaction as he moved his hand possessively along the curve of her thigh.

  “A little.” Cleo looked up at him. “It's chilly in here.”

  “The room is climate controlled.”

  Cleo sat up and reached for her shirt. “To protect the canvases and the books?”

  “Yes.” Max watched her closely. “Cleo, I want to be married immediately.”

  She paused in the act of buttoning her shirt. “What's the rush?”

  “You know damn well what the rush is.” Max used the cane to get to his feet. He reached down to catch hold of her hand. “I don't want you changing your mind.”

  “I've got news for you, Max.” Cleo allowed herself to be pulled to her feet. “You won't be allowed to marry me in some hurried little ceremony at the court-house. The family won't stand for it. Sylvia, Andromeda, and the others will want it done right. And we can't preempt Trisha and Ben's wedding. It wouldn't be fair to steal the limelight from them.”

  Max zipped up his trousers. “I was afraid you'd say that.”

  Cleo made a face at him as she finished dressing. She was vastly relieved to see that his expression was once again one of general irritation. He was no longer wearing the stark, cold mask he'd worn an hour ago when he had asked her to marry him.

  She could deal with Max's irritation, Cleo thought. She could handle anything except that terrible, bleak look that had been in his eyes when she'd hesitated to give him the answer he wanted. She'd seen that look in her own eyes often enough in the mirror during the months following her parents' death. It was the look of a person who has lost everything that mattered.

  But Max hadn't lost his dreams, Cleo thought. After all, the man had read Dr. Seuss and The Hardy Boys. He couldn't be all ice and iron.

  “Cleo? You have a strange expression on your face. What are you thinking about?”

  “Dinner,” she said.

  Max relaxed visibly. “I almost forgot about dinner. I think I've suddenly developed an appetite.”

  “Me, too. You can fix the scallops. I'll make the salad.”

  “I meant what I said, Cleo.” Max's fingers closed gently but very firmly around her wrist. He brought her palm to his mouth and kissed it. “I want us to be married as soon as possible.”

  She touched his cheek lightly with her fingertips. She knew he was thinking of how Kimberly had reneged on the engagement six weeks after Max had asked her to marry him.

  “It's all right, Max. I'm not going to change my mind.”

  He veiled his glittering eyes with his lashes. “Word of honor?”

  “Word of honor.”

  * * *

  Cleo waited until after dinner to call home. Max lounged beside her on the sofa, his eyes on the night-shrouded city, as she dialed the number.

  “Robbins' Nest Inn.”

  “Sylvia? It's me.”

  “What a surprise,” Sylvia chuckled. “Hang on a second.” Sylvia cupped her hand over the receiver. “I win,” she hissed to someone in the background.

  “What's going on? Are you busy?” Cleo asked quickly. “I can call back later if you've got people checking in.”

  “Nope, we're not busy,” Sylvia said cheerfully. “I just had a small bet on with O'Reilly that you'd be unable to resist checking on us this evening. He bet that Max would be keeping you too busy to call. I said that nothing, not even a proper proposal of marriage, could keep you from fretting about how things were going out here.”

  Cleo shot a quick glance at Max. “Well, you were right.”

  “About you fretting? That's no big revelation.”

  “No,” Cleo said softly. “About the proper proposal.”

  “Aha.” Sylvia's voice held great satisfaction. “I knew it. And you said yes, right?”

  “Right.”

  “That makes it all nice and official then,” Sylvia crowed. “We'll start making plans for the wedding as soon as we get Trisha and Ben married off. I'm sure Sammy will want to be in this ceremony, too. O'Reilly can give the bride away.”

  “O'Reilly?”

  “Sure. He's going to practice on Trisha.”

  Somewhere along the line, Cleo realized, O'Reilly had become a member of the wedding party. At this rate he was going to become one of the family, just like Max. “Okay.”

  “Don't worry, Cleo. Andromeda, Daystar, and I will take care of everything.”

  “Thank you.” Cleo didn't know what else to say. “Uh, so how are things going there?”

  “Believe it or not, we're managing to scrape along without you. Had a few new reservations for the weekend. Oh, by the way, good old Herbert T. called to book another corporate seminar.”

  “I thought Mr. Valence was annoyed with us because we lost power the last time he used the inn. Remember how upset he got when he couldn't show his video?” Cleo could still hear
Valence's angry protest. I've got a reputation for flawless performance.

  “He says that in spite of the electrical difficulties, our inn still makes a good background for his seminars. I booked him for the weekend after next. A group of fifteen from some computer firm this time.”

  “Good,” Cleo said. “That will give us a nice crowd. Jason was right when he suggested we start promoting the inn for corporate retreats and seminars.”

  “Yes, he was. Hey, I'm sure you've got better things to do than chat with the home office. Say hello to Max. We'll see you both in a couple of days.”

  Cleo hung up the phone and looked at Max. “They're doing just fine without us.”

  “Don't worry,” Max said. “They couldn't get by for long on their own.”

  “You're sure?”

  He smiled. He put his arm around her shoulders and drew her down onto the couch. “I'm sure. I, on the other hand, can't get by for more than a few minutes without you.”

  * * *

  The dream came as a shock in the middle of the night. Blood-spattered walls whirled around Cleo, closing in on her. She tried to scream, but, as always, no sound emerged from her horror-constricted throat. She could not move her arms. Her legs were pinned by some heavy object.

  “Cleo. Wake up. Wake up, damn it.”

  Cleo awoke drenched in sweat. Max was crushing her against him. He was holding her tightly, trapping her with the weight of his body as if he could hold her back from the invisible tentacles that reached out for her.

  “I'm okay,” she whispered. Little wonder she had been unable to move in her dream, she thought wryly. She couldn't move in real life, either. Max's grip was so fierce she could barely breathe.

  “The dream again?” Max released her slowly, his eyes shadowed in the darkness.

  “Yes. That's the second time in a week.” Cleo rubbed her eyes. “I wonder what's happening.”

  “Stress. Tension. Worry.” Max massaged her shoulders. “There's plenty of explanation for the bad dreams you've had lately.”

  “Do you ever get nightmares?”

  “Everyone gets nightmares occasionally.”

  She relaxed against his chest. Max's hands were warm and strong and comforting. “What are yours like?”

  “Some of them are hanging on the walls of my gallery downstairs,” he said calmly.

  Cleo shuddered. There were a lot of private, secret places in Max Fortune.

  “Cleo?”

  “Hmm?” She was feeling drowsy again. The last traces of her dream had already retreated to the dark recesses of her mind. Max was good at banishing nightmares, Cleo reflected.

  “We could get married the week after Trisha and Ben have their wedding. Your family can arrange to have another reception that soon, can't they?”

  She was torn between laughter and exasperation. He was not going to stop pushing until she had set a date. “I've already told you that I'll marry you. Do we have to pick the day and time tonight?”

  “I'd like to get the details nailed down.”

  “Okay, okay. One week is a little fast. We've got the inn to run, you know. How about two weeks after Trisha and Ben's reception?” She felt the exultant relief sweep through him. “We may have to delay the honeymoon for a while,” Cleo warned. “I've got a couple of small conventions scheduled next month.”

  Max's fingers tightened around her shoulders. “I don't give a damn about the honeymoon.”

  Cleo chuckled. “Thanks a lot.”

  “You know what I mean. I just want to get everything settled.”

  Cleo lifted her head and kissed Max lightly on the mouth. He fell back onto the pillow and pulled her down on top of him.

  “There's just one thing you should know, Max.” Cleo touched the tip of her tongue to the corner of his mouth.

  “What's that?”

  “It's not my family that is going to arrange our wedding reception. It's our family.”

  “You're right. Our family.” Max twisted his fingers in Cleo's hair and dragged her face down to his.

  “What do you want to do today?” Max asked the next morning. He watched contentedly as Cleo made waffles in the gleaming iron positioned on a table in the breakfast room.

  “I don't care. I don't get to Seattle very often any more. I guess I'd like to do the usual tourist things. Visit the Pike Place Market. Do some shopping. Take in a few good bookstores.”

  “I've got a better idea. Why don't we shop for a ring?” Max glanced out the window. The downtown high-rises sparkled after the night's rain. “It looks like it's going to be clear for a while. I know a couple of good jewelers.”

  Cleo smiled ruefully. “It shouldn't take long to find a ring. We'll do the other stuff later.” She popped out a waffle and dropped it onto a plate.

  The doorbell chimed.

  Max looked irritated. He seized his cane and got to his feet. “Whoever that is, I'll get rid of him.”

  Cleo poured maple syrup on the waffle and listened to Max make his way down the hall.

  Max's house was awfully big for one person, she thought. It took forever just to get to the front door. The mansion needed a butler. She wondered why he had bought such a place. Maybe he had been under the impression that if he spent enough money, he could buy a home. Cleo wondered how long it had taken him to discover his mistake.

  Cleo heard Kimberly's voice just as she forked up a bite of waffle. She stifled a small groan of dismay when she heard the other woman's high heels on the terrazo floor of the hall. So much for Max's being able to get rid of his unexpected caller.

  “Max, I have to talk to you,” Kimberly said in a cool, businesslike tone as she came down the hall. “This is extremely important.”

  “How did you know I was in town?”

  “I called Robbins' Nest Inn. I was told you were here with Cleo. Max, you can't put me off. This is absolutely critical. I've talked to Roarke. He told me you suggested that he and I try to take over the Curzon board. Were you serious?”

  “Why not? Looks like the logical move.”

  “Roarke seems convinced it could be done,” Kimberly said slowly.

  “The two of you can do it together.”

  “But my father—”

  Max cut her off abruptly. “The only way you're going to prove to your father that you're as good as the son he never had is to take Curzon from him.”

  “Do you really think so?” Kimberly asked.

  “Yes.”

  Kimberly hesitated. “That isn't the only thing I want to talk to you about. Max, give me five minutes. That's all I'm asking.”

  “All right,” Max said impatiently. His cane thudded softly on the tile as he led Kimberly into the breakfast room. “Five minutes, but no more. Cleo and I have things to do today.”

  “Such as?” Kimberly asked dryly.

  “Such as shop for a ring,” Max said. “Cleo and I are engaged.”

  “Well, isn't that interesting,” Kimberly murmured. She looked at Cleo. “I can't say I'm surprised.”

  “Thank you,” Cleo said around a mouthful of waffle. “I think.”

  “Max was always very good at arranging advantageous engagements for himself,” Kimberly said.

  “If you're going to make cracks like that, Kim,” Max said calmly, “you can leave now.”

  Kimberly looked at him. “What's the matter, haven't you told her why you've gotten yourself engaged to her?”

  Max sat down and regarded Kimberly with cobra eyes. “Say whatever it is you came here to say and then leave.”

  Kimberly walked over to the sideboard and helped herself to a cup of coffee with the ease of a woman who was familiar with her surroundings. She smiled bleakly at Cleo.

  “Has he told you yet that he's negotiating with an outfit called Global Village Properties?” Kimberly asked. “They've offered him the same deal Curzon has, but Max wants more. He wants the CEO position.”

  “No,” Cleo said. She looked at Max. “He didn't mention that.”

&n
bsp; “Damn,” Max said. “I knew I shouldn't have opened the door this morning.”

  Chapter

  15

  Cleo forked up another bite of waffle and ate it in silence. She was aware of Max's gaze on her as Kimberly talked.

  “It's all true,” Kimberly said not unkindly to Cleo. “My sources tell me that Max recently met with Turner and Sand, two point men for Global Village Properties.”

  Cleo glanced at Max. “Is that right?”

  “Yes,” Max said. His eyes did not leave her face.

  Kimberly looked grimly satisfied. She started to pace the breakfast room with the elegant, restless stride of a racehorse that had been penned for too long. Cleo wondered how she could stand wearing high heels all day.

  “I only know of one meeting,” Kimberly said. “But that doesn't mean he hasn't been negotiating with them since he left Curzon last month. I'm told that they made him a very generous offer.”

  Cleo glanced at Max. “Did they make you an offer?”

  “Yes,” Max said.

  Kimberly shot him a knowing glance. “The rumor I heard is that the offer included a vice presidency and a seat on the Global Village board. But as I said, Max wants the CEO slot. So he's told them that he's going independent unless they can make it worth his while not to do so.”

  “What's that supposed to mean?” Cleo asked curiously.

  “It means he's allowing everyone to believe he's going into business on his own.”

  “Unless he receives a better offer from Global Village? Is that what you're saying?” Cleo watched Kimberly carefully.

  Kimberly gave a sigh that held a trace of genuine sympathy. “Try not to feel too bad about it, Cleo. Max has a reputation for getting the job done and for using whatever means he thinks are necessary to do it. People who are far more savvy about business than you will ever be have gotten ground to dust beneath his chariot wheels.”

  “A colorful image.” Cleo ignored Max's silent, brooding stare and kept her attention on Kimberly.

  Kimberly looked briefly disconcerted. She flicked a quick, searching glance at Max and then frowned at Cleo. “The point I'm trying to make here is that Max is using you to add an element of realism to the picture he's painting for Global Village. Getting engaged to you will convince everyone he's serious about going independent.”