Intimate Betrayal (5 page)

Maxwell roared off from the spot on the Avenue of the Americas. One of these days, he was actually going to strangle Carmen.

 

Maxwell tossed and turned in his sleep the entire night. Visions of Reese nestled in his arms tormented him with longing. How in the world would he be able to get through
the next few weeks when his feelings for her were spiraling out of control?

He wished that he had it in him to let go. But after Victoria, he'd promised himself he'd never allow his heart to guide him again. Victoria Davenport was the first woman he'd begun to open himself up to, and even now, two years later, the pain of her betrayal could still flare raw and ragged.

When he'd first met Victoria at an engineering conference in Washington, D.C., he was instantly captivated. She was the fascinating combination of beauty and brains. What enchanted him the most was that she was the first woman who didn't trip all over herself trying to get his attention.

Finally, unable to stand her pointed rebuff a moment longer, he'd maneuvered his way around the throngs of people in the dining hall and introduced himself.

“Can I refresh your drink, Ms….?” Maxwell asked, easing up next to her.

Victoria turned cool, green eyes on him. “Don't tell me you came from clear across the room just to get me a drink?” she taunted, her smile a sweet invitation. “I truly thought chivalry was dead,” she added, her soft Southern drawl like music to his ears.

He leaned against the bar. His eyes rolled up and down her slender frame. “Let me guess. You've been watching me just as hard as I've been watching you.”

Her finely arched brows rose in feigned surprise. “What would make you think that?” She tried to sound indignant, but failed.

“How else would you know that I was way on the other side of the room?”

Victoria tossed back her head and laughed outright, her strawberry blond tresses skimming her bare shoulders. “Just for that, I'm going to tell you my name, you're going to tell
me yours, and we're going to get to know each other. There's nothing I like better than a man who speaks his mind.”

Maxwell joined in her laughter, enchanted by its musical quality. And they did get to know each other. They had tons of things in common both being computer engineers, she for the government and he in private practice.

For the next eighteen months, Maxwell made his home between D.C., where Victoria lived, and New York. During those months, Maxwell quickly learned that Victoria was the type of woman who lived on the edge, challenging everything and everyone. Her looks gave her entrée into the black world as easily as the white, and she played whatever role suited her at the moment.

“I was fortunate to be born with a choice,” Victoria said to him one night after making love.

“We all have choices,” Maxwell said, folding his hands beneath his head and staring up at the stuccoed ceiling.

She smiled, the kind of sly smile that compels you to want to know more.

“When I'm with you, I can let down my hair and go back to my roots. When I'm outside of ‘our little circle' of friends and associates, I cross the line to my other world.”

For several moments, Maxwell simply stared at her, too flabbergasted to speak.

“Don't look so shocked, darling. How many times in your life have you wished—prayed—that you could cross over into the Japanese world and be accepted, and at your whim return to the black world and not miss a beat? The only difference between you and me, is that I can.”

The truth of her statement slammed him in the gut. For all of his thirty years, he had been on the fence of life, so to speak, trying to discover where he fit. Listening to her now, brought to bear his reality.

On all of the forms and applications he'd ever had to fill
out, he always checked “other.” Other what? he'd always wanted to know. Yet he'd learned to live with it, at least on the surface.

What he couldn't accept was Victoria's cavalier attitude about her ethnicity. With effort, he managed to put her indiscretion aside. He convinced himself that he was falling in love with her, that what she did when she wasn't with him didn't affect him. That was the beginning.

It was several months after that revelation that they'd had a terrible argument. Maxwell was miserable without her. He'd decided to drive down to D.C. for the weekend and surprise her. That was the end.

He knew she always worked late on Friday, so he'd planned to beat her to the apartment and have dinner waiting—his way of making things up to her and telling her how sorry he was.

When he arrived at the apartment they shared, he thought he was alone until he heard noises coming from the back. Surprised, Maxwell put down his packages and headed for the back bedroom.

“Vicki, I didn't expect you…” He pushed open the bedroom door, and for a split second he couldn't focus. Victoria in all of her peaches-and-cream splendor was astride her boss, her head tossed back as the throes of climax gripped them both. Neither of them heard him enter or leave. They never spoke to or saw each other again.

The question that always nagged at him was: what role was she playing that afternoon with her white lover? And why had she chosen Max? What role had he played in the eighteen months of their relationship? He was soon to find out, when the
Washington Post
ran the story about Victoria Davenport and the innovative new computer program she'd developed that gave PC users unlimited access to the Internet—and enhanced processing speed—the very same program he'd
been working on for months. When the press got wind of their relationship, they made his life pure hell for months.

His breakup with Victoria reconfirmed his mistrust, rekindled his belief that no one was as they appeared, and the shell around him had grown tight once again.

Until Reese.

R
eese was bone tired when her aunt Celeste phoned her at 7:00 a.m. Her night had been haunted by those faceless phantoms that had plagued her life for the past fifteen years.

Had she had these dreams—these nightmares—before that time? she wondered, letting the cool water sluice across her body. If she had, she couldn't remember. Just as she could remember nothing prior to that fateful day when her life was irrevocably changed.

Shadows, images, screeching tires and screams were all that she could recall. But something had led to it. Something or someone that she could not remember. And all of the hypnosis, therapy, and drugs had not brought her memory back. The first fifteen years of her life were nothing more than a black abyss.

Wrapping the thick, standard white hotel towel around her dripping milk-chocolate body, she thought about how guilty
she had felt for so many years. Guilty that she'd survived, and could not remember anything about her mother or father, who had perished.

And whenever her guilt began to ebb, aunt Celeste would find a way to resurrect it, making her feel that she'd betrayed her family because she could not remember them, as she had moments ago.

Reese had assumed the early-morning phone call was her hotel wake-up call. Her heart thundered with trepidation when she heard her aunt's voice reach out to her across the wires.

“Aunt Celeste, how are you?”

“I'm fine,” she answered in a tight voice. “But how would you know that, you don't remember to call.”

Reese squeezed her eyes shut and took a long, calming breath.

“Aunt Celeste, I called you before I left Chicago. I gave you the number of the hotel here in New York.”

“That was nearly two weeks ago,” she accused. “I'm your only living relative. I'd think you'd treat me with more regard.”

“Aunt Celeste, please,” she whispered, feeling again like the lost, confused child she'd been for so many years. “Not today. I'm trying to get ready for my trip to Los Angeles.”

“Humph. What you need to do is settle down and find yourself a husband—start a family instead of traipsing across the country digging into other people's lives when you can only claim half of your own!”

Reese felt the pain of her words as strongly as if she'd been smacked. “You still blame me. After all these years, you still blame me, as if my lack of memory is somehow responsible for everything and intended to hurt you. Well I can't help that I survived, Aunt Celeste. I'm me, Reese Delaware—or at least what there is of me. And I won't apologize for my existence anymore.”

“Reese!”

“Goodbye, Aunt Celeste. I'll call you when I reach Los Angeles.” She hung up the phone before her aunt could respond.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, Reese shielded her face with her hands, the weight of her pain seeping through her fingers to trickle down her cheeks.

“Why can't I remember?” she cried. “Why?”

 

“Victoria, you have a call on line one,” the engineer who sat to her left said, tapping Victoria gently on the shoulder.

Victoria turned toward Cliff and nodded her thanks. Removing her headset, she took one quick look at the lighted board in front of her, sparkling with colored lights that detailed the circuitry she was working on. Satisfied for the moment, she pushed away from the digital panel.

At the young age of twenty-eight she was head of the engineering division for the Air Force, an unprecedented position. It was her sole responsibility to oversee every aspect of computer assembly and sign off on everything that left her department.

She'd worked damned hard to get to where she was. She'd done some things that made her skin crawl, but she'd survived. Her only regret was losing Max. She'd tried for months to get him to talk to her, but he'd refused. Eventually she'd given up and began to pick up the pieces of her life and move on. But she'd never forgotten the one man who'd almost made her do the right thing.

She depressed the flashing red button on the console. “Davenport,” she said curtly, eager to get back to her design.

“Vicky, dear, I'm so sorry to bother you at work, but I had the most awful conversation with that witch, Reese.”

Victoria twisted her mouth in annoyance. The last
person she wanted to hear about was her half sister, Reese Delaware.

“What happened now, Aunt Celeste?”

 

Victoria returned to her desk. Breathing hard, she just stared at the electronic board.

“Vic, are you alright?” Cliff asked, snatching off his headset. “You look pale.”

Victoria shook her head. “No. I mean, yes—I'm fine. But I think I'll take the rest of the day off. Something came up.” Quickly she shut down her sector, collected her belongings, and rushed out of the lab.

 

Driving more by instinct than from paying attention, Victoria took the Fourteenth Street Bridge out of D.C. into the suburbs to Arlington, Virginia.

“Dammit!” she railed, slamming her palms against the steering wheel. What were the chances of your ex-lover and a sister you've never met getting together? The irony of the situation was not lost on her. Reese had always wound up with everything—the family, the home, the security. She, on the other hand, was the big family secret. And now Reese would be spending the next six weeks with Max. Would she wind up with him, too?

 

An hour later Reese was still reeling from the conversation with her aunt when the phone rang again. With great reluctance, she answered.

“Hello?”

“Hey, girl, it's Lynnette.”

Reese's smile lit up the room. A call from her homegirl was just the medicine she needed. She felt as if a weight had been lifted off of her chest.

“Lynnette, you couldn't have called at a better time.”

“Sounds like you've been talking to the wicked witch of the east again,” Lynnette teased.

Reese laughed out loud at the vision. However, her aunt could be more closely pegged as Glenda from the North. Celeste Winston was, on the surface, a stunning woman of fifty-two. Her exquisite peaches-and-cream face was smooth and unlined, haloed by sparkling auburn hair. She was in excellent shape, went to the hairdresser once per week, and spent her well-earned money as a private-duty nurse for the Air Force, on designer clothes. On the surface, Celeste had it all, but underneath she was a lonely, bitter woman who'd never married. And she seemed to take pleasure in venting her frustrations on the niece she'd been forced to raise.

“On target as usual. But I don't want to talk about her. There's not enough time in the world. What's happening at the magazine?”

“Hart is still busting my chops and as pig-headed as ever. I'm working my tail off as usual.”

They both laughed. “But what I want to know is what's up with you? How is Mr. Wonderful Mystery Man up close and personal?”

“He's all that and more,” Reese admitted on a wistful note.

“Mmm, sounds serious. Talk to me.”

Reese sighed and sat down on the edge of the bed. She crossed her bare legs at the knee. “At first I was all about getting the story of my career, no matter what I had to do to get it. Literally. When we first met, I went into my bag and pulled out all of my tricks.” She chuckled mirthlessly and shook her head. “But the more I'm with him, the more I want to be with him. It's no longer just the story I want, Lynn. It's him. And I know I'm really stretching the lines of ethics, but girl, I can't help myself. When we're together rockets go off. It's so intense, sometimes I feel like I can't breathe.”

“Wow—!” Lynnette exhaled. “He must be something. In the ten years that I've known you, you've never talked about a man like this. What are you going to do about it? And secondly, how in the world are you going to stay objective if you have to keep changing your panties whenever he's in the same air space?”

They both burst into another fit of raucous laughter visualizing Lynnette's ribald analogy.

“Girl, you are too crazy,” Reese uttered, choking down the last of her chuckles.

“That's why we've been friends for so long. You're the sultry, sexy one who winds their way under a man's skin. I, on the other hand, just jump right in and say what's on my mind. Consequences be damned!”

“You're right about that one,” she said.

Reese and Lynnette had met while undergrads at Howard University during a speech communication seminar. They clicked almost immediately and were roommates for the balance of their stay at Howard. After graduation, they both decided to take the plunge and move to Chicago. With their backgrounds and personal savvy, they both landed jobs almost immediately. Although Lynnette worked for
Visions
as a full-time staff writer, Reese preferred to freelance for a variety of newspapers and magazines. It didn't allow for a stable financial existence, but it gave her the opportunity to come and go as she pleased. Plus, she never got stuck having to write stories she had no interest in. She picked what she wanted.

“What time is your flight?” Lynnette asked, cutting into Reese's musings.

Reese yawned and checked the clock. “A car should be picking me up in about twenty minutes. Our flight leaves at ten o'clock.”

“How long are you going to be on the coast? I have some
vacation days due to me. I might be able to pop out there and maybe I can squeeze in an interview with Quincy if I plan it right.”

Reese let out a whoop of delight. “That would be fabulous. We're scheduled to be out there for about two weeks. Then it's on to Tokyo. Oh please come. I could use a friend,” she pleaded in her best little girl voice.

“Ooh, girl, you know I hate it when you whine,” she joked.

“So you'll come?”

“Of course. Any excuse to get out of the windy city. I'll get myself together and work out the details with Hart and I'll be there. Give me all of your hotel information.”

Reese quickly rattled off her hotel name, along with her flight information. “I'll call you tonight once I get settled, and you can tell me if you were able to work things out.”

“You know I'll be able to work things out. I have no intention of taking
maybe
for an answer. As a matter of fact, I'm packing as we speak.”

“Can't wait,” Reese said. “But listen, I've got to run. The last thing I need at the moment is to be late for my ride.”

“No problem. I'll talk with you tonight. Have a safe trip.”

“Thanks. Bye.”

 

Reese hurried around the suite checking that she hadn't forgotten anything. She breezed by the bedroom mirror then back peddled and stopped. She gazed at her reflection and smiled, once again filled with her old self-confidence. In her throaty alto voice, she belted out the last line of the R&B classic “And I'm Telling You,” by Jennifer Holiday. “I don't wanna be fre-e-e. I'm stay—in' and you're gonna love me! Yeah.” She winked and hurried out of the suite.

When she reached the lobby, she was pleasantly surprised to see Carmen waiting.

“Carmen,” she greeted, giving the older woman a quick peck on the cheek. “I didn't expect to see you. I thought you were just sending a car.”

“The car is waiting. I just thought it would be nice if we rode together to the airport.”

“I think so, too,” Reese said with a smile, threading her arm through Carmen's. “What about Max—I mean, Mr. Knight?”

“He always drives his own car to the airport.” She pushed through the revolving door and out into the balmy morning. “He hates being at the mercy of someone else,” she tossed over her shoulder with a wink and a smile.

The double entendre was not lost on Reese.

 

He knew he was early and that there was plenty of time before boarding. That wasn't the point. Maxwell paced the waiting area, checking his watch every few minutes. He was edgy. His nerves felt like they were about to snap. The lack of sleep, haunted by dreams of Reese, compounded by the unexpected phone call from Victoria Davenport, had him ready to crush the first person who crossed him.

After nearly two years of complete silence, she calls out of the blue. Why? And why now? She said she'd been thinking about him a lot lately and had been too afraid to contact him for fear of rejection again. She'd said she'd heard through the grapevine about the chip development and she wanted to congratulate him. She, too, was planning on being in Los Angeles within the week, and wondered if he would be in town. If so maybe they could get together—just for a drink—for old time's sake.

Maxwell frowned and checked his watch again, retracing his path across the sparkling tile floor. Victoria, he'd learned
the hard way, was not a woman who did anything without a damned good reason. If she wanted to see him again, she had one, and he was pretty certain her reason had nothing to do with congratulations or unrequited love.

He checked his watch, then compared it to the huge clock that hung above the reservationist's station. “Where is she?” he fumed between clenched teeth.

“Looking for someone?” Reese asked, easing up behind him to practically whisper in his ear.

He spun around and when his eyes landed on her smiling face, his stomach coiled into a knot of need. “Where in the devil have you been?” he growled in greeting. “Or don't you realize we have a flight to catch?” He turned away and strode toward the departure gate.

“This trip is going to be longer than I thought,” she muttered to Carmen, who hid a smile behind her hand. Both women followed in comical military fashion behind the unsuspecting Maxwell Knight.

Maxwell's morning for stress was anything but over. Carmen had purposely seated them together. His intention was to sleep on the flight. But the heavenly scent of Reese's body oil invaded his senses, her every movement sent waves of longing zinging through his veins.