Intimate Betrayal (8 page)

R
eese finally managed to get out of bed and make it to the bathroom. With great effort, she peeled her damp gown from her weary body.

Reaching for the faucets, she turned on the water full blast and stepped into the pounding shower.

Twenty minutes later she emerged from the bathroom, wrapped in a thick terry-cloth robe. She checked the clock on the nightstand. 10:30. She should have… “Oh, my God…the car…”

Walking as quickly as her wobbly legs would allow, she sat on the bed and dialed the front desk.

“Yes, Ms. Delaware. A driver was here for you this morning. We rang your room, but received no answer. When you didn't come down by eight-fifteen he left.”

“I see. Thank you.” Reese squeezed her eyes shut in frustration. “Now what am I going to do? Knowing Max
he'll probably assume I'm having a tantrum about last night,” she grumbled aloud. “Arrogant bastard.”

She got up from the bed and began to pace, energy slowly winding its way through her body. “He had a helluva nerve kissing me like that and then acting as if nothing happened. He must take me for…”

The doorbell rang interrupting her diatribe. She stomped across the room fueled by her outrage and flung open the door.

“I got worried when the driver arrived without you.”

Reese's stomach did a quick somersault while her brain scrambled for organization. “M-ax-well.” At that precise moment, with him standing in front of her, looking for all the world as if he'd just stepped off the cover of
Ebony Man Magazine,
she had a difficult time trying to remember why she'd been so pissed-off only minutes ago.

“How's the headache?”

Briefly she frowned in confusion. “How did you…?”

“I could see the beginnings last night.” He paused. “I should have stayed to make sure you were alright. I'm sorry.”

His apology tugged on her heart. “There's no need to apologize. I didn't realize it was that obvious,” she said softly.

He slipped his hands in the pockets of his cream-colored linen slacks in an effort to keep from reaching out and touching her. His dreams had been filled with her; in front of him, at his side, beneath him. When he finally tore himself away from his erotic dreams, he knew he had to see her.

Maxwell angled his chin in the direction of the interior of the suite. “May I come in?” His dark eyes swept over her and his voice reached down to the bottom of her soul. “I'll only stay as long as you want me to. I promise.”

A surge of heat engulfed her, while her heart roared so
loudly she swore it would burst. “Sure.” She stepped aside and tugged on the belt of her robe. “Come on in.”

Maxwell followed her into the suite, the scent of her freshly bathed body leaving a sensual trail for him to follow.

“Make yourself comfortable,” she suggested, stopping in front of the couch. “I'll just be a few minutes.” Quickly she disappeared into the bedroom.

“What in the devil am I going to put on?” she mumbled, frantically tearing through her wardrobe. Finally she decided on a lemon-yellow tank top and lime green cotton slacks, with a pair of espadrilles that matched her top. She slipped a slinky gold belt through the loops of her slacks and pushed tiny gold studs through her ears.

A look in the mirror caused her to gasp in horror. Her hair was a wreck, hanging limply around her shoulders from the steam of the shower. She pulled a stiff brush through her hair and quickly twisted it into a neat French roll.

“Not bad,” she nodded to her reflection. Then across her lips she added the barest hint of cinnamon lip gloss, and stroked her lashes with jet black mascara.

“You go, girl,” she said, smiling. Taking a fortifying breath, she reentered the living area.

Maxwell stood up the moment she entered and his heart seemed to shift in his chest.
She was so lovely.

“Hope I didn't take too long.” She made her way across the room, but stopped several feet away from him.

Maxwell crossed the remaining space that separated them. He gave her one long heated look that set her body aglow, and without further waiting swiftly took her into his arms, crushing her against his pulsing body.

His mouth, hungry for the taste of her again, took her lips, briefly savoring their sweetness before dipping into the hot core of her mouth.

Reese wrapped her arms around his hard, lean body,
eager to feel the strength of him as he surged against her. She suckled his tongue, committing its texture to memory, allowing it to awaken every nerve ending in her body.

An unstoppable need to know her filled him with the force of a monsoon, building in ferocity. His hands began a slow dance along her back, compelling her to arch closer—tighter. Downward his hands trailed, stroking her round hips, pulling the heart of her desire against the heat of his.

He moaned her name as he pulled away from her lips, only to run his tongue along the tender cords of her neck. Reese trembled and cried out his name, tossing her head back to give him full access.

“I want you, Reese. Here and now. I won't deny that anymore. But that would be too easy,” he groaned in her ear. He took a step back, looked into her eyes and stroked her face with his fingertip. “You deserve more than just a mating game.” He took a breath. “And I don't know if I'm capable of giving more than that. Not anymore.”

He set her away from him and turned his back to her.

“Max,” she whispered, trembling from the aftermath of his loving. She reached out to touch his stiff shoulder. “Please don't turn away from me. Talk to me—please.”

He expelled a short, hollow laugh. “Reese, I wouldn't know where to begin.”

She came around to stand in front of him. “How about if I start first,” she offered.

Maxwell looked into her eyes, expecting some insignificant piece of information. But nothing could have prepared him for her revelation.

M
axwell stared at Reese for several long moments, attempting to digest what she'd said.

“Pretty unbelievable, huh?”

Maxwell's eyebrows rose then lowered in silent response. “How could you not remember anything before the accident?” he asked, his voice heavy with bewilderment.

Reese slowly shook her head. “I've been to every doctor, neurosurgeon, psychologist and psychiatrist worth their shingle. The general consensus is that there's nothing physically wrong with me. The headaches and the nightmares are all a manifestation of my intentional attempt to suppress my memory.”

“That's what the doctors told you?” he sputtered in disbelief.

Reese nodded. “That's the only explanation any of them could offer. The trauma of the accident was so severe that I've completely erased it and my entire life leading up to it.”

Maxwell leaned slightly forward, bracing his arms on his thighs. “You have no memory of the first fifteen years of your life?” he asked in astonished wonder.

“None,” she said in a tone of resignation.

Maxwell heaved a sigh. “This is just incredible.” He got up to kneel in front of where she sat. “How do you deal with it?” he asked with such absolute sincerity it tore at her heart.

“Day by day,” she answered softly. “Just day by day.”

He reached out, letting the tip of his index finger trail along the contours of her face. Then gently he asked, “Do you want to remember, Reese—really want to remember?”

Briefly she shut her eyes. “At times, especially when the pain and the nightmares are so bad that I just wish I would die. Then, when things are good, I don't want to know. If what happened was that horrible, maybe it's best I never remember.”

“That can't be better, Reese. And the only way to rid yourself of the pain and the nightmares is to rid yourself of the fear of remembering.”

“Yes, doc,” she teased, chucking him under the chin in an attempt to lighten the somber mood. She popped up from her seat and slowly began to pace. Then she suddenly turned toward him. “What's most disturbing, at the moment, is that the headaches and the nightmares started again…when I met you.”

Maxwell's dark eyes widened. “Let me get this straight. You started having these reoccurrences after we met?”

“Yes. At first I thought it was the stress of the trip. But the headaches started getting worse, like I told you. I had to begin taking the prescription medicine again. And then the nightmares.” She shut her eyes and wrapped her arms around her waist as a tremor shimmied through her. “I hadn't suffered from those in close to three years.”

An unnatural sense of foreboding settled in the pit of
Maxwell's belly. There was a reason for everything, he rationalized. But what could the reason be for him to be the catalyst that triggered her ordeal?

“How do you feel right now, right at this moment?”

“Right now I feel fine. The pain is gone and I can't remember my dreams.”

“Good. Come on. Let's go.” He grabbed her hand and pulled her toward the door.

“Where?” she cried doubling her step to keep up with him.

“Just get your purse, or whatever, and let's go. What you need is a little R&R. And I have just the place.”

“But what about work?” she giggled, caught up in the moment.

“What about it?” he grinned over his shoulder.

 

Maxwell pressed the button for the sunroof of the car, turned up the music, and sped off.

“Now are you going to tell me where we're going?”

He turned to her and smiled. “Just relax,” he said, patting her folded hands. “I guarantee you're going to love it.”

Reese pouted but held her tongue. When was the last time she'd done anything spontaneously? Too long, she concluded. The only way she'd been able to manage her life, such as it was, was to organize and compartmentalize every aspect of it. That ritual seemed to give some validity to her existence, as if documenting her every move would eradicate the possibility that she'd ever forget anything again.

“Do you keep a journal?” Maxwell asked out of the blue, almost as if he'd just taken a short hop through her thoughts.

Reese turned to him. Her right eyebrow arched. “Why did you ask me that?”

“It just seems like you would. Keeping notes, a diary or
journal is a good way to record your thoughts. I would think that your…situation is a basis for you being a journalist as well. Always searching for the truth, uncovering information.” He glanced at her. “So, do you?”

“Yes, Sherlock,” she retorted, mystified by his astuteness. “As a matter of fact, I do.”

“Did you keep a diary before—the accident?”

Sadly she shook her head. “I only wish that I had.” Then she chuckled halfheartedly. “Even if I did, I wouldn't remember where I'd put it.”

“That's unfortunate, but it's just so amazing to me how you've managed to cope all of these years. What about school? How did you function?”

“That's one of the curious things of this whole illness. After I came out of the coma, I was able to function relatively normally. I knew how to read, write, dress—everything. I hadn't forgotten any of it. But my life, my family, friends, places I'd been, things I'd heard or seen were gone as if they'd never existed.”

Maxwell frowned and his admiration for Reese Delaware grew. She was a phenomenal woman. And to look at her and be in her presence, one would never suspect all that she'd endured. She was a survivor, strong and determined, like the great Sphinx of Egypt. But beneath the tough, got-it-together exterior was a very vulnerable woman who needed—and quite possibly needed more than he would ever be able to give. The thought saddened him.

 

They'd been on the road for more than two hours, driving in comfortable silence punctuated by brief comments about the magnificent scenery or the balmy air.

By degrees, Reese felt her entire self uncoil and relax as she gave in to the calming sensations that filled her spirit. She took in her surroundings and noticed that they turned
onto the exit marked San Diego. Well, at least she had an idea what town they were headed for.

“We're almost there,” Maxwell announced.

“Almost where?”

“You'll see.” He grinned.

It was close to a half hour later when Maxwell turned onto a long sandy drive. Up ahead sat an architect's dream. The stunning structure was a model of glass, chrome, and wood. Even from where she sat, she could see the entire interior of the two-story home, with winding staircases and timeless furnishings.

He pulled into the underground garage and cut the engine. “Come on. Let me show you around.”

Reese followed him around the rambling abode, awestruck. Words to describe the hideaway palace escaped her.

Every room on the second level opened to a deck where the beach was clearly visible. And as much as she hated to cook, she could easily change her tune if she had a kitchen like Max's. Light streamed in from every angle, dancing off of the chrome and aluminum fixtures and utensils. The center island was a work of art in black and white marble that matched the gleaming tile floors.

“Kick off your shoes and make yourself at home,” he instructed. “Today is your day. If you feel like dancing,” he said giving her a low bow, “we have—” he pressed a button in the wall “—music.” The silky, sexy voice of Marvin Gaye's “Distant Lover” floated through the air. “If you feel like swimming, the heated pool is below.” He indicated a door that led to the basement. He grinned mischievously as he watched the expression of childlike wonder skip across her face. “Should you care to immerse yourself in a jettison of aquatic relief, the Jacuzzi is upstairs.”

Reese beamed in delight. “This is like taking a trip to Disney World. What about if I'm hungry?” she tossed out.

“The kitchen, madame, is thataway. I'm sure it's fully stocked and everything you could want is in there. Carmen is always good about taking care of those details.”

Reese blew out a long breath, put her hands on her waist, and looked all around like a tourist on their first trip to the big city. “This place is absolutely fantastic,” she said finally. She turned to find Maxwell leaning casually against the archway. “But when do you get the chance to enjoy it?”

“Not often enough,” he admitted, folding his arms in front of him. “But I try to get down here at least every two to three months.”

Reese nodded. She wanted to ask him how many women he'd shared the glass wonderland with. She wanted to ask him if this was all part of the seduction. And she did.

“How often do you bring company to this little den of delights?”

The corner of Maxwell's mouth quirked upward in a grin. “Do you really want to know?” he taunted.

“I wouldn't have asked if I didn't,” she said, raising her chin in challenge.

“Not as often as I'd like,” he said being intentionally evasive.

“Seems like I've heard that somewhere before.”

Maxwell pushed away from the door, crossed the short space and stepped right up to her, forcing her to look up into his eyes. His voice dropped to a rumbling whisper. “Let's just say your question has been asked and answered.” His dark gaze did a slow waltz across her face. “The important thing is you're here—right now. Anything or anyone before you, before now, doesn't matter. So don't let it.”

He was so close, Reese could feel the heat from his body reach out and wrap around her. Her heart was racing and for a moment she couldn't breathe. Suddenly he turned away and the spell was broken.

“I'm going upstairs for a minute,” he said over his shoulder. “Enjoy yourself in the meantime.”

Reese watched him bound up the stairs. She shook her head in frustration. She just couldn't figure him out. One minute he was cool and distant, the next he acted as if he'd strip her bare with the slightest provocation.

She crossed the sunken living room and walked around the redwood table that dominated the center of the room. The hardwood floors, all the color of sand, gleamed as the rays of the sun bounced off of them.

Soft music drifted through the rooms from speakers built strategically into the walls. Reese opened the sliding glass doors and stepped out onto the enclosed deck. She inhaled deeply of the sea-washed air, invigorating herself. Where was all of the California smog she'd heard about? From her vantage point, she could see for miles in every direction. She thought she spotted a car nestled in the shrubs just beyond the perimeter of the house. But there was no reason for…

“Enjoying the view?”

Reese jumped at the sudden sound of his voice so close to her ear. She hadn't heard his approach.

“You should make some noise and let a person know you're around,” she said, annoyed at having been caught unaware.

“Sorry,” he chuckled. “Old habit.”

“What kind of habit—scaring people to death?”

Maxwell hung his head and grinned. “Not exactly,” he said, looking up.

If she didn't know better she'd swear his eyes were twinkling. “What exactly does that mean?”

He could see the beginning of a smile teasing the corners of her mouth and knew that he was on safer ground. He slid his hands into the pockets of his slacks. “Well I've studied martial arts for a little over twenty years,” he began. “It stresses the importance of harnessing your energy to make
your movements one with the environment. When you can accomplish that, you can virtually move from space to space without disturbance.”

That would certainly account for his uncanny ability to sit for long periods of time without seeming to move a muscle, she realized. “Like a ninja or something,” she offered trying to make a correlation to something familiar.

Maxwell chuckled and shook his head. “Yeah, something like that,” he teased.

Reese impatiently folded her arms beneath her breasts. “Don't patronize me,” she said in a huff. Her eyes narrowed daring him to challenge her.

He held up his palms in a fending off position. “Sorry,” he apologized with what he felt was just the right amount of sincerity to appease her. She still rolled her eyes.

“Can I interest you in something to eat—to make amends?”

One side of her mouth inched upward as she struggled to keep from smiling. “That's a start.”

Maxwell turned and stepped through the opening in the sliding door. Reese was on his heels beaming like a Cheshire cat.

 

Reese sat on one side of the island on a bar stool with her feet wrapped around the rungs watching Maxwell work wonders in the kitchen. Within minutes, mouthwatering aromas permeated the air.

“Smells good,” Reese said, skepticism underscoring her husky voice.

“I'm sure you'll be quite pleased, Ms. Delaware,” was his pointed reply. He refused to rise to the bait.

She had no intention of letting him off that easy. “So—what are we having?”

“Chef's surprise.”

She tossed her head back and laughed. “I can see the headlines now,” she spouted, theatrically spreading her hands through the air. “World-famous journalist, Reese Delaware, found poisoned in the posh home of computer wizard, Maxwell Knight.”

“Very funny,” he grumbled good-naturedly. “I'll have you know that I've been cooking since my preteen years. Since my father was in the military, we traveled a great deal.” He paused to sprinkle some hand-chopped condiments onto the sizzling wok. “With my stepmother working, I learned how to cook as well as pick up some of the native recipes.”

“What did your father do?”

“Military intelligence,” he scoffed. “Some high-level stuff he never wanted to talk about.”

“Hmm.” Reese let that bit of information sink in. “What about your mother? You mentioned stepmother.”