The Abby Green Modern Collection. ABBY GREEN
just too cynical.’
He smiled grimly, still in possession of her hands, ‘You could say that. My mother taught me that all women appreciate the spoils of being a rich man’s plaything and I’ve yet to meet a woman to persuade me otherwise…Perhaps it’s your mother who has taken on Tom’s legacy, thinking you can both manipulate me, using you as the bait again. Is that why she couldn’t meet me that day at the house…? You were laying the ground work for the sympathy vote even then, getting Murphy to tell me she was weakened by everything…’
At the mention of her mother, Maggie stiffened against his hands, her face paling dramatically. Her voice shook with emotion. ‘Don’t you ever mention my mother like that again. This is between you and me. That’s all you need to know; keep her out of this.’
Caleb took in her passionate response. She seemed genuinely angry. He kept holding her, his eyes trying to assess the expressions flitting across her face. But then the moment was gone…He saw her face close up again.
Maggie couldn’t take back the words and knew she’d given far too much away. But she couldn’t bear to think of her mother being so slighted. It made her sick that he could even think that for a second. Miserably she knew she couldn’t say anything, make him listen to her. She couldn’t defend herself anyway—that way lay exposure to ridicule and betraying her mother’s secret pain.
So instead she pasted a brilliant smile on her face and tossed her head, praying that he wouldn’t dwell on her careless words. She had to be more careful.
‘As for the clothes, I only got what I needed for now…and what’s wrong with hoping for a few spoils…after all, I am your plaything for the next two months, am I not? Unless, of course, you want to let me go? If what I am is too distasteful to you—’
With a sudden harsh breath that was expelled heavily, Caleb silenced her words with his mouth. And, as much as Maggie’s own self-respect screamed at her to pull away, shout out her innocence, she felt herself moulding into Caleb’s chest, her soft curves pressing into rock-hard muscle. Her senses quickly became drunk on him, but suddenly the car came to a smooth halt, not that she would have even noticed if Caleb hadn’t pulled back at that moment. His eyes glittered fiercely in the dim light as they waited for the door to be opened.
‘Just don’t forget that that’s all you are, Maggie. My plaything.’
The heat of the ballroom was stifling, even with all the doors thrown open to the fragrant night outside. Maggie’s cheeks ached and the balls of her feet were burning in the high heels. She was moving from foot to foot in an effort to ease the pain. Caleb, at her side, looked down sharply.
‘What’s wrong with you?’
She refused to look at him, staring at a point to his left. ‘Nothing.’ She’d barely communicated with him since they’d arrived, still stung and hurt and dismayed by the level of his distrust.
He hadn’t seemed to even notice. For what seemed like hours now, she’d endured conversations of inane small talk, being relegated to the sidelines while Caleb had entertained a never ending stream of sycophantic admirers. And she’d endured none too friendly speculative glances from every other woman in the room. When a crush of people had moved forward, Maggie had got separated from Caleb and found herself surrounded by three or four women. They were all dressed in what she knew to be haute couture, totally over the top, but a clear statement of their wealth and status. They had looked her up and down as if she were a specimen in a glass box. She couldn’t believe how rude they were being and tried not to look as intimidated as she felt. One of them spoke.
‘Vous êtes ici avec Monsieur Cameron?’
Without even thinking, Maggie immediately slipped into her schoolgirl French, trying to be polite, wondering who they were and why they wanted to know. ‘Oui…’
‘Ah, bon. Mais juste pour ce soir, n’est ce pas?’
Maggie was trying to figure out what the woman was saying…Was she actually suggesting that she was here with Caleb just for tonight, like some kind of…call girl? A mortified blush rushed through her; they were hemming her in and their overdone faces, lacquered hair and cloying perfume was making her feel sick.
‘I’m sorry…excuse me.’ She tried to push her way out, but couldn’t. She was feeling more and more desperate.
Caleb swivelled his head. Where had she gone? She’d been at his side only two minutes before. He’d got caught in a conversation with a property investor from France and hadn’t been able to extricate himself. He felt mildly guilty that he hadn’t been more attentive to Maggie, but he was still feeling the uncomfortable sensation of being somehow open, foolish in his desire for her…He had to be careful around her.
Then he saw her. She was surrounded by the doyennes of Monte Carlo—he knew them well. His mouth tightened. They were responsible for many matchmaking attempts with one or other of their invariably too young, spoilt and petulant daughters. And he suddenly realised that Maggie looked terrified. Without stopping to think, and knowing that it surprised him as he would have imagined her to be a match for them, he strode over and reached through the women to take Maggie’s arm.
She looked up and the flash of sheer relief and something else that crossed her face made something flip flop in his chest. But then it was gone, as if it had never happened, and now her eyes flashed veritable sparks at him. He smiled his excuses to the ladies and led Maggie away.
‘Are you okay?’ He slanted a look down at her.
She glared up at him. ‘No thanks to you. Those women are…unbelievable.’ She shook her head. ‘You could have warned me I’d need a flak jacket to come here.’
He couldn’t help the unbidden smile. He doubted the women would last again in Maggie’s company; they’d obviously just caught her off guard. He could well imagine what they’d said. And again he wondered at how she hadn’t been better able to handle them. He would have cast her as one herself—well used to the poison-talon-tipped women of society who were more akin to social climbing piranhas.
He refused to dwell on that now. He was thinking ahead and wondering how long he could suffer to be polite before he could get out of there and take Maggie with him. Take her to bed.
‘Ah Cameron, there you are…’
Not just yet, anyway. He pulled Maggie into his side, swallowed a grimace and smiled as yet another colleague bore down on him.
Maggie flicked the object of everyone’s fascination a reluctant look, anger still bubbling through her. She had to admit that he was the most handsome man in the room. He stood head and shoulders above everyone and with that physique…again her insides cramped with nerves and anticipation. Finally, after what seemed like more torturous hours, he leant down, his mouth close to her ear, sending a little shock wave through her.
‘Let’s get out of here.’
She nodded mutely. Time was up, no more waiting. Tonight he would demand payment…take her body and, she was afraid, her soul too. And she couldn’t say a thing.
She suddenly felt absurdly vulnerable and alone, her anger dissolving. What could she say, anyway? As she followed him through the crowd, stopping every two seconds for people to say goodbye, she thought a little hysterically of what she might say if given a chance: how six months ago, on the day of their date, Tom, her beloved stepfather had informed her of his plans to take Caleb over and ruin him. And how, if Maggie didn’t co-operate with his plans to keep Caleb occupied, he would beat Maggie’s mother so comprehensively that—in Tom’s succinct, devastating words, ‘I’ll put her in hospital’.
She could tell him how she’d racked her brains for a way out…but had known, no matter what she did, even if she’d gone to the police, that he’d still make her mother pay. Because, you see, he’d been doing it for years. Once, in her youthful naïvety, Maggie had gone to the police. Tom hadn’t punished her…No, it had been her mother who’d suffered, even though she’d claimed