Intimate Betrayal. Donna Hill
well. And you?”
“Let’s bypass the small talk,” he said suddenly, needing to take the plunge. “Are you dressed?”
“For what?” she teased, and his thoughts went out of order.
“For company. I want to come—over,” he uttered, his comment full of innuendo. “Then I thought I’d take you around the city before we leave in the morning.”
Her spirits soared. She was grinning so hard her jaw began to ache. “I’ll be here,” she said, her voice full of invitation.
“And I’ll be there, shortly.”
“Where are we going?” Reese questioned, settling herself in the car.
“For the twenty-five-cent tour, of course.”
She laughed. “Very funny. But seriously, where?”
“That’s what’s wrong with all you reporter types,” he teased, “just can’t be satisfied without knowing every single detail.” He pushed out a prolonged sigh. “If you must know, I thought I’d take you to the Top of the Sixes for lunch. Then down to Soho. There’s an art gallery opening that I wanted to see.” He turned to look at her. “I hope you like art,” he stated more than asked.
“Let’s put it this way, I know what I like when I see it. That’s the extent of my knowledge of art.” She chuckled.
He smiled when he realized he’d discovered a new level of admiration for her honesty.
“I can guarantee that you’ll love this guy’s work.”
“I’ll take your word for it.”
For several moments they rode in companionable silence, until Reese spoke.
“What changed your mind?” she asked softly.
“About what?” he hedged.
“About me. What earth-shattering event made you want to spend your Saturday with me, the woman you love to hate?”
“I think your instincts are off again.”
“You mean you don’t hate me?” she taunted.
He slanted her a look. “It’s not you.” He paused to gauge his words. “It’s what you represent.”
Reese digested what he’d said. “What is it that you have against journalists?” she asked, struggling to maintain a lid on her temper.
His jaw clenched. “They tend not to have any conscience, for starters.” The pain of remembrance laced his heavy voice, making it vibrate with emotion. “They have no qualms about intruding on a person’s life and turning it upside down.”
“I see. And you feel I’m no different from the nefarious ‘they,’” she tossed out, fighting to disguise her hurt behind a wall of anger.
“Are you? Aren’t you here to get ‘your story’ no matter what it takes?”
“Yes I’m here to get a story Max, because it’s my job. Just because you’ve had a bad experience with reporters doesn’t give you the right to paint me with the same black brush.”
Maxwell spun the wheel, turning the car on two wheels, causing traffic to swerve around them. The high-pitched squealing sound of the tires reminded Reese of pigs being led to the slaughterhouse. He jerked the car to a screeching halt.
He turned on her, his dark eyes blazing. “The right!” he boomed, his heavy voice reverberating in the small space. “I have every right. This is my life we’re talking about, and you want a piece of it. Just like all the others. What makes you any different?”
Her sense of injustice made her want to fight back, to tell him what a bull-headed, stubborn fool he was being. But instinct told her that Max’s outrage went much deeper. She reached out and touched his arm. “What happened to you, Max?” she asked so gently the words wrapped around his battered heart and cushioned it.
He looked down at the hand that held him, so long and slender. His gaze trailed up her arm to rest on her face and at eyes that beheld him with such compassion he was stunned by the impact. His eyes swam over her face, heating her.
Her grip tightened and he felt her warmth slowly spread through him.
He leaned closer. She held her breath, longing for what she knew was to come.
Maxwell reached out and stroked her face. His thumb traced the outline of her full, rich mouth. Her eyes slid shut as a tremor of delight tripped through her.
“Reese,” he exhaled on a hot breath. Her eyes slowly opened and met his uncertain gaze.
“Don’t be afraid,” she uttered in a husky whisper. She closed the space between them. Her free hand reached out and ran across his hair of onyx silk. She caressed the smooth bronze jaw, the eyes of ebony that curved upward in invitation.
He turned his head to kiss her palm, then the tender inside of her wrist.
His kisses were hot, searing her, teasing her, sailing up her arm—short-circuiting her heart. She longed to pull him into her arms, to have him bury what had hurt him deep within her warmth. But she understood that for it to be right, it had to come from him. She would wait, even as her body trembled with a need that defied explanation.
Maxwell eased back, still holding her hand in his. Reese’s eyes implored him to let go.
There was so much he wanted to say—needed to say. A part of him longed to share his deepest thoughts with this woman—share a part of himself with her—but he couldn’t. Not anymore.
All he needed a woman for was to ease his physical needs. That’s where his connection with them began and ended, he reminded himself. He would not allow Reese Delaware to change that fact.
“We’d better get going.” He spoke so calmly, a casual listener wouldn’t have the slightest clue as to what had almost transpired.
Reese, who gave just as good as she got, smiled her slow easy smile and said, “You’re right. I was wondering why we stopped.” If he wanted to act as if nothing happened, then as far as she was concerned nothing did, she fumed.
Maxwell checked his signals and pulled out into traffic. He forced his thoughts to clear. This was a mistake. He should have never offered to take her out. From today until the minute she left, he’d keep things between them strictly professional. It was obvious that she didn’t give a damn one way or the other which way things went with them. Good. The hell with her. It was a damned good thing that Carmen would be traveling with them. At least he could palm Reese off on Carmen and not have to be bothered.
“Thank you for a wonderful day,” Reese said brightly as they pulled up in front of the hotel. Even though Max had been relatively quiet for the better part of the day, she did enjoy herself. He’d been the perfect gentleman and they’d shared a few good laughs and created some wonderful memories. She swallowed. Her heart was beating so fast she thought it would explode. She wanted him to come upstairs, but she knew he wouldn’t.
“A car will be here to pick you up at 9:00 a.m. We have a ten o’clock flight,” he said, sidestepping her comment. As much as he was reluctant to admit it, he’d enjoyed every minute of their day together.
“I know.” Reese leaned over the seat to retrieve her purse from the back. “It was so generous of you to get me a first-class ticket,” she added, missing the look of stunned disbelief that momentarily carved his face into a mask of incredulity. She turned briefly toward him. “Well, good night. I’ll see you in the morning.”
He pressed a button on the driver’s-side panel and released the lock. “Good night.” His tone was as tense as he felt. He kept his gaze straight ahead, knowing that if he looked at her now, the night would be long from over.
Reese rolled her eyes in annoyance. Without another word, she alighted from the car, and pushing