He was in love with her.
The realization stunned him, though now that he recognized it for what it was, he knew that the feeling had been there for some time. He had labeled it as attraction, desire, even challenge, and it was all of those, and more. Of all the women in the world, he hadn’t loved any of the soft, willing beauties who had shared his bed and would have done anything for him. Instead it was a difficult, aloof, yet extraordinarily vulnerable woman who made him feel as if he would explode with joy if she smiled at him. He wanted to protect her, he wanted to discover all the hidden depths of her character, he wanted to lose himself in the unexpected and shattering passion she had to offer.
Claire moved away from him, rubbing the back of her neck tiredly and not seeing the arrested expression on his face. “How did you explain your change of name?”
It took a minute before he could gather himself and make sense of what she had asked. “I told her the truth, that I had been looking for certain information and didn’t want Bronson to know my true identity.”
Claire thought Alma was so charmed by Max that she would be prepared to believe anything he said. “What did she say?”
An appreciative smile quirked Max’s mouth as he remembered exactly what Alma had said. That lady did have a way with words, though he could hardly tell Claire that her mother had said, “If you hurt my daughter, Max Benedict, or Conroy, or whoever you are, I’ll have your guts for garters!” Claire didn’t seem to realize how fiercely protective her entire family was of her.
“She understood,” was all he said, watching Claire as she retreated even more, continually expanding the distance between them. She was so wary!
“I’m sure she did,” Claire sighed.
Impatiently Max closed the gap between them, his quick strides carrying him to her side. Claire looked up, startled by his sudden movement, then gave a soft cry as he put his hands on her waist and lifted her up so her eyes were level with his. “Yes, your mother understood—it’s a pity you don’t!” he muttered, then put his mouth on hers.
There was a tiny, despairing cry deep inside her mind. How could she keep control of herself if he kept kissing her? Especially kisses like these, deep, hungry kisses, as if he couldn’t get enough of her taste. His lips released hers and slid down to her throat, nipping at her skin as they went. He held her so firmly that his hands were hurting her, and she didn’t care. Her eyes closed firmly, and tears welled beneath her lashes.
“Why do you keep doing this to me?” she cried rawly. “Do you just chase anything that runs? Did it hurt your pride that I told you to leave me alone?”
He raised his head; his eyes were burning green fire. He was breathing harshly. “Is that what you think? That my ego is so enormous I can’t stand for a woman to turn me down?”
“Yes, that’s what I think! I’m a challenge to you, nothing more!”
“We burned each other up in bed, woman, and you think it was nothing more than gratifying my ego?” He put her on her feet, infuriated that she continually put the worst interpretation on his actions.
“You tell
me! I don’t know you at all! I thought you were a gentleman, but you’re really a savage in a tuxedo, aren’t you? Your instincts are to win, regardless of how ruthless you have to be to get what you want!”
“You know me pretty well, after all,” he snapped. “I go after what I want, and I want you.”
Claire shivered, alarmed by the hard expression on his face. Swearing under his breath, he took her in his arms again, holding her head against his chest, his fingers threading into her soft hair. “Don’t be afraid of me, love,” he whispered. “I won’t hurt you. I want to take care of you.”
As what? As a mistress? She shook her head blindly, the motion limited by the way he held her to his chest.
“You’ll trust me again, I promise.” He murmured the words against her hair, and his hands slid down to stroke her back. Claire found that her hands were clenched on his shirt and that she was clinging instead of trying to push him away. “I’ll make you trust me, love. We’ll get to know each other. We have the time. There will be no more masks between us.”
He bent his head and kissed her again, and this time Claire’s self-control wasn’t strong enough to keep her from responding. Blindly she rose on tiptoe, straining against him, her mouth opening under the probing of his tongue. She kept making foolish mistakes where Max was concerned, and the latest one was the idea that she would be able to keep him at a distance. Shaking with love and pain that mingled into a tangled knot, she let the pleasure sweep through her, because there was nothing she could do to stop it. His hand was on the buttons of her shirt, and there was nothing she could do to stop that, either. She trembled, waiting in an agony of anticipation for his touch, her body craving his heat and strength. Then his fingers were on her, sliding inside her opened shirt to cup her naked, swelling flesh, and electricity shot from her hardened nipples straight to her loins.
“I know you’re tired, but I’m not a noble, self-sacrificing gentleman,” he said harshly, lifting his head to look at her. “If you don’t stop me now, I won’t be leaving tonight at all.”
She couldn’t deny it, even to herself. He was giving her one last chance to reconsider. For a moment she almost pulled his head back down to her. Then common sense asserted itself, and she pushed at his arms until they fell away from her. Her fingers trembled, and she couldn’t look at him as she fumbled with the buttons of her shirt until at last she was covered again.
“Thank you,” she said, meaning it. She felt exposed and vulnerable, because only his self-control had given her the chance to reconsider—she had had none at all, and he knew it.
He had offered, but that didn’t help the frustration raging through his body. He glared down at her. “Don’t thank me for being a bloody stupid fool,” he said, his tone savage with temper. “I have to get out of here before I change my mind. Be ready at six-thirty tomorrow night. I’m taking you out to dinner.”
“No, I don’t think—”
“That’s right,” he interrupted, catching her chin in his hand. “Don’t think, and above all, don’t argue with me right now. I want you so much that I’m hurting. I’ll be here at six-thirty. If you want to go out, be dressed. If not, we’ll stay here. The choice is yours.”
She shut her mouth. His mood was dangerous, his eyes glittering. He kissed her again, hard, then stalked out of the house.
When he was gone the house echoed strangely. She locked the doors and checked all the windows to make certain they were secure, then showered and got ready for bed. The furnishings were all familiar, and the bed was the one she had slept in for five years, yet she lay awake staring into the darkness. It wasn’t the unfamiliarity of her surroundings, but her thoughts that prevented her from sleeping. Why had he given her the chance to stop? He’d said that he wasn’t noble or self-sacrificing, but then he had made a self-sacrificing offer. He could have taken her to bed, and they both knew it. He had wanted her; there hadn’t been any secret in the way he had pushed against her, letting her feel his arousal. So why had he given her that last opportunity to stop?
Pain squeezed her chest. Who was the biggest fool? Him for giving her the chance to stop, or herself for taking it? He had hurt her, and he had made her so angry that she had wanted to throw things at him, but none of that had stopped her from loving him. She wanted to cling to her anger, to use it as both a weapon and a defense against him, but she could feel it ebbing away from her and leaving her vulnerable to the truth. She loved him. No matter what happened, even if he wanted her only for a brief affair, she loved him. With that acknowledgment she felt her last defenses crumble inside her.