Grand Passion by Jayne Ann Krentz
“I guess she was a little embarrassed.” Ben turned off the faucet. “You guys hadn't announced anything yet.”
“We hadn't announced anything because there wasn't anything to announce. I think this thing is fixed. For your information, Cleo and I have not discussed marriage.”
“You sure?”
“Yes, I'm sure. It's not leaking at all now.” Max was aware of a pleasing sense of satisfaction. He was getting good at this plumbing business. “Dry as the Sahara.” He started to work himself out from the tight confines of the sink cabinet.
“Shit, Max, will you stop talking about the damn pipe?” Ben's face was tight with worry. “Why haven't you asked Cleo to marry you? We all know you're sleeping with her.”
“What's that got to do with it?” Max flattened one palm on the countertop and levered himself to his feet. He winced at the twinge in his thigh.
“What do you mean?” Ben demanded. “You know damn well what I'm talking about. We've all known Cleo for a long time. As far as anyone in the family knows, you're the first guy she's ever been serious about.”
“What makes you think she's serious about me?” Max turned on the faucet full force again and leaned down to study the pipe connection under the sink. There was no sign of moisture around the fittings.
He realized it was probably idiotic to take so much satisfaction out of the knowledge that he had repaired the leak, but he couldn't help it. Nothing like a little immediate, short-term gratification to take a man's mind off bigger problems, he thought.
“Don't give me that,” Ben said. “Cleo wouldn't be sleeping with you if she weren't serious about you. Come on, Max, quit jerking my chain. You're going to marry her, aren't you?”
“Yes.” Max turned off the faucet and wiped his hands on the rag. “But first I've got to talk her into it, which might be a lot harder than you seem to think.”
“Why?” Ben looked baffled.
“Because you and the others put her under a lot of pressure last night when you made your big announcement,” Max said with a patience he did not feel. “She was just getting used to me. She was nowhere near ready to talk about marriage. Now the whole family is acting like it's a fait accompli.”
“What's a fait accompli?”
“A done deal.”
“Oh.” Ben frowned. “You think she's really upset?”
“As I said, she's feeling pressured. People do weird things when they're under pressure.”
Ben looked suitably alarmed. “Like what?”
“Like dig in their heels and make life difficult for the people they think are trying to pressure them.”
Ben nodded in sober comprehension. “But you can handle her, can't you?”
“First I've got to get her to start talking to me again.” Max tossed the wet rag into the tool kit.
Ben brightened. “That shouldn't be any problem. Cleo likes to talk.”
Trisha whisked dirty plates and glasses off one of the dining room tables and stacked them in a plastic tub. “Do you want to talk about it, Cleo?”
“No.” Cleo bundled up a tablecloth and the used napkins from another table. The familiar routine of clearing the dining room after the small breakfast crowd had departed was doing nothing to soothe her nerves this morning. She had spent a sleepless night, and she felt as if she were walking an invisible tightrope.
“We know you're a little upset, Cleo,” Sylvia said from the other side of the empty dining room. Dishes clattered cheerfully as she removed them from a table. “But I'm sure you'll feel better if you talk about it.”
“What is there to say?” Cleo jerked another tablecloth off a table with enough force to make it snap in the air. “I have been humiliated, embarrassed, and generally mortified beyond belief.”
Andromeda appeared in the doorway. “Now, dear, there's no need to be so agitated. We all know how you feel about Max.”
Cleo scanned the expectant faces of her friends. “You do? Well, that's just ducky. I'm glad somebody does, because I don't.”
Sylvia smiled gently. “Cleo, let's get real here. You're sleeping with him.”
“So what?” Cleo said.
Trisha exchanged a glance with the others. “Between us, we've known you for over three years, Cleo. This is the first time any of us has seen you really interested in a man.”
Andromeda smiled serenely. “This is definitely the first time you've had an affair during the whole time I've been acquainted with you, dear.”
Sylvia dropped another stack of plates into the bin. “Admit it, Cleo, Max is something special.”
“That doesn't mean he wants to marry me,” Cleo muttered.
Trisha glanced at her, astonished. “What are you talking about? He said he was going to marry you. I heard him myself.”
“So did I,” Sylvia said quickly.
“I am so sorry I missed the big scene.” Andromeda sighed. “It sounds wonderfully romantic.”
Cleo whirled around, her arms full of dirty tablecloths. “It was not romantic. It was a disaster. Max was lying there on the floor, injured. Roarke Winston had accused him of sleeping with Kimberly and was getting ready to hit him again. All George could do was slam the desk bell like a crazy person. Things were in complete chaos.”
“And that's when Ben and the others arrived?” Andromeda asked cheerfully.
“Yes.” Cleo dumped the dirty tablecloths into a pile. “And that's when Ben, in his infinite wisdom, announced that Max was going to marry me.”
“And Max agreed,” Andromeda concluded happily.
“It was not like he had a lot of choice under the circumstances,” Cleo said. “The man was under enormous pressure. After all, Roarke Winston was threatening to beat him to a pulp.”
Andromeda looked thoughtful. “Somehow I don't think pressure bothers Max too much.”
Sylvia nodded. “Andromeda's right. Max wouldn't say something like that, regardless of the circumstances, unless he meant it.”
“I agree,” Trisha said.
Cleo felt trapped. “I don't care if he did mean it.” She picked up the basket of dirty tablecloths. “Just because Max agreed to marry me doesn't mean I intend to marry him.”
Andromeda frowned. “Whatever are you talking about, dear?”
Cleo lifted her chin. “Don't you understand? There are two things wrong with this situation. First, Max has never asked me to marry him. Two, I'm not at all sure I would marry him even if he did ask me.”
Sylvia, Trisha, and Andromeda stared at her. In the ensuing shocked silence, Daystar emerged from the kitchen. She stood, hands on hips, and eyed Cleo speculatively.
“Why wouldn't you want to marry him?” Daystar asked bluntly. “It's as plain as the nose on your face that you love him.”
“That does not mean that Max Fortune is good husband material,” Cleo said through gritted teeth.
“I disagree,” Andromeda said calmly. “I'll admit I had a few qualms about him at first, but that was only because we didn't know much about him.”
“Well, now we know a lot more about him, don't we?” Cleo retorted. “And a lot of what we've learned lately makes me have real doubts about marrying the man.”
“Cleo, Max loves you,” Sylvia said quietly.
Cleo tightened her grip on the basket of dirty tablecloths. “Don't be too sure of that. To be perfectly frank, I'm not sure Max knows how to love.”
“Oh, dear,” Andromeda murmured. “Whatever do you mean?”
Cleo sighed. “Max knows how to collect the things he wants, and I think that he does want me. At least for the moment. But wanting isn't the same thing as loving, and I have no wish to become a part of Max Fortune's collection of fine art.”
Trisha stared at her. “Cleo, I'm sure you're wrong.”
“Am I? I'm the one who's been sleeping with him. I know him better than any of you, and I'm here to tell you that Max has never once said anything about love. Kimberly Curzon-Winston may be right. He may not know the meaning of the word
“How would Ms. Curzon-Winston know anything about Max?” Sylvia demanded.
“Because she was engaged to him at one time.”
They all stared at her in amazement.
Satisfied with the effects of her small bombshell, Cleo headed for the swinging door. When she reached it, she turned around and backed through it.
She collided with Roarke Winston, who was on his way out of the kitchen into the dining room. The impact sent the tablecloths in the bin flying in a variety of directions.
“Excuse me.” Roarke disentangled himself from a tablecloth. He smiled ruefully. “I seem fated to crash into you, Ms. Robbins. Sooner or later, I'm going to do some damage.”
“Don't be ridiculous. And please call me Cleo.” She quickly collected the fallen tablecloths. “What were you doing in the kitchen, Mr. Winston? Or should that be Curzon-Winston?”
Roarke's eyes darkened with annoyance. “No, it damn well is not Curzon-Winston. My wife can call herself anything she likes, but my name is just plain Winston. I'd rather you called me Roarke. And the answer to your question, Cleo, is that I went in there looking for you. Someone said you were helping to clear the dining room. I was on my way to find you.”
“I see. What can I do for you?” Cleo put down the bin of tablecloths.
Roarke glanced at the ring of interested faces behind Cleo. He lowered his voice. “I wanted to apologize to you for that damned farce I conducted last night in your lobby.”
“Forget it. No harm done.”
“I promise you I don't generally go around making a fool of myself on a regular basis. But I've been under a lot of stress lately.”
“Haven't we all?” Cleo was aware of Sylvia, Daystar, Trisha, and Andromeda listening intently as they stacked dishes. She appealed to them with a silent look.
They took the hint and, one by one, quietly vanished back through the swinging door into the kitchen.
“I suppose so.” Roarke's face turned red. “As I said, I just wanted to apologize.”
Cleo took pity on him. “Don't worry about it.” She opened the linen cupboard and removed a stack of clean tablecloths. “I understand how you must have felt.”
“Do you?” Roarke's eyes were bleak.
“Yes,” Cleo said gently. “I think so.” She smiled. “As long as you're just standing around, why don't you give me a hand with these?”
“What?” Roarke glanced at the stack of tablecloths. “Oh, sure.” He smiled. “Not exactly my line of work, but I think I can handle it.”
“I don't need any more hotel industry experts around,” Cleo muttered. “I've had enough of them lately.”
Roarke slanted her a strange glance. “Just between you and me, you're marrying one of the best. Max Fortune is one hell of an expert. Dennison Curzon will do anything to get him back. As you've already discovered, the son of a bitch will even stoop to using Kim.”
Cleo hesitated. “Kimberly was anxious to convince Max to return. She told me her father insisted on it.”
“He did. As the new chairman of the board of Curzon International, Dennison is having a great time throwing his weight around. For years he lived in Jason's shadow. Now he's determined to show everyone he's even better at running a hotel empire than his brother was.”
“Why does he want Max to come back?”
Roarke unfolded another tablecloth and arranged it neatly on a table. “Because the truth is, Dennison is not the natural leader that Jason was. He hasn't got the talent to run Curzon International, and deep down I think he knows it.”
“He thinks he can use Max to help run the company?”
Roarke nodded. “He's decided that Jason's secret weapon was Max Fortune. Dennison figures that if he can persuade Fortune to come back, everything will be like it was before, except that Dennison will be in charge this time.”
Cleo glanced at Roarke. “Where does Kimberly fit into all this?”
Roarke's jaw set in rigid lines as he whipped open another tablecloth. “My wife has spent most of her life trying to please her father. She's still struggling to be the son Dennison never had. I knew it was a problem when I married her, but I thought we could work it out. Now she feels torn, and part of me is afraid she's going to choose Daddy instead of me.”
“One of these days,” Max said coldly from the hall doorway, “Kim is going to have to figure out that she can never please Dennison, no matter what she does. Or whom she marries.”
Cleo spun around, startled. It was the first time all morning that she had come face to face with Max. He looked even more fierce than he usually did. “Max, I'm warning you, I don't want any more scenes.”
Max's brows rose. “I'm not the one who started that scene last night.”
“Nor do I want to see any finger-pointing,” she added primly.
“Too bad,” Roarke said. “I was just getting ready to put in my two cents' worth.”
Max smiled without any trace of genuine humor. “Maybe Winston and I had better finish this discussion in private. What do you say, Winston?”
“Not a chance.” Roarke snapped open another tablecloth. “I'm not going to volunteer to step outside so that you can beat my brains out.”
Cleo was horrified. “Max wouldn't do anything like that.”
“No?” Roarke looked distinctly skeptical.
“Of course not.” Max gave Roarke a dangerously polite smile. “What I want to discuss is the possibility of getting all you Winstons and Curzons and Curzon-Winstons out of my life on a permanent basis.”
“What a strange coincidence. I've got exactly the same goal.” Roarke eyed him. “How do you plan to accomplish it?”
“I think it could be arranged if Kim challenged Dennison Curzon for control of the board.”
Roarke's jaw dropped. “Are you crazy? Kim could never pull that off.”
“She could with your help. You're on the board. Jason appointed you a member the day you married Kimberly.”
“Yes, but you know as well as I do that I'm only on the board because I'm one of the family through marriage. It was understood from the start that I'm not supposed to actively interfere with Curzon operations.”
“Jason's gone, and the situation has changed,” Max said. “We all know that Dennison hasn't got what it takes. Left to his own devices, he'll probably drive Curzon into the ground within three years. Kimberly knows that, too.”
Roarke's expression was grim. “She knows it, but she's still trying to please her Daddy.”
“She only thinks she wants to please Dennison. What she really wants to do is prove she's as good as any son he might have had.”
Roarke eyed him thoughtfully. “Is that a fact? You're a shrink?”
“No, but I hung around the Curzon family for twelve years. I know them all fairly well. If Kim takes a good hard look at the situation, I think she'll realize that what she really wants to do is show him that she's capable of running Curzon International just as well as the son Dennison always wanted and never got,” Max said softly.
Roarke folded his arms across his chest and watched Max with the respect and wariness of one predator sizing up another.
Cleo was fascinated.
“What makes you an authority on Kim? Your famous six-week engagement?” Roarke asked finally.
“Try to be objective, Winston. Why do you think Kim let herself get talked into getting engaged to me three years ago?” Max showed no sign of emotion. He sounded as if he were talking about an excruciatingly boring incident in the past.
“I've often wondered what she saw in you,” Roarke said dryly. “You're not exactly her type.”
“I'm aware of that,” Max said.
“You were, however, Jason's best friend and confidant. You knew more about the inner workings of Curzon management than anyone else in the whole damn company, including the Curzons.”
“That was as far as it went. I wasn't quite good enough to become a member of the family.”
“Hell.?
Max said nothing. Cleo noticed, however, that no denial sprang instantly to his lips. With a chill she realized that Roarke was right, and Kimberly's fears were not entirely groundless. In one way, Max would have been a serious threat to the Curzons if he had gotten a seat on the board. He would have taken control of the company. His talents and aggressive instincts would have made that outcome inevitable.
What the Curzons had not understood, Cleo thought, was that, as a member of the family, Max would have been one-hundred percent on their side—more of a Curzon, in fact, than any of the rest of them. He would have used his power to protect the family and its holdings.
Cleo knew in that moment of shattering insight that Max cared far more about belonging to a family than he did about making money or running a company.
“Don't give me any bullshit,” Roarke said into the sudden silence. “We both know that the only reason you wanted to marry Kim was so that you could get your hands on Curzon.”
Max continued to gaze at him impassively. “You're entitled to your own opinion, of course.”
Roarke appeared almost amused. “Damn right I am. I know that all you ever wanted from Kim was the chance to control Curzon International. Hell, I don't even blame you, if you want to know the truth.”
“No?”
Roarke lifted one shoulder in a negligent shrug. “For all intents and purposes, you were second-in-command for years. Everyone knows it was you who helped Jason turn Curzon into what it is today.”
“Thank you,” Max said. “I'll assume that's a compliment.”
Roarke smiled briefly. “Hey, I'm not arguing that you had a right to try to grab the whole shooting match when the opportunity arose. But don't expect me to approve of the way you tried to use Kim to get what you wanted.”
“I think,” Max said, “that we're going down a dead-end road as far as this topic of conversation goes. Why don't we get back to our original subject?”