After some exhaustive queues for rides which Chloe seemed desperate to experience, they found themselves standing in front of the Tower of Terror, a massive brown house designed to look terrifyingly spooky. It succeeded.
‘Bigger than I thought,’ Max murmured dubiously. ‘And no good for you, little one.’ He patted the top of Chloe’s head and she shot him a woebegone smile of acceptance.
‘But feel free to go ahead yourself,’ Vicky said, positioning herself opposite him just in case his errant hand decided to stray again. With Chloe there, she was compelled not to make a scene, which was the last thing she wanted to do anyway, when the feel of his skin against hers was sinfully exciting.
‘I wouldn’t dream of abandoning you two ladies…’
‘Go ahead. We’ll wait here for you.’
‘The queue’s too long.’
‘Oh, that’s all right. Never mind us. We’ll grab an ice-cream and watch the world go by, won’t we, Chlo?’ She gave him a nasty grin and arched her eyebrows in feigned surprise, as though struck by a sudden thought. ‘You’re not scared, are you? Not when you told us that you were only scared of spiders?’
Max looked down at her and uncomfortably tugged at the collar of his polo shirt, as though it had unexpectedly shrunk two sizes and was now a tight fit. ‘Why don’t you have a go, if you’re so daring?’
‘Ah, so you are scared.’ Vicky folded her arms and shot him a triumphant, lofty smile. This little nick of vulnerability was unbearably endearing, little did he realise. She noticed that he was looking positively sheepish and resisted the impulse to burst out laughing. ‘I think I might just take you up on your offer, if you don’t mind waiting for me…’ Chloe’s eyes went round with admiration.
‘You wait,’ he murmured into her ear, before she headed off to join the curling line of people waiting for the ride of their lives. ‘When you stumble back here, white-faced and shaking…’
‘Coward,’ she murmured back with laughter in her voice, and she looked to find him grinning wickedly at her. Whatever ride she went on, she decided that it couldn’t destabilise her more than the man standing in front of her. What man in all creation could make all her senses feel as though she was hurtling through space and could wreak havoc with her nervous system in a matter of seconds?
Forty-five minutes later, she discovered that when it came to matters of the heart she was hopeless, but when it came to rides she was utterly lacking in fear, and for the next week she exhaustively tried them all while Max and Chloe experimented with interactive playgrounds for preschool children and rides that a three-month-old baby would feel at home on. Much to her glee. The one simulator ride he ventured on rendered him ashen-faced and speechless, and he was obliged to recover over a bag of chocolate chip cookies shared with his niece. He was good-natured in defeat and willingly allowed her to scamper off on mile-high roller coasters and death-defying water slides, while he tamely crammed his large masculine frame into ride-along cars and teapots and carousel horses with Chloe.
She discovered that they had settled into a habit of sorts, and one which suited her perfectly. They explored parks by day, a tiring business which left no time for personal chit-chat, had a spot of lunch, then went their separate ways in the early afternoon. Vicky had no idea what he hived off to do at two-thirty in the afternoon, but she suspected that he worked, having noticed that, despite the fact that the holiday had been designed for bonding with his niece, he’d still travelled over with his laptop computer. In the evenings, they both ate with Chloe, and then Vicky retired at a reasonable hour to bath her daughter, settle her and have an early night herself. The days were long and sleeping was no problem.
It came as a shock when she awakened on the Tuesday morning to the realisation that the holiday was virtually at an end. One full day left and they would be leaving the following night. She would have to start packing her stuff in the evening.
She couldn’t believe that all the warnings in her head about caution and wariness had been for nought. Aside from the occasional reminder to herself that he could hurt her, she’d allowed herself to succumb to the magic of the place, just as Chloe had, without a thought for common sense. Aside from that one fleeting instance when he had touched her, with the safeguard of Chloe to let him get away with it, he had been the model of good behaviour. If anything, it had not reassured her of his worthwhile intentions but added to the growing list of reasons why she had fallen in love with him in the first place. Hostility was always a safer defence against surrender, but she’d failed to consider that it takes two to wage a war and, in the absence of a willingly antagonistic partner, she’d found herself suspending her despair and giving in to the moment.
He made it easy for her to laugh. He didn’t give her the time or opportunity to dwell on her own personal problems and she’d discovered that it was remarkably easy to put off dealing with the complications of her life, of which he was a major one, until a later date. Some mysterious later date, when she would be forced to wake up and confront issues and handle the grief that she was busily creating for herself simply by enjoying him without the boundaries she knew were essential.
But she still imagined that she could somehow put off reality for the next two days, until he said to her, as they prepared to go their separate ways for the afternoon, ‘We need to talk.’
Vicky took in the implacable expression on his face, browner now that it had been less than a fortnight ago, and felt a slither of foreboding crawl up her spine. ‘How can we?’ She shrugged helplessly, reluctant to let reality intrude on the last day but one. ‘Chloe—’
‘—has been fixed up with a babysitter for this evening. She’s coming at seven-thirty. I arranged it through the hotel and, before you start throwing up your hands in anxiety, their babysitting service is very professional. They’re all trained in childcare; I asked lots of questions before booking one. So we can have a meal and a…chat. It’s time to sort out what we’re going to do about the situation.’
Why did that have such an ominous ring about it?
Vicky wanted to ask Already? but she knew the dangers of even thinking along those lines, never mind voicing them. She also knew that he was right. If what he had set out to do with this trip was prove himself as a sound figure in Chloe’s life, and a reliable, easy-to-digest one in hers, then he’d succeeded—if anything, rather well. He’d left her with no arguments to voice.
Chloe was asleep by the time the fresh-faced babysitter arrived, complete with a bag of ‘things to do’, which would not be used, and Vicky was more or less ready to go. Mentally bracing herself, and feeling a little strange in her first dressy outfit of the holiday—a small pale-coloured flowered dress in silky material, falling softly to mid-thigh, and a pair of wedge-heeled cream sandals that lent a couple of inches to her height. For the first time she felt nervous at the prospect of seeing him without the convenient distractions of Chloe and rides and people around them.
He was waiting for her at the bar, and it was a shock to see him, as well, more formally dressed. He was still wearing short sleeves, but his trousers were dark, and his bronzed skin gave him the appearance of someone of Italian descent. As she walked towards the table his eyes travelled once over her, then fell to his drink. He sat back in the chair, waiting until she had sat down, then called the waiter over to order a drink for her. In the silence that followed, Vicky nervously tucked her hair behind her ears, willing herself to feel the ease she’d felt with him over the past few days, but failing to find it.
‘So—’ he swallowed a long mouthful of his whisky and soda, then reclined back in the chair and watched her through brooding eyes ‘—glad you came after all?’
‘It’s been fun,’ Vicky said, feeling like a candidate at an interview. She nervously accepted a glass of wine from the waiter and sipped from it. ‘Tiring. Chloe’s been ready for bed every night by seven. In England, I have to persuade her to climb under the duvet before quarter to eight.’ She smiled at the thought of he
r daughter being cajoled into the dreaded bed.
‘She’s…a wonderful child. All credit to you.’ He tilted his glass to her in a mock salute. ‘From the sounds of it, you accomplished the near-impossible against all odds.’
‘It wasn’t as difficult as you make it sound,’ Vicky informed him, gulping back rather more of her wine than she had set out to do and nearly choking in the process. ‘I’m no saint, just one of millions of women who find themselves in a situation where they have no choice.’
‘But you had my brother to contend with as well. My brother with his threats and verbal abuse. And no money to cushion the future.’
‘I never thought that my future needed cushioning,’ Vicky lied valiantly. ‘And I know where this is going. A long summary of my unfortunate past, followed by a swift recap of all the reasons why you should get what you want.’ She’d known for a while that she had to recapture some of that lost hostility if she were to avoid complete emotional demolition. Now, she clawed and scrambled her way towards it, pretending not to see the hardening of his features. ‘Well, it won’t work.’ She swigged back the remainder of her wine and it flared through her head like a bolt of white heat, then she banged the glass onto the table, extracting a few curious glances from the people sitting closest to them. ‘You can see Chloe, of course you can, but within limits. Perhaps every other weekend. I don’t want her life disrupted!’
‘Don’t you mean that you don’t want your life disrupted? Don’t you think that she deserves to know as much about her father’s family as possible? Why deny her the heritage that’s hers?’
‘She’s only a child! She doesn’t know a thing about her heritage and doesn’t care less!’
‘But she won’t be a child in ten years’ time, will she?’ he said venomously, leaning into her, his body rigid with anger. ‘I wish to God,’ he bit out furiously, ‘that you’d fill me in on what your problem is! I’m offering you safety, financial security, an arrangement that’s virtually foolproof and the best possible solution for the three of us!’ He slammed his fist on the table and the couple closest to them got up and moved, giving them some very suspicious backward glances, ‘What more do you need to be convinced?’
‘I don’t want an arrangement! I want…thunder and lightning…and fireworks…and magic!’
‘Like you had with my brother?’ he jeered. ‘Those kinds of fireworks?’
Vicky’s face drained of colour and she stood up on shaky legs. ‘I think I’ve heard enough.’ She gathered up her bag and tried to gather up her lost self-control as well.
‘Sit back down!’ He lowered his voice to a demanding growl as the area around them cleared hurriedly. ‘Running away won’t solve anything!’
‘There’s nothing to solve!’ She was bending towards him, her long hair hanging over one shoulder, her breasts heaving with emotion.
‘Marry me and your problems will be over!’ It was an order, not a request, hurled at her by a man whose eyes were flaring like shards of silver glass, his whole body taut with the desire to bend her to his indomitable will.
And he expected her to capitulate?
‘Marry you and my problems would be about to begin!’ She straightened, still shaking like a leaf. ‘I’m going to pack. And you can do your own thing tomorrow. Chloe and I will stay here by the pool.’
‘Listen to me’ he commanded urgently, standing up, his long strides easily keeping up with her as she strode out of the bar.
‘Why should I?’ she threw at him. ‘Because you’re rich? Important? A Forbes?’
‘Because there’s something I need to tell you…’
‘What?’
‘You’re being bloody stubborn,’ he muttered.
‘And that’s what you want to tell me?’
‘What’s so wrong with being taken care of?’
‘For the sake of maintaining your heritage?’
‘Just answer the question!’
‘I don’t need you!’ she told him, and herself, fiercely. ‘I don’t want to be taken care of. I’m more than capable of taking care of myself and my daughter! We’re not charity cases!’
‘I never implied that you were!’
‘Then what is it you’re implying?’
‘I’m willing to give you—’
‘I’m not interested.’
‘Fine.’ For a few electric seconds they stared in the darkness at one another, then he turned on his heel and walked away. Vicky followed him with her eyes until he disappeared around the hotel wall, then she too made her way slowly back to her room, not quite understanding why and how everything had gone so badly wrong, but knowing, somewhere, that open warfare was for the best.
CHAPTER TEN
WHY was it for the best?
She noticed that she’d somehow arrived at the gift shop, which was a grand affair with an alluring display case for every Disney product known to man. Or so it seemed. Instead of beating a hasty retreat, she found herself dawdling in front of the sweatshirts, ambling over to the array of postcards, indulging her train of thought.
Why, she thought, was open warfare for the best? Who was she protecting? Chloe? Not a bit of it. Chloe had accepted Max Forbes with the open enthusiasm of a child. Vicky was, she admitted, protecting herself, but how long could she go through life making herself pay for what had happened in the past? Where was the use condemning herself to a lonely future because she measured every man against Shaun and instantly backed away?
Max Forbes was nothing like his brother, aside from his physical resemblance, and even then there was something more finely honed about his face. It was as though nature had taken exquisite time with Max and then had done a rush job with his twin brother.
She strolled over to the stationery counter and absent-mindedly registered that Mickey and Minnie were everywhere. On mugs, cups, paper, pencils. Spooky.
So what if he didn’t love her? Was that the end of the world? Wasn’t it better to have him in her life as a friend, rather than enemy? Because he was going to be in her life, one way or another. He wasn’t going to just disappear and leave her to get on with things the way she always had. She’d seen the affection in his eyes when he looked at Chloe, the curiosity of the world-weary man chancing upon something new and magical, the innocence of childhood. When he looked at his niece and saw the striking resemblance to him, he must feel a strong pull on his heart strings. How could he not?
So she could never have her ideal. Well, she wouldn’t be the first in the universe, would she? And Chloe would have two parents rather than just her; a family, a sense of belonging.
A plump girl with amazingly white teeth and a broad smile walked across and asked her whether she could help, at which Vicky jumped and hurriedly grabbed a Pluto picture frame from the shelf and a box of writing paper which sported an intricate array of Disney characters leaping around the edges. Chloe would love it, even though letters, at this point in time, were solely addressed to her mother. With Max in her life she would now have two recipients for her three-line letters with their careful handwriting.
She left the gift shop and, instead of heading up to the bedroom to rescue the babysitter from her duties, made her way to the informal coffee shop that overlooked the pool for a cappuccino. As seemed to be the case in Florida, a simple cup of coffee was accompanied by something edible, in this case a vast butter biscuit dusted with powdery sugar. The actual cup of coffee was huge, and she realised that she should have specified a small cup.
The coffee shop was half empty, with a handful of couples sitting at tables in front of large dishes of ice cream. Most were poring over guidebooks, planning the remainder of their holiday with military precision. The décor was bright and jaunty. Not conducive to solitary meditation. But Vicky’s mind, having broken its reins, was now unstoppable. It poured over the past and then leapt into the future and poured over that. There were so many permutations of what could happen that she felt dizzy, but the glaringly obvious thing was that she wanted Max in her life�
�she wanted his rich humour, his unexpected kindness, his wit, even the glimpses of ruthless cynicism that could have the other secretaries in the office running for cover. She loved every angle, every facet, every small nook and cranny of this man, and the thought of fighting him for evermore would end up destroying her.
She took a few more sips from her mug, managing to reduce the volume by very little, nibbled some more biscuit, like a mouse tentatively working its way around the outside of a piece of cheese, and then she stood up and dusted herself down.
Max would either be in the bar or in his bedroom. Presumably.
He wasn’t in the bar. The prospect of going to his bedroom was a little daunting, especially when she wasn’t quite sure what she was going to say once she found him, but her moment of brief hesitation was replaced by resolve and five minutes later she was knocking on his door. Her whole body was keyed to his response. She could feel every nerve stretching inside her.
When he pulled open the door, she was shocked by his face. He looked as though he had spent a night on the tiles. His hair was sticking out at odd angles and there was nothing cool and assured about his features. They were drawn, but his glittering silver eyes were as hard and shuttered as she had expected.
‘What do you want?’ he asked, standing in front of her, and her heart sank. She was beginning to forget what she wanted, and she realised that she hadn’t even worked out what the heck she was going to say.
‘I thought we might have a talk,’ she said in a brave little voice, looking up at him and fighting not to wilt at his expression.
‘About what? Haven’t you said it all? I must have been a damn fool to ever think I could batter down your defences. You’ve shut yourself away in your bitter little castle, and you’re not going to let anyone get in, are you? Least of all the brother of the man who you think ruined your life.’
‘He did ruin my life!’
‘But that’s in the past, isn’t it? Or can’t you accept that? Maybe you’ve grown so accustomed to being a victim that you’ve started to enjoy it. Oh, what the hell… I don’t even know why I’m bothering to have this pointless conversation with you. Go to bed.’ He half turned, preparing to shut the door.
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