Grand Passion

by Jayne Ann Krentz

  The subtle fierceness that marked him gleamed clearly in his gray eyes. There was an air of unrelenting watchfulness about Max Fortune, as if he trusted no one and depended on no one. Cleo sensed that this was a man who took nothing for granted. He looked as though he expected to have to fight for whatever he wanted in life.

  But the hard-edged, potentially ruthless element in him was overlaid with a tantalizing air of polished civility. It was a powerful, compelling image for Cleo; one that was straight out of the deepest, most secret recesses of her imagination. There was no doubt about it; the well-hidden, carefully contained, very sensual aspect of her nature recognized Max Fortune.

  He was the man who lived in the shadows of her secret fantasies.

  Perhaps it was not so strange that she knew him on sight, she thought ruefully. After all, she had written a book about him. She just hadn't known his name at the time.

  The cane should have had the effect of making Max look at least somewhat vulnerable. Instead it only served to reveal another hard edge. It hinted at pain that had been subdued by the force of sheer willpower and self-control. Cleo found herself wanting to touch and soothe that old anguish in him.

  She gripped the handle of the teapot, completely at a loss to explain her reaction to this stranger who had walked in out of the storm last night and made a place for himself near her hearth.

  “Good morning.” Max examined the kitchen and its unusually garbed staff. His expression showed no particular reaction except mild interest. “Is this where I get breakfast?”

  “Definitely.” Cleo jerked herself out of the thrall that had enveloped her. “Andromeda can fix you up, can't you, Andromeda?”

  “Of course.” The tiny bells on the hem of Andromeda's gown chimed as she turned away to put two corn bread muffins on a plate. “There is also muesli with fresh fruit and yogurt over on the counter. Take whatever you want.”

  Max's gaze was on Cleo. “I'll do that.”

  Cleo felt a tremor go through her. “Tea?” she asked quickly.

  He glanced at the pot in her hand. “Any coffee available?”

  “Right over there.” Cleo nodded toward the freshly brewed coffee that was sitting on the counter. “Have a seat at the table, and I'll get you a cup.”

  “Thanks.”

  Cleo ignored Daystar's speculative frown. She scooped up the coffee pot and another muffin for herself and hurried to follow Max to the nook where the staff of the inn grabbed meals during busy times.

  “Don't expect service like this every day,” Cleo said lightly as she slid onto the bench on the other side of the table. She poured coffee into a cup. “Around here, everyone fends for himself when the inn is full.”

  “I'll remember that.”

  “We're going to be swamped for the next three days with this motivational seminar crowd,” Cleo observed.

  “I saw the audiovisual equipment being set up in the parlor. What's this seminar stuff all about?”

  “Herbert T. Valence's Five Easy Steps to Wealth, Power, and Unlimited Success,” Cleo explained.

  Max looked up. “There aren't five easy steps to all that.”

  “No?”

  “There's only one step.”

  Cleo was intrigued. “What's that?”

  Max shrugged. “You fight for it. And when you've got what you want, you fight again to defend it.”

  “Not according to Herbert T. Valence. He says the trick is to think positive and affirm your goals every day. I gather he started giving these seminars a couple of years ago. He's got quite a reputation.”

  “The man's either a fool or a con artist.”

  “Mind your tongue.” Cleo chuckled. “Thanks to Mr. Valence, I have a full inn. Try a muffin.” She tore hers apart, heedless of crumbs. “I've had two already, and I swear this is going to be my last one.”

  Max picked up a knife and went to work on one of his muffins as if it were an uncut diamond.

  Cleo stopped chewing and watched in fascination as he methodically split the muffin in half. Next, he cut off a quarter of the muffin with grave precision.

  He put down the knife, picked up a spoon, and dipped it into the honey pot. When he had collected a quantity of the thick, golden stuff, he gave the spoon a deft twist. Not a single drop of honey fell back into the pot or onto the table as he gracefully transferred it to the muffin on his plate.

  It was like watching a Borgia or a Medici eat, Cleo thought. One had the feeling that behind the polished manners, there was a sheathed sword tucked politely out of sight.

  Max's eyes met Cleo's just as he was about to take a bite. He stopped with the muffin section halfway to his mouth. “Something wrong?”

  “No, not at all.” Cleo grinned. “It's just that Jason was the only person I ever saw who ate Daystar's muffins so neatly. Most people inhale them.”

  “I'm sure they're excellent.” Max glanced at the women who were preparing breakfast. “Your kitchen staff is a little out of the ordinary.”

  “I'll say. They're fantastic.” Cleo leaned forward and lowered her voice. “Someone's always trying to steal Andromeda and Daystar. Every restaurant owner and inn manager on the coast would kill to get them.”

  “Where did you find them?”

  “I didn't. They found me.” Cleo sat back. “They're from the Cosmic Harmony Women's Retreat. The Retreat is about a mile and a half from here, on the other side of the cove. You can see it from your window.”

  Max looked up from his muffin. “I saw something that looked like an old resort.”

  “It was at one time. The resort folded. It wasn't the right kind of establishment for this section of the coast. At any rate, after I opened the inn, Andromeda and Daystar decided I needed a first-rate kitchen to attract business. They, on the other hand, needed a stable source of income to run the Retreat. They waved a contract in my face, and I signed.”

  “Just like that?”

  “Sure. I tend to make most decisions on the spur of the moment. For instance, I bought this place within twenty-four hours of looking at it. Of course, if I'd gotten a good look at the antique plumbing I might have hesitated a bit. It gave me nothing but trouble for the first two years. But Benjy wandered into my office one day a year and a half ago looking for a job, and my maintenance problems were solved.”

  “Until Benjy disappeared last night?”

  Cleo frowned. “I wonder where he is. I'm getting a little worried. It's not like him to just up and vanish like this. He and Trisha…” The phone rang before Cleo could finish the sentence. She snatched up the kitchen extension that hung on the wall of the nook. “Robbins' Nest Inn.”

  “Cleo? Thank God. This is Nolan.”

  “'Morning, Nolan. A little early for you to be calling, isn't it?” Cleo relaxed back against the wall and braced one foot on the bench. She saw Max's gaze go to her bright, gold-toned sneakers. She thought she detected disapproval in his cold gray eyes.

  “Sorry.” Nolan's voice was uncharacteristically sharp. “Cleo, I need to see you as soon as possible.”

  She groaned. “I told you I couldn't have dinner with you until the weekend. I've got an inn full of guests.”

  “Forget dinner. I want to talk to you right away. This is important.”

  Cleo took her foot down off the bench and straightened. She had never heard this particular edge in Nolan's voice. “Is something wrong?”

  “You tell me.”

  “You're not making a whole lot of sense, here, Nolan.”

  “Damn it, Cleo, I have to talk to you.”

  “Take it easy,” Cleo said soothingly. “We'll talk. Do you want to come by the inn now?”

  “No,” he said swiftly. “I can't do that. Look, can you meet me down at the beach?”

  “Nolan, this is February, not August. It's cold outside. Why do you want to meet at the beach?” Cleo was acutely aware that Max was listening to every word.

  “The beach, Cleo. Fifteen minutes. You owe me that much, at least.”


  “I owe you? Nolan, have you gone nuts? I don't owe you a thing.”

  “You do now. I'll see you in a few minutes.”

  “Wait a second, I've got the breakfast crowd to deal with. I can't just dash out of here.”

  “This won't take long,” Nolan said. “And it's really important. It affects both our futures.” He hung up the phone.

  Cleo made a face as she replaced the receiver. “He sounds a trifle upset. Guess I'd better go see what he wants.”

  “Who's Nolan?” Max picked up the knife again and started in on the second muffin.

  “Nolan Hildebrand is the part-time mayor of Harmony Cove. I think he has bigger political aspirations, but I try not to hold that against him. I mean, somebody has to go into politics, right? At any rate, I've been sort of seeing him for about five months.”

  Max's gaze was hooded. “Sort of seeing him?”

  Cleo blushed. “You know. Dating him. It's not like either one of us has a lot of choice around Harmony Cove. It's a very small town, in case you didn't notice.”

  “I noticed.”

  “Well, anyhow, Nolan and I go out to dinner a couple of times a week when I'm not too busy here at the inn.” Cleo didn't know why she was feeling awkward. Perhaps it was because Nolan was one of only a tiny handful of men she had dated since the death of her parents four years earlier.

  It had taken a long time to get over the searing trauma that had shattered her life the day she had walked into the blood-spattered living room of her parents' home. It was that same terrible room that she still saw in the occasional nightmares that brought her awake in a cold sweat.

  The authorities had called it a case of murder-suicide. For some reason no one could explain, perhaps in the heat of a passionate quarrel, successful businessman Edward Robbins had killed his wife and then turned the gun on himself.

  Cleo had never been able to accept the reality of it. Six months of therapy had done little to help. She was gradually able to deal with the loss, but not the reasons behind it. They made no sense to her and never would.

  She had been an only child, and she alone knew how deep the bond had been between her parents. It was not inconceivable to her that one might have chosen to follow the other into the grave, but it was impossible to believe that one would have murdered the other. The authorities had explained that such things happened, even in the best of families.

  When she had eventually surfaced from the state of numbed shock into which she had been plunged on that day of horror, Cleo had found herself alone in the world. She had been twenty-three at the time.

  Slowly, painfully, she had begun putting her life back together. She had gone to the coast frequently during that period, drawn by the eternal, soul-soothing appeal of the ocean. It was there she had discovered the Cosmic Harmony Women's Retreat and the strength to rebuild her world.

  With the money left from the trust fund her parents had established for her, Cleo had purchased the old Victorian inn that sat on the bluff high above Harmony Cove. Slowly, but surely, she had gathered a clan of friends around her.

  It was a loose-knit group, and some of the members changed from time to time, but there was a central core that consisted of Cleo, Andromeda, Daystar, Sylvia Gordon, and her son, Sammy. Trisha Briggs and Benjy Atkins had both been added to the clan somewhere along the line. So had Jason Curzon. An extended family had been created, albeit a nontraditional one.

  Although she had needed the closeness of her friends, Cleo had felt no need for a lover. She did not think she was cold or frigid, but there was no denying that a part of her seemed to have gone into hibernation somewhere deep inside her. Her therapist had suggested that Cleo had become deeply wary of intimacy because of the manner in which the close bond between her parents had been so shockingly severed.

  On the one hand Cleo longed for the sort of relationship her parents had enjoyed, the therapist explained, but on the other hand, she was fearful of what might lie at the heart of it. Only a dark sickness of the mind could have made Edward Robbins turn the gun on his beloved wife. The therapist was convinced that Cleo now feared that such a powerful love might be based on an equally powerful and very dangerous obsession.

  The only thing Cleo knew for certain was that she could not give herself to a man unless she loved him the way her mother had loved her father. Cleo understood that for her it would have to be a grand passion or nothing at all.

  She had been dating Nolan Hildebrand for some time now on a casual basis, but she had not gone to bed with him. She knew she never would.

  Max watched her intently. “Did Jason know about Hildebrand?”

  Cleo was surprised by the question. “Of course. I told you, Nolan and I have been seeing each other for quite a while.”

  Max put down the last, unfinished bit of muffin and folded his arms on the table. He leaned forward, his eyes cold. “Are you telling me that Jason didn't mind sharing you with the mayor of Harmony Cove?”

  “Sharing me?” Cleo blinked, astonished. “What on earth are you talking about?”

  “You know damn well what I'm talking about. I knew Jason for twelve years, and I know that he was not the kind of man who would share his woman with another man.”

  A warm tide of embarrassment flooded through Cleo as the finally understood what he was talking about. “Are you crazy? Jason and I were friends.”

  “I know.”

  “Good friends. Not lovers. For heaven's sake, Max, he was old enough to be my grandfather.”

  “So? You wouldn't be the first woman to latch onto an older man in hopes of getting your hands on some of his money.”

  “So that's what this is all about.” Anger surged through her, driving out the embarrassment. “For your information, Jason didn't have much money. He never even managed to sell one of his paintings. He was an old man who was living on a pension and Social Security.”

  “Is that right?”

  Cleo slid out of the booth and got to her feet. “I don't believe this. I thought you were a friend of Jason's. I thought you knew all about him and about his family here at the inn.”

  “Are you telling me you weren't Jason's mistress?”

  “I don't think I'm going to tell you a damn thing, Mr. Fortune. I'm afraid you'll have to excuse me. I've got to race off and meet another one of my many lovers. When I get back, I'll expect to find you checked out.” Cleo spun around on her heel and stalked out of the kitchen.

  She refused to glance back over her shoulder as she left the room. But she could feel Max's cold eyes on her all the way to the door.

  Fifteen minutes later, still seething from the small but extremely unpleasant scene in the kitchen, Cleo parked her car in the unpaved lot above the beach. Nolan Hildebrand's Jeep was the only other vehicle in sight. Few people came to the beach at this time of year.

  A cold, rain-soaked blast of wind struck Cleo as she got out of her car. It tore her hair free from its precarious moorings and whipped it into a froth around her face. There was a storm boiling out over the ocean. It would arrive within the hour. She intended to be back at the inn by the time it hit shore.

  And Max Fortune had better be gone when she got there, she told herself. She shook her head in disgust, unable to believe that she had misjudged him so badly. Usually her instincts about people were highly accurate.

  The Jeep door opened, and Nolan climbed out. He hurried toward her, the collar of his leather jacket turned up to shield his neck from the wind. The brisk breeze ruffled his light brown hair, accenting his handsome features. He carried a brown paper sack in one hand.

  Cleo contemplated him with a sense of affection. She had known from the beginning that Nolan was not fated to be the great love of her life. At the start of their relationship, he had made a few determined attempts to seduce her, but when she had declined the invitations to his bed, he had seemed oddly content.

  Nolan was a pleasant dinner companion, and Cleo genuinely admired his efforts as town mayor. He worked hard at the part-
time position while practicing law at the small firm his father had established.

  “I was afraid you wouldn't show up.” Nolan came to a halt in front of her. He jammed one hand into the pocket of his jacket and regarded her with troubled eyes.

  A flicker of real concern went through Cleo. Something was obviously very wrong. “What's this all about, Nolan?”

  “I just want to know one thing.” Nolan thrust the paper sack at her. “Did you write this?”

  “What in the world?” But Cleo could feel the familiar shape of a book inside the sack. Her blood stilled.

  She opened the bag and glanced inside. She found herself gazing at a familiar stark white cover. The title, The Mirror, was embossed on it in the same shade of white. A length of scarlet ribbon curling evocatively across the bottom of the white cover was the only note of color.

  “Oh, dear,” Cleo murmured.

  “Did you write that?” Nolan bit out.

  “Well, yes. Yes, I did, as a matter of fact. It was published a couple of months ago.” She smiled tentatively. “My first book, you know.”

  “You published it under a pen name?” Nolan asked, sounding as though he wanted to be very certain of his facts.

  “Yes.” Cleo gingerly reclosed the bag. She cleared her throat. “It's, uh, considered a rather fine example of women's erotica, you know.”

  “Erotica.”

  “It actually got very well reviewed in several literary magazines and one or two feminist journals.”

  Nolan gave her an outraged look of disbelief. “It's porn, that's what it is.”

  “Oh, no, definitely not.” Cleo clutched the book protectively to her breast. “I told you, it's erotica. There's a big difference.”

  “Not to the media, damn it. Not to every right-wing newspaper columnist who decides I'm too liberal on First Amendment issues. Not to the conservative, small-town voters of Harmony Cove.”

  Cleo bit her lip. “I don't understand.”

  “Christ, Cleo.” Nolan ran an exasperated hand through his wind-tossed hair. “I'm starting to build a political career. Don't you know what this kind of thing could do to me?”