How had she told him? In person? Was the other woman at his apartment even now, waiting for him to come back to her…?
No! She wouldn’t do this! She was thinking and acting like a jealous lover where Max was concerned. Something that after only a few kisses she had no right to do. No matter how much she might wish it were otherwise…
Abby thrust her shaking hands into the pockets of her linen trousers. ‘Don’t let me keep you,’ she told him tightly.
He completely ignored her dismissal as he moved to sit in one of the armchairs, looking up at her thoughtfully. ‘You seem a little—tense?’
Her frown was pained now. She’d had the impression this would only be a quick visit on Max’s part—to collect his mobile and then leave. But he seemed to be making himself comfortable.
She shrugged. ‘We didn’t exactly part on a happy note yesterday,’ she reminded him tautly. ‘In fact, I had the distinct impression you hoped never to see me again!’
‘Did you?’ His gaze softened, unnerving after his earlier stiltedness. ‘And yet here I am,’ he added. ‘Hello, boy,’ he greeted Monty ruefully as the cat jumped up onto his lap and began to purr for attention.
Attention he received. One of Max’s sensuously long hands began to stroke the long silky fur on the cat’s back, causing Monty to arch in pleasure, his expression ecstatic.
In the same way that she had when Max had caressed her?
God, this was just too embarrassing; every thought she had seemed to come straight back to Max. It was devastating to realise she was so attracted to him she couldn’t think of anything else.
Why him? she groaned inwardly. Why was she so enraptured with this arrogantly aloof man, who pushed her away one second and pulled her into his arms the next, and not with some nice, uncomplicated man like Andrew, who had wanted to marry her and have lots of children, be the father of the grandchildren her parents had begun painfully to hint that they would like?
Max Harding wasn’t that sort of man, and he never would be.
She shook her head. ‘I really think you should go now, don’t you?’
A smile still curved his lips as he looked up from stroking a now settled Monty. ‘I thought you said you weren’t busy this evening?’
‘I’m not—but you probably are!’ she said forcefully. Exasperatedly. He had his mobile—why didn’t he just go?
He shrugged. ‘Not particularly.’
She was going to make a complete idiot of herself in a minute and say something embarrassing—for herself, that was. She doubted that there was very much that embarrassed Max.
‘I thought perhaps you had to get back to Kate?’ She said it anyway, at the same time refusing to drop her gaze from his suddenly narrowed eyes.
‘Did you?’ he finally said slowly.
‘For God’s sake, will you stop answering a question with another question?’ Abby’s control snapped impatiently, her movements agitated.
Max arched dark brows. ‘Am I doing that?’
‘You just did it again!’ she snapped. ‘And if you answer a question with another question you give no answer whatsoever. It’s an art you’ve obviously perfected,’ she added derisively.
He was frowning darkly now, his movements studied as he placed Monty on one of the cushions of the sofa and stood up before turning to face her. ‘Maybe I was a little hard on you before I left here yesterday—’
‘You weren’t “hard”, Max—you were brutally honest!’ she corrected tightly, blue eyes glittering with humiliated memory. ‘But then,’ she added slightly bitterly, ‘why should I have expected anything else from the great, the talented, the acerbic Max Harding?’
Was she going too far? Probably. But she was too angry, too hurt, to defensive about her own feelings for him to be anything else.
He sighed his frustration. ‘I’m not someone you should become involved with, Abby—’
‘I’m not involved with you,’ she interrupted, knowing she lied. How she lied!
‘—and, no matter how I might wish it were otherwise, you aren’t someone I can become involved with, either,’ Max finished.
She became very still, frowning across at him, finding that last remark enigmatic in the extreme. What did he mean, she wasn’t someone he could become involved with?
In a sense, the two of them were already involved—their lives were entangled even if their emotions—Max’s, at least—weren’t. They each knew where the other lived, they had lunched together, had a mutual friend in Dorothy. Their lives might never have crossed before, but now that they had it was unlikely they would never do so again. In fact, feeling about him as she did, Abby hoped they would!
She raised dark brows. ‘Are we back to your friend Kate again?’ It was difficult for her to keep her voice even and unemotional.
Max’s breath hissed harshly through his teeth. ‘I would like you to forget that you ever took her call—’
‘I’ll just bet you would!’ Abby came back incredulously, shaking her head. ‘You keep your relationship with her pretty quiet, don’t you, Max?’ she challenged. ‘No being seen out together. No photographs of the two of you in the newspapers. No—
‘My God!’ she gasped as a sudden thought occurred to her. ‘She’s not married, is she?’ she asked belatedly, more disappointed than shocked.
She wasn’t a prude, despite having a vicar for a father, and knew that even if her guess was right, Max would be far from the first man to have an affair with a married woman. The difference was, she wasn’t attracted to any of those other men!
‘So the great, the legendary Max Harding, is having an affair with a married woman!’ she said scathingly.
Max didn’t move so much as a muscle, and yet he suddenly seemed bigger, more powerful, more—dangerous!
Yes, that was exactly how he now appeared, Abby realised with a slightly dazed blink. His eyes were glittering furiously, his face grimly challenging, every muscle in that tightly hewn body tensed as if ready to spring. At her? Because she had guessed his secret? But why should it matter so much that he was involved with a married woman? After all, he wasn’t the first, and she was pretty sure he wouldn’t be the last either.
‘This,’ he finally bit out with cold derision, ‘coming from a woman who hasn’t been in her own apartment for the last twenty-four hours! Oh, yes, Abby, I know you’ve been out all night,’ he taunted her, as her expression turned to one of astonishment. ‘You see, I missed my mobile some time yesterday evening, so I rang it to see who answered. No one answered. Not last night. Not this morning. Not early this afternoon either.’ His mouth twisted. ‘Monty wasn’t the only one ‘out on the tiles’ all night!’
Abby stared at him. The conclusions that Max had come to concerning her absence were simply incredible. Okay, so she was twenty-seven years old, unattached and not unattractive—but did that really mean that the only reason she could possibly have been out all night was because she had spent it with a man? Obviously to Max it did.
‘As this is the middle of London, Monty doesn’t actually go out on the tiles,’ she began, knowing her pet’s reticence had nothing to do with safety and everything to do with the fact that all his creature comforts were right here. ‘And, as it happens,’ she continued determinedly as Max tried to speak, ‘neither do I! In fact,’ she added firmly as her resolve deepened, ‘I think the implication is just a clever attempt on your part to distract my attention from your relationship with Kate. How frustrating it must be for you that the two of us talked on the telephone earlier—’
‘I think you should stop right there, Abby!’ Max cut in icily, his expression grimmer than ever—dangerously so.
Abby refused to back down, just as she refused to let her gaze drop from his cold eyes. ‘I think you should just take your mobile and leave.’
He gave a frustrated sigh. ‘There’s just no reasoning with you, is there?’
‘Reasoning, yes. Sheer bloody arrogance, no! I get all the arrogance I can take working with the con
ceited Gary Holmes,’ she added challengingly. And after the accusations Max had made yesterday, and his comments now concerning her absence from her apartment last night, he could make what he liked of that remark!
But there was no telling what he did think about it. Max’s expression became remotely unreadable just at the mention of the other man’s name. ‘I would rather not talk about Gary Holmes. And I would prefer it if you didn’t discuss my private life with him either.’
‘I don’t know anything about your private life!’ Except the brief—very brief—part she had played in it. And about Kate, of course…
Abby gave him a searching look. Was she the ‘private life’ he was referring to? And, if so, what possible interest could this woman Kate be to Gary Holmes?
Unless the other man knew Kate? Who she was? Whose wife she was?
‘Don’t even go there, Abby,’ Max warned darkly, seeming to easily read her thoughts from her expression.
She had never been good at hiding her emotions; it probably came from being the only child of loving parents who had always encouraged her to believe that honesty was the best policy. Because in her parents’ world—in her own world until she was twenty-one and left university—it had been. It was only since she had entered the world of politics and television that she had discovered the truth usually had very little to do with anything. Cynical, perhaps, but it was a lesson she had learnt during the last six years—and learnt it well.
She met Max’s gaze unflinchingly. ‘I have no idea what you’re talking about.’
‘I’m warning you, Abby—’
‘Threats now, Max?’ she taunted lightly, shaking her head. ‘Not a good way to divert an interviewer’s interest away from a possible story!’
‘There is no story.’
‘Isn’t there?’ Abby returned tightly. ‘You’re very emotional about something you claim is unimportant—’ She broke off as Max stepped forward to grasp her arms and glare down at her fiercely, his face mere inches away from hers, the warmth of his breath stirring the ragged tendrils of hair on her forehead.
Her first wide-eyed thought was that he was going to shake her until her teeth rattled. Her second was that he was going to kiss her insensible.
The second thought was the correct one.
And it didn’t take him too long to do it, either.
Mere seconds after Max had taken her into his arms, his mouth taking fierce possession of hers, Abby had totally forgotten everything but that—was aware of nothing but Max and the desire that glared between them unchecked.
It was as if no time had elapsed between yesterday afternoon and tonight. And maybe it hadn’t. Their passion seemed to rage to fever-pitch in seconds.
Abby had no idea, no memory, of going into her bedroom—only knew they must have left a trail of clothes on their way there, since both of them were naked by the time they fell on top of the bedclothes, hands seeking, mouths locked hungrily.
Max’s body was just as she remembered it from that first day: lean and hard, covered with fine, silky dark hair, thicker on his chest and down his stomach. His back was wide and muscled, tapering to powerful thighs and long, athletic legs—legs that became entangled with hers as she lay back on the bed.
His dark head bent and his lips claimed the pouting arousal of her breasts. Her body arched as she gasped with pleasure. Max’s mouth was hotly moist, his tongue caressing, teeth gently biting, sending rivers of molten pleasure coursing deeply between her thighs. One of his hands was caressing her there, seeking and finding the centre of her pleasure, his lightest touch sending her completely over the edge. The pleasure was everywhere now, inside her, hot, wet, totally mind-blowing.
But there was no time to even catch her breath as Max’s mouth moved back to claim hers, tongues duelling, hands seeking, finding. Abby felt Max shudder with pleasure as she touched his hardness, hot and throbbing, guiding him now as he sought to join his body with hers.
He filled her totally, possessed her as he moved inside her with long, slow strokes that quickly aroused her already sensitised flesh to a second climax, her body convulsing about his, threatening to take him with her.
He became still above her, delaying the moment, lips and hands once more caressing. Abby’s hands moved restlessly across his back, nails raking the skin there, feeling the way he quivered beneath those caresses, knowing his self-control was reaching breaking point.
And she wanted it to—wanted to feel his own shuddering release, to know that she had pleasured him as he had pleasured her.
And then his movements were no longer slow, his hips pulsing against hers, taking her with him. Their moment of release was completely simultaneous, with Abby no longer sure where Max began and she ended, only able to cling to Max in an effort not to be completely swept away by the tidal wave.
‘My God…!’ Max groaned as he looked down at her with dark, heated eyes before burying his face in her throat.
My God, indeed. Abby had never dreamt, never known…It was true—love did make a difference!
And she loved Max. Deeply, strongly. In fact, nothing else mattered but the deep love she now realised she felt for him.
It was dark when she woke, some time later, briefly disorientated by the knowledge of another presence. Then, as Max sat up and quietly moved to the other side of her bed, it all came back to her in a warm rush of well-being: their incredible lovemaking, being held in Max’s arms afterwards, her head resting on his shoulder as he cradled her against him and they both drifted off to sleep.
Max hadn’t commented on it last night—and she hoped he never would—but he had been her first lover.
She wasn’t a prude—hadn’t lacked opportunities either. And of course there had been Andrew. It was just that she had been brought up to believe that love, not curiosity, was the only reason for making love with someone—that the body as well as the emotions was a precious gift, not to be given lightly.
But until Max she had never been in love…
And, being the newly awoken lover that she was, even in her sleep she’d been completely attuned to Max’s slightest movement—knowing the moment his arms left her and the warmth of his body was removed from her side. She turned her head on the pillow now, to look at the broad expanse of his back reflected in the moonlight from the undrawn curtains at the window. But he didn’t move, simply sat there, seeming unaware that she was awake.
‘What are you doing?’ Even her voice sounded different in her knowledge of what it was to make love: softer, more sensual.
Max turned sharply, his face all shadows in the moonlight, his eyes unreadable. ‘I didn’t mean to wake you.’
Abby shook her head, her hair darkly tangled on the pillow beneath her. From the wild caress of Max’s hands, she remembered warmly.
‘You didn’t.’ She smiled, stretching her newly awakened body. Every ache was a pleasurable one. Even the bruises she was sure would be on her shoulders from the pressure of Max’s fingers as their desire had spiralled out of control were something to be cherished and held to her. Like battle scars. Except these were love scars…‘What are you doing?’ she repeated more urgently as Max stood up and began to pull on the items of clothing—denims, and boxer shorts—that littered the bedroom carpet.
He zipped his jeans over perfect hips before answering her. ‘Leaving you to get some more sleep.’
‘But—’
‘I need to get home to shower and change; I have an early appointment this morning, Abby.’ He moved to sit on her side of the bed, reaching down to caress the hair from her face, smoothing the frown from between her eyes with the pad of his thumb. ‘I’ll call you later, okay?’
No, it was not okay. She didn’t want him to leave, didn’t want to go back to sleep, wanted the two of them to make love again. And again. And again. She wanted Max to stay!
Her absolute certainty from last night, of loving and being loved, began to fade in the increasing daylight in the bedroom. Max’s expression revealed not
hing of what he did or didn’t feel towards her. Last night had been incredible, a revelation to Abby, but she could see none of that reflected in Max’s face. In fact, his expression was once again totally unreadable.
Abby felt like crying.
Max looked at her searchingly for several long seconds, and then he was gone from the side of the bed, standing up forcefully. ‘I will call you, Abby.’
‘When?’ she asked—and despised herself for doing so. She sounded like someone clinging to a man who didn’t want to be clung to.
‘Later,’ he promised harshly, before turning away to stride into the other room—probably in order to collect the rest of his abandoned clothes.
Abby’s instinct was to follow him—an instinct she instantly resisted, instead lying unmoving in the bed, her hearing acutely attuned as she heard Max dressing, talking briefly to Monty, heard her apartment door opening and then closing softly seconds later.
Max had gone.
After sharing with her the most beautiful, memorable experience, he had simply dressed and left.
Because last night hadn’t meant the same to him as it had to her?
The tears began to fall then, hot rivers of them, scouring and burning as deeply as the love she now felt for Max.
Love. A word, she realised with painful hindsight, that had never passed Max’s lips.
CHAPTER SEVEN
‘HAS anyone ever told you you’re an extremely difficult woman to find?’
Abby glanced up from the sheets of information strewn across the desk in front of her, no welcome in her expression as she watched Gary Holmes stroll into the room uninvited to perch on the edge of her desk, boyishly handsome.
‘Do you mind?’ she snapped, looking at him pointedly as he sat on some of the papers she had been reading. Or at least attempting to read.
It was an effort to distract herself from thinking about Max and his abrupt departure this morning. Not that it was working at the moment. For her there was nothing except Max.
Even though it had only been five-thirty when he’d left, she hadn’t slept after he had gone. Her year of working on breakfast television had disciplined her into waking early and alert; it was a habit she hadn’t yet managed to shake off, and Max’s sudden departure had completely robbed her of any desire for further sleep anyway.
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