Crazy for Love

by Victoria Dahl

  My God, what was wrong with her? Where was her grief and depression and rage and self-examination?

  Even now, knowing that the shit was about to hit the fan, knowing Max could be swept up in this, all she could think was that this was going to be her last night on the island, and she wanted to spend it with him.

  She didn’t care that the hearing was coming up, and that she’d learn more awful things about a man she’d supposedly loved. She didn’t care that Jenn was obviously whitewashing the gossip she fed her. She didn’t even care that Max was rightfully angry. She just wanted to crawl back into his bed and lose herself in the hottest chemistry she’d ever felt.

  Tomorrow, Island Chloe would disappear, swallowed up by the inescapable wheels of the twenty-four-hour news cycle. Chloe didn’t want to let her go without a fight.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  MAX PACED AROUND THE CABIN, crowded by the four walls and hunted by the photographers outside. He edged open the curtain just in time to see the last photographer packing it up as the sky turned from twilight to dusk. Three more of them had arrived on the second ferry, and even though Max hadn’t been their primary target, they’d all turned cameras on him whenever he’d opened the door. They didn’t know what connection he had to Chloe, but they’d seen him go into her place.

  “I knew celibacy was a good idea,” he muttered to the windowpane before turning to glare at his brother. “I can’t believe you didn’t warn me.”

  “I didn’t recognize her!” Elliott protested.

  Oh, Elliott had confessed to knowing the whole damn jilted Bridezilla story. But he’d only overheard details in the office and had never connected a name or face to the story. Unfortunately.

  “Let me see your phone again.”

  Elliott groaned. “Why?”

  “You know why.”

  “You’ve looked at enough of those Web sites.”

  Max dropped into the recliner he’d pulled in front of the window and let his head fall back against the cushion. He had looked at enough of the sites, but his hands itched to scroll through a few more. “None of it makes any sense. She doesn’t seem crazy at all.”

  “So maybe she’s not.”

  “Yeah, well, the next time a woman drives you to fake your own death, I’ll be sure to give her the benefit of the doubt.”

  “Come on,” Elliott argued. “The guy is obviously a loser.”

  Max slumped lower in the chair. “That doesn’t exactly recommend her, either, does it?”

  A few heartbeats passed in silence before Elliott muttered, “You’re being a dick.”

  He couldn’t help but agree. Chloe had shoved him off his axis, and he was happily lashing out. “She lied to me.”

  “That’s true. But you’re still acting like a dick.”

  “Fuck off.” He wasn’t going to rescue her. He wasn’t. Even if the need to rush in and save her was spiraling through his limbs, twisting his muscles into painful knots. Max set his jaw and rubbed hard at his thigh. “It’s not my problem. I’m not going to make it my problem.”

  “Why would you? You’re only sleeping with her.”

  He’d never punched his brother in the face, but the urge nearly overwhelmed him in that moment. “You don’t understand.”

  “I guess I don’t. We’re not in the real world on this island. It’s a fantasy. Does Chloe know anything more about you than your job?”

  Ah, there was the rub. The jagged edge scraping him raw. Chloe knew something important about him. Something no one else knew. And somehow he’d missed everything about her. He’d looked into her eyes and called her peaceful and normal and sweet, and the truth seemed to be the complete opposite of his elaborate delusion.

  “What the hell do you want me to do?” he muttered. “Go over and work it all out with a few hours of therapeutic talk? This thing between us was a little vacation fun. That’s all. It was going to end in a few days, anyway. And she’s got way too much going on to worry about me.”

  “Huh,” Elliott answered. “Do you smell frantic justification or is that just me?”

  He doesn’t understand, Max told himself again. Not getting involved with someone like Chloe Turner…this was the number one mission in Max’s life right now. He couldn’t give up the ship, he couldn’t turn his back on people who depended on him for their safety, but he could at least have some damn peace in his personal life.

  Pushing open the window, Max let the humid sea air wash over him. He breathed deeply, feeling as though he’d been locked in the cabin for weeks. What must it feel like to Chloe, who must be stalked like this in her own home? Shit.

  She had to be freaking out. Crazy or not, nobody could enjoy that.

  Then again, Genevieve had loved the attention, frenzied as it was. But that didn’t fit Chloe’s behavior. Genevieve would’ve been out on the beach in a big hat and a bikini, pretending to ignore the photographers while giving them her best angle.

  Shit.

  Elliott made a strangled sound behind him, so Max twisted around to see him staring at his phone. “What is it?”

  “The gossip sites are reporting that Chloe Turner’s been living it up here on the island. There are several confirmed reports that she came here to be alone with her lover. There’s a picture of you coming out of her cabin.”

  “You’re kidding me.”

  “This is funny. ‘A source has confirmed that the boyfriend’s name is Elliott Sullivan.’”

  “What?” Max sprang up from the chair, alarmed at the bitter jealousy that shot through him at hearing his brother’s name. How ridiculous was that?

  “I’ll bet the source is someone at the hotel. My name is on the room registry.”

  Max paced the small living room. “I can’t believe we’ve gotten caught up in this.”

  “I thought you were used to this. Genevieve was on the front page pretty often, wasn’t she?”

  Max waved a dismissive hand. He’d had nothing to do with that part of Genevieve’s life. It hadn’t touched him, even when his name had been printed next to hers. So why the hell did the gossip about Chloe feel like torture?

  “You think I should go talk to her?”

  Elliott snorted in answer.

  “I guess talking won’t hurt anything.”

  “Just go. If you don’t, you’re going to look like an asshole when I go over and ask Jenn if she wants to have a beer on the porch with me.”

  Well, that left him with no choice, really. Elliott wanted to see Jenn. Max wasn’t going to stand in the way of that.

  You’re pitiful, his inner voice whispered, and Max resolutely ignored it and headed across the sand.

  His heart beat like mad as he stepped up to Chloe’s porch and raised his hand to knock. This was exactly the kind of behavior he meant to leave behind. This was exactly who he didn’t want to be. And still, he set his knuckles hard to the wood, flinching at the crack of sound.

  There was no response from within, not even a murmur of voices or a rustle of sound. “It’s me,” he said, then feebly added, “Max,” as an afterthought, wondering if that would help or hurt. Were they not answering because it might be a journalist or because it might be him?

  If Chloe didn’t answer, it would be a good thing. He would walk away, guilt-free. Well, not guilt-free, really. He never walked away from anything guilt-free. But he could tell himself and Elliott that he’d done what he could. He’d made the attempt.

  Just as he was sighing with relief, the scarred wooden door opened so quickly it created a breeze.

  “Max,” Chloe gasped, and his relief shifted to a sudden, startling pain that stabbed through his heart. Chloe. Eyes swollen and face pale, she shouldn’t look beautiful, but she did. She looked…needy. All the cells in Max’s body strained forward at the thought.

  Christ, he was a mess.

  “I wanted to see how you were doing.”

  She eased her head past the door frame and looked from left to right. “Are they gone?”

  �
�They’re gone.”

  “Are you sure? They could be using night vision.”

  “Yikes. You don’t really think—”

  “They’ve done it before,” she snapped, and Max winced in sympathy. “I’m sorry.”

  She shook her head, clearing some thought from her mind. “Did you want to come in?”

  “Sure, I…” He let the words fade away. He wasn’t sure why he was there or why he wanted to come in, but he did.

  Luckily, Chloe didn’t need an explanation. She just swung the door wide and offered him a tentative smile.

  Max walked in, waving to Jenn. She finished rinsing off a dish at the sink, then wiped her hands and headed for the front door.

  “Jenn, you don’t need to…” He let the halfhearted offer go, both because she obviously wasn’t listening and because he was thinking of his brother.

  Jenn closed the door behind her, and Max and Chloe were alone.

  “So…” Max tucked his hands into his pockets, took a deep breath and asked the question he’d asked so many times before. “Do you want to talk about it?”

  “I USED TO BE THAT GIRL,” Chloe started. “The one you thought I was. I used to be average and normal and happy. I was calm. My boyfriend was average and normal, too. I even thought he was happy.” She flashed a smile at that, though her amusement was admittedly edged with anger. But her anger faded in the face of Max. He looked so sweet, filling up her couch, his ankle propped on one knee, a beer balanced carefully on the other.

  Chloe took a deep breath. “He was a good, steady boyfriend. I thought he’d make a good, steady husband. Now I can look back and see that his proposal didn’t make me see unicorns or anything.”

  “Unicorns?” He looked baffled.

  “You know, hearts and stars. But I didn’t care. We got along well, his mom loved me, and I could picture growing old with him. So I said yes.”

  “That seems…unromantic.”

  “In retrospect, yes. I’m an accountant. I’m careful. I’m not the freak show they’ve made me out to be, Max. I did everything right. And look where that got me.”

  “But how did this happen?”

  “I have no idea. We started planning the wedding. It was a little hectic because his mother kept insisting on how everything should be done. I liked her, but she’s got a spine of steel, and I think she supplemented it with Thomas’s spine, because his was obviously missing. Oops. Did I say that?”

  He gave her a little half smile. “I didn’t hear a thing.”

  “I admit that I wanted the wedding to be perfect. I wanted everyone to have a great time. Maybe I got carried away with the plans and trying to accommodate Thomas’s mom, but I didn’t do half the things the gossip sites say I did.”

  Max glanced down to his beer and the tips of his ears reddened. Clearly, he’d been exploring those Web sites today.

  “Yes, I cried at the dressmaker’s, but I never, ever yelled at anyone in a store. I don’t do that. And my cousin is an attention-seeking brat, so you can toss out every single word she’s said about me. The same goes for my freshman roommate.”

  “Did you really order him to have his tattoo surgically removed before the wedding?”

  “Oh my God. Where did you read that? His mother was the one who hated the tattoo. Which was a tiny ankh on the inside of his wrist, by the way. Feel free to call him a pussy. Oh, jeez.” Chloe slapped a hand over her mouth and muttered a muffled “Sorry.”

  “That’s fine, but I probably shouldn’t mention the little butterfly tat on my ass.”

  “At least that would be something different.”

  “For a guy, anyway.”

  “Seen a lot of butterfly-graced asses, have you?”

  Max winked, giving a flash of his carefree-playboy persona.

  “Regardless, it wasn’t true. Just as it’s not true that I bankrupted my parents with the wedding bills, or ordered all my bridesmaids to lose weight, or threw a sample bouquet at the florist’s face.”

  He cocked an eyebrow. “But did you sleep with my brother? Because that’s news I could use.”

  The question made her laugh, even if her laughter was tinged with despair. “I’m so sorry. If I thought there was any chance of dragging you into this… I was stupid. The isolation of this place lulled me into a false sense of security.”

  He nodded. “Was it the woman at the bar last night?”

  “I assume so. She recognized me. It was her or one of her friends or one of their friends. It doesn’t matter. That woman can join the long list of people who’ve ratted me out to the paparazzi. My cousin, my neighbor, my hairstylist, my manicurist, the woman who sold me tennis shoes last week. I guess I should just count myself lucky that my gynecologist isn’t a publicity hound.”

  “Don’t worry.” He patted her hand. “I’ll fill that gap.”

  “Oh, God,” Chloe choked out on a horrified giggle. “That’s terrible.”

  “Oh, you’ll get high marks.”

  She slapped his thigh hard enough to make him yelp, but when she stopped laughing, the horror was still there, bouncing around inside her hollow chest. “You, um… You wouldn’t talk to them, though, right?”

  Max’s normally friendly mouth snapped into a scowl that he aimed at his foot. Though she leaned forward a little, he didn’t meet her eyes. “That’s awful,” he murmured.

  “I’m sorry. It has nothing to do with you. But everyone seems to…not that I think you’re like everyone else. I honestly don’t believe you’d talk to the press, but…”

  “I mean, it’s awful that you have to think that way, Chloe.”

  “I guess,” she murmured, then decided to jump right into the conversation she wanted to have. “So Jenn and I are leaving tomorrow.”

  “What?”

  “The chaos is only going to get worse. There’s no point in staying, and I don’t want to drag you any deeper into it. So we’re leaving.”

  “And then what’s going to happen?”

  She shrugged. “The police are still investigating, but the arraignment is coming up soon. Hopefully, as soon as the charges have been filed, interest will die down. It can’t go on much longer. Another scandal will come along. I just have to hold on until all the questions have been answered.”

  Max’s hand touched her thigh, his thumb dragging back and forth over one small patch of skin. “What kinds of questions?”

  “What were his plans? Will he get jail time? Did he have help?”

  “Did he?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t know who would’ve helped him. Then again, he never did anything on his own. He’s a total mama’s boy. He owns his own home and car and has a good job, but all of that was provided by his mother.”

  “So maybe he wasn’t trying to escape you. Maybe he was escaping his mother.”

  Hope jumped inside her like an unleashed spring. Maybe it hadn’t been her. Maybe she’d just been caught in the crossfire of an Oedipal war. “It’s possible.”

  “Once he was arrested, he couldn’t very well point the finger at Mommy, right? She’s the one who’s going to get him out of this mess.”

  Chloe was so shocked by the logic of his words that she rocked back in her seat. “Maybe you’re right. I never thought of it that way. How did you come up with that so fast?”

  “I’m removed from the situation. It’s easy for me. Plus I’m something of an expert at crisis management.”

  “Oh. Right. You take care of people.”

  “I do.” He smiled as if that were a comforting thought, but Chloe felt a flash of sympathy for all the charity cases that had come before her. Sadly, she was one of them now.

  But…beggars couldn’t be choosers. “So I’ll leave tomorrow, and there’ll be an arraignment, and hopefully it will all go away. Maybe in a month or two I’ll be able to get my life back together.”

  He nodded and wrapped his hand around hers, which made her next words easier.

  “So I thought… I hoped that even though you’r
e mad and shocked and all that… I hoped maybe you’d stay.”

  “Stay?”

  “Tonight. Just tonight.”

  His fingers, still laced between hers, twitched. Good twitch or bad twitch?

  “I understand if you don’t want to.”

  “Of course I want to.”

  “But?”

  His chest expanded on a silent draw of breath. “But nothing. I’m not going anywhere.”

  The words loosened some tight coil in her chest, and the relief rose up, up, up until it reached her eyes. Blinking hard, she tried not to let the tears fall. “Okay.”

  “Okay,” he whispered, his gaze on her wet lashes.

  Shit. She didn’t want to cry. Didn’t want to be another project for him to fix. But in the end, he fixed her problem, too, because when he leaned in to kiss her, crying was the last thing on her mind.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  JENN WALKED DOWN THE BEACH as fast as she could. The damp sand, packed nearly as hard as cement by the retreating tide, aided her frantic pace.

  Everything was falling apart.

  She pushed Chloe not to read the news about the case because it wasn’t good for her. All the speculation, the vicious rumors… Chloe didn’t need to see that. But lately she’d been pushing Chloe away from the Internet for purely selfish reasons: Details of the investigation were starting to come out, and some of them were uncomfortably accurate.

  Jenn was getting better at lying, and she hated that. She knew when she’d need to censor the latest stories, so she hesitated over details she didn’t mind revealing, just so she could offer those in place of the rumors she didn’t want to tell. Rumors that someone had taken pity on the poor, beleaguered bridegroom and agreed to help him escape his wedding. Rumors that this woman had fallen in love with him. Rumors that she’d planned to run away with him.

  Jenn was fighting a losing battle, but she couldn’t make her hands loosen their grip. Rumors were just rumors, and there was every chance the police wouldn’t discover the truth. Thomas had good reason to keep up his little song and dance. Right now, the press had cast him as a pitiful but sympathetic figure. A hapless, henpecked, harmless chap, just wanting to steal a little joy for his sad life. But if they found out the truth about him, Thomas would be recast as a cheating coward.