by Susan Lewis
He pondered her question for a moment. ‘No, I don’t think so,’ he answered. ‘By the time Carolyn died I’d about had it with the life-style we were leading, so it was no loss when all our so-called friends found other parties to go to and other sources to tap for “the next big project”.’
Rhiannon’s eyebrows rose. ‘Does that mean you were once into financing movies?’ she said.
He smiled and picked up his wine. ‘Sure,’ he answered. ‘I still am, but I let Maurice and Ellis handle things these days. Shall we drink a toast?’ he suggested.
Rhiannon picked up her glass.
‘Let’s drink to you,’ he said, his eyes resting wholly on hers. ‘Welcome to Los Angeles.’
‘Thank you,’ she smiled, touching her glass to his and hoping beyond hope that the hundred ways in which she wanted him weren’t reflected in her eyes.
The assistant manager arrived then and proceeded to describe the house specials. Rhiannon listened attentively and couldn’t remember a thing when he’d finished. Without even glancing at the menu Max handed it back and ordered the blackened swordfish. Looking quickly down the list in front of her, Rhiannon hit on the spinach fettucini with smoked salmon and passed her menu over too. She wasn’t in the slightest bit hungry, but the wine was making her light-headed.
‘You know, you intrigue me,’ she said, resting her chin on her hand and daring to look him in the eye.
He laughed and leaning slightly towards her as he indicated the other diners, he said, ‘If you were to ask any of them, I think you’d find that you are generating far more interest than I am right now.’
‘Because I’m with you,’ she pointed out.
‘Which puts me at a distinct advantage over them,’ he said. ‘Because I can find out exactly who you are just by asking.’
‘You already know who I am,’ she reminded him, not unaware of how very adeptly he had managed to steer the subject away from himself.
He grinned. ‘I thought you English were big on subtext,’ he teased.
‘Generally we are,’ she responded, ‘but I’m never too sure with Americans.’
Laughing again, he took a sip of wine and held her eyes. ‘They tell me you produce a pretty good show back in London,’ he said.
‘I used to,’ she corrected. ‘I was ousted just before coming here.’
His surprise seemed genuine, so too did his concern. Then nodding he said, ‘That explains a few things I heard in your phone call. Do you think you’ll have any trouble finding a new job?’
She shrugged. ‘I might. I’ve got a music quiz to go back to, but it’s not really my thing. To tell you the truth, I’d like to find something here. Oh, God, what do I sound like?’ she groaned, feeling suddenly self-conscious and trying to cover it with a laugh. ‘The whole world wants to make it big in LA, so what makes me so different? Nothing, is the answer. The trouble is, when you’re here it actually seems possible. But it’s just a dream because I don’t have a work permit, nor do I stand much chance of getting one.’
‘Have you tried?’ he asked.
She shook her head. ‘I wouldn’t know where to start.’
‘Then I’ll have Ula put you in touch with a couple of immigration lawyers. Speak to them, you never know, it might not be as difficult as you think.’
She smiled her surprise. ‘Thank you,’ she said.
For a moment he looked as though he was about to say more, then appearing to change his mind, he looked down at where his fingers were resting on the stem of his glass.
Rhiannon’s eyes moved over his face, following the long sweep of his lashes, the Slavic flare of his nostrils, the harshness of his jaw, the fullness of his mouth. She wanted him so badly that she could almost feel the pressure of his lips on hers, the touch of his breath on her skin, the weight of his body, the invading hardness of his cock . . . Stopping herself, she turned to her reflection in the window and forced herself to think of Lizzy.
Several minutes passed until finally Rhiannon said, ‘Did I say something to offend you?’
He looked up, but his expression was unreadable as the candlelight flickered in his eyes and he started to smile. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said, ‘I was . . .’
‘Hi, how are you doing here?’ Cindy gushed, plucking their wine bottle from the bucket beside the table. ‘Can I get you folks anything?’
Max’s irritation was palpable and Cindy’s cheeks paled as she struggled to understand what she had done wrong.
Easing the bottle from her hand, Rhiannon thanked her, told her she could go, then topping up their glasses herself she returned the bottle to the ice. When she looked at him again Max was laughing.
‘You’re pretty terrifying, you know,’ she told him.
‘I don’t seem to terrify you.’
She thought about that for a moment. ‘Do you want to terrify me?’ she asked.
‘No.’
‘You did when I first met you.’
‘Shall I apologize again?’
She shook her head. ‘No need.’ Then in a pensive voice she said, ‘I wonder if you terrify Galina. I must make a point of asking her.’
He gave a shout of laughter. ‘I don’t know anyone in this world who frightens Galina,’ he said. ‘In fact, I swear she’s incapable of fear.’
Rhiannon smiled. ‘You may well be right,’ she said. Then after a pause, ‘I was wondering, was yours one of the families she used to stay with during school holidays all those years ago?’
He nodded. ‘My grandfather had something of a passion for her grandmother,’ he said. ‘But the old lady rarely came with her, which was a great disappointment to him.’ He smiled. ‘It would make the old guy happy to know that Galina and I are getting married,’ he said. ‘I think it would put things straight for him.’
‘Is that why you’re marrying her?’ Rhiannon said, managing to make it sound like the most natural question in the world when in truth she couldn’t quite believe she’d said it.
He looked at her, assessing her, then slanting his eyes towards the window he stared out at the darkness for a while. ‘I’m marrying Galina because I love her,’ he said, bringing his eyes back to hers.
Rhiannon blushed as her heart turned over and she quickly looked away. ‘I’m sorry,’ she whispered. ‘It was unforgivably rude of me to suggest otherwise.’
Their food was set down in front of them and picking up her fork Rhiannon began to twist the fettucini. Max drank some more wine, then lifting his cutlery he started on the fish.
They ate in a silence that was so awful that it was all Rhiannon could do to stop herself apologizing again, which she would have had she not wanted just to forget it had happened. She was trying desperately to think of something to say, anything that might get them over this terrible impasse, but she couldn’t get her mind to function beyond the glaring belief that he was lying; that he didn’t love Galina at all. Or maybe it was just what she wanted to believe.
‘Do you ever see Maguire now?’ he asked, breaking the silence at last.
‘You asked me that the other day,’ she reminded him. ‘The answer is no.’
He nodded and putting down his fork he picked up his wine again. ‘Did you love him very much?’ he asked.
Feeling the knot in her stomach tightening, Rhiannon nodded. ‘Yes. Enough to consider going back to him,’ she said.
Max’s eyes widened. ‘After what he did?’
Rhiannon’s eyes dropped to the table. ‘I won’t do it,’ she said, ‘but I’ve thought about it. I mean, when something like that happens . . . Well, it’s so hard to deal with that sometimes it’s easier to pretend that it didn’t happen at all. And Oliver’s nothing if not a master of pretence. Or should I call it self-delusion? Whatever, it was an experience I’d prefer never to have had, and one that I think will make it very hard for me to trust anyone again.’
Max nodded thoughtfully, then said, ‘Were you faithful to him?’
Surprised by the question Rhiannon said, ‘From th
e day we met.’ Then remembering Galina’s other men she looked down at her plate again. ‘Are you faithful to Galina?’ she ventured after a while.
He laughed. ‘Yes, I’m faithful to Galina,’ he said.
‘But she sleeps with other men.’
‘I’m afraid so.’
‘Why? If she loves you.’
‘Does she love me?’
‘She says she does,’ Rhiannon whispered, feeling horribly out of her depth.
He smiled, then sighing he said, ‘The biggest problem Galina and I have is that she loves me. If she didn’t this would all be so much easier.’
Rhiannon frowned. ‘I’m not sure I follow,’ she said.
He was silent for a while, then looking up he said, ‘It means a lot to her, you being here, you know?’
‘Then I’m glad I came,’ Rhiannon said.
His eyebrows flickered, then setting down his knife and fork he picked up the wine bottle and emptied it into their glasses.
Rhiannon’s plate was still half full, but she could eat no more. She was so tense that her neck and shoulders were aching and her hands were almost rigid. He was one of the hardest men to be with she had ever come across, yet there was nowhere else on God’s earth she’d rather be.
‘I’m going to be honest with you, Max,’ she said, after their plates had been cleared, ‘I get the distinct impression that something is wrong in yours and Galina’s lives. Please don’t think I’m asking what it is, I’m just saying that . . .’ She felt herself start to colour as she suddenly realized what she was saying. ‘Well, if you need someone to talk to,’ she went on lamely, wishing desperately that she had never started.
‘Thank you,’ he smiled. His eyes were gently searching her face as he waited for her embarrassment to pass. ‘I’m not saying you’re right about there being something wrong,’ he went on when she looked at him again, ‘but if you are, then I’m going to ask you for Galina’s sake, for all our sakes, not to try to find out what it is. Just be a friend to her, is all I ask, because she needs all the friends she can get.’
As he spoke Rhiannon felt her heart tightening, for there was no question in her mind now that he did love Galina, that he loved her perhaps more than he could bear.
Then surprising her again he said, ‘Would you like to walk on the beach?’
Rhiannon smiled. ‘I thought it was dangerous at night,’ she said.
His eyes were dancing. ‘I think we should be OK,’ he said drolly.
It was just after ten when they left the restaurant, just after midnight when they finally returned to Galina’s apartment. As Rhiannon slid the key in the lock she was laughing and breathless and still, despite the short drive back, slightly flushed from the sea air. It had been an incredible two hours spent paddling in the waves, shouting above the roar of the ocean and digging their toes into the sand as they sat talking and watching the moonlight ripple over the sea. It had been another Max entirely that she had encountered then, a Max who was as light-hearted and humorous as he was candid and relaxed. He’d spoken a lot about his children, making her laugh with the dry, self-mocking tones of his pride and telling her without actually saying it how very deeply he loved them. He’d told her about Carolyn, his wife, how they’d met, how unsatisfactory the marriage had been, yet how very hard they had both tried to make it work. He’d said nothing about the way she’d died and Rhiannon hadn’t asked. She’d simply listened as he’d opened up to her in a way she had the feeling was rare for him. And she had done the same, telling him things about herself and her family, her hopes and her fears that until now she had barely known herself. As serious as some of their subjects were, they’d found plenty to laugh about too and even now, as Rhiannon pushed open the door and switched on the lights, she could feel her heart tripping on the laughter she knew was in his eyes.
He was such a paradox, she was thinking to herself as she dropped the keys on a table and watched him walk into the kitchen to put on some coffee. His moods changed so swiftly and each one, when it came, felt as irrevocable as the next. He was exhausting, yet exhilarating and so breath-takingly perceptive that now they were no longer in the protective shadows of moonlight she didn’t dare to look at him directly for fear he might read her thoughts.
‘Do you take it white or black?’ he said, setting two coffee cups on their saucers.
‘White, but there isn’t any cream,’ she answered, curling into the corner of the sofa and resting her chin on one hand as she watched him. Beneath the black polo shirt and beige cotton trousers he was wearing she could see the solid outline of his body, but not wanting to torment herself any more she let her eyelids drop.
Looking up and seeing her eyes closed he smiled. ‘You tired?’ he asked. ‘Maybe I should go. It’s pretty late.’
‘No! No,’ she said, almost tripping over herself in her haste. ‘I’m fine, I was just thinking, that’s all.’
His eyes held hers and her cheeks flamed as she prayed desperately that he hadn’t picked up on her thoughts.
‘So?’ he prompted, carrying the coffee around the kitchen bar and setting it down on the table in front of her. ‘You going to share whatever it was you were thinking? It looked pretty good.’
Rhiannon swallowed hard and tried to push herself past the note of intimacy that had crept into his voice. She was imagining it and she knew it, but still she was responding to it. ‘I was just thinking about this Saturday,’ she said, picking up her coffee as he relaxed into the facing chair, What astonishing perversity of mind had suddenly launched her into the very last subject on earth she wanted to discuss right now she would never know.
‘You mean the wedding?’ he said.
She nodded, then tilting her head curiously to one side she said, ‘You know, I’ve started to think that it’s all a hoax, that there’s not actually a wedding this weekend at all.’
He laughed. ‘Why on earth would you think that?’ he said.
She shrugged. ‘I don’t know. I suppose because there don’t seem to be many arrangements going on and no one seems to talk about it – at least not very much.’
‘Believe me,’ he said, ‘were you over at the house you’d be talking about nothing else and the only thing you’d be in any doubt about is whether the ceremony’s taking place in the house or the garden. Galina can’t make up her mind and as of this afternoon she’s refusing to discuss it.’
Rhiannon gave a laugh of surprise. ‘But it’s her wedding,’ she protested. ‘How can she not discuss it?’
His dark eyes showed only humour as he said, ‘Galina can do pretty much anything when she puts her mind to it.’
Rhiannon looked at him and knew that were her mind not so clouded by the way she felt about him, she would probably be handling this much better. As it was, she barely knew what she was saying until the words had left her lips. ‘Are you looking forward to Saturday?’ she asked, twisting her own knife.
He grinned and leaning forward put his cup back on the table. ‘That’s a hard one,’ he said. ‘I guess I’ll be glad when it’s over.’
‘Have you made any plans for a honeymoon?’
His eyebrows went up and his eyes were suddenly fixed so very intently on hers that Rhiannon felt herself starting to blush.
In the end he got to his feet. ‘Time I was going,’ he said.
Rhiannon stood too and walked to the door ahead of him. ‘Thank you,’ she said, turning to face him. ‘I really enjoyed the evening.’
His expression was unreadable as he looked down at her, but there was an intensity about his eyes that was turning her weak with longing and she knew she had never been so close to begging a man to stay. ‘I’m glad we’ve become friends,’ she said softly.
Long minutes ticked by. Rhiannon could feel her breasts rising and falling as her breath shortened and her heartbeat thumped. Her eyes remained rooted to his as sharp, insistent pangs of lust buried themselves deeply inside her and the need to touch him grew to a point she couldn’t bear.
> At last he moved and as his hand covered her breast her lips parted and her knees almost gave way. His eyes held hers with a power that was almost as sensuous as the caress and as his fingers tightened on her aching nipple she groaned aloud.
He watched her, never taking his eyes from her face as his hand moved over her breasts. She looked back at him, telling him with her eyes that he could do anything he pleased, anything at all.
He leaned forward, covering her mouth with his and pushing his tongue deep inside. Then letting her go, he gazed down at her again while taking the hem of her T-shirt and pulling it over her head. She could feel herself trembling as his hand travelled over the flimsy lace of her bra and unable to wait she reached behind her and unfastened the clasp.
As she bared herself to him he looked down at her, brushing the backs of his fingers over her hard, protruding nipples, stooping to suck them into his mouth, then lifting his head to look down into her face again.
‘I want you to fuck me,’ she whispered.
His eyes seemed to flash as his jaw hardened and before she knew what was happening she was in his arms and he was kissing her with an urgency she had never felt in a man before. Within seconds their clothes were on the floor and she was falling to her knees to take him in her mouth.
He held her head as she sucked him, twisting her hair in his hands and pushing himself deep into her throat. Leaning over her, he ran his hands over her buttocks, then pushed a finger inside her. Crying out she fell against him, clinging to him as the sensation tore through her body. Then suddenly he pulled her to her feet, shoved her against the door and drove his fingers deep inside her as his tongue entered her mouth. She could hear herself moaning as she melted against the pressure of his fingers, then he was lifting her up, wrapping her legs around his waist and penetrating her fast. She cried out again, her voice echoing in his throat as he pumped himself into her with short, hard strokes. His lips were still on hers, their tongues were entwined, his hands were squeezing her buttocks and his penis was forcing her past all limits of sensation.
‘Oh my God,’ she murmured, her head falling back against the door as he pulled his mouth from hers and began to increase the length and speed of his strokes. Her head spun from side to side, her fingers dug into his shoulders and her back arched as she pushed her breasts to his mouth. She had never made love like this before, had never begged anyone to fuck her the way she was begging him now. She was so dazed by lust that she barely knew what was happening as he carried her to the table, his penis still buried inside her, his mouth still brutally claiming hers. But she knew it when he turned her over and penetrated her from behind, she knew it too when he stretched her arms out across the table, then circled her waist with his hands and rammed himself into her with such force that the exploding pulses of her orgasm gripped his penis as savagely as her hands gripped the table. It was as though her entire body was convulsing with the power of a release that refused to complete. She was sobbing, sinking her teeth into her arm and gasping for breath as he pushed himself into her, again and again and again. Then he was lifting her up, pressing her head back on his shoulder and burying his tongue in her mouth. His hands were holding her breasts, pulling her nipples and moving to the join in her legs. With his fingers and his mouth and the savagery of his pounding hips he drew her orgasm out to the point where she could no longer stand. She sank back against him and holding her as he exploded inside her, he stroked her and kissed her and pressed her to him until he was spent.
