by Maisey Yates
When he’d seen Alison on the ground with that pack of wolves surrounding her…it had taken all of his self-control to stop himself from beating the man who’d touched her until he was unconscious. In that moment, seeing the paparazzi around her…it had been a return to the darkest moments of his life. He’d been able to imagine far too clearly what it would be like to lose her, to lose the baby. It had felt as though his world was caving in. She was starting to matter far too much, this whole tentative future with a wife and child was starting to mean too much. He had let it all go before, had had no choice but to give up on that desire. And now it had become the center of everything again. He had not intended for that to be the case.
It had seemed a simple task to keep her at arm’s length. And she’d seemed more than happy to hold herself separate from him. He’d thought he could exorcize the intense passion he felt for her by making love with her, and yet every night his need for her only seemed stronger.
He’d loved Selena, but he had been in control of that love. She’d needed him, had looked to him for her everything, for comfort, for strength. That had been a role he was comfortable with then. He’d liked that she’d depended on him.
But Alison had burrowed beneath his skin. She had made herself important to him, essential in so many ways.
“Nothing was going to happen to me!” she protested.
“They knocked you over and still their only thought was getting the dirt on you, on us, digging up whatever scandal they possibly could. The night Selena was killed, they’d been following her. After the accident they took pictures,” he spat. “They wanted to know if she was drunk, or on drugs. They wanted scandal.”
Alison’s face paled. “I never knew. It was never in the paper…it didn’t…”
“I paid them off,” he said, his voice low. “There was no scandal anyway, but I feared they might publish the pictures. I bought them and had them destroyed.”
Her eyes filled with tears, for him, for Selena. It rocked him, made his heart seize and his chest ache. She cupped his face and kissed him tenderly, her lips soft against his.
“I’m so sorry,” she whispered.
He wanted to pull away, to leave so that he could gather his thoughts, regain control. But he couldn’t leave, not with her standing there, looking devastated and vulnerable and so beautiful she made his hands shake with desire for her. He cupped her chin and tilted her face up, kissing the streaks her tears had tracked on her lovely face.
His heart thundering in his chest, he began to release the buttons on her silk blouse, baring her demure lace bra. He swallowed, nearly undone by the fierce desire rocketing through him. But it was more than that, more than just physical need. He had never felt anything like this before, not with Selena, not with any woman. He felt incomplete unless he was touching her, kissing her, stroking her gorgeous body.
His mind rejected that thought even as his heart, his body, ached to be joined with her. He could not allow her to matter so much. He had loved Selena, but she had not touched him in this way, had not wielded this kind of power over his body and his emotions. And still, when he’d lost her it had felt as though his world had crumbled.
Alison meant far more to him. In that moment when he’d thought she might have been hurt he had been able to imagine losing her. It had been like staring into a dark void that was opening up, preparing to swallow him whole, leaving him with nothing but eternal blackness. He could not allow that. But he couldn’t stop kissing her.
He growled roughly and tightened his hold on her, kissing her hard, bruising her lips with the force of his passion, his rage. It was a kiss designed to punish her for what she made him feel, designed to reassert his dominance. He plundered her mouth, dipping his tongue deep inside before nipping the fullness of her bottom lip.
When he parted from her, her eyes were huge, her breathing ragged. Her nipples were beaded, pressed against the flimsy bra. She wanted him still, even though she’d been angry with him. And God help him, he wanted her.
He denied the refrain that was playing through his mind, denied the insistent tattoo of her name that was beating through him. It wasn’t about her. She wasn’t special. She was just a woman. And he was a man. He wanted what a man desired of a woman and nothing more. It wasn’t Alison; it was just sex. He had been without it for too long; that was why she affected him so strongly.
He backed her across the room and turned her so that she was facing away from him before bending her gently over the surface of the dresser that was positioned up against the wall.
“Max?” she asked tremulously.
“Trust me,” he grated.
He moved his hands up her still-slender waist, around to her stomach and over the little bump that housed their baby. His heart jumped and he curled his hands into fists before opening them again and palming her breasts, releasing the front clasp on her bra and letting it fall open. He covered the creamy mounds, squeezed her sensitized nipples, drawing a low, desperate moan from her lips.
He abandoned her breasts to push her skirt down her hips, taking her tiny pair of panties with it. He pressed his hand against her mound, pushing one finger through her slick folds and finding the bud that housed her most sensitive nerve endings. She shivered, her head falling back to rest against his chest. The sweet scent of her perfume, so uniquely her, assaulted him. He swept her hair to the side and kissed her neck, her bare shoulder.
Unsteadily he reached for the closure on his slacks and freed himself, bringing his naked flesh against the softness of her bottom. She gasped and arched into him, pressing the heart of her, her glorious wetness, up against his aching body.
Keeping one hand centered on her clitoris, stroking her mercilessly; he splayed his other hand across her stomach and tilted her back gently as he thrust into her tight heat.
He lost all sense of control, all sense of time. He had wanted to take her this way to make it impersonal, so he couldn’t see her face. But he knew…her scent, the feel of her soft skin beneath his hands, the soft sounds of pleasure that she made…the fact that his body had never responded this way to any other woman. It was Alison, and he could not deny it.
He kissed the side of her neck, gentled his touch on her breasts, let his hands slide over her soft curves. His heart squeezed in his chest. This was Alison. His woman. The mother of his child. There was no denying it, and he didn’t want to.
Suddenly he needed to see her, needed to watch her face as he brought her to the peak, needed to cradle her close to his body. He withdrew and swept her into his arms, crossing the room quickly and settling her onto the bed. “Alison,” he whispered, brushing her hair back off her forehead.
She raised her hands and cupped his cheek, the emotion in her eyes nearly undoing him completely. “Max.”
He entered her slowly, his entire body trembling with the effort to maintain control. She locked her arms around him, moved with him, her soft sighs of pleasure gratifying him in a way that went far beyond the physical. And after she had cried out her climax he rushed to follow her, and it was her name that he whispered hoarsely as he came hard, spilling himself inside her, branding her. Branding himself.
Emotion tightened his chest, squeezed down hard on his heart and refused to release him from its iron fist. The look in her eyes, the one of pure wonderment, affected him too much. He rolled away from her suddenly, pulling away from the feelings roiling inside of him.
She turned to her side, facing him, and his breath caught when the full impact of her beauty hit him. Her face was flushed, her mouth swollen. She had never looked more enticing, more lovely. He gritted his teeth against the rising tide of emotion that was threatening to swamp him.
“I have work to do.” He turned away from her and buckled his belt, his breathing ragged, his heart pounding hard. His instinct was to go to her, to hold her. But he wouldn’t allow himself that. Wouldn’t allow himself to show that level of weakness.
He could hear her behind him, collecting her clothin
g, and when he turned to face her again he could read the hurt and confusion she clearly felt. He didn’t have to say anything for her to know that he was distancing himself from her. That itself was enough for him to want distance. He didn’t want her feelings involved any more than he wanted to involve his own.
“I’ll be working late tonight. You should sleep in your own room,” he said, his voice clipped.
She flinched as though he’d struck her. “Okay.”
Her mobile phone rang and she reached down and fished it out of her purse, which had been thrown to the floor at some point in their frantic hurry to come together.
She checked the caller ID. “It’s the lab.” She answered, but neither her face nor her tone gave away any information. She hung up and focused on him, her lips pressed firmly together. “Congratulations. You’re the father. We’re ninety-nine-point-nine percent certain now.” She didn’t sound happy, she didn’t look happy.
Alison watched Maximo’s face, hoping for some kind of reaction, something she could hold onto to let her know that she hadn’t lost him, lost everything they’d built together in the past six weeks. When he’d withdrawn from her physically she’d felt his emotional withdrawal just as keenly, could see his dark eyes flatten as he walled his emotions off from her.
“I have to go,” he said, his dark eyes unreadable.
Alison tried to do what he’d done so easily, tried to block out the pain she knew was about to hit. But it was impossible. She loved him too much, and she was losing him already. He might never leave her, but she would never have his heart, either.
She pushed hard against her closed eyes, trying to stop tears from falling. She was going to be strong, for herself, for her baby. She would never let anyone know that her heart was shattered irreparably.
The fragrant air caressed her skin, the intense warmth of the summer day heating her. But only on the outside. Everything inside of her was cold.
She’d arrived on the island of Maris only twenty minutes ago, hoping she might find some solace for her pain. Instead being in the place where she had been so happy, where she had been awakened to love and making love, was a bittersweet pain. She had never felt more separate from him.
He’d been away on business more often than not over the course of the past week, and when he’d been home he’d been unfailingly polite. Distant. It was worse than his anger—at least that was passionate. He was acting like a stranger. He hadn’t made love with her, not since the day she’d been attacked by the paparazzi.
That was when things had changed. When he’d shut her out completely. Her worst fear was that it wasn’t related to the incident with the press, but that it had to do with him finding out for certain he was the father of her baby. Maybe he didn’t want them anymore. And now, his get-out-of-jail-free card had been taken away from him.
She moved away from the balcony and reentered the room. The one she and Max had shared when they’d stayed here. She shivered. It had been a stupid idea to come to the island. But her heart was breaking, splintering with every beat it took, and she had to try to fix it somehow.
Maybe if there would have been a big blow-up fight it would have been easier. If he’d said ugly things and told her he didn’t want her, maybe then her love would have died. But it had just been this sudden, silent break. He had withdrawn from her completely with no explanation, but the separation had been a no less definite or final feeling than if they had experienced some kind of dramatic end to their relationship.
The greatest irony was that their wedding was in two days. In two days they were going to stand before the congregation and make vows to love, honor and cherish each other. It would be difficult since they were barely speaking to each other.
She rested her palm on her burgeoning belly and felt renewed determination. She wasn’t destitute. She had her baby, the most precious thing in the world. She loved Max. She loved him so much it actually hurt, but their baby was a piece of them. They may not have created life in the usual, physical way, but the baby was the best of both of them.
She heard footsteps behind her on the travertine floor and turned, expecting to see Rosa Maria, the housekeeper. Instead she saw Max striding toward her. He was as intimidating as ever, a man who oozed control and sophistication. But there was something different. She noticed the fatigue etched in his handsome face. She could definitely relate.
“What are you doing here, Maximo?”
He laughed, the sound hollow, void of any joy or humor. “The same thing as you, I would imagine. Trying to escape.”
“What is it you need to escape from?”
He laughed again. “The same thing as you I would imagine.”
“Please, Max, I’m not up to playing games with you.”
“So it’s Max again, is it?” His voice softened and he took a step toward her.
“What do you mean?”
He gave her a half smile. “I was demoted to the more formal Maximo.”
“I didn’t even realize.”
“I did,” he said huskily.
Her throat tightened. She couldn’t take this. This tease. He didn’t want her. He was stuck with her.
“Why are you here?” she asked, anguish lacing her voice.
“This is where I’ve been for most of the past week,” he confessed.
“I thought you were working.”
“In a way I was.”
Frustration bubbled through her. “I don’t want your passion one moment and your silence the next. I can’t do hot and cold. I don’t know what happened to change things between us. But you won’t tell me. If I’ve done something then say it. If you’ve found someone else, or you’re simply tired of me, say it. Don’t freeze me out. Don’t make me play guessing games.”
“I’m not a man of words, Alison. I’m a man of actions. You may have noticed that,” he said with dark humor. “I don’t always say the right things. But I want the chance to make you understand me. To make you understand how I feel.”
She shook her head, her throat tightening with tears. “Don’t play with me.”
He took her hand, and their first physical contact in a week rocked her to her core. The wanting hadn’t gone away. Not even for a moment. She could see from the molten heat in his eyes that he felt the same.
“I’ve never been playing with you,” he said, his voice intense. “Please know that. I’ve handled things badly, but hurting you was the last thing I wanted.”
“But you did hurt me,” she said. “We promised we were going to talk about things, but we didn’t. You just shut me out, and I have no idea what happened to cause it.”
He raised his eyes and met hers; the stark, raw emotion in them shocked her. “I know,” he said roughly. “You cannot know how sorry I am. Please come with me, Alison.”
She nodded slowly and let him lead her from the villa. When she realized where they were headed she stopped. “Max. I can’t.”
“Trust me. Please.”
She took a breath and allowed him to take her the rest of the way to the art studio, her heart a leaden weight in her chest. This was the place where she had shed her inhibitions, where she had laid herself bare to him. Where she had lost her heart. Coming here was the worst sort of torture mingled with the sweetest of memories. They had been connected then, and even though she hadn’t been able to name the things he’d made her feel, it was where she’d fallen in love with him.
He opened the door and took her into the sun-bathed room. There was no question of what he had wanted her to see. It was there in the middle of the room, lit up by the incandescent natural light. It was her, but it wasn’t her. The woman captured on the canvas was beautiful. Her skin glowed with youth and joy. As though she had just been with her lover and he had left her satisfied. The painting was exquisitely detailed. Her hair was a lush mix of reds and golds, her flesh palest peach, her lips and nipples a dusky rose. Her eyes were closed, her full mouth curved, hinting at secrets. Secrets between her lover and herself, becau
se there could be no doubt that this woman was well-loved.
She looked at the painting piece by piece, something inside of her moved by it. The features were hers, but there was something more, something she didn’t see when she looked in the mirror. Something Maximo saw that she didn’t see in herself. It was more than a portrait, it was a revelation. A declaration. It spoke of feelings deeper than words; it mirrored what she felt in her heart.
“Max?”
“This is what I’ve been doing. I wasn’t working. I couldn’t work. My mind was filled with you, Alison.” He cupped her cheek and dropped a light kiss on her mouth. He tasted of desperation, of need, and her body responded; along with her heart.
“Max…”
“No, I have to say this. I was scared, Alison. Scared of how much you had come to mean to me. That day forced me to face what it might feel like if I were to lose you. I don’t think I could survive it. I realized how much you’d come to mean to me, how much I counted on seeing you every day, kissing you, making love with you. I realized how much I needed you. I did not want you to have so much power over me. I didn’t want to love you.” A sad smile touched his lips. “I tried to shut you out. To prove to you, and to myself, that I didn’t need you. I was very wrong.”
He kissed her fiercely and she parted her lips for him, closing her eyes as she reveled in being held again by the man that she loved.
He tilted his head and rested his forehead against hers. “I have more to say, but I’m afraid I won’t say it right. I need to show you first.” He kissed her neck, her cheek, her forehead. “Can I show you?” he asked against her lips.
“Yes,” she half sobbed, half laughed.
He lifted her shirt up over her head, exposing her sensitive breasts to his inspection. He groaned when he saw that she was bare beneath her shirt. “Oh, my darling, what you do to me.” He cupped her aching flesh reverently, his thumbs moving back and forth over her distended nipples. A cry formed on her lips and he kissed it away.
