Читать книгу The Brazilian's Blackmail Bargain - Эбби Грин, ABBY GREEN - Страница 8

THE next day at half past one, Maggie sat in her car outside Caleb’s offices, feeling hot and cold and clammy all at the same time. Her mind lurched from one dead end to another. Going home last night, she’d almost convinced herself that she could persuade her mother that they could start afresh somewhere, let the house go…anything so she wouldn’t have to become Caleb’s…chattel.

But when she’d arrived home she’d met the doctor on his way out. Panic had seized her, Caleb forgotten. The doctor had been grim. Things were not good. He’d said that he was afraid for her mother’s long-term health…her mental health in particular. That he hadn’t seen such acute grief in a long time. Miserably, Maggie knew exactly what was wrong.

The house being taken was just the straw breaking the camel’s back. And if anything placed her in a position of no going back, this was it. Even though she’d known deep down she’d never have had the heart to deny her mother this anyway. Not when she could do something about it. Not when she’d been partly responsible, however coerced she’d been at the time. She knew with that thought she wasn’t really being fair on herself, but the truth was…she was responsible. Tom had sucked her into an awful complicity with him. And, however misplaced, she still felt the guilt.

The absolute point of no return had been that morning when she’d informed her mother that, amazingly, Caleb had been merciful enough to leave her the house. But on the condition that Maggie start work for him immediately in recompense.

Maggie had explained that he’d agreed to sign the house back over once she’d started work and moved into the city to be closer. Her mother had been too stunned and ecstatic to question Maggie too deeply. And the difference in her, in the space of even those few minutes, had been nothing short of miraculous, driving the nail into the coffin of Maggie’s hopes for escaping her fate.

And now here she was. About to embark on the longest, most treacherous two months of her life. But in the end, if it bought her freedom too…then she would cope. Somehow. And she thought she knew how. Caleb thought she was a conniving, mercenary woman of the world…so that was what she would be. He would never see inside the protective shell she was going to erect around herself. Would never see the part of her that was so vulnerable to him. The part that had stupidly believed six months ago…for a brief moment…that he might actually be interested in her. Her mouth compressed. Oh, he had been…just not in the way her silly, foolish heart had believed, or hoped. She looked at her watch. Two o’clock. She took a deep breath and opened the car door.

Lifting a hand to knock on Caleb’s office door, having been directed there by the unsmiling Ivy, Maggie jumped when it opened suddenly. Caleb stood on the other side, his shirt un-buttoned, showing a few crisp hairs and the smooth brown column of his throat. His rolled-up sleeves revealed muscular forearms and his hair looked as though he’d just run an impatient hand through it.

‘You’re late,’ he bit out.

Maggie made a herculean effort to appear blasé and looked at her watch. ‘Two minutes late, Mr Cameron.’

‘I take it you’re accepting the offer.’

She nodded jerkily. ‘If you’ll keep your end of the bargain.’

‘Of course.’ He ran a heated look up and down her body, then focused on her face; freckles descended all the way down to the cleavage just exposed by the V-necked cardigan she wore. His body tightened. ‘Don’t be late again.’

‘I’ll do my best.’

They bristled at each other from either side of the door for a few seconds. A muscle twitched at Caleb’s jaw. Maggie could feel a light sweat break out on her brow. He reached out and, taking her arm, pulled her into his office, the bizarre moment gone. Once inside, she pulled free and walked to one corner. Caleb went and propped a hip on the side of his desk.

For a moment Maggie was simply stunned by the view that had been obscured by last night’s darkness. Windows on all sides gave a breathtaking vista of the bustling city, all the way to the Dublin mountains in the distance. She would have loved to go and study it but kept the awe from her face and resolutely fixed her gaze on him.

‘I think we can progress from Mr Cameron to Caleb from now on…I don’t like formality in the bedroom.’

‘We’re not in the bedroom yet,’ she snapped.

He stood and was automatically dangerous. Maggie fought against backing away. How was she going to convince him she was a world-weary socialite if she jumped every time he moved? He strolled indolently towards her, coming to a halt just inches away. He was so close that she could see darker flecks of blue in his eyes. ‘Oh…we will be. Soon enough. Now, say my name. I want to hear it.’

What? She frowned up at him, opened her mouth to speak and, for the life of her…just couldn’t. For some reason, even though she’d called him by his first name only the day before, right now, she couldn’t conceive of saying it out loud. It felt as if it had become loaded with some kind of meaning…an endearment of sorts. She shook her head, confusion in the depths of her eyes, a red tide creeping up her face.

He moved closer, bringing a hand to the back of her neck, caressing, finding the delicate spot just below her hairline. ‘Maggie…’

Paralysis gripped her. ‘I…can’t.’

‘Maggie. Say it.’

She felt as though she’d been drugged, her limbs heavy, blood flowing thick and slow through her veins. His head was bending, drawing closer…he was going to kiss her. Weakly, she brought her hands up between them.

‘Caleb.’ It came out huskily, much like a lover would say it. And, in saying it, she knew why it had been so hard. She’d stepped over the line completely. She was his now. How could such an innocuous moment feel so full of meaning?

He stopped and straightened slowly. ‘There…now, that wasn’t so hard, was it?’

God. She had only been in his office less than five minutes and already she was being reduced to a gibbering wreck. She had to get a grip. Had to play the part she’d planned. The only way she knew how to protect herself.

She moved briskly away, dislodging his hand, and searched her mind for something, anything, to deflect his intense focus. She seized on the first thing and whirled around, a bright forced smile on her face. ‘Clothes!’

‘What about them?’ Caleb was very watchful, arms crossed. He couldn’t figure it; in the space of a split second she’d gone from blushing just saying his name to clothes? One thing he knew for certain—he couldn’t trust her an inch. She was up to something. And, from what he knew of women, that something always amounted to something financial.

Maggie twirled a lock of hair around one finger, something she normally did out of unconscious habit but this time contrived to look as coquettish as possible. ‘Well, I expect you’ll want me to look my best…and I’ve left all those sorts of clothes in London…so unless you like this casual look…’ She gestured disdainfully at her chain store outfit. She hated this. It went against every sensibility she had to ask for anything, but she wanted him to think the worst.

Her abrupt volte-face jarred with him but then a world-weariness seeped into his bones. She was just like all the others. No different. But then he’d hardly expected her to be different, had he? And he didn’t want her in some other man’s cast-offs. The very thought made his fists curl. She was his now. She would dress for his pleasure—no one else’s.

‘Just tell me where and I’ll set up an account—you can go this afternoon. I have to go to Monte Carlo for two days tomorrow—something that’s just come up—so you can come too. I presume your passport is in order?’

Maggie blanched, her sham of confidence abruptly shaken, and nodded dumbly, taking in the rapid-fire delivery. Monte Carlo? She really was in another world now…

Caleb had moved back to his desk and was picking up the phone, looking at her expectantly, impatiently. Maggie furiously tried to remember his question and mentioned the double-barrelled name of an exclusive store nearby—somewhere she’d never normally go.

After a quick, brusque conversation it was done. Caleb stood and came around to Maggie, tilting her face to his with long fingers. ‘Stay away from the cheap tarty stuff, if you can. I don’t want a repeat performance of that dinner, where I had to endure every man in the room tripping over himself to get a look at your…’ he flicked a glance down to her chest ‘…assets.’

She burned with humiliation at his mention of the dress her stepfather had forced her to wear. A memory rushed back. Tom Holland’s mottled, angry red face in hers.

‘You can wear this or go naked. If you don’t…you’ll be responsible for what’s going to happen to your mother.’

Maggie willed the image away and clenched her jaw against Caleb’s hand.

‘I’ll do my best. But I still have the dress, so I might just surprise you.’

The look on his face was chilling. ‘Do that and I’ll rip it off and dress you myself. Don’t play games with me. You won’t win.’

A finger of fear clutched at her throat. She didn’t know what had made her want to provoke him just then. Of course she didn’t still have the dress; it had been relegated to a bin that awful night. She would have burned it if she could.

Finally he released her. She went on wobbly legs to the door. Just as she was about to leave, he called her name. She turned around reluctantly.