Читать книгу The Abby Green Modern Collection - Эбби Грин - Страница 12

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.

‘I can use my own car later, so my driver will pick you up when you’re done with shopping and bring you to the apartment. Where’s your luggage?’

‘It…it’s in my car. I’ll have to pick it up anyway so I can drive to the apartment.’

He shrugged and gave her the address, which she committed to memory. She knew where it was, an exclusive building nearby in the city centre. Then she fled.

Early that evening Maggie pulled into the only parking space left outside the apartment building. The back of her tiny car was piled high with bags. Despite having had a wicked desire to buy nothing but trashy clothes or exorbitant designer outfits…she just couldn’t. She was hardwired a certain way and had ended up getting exactly what she thought she needed and might be required to wear to various functions. She had enough knowledge of Caleb’s world from her days in London and the various social occasions Tom had forced her to attend—again all in the name of his precious bogus family solidarity.

The concierge had been informed of her arrival and gave her a key before telling her he’d follow her up with the bags. Maggie couldn’t stop the unwelcome train of her thoughts as she rode up in the lift—Caleb’s catastrophic arrival back into her life was a bitter catalyst precipitating unhappy memories.

She had grown up seeing Tom Holland do his worst to everyone around him—wheeling, dealing, wrecking lives. She had come to hate that world and what he represented. In a way she knew that was one reason why she’d chosen art college—apart from having a unique gift inherited from her father, it had made Tom apoplectic with rage.

She had always avoided him and his cronies like the plague…until those two weeks six months ago. It was only for her mother, otherwise she wouldn’t have had anything to do with helping Holland host two weeks of intense meetings and negotiations in his own house. Caleb Cameron had been the guest of honour, invited under the guise of sharing information with some of the world’s best financial minds. When all along Tom had planned it in order to get Caleb close…close enough to bring him down.

Maggie had walked straight into the lion’s den when she’d seen Caleb for the first time and had fallen head over heels. Not like Tom’s usual associates, he’d stood out immediately. Physically and intellectually. And, she’d thought—morally. But how wrong that naïve notion had been. He’d been the same as Tom all along, the same beast in different clothes. But that hadn’t stopped the intense attraction flaring.

Unfortunately, Tom had also been aware of the spark that had erupted between them and, with evil cunning, had manipulated events to make sure they were thrown together at every opportunity, all designed to culminate in that night.

The lift doors opened abruptly, ending her intense reverie. She shook herself out of dwelling on the past. She had to think of the future now, surviving for the next eight weeks and then putting as much space between her and Caleb Cameron as possible. She entered the apartment cautiously, walking in and out of the rooms as though they might bite. Nothing but the best, of course, for the city’s most venerated guest.

Maggie had read all about this building, this apartment, which had been designed by a world-renowned architect. It stood on a hill opposite the main cathedral and had invited controversy because it represented, some people thought, a jarring juxtaposition to the ancient cathedral across the road. Personally, Maggie loved it. The old facing the new.

She left one room till last, then took a deep breath and opened the door. Much like his office, Caleb’s bedroom had wall-to-wall, ceiling-to-floor windows, affording what was truly a millionaire’s view of the city. There weren’t any personal effects that she could see; a few of Caleb’s things were neatly hung in a walk-in dressing room and there were toiletries in the bathroom, but she guessed he hadn’t had much time to move in.

Just enough time to take a mistress…

She tried to avoid looking at the focal point, but couldn’t. A huge king-size bed dominated the room. Dressed in dark, luxurious linen, it looked crisp and inviting, yet very, very scary. Suddenly an image formed of her with Caleb, limbs entangled, the sheets cast aside, covering her whole body with his own, dark against pale.

What would it be like? Skin to skin…Caleb pressing down on her with his aroused body…

A sound at the door nearly made her jump out of her skin. She whirled around, her hand going to her throat in fright. It was the concierge. The relief that pulsed through her body made her feel weak.

‘This is the last of the bags.’

‘Thank you so much; you shouldn’t have…’ She followed the man out and, when he was gone, leant back against the front door, her heart still hammering. Shaking her head, she pushed herself away and set about exploring more thoroughly and putting the clothes in the dressing room.

By nine o’clock that night Maggie’s nerves were wound to a stretching point she hadn’t known they’d possessed. Every time a noise sounded she held her breath, only relaxing once it had gone away. She’d rung her mother to check in, being as vague as possible about her situation. To her utter relief, she sounded so much improved that Maggie knew she could relax for the first time in a long time. With a friend from the village checking in every day, she knew she’d get a call immediately if anything was wrong.

The phone rang, startling her out of her thoughts. Warily she picked it up.

‘Maggie…’A pulse between her legs throbbed just at the sound of his voice; why did it have to come down the line like a caress? She pressed her legs together fiercely.

‘Caleb. I was just hoping you weren’t in a hospital somewhere.’

She could have sworn she almost heard a chuckle, disconcerting her for a moment. ‘I just bet you were. I meant to ring earlier but I’ve been held up waiting for a call from Los Angeles. With the time difference, I won’t get in till after midnight. You should go to bed.’

She remembered how late it had been last night when he’d left the office and bizarrely couldn’t stop a rush of concern, which she rapidly dampened. She was disconcerted and flummoxed by his having the courtesy to call.

‘I’ll go ahead and eat, then.’ The minute the words were out, she cursed silently. The last thing she wanted was to appear in any way concerned. Or that she’d been waiting for him.

‘Don’t tell me you cooked us a romantic meal?’

‘No such luck,’ she said sweetly, mentally crossing her fingers for the white lie. ‘I’ve been known to burn water.’ She had actually prepared a simple casserole, but wasn’t going to tell him that.

‘I assume you’ve settled in.’

‘Yes.’

‘Good. I’ll try not to wake you when I get in…or you could always wait up…?’

Maggie faked a yawn, her stomach cramping with panic. ‘Much as I’d love to, I can’t stay awake. All the excitement…Goodbye, then.’

She was about to put the phone down when she heard her name; she lifted it back up. His voice was low and lethally silky in her ear. ‘If you’re not in my bed when I get in, Maggie…you will be by morning.’

The phone clicked down. Maggie thought of the furthest guest room she’d already picked in some futile attempt to deny what was expected of her. She knew he would do exactly as he said. He would carry her bodily out of that bed, into his own.

Knowing she had no choice, she packed away her comfy nightshirt and closed the door on that room. She went into the dressing room, where she’d laid out all the new clothes. She’d placed the underwear and negligées in a drawer. They’d not been her choice to buy, but the shop assistant who’d helped her had been so enthusiastic she hadn’t had the heart to curtail her, or deny her the commission. And she thought of a couple of dresses that the girl had picked out. Dresses Maggie would never normally choose…but, she’d guessed at the time, they were dresses that would be suitable for Caleb’s mistress to wear. So she had taken them also.

And, if she was honest, a part of her had thought, Hang Caleb, he can pay for all this ten times over, and more. She resolutely refused to look too deeply into the possibility that she had in fact bought them because she wanted to…for him. She had to remember she was playing a part. And what he would expect was a mistress, dressed suitably, in his bed. That thought made her shiver as she prepared.

Later, while waiting for sleep to claim her, as she lay on the very edge of the huge bed, Maggie reflected uncomfortably that their phone conversation earlier had been almost…too easy, with a hint of warmth even. And that was dangerous. Because it reminded her of the heady days when she’d first got to know him in London, when she’d seen that other side to him. She turned over and rested her head on her hand. If he was to turn on the charm she’d be lost, for certain. She knew because she’d been lost before. Despite everything that had transpired, she was very much afraid that she was still lost.

The drama of the last few days caught up with her finally, the sleepless nights. She gave in to a deep dreamless sleep.

Caleb woke early. He was aware of the heat of another body close to his. Turning so that he was on one side, he looked to see Maggie nestling close, curled towards him. Vibrant red hair fanned out around her head. He’d been dimly aware of her shape on the far side of the bed the previous night and had been too exhausted to investigate further. But they’d obviously gravitated towards each other during the night.

Now, however, he could study her at leisure. She looked younger, innocent…oddly vulnerable. His face took on a hardness as he dismissed the notion, his eyes travelling down. With the cover drawn back, she was revealed in a creamy negligée, the delicate lace just disguising the mounds of her breasts, which rose and fell with even breaths. Caleb felt his body respond forcefully. He shifted uncomfortably and Maggie shifted too, as if they were linked by an invisible thread. He stilled.

In repose, her lips went into what looked almost like a petulant moue. He wanted to bend his head and kiss her soft mouth. He wanted to have her wake and look at him with sleepy eyes, smile and turn into him, giving herself to him. But he didn’t. Because he knew that if he was to wake her with a kiss, she’d look at him first with surprise, but then with censure…and, without wanting to question why, he knew he didn’t want that. When he made love to her he wanted her eyes to be open, aware of every moment and darkened with passion—when he took her for the first time.

In a split second she had shifted and moved even closer, a hand reaching out, finding his chest and resting there. As if to test him. Small and pale against the darkness of his skin. Fingers curling softly. His jaw clenched with the effort not to give in to temptation and very gently and slowly he extricated himself and went to take a shower. A cold one. On the bed behind him Maggie stirred but did not wake.