Читать книгу The Abby Green Modern Collection - Эбби Грин - Страница 20

‘MORNING.’

‘Morning…’ Maggie was sleepily shy. Last night came rushing back. The desolation she’d felt when he’d practically run from the bed after making love. She woke up fast. Erected the barriers.

Caleb was propped on one arm, watching her. He took in all the expressions flitting across her face like clouds passing over a sunny day; he felt something dark pass between them. It was the first time she’d woken in the bed to find him there, watching her like this. Even on weekends, he would invariably go into the office for a few hours in the morning, or else he was out jogging, or just…up.

It made her heart speed up. Despite her best efforts to be cool.

‘Don’t you have to go to work?’

He quirked a brow. ‘Trying to get rid of me?’

She shook her head and her glance jumped down to his bare chest. She could feel the heat starting to invade her blood, could feel her pulse jump. She looked back up and Caleb was smiling. She scowled. Damn him and his arrogance. Damn him and his insufferable coolness.

‘As it happens, I do have to go…much as I’m enjoying watching you wake…’

He pressed a kiss to her startled mouth and swung out of bed. She watched him walk away into the bathroom and sighed deeply, pulling the covers up. She’d never get tired of looking at his body. When he emerged a short while later Maggie pretended to be asleep. She felt him come close to the bed and willed him away. In the cold light of morning, if he took her, she’d never be able to hide her feelings.

‘Maggie, I know you’re awake. I’ll be home at seven. We’re going out tonight.’

And she felt, rather than heard, him leave the room. She opened her eyes and looked out on a cityscape. They were back to normal. Back to the routine. Functions…balls…and this apartment which was becoming a prison.

Only two more weeks…

The words jumped into her head and she sat up, stunned. Only two more weeks, then…freedom. She couldn’t believe it. Where had the time gone? She counted back the weeks and yes, sure enough, Caleb only had another ten to fourteen days here, then he’d be due back in London. He’d even mentioned going back. Had she just shut it out of her head? She sank back down. Her mind couldn’t contemplate it right now or what it meant.

That evening, she had just showered and was dressed in a towelling robe when Caleb walked into the bedroom. Her heart lurched crazily. She noticed lines and shadows under his eyes and longed to go over and smooth them, tell him they didn’t need to go out. But she couldn’t because she didn’t have that jurisdiction in his life.

His gaze raked her up and down hungrily; she stood in front of him, a clean scent perfuming the air, her skin still pink from the shower. God, he’d missed her today; his body had ached for her in a way that made him very, very nervous. Yet he couldn’t think about that now. It was only the fact that he was running late that had him walk past, shedding clothes.

‘We need to be ready to leave in fifteen minutes…’

‘I’ll be ready,’ she answered tightly, stung by his lack of greeting, his brusque voice.

He came out into the hall a short while later, arranging the cuffs of his tuxedo. Maggie stood with her back to him, looking out the window.

She’d arranged her hair so it fell in a coiled rope down her back. The dark grey dress was some kind of jersey material and clung to every curve. It was tantalisingly see-through, giving heady glimpses of a pale curve here, a dark hollow there. She sensed him, tensed and turned around. It dipped in a dark V at the front, between her cleavage. Yet…it lacked…something. Why wouldn’t she wear the jewels he gave her?

Despite that first impression she’d given him when she’d cockily asked if she could keep them…he had to make her wear them. She never chose to wear them—it was just another facet to her act, no doubt. But, a little voice crowed, yet another anomaly…Usually women were begging him for more and more. Bigger, glitzier, gaudier. He ignored the voice.

He strolled forward with indolent grace, making Maggie’s breath catch in her throat. She’d seen him in a tux many times by now but somehow, tonight, he was more devastating than ever. Was it because she knew his body intimately? Was it because of the way his gaze drifted up and down her body, stopping, lingering…

He presented her with a long velvet box. Her heart fell. She took it hesitantly, opening it with a stunned gasp she couldn’t keep in. It revealed an antique earring and necklace set made entirely out of green diamonds, set in platinum. The faintly yellow-green hue caught the light and dazzled her. She felt herself closing inwards.

She looked up, distant. ‘More trinkets for your mistress?’

She was used to this. That was it. She was bored by it. Bizarrely, as much as it pained him, it also comforted him.

He took the necklace out of the box and proceeded to place it around her neck, deftly fastening it. The jewel hung just above the valley of her breasts. He took out the earrings and handed them to her.

‘Yes…’

With shaking fingers she took them and put them in her ears. She could feel them sway and move against her neck and hair. He stood back. Cold eyes flicked up and down. She felt a chill.

‘Beautiful.’

She felt like a brood mare. She was there purely for his pleasure and if he wanted her dripping in jewels then she would just have to put up with the discomfort. But everytime she’d move and feel them sway against her skin, she’d be reminded that, all too soon, he’d be walking away, out of her life and moving on to the next in line, with whom he’d be saying exactly the same words. Placing jewels around their necks in the same dispassionate way…or maybe not so dispassionate. Maybe one of them would break through that austere exterior…find the beating heart of the man, unlock his mysteries. Claim him. Her heart felt like a stone.

‘Let’s go.’

She followed him out, mute and stung. His revenge was already total. Complete. And he didn’t even know it.

This function was similar to every other, in that everyone was beating a steady path to bask in the commanding, phenomenally successful aura of Caleb Cameron. As if by merely being near him some kind of Midas touch would rub off. Maggie was enduring the same unfriendly glances from the Dublin socialites, who wondered how she’d suddenly appeared on their scene. And with the temerity to turn up on his arm, not even giving them a fair chance.

She’d hardly ever socialised with Tom or her mother in Dublin. But yet, it was a relatively small city and already she’d caught glimpses of some of Tom’s old colleagues, making a shudder of revulsion run through her. One of them in particular, who had been as nasty, if not even worse than her stepfather. She prayed that he hadn’t seen her, but it was hard, with everyone’s focus on Caleb and him clamping her to his side. She endured the dinner, the small talk, people’s curiosity when they found out she came from Dublin herself, yet they were too polite to ask how she’d managed to inveigle her way into Caleb’s life.

She could feel him loop a casual arm around the back of her chair, close to his, his hand caressing, toying with her neck. Her breath became ragged. She could feel her body respond and crossed her arms to cover the evidence. He turned to look at her; the sheer weight of his gaze made her turn. Everyone around them, the muted music, chatter of cutlery, raucous laughter, faded. A dense, heavy electric energy hummed between them. He caught her hand and lifted it to his mouth, kissing the delicate underside of her wrist. Maggie’s breath stopped. Her eyes flared.

Why had he done that?

He let her hand go and turned back to the person on the other side of him. She was confused and muddled and very much afraid of the seething emotions he was responsible for in her breast.

‘And where did you say you were from, dear?’

Maggie turned gratefully into conversation with the old woman on her right.

After dinner the guests were free to mingle and dance in the stunning ballroom. Maggie murmured her excuses and went to look for the bathroom. On her way back, just feet from the door, a voice halted her in her tracks. A definite, hard slap of unease hit her between the shoulder blades.

‘Well, well, little Maggie Holland. I thought it was you, but my, haven’t you turned into a sexy lady?’

Against her will, she turned slowly to face the man behind the unctuous voice.

‘Patrick Deveney.’

The small, squat man had bulging eyes that were looking her up and down with such crawling impunity that it held Maggie immobile. He’d been one of her stepfather’s closest friends. And for years he’d slimed around Maggie, but she’d always escaped his advances—just.

He moved closer when someone passed by. She was desperate not to show how scared she was or draw attention. She craned her neck to look for Caleb. She couldn’t see him anywhere.

‘Looking for your…date?’

‘Yes…it’s nice to see you again, Mr Deveney, but I really must be—’

Suddenly her arm was grabbed in an intensely brutal grip. She gasped as he pulled her into a nearby corner.

‘What do you think you’re—?’

He looked her up and down again with obvious lascivious intent. ‘I haven’t had a chance to offer my condolences, Maggie, dear. You must be so devastated at the loss of Tom…We didn’t even get a chance to mourn him ourselves. Your mother had him back here and buried so quickly we couldn’t even pay our respects. That’s hardly fair, is it? But now I can offer them to you personally.’

Maggie stared in disgust, unable to move from the explicit threat in Deveney’s voice. His hand on her arm was stopping the blood flow; the pain was intense. ‘Let me go,’ she bit out through the pain, knowing she’d have an almighty bruise.

‘You know, Tom would have come after you if Cameron hadn’t been so quick to take revenge; he knew you blabbed everything. You and that stupid wife of his. You caused his heart attack; you messed it up for all of us.’

She was transported back in time, her skin going clammy in remembered fear. She stood stock still, knowing that if she made a move she’d enrage him further and there would be more pain. Past and present were tangled; the pain wouldn’t be meant for her, never her, it was always her mother. She only ever suffered if she got in the way. Yet why was she in pain now? The mist cleared and Maggie came to.

This was not Tom. He was gone. She could handle this bully. He wasn’t going to hurt her. With a swift move she caught him off guard, extricated herself from his grip and delivered an elbow blow to his fleshy solar plexus. He was gasping and red-faced, but still far too close.

‘I was just wondering where you’d got to.’

Caleb. A wild rush of relief rushed through her, but when she turned, her heart fell. He was glowering, taking in her flushed face, close proximity to Deveney and the other man’s obvious breathlessness. And jumped to entirely the wrong conclusion.

Trying desperately to save face, Deveney slid away, saying nastily, ‘You’re welcome to her, Cameron, she always was a little wildcat.’

Caleb’s temper ratcheted up a few notches. He grabbed Maggie’s arm and she had to stifle her moan of pain as his hand clamped around exactly where Deveney’s had been.

‘Who is he and how does he know me?’

Without giving her time to speak and in so much pain that she couldn’t, Caleb was marching her out and away from the building. The driver who was standing in for John materialised with the car in seconds. They got in. Maggie was still shaken—couldn’t believe that Caleb had misread the situation so badly.

‘He was a friend of Tom’s…and everyone in there knows who you are.’ She rubbed her arm distractedly.

He was fighting to keep his mouth shut but wouldn’t say anything here in the car. Within minutes they were back at the apartment. The front door closed behind him; Maggie circled slowly to face him. A wary look on her face—a guilty look? He couldn’t tell but he was willing to bet it was guilt. What could she possibly see in that creep?

He came in and lounged against a wall, hands deep in his pockets. In the dim light of the room, he looked magnificent. Dark and brooding, the blue glitter of his eyes brilliant against she snowy white shirt and black tuxedo.

‘So…do you want to tell me what that was? Already lining up my replacement…going for someone you know? Who works the way you’re used to?’

‘You’re sick. I don’t have to listen to this…’

She went to walk from the room, but Caleb took her arm again in exactly the same spot. This time she couldn’t disguise her pain.

‘What is it?’ he asked sharply, taking in the way her face had paled and she looked green. As if she was about to throw up.

‘Nothing,’ she muttered thickly, but couldn’t disguise the tears smarting.

He saw the brightness. ‘Maggie what the hell is it?’

‘Nothing, Caleb,’ she lashed out fiercely. ‘If you can’t see something that’s as plain as the nose on your face, then you don’t deserve an explanation.’ She pulled free and fled for the bedroom, uncaring of where she went, just wanting sanctuary.

He followed her in. ‘What is it? You’re angry because I guessed right? How could you, Maggie? That man is odious…Tell me, did you kiss him?’ He let out a harsh breath, a jealous red mist descending on his vision, his judgement. ‘Of course you did. God! Does he really do it for you? He looks to me to be the type who likes it rough…’

The only thing that halted his tirade was the awful stillness that invaded Maggie’s limbs. Her eyes were huge pools of unmistakable hurt, her mouth open in horror. He knew immediately he’d gone too far and stepped closer. She backed away so jerkily that she tripped over the bed and fell backwards. In a second Caleb was there, bending over, picking her up. His hand on her arm was too much; Maggie felt faint with the pain.

‘What is it…?’ he asked urgently.

‘My…arm…you’re hurting my arm…’

He let go immediately and sat her down on the bed. ‘Maggie, did I hurt you? Show me…’

She shook her head—it was swimming. ‘Not you…him…’

He cursed volubly. Very carefully, he pulled the shoulder of the dress down and uttered an oath fit for a sailor when he saw the livid bruise of finger marks that was lurid against her skin. ‘Why didn’t you tell me…?’

‘Well, you didn’t give me much opportunity.’

No, he hadn’t. Had he really misjudged the situation that badly? All he knew was that he’d taken one look and seen red. He wasn’t used to misreading anything. Never mind a woman being mauled by some jerk. And it was this woman. Maggie. He wanted to go straight out and find Deveney and beat him to a pulp.

‘What happened, Maggie?’

She avoided the question. ‘I need to put some arnica on this or it’ll get worse.’

He jumped up. ‘I’ll get it.’

She directed him to find it in her wash bag and he came back. With infinite tenderness he gently massaged it into her skin. She could feel the tears start again. Couldn’t stop them slipping down her cheeks. She was suddenly very tired of being on the receiving end of Caleb’s cynical mistrust. Tired of having to maintain a façade. And didn’t know if she could go on with the whole charade.

But then…when he caught her face and brought it round to his, and his hands cupped her jaw, his thumbs wiping her tears away, and whispered sorry against her mouth, she felt herself melt inside. Yes, she could tell him the truth. Yes, she could tell him exactly what had happened. And if she did…she might not have to face his censure any more. But that would be it—the end. For the one thing he’d despise even more than what he perceived her to be right now, would be the certain knowledge that she’d fallen for him.

And now, when he was being so gentle, so tender, kissing her with such sweet, restrained passion, the tiredness slipped away and all she wanted was to cling on to this…for a little longer.

That night they didn’t make love. Caleb just tucked her against him, careful to make her lie on her good arm, and held her within the circle of his embrace. When he acted like this, it made it even harder to maintain a distance. Tomorrow—she’d think about it tomorrow, think about building back up her wall of defence. But for now…for now she’d sink deep into the dream…and she did.

A week later Maggie was painting on the terrace; it was a beautiful summer’s day. Her thoughts were on that night, almost a week ago. Since then, she’d caught Caleb looking at her a couple of times with something…some light she couldn’t define. And when he’d caught her eye, invariably the shutters would come down. But something had definitely changed between them. There was some kind of stillness. A kind of reverence when they made love…or maybe it was just her ridiculous imagination.

She furiously stroked her brush back and forth over the canvas, as if to blot out her wayward thoughts. When she heard the phone ring she went in with relief, glad of the distraction. She picked it up. When she put it down she had a frown on her face.

Caleb wanted to see her in his office. For some reason an icy trickle of foreboding skittered down her back. She changed out of her paint-spattered overalls and into simple trousers and a light V-neck sweater. Her hair swung in a plait down her back.

When she arrived on the top floor of his offices, the unsmiling Ivy had morphed into smiling Ivy. ‘Maggie, isn’t it? Please come through. Mr Cameron is expecting you.’

Maggie hid her bemusement as she followed the older lady to Caleb’s office. She knocked and ushered Maggie through the door.

Caleb was standing at the window, looking out over the city. He turned when she came in and Maggie was struck by how serious he looked.

The door closed behind Ivy. Caleb raked a glance over her.

‘What is it?’ She laughed a little nervously. ‘Caleb, you’re scaring me…’ She thought of something. ‘Is it John; is it his heart again?’

He lifted a hand. ‘No…it’s not John. He’s fine and he said to say thank you again for looking after him so well; he was a lot more frightened than he let on. I’ve sent him home to London to recuperate.’

She shrugged, a little embarrassed. ‘It was nothing.’

He walked around the desk and came close. ‘You have paint on your cheek.’

She flushed and lifted a hand to wipe it away. ‘I never looked in the mirror.’

She couldn’t read the expression on his face.

‘Maggie, I’ve finished my work here. I’m going back to London tomorrow.’

Oh, my God…this is it…he’s leaving.

Everything felt woolly and fuzzy, as if it were coming from far away. There was a seat behind Maggie and she sat in it, hoping that it didn’t look as if she’d fallen into it, which was what she had done. She tried to maintain an iron grip on her emotions. This was exactly what she wanted. Exactly what she’d been waiting for. She looked up and met Caleb’s eyes. They were shadowed. God. Was he looking at her with pity? Did he suspect for one second how much this was killing her?

He couldn’t.

She feigned the best look of delayed surprised comprehension that she could. ‘Oh! So this is it? You’re letting me go…’

His mouth tightened. ‘Well, technically, I could insist that you come to London with me; you’ve got one week to work out the contract.’

Maggie stood, galvanised by shock, the bile rising in her throat. He saw the way she paled, remembered her reaction on seeing the contract for the first time. ‘As far as I recall, the contract stated two months or the duration of your stay in Dublin…so technically, if your stay is up tomorrow, then we’re out of contract.’

He looked at her steadily for a long moment. A muscle twitched in his jaw. He couldn’t deceive her. ‘Actually, I have to confess something. That contract was a bogus document…’

Her mouth opened, her jaw dropped.

‘When you reminded me about it in Monte Carlo, I drew something up myself on the computer. It was only to reassure you that I was going to keep my word.’

And he had. Her mother had signed papers already, so the house was legally back in her name. This made something drop out of Maggie’s chest.

‘So…no one ever looked at it? No one witnessed it?’

He shook his head.

She wasn’t sure how to take this, how to react. ‘Well…thank you.’ She backed away behind the chair. The same chair she’d stood behind that night, when she’d come to beg for the house. ‘But then…if there’s no contract…then there’s nothing to stop me just leaving…walking away.’

‘I guess not,’ he said heavily.

‘You’re leaving tomorrow…’

‘Yes.’

He looked at her. She was biting her lip. He wanted to go over and take her in his arms, slip his tongue between those soft lips, feel her response as he delved in deep and stroked, enticed…but, for some reason, he couldn’t. They’d gone over a line. He was letting her go. So why did it feel as though his heart was being ripped from his chest? Why did it feel as if this woman standing in front of him was the only woman on the planet who he’d ever desire again?

She shrugged her shoulders. ‘This is it…’

‘Maggie.’

She met his eyes warily.

‘You could come to London with me…This doesn’t have to end here. Now that your mother has the house…we could go on…you could move in with me…’

She backed away, shaking her head. ‘Never,’ she said in a thin voice. ‘Never. You’ll never trust me, Caleb. You’ll never respect me. And I won’t warm your bed until the next woman comes along. I’ve paid my dues.’

He stiffened. Damned if he’d let her see what her words were doing to him. He shrugged nonchalantly. ‘Whatever you want, Maggie.’

Something lit her eyes, a desperation. ‘What I want is to go today. I’m going to go and pack now. When you get back, I’ll be gone. I can’t stay another night.’ Then she said, ‘Please, don’t make me…’

She wanted to get away from him that badly? He felt a granite block weigh him down in his chest. His face closed, eyes shuttered. His mouth was a grim line.

‘If you could be gone by the time I get back, I’d prefer it.’

Maggie walked to the door, her legs having bypassed shaking, had gone straight to wooden shock. She turned back for the last time and faced him.

‘I never want to see you again.’

And she went out the door.

Caleb’s heart was thumping when he let himself into the apartment. He’d seen the Mini Cooper parked outside…She hadn’t gone…Did that mean she’d decided to stay on, as his mistress? But as soon as he walked in the door he knew she was gone. Even though her scent lingered on the air, the place felt flat, devoid of energy.

He saw the car key on the hall table. And a note.

I can’t accept the car…or anything else. All the best in your future, Caleb. Maggie.

It fluttered to the floor out of his fingers. Sure enough, when he walked into the bedroom, all the clothes were neatly laid out in bags, labelled up for the relevant shops. And all the jewellery was on the dressing table in each individual box. She hadn’t kept one thing.

Why?

Inexplicably, this made him sick. If she’d taken everything, as he’d expected her to, it would have made him feel…somehow justified. But wasn’t this typical of her? He sat down heavily on the bed. Every step along the way, she had consistently surprised him by not acting the way he’d thought she would. He got up and went out to the terrace. For the first time in his life, he felt at a loss, didn’t know what to do…felt impotent. He wanted Maggie. So badly he could taste it.

As he looked out over the city, felt the ache spreading through his limbs, he knew it. And had to acknowledge it. She’d got so far and so deep under his skin…that he’d fallen for her. He slammed a hand down on the railing. Who was he kidding? He’d fallen for her back in London. And, despite everything she’d done…he was so far in love with her now…that he knew he’d never find a way back.

And she never wanted to see him again. Karma. Revenge.

He left the view and went back in, slamming the door shut behind him so forcefully that the windows shuddered. And the next day, when he got on the plane to go back to London, his face was so grim and stern that no one dared speak to him.