Grand Passion (19 page)

Max got a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. “You could spend your whole life looking for it and never be satisfied with what you find.”

“That's what my therapist said.” She stirred against him. “So you really weren't in love with Kimberly?”

“I think it's a safe bet that the kind of feeling Kimberly and I had for each other was nothing like the bond you say your parents had.” He slid his leg aggressively between Cleo's warm thighs. He could feel her responding to him, and the knowledge reassured him. Cleo might have an unrealistic view of love, but her body had a very pragmatic reaction to his. He intended to nurture that reaction until it was more important to her than the search for an elusive, mythical grand passion.

“I don't understand.” Cleo braced her hands against his shoulders and searched his face. “What sort of feeling did you have for Kimberly?”

Max tried to contain his impatience. He was thoroughly aroused, and Cleo was warm and sultry and ready for him. “Cleo, it's a little hard to explain. Kimberly represented a lot of things I thought I wanted at the time. I guess I thought that if I got her, I'd get those other things, too. I was wrong. She did us both a favor when she broke off the engagement.”

“What things did you want?” Cleo whispered.

“It doesn't matter. I don't want them any longer.”

“Are you certain of that?”

“Yes,” Max said. He moistened the tip of his finger with his tongue and then reached down to touch the taut little bud hidden between her legs.

Cleo flinched in reaction and then lifted herself against his hand with a soft moan. He cupped her gently and eased one finger into her damp heat. She was burning for him. He couldn't wait to lose himself in her again.

“What do you want now?” Cleo asked.

“You.”

She sighed in soft surrender and brushed her lips across his shoulder. “I want you, too.”

A few minutes later when he buried himself deep inside her, Max realized he had spoken a greater truth than he had realized. He wanted Cleo in a way he had never wanted any other woman in his life. He did not question the need; he simply accepted it.

The distant thuds brought Cleo up out of a dreamless sleep. She lay quietly for a moment, trying to identify the sounds. They stopped after a moment.

She concluded that George, or perhaps one of the guests, had walked down the hall outside her room.

Cleo yawned and tried to turn on her side. She realized she could not move because Max was pinning her legs to the bed. He had one muscled thigh thrown over her calves.

In addition to being trapped, she was much too warm. The heat from Max's body made the quilt superfluous. Sharing a bed with Max was a very strange experience, Cleo thought. It was like sleeping with a blast furnace.

The thuds started up again. They reverberated softly through the walls in a primitive, unrelenting, extremely irritating rhythm.

Thump. Thump. Thump
.

Cleo came fully awake in a hurry. She jackknifed into a sitting position.

“Good lord, Max. Someone's drumming down there.”

“What's wrong?” Max asked from the depths of the pillow.

“Don't you hear it? Someone's got a drum downstairs.” Cleo pushed aside the quilt and struggled to get herself free of Max. “He'll wake up everyone in the whole inn.”

Cleo managed to get out of the bed. She raced to the closet and reached for a pair of jeans and a shirt.

“Hold on, Cleo. I'll go down with you.” Max got out of bed, yawning.

The distant murmur of men's voices mingled with the drumming. Cleo listened intently and then yelped in disbelief.

“They've started chanting.” She grabbed her glasses and pushed them onto her nose. “It must be some of the men from Mr. Quinton's Warriors' Journey group. That does it, I'm going to throw them all out. I don't care if it is raining cats and dogs.”

“If you throw them out, you'll have a hard time collecting for the rooms,” Max reminded her as he zipped up his trousers.

“Right now all I care about is getting that damned drumming stopped.” Cleo was at the door. “I knew I should never have taken them in tonight. I didn't like the looks of that Tobias Quinton from the start. I'm too darn soft-hearted, that's my problem.”

She yanked open the door and raced out into the hall, aware that Max was following more slowly behind her.

The drumming was a lot louder when she reached the second floor, louder still when she got to the first floor. It seemed to be coming from the solarium.

Cleo went to the front desk. George was nowhere in sight. Assuming he had already gone to investigate the drumming, Cleo started to turn toward the solarium. Then she heard the snores emanating from her office.

“George?”

“Your ever vigilant night clerk is sound asleep,” Max observed as he came up behind her.

“For heaven's sake.” Cleo ducked into the office and saw that George was, indeed, sprawled in her chair, eyes closed, mouth agape. His feet were propped on her desk.

“Forget it,” Max advised. “He wouldn't be much help, anyway.”

“I suppose you're right.” Cleo squared her shoulders and stalked past him. “I'll just have to take care of this myself.”

“Cleo, maybe you'd better let me handle this.”

“I've been running this inn for three years.” Cleo turned the corner and went down the hall to the solarium. The drumming and the chanting got louder.

“You've got me to help out around here now, remember?”

“That doesn't mean I can't deal with a few rude guests.” Cleo stopped in front of the French doors that opened into the solarium. The doors were closed, but through the glass panes she could see that the lights were off inside the room. An orange glow from the fireplace told her that Quinton and his crowd had built a fire on the hearth. “Of all the nerve.”

“I think you'd better let me go in there first,” Max said. He started to step around her, reaching for the doorknob.

“Nonsense.” Cleo threw open the doors.

The thunder of a drum and the roar of masculine voices lifted in a primitive chant boomed out of the solarium. In the light of the leaping flames Cleo could just barely make out the shapes of several men seated on the floor. They formed a half circle in front of the fire.

A majestic, white-maned figure sat in their midst. He had the drum in front of him. His arm was raised to strike the next blow.

“That will be quite enough, Mr. Quinton.” Cleo swept out her hand and hit all the switches on the wall in one slashing blow. The solarium was abruptly flooded with light.

Twenty stark naked men turned to gaze at her in stony-faced disapproval.

Cleo stared back in stunned amazement. Not one of the men was wearing a single stitch of clothing.

Cleo was speechless. She swung around and found Max standing directly behind her.

“I told you to let me go in first,” Max said. His eyes were gleaming with amusement.

Cleo finally found her voice. “Do something.”

“You bet, boss.” Max moved aside so that she could step past him into the hall. “I think it would probably be best if you went back upstairs. I'll get the warriors back to their tents.”

“Yes, leave us, woman,” Quinton intoned in a deep, graveled voice. “This is a matter for men.”

“She's just like my ex-wife,” one of the participants called out. “Diane never let me have any fun, either.”

“This is a time for men to come together,” Quinton chanted. He thumped the drum. “This is a time of male power and strength. A gathering time for warriors.”

Cleo glared at Max. “I don't want them put back in their rooms. I want them out of here, do you understand? Immediately!”

“Think of the income you'd be losing if you throw them out tonight, Cleo.”

“I don't care how much profit I lose. I want them off the premises.”

“You are welcome to join us,” Quinton said to Max. “This is a place and a time for men.”

“Thank you,” Max said very civilly.

“Max,” Cleo hissed, “I swear, if you take off your clothes and start chanting in front of the fire, I am going to throttle you.”

Max's mouth curved. “Is that right?”

Quinton rose to his feet. He held the drum discreetly in front of himself. “Don't let her intimidate you,” he said to Max. “You are a man. It's time to get in touch with your own maleness. You must reach down inside yourself and discover the strength of the warrior who resides within you.”

Cleo swung around once more and confronted her unwanted guest. “I do not want to hear another word out of you, Mr. Quinton. I took you in tonight out of the goodness of my heart when you and your group showed up on my doorstep. You begged me for shelter, and this is the thanks I get.”

“We were not begging for shelter,” one of the seated men said in a disgruntled tone. “We could have spent the night on the beach.”

“Then why didn't you?” Cleo demanded.

“Because we didn't feel like it,” one of the other men declared.

“No kidding? What's the matter?” Cleo asked. “Were all you macho, manly warriors afraid of a little rain?”

Max's hands descended firmly on Cleo's shoulders. “I think this is degenerating into a farce.” He turned her around and marched her out of the door. “Take yourself off, boss. I'll handle this.”

“You do that. I'll go make sure we've got all their credit card numbers before they leave tonight. We're billing them for a full night's lodging. And breakfast, too, even though they won't be here to eat it.”

Max smiled. “Good night, Cleo.”

Cleo ground her teeth and started back down the hall. Behind her Quinton began to beat his drum. She could not recall when she had been so incensed. She rounded the corner and stormed into the lobby. She was just in the mood to chew George out for dereliction of duty.

A familiar figure came out of the office. He had a key in his hand.

“Hi, Cleo,” Ben said sheepishly. He held up the key. “George was asleep, so I helped myself. I was going to go on upstairs to my room. What are you doing up?”

Cleo instantly forgot about Tobias Quinton and the nude warriors in the solarium. She stared at Ben in delight.

“Benjy—I mean,
Ben
—you're home!”

“Yeah.”

“It's so good to see you again.” Cleo ran forward and hugged him. “We've been so worried about you.”

“Sorry for getting in so late. I just sort of decided to get into my car and start driving.” Ben hugged her back a little awkwardly. “I probably should have waited until morning, huh?”

“Absolutely not.” Cleo released him and stepped back. “This is your home. You were right to come straight here. Wait until Trisha finds out you're back.”

“Yeah.” Ben looked down at the key in his hand. “You think she'll be mad at me? I didn't mean to hurt her. I just needed to think things over, you know?”

Cleo smiled. “She's going to be very happy to see you, Ben. She knows that you got scared when she told you about the baby.”

Ben flushed. “Yeah. Well, I guess she was probably even more scared. Max said that it was easier to be scared together than alone.”

Cleo tilted her head slightly to one side. “Max said that?”

Ben nodded. “He said Trisha needs me. He said the baby is going to need me, too, even though I don't know nothin' about being a father.”

“He's right. Ben, I'm so glad you came home.”

“Is that you, Ben?” Max called impatiently from the hallway behind Cleo.

“Yes, sir.” Ben's voice held an unmistakable edge of respect. He glanced past Cleo to where Max was standing in the shadows. “I'm back.”

“So I see.” Max's eyes gleamed with silent approval. “Good timing. I was about to wake George and ask him to give me a hand, but something tells me you'll be more useful than George.”

Ben straightened his shoulders. “What do you want me to do?”

“Cover my back while a guy named Tobias Quinton and I play a couple of hands of poker. I don't think there will be any cheating, but you can never tell.”

Cleo snapped out of her short-lived good mood. “Poker? What are you talking about?”

“Relax, Cleo.” Max smiled blandly. “Quinton and I have reached an agreement. We're going to settle this matter in a manly fashion. If I win, the warriors will go peacefully upstairs to bed.”

Cleo was outraged. “What happens if you lose?”

“Then they get to drum and chant until dawn.”

Cleo was flabbergasted. “This is insane. You might lose.”

“Don't worry.” Max winked solemnly. “I won't lose. Trust me.”

Cleo wanted to scream. “Who came up with this stupid idea?”

“I did,” Max said.

“Oh, my God.” Cleo sagged against the front desk. “I don't believe this.”

“Relax, Cleo,” Max advised. “This is a male thing. I wouldn't expect a woman to understand it.”

I
t was pleasant being a family hero, Max reflected the next morning after the breakfast rush. Trisha thought he walked on water because Ben was back. Ben seemed to be in the process of turning him into a role model. Andromeda and the rest of the Cosmic Harmony crowd thought he'd finessed the situation with Quinton's group of rained-out warriors brilliantly. Sammy thought he was great simply because he was back.

The only one who was still grumbling was Cleo.

She stalked into the kitchen shortly after the dining room had been cleared. Most of the staff were drinking coffee or tea and nibbling on the latest version of Daystar's muffins.

Cleo came to a halt in the middle of the floor and stood facing everyone with her hands on her hips. Her expression was a cross between surly and triumphant.

“That's the last of them,” she announced. “Tobias Quinton and his bunch are finally gone. As I live and breathe, it is my most profound wish to never see a manly warrior male for the rest of my natural life.”

Max met Ben's eyes. Neither said a word. They both turned to look at Cleo.

Max cleared his throat politely. “Just out of curiosity, how do you classify Ben and me? Wimpy weenies?”

Cleo had the decency to blush. “Don't be ridiculous. You know what I mean.”

“Does this mean I'm not getting a drum for Christmas?” Max asked.

Sylvia, Andromeda, and the others burst into laughter. Cleo endured the reaction stoically. She went over to the counter to pour herself a cup of tea.

“Go ahead, laugh,” she muttered. “But I'm here to tell you that it's just the sheerest good luck that Max and Ben were able to get those characters off to bed last night. What if Max had lost that stupid card game?”

“How could I lose at cards with a name like Fortune?” Max asked equably.

Andromeda was immediately intrigued. “Of course, Max. There's probably some harmonic connection between the name you were given at birth and your luck. Do you always win when you play?”

Ben grinned. “I'll bet he always wins when he deals the way he did last night. I watched him. Cleo had nothing to worry about. Tobias Quinton never had a chance.”

Cleo gave Max a sharp glance over the rim of her mug. “Did you cheat, Max?”

“There are some things we manly macho men do not discuss in front of females,” Max said with lofty disdain. “It's a male thing, you know.”

Cleo shuddered. “Speaking of male things, I certainly hope I never see another collection like the ones displayed in the solarium last night.”

Everyone fixed Cleo with deeply inquiring looks.

Max recalled the ring of nude men sitting in front of the fire. He smiled politely at Cleo. “Disappointed, were you?”

Cleo gave him a goaded look. “Let's just say that none of them compared to the strikingly superior specimen I have recently been privileged to view in a private showing.”

Max choked on his coffee. “Glad to hear that.”

Sammy tugged on Cleo's jeans. “What's a male thing?” he asked with the persistence only a five-year-old can muster.

Cleo glanced down and smiled benignly. “Sometimes it doesn't amount to much, dear. But occasionally it can be a work of art.”

“Oh.” Disappointed by the answer, Sammy went over to the counter to help himself to another muffin.

Everyone else started to grin. Cleo turned pink again and helped herself to more tea.

Yes, there was a lot to be said for being a hero, Max thought. But the best part was learning last night that he didn't really have to do anything except come home in order to get the job.

At midmorning Cleo halted in the middle of her walk and watched as Kimberly strode toward her across the rocky beach.

Today Kimberly looked tastefully stylish in expensive penny loafers, heather gray trousers, and a hounds-tooth jacket. Her blond hair was in an elegant chignon. Cleo was suddenly very aware that her own hair was a windblown tangle.

“Good morning, Ms. Curzon-Winston,” Cleo said, determined to be polite. “I thought you'd left.”

Kimberly stopped in front of her. Her eyes were cool and watchful. “I wanted to talk to you before I go.”

Cleo folded her arms across her chest. “About Max?”

“Yes.”

Cleo gave her a quizzical look. “There isn't much to say, is there?”

“I want to know what's going on between you two.”

“Why?”

Kimberly's mouth tightened. “Because Max is acting very strangely. Completely out of character, as a matter of fact. He's up to something, and I want to know what it is.”

“I really don't think I owe you any explanations,” Cleo said as gently as possible. “My relationship with Max is personal.”

Kimberly looked briefly amused. “Relationship? With Max Fortune? Trust me, Ms. Robbins, Max doesn't know the meaning of the word
relationship
. He's a robot. A very brilliant, very clever, extremely useful robot, but a robot, nonetheless.”

Cleo was stunned. “That's not true.”

“I've known him a lot longer than you have, Ms. Robbins. Did he tell you that we were engaged for a time?”

“Yes.”

“Did he tell you that he got that limp saving my life?”

Cleo tightened her arms across her chest. “He told me.”

Kimberly looked out at the cloudy horizon. “He asked me to marry him while he was lying in a hospital bed. He was well aware that I was feeling guilty. It was my fault he'd been shot, and both of us knew it. He used that knowledge in a very cold-blooded way to push me into an engagement.”

“Why would he do that?”

Kimberly shrugged. “Because he wanted me and he wanted Curzon International. I'll admit I was physically attracted to him. I tried to tell myself at first that he loved me, but I knew all along that he was just using me to get what he wanted. When Max wants something, he does whatever it takes to get it.”

“I think you're wrong,” Cleo said.

“Am I?” Kimberly's mouth twisted. “You haven't seen him in action the way I have. Max has a certain reputation.”

“What sort of reputation?”

“Once he's made up his mind that he wants something, he's almost unstoppable. Whenever Uncle Jason needed a business deal pulled out of the fire or had a problem at one of the hotels, he sent Max in to handle it. Max never failed. As far as he was concerned, whatever Uncle Jason wanted, Uncle Jason got.”

“Max was very close to your uncle,” Cleo said stiffly.

“Max isn't close to anyone. Not in the way you mean.” Kimberly smiled bitterly. “He used Uncle Jason, just as he uses everyone else. Max deliberately set out to make himself indispensable to Curzon. As usual, he succeeded.”

“If Max is so ruthless, why do you want him back?”

“Curzon International needs him.” Kimberly's gaze was grim. “At least my father seems to think it does.”

“What do you think?” Cleo asked quietly.

Kimberly looked out over the cold sea. “I think Max would be extremely useful to Curzon, but I also think he would be dangerous. If we pay the price he'll probably demand in exchange for his return, we'll be taking an enormous risk.”

Cleo studied her intently. “What do you think Max wants from you?”

“A seat on the Curzon board. Uncle Jason promised that he'd get it eventually. But Jason died before he could force the rest of us to accept someone on the board who was not a member of the family.”

“Max doesn't seem to want to go back,” Cleo said cautiously. “He thinks you and your father can run the company without him.”

Kimberly gave a short, brittle laugh. “That's not what my father believes. He says we need Max. At least for a couple of years.”

Cleo looked down at the toes of her silver sneakers and then raised her eyes to meet Kimberly's. “How do you feel about it?”

Kimberly shot her a swift, unreadable glance. “I think that my father is in charge of Curzon, and if he wants Max back, I'll do my damnedest to get him back. There, Ms. Robbins, I've put my cards on the table. You know exactly where I stand.”

“You just want to use Max. You're no different than you say he is.”

Kimberly mouthed a disgusted exclamation. “You don't understand, do you? Max relates to people in one of two ways. He either wants something from them, or he uses them to get something else that he wants.”

Cleo stared at her. “Did you ever love him, Kimberly?”

Kimberly hesitated. “I will be perfectly blunt. There was no possibility of loving Max. He and I were attracted to each other from the moment we met. But physical desire is the limit of what Max can feel for a woman.”

“Are you sure of that?”

Kimberly smiled coldly. “Very sure. I was surprised to learn that he's involved with you. Max is as discriminating in his taste in women as he is in his taste in art. Quite frankly, you're not his type.”

“And you are?”

“Yes.” There was no arrogance or challenge in Kimberly's voice. She made the statement with simple certainty. “Uncle Jason turned Max into a very sophisticated connoisseur of art. Max picked up the technique, and he applies it to everything he wants, including women. He has the finely honed instincts of an extremely selective collector.”

“If you don't believe that he's genuinely interested in me, what do you think he wants from me?” Cleo asked.

“I don't know yet. But I suppose you'll find out soon enough. We all will.”

“What's that supposed to mean?”

Kimberly turned her head, her eyes hard with warning. “Just that Max obviously has his own reasons both for working for you and for seducing you. My advice is that you bear that in mind.”

“What do you want me to do?” Cleo smiled bleakly. “Fire him?”

“That might not be a bad place to start. You're in over your head, Ms. Robbins.” Kimberly turned and walked off down the beach.

“The thing about hardware stores,” Ben said to Max as they walked into Harmony Cove Hardware the following afternoon, “is that you got to know what you want before you walk through the door.”

“Why is that?” Max glanced around curiously. He had never spent much time in hardware stores. Hardware stores were for men who had real homes of their own. Mansions didn't count. You called someone else in to do repairs in a house such as the one he owned in Seattle. He'd rarely had occasion to fix a leaking faucet, paint a bedroom, or put up wallpaper until he'd moved into Robbins' Nest Inn.

“Because if you don't know what you want and stay focused on it, you get sidetracked.” Ben paused beside a display of gleaming steel wrenches. He picked one up and fingered it lovingly.

“Do we need a wrench for this job?” Max picked up one of the wrenches and examined it with interest.

“Nope.” Ben put the wrench down. “But you see what I mean? It's easy to get sidetracked. There's so much really great stuff in a hardware store.”

“These are nice.” Max paused beside a counter full of shiny power drills. He hefted one, testing the weight and feel of it in his hand.

Ben peered at it with admiration. “Real nice. Look at the price on that sucker.”

Max glanced at the price tag. “Probably worth every penny.”

“Yeah.” Ben grinned. “Think I could convince Trisha that I need one to fix up the baby's room?”

“You could try.” Max put the drill back down on the counter.

“Something I've been meaning to ask you,” Ben said as he examined a neat arrangement of nails.

“What's that?” Max looked at a rack of colorful screwdrivers.

“You planning on sticking around the inn for a while?” Ben concentrated intently on the nails.

“Yes,” Max said. “I'm planning on sticking around until someone throws me out.”

“Yeah. Well, okay,” Ben said. “That's all I wanted to ask. Hey, will you look at those clamps. I've been meaning to get one for my workbench down in the basement.”

Max continued to study the screwdrivers. “I could use one of these.”

“You never know when you're going to need a screwdriver handy.” Ben picked up a clamp. “They're busy planning the wedding, you know. Trisha says that even though we're going to get married right away, the family wants to do it up real formal. Tuxes for the guys and a fancy gown for her.”

“I know.” Max had heard the discussions in the kitchen that morning.

Cleo, Andromeda, Daystar, and Sylvia intended to pull out all the stops for Ben and Trisha's wedding. It had already been decided that the event would take place in less than two weeks at Cosmic Harmony. Daystar had pointed out in her usual pragmatic fashion that under the circumstances, there was not a lot of time to waste.

“I've never worn a tux,” Ben said hesitantly. “Didn't go to a senior prom or anything. I don't even know where to get one.”

“Nothing to it,” Max assured him. He selected one of the screwdrivers and took it down from the rack.

“You sure?”

“I'm sure,” said Max. “Don't worry about it. I'll show you how it's done.”