Intimate Betrayal (4 page)

R
eligiously, every Saturday morning for the past fifteen years, Maxwell went to the dojo, either in the role of the
Sahbamin
—teacher—or to work out. His class of eight-year-olds were not due to arrive for two hours.

When he arrived, the only other person present was his best friend, Chris Lewis. He was glad to see his buddy, who'd just returned from a martial arts tournament. He needed to talk.

Maxwell stowed his small duffel bag in his locker and changed into his
gui.
Shortly, he joined Chris in the small room where they meditated before each session.

Chris and Maxwell bowed toward each other and silently took their places on the straw mats. The peaceful atmosphere of the dojo was what Maxwell needed. His spirit was in disarray. He couldn't seem to focus or center his energy. And he'd been that way since Reese Delaware steamrolled into his life.

How was he going to be able to accomplish all that needed to be done in the next month when images of Reese haunted his every thought?

 

“You're not here today, brother,” Chris said as they left the prayer room. “What's up?”

Maxwell walked out onto the practice floor, trying to form the words to explain to his friend.

As graceful as a gazelle, Maxwell moved through his warm-up paces of
Tai Kwon Do,
the only martial art accepted in Olympic competition. The intricate combinations of kicks and punches were a marvel to watch and difficult to master.

“Remember I told you about the Board's decision to allow a full-fledged article to be written about me and the company?”

“Yeah, I remember, and I had to listen to you bitch and moan about it for weeks.” He chuckled. “So…what happened?”

Maxwell took a deep breath and on the exhale lashed out his right leg, cutting sharply through the air. He glanced briefly at Chris from the corner of his eye. “She's here.”

Chris's eyes widened. “She?”

A quirky smile played around the corners of Maxwell's mouth. “Yeah, she.”

“Well don't stop there. I take it
she's
the reason why you're performing like an amateur instead of a master teacher,” he said, observing Maxwell's uncharacteristically choppy moves.

Maxwell dropped his hands to his sides and unclenched his fists. He crossed the huge room and took a seat on the wooden bench. Chris joined him.

“She…she has my head all messed up,” Maxwell confessed,
avoiding Chris's questioning looks. He braced his forearms on his muscled thighs and leaned forward.

“She must really be something if she can raise
your
blood pressure. I've never known you to give a woman any more of your time than was absolutely necessary,” he chuckled.

Maxwell laughed, then slowly sobered. “She's not like anyone I've ever met before,” he said, a slight frown creasing his brow. “Every time I'm round her my hormones go on a rampage.”

“Sounds like you need to just get it on and get it out of your system,” Chris hedged, trying to goad his brother-friend into confessing what was really bothering him.

“It's not about sex, man. I mean, that's part of it,” he added, feeling the throb of excitement just thinking about the possibilities. “But it's more than that.” He shook his head in confusion, trying to find the words. “There's this…connection that I feel when I'm with her. She's exciting, intelligent, fun. She has this way of making me take a real look at myself. She's not afraid to challenge me.”

“She sounds like a powerful lady.” He patted Maxwell on the back. “Just the medicine you need, my brother. So what's the problem?”

“The same problem I always have. I just can't let go. How do I know if she's really interested in me, or just wants my story?”

“You won't until you put yourself out there and find out. Listen, I know you've been burned—bad. Victoria Davenport was a first-class bitch. I know that your Moms and Pops left a lot to be desired as parents. But there comes a time when you have to dust yourself off and try again.”

Maxwell stood up. “Easier said than done.”

“Give her a chance, man. Forget the fact that she's a reporter. And go with what you feel.”

“I'll think about it.”

Chris rose and joined his friend in the center of the floor. “That's your problem, my brother. You think too much.” Maxwell laughed.

“So, what's this wonder woman's name?”

“Reese,” he said wistfully. “Reese Delaware.”

 

Reese sat curled up on the couch, all traces of her headache from the previous night completely gone. She sipped a cup of herbal tea, while keying in the beginnings of her article on her laptop.

Maxwell Knight was definitely the most intriguing man she'd ever met. There were so many layers to his personality, but for some reason, he only chose to display one. She put the portable computer aside and got up. Crossing the small living area, she went to the window.

She wrapped her arms around her waist and sighed. Max was a man with a past, a part of him that he wished to keep hidden from the world. In that respect, they were totally dissimilar. For the past fifteen years, she'd tried desperately to remove the veil that shrouded her life, and had failed.

She turned away from the New York skyline. She was getting too close to this story. She was losing her objectivity. That was totally unlike her.

That was probably the reason for the sudden return of the headaches and the nightmares. She was becoming too involved with her subject.

She couldn't let that happen. This assignment was the chance of a lifetime—an opportunity that every journalist salivates for.

Reese smiled in resignation. Unfortunately, it was too late. What she was beginning to feel for Maxwell Knight had absolutely nothing to do with her job. But everything to do with her being a woman who wanted a man as much as she wanted to breathe.

The ringing phone pulled her rudely away from her reverie.

“Hello?”

“Good morning. I was calling to see how you were feeling.”

The pulse began to pound in her ears, and the little butterflies went berserk in her tummy.

“I'm feeling fabulous, Max. Thanks to you.”

“Did you sleep well?”

Not as well as I could have if you'd stayed, she wanted to say. “Very well. And you?”

“Let's bypass the small talk,” he said suddenly, needing to take the plunge. “Are you dressed?”

“For what?” she teased, and his thoughts went out of order.

“For company. I want to come—over,” he uttered, his comment full of innuendo. “Then I thought I'd take you around the city before we leave in the morning.”

Her spirits soared. She was grinning so hard her jaw began to ache. “I'll be here,” she said, her voice full of invitation.

“And
I'll
be there, shortly.”

 

“Where are we going?” Reese questioned, settling herself in the car.

“For the twenty-five-cent tour, of course.”

She laughed. “Very funny. But seriously, where?”

“That's what's wrong with all you reporter types,” he teased, “just can't be satisfied without knowing every single detail.” He pushed out a prolonged sigh. “If you must know, I thought I'd take you to the Top of the Sixes for lunch. Then down to Soho. There's an art gallery opening that I wanted to see.” He turned to look at her. “I hope you like art,” he stated more than asked.

“Let's put it this way, I know what I like when I see it. That's the extent of my knowledge of art.” She chuckled.

He smiled when he realized he'd discovered a new level of admiration for her honesty.

“I can guarantee that you'll love this guy's work.”

“I'll take your word for it.”

For several moments they rode in companionable silence, until Reese spoke.

“What changed your mind?” she asked softly.

“About what?” he hedged.

“About me. What earth-shattering event made you want to spend your Saturday with me, the woman you love to hate?”

“I think your instincts are off again.”

“You mean you don't hate me?” she taunted.

He slanted her a look. “It's not you.” He paused to gauge his words. “It's what you represent.”

Reese digested what he'd said. “What is it that you have against journalists?” she asked, struggling to maintain a lid on her temper.

His jaw clenched. “They tend not to have any conscience, for starters.” The pain of remembrance laced his heavy voice, making it vibrate with emotion. “They have no qualms about intruding on a person's life and turning it upside down.”

“I see. And you feel I'm no different from the nefarious ‘they,'” she tossed out, fighting to disguise her hurt behind a wall of anger.

“Are you? Aren't you here to get ‘your story' no matter what it takes?”

“Yes I'm here to get a story Max, because it's my job. Just because you've had a bad experience with reporters doesn't give you the right to paint me with the same black brush.”

Maxwell spun the wheel, turning the car on two wheels,
causing traffic to swerve around them. The high-pitched squealing sound of the tires reminded Reese of pigs being led to the slaughterhouse. He jerked the car to a screeching halt.

He turned on her, his dark eyes blazing. “The right!” he boomed, his heavy voice reverberating in the small space. “I have every right. This is my life we're talking about, and you want a piece of it. Just like all the others. What makes you any different?”

Her sense of injustice made her want to fight back, to tell him what a bull-headed, stubborn fool he was being. But instinct told her that Max's outrage went much deeper. She reached out and touched his arm. “What happened to you, Max?” she asked so gently the words wrapped around his battered heart and cushioned it.

He looked down at the hand that held him, so long and slender. His gaze trailed up her arm to rest on her face and at eyes that beheld him with such compassion he was stunned by the impact. His eyes swam over her face, heating her.

Her grip tightened and he felt her warmth slowly spread through him.

He leaned closer. She held her breath, longing for what she knew was to come.

Maxwell reached out and stroked her face. His thumb traced the outline of her full, rich mouth. Her eyes slid shut as a tremor of delight tripped through her.

“Reese,” he exhaled on a hot breath. Her eyes slowly opened and met his uncertain gaze.

“Don't be afraid,” she uttered in a husky whisper. She closed the space between them. Her free hand reached out and ran across his hair of onyx silk. She caressed the smooth bronze jaw, the eyes of ebony that curved upward in invitation.

He turned his head to kiss her palm, then the tender inside of her wrist.

His kisses were hot, searing her, teasing her, sailing up her arm—short-circuiting her heart. She longed to pull him into her arms, to have him bury what had hurt him deep within her warmth. But she understood that for it to be right, it had to come from him. She would wait, even as her body trembled with a need that defied explanation.

Maxwell eased back, still holding her hand in his. Reese's eyes implored him to let go.

There was so much he wanted to say—needed to say. A part of him longed to share his deepest thoughts with this woman—share a part of himself with her—but he couldn't. Not anymore.

All he needed a woman for was to ease his physical needs. That's where his connection with them began and ended, he reminded himself. He would not allow Reese Delaware to change that fact.

“We'd better get going.” He spoke so calmly, a casual listener wouldn't have the slightest clue as to what had almost transpired.

Reese, who gave just as good as she got, smiled her slow easy smile and said, “You're right. I was wondering why we stopped.” If he wanted to act as if nothing happened, then as far as she was concerned nothing did, she fumed.

Maxwell checked his signals and pulled out into traffic. He forced his thoughts to clear. This was a mistake. He should have never offered to take her out. From today until the minute she left, he'd keep things between them strictly professional. It was obvious that she didn't give a damn one way or the other which way things went with them. Good. The hell with her. It was a damned good thing that Carmen would be traveling with them. At least he could palm Reese off on Carmen and not have to be bothered.

 

“Thank you for a wonderful day,” Reese said brightly as they pulled up in front of the hotel. Even though Max had been relatively quiet for the better part of the day, she did enjoy herself. He'd been the perfect gentleman and they'd shared a few good laughs and created some wonderful memories. She swallowed. Her heart was beating so fast she thought it would explode. She wanted him to come upstairs, but she knew he wouldn't.

“A car will be here to pick you up at 9:00 a.m. We have a ten o'clock flight,” he said, sidestepping her comment. As much as he was reluctant to admit it, he'd enjoyed every minute of their day together.

“I know.” Reese leaned over the seat to retrieve her purse from the back. “It was so generous of you to get me a first-class ticket,” she added, missing the look of stunned disbelief that momentarily carved his face into a mask of incredulity. She turned briefly toward him. “Well, good night. I'll see you in the morning.”

He pressed a button on the driver's-side panel and released the lock. “Good night.” His tone was as tense as he felt. He kept his gaze straight ahead, knowing that if he looked at her now, the night would be long from over.

Reese rolled her eyes in annoyance. Without another word, she alighted from the car, and pushing through the revolving doors, disappeared among the guests in the ornate lobby of the Hilton, never once looking back.