Intimate Betrayal (6 page)

“Max…”

“Reese…”

They both looked at each other, speaking in unison.

Maxwell's stern countenance wavered and he smiled. “You first.”

Reese took a breath, briefly looked down at her hands and then into the depth of his magnificent ebony eyes. “I don't want to intrude on your life, Max. I want you to know that. And I don't want you to think that I don't have a conscience. Over the next few weeks, we're going to be spending a lot of time together. I'm going to be asking you questions you're not
going to want to answer. But we can get past all of that.” Her eyes raced across the flawless honey-dipped face. “There's something much more than just interviewer-interviewee going on between us.” Her husky voice lowered until it felt like a pulse beating in his body. “If I'm wrong, I want you to tell me—now.”

Interminable minutes seemed to tick away before he spoke.

“I wish I could tell you how wrong you are—that your instincts are off.” His large hand reached out and stroked the worry from her forehead. He clenched his jaw, the war of doubt still putting up a good fight. “But I can't,” he finally said.

Reese let out a long-held shaky breath. She pressed her lips together and clasped his hand within hers. “I swear to you, Max, you won't regret it,” she whispered.

He grinned like a young boy. “That remains to be seen, Ms. Delaware. But with Carmen behind the scenes orchestrating things, I never stood a chance.”

She looked at him with wide-eyed innocence. “Carmen?”

“You must have guessed by now that Carmen thinks she's my mother. And as my mother, she must tend to my happiness—whatever she decides that may be.” He chuckled. “I'm quite sure she made certain me and you would be sitting together on this flight, while she sat back there,” he added, hitching his thumb over his left shoulder.

Reese twisted in her seat and looked over the heads behind her. She spotted Carmen peeking at her from above the top of a magazine. Reese grinned and Carmen gave her a thumbs-up sign.

“Has Carmen always had a penchant for organizing your personal life?” Reese questioned, settling down into her seat.

“She tries damned hard.” He chortled. “Most of the time she's right.”

“Do you generally take her advice?”

For a brief moment a dark shadow seemed to pass across his features. Carmen had warned him about Victoria early in their relationship. He hadn't listened. “For the most part.”

Reese quickly sensed that there was more to the clipped statement, but would not press the point. There were so many things about Maxwell Knight that she wanted to discover, but her writer's instinct and her female intuition reminded her it would be a very difficult road indeed.

 

James Knight climbed the stairs to the attic of his two-story home. After receiving a large cash compensation from the military during his service, he'd had the house built. It was the house he'd tried to raise his son, Max, in. Instead, it was the house that he'd watched his life and his marriage crumble in. Beautiful on the outside with a wide front enclosed porch reminiscent of the plantations of the south, whitewashed with tall stately pillars and a perfectly manicured front and back lawn.

His wife, Claudia, had spent innumerable hours finding just the right fabric, piece of furniture, work of art. The house on Pinecroft Court was a palace, but it was never a home. She'd tried—Lord knows she'd tried, but there was always a shadow that hovered between them. It was there waiting for him when he'd returned from Japan.

Pushing open the attic door, he pulled a key from his pants pocket, crossed the small crawl space, and used the key to open an old footlocker.

From within he pulled out a gray metal box filled with yellowed paper, photographs, and signed documents.

James's warm brown eyes clouded over. For more than
fifteen years, what had been done had remained sealed away in his attic and in the “eyes only” files of the military.

But governments change. Policy and administrations change. His son was being interviewed by one of the most renowned publications in the country. Everything would slowly begin to unravel. He knew it as sure as he knew it would rain by the aches in his knees.

He pulled out a faded picture of a beautiful young geisha, Sukihara—Suki, whom he'd loved like no other. How different would his life have been if he'd remained in Tokyo…?

Tokyo, April 1960

The month of April is one of the busiest times in the geisha quarters. In the evenings, the teahouses and restaurants where the geishas—or artistic persons—entertain, are crowded with guests from surrounding cities who have journeyed to Tokyo for the cherry blossoms and the geisha dance festival.

It was late one April evening when James and his army buddy Larry Templeton, who'd been stationed in Tokyo for two months, decided to venture out and see what all the mystery was surrounding the geishas. Since being stationed in Tokyo, they had seen no more than their barracks and their immediate area. They felt totally isolated. Not only was there the language and cultural barriers to deal with, they were the only two black men they'd seen since their arrival. They started off with two strikes against them; they were the American military in a foreign country and they were black—the lowest men on the totem pole no matter where they went.

“Whaddaya want to do tonight?” Larry asked, lacing up his regulation boots.

James chuckled in his deep robust voice. “How many
choices do we have, man? It's not like we're the most welcomed folks in town.”

“I guess you're right. But it's Friday. We have the whole weekend off. There ought to be something.”

James shrugged his wide shoulders. His dark brown eyes slowly lit up. “How about checking out one of those teahouses I've always heard about?”

“Hey, why not? How do we get there?”

James sat down on the edge of his single bed and pulled out a slim map from the drawer.

“From what I've been hearing the really good ones are in Kyoto.” He unfolded the map and spread it out on the bed. Both young men hovered over the finely drawn lines. James stuck out his index finger and traced a path.

“It's a good half-hour drive,” Larry said, straightening up.

“You have something better to do?”

“Very funny. Let's go while the night is still young.”

 

They drove for nearly an hour.

“You sure you know where you're going?” Larry taunted.

“It can't be too much farther. As a matter of fact, good buddy, there's the Kamo River now. I do believe we have arrived.” James grinned and pointed to the elaborate structure that was pinpointed by brightly lit lanterns, the only illumination for miles around—giving the entire scene a picture postcard feel.

“Hot damn,” Larry exclaimed. “I'm finally gonna meet me a real-life geisha. Wait till I tell the boys back home.” He slapped his thigh and hopped out of the jeep.

When James and Larry entered the teahouse, it was like nothing they'd anticipated. Although they received cold or indifferent looks from the Japanese and white men who were
ensconced in various locations of the establishment, it was the role of the geisha to welcome and entertain every man who crossed the threshold. And they did—from singing and dancing to pouring their sake.

All of the preconceived notions about geishas being no more than high-priced prostitutes were soon erased. These were pampered, talented, beautiful, sexy women, who because of the Japanese culture, were a necessary way of life. Wives, on the other hand, were subdued, obedient, and anything but sexy. They were everything that a geisha was not.

James slowly relaxed and began to truly enjoy the performances and the pampering, but his breath stopped in his chest when a young, beautiful girl, dressed in an elaborate costume of brilliant red and gold, took center stage. Her name was Sukihara, the petite, exotic nymph who'd changed his life.

Far off, James heard the ringing of the phone. With reluctance be returned the photos to the box and placed the box back in the footlocker.

Quickly he ran down the short flight of steps and answered the phone that sat in the foyer of the top floor.

Returning from her part-time job at the local library, and unaware that her husband was at home, Claudia picked up the extension on the ground floor. When she heard her husband's voice she intended to hang up until she heard the voice of the caller.

“Hello?”

“Colonel Knight?”

“Yes, speaking.”

“This is Major General Murphy at Chevy Chase Air Force Base.”

James's heart began to race with dread. He'd been expecting this call and hating its inevitability.

“What can I do for you, sir?”

“We've arranged to have a car pick you up at your home tomorrow morning at 0800 hours.”

“Yes, sir.”

“I hope this won't pose a problem for you.”

“No, sir. Of course not.”

“Good. See you then, Colonel.” He broke the connection.

James Knight had spent forty years of his life in the Special Forces unit of the Air Force. Taking orders without question was second nature. Slowly he replaced the receiver. Taking orders was the reason his life had never been his own, the reason that haunted him every day of his life for the past fifteen years—the reason why his son must never discover what those orders had commanded him to do.

Claudia clutched the phone to her breasts and squeezed her eyes shut. When would they ever leave them alone? For fifteen years, they'd lived under the thumb of that demon from hell—Murphy. They'd never let James live in peace even after all that he'd done in their name. The military had stolen his spirit and Sukihara had stolen his heart.

“A
fter we check into the hotel, I need to head over to the office,” Maxwell announced, as they moved through Los Angeles International Airport.

Reese and Carmen doubled their steps to keep up with his brisk, long-legged strides.

“I'll be going with you,” Reese stated. “So I'll need a few minutes to freshen up.”

Maxwell looked at her over his shoulder. He wanted to say that she looked fabulous just the way she was. Her raven mane was twisted into a fuss-free French roll, and her statuesque form was coated in a teal suit of micro-silk with a skirt that hit her just above those gorgeous knees. His eyes snaked down to those luscious legs that were shadowed by a sheer pair of black hose. Briefly he wondered if she wore pantyhose or real stockings with garter belts. In any event, there was no way she looked like she'd been on a plane for six hours.

“If you think it's necessary—to freshen up,” he qualified. “But I don't have time to wait around all afternoon.”

Reese and Carmen exchanged glances. “I'll be sure not to keep you waiting—too long,” Reese coed sweetly.

 

Once inside her hotel room, Reese was suitably impressed. This room outdid the Hilton by light years. The living area looked out onto rows of swaying palms and gentle breezes. The thick ecru carpet was so deep it tickled her ankles when she walked. She crossed the room and twisted the gold knob of the door.

Her breath caught in her throat. A huge canopy bed of eggshell white demanded her immediate attention. Along the canopy's posters, white diaphanous fabric was dramatically draped. She smiled. Maxwell Knight certainly knew how to do things with panache.

Reese quickly tucked her suitcase and garment bag in the walk-in closet. She'd unpack later. She unzipped her garment bag and retrieved a pale peach suit of clinging rayon and silk. From another zippered compartment she took out a matching pair of low-heeled sandals. In record time, she'd changed clothes, repaired her minimal makeup, and tucked in some stray strands of hair.

Satisfied with her transformation, she grabbed her purse and briefcase and headed out of the suite. As soon as she stepped off of the elevator, she spotted the unmistakable figure of Maxwell pacing among the lobby crowd. For a moment, a rush of electricity whizzed through her, and she stood still as an Egyptian statue. To watch him, unobserved, was to see raw energy barely contained beneath bone and sinew. What would it be like to unleash that energy, to see it reach its apex? How would she ever find the words to convey to the reader what was almost mystical, something that had
to be experienced—not explained—especially now when her emotions were beginning to cloud her judgment?

It was as if he sensed her presence, like a jungle cat becoming aware of a predator. He turned, not his whole body, just his head and looked straight at her with those incredible eyes.

The sudden contact caused Reese's heart to slam mercilessly in her chest. There was no mistake. What she saw in his eyes was pure, unadulterated hunger.

The current that snapped back and forth between them was broken when Carmen approached Maxwell and tapped him on the shoulder.

“The car is out front,” she said.

Maxwell tore his gaze away from Reese and she was finally freed from the magnetic hold of his eyes.

Putting on her best smile, she approached the duo. “I hope I didn't keep you waiting too long.”

The hot coals of his eyes raked over her, and it took all she had not to tremble.

“Not at all. I just came down myself.”

Reese couldn't have been more stunned if he'd smacked her. Where were the cutting remarks, the sarcasm?

 

Maxwell sat opposite Reese and Carmen in the limousine. “Did you talk with the housekeeper, Carmen?”

“Yes. Everything is in order. You can have your things sent over whenever you're ready.”

“Great. Thanks. If you could take care of that for me while Ms. Delaware and I are at the office, I'd appreciate it.”

“No problem.”

Curiously, Reese looked from one to the other waiting for someone to clue her in on what was going on. No one did. So she did what came naturally. She asked.

“Is there some reason why you're not staying at the hotel, Max?”

“Yes, there is.” One reason is because I don't know how I'd be able to resist sneaking into your room each night, he thought. But instead he said, “I always promised myself that if I had to be away from home for long periods of time I'd have someplace I could call my own. I'm sure you'll be quite comfortable at the hotel,” he added, seeming to want to assure her that the hotel was above reproach.

How interesting, she mused and made a mental note to explore that little revelation at a later date. “I'd love to see it before we leave.”

Maxwell cleared his throat. “I'll make sure that you do,” he returned, his simple statement full of innuendo.

 

Where the New York office was charged with an unmistakable energy, the L.A. contingent epitomized California cool. The techs ambled, never rushed, down the corridors. Everyone smiled and looked as though they were headed to the beach instead of one of the fastest growing engineering companies on both coasts.

As they made their way around the winding maze of cubicles and labs, in and out of security checkpoints, it seemed that every staff member found a way to gain Maxwell's attention. Everyone seemed thoroughly pleased that he'd returned.

“Max, good to have you back,” enthused a fiftyish-looking engineer who stopped Maxwell just outside of his office.

Maxwell actually beamed with warmth, Reese noticed, as the two men embraced in a hearty bear hug. Maxwell turned to face Carmen and Reese with his arm draped across the man's shoulders.

This brief moment hinted at a dimension of his personality
that he very infrequently allowed to be revealed, Reese realized, as another corner of her heart softened.

“I'd like to introduce you to Reese Delaware. Ms. Delaware is the journalist from
Visions Magazine.
”

At least he didn't call me a reporter.

“Ms. Delaware, this is Raymond St. John, the man who runs things in my absence—and when I'm here,” he added, his laughter rumbling from deep in his chest.

Raymond stretched out his large hand to Reese, which she shook. “It's a pleasure to meet you, Ms. Delaware. Don't let ole Max give you a hard time,” he added in a faint accent that she couldn't quite place. It was a melodic cross between Caribbean and Southern. She made another mental note and picked up the conversation.

“He just gets a little itchy and cranky around reporters. But he really is a right nice sorta fella,” he chuckled, miming an exaggerated drawl.

“That remains to be seen,” Reese teased, giving Raymond the benefit of her best smile.

“You just keep working on him,” he offered in a stage whisper. “Get Carmen's help,” he added, winking at Carmen. “She's the only one who can keep him in line.”

“The way the two of you are talking, you're acting like I'm not even here,” Maxwell shot in, pretending offense.

“I guess that's my cue,” Raymond said. “Pleasure to meet you, Ms. Delaware. If you need anything, my office is right down the hall.”

“Thank you. I appreciate that and please call me Reese.”

“I sure will. As long as you call me R.J.”

“Done.”

Raymond moved down the hallway and disappeared around the corner.

“Are the two of you about ready?” Maxwell snapped in a
low rumble, annoyed by the innocent flirting between R.J. and Reese. He opened the door and stepped inside.

Carmen and Reese shared a curious look and crossed the threshold.

 

Reese's feet were on fire by the time Maxwell finished his tour of the tri-level facility. She'd lost count of the rooms, offices and various labs, not to mention the basement, and subbasement where all of the computer chips and electronic tapes were fabricated. No wonder everyone she ran into, no matter how fashionably they were dressed, wore sneakers.

What unnerved her the most was that Maxwell seemed to draw some sort of macabre pleasure at seeing her gritting her teeth from the ache in her toes. What happened to the man who all but admitted that something was happening between them?

“That about covers everything,” he announced, when they returned to his office three hours later. He turned to her with what she'd swear was a look of mock concern. “I hope the tour wasn't too tiring. You do look a bit exhausted. Tokyo will be even more grueling. There are three different locations that I've selected, spread out across the provinces.” He smiled a cat-like grin. “I hope you're up to it.”

“I appreciated your concern,” she replied in a tone strung as tight as the skin across a drum. “But there's no reason for it. So you don't have to pretend to care one way or the other.”

“Whatever you may think of me, I'm not insensitive,” he said in a voice so soft she felt herself drawing closer to be sure she'd heard correctly.

Sensing a moment of vulnerability, Reese took a deep breath and decided to take a chance. Purposefully she crossed the room and sat in a chair opposite his desk. She looked up at him.

“Then why do you treat me as though I was some awful
thing that has been dropped in your midst one minute and then act like you want to rip my clothes off the next? I know being followed around isn't easy. I know having someone ask questions about you from every Bubba, Buck, and Betty that knows you isn't always pleasant. But for the most part, a person in your position would kill for an opportunity like this. What is it that bothers you so much? Is it me?”

Maxwell looked at her for a long moment, seeing hurt, outrage and genuine concern brimming in her amber eyes.

“Are you hungry?” he asked in that same alluring tone, as if he hadn't heard a word she'd said. “I'm starved, and I know a wonderful restaurant where we can relax and talk.”

She opened her mouth to toss out a sarcastic retort, but when she saw the gentle look in his eyes, she changed her mind. “Sounds perfect.”

 

They rode for more than a half hour in silence. The only sounds were the soft notes of music coming from the incredible stereo system of Maxwell's black-on-black Corvette—his West Coast mode of transport.

He drove with a single-mindedness, intense—just as he appeared in every area of his life. A sudden, hot flush flooded Reese when she contemplated the thought of what he would be like as a lover. Would he be just as focused and controlled—just as relentless, consuming everything around him and giving little in return? Or was that the one aspect of the inscrutable Maxwell Knight that became unleashed?

She was so involved in her erotic meanderings that she didn't realize they'd stopped until Maxwell was at her side with the door open.

He leaned slightly forward and extended his hand. “We're here.”

She looked up at him and her breath stuck in her throat when she saw the undeniable look of hunger dance in his
exotic eyes. Almost as if afraid of being burned, she cautiously placed her hand in his.

The restaurant he'd selected was a half mile from the beach. From the vantage point of their table by the window, Reese could see the shoreline being stroked by the gentle lapping of the waves. Just off the horizon, the setting sun cast a brilliant orange glow across the shimmering water.

For several moments, Reese stared at the tranquil scene absorbing its beauty, allowing the moment to fill her with an inner peace.

While in profile, Maxwell seized the moment to enjoy watching Reese, unobserved, and felt the steady stirring within him. As much as he tried to deny it, Reese Delaware was getting under his skin and damnit, he wanted to keep her there. She embodied all of the qualities he'd want in his woman: brains, wit, confidence, honesty, beauty, and sexy as all hell. But he'd been burned before and wasn't sure if he could handle it again. What if he opened up to her, really opened up, and she spilled his deepest thoughts and dreams onto paper. His father had nearly been destroyed by a news-hungry journalist, and then they came after him when Victoria turned on him. It had taken months and a crack public-relations firm to cool the heels of the reporters.

He sighed in silence. He didn't get to where he was by not taking risks. And there was no question that Reese posed risks he probably could never conceive of.

As if aware of his close scrutiny, Reese turned her gaze in his direction and without preamble asked, “What are you thinking about, Max, right this minute?” She leaned forward as if his answer held the wisdom of the universe. Her eyes were transfixed on his face.

“I was wondering if I should take a chance—Reese.” He, too, leaned closer until only the small glass centerpiece that held a scented candle separated them. He looked at her
over the flickering flame. “I have every reason to be wary of you. My gut instinct tells me that I should give you the bare minimum and send you on your way.”

“But,” she whispered.

His chuckle was soft, deprecating. “But—” he smiled “—what I'm beginning to feel about you is telling me otherwise.”

Reese grinned seductively. “Are you saying that you're having feelings for me Mr. Knight?” She ran her pearl-polished nail across his knuckle.

Maxwell laughed outright, shaking his head while he enclosed her hand in his. “Reese, any man would be a fool not to fall all over himself trying to find out what makes you tick.” His voice descended another octave, and he stared into her questioning gaze. “And I don't consider myself to be anybody's fool.”

Reese continued to look at him even as she raised his hand and brushed her moist lips across his knuckles. “Why don't we start from here, today,” she said in her throaty voice, “to get to know each other and save the interviewing for the office.” Her eyes were the wind racing across his face. “There are so many things I want to know about you—and believe me, they have nothing to do with my job.” She grinned wickedly.