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CHAPTER FIVE

DISMISSING the car and deciding to walk back to his meeting, which was just a few minutes away, Caleb’s mind raced. That kiss…and Maggie filled his senses so much that the thought of work was a thorn in his side. His step became more brisk, as if he could put distance between himself and his uncomfortable thoughts. He’d had other mistresses, lots…what was the problem now? Maggie was just another one. Then he remembered reluctantly that, walking down a street in London some weeks before and seeing the back of a petite redhead, his pulse had quickened through his body with such force that he’d been shaking by the time he’d caught up with her, only to find that she was nothing like Maggie. The force of need that had ripped through him had disturbed him more than he’d cared to admit at the time.

Was that what had spurred him to see her again? To wreak the final, devastating revenge? Because he hated the pull she still had over him?

He berated himself inwardly for giving rein to such thoughts. Applied the stern logic he was famed for. He desired her and she’d offered him the key he’d needed to make her his mistress, that was all. She was just the next in line, however she’d come to him. Reluctantly or not. And the jury was still out on whether or not she had manipulated events from the word go. She had, after all, been instrumental in a bid to see him crushed. He could never afford to forget that. Could never trust her.

But now, after just hours in Maggie’s company—a woman who didn’t even pretend to like him—for the first time ever he was suddenly wishing for an afternoon off. Why on earth was he suddenly questioning the control he wielded that didn’t make it easy for him to walk away on a whim? It was desire pure and simple. Even if it was a more powerful desire than he’d ever experienced, still, that’s all it was. Nothing else. Yet…

Yet nothing…

He hated the thought that he could very well be dancing to her tune…still.

As she waited that evening for the lift to arrive, Maggie’s reflection stared back from the mirrored door. She felt a little unrecognisable. Having always rebelled at Tom’s attempts to get her to ‘dress up’, she had never normally made much of an effort.

And yet now…she suddenly felt the urge? a small mocking voice jeered in her ear. Still, she was glad she’d made the effort, she told herself defiantly, pressing the button again with undue force, a quiver of butterflies taking flight in her belly when the bell pinged loudly, announcing the lift’s arrival.

Caleb nursed a whiskey in the dark bar as he waited. He drew admiring, openly covetous looks from every woman there. He knew it, could feel it, was always aware of it, but let it roll off him like droplets of water off a duck’s back. The only gaze he sought right now was a green-eyed one. Except it was more likely to be combative than covetous, despite her acquiescence earlier.

He was steeled to see her again. All defences raised. She’d invaded his thoughts all afternoon, had made him lose his concentration, his focus. He’d found himself on the verge of agreeing to a merger that would have cost him millions until he’d woken up at the last moment. This is what she’d done before. And, after the call he’d just taken from his assistant in Dublin, he knew she was up to a lot more than wanting her house back for her poor, supposedly innocent, mother. She was up to a whole lot more.

A distinct hush fell over the already muted tones of conversation in the bar. The hairs stood up on the back of Caleb’s neck as he looked up slowly from his glass. Maggie stood in the doorway. His chest grew tight and his breathing constricted as he drank in the sight of her. She looked…stunning.

He could see her eyes dart around the room and knew she wouldn’t see him straight away as he was partially hidden, a force of habit. She wore a dark olive-coloured dress, the flowing folds meeting in a deep V over an empire-line that rested just under her bosom, the pale voluptuous swells hinting at other hidden curves. Her hair was held back from one side and swept over her other shoulder in a thick russet wave. She stood out from every other woman there, with their overdone, overtight bodies and faces. Like a glowing pearl against dark coral.

His hand tightened reflexively on the glass when her gaze caught his and an immediate flush of colour entered her cheeks. She moved towards him and for a split second he had the strongest urge to leave, run…get away. As if he was on a collision course with a very definite yet unknown danger.

And then she stopped in front of him and he was still there. She looked up at him, the almond shape of her eyes accentuated with kohl and a clean, fresh scent which intoxicated his nostrils. He summoned all of his skill and experience to bring the guard down over his conflicting emotions. He stood. ‘If you’re ready, let’s go.’

Maggie searched his face for some clue of what he was thinking but could see nothing. He hadn’t even said if he thought she looked okay. He took her hand possessively and led her out to the foyer entrance, where a sleek car pulled up and he guided her into the back before following. Back in the bar he’d been so brusque she hadn’t had a chance to get her breath, since it had been taken by the sight of him. But now she took him in surreptitiously. He was even more handsome in the tuxedo, his hair smoothed back, highlighting the strong forehead, the aquiline line of his nose.

But he didn’t look happy. After hesitating for a moment, she couldn’t help asking, ‘Is…is everything okay?’

He shot her a brooding look.

‘You just seem a little preoccupied…is it work?’

‘What’s this?’ he sneered. ‘The nice, caring, considerate Maggie? Trying to lull me into a false sense of security…charm me?’

‘What are you talking about?’

Caleb knew he was being irrational and that he was reacting to something he wasn’t even aware of, but couldn’t stop. He wanted to push Maggie back to a safe distance.

‘You must have known I was close to bringing Holland to his knees—he certainly did. I don’t trust you for a second. I know you’re up to something more than trying to secure the house.’

Maggie quailed at the contempt stamped into his features and a sharp pain filled her chest because she had known no such thing and she trembled with the effort not to cry tears of frustration. ‘It’s not bad enough that you believe me to have betrayed you once—now you’re trying to accuse me of more?’

‘Absolutely.’ His tone rang with conviction. ‘And if you think that by taking you as my mistress it will afford you that opportunity, then you’d better wise up fast.’

Maggie was genuinely aghast. Where had this come from? As if reading her thoughts, he answered her question. He leaned over and took her hands, dragging her close to his chest. His scent enveloped her and Maggie closed her eyes in a futile attempt to avoid his sensual threat.

‘You think you’re smart, do you? To spend such a small amount of money on the clothes…then making sure I see the ancient car, as though you wouldn’t normally be driving something much more expensive.’

Her eyes snapped open. Wide. ‘What?’

Had he lost his mind?

‘All designed, no doubt, to make me think that perhaps I’ve judged you too harshly…’

‘That’s crazy…’ His words cut her to the quick. Too close to the bone. Of course he would have checked up on her. She thought of the amount of money she’d put on his account; it had taken a lot of nerve to walk away with her head high. What on earth was he used to? She shook her head. ‘Maybe I’m just different to your other—’

‘Different? I don’t think so, Maggie; they’re always upfront about what they want. Honest. You’re conniving and deceitful.’

His words were hurting her in a place she didn’t want to look at. She fought back.

‘And maybe you’re just too cynical.’

He smiled grimly, still in possession of her hands, ‘You could say that. My mother taught me that all women appreciate the spoils of being a rich man’s plaything and I’ve yet to meet a woman to persuade me otherwise…Perhaps it’s your mother who has taken on Tom’s legacy, thinking you can both manipulate me, using you as the bait again. Is that why she couldn’t meet me that day at the house…? You were laying the ground work for the sympathy vote even then, getting Murphy to tell me she was weakened by everything…’

At the mention of her mother, Maggie stiffened against his hands, her face paling dramatically. Her voice shook with emotion. ‘Don’t you ever mention my mother like that again. This is between you and me. That’s all you need to know; keep her out of this.’

Caleb took in her passionate response. She seemed genuinely angry. He kept holding her, his eyes trying to assess the expressions flitting across her face. But then the moment was gone…He saw her face close up again.

Maggie couldn’t take back the words and knew she’d given far too much away. But she couldn’t bear to think of her mother being so slighted. It made her sick that he could even think that for a second. Miserably she knew she couldn’t say anything, make him listen to her. She couldn’t defend herself anyway—that way lay exposure to ridicule and betraying her mother’s secret pain.

So instead she pasted a brilliant smile on her face and tossed her head, praying that he wouldn’t dwell on her careless words. She had to be more careful.

‘As for the clothes, I only got what I needed for now…and what’s wrong with hoping for a few spoils…after all, I am your plaything for the next two months, am I not? Unless, of course, you want to let me go? If what I am is too distasteful to you—’

With a sudden harsh breath that was expelled heavily, Caleb silenced her words with his mouth. And, as much as Maggie’s own self-respect screamed at her to pull away, shout out her innocence, she felt herself moulding into Caleb’s chest, her soft curves pressing into rock-hard muscle. Her senses quickly became drunk on him, but suddenly the car came to a smooth halt, not that she would have even noticed if Caleb hadn’t pulled back at that moment. His eyes glittered fiercely in the dim light as they waited for the door to be opened.

‘Just don’t forget that that’s all you are, Maggie. My plaything.’

The heat of the ballroom was stifling, even with all the doors thrown open to the fragrant night outside. Maggie’s cheeks ached and the balls of her feet were burning in the high heels. She was moving from foot to foot in an effort to ease the pain. Caleb, at her side, looked down sharply.

‘What’s wrong with you?’

She refused to look at him, staring at a point to his left. ‘Nothing.’ She’d barely communicated with him since they’d arrived, still stung and hurt and dismayed by the level of his distrust.

He hadn’t seemed to even notice. For what seemed like hours now, she’d endured conversations of inane small talk, being relegated to the sidelines while Caleb had entertained a never ending stream of sycophantic admirers. And she’d endured none too friendly speculative glances from every other woman in the room. When a crush of people had moved forward, Maggie had got separated from Caleb and found herself surrounded by three or four women. They were all dressed in what she knew to be haute couture, totally over the top, but a clear statement of their wealth and status. They had looked her up and down as if she were a specimen in a glass box. She couldn’t believe how rude they were being and tried not to look as intimidated as she felt. One of them spoke.

‘Vous êtes ici avec Monsieur Cameron?’

Without even thinking, Maggie immediately slipped into her schoolgirl French, trying to be polite, wondering who they were and why they wanted to know. ‘Oui…’

‘Ah, bon. Mais juste pour ce soir, n’est ce pas?’

Maggie was trying to figure out what the woman was saying…Was she actually suggesting that she was here with Caleb just for tonight, like some kind of…call girl? A mortified blush rushed through her; they were hemming her in and their overdone faces, lacquered hair and cloying perfume was making her feel sick.

‘I’m sorry…excuse me.’ She tried to push her way out, but couldn’t. She was feeling more and more desperate.

Caleb swivelled his head. Where had she gone? She’d been at his side only two minutes before. He’d got caught in a conversation with a property investor from France and hadn’t been able to extricate himself. He felt mildly guilty that he hadn’t been more attentive to Maggie, but he was still feeling the uncomfortable sensation of being somehow open, foolish in his desire for her…He had to be careful around her.

Then he saw her. She was surrounded by the doyennes of Monte Carlo—he knew them well. His mouth tightened. They were responsible for many matchmaking attempts with one or other of their invariably too young, spoilt and petulant daughters. And he suddenly realised that Maggie looked terrified. Without stopping to think, and knowing that it surprised him as he would have imagined her to be a match for them, he strode over and reached through the women to take Maggie’s arm.

She looked up and the flash of sheer relief and something else that crossed her face made something flip flop in his chest. But then it was gone, as if it had never happened, and now her eyes flashed veritable sparks at him. He smiled his excuses to the ladies and led Maggie away.

‘Are you okay?’ He slanted a look down at her.

She glared up at him. ‘No thanks to you. Those women are…unbelievable.’ She shook her head. ‘You could have warned me I’d need a flak jacket to come here.’

He couldn’t help the unbidden smile. He doubted the women would last again in Maggie’s company; they’d obviously just caught her off guard. He could well imagine what they’d said. And again he wondered at how she hadn’t been better able to handle them. He would have cast her as one herself—well used to the poison-talon-tipped women of society who were more akin to social climbing piranhas.

He refused to dwell on that now. He was thinking ahead and wondering how long he could suffer to be polite before he could get out of there and take Maggie with him. Take her to bed.

‘Ah Cameron, there you are…’

Not just yet, anyway. He pulled Maggie into his side, swallowed a grimace and smiled as yet another colleague bore down on him.

Maggie flicked the object of everyone’s fascination a reluctant look, anger still bubbling through her. She had to admit that he was the most handsome man in the room. He stood head and shoulders above everyone and with that physique…again her insides cramped with nerves and anticipation. Finally, after what seemed like more torturous hours, he leant down, his mouth close to her ear, sending a little shock wave through her.

‘Let’s get out of here.’

She nodded mutely. Time was up, no more waiting. Tonight he would demand payment…take her body and, she was afraid, her soul too. And she couldn’t say a thing.

She suddenly felt absurdly vulnerable and alone, her anger dissolving. What could she say, anyway? As she followed him through the crowd, stopping every two seconds for people to say goodbye, she thought a little hysterically of what she might say if given a chance: how six months ago, on the day of their date, Tom, her beloved stepfather had informed her of his plans to take Caleb over and ruin him. And how, if Maggie didn’t co-operate with his plans to keep Caleb occupied, he would beat Maggie’s mother so comprehensively that—in Tom’s succinct, devastating words, ‘I’ll put her in hospital’.

She could tell him how she’d racked her brains for a way out…but had known, no matter what she did, even if she’d gone to the police, that he’d still make her mother pay. Because, you see, he’d been doing it for years. Once, in her youthful naïvety, Maggie had gone to the police. Tom hadn’t punished her…No, it had been her mother who’d suffered, even though she’d claimed a random mugging to protect Tom. Classic bullying, abusive tactics. He had been very cunning—you could never see the bruises. They had always been well hidden.

She could tell him of how, before Tom’s bombshell, she’d been ridiculously excited at the thought of going on the date with him, had even bought a new outfit. But then…that was when Tom had forced her to go to that shop, had bought that excuse for a dress instead. And had informed her of her role in his awful macabre play.

She could tell him how she’d been so filled with guilt that she couldn’t go through with sleeping with him, that was why she’d stopped…She’d been on the verge of actually telling him everything, somehow trusting that, maybe for once, her mother could be protected.

Maggie was not in Monte Carlo any more; she was back in that hotel room, the memories rushing back with sickening clarity, and she was powerless to escape them. She was on that bed, the sheet pulled around her shaking, half naked body as Caleb stood in front of her, pulling on his clothes. ‘Maggie, you’re a fool. You think I didn’t know exactly what you had planned?’ He gave a harsh laugh as he pulled on his shirt. Maggie felt an icy stream washing through her, the defensive words of explanation dying on her lips.

‘I heard your stepfather. His exact words were, “That step-daughter of mine will do anything and she wants Cameron; she’s with us”. So you see, Maggie, I’ve known for days now that you’ve been cooking up this little plan…very hammy, though. And the outfit? I’ve seen classier ones on women who tout for business on the streets.’

Maggie could feel her insides contracting, pulling inward as if to protect herself from the cruel blows. Her voice was dry and raspy when it came out. ‘But…I never knew…I—’

‘Save it, Maggie. You knew all right. I even have the evidence.’

And she watched as he found his jacket and took out a small envelope, throwing the contents at her. Photos. Lots of them—of Tom and her on Oxford Street, going into the shop, emerging with the bag. Getting into his car. And from these deceptive angles it looked to all the world as though she were the eager accomplice…

She looked up with huge wounded eyes, ‘But when, how…?’

He was almost dressed, not even looking at her any more. ‘I had you followed for the day, just to see for myself. And what a pretty picture those photos paint, don’t you think?’

‘But…you’ve known…you knew all along, for the past—’

‘Yes, Maggie, I’ve known since practically the first day we met. So all those shy, innocent glances, the blushes, were for nothing. Entertaining, but for nothing.’

‘But how could you, I mean, why did you…do it?’ She didn’t know why she was still speaking, couldn’t understand what protective part of her hadn’t kicked in yet.

He came close to the bed and she had to look up. His face was coldly impassive. Shut. ‘Because, Maggie, I desired you. I wanted you. And I knew I could have you. You were offering yourself on a plate, for God’s sake…’ He came down close to her, hands on either side of her body, where she could see the utter disgust and contempt in his eyes. ‘We both know I could still have you now…’ he flicked a derisory glance up and down ‘…but I can’t be bothered. Because, believe me, I never want to see your face again.’

And he walked out of the room without a backward glance. Maggie sat on the bed for a long time, the cold seeping into her bones as she felt something within her shrivel up and die.

By now they were at the entrance to the function room but Maggie wasn’t even aware. She was locked in her own private hell of memories. Caleb looked abstractedly at her hand in his—it was icy cold. Then he looked at her face. She was so pale that he felt a jolt go through him. When he called her name she didn’t respond. Something was very wrong. He lifted her into his arms and strode out of the building. In the car he held her close to his body. He knew that, whatever it was, she wasn’t faking it. No one could fake that.

Back at the hotel, he carried her again, all the way from the car up to the suite. Once inside he poured a glass of brandy and sat her down, making her swallow it. He could see the effect of the alcohol hitting her system; her eyes flared and she coughed. And then she started to shake uncontrollably. He pulled her into his body, waiting until the shaking subsided. Finally he could feel her pull away slightly and he let her go. She looked at him as though seeing him for the first time.

‘What…what happened?’

She could see a light of rare concern in his eyes and wondered faintly what had put it there, while also having the wits to wish desperately that he was really concerned for her.

He brushed her hair back with a gesture that was almost tender, confusing her even more. ‘I think you fainted…without fainting. I’ve seen it before. It’s like a state of shock.’

Maggie dimly remembered following him out of the function room but for the life of her couldn’t remember anything else. She shook her head. ‘I don’t know why…I’m sorry…’

‘Don’t be,’ he said abruptly. ‘Why don’t you get ready for bed? You should sleep.’

She nodded her head and went into the bathroom. She felt exhausted, as if she’d run a marathon.

Caleb went out to the balcony and stood leaning on the same wall that Maggie had earlier. He shook his head. How could she be feeling such grief for that odious man? For that was what it was, must be. Yet, for all that she was, all that her stepfather had been, he shouldn’t have underestimated the fact that she was bound to be in mourning. They had been family, after all. His cynical brain kicked into gear. Perhaps it was also the delayed shock of finding out that Tom’s millions weren’t going to be hers after all. That thought made something cold settle into his chest.

He went to the door of the suite and looked in. Maggie lay curled up on the bed, already asleep.