The Millionaire's Marriage Read online

  But the truth that hurt the most was the realization of how easy it would be to fall under his spell again. His tacit admission that there’d been another woman—possi bly even women—was the only thing which pulled her back from the brink. Another minute, a different answer, and she’d have bared her soul to him!

  Staggered by her near self-betrayal, she murmured shakily, “1 see.”

  “I suspect not,” he said, “but the real question is, does it matter to you, one way or the other?”

  “Not in the slightest,” she lied, the glass sliver driving deeper into her heart and shattering into a million arrows of pain.

  “Should I take your indifference to mean there’ve been other men in your life?”

  “No,” she said forthrightly, unwilling to add further deceit to a heap already grown too heavy to bear. “I’ve never once been unfaithful, nor even tempted.”

  “Not even by those pretty plastic consorts you team up with in your photo shoots?”

  “Certainly not.”

  - He hefted the bottle from the cooler and splashed more wine in their glasses. “Why should -I believe you?”

  “Because I’m telling the truth.”

  A mirthless smile played oyer his mouth. “The way you were when you told me you were pregnant? The way you were when you intimated you’d had a string of lovers before me?”

  ‘ not that person anymore.”

  course YOU are, Gabriella. People never really change,- not deep down inside where it matters. They just pretend to.”., S =

  “When did you become so cynical, Max?” she asked him sadly. “Did Ido that to you?’

  ‘fYoü?” he echoed c “Don’t flatter yourself!”.

  - The pain inside was gräwitig, roaring through her like a fire feeding on itself until there was nothing left but ashes For all that she’d promised herself she wouldn’t break down in front of him, the scalding pressure behind her eyes signaled how close the tears were, and to her horror she felt her bottom lip quiver uncontrollably.

  He noticed. “Don’t you dare!” he warned her, in a low, tense voice, starting up frOm his chair so violently that its metal legs screeched over the - pebbled concrete of the ter race. - “Don’t you dare start with the waterworks just be cause I didn’t give you the answets you came looking for! I know that, in the old days, tears always worked for you, but they aren’t going to get you what you want this time, at least not from me, so save them for some other fool.”

  When she first started modeling, there’d been times that she’d found it near impossible to smile for the camera. Days when she’d missed Max:.so badly, it was all she could do to get out of bed and face another minute without him. Nights when she hadn’t been able to sleep for want ing him, and mornings when she’d used so much con-

  cealer to hide the shadows under her eyes that her face had felt as if it were encased in mud.

  But she’d learned a lot more in the last eighteen months than how to look good on command. She’d learned dis cipline, and become expert at closing off her emotions behind the remote elegance which had become her trade mark.

  She called on that discipline now and it did not fail her. The familiar mask slipped into place, not without effort, she had to admit, but well enough that she was able to keep her dignity intact.

  “Sorry to disappoint you,” she said, rising to her feet with fluid, practiced grace, “but I stopped crying over you so long ago that I’ve quite forgotten how.”

  “Don’t hand me that. I know what I saw.”

  She executed a smooth half turn and tossed her parting remark over one provocatively tilted shoulder. “What you saw was a flicker of regret for the mistakes I’ve made in the past—a passing weakness only because weeping does terrible things to the complexion, especially when one’s face is one’s fortune. Good night, Max. I’ve worked hard enough for one day, so if you’re feeling energetic, you might try loading our plates and cutlery into the dish washer—always assuming, of course, that you remember how to open it. Oh, and one more thing. Please don’t disturb me when you decide to turn in. I really do need to catch up on my beauty sleep.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  IF THERE’D been any plausible alternative, he’d have spent the night anywhere but in the same room with her. Since he didn’t have that option, he gave her a good two hours’ head start before he went up to join her.

  She was asleep—or pretending to be—perched so close to the far edge of the mattress, all it would have taken was a gust of air from the open window to topple her to the floor. Being scrupulously careful to leave enough space between them to accommodate a third body, he inched carefully between the sheets on his side of the bed.

  Her breathing was light and regular, which made him think perhaps she really was out cold, and eventually he must have dozed off as well because the next thing he knew, it was four in the morning and somehow, while they slept, they’d gravitated toward each other. She lay spooned against him, with her back pressed to his front.

  She was wearing a soft cotton nightshirt and it was either very short to begin with, or it had ridden a long way up from where it was supposed to be. He knew be cause his hand had found its way over her hip so that his fingers were splayed across the bare skin of her warm, taut little belly. A few inches higher and it would have been her breast he was fondling, a realization which put his nether regions onto instant and standing alert.

  She stirred. Stretched a little, like a lean, pedigreed cat. Rolled over until she was half facing him. In the opaque light of predawn, he saw her eyes drift open. Then, as

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  awareness chased away sleep, she grew very still and very, very wary.

  For about half a second, they stared at one another, then simultaneously rolled away from each other. She retreated to her side of the bed again and he slunk off to the bath room, telling himself his problem was that he had to pee.

  It hadn’t been the problem then, and it wasn’t the prob lem three hours later when he found himself suffering the same physical reaction all over again at the sight of his wif&—his estranged wife! he reminded himself for about the fiftieth tinie—presiding over the breakfast table and looking even more delicious than the food on his plate.

  “Are you coming with me to the airport this after noon?” she asked him, her tone suggesting she’d be hard- pressed to notice whether he did or not.

  Regarding her over the top of the morning paper, Max had found himself wondering if there was something in the bottled drinking water she favored which allowed her to remain so cool and aloof, when it was all he could do not to break out in a sweat at the thought of the night just past.

  “I wasn’t planning on it,” he said, trying to match her nonchalance. “It’s been a while since your parents last saw you. I imagine they’d like to have you to themselves for a while.”

  Nonchalant? What a laugh! He sounded as stilted as a rank amateur trying out for a spot on some third-rate TV commercial! Not that she noticed. She simply gave that impassive little shrug of hers, waved the coffeepot under his nose, and said, “May I give you refill?”

  He didn’t know what time she’d slipped out of bed, but it must have been early. Not only had she ground fresh coffee beans and made fresh fruit syrup for his waffies,

  she’d also found time to repair her manicure. Her nails gleamed pale rose against the brushed steel of the carafe.

  As for the rest of her.. .oh, brother! Sleek and elegant in a floor-length, blue-and-purple patterned thing which was neither bathrobe nor dress but something in between; with not a hair out of place and looking as fresh as the morning dew, she gave new meaning to the term “picture perfect.”

  “No,” he said, slapping down the paper and shoving back from the table. “I have to get going.” Quickly, be fore his imagination ran riot feeding itself on memories of the night before and he made afurther fool of himselfi

  “When do you expect to be back?”

  “As late as possible. That way, th
ere’ll be less risk of us screwing up the charade.”

  Her eyes, pure turquoise in the morning light, pinned him in an unwavering stare. “But you will join us for dinner?”

  “Of course. That’s part of our arrangement.”

  “And you will remember it’s going to take more than just your putting in an appearance to carry all this off?”

  “How much more?” he asked, more to annoy her than because he cared about her answer.

  “As much as it takes,” she said.

  The remark stayed with him all day, a major but not, he was surprised to discover, unpleasant distraction. By the time he let himself into the penthouse late that after noon, his dread at what the next two weeks might bring had been diluted by a peculiar anticipation. Damned if he understood why, but having Gabriella underfoot again charged his energy like nothing else had in months!

  Stopping by his office to drop off his briefcase, he stood a moment at the partially open sliding doors, unnoticed by the threesome seated a few yards away at the table on

  the roof garden. He didn’t need to understand the lan guage to recognize a certain tension in the conversation taking place between his wife and his in-laws.

  Still strikingly handsome despite failing health, Zoltan sat ramrod-straight in one of the cushioned chairs, his dark eyes watchful as Gabriella replied to something her mother had said. Maria Sikiossy, a little heavier than she’d been two years ago, leaned forward, consternation written all over her face.

  Gabriella, polished and perfect as ever in a dress which he’d have called washed-out green but which probably deserved a fancier description, traced her finger over the condensation beading her glass. From her stream of fluent Hungarian, only three words had meaning for Max:

  Tokyo, Rome, and Vancouver.

  He didn’t have to be a rocket scientist to figure she was trying to justify keeping three addresses while her hus band made do with one, and that neither Zoltan nor Maria was buying any of it. Loosening his tie and rolling back the cuffs of his shirt, Max waded in to do his bit toward easing the old couple’s concerns. -

  If the relief that washed over Gabriella’s face when she saw him was any indication, he’d timed his entrance per fectly. Springing up from her chair like a greyhound let loose on the racetrack, she exclaimed. “You’re home, Max I didn’t expect you until later.”

  “Missed you too much to stay away any longer, baby cakes,’:’ he said, immersing himself in his appointed role with gleeful relish.

  Her mouth fell open. “Baby cakes?”

  The opportunity was too good to pass up. Sweeping her into his arms, he planted a lengthy kiss on those deli ciously parted lips. She smelled of wood violets and tasted

  of wild cherries. -,

  Her ‘eyes, wide open and startled, stared Into’ his. Briefly, she resisted his embrace, then sort of collapsed against him. Her small firm breasts pressed against his chest. Their tips grew hard. Her cheeks flushed pink.

  Fleetingly, be considered wallowing in the moment, if only to enjoy her disconcertion. Why not? He hadn’t asked to be cast as the romantic hero in her little produc tion, but since it had been thrust upon him anyway, he might as well get his kicks wherever he happened to find them.

  At least, that’s how he tried rationalizing his actions.’ But, just like the night before and the morning alter, an other part of his anatomy had different ideas and showed itself ready to play its part with animated enthusiasm. So, reluctantly, before she realized the state she’d reduced him to, he backed off slightly but kept her anchored next to him as he turned to greet her parents.

  “Good to see you again, Zoltan,” he said, shaking his father-in-law’s hand. “You, too, Maria. Welcome to Canada.”

  He bent to kiss her cheek, peripherally aware of tears in her eyes as she held his face between her palms and murmured approving little Hungarian noises, but most of his attention remained focused on Gabriella. Her waist, half spanned by his hand, felt shockingly frail. Though he didn’t test the theory there and then,’he was pretty ‘sure he could have counted every rib through her clothes.

  Pasting on his most affable expression to disguise his concern, he said, “So, what’s everyone drinking?”

  “iced tea,” Gabriella murmured faintly. “Would you like some?”

  He smiled into her eyes which had a sort of glazed look to them. “We can celebrate your parents’ arrival with something more exciting than that, surely? How about

  champagne—unless you’d prefer something stronger, ZoltanT’

  “A glass of wine would be pleasant.”

  He might have temporarily quieted Maria’s suspicions, but he had a long wayto go with the old man, Max re alized. Zoltan was watching him like a hawk about to dine on a very fat mouse. -

  “Fine. I’ll go do the honors.” Suddenly feeling about as uncomfortable as he had the night he’d been discovered almost stark naked in the Sikiossy palace, Max took off around the southeast corner of the terrace to the kitchen entrance, and left Gabriella to clear the iced tea pam phernalia off the table.

  She followed soon after and plunked the tray of glasses on the kitchen counter with a clatter. “What was that all about?” she demanded, her color still high.

  “Being a good host,” he said, knowing damn well she wasn’t referring to his suggesting champagne, but decid ing to play dumb anyway. “What are you serving for dinner?”

  “Broiled salmon. But another stuntlike the one you just pulled, and you might find yourself being the one shoved in the oven!”

  “Your English gets better all the time, Gabriella,” he remarked, hauling a nineteen ninety-seven Pol Roger out of the refrigerator and inspecting the label. “Very idio matic indeed. I’m impressed.”

  “Well, I’m not! Who did you think you were fooling• just now with that ridiculous exhibition?”

  “Your mother, certainly. And if your father still has any doubts about us, I’ll make short work of them, as well.”

  “Not with a repeat performance like the one you just put on, I assure you.”

  “Are you saying you didn’t enjoy our little exchange?”

  “Certainly not!” But she blushed an even deeper shade of pink.

  “Keep telling fibs like this, Gabriella,” he informed her genially, “and your nose will grow so long, you’ll never model again. Come on, admit it. You practically fainted with pleasure when I kissed you.”

  “That wasn’t pleasure, it was shock.”

  “Shock?” He rotated the bottle of champagne until the cork slipped out with a subdue and well-bred pop. “I fail to see why. Weren’t you the bne who lectured me just this morning on the need to act the part of besotted hus band?”

  “Devoted Max, not besotted, and certainly not... lecherous! The next time you fe disposed to show your affection, don’t get so carried away.” She piled goose liver pâte and crackers on a square slab of glass which he now realized was some sort of serving dish but which he’d been using as a doorstop, dressed the whole works up with bits of parsley, and arranged a fan of cocktail napkins on the side. “And don’t ever call me ‘baby cakes’ again! I’ve never heard anything so ridiculous in my life.”

  Scowling, he watched her march off. Blast the woman, anyway! She was as contrary as hell, and damned if he could read her mood from one minute to the next. Just when he thought he had a fix on her, she did an about face that made him wonder if he’d ever scratch below her surface and find out what was really going on in her head.

  Dinner was a never-ending nightmare, a minefield of di saster waiting to explode. Questions which would have been a breeze to answer if a person had nothing to hide

  required the most delicate handling, and the effort to ap pear happy and at ease taxed Gabriella to the limit.

  As for Max—oh, she’d have cheerfully throttled him, if it weren’t that he wasn’t worth serving time in jail for! Smiling, urbane, doing and saying all the right things, without a single false step. Treating her mother as i
f she were a queen, deferring to her father in the choice of wines with the meal. And all the time sending her, his wife, glances brimming with mischief. Putting on a show that went above and beyond anything she’d had in mind when she’d persuaded him to take part in an undertaking which was turning out to be much more complicated than even she’d bargained for.

  Her parents might have been charmed at the way he held out her chair at the dining table then, when she was least expecting it, leaned over and kissed the side of her neck, but she’d been so flustered she’d almost knocked the silver sauceboat of Béarnaise into her father’s lap!

  By the time she’d brought herself under control again, he was up to further mischief, flirting disgracefully with her mother. “Maria, I’m hurt you’d even ask!” he prac tically crooned, his sexy, Canadian baritone sliding the length of the table to wrap itself around Gabriella’s senses like rich velvet. “Of course I’ll be booking time off from work to take you sight-seeing. In fact, it occurred to me you might even like to travel a bit farther afield, once you’re over your jet lag. What do you think, Gabriella? Shall we take them to Banff and show them the Rockies? I could charter a private jet to avoid the lengthy drive.”

  “What do I think?” she hissed, the minute she got him alone in the kitchen between courses. “I think you’ve lost your mind, that’s what! Who are you trying to impress with all your talk of chartering a jet?”

  “Why, who else but your parents, dear heart,” he said

  equably, attempting to feign injured innocence and suc ceeding only in looking as crafty as a wolf on the prowl. “I’m just trying to be helpful and live up to my end of our bargain.”

  “Stop trying so hard,” she fairly spat.

  He put down the second bottle of wine he’d just taken from the refrigerator and made for the swing door con necting to the dining room. “Okay. I’ll go tell them I’ve had second thoughts and Banff in July isn’t such a good idea. Too many flowers, too much sunshine—and too much you.”

  “You’ll do no such thing, Max Logan!”

  He paused with one hand poised to push open the door. “Hell, Gabriella, make up your mind. Do you want my help in gétting through the next two weeks and sending your folks home happy, or not?”