Intimate Betrayal

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“But what about work?” she giggled, caught up in the moment.

“What about it?” he grinned over his shoulder.

Maxwell pressed the button for the sunroof of the car, turned up the music, and sped off.

“Now are you going to tell me where we’re going?”

He turned to her and smiled. “Just relax,” he said, patting her folded hands. “I guarantee you’re going to love it.”

Reese pouted but held her tongue. When was the last time she’d done anything spontaneously? Too long, she concluded. The only way she’d been able to manage her life, such as it was, was to organize and compartmentalize every aspect of it. That ritual seemed to give some validity to her existence, as if documenting her every move would eradicate the possibility that she’d ever forget anything again.

“Do you keep a journal?” Maxwell asked out of the blue, almost as if he’d just taken a short hop through her thoughts.

Reese turned to him. Her right eyebrow arched. “Why did you ask me that?”

“It just seems like you would. Keeping notes, a diary or journal is a good way to record your thoughts. I would think that your…situation is a basis for you being a journalist as well. Always searching for the truth, uncovering information.” He glanced at her. “So, do you?”

“Yes, Sherlock,” she retorted, mystified by his astuteness. “As a matter of fact, I do.”

“Did you keep a diary before—the accident?”

Sadly she shook her head. “I only wish that I had.” Then she chuckled halfheartedly. “Even if I did, I wouldn’t remember where I’d put it.”

“That’s unfortunate, but it’s just so amazing to me how you’ve managed to cope all of these years. What about school? How did you function?”

“That’s one of the curious things of this whole illness. After I came out of the coma, I was able to function relatively normally. I knew how to read, write, dress—everything. I hadn’t forgotten any of it. But my life, my family, friends, places I’d been, things I’d heard or seen were gone as if they’d never existed.”

Maxwell frowned and his admiration for Reese Delaware grew. She was a phenomenal woman. And to look at her and be in her presence, one would never suspect all that she’d endured. She was a survivor, strong and determined, like the great Sphinx of Egypt. But beneath the tough, got-it-together exterior was a very vulnerable woman who needed—and quite possibly needed more than he would ever be able to give. The thought saddened him.

They’d been on the road for more than two hours, driving in comfortable silence punctuated by brief comments about the magnificent scenery or the balmy air.

By degrees, Reese felt her entire self uncoil and relax as she gave in to the calming sensations that filled her spirit. She took in her surroundings and noticed that they turned onto the exit marked San Diego. Well, at least she had an idea what town they were headed for.

“We’re almost there,” Maxwell announced.

“Almost where?”

“You’ll see.” He grinned.

It was close to a half hour later when Maxwell turned onto a long sandy drive. Up ahead sat an architect’s dream. The stunning structure was a model of glass, chrome, and wood. Even from where she sat, she could see the entire interior of the two-story home, with winding staircases and timeless furnishings.

He pulled into the underground garage and cut the engine. “Come on. Let me show you around.”

Reese followed him around the rambling abode, awestruck. Words to describe the hideaway palace escaped her.

Every room on the second level opened to a deck where the beach was clearly visible. And as much as she hated to cook, she could easily change her tune if she had a kitchen like Max’s. Light streamed in from every angle, dancing off of the chrome and aluminum fixtures and utensils. The center island was a work of art in black and white marble that matched the gleaming tile floors.

“Kick off your shoes and make yourself at home,” he instructed. “Today is your day. If you feel like dancing,” he said giving her a low bow, “we have—” he pressed a button in the wall “—music.” The silky, sexy voice of Marvin Gaye’s “Distant Lover” floated through the air. “If you feel like swimming, the heated pool is below.” He indicated a door that led to the basement. He grinned mischievously as he watched the expression of childlike wonder skip across her face. “Should you care to immerse yourself in a jettison of aquatic relief, the Jacuzzi is upstairs.”

Reese beamed in delight. “This is like taking a trip to Disney World. What about if I’m hungry?” she tossed out.

“The kitchen, madame, is thataway. I’m sure it’s fully stocked and everything you could want is in there. Carmen is always good about taking care of those details.”

Reese blew out a long breath, put her hands on her waist, and looked all around like a tourist on their first trip to the big city. “This place is absolutely fantastic,” she said finally. She turned to find Maxwell leaning casually against the archway. “But when do you get the chance to enjoy it?”

“Not often enough,” he admitted, folding his arms in front of him. “But I try to get down here at least every two to three months.”

Reese nodded. She wanted to ask him how many women he’d shared the glass wonderland with. She wanted to ask him if this was all part of the seduction. And she did.

“How often do you bring company to this little den of delights?”

The corner of Maxwell’s mouth quirked upward in a grin. “Do you really want to know?” he taunted.

“I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t,” she said, raising her chin in challenge.

“Not as often as I’d like,” he said being intentionally evasive.

“Seems like I’ve heard that somewhere before.”

Maxwell pushed away from the door, crossed the short space and stepped right up to her, forcing her to look up into his eyes. His voice dropped to a rumbling whisper. “Let’s just say your question has been asked and answered.” His dark gaze did a slow waltz across her face. “The important thing is you’re here—right now. Anything or anyone before you, before now, doesn’t matter. So don’t let it.”

He was so close, Reese could feel the heat from his body reach out and wrap around her. Her heart was racing and for a moment she couldn’t breathe. Suddenly he turned away and the spell was broken.

“I’m going upstairs for a minute,” he said over his shoulder. “Enjoy yourself in the meantime.”

Reese watched him bound up the stairs. She shook her head in frustration. She just couldn’t figure him out. One minute he was cool and distant, the next he acted as if he’d strip her bare with the slightest provocation.

She crossed the sunken living room and walked around the redwood table that dominated the center of the room. The hardwood floors, all the color of sand, gleamed as the rays of the sun bounced off of them.

Soft music drifted through the rooms from speakers built strategically into the walls. Reese opened the sliding glass doors and stepped out onto the enclosed deck. She inhaled deeply of the sea-washed air, invigorating herself. Where was all of the California smog she’d heard about? From her vantage point, she could see for miles in every direction. She thought she spotted a car nestled in the shrubs just beyond the perimeter of the house. But there was no reason for…

“Enjoying the view?”

Reese jumped at the sudden sound of his voice so close to her ear. She hadn’t heard his approach.

“You should make some noise and let a person know you’re around,” she said, annoyed at having been caught unaware.

“Sorry,” he chuckled. “Old habit.”

“What kind of habit—scaring people to death?”

Maxwell hung his head and grinned. “Not exactly,” he said, looking up.

If she didn’t know better she’d swear his eyes were twinkling. “What exactly does that mean?”

He could see the beginning of a smile teasing the corners of her mouth and knew that he was on safer ground. He slid his hands into the pockets of his slacks. “Well I’ve studied martial arts for a little over twenty years,” he began. “It stresses the importance of harnessing your energy to make your movements one with the environment. When you can accomplish that, you can virtually move from space to space without disturbance.”

That would certainly account for his uncanny ability to sit for long periods of time without seeming to move a muscle, she realized. “Like a ninja or something,” she offered trying to make a correlation to something familiar.

Maxwell chuckled and shook his head. “Yeah, something like that,” he teased.

Reese impatiently folded her arms beneath her breasts. “Don’t patronize me,” she said in a huff. Her eyes narrowed daring him to challenge her.

He held up his palms in a fending off position. “Sorry,” he apologized with what he felt was just the right amount of sincerity to appease her. She still rolled her eyes.

“Can I interest you in something to eat—to make amends?”

One side of her mouth inched upward as she struggled to keep from smiling. “That’s a start.”

Maxwell turned and stepped through the opening in the sliding door. Reese was on his heels beaming like a Cheshire cat.

Reese sat on one side of the island on a bar stool with her feet wrapped around the rungs watching Maxwell work wonders in the kitchen. Within minutes, mouthwatering aromas permeated the air.

“Smells good,” Reese said, skepticism underscoring her husky voice.

“I’m sure you’ll be quite pleased, Ms. Delaware,” was his pointed reply. He refused to rise to the bait.

She had no intention of letting him off that easy. “So—what are we having?”

“Chef’s surprise.”

She tossed her head back and laughed. “I can see the headlines now,” she spouted, theatrically spreading her hands through the air. “World-famous journalist, Reese Delaware, found poisoned in the posh home of computer wizard, Maxwell Knight.”

“Very funny,” he grumbled good-naturedly. “I’ll have you know that I’ve been cooking since my preteen years. Since my father was in the military, we traveled a great deal.” He paused to sprinkle some hand-chopped condiments onto the sizzling wok. “With my stepmother working, I learned how to cook as well as pick up some of the native recipes.”

“What did your father do?”

“Military intelligence,” he scoffed. “Some high-level stuff he never wanted to talk about.”

“Hmm.” Reese let that bit of information sink in. “What about your mother? You mentioned stepmother.”

Maxwell shrugged. “I never knew my birth mother. My father met her when he was stationed in Japan.” He looked down at his handiwork and stirred. “I always felt that it was a part of me that was missing. I never even saw a picture of her.” He chuckled softly and continued as if speaking to himself. “I grew up with these fantasies about her, as if my thoughts could somehow make her real. My father never wanted to discuss her other than to say that she’d died shortly after my birth. I guess that’s why I was so adamant about capturing and understanding that aspect of my heritage. I did my graduate work in Tokyo, learned the language, tried to assimilate into their society.” He sighed. “But it didn’t work. I never felt that I fit in.”

The underlying pain in his voice touched her so deeply she could almost feel his loneliness. “But what about your stepmother?” she asked gently.

“She was there,” he commented in a monotone. “We never really had a relationship. I always sensed that she resented me for some reason. And I could never understand why.” He hesitated before speaking again. “I tried to get to know her, be a good son, but nothing made much of a difference.”

“It’s strange,” she began slowly, “but we have a lot in common. Even though you had parents, they were lost to you, just as my parents are lost to me.” She sighed, casting aside the melancholy. “Where are some of the places you’ve been?” she asked, wanting to change the subject.

“All over Japan.” He briskly stirred the contents in the wok, then turned off the jet. “Parts of Europe, Africa, South America, and the Philippines.” He shrugged nonchalantly.

“Is that the reason why it’s so important for you to have a place to call home when you travel?”

He turned to look at her, curiosity and a deeper sense of awareness swam in his eyes. “That’s part of it,” he answered softly and turned back to his work, spooning the food onto a platter. Maxwell took a deep breath and let out an inaudible sigh. He struggled to keep from smiling. Just talking to her like a person and expressing his feelings about something so personal to him, actually felt good. It didn’t hurt like he thought it would. She seemed to be able to read him and gauge his feelings. Maybe it was the journalist in her. But a part of him knew better. Reese was a naturally caring and compassionate woman. He wanted to trust her. He wanted to let go and be all that he could be—and he wanted it with her.