Grand Passion (34 page)

“I've already got a job,” Max said.

“All right.” Dennison's expression was taut. “If you come back, I'll consider giving you that seat on the board that Jason wanted you to have.”

“No, thanks. I seem to have developed an aptitude for plumbing and home repairs,” Max said.

“You heard him,” Cleo said. “He doesn't want to work for you. Mr. Curzon, I think you had better leave. Max has had a very rough night, and he needs his rest.” She turned to Max. “Don't you need your rest?”

“I need my rest,” Max said equably.

“He needs his rest,” Sylvia said.

Andromeda and Daystar nodded in agreement.

O'Reilly looked as though he was going to explode with laughter at any second.

Dennison rounded on Cleo. “Don't you dare try to kick me out of here, young lady. Max Fortune belongs to me.”

“He most certainly does not.” Cleo released Max's hand and took a step toward Dennison. “He belongs to me. And to the rest of us.” She looked around at the others. “Isn't that right?”

“Oh, yes,” Andromeda murmured. “No question about it.”

“He's one of the family,” Sammy said loudly. “You can't have him.”

Daystar glowered at Dennison. “I'm afraid you're wasting your time and ours with all this nonsense, Mr. Curzon. Why don't you leave?”

“Nonsense? You call this nonsense?” Dennison turned on her with an air of appalled outrage. “Are you out of your mind, lady? Curzon is a multinational corporation. Do you have any idea how much Fortune can earn in a year working for me?”

“No,” Daystar said honestly. “But I don't see that it matters.”

“Believe me, it matters,” Dennison snarled. “Curzon has made Fortune a wealthy man. He can become even wealthier if he comes back to work for me.”

“Piffle,” Andromeda said. “Max already has a perfectly good job at Robbins' Nest Inn. Isn't that right, Max?”

“Right,” said Max.

Dennison looked at him. “This is a joke, isn't it?”

O'Reilly grinned. “Face it, Curzon, it's not a joke. You can't match the benefits that Max has found in his new job.”

“Can't match them?” Dennison glared at O'Reilly. “I can pay Fortune enough in one year to enable him to buy that damned inn.”

“The man hasn't got a clue,” O'Reilly said cheerfully.

Sammy clung very tightly to Lucky Ducky as he gazed up at Dennison. “Go away.”

“Yes,” Cleo said. “Go away.”

“Drive carefully,” Andromeda said brightly.

“You're becoming a pest, Mr. Curzon,” Daystar said. “I do wish you would take yourself off.”

Dennison looked at Max with disbelief and desperation. “Think about this, Fortune. There's a good chance I can talk Kimberly into leaving Winston. I don't think she's been all that happy with him lately. You and my daughter would make a hell of a combination.”

“You didn't think so three years ago,” Max said. “And you know something? You were right. I owe you for talking Kimberly out of the engagement. In exchange, I'm going to give you some good advice. Don't get in her way now. She'll be the best thing that's ever happened to Curzon International.”

“She's taking over, don't you understand?”

“I understand,” Max said. “And you're all going to get even richer with her at the helm. If you behave yourself, maybe she'll give you some grandkids.”

“That sounds lovely.” Andromeda smiled kindly at Dennison. “Wouldn't you love some grandchildren?”

Dennison stared at her and then looked at Max with a baffled expression. “You're serious about this, aren't you? You aren't just playing a game in order to jack up your price?”

“I'm serious, all right,” Max said. “You couldn't meet my price in a million years. Go away, Dennison.”

Cleo scowled at him. “You are becoming extremely offensive, Mr. Curzon. Only family is supposed to be in this room until the regular visiting hours. Please leave, or I will summon someone from the hospital staff to deal with you.”

Dennison gave her one last bewildered glare, and then he turned around and stomped out of the room.

An acute silence descended.

“I want to go home,” Max said.

Cleo awoke at dawn the next morning. It wasn't the gray, wet light of the new day that had brought her up out of her slumbers. It was the knowledge that Max was not in bed beside her.

Worried, Cleo sat up abruptly. “Max?”

There was no sign of him. Cleo glanced across the attic room and saw that his crutches were missing. She frowned. Max was still getting accustomed to using the crutches. She didn't like the idea of his navigating the stairs without her assistance.

She heard the floorboard squeak on the other side of the door just as she was about to push aside the covers and go in search of the invalid.

The attic door opened softly, and Max maneuvered himself cautiously into the room. He was wearing a pair of trousers and nothing else. Andromeda had opened the seam on the left pant leg to accommodate the bandage on Max's thigh.

Max concentrated intently, his attention on the floor as he angled the crutches into position. The stem of a white rose was clenched between his teeth.

Cleo stared at the rose, a great joy welling up inside her.
Red for seduction; white for love
.

“Max?” she breathed, hardly daring to believe what she was seeing.

Max looked up quickly. “You're supposed to be asleep,” he mumbled around the rose stem.

Cleo smiled brilliantly. She recalled the last chapter of her book very clearly. The man in the mirror, freed at last, had awakened the narrator with a single white rose. Seduction had been transformed into love.

“I'd rather be awake for this, if you don't mind,” Cleo whispered.

Max started across the room. His eyes never left Cleo. “I don't mind.”

Out of the corner of her eye, Cleo saw something yellow. She glanced down and noticed that Sammy had left Lucky Ducky lying on the floor after paying a visit to Max's bedside last night.

Cleo's eyes widened in alarm as she saw Max's right crutch come down on top of the toy.

“Max,
look out
.”

It was too late. The crutch skittered off the rounded edges of the rubber duck and went out from under Max.

“Hell.” Max made a valiant effort to steady himself with the left crutch, but it was hopeless.

Max unclenched his teeth from around the stem of the rose and let it fall.

“That damned duck,” Max said as he crashed to the floor.

With a cry of dismay, Cleo leaped out of bed and rushed to his side. “Are you all right? Max, Max, speak to me.”

Flat on his back, Max glared at her. “Everything's just ducky.”

“Do you think your stitches have come undone?” Cleo bent over his bandaged thigh. “Maybe we should get you to the clinic.”

“Forget the leg. Cleo, I love you.”

Cleo's hand rested on his leg. Tears misted her eyes. “I'm so glad.”

She threw herself down on top of him, careful not to hurt his injured thigh. Max's arms closed tightly around her, holding her close.

“I should have known right from the start,” Max said into Cleo's hair.

“It's not your fault you didn't recognize love when you found it,” Cleo said against his chest. “You haven't had enough of it to know it when you see it.”

“I know it now,” Max said, his voice laced with raw wonder. He abruptly went very still.

“Max?” Cleo raised her head and looked down at him in concern. “Are you sure you're all right?”

Max started to smile. “Look up, Cleo.”

“At what?”

“At Jason's seascapes.”

Cleo craned her head and stared up at the two seascapes hanging on the wall. “What about them?”

“There's something strange about the frames. I never noticed it when I looked at the pictures before, but from this perspective you can see that the frames are too wide.” Max levered himself up into a sitting position and reached for one of the fallen crutches.

“What are you doing?”

“Help me get one of those things off the wall.”

“I'll handle it.” Cleo got to her feet and hefted one of the seascapes. She took it down off the wall and carried it across the room to the bed.

Max made his way over to the desk, opened one of the drawers, and removed the screwdriver he had bought at the Harmony Cove hardware store. “Ben was right. You never know when you're going to need a good screwdriver.”

Max crossed the room to the bed, sat down beside the seascape, and went to work on the back of the frame with the screwdriver.

Cleo watched, fascinated. “Max, do you really think that Jason…?”

“Hid the Luttrells behind his seascapes?” Max's mouth curved with satisfaction as he undid the last of the screws. “Yes.”

He lifted the back of the frame and set it aside. Then, with great reverence, he removed a white, flat board out of the frame. There was a note attached to it. Max opened it.

Max turned the board over. Cleo looked at the canvas that was fastened to the other side.

It was a dark, elegantly savage painting full of swirling shapes and abstract tension, and yet it was not entirely bleak. Even to Cleo's untrained eye, it was a work of art perfectly suited to Max. The painting seemed to radiate both the potential for despair and the possibility of love.

Cleo smiled softly. “Good old Lucky Ducky. I wonder why Jason went to the trouble of hiding the paintings if he wanted you to have them.”

Max glanced up from the Luttrell. His eyes were brilliant. “Jason wanted me to find something else first. Something that was a lot more important than any painting.”

“Did you?” Cleo asked.

“Yes,” Max said with absolute certainty. He smiled, his love for her plain to read in his eyes. “I did.”