Mad About the Man (17 page)

When she thought about it all with a rational sort of logic, she'd been pathetic.

She'd believed his lies.

She'd accepted his excuses.

She'd let him use her, until the end when he'd finally shown himself for exactly what he was.

A ruthless heartbreaker and manipulator of the very worst kind.

And yet here he stood in the unlikeliest of places on the unlikeliest of days. For years she'd worried about running into him at some law conference or other professional event, but they'd never once crossed paths.

She'd always wondered how she would react if that day should ever come, playing various scenarios through her head like worn-out loops of film. But meeting him on a beach on the Fourth of July with one of his children in tow and the rest of his family no doubt enjoying themselves only a few yards away—that she had never considered.

Funny how life could sneak up on you sometimes and whap you right between the eyes.

A strong hand curved around her waist, shattering her rapid-fire musings. To her chagrin, she realized she'd completely forgotten Maddox in the past few seconds, even though he stood right by her side.

Maddox drew her closer, so that their hips and thighs touched. His possessive touch made their intimate relationship absolutely plain to anyone who cared to notice.

Stephen's eyes flickered; clearly he noticed.

“Forgive me, Maddox,” she said, wanting to make her unintentional slight up to him even though he didn't necessarily know she'd made one. “Where are my manners? This is Stephen Jeffries. Stephen, this is Maddox Monroe.”

Stephen blinked at the name but gave no other evidence of recognition.

“Pleasure.” He thrust out his hand.

Maddox paused for a moment, then accepted, clasping hands for a firm, quick shake. He was the first to let go.

Brie darted a glance upward out of the corner of her eye and saw that Maddox had a different opinion about meeting the other man.

Stephen blinked again, then put on his charmer's smile and moved to lay a hand on the shoulder of the boy who was still waiting to get his ball back.

“This young man is my oldest son, Jay,” he said. “Jay, say hello to Mr. Monroe and Ms. Grayson. Ms. Grayson and I used to work together at the same law firm many years ago.”

“Hello,” the boy said, polite but without much enthusiasm.

Brie and Maddox both murmured hello back.

“Here.” She held out the ball to him. “I'm sure I'm keeping you from your game.”

A ghost of a smile curved his young face for the first time as he came forward to collect the soccer ball. “Thanks,” he told her.

He turned to his father. “Dad, may I be excused?”

“Yes. Go on and tell your mother that I'll be there in a couple minutes. And let your sister play this time. You know how she gets when you won't let her join in.”

“That's because she cries if she gets hit by the ball.”

“Then don't hit her with it.”

With an exaggerated eye roll, Jay tucked the ball under his arm and sprinted away.

“Kids.” Stephen made a face, then laughed. He eyed them with obvious speculation. “So, do you two—”

“No,” Brie said before he could go any further. “Maddox and I don't have children.”

Stephen's gaze dropped to her left hand. Was he looking for a ring?

“Not married, then, either?” he said.

Her fingers curled into a fist. “Just dating.”

“Now, sweetheart, don't be shy. You and I both know it's a lot more than dating.” Maddox draped his arm over her shoulders and tugged her even tighter against him. Leaning down, he brushed a possessive kiss across her mouth. “After all, we spend every night together and as many days as we can. Hard to keep our hands off each other, isn't it?”

He kissed her again, then straightened. Once he had, he locked eyes with Stephen and didn't look away. It was almost as if he was warning the other man off.

As for Stephen, he looked annoyed, though he certainly had no right to be. She and Stephen had been over a long, long time ago.

She snuck another peek up at Maddox, wondering again at his mood. Surely he didn't know about her and Stephen? Even if he did, what was he worried about?

“So, are you still at Mitchell, Brown and Lovell?” she asked, hoping to relieve the tension and steer the conversation into calmer waters.

Stephen continued his staring match with Maddox for a few seconds more, then broke off and looked toward her. He folded his arms over his chest. “I am, though it's just Brown and Lovell these days. You're still missed there, you know, even after all this time.”

She let out a laugh, hoping it didn't sound too strained. “I doubt that. Associates come and associates go. I'm sure everyone moved on quite nicely without me.”

“Not everyone.” For a moment, he looked sad, almost regretful.

Was he sorry about what had happened between them? Did he wish now that things might have been different?

Even if he did, it changed nothing. The past, as they said, was still the past.

His expression cleared and he smiled. “Did I see that you're back in the city and working at Marshall McNeal Prescott?”

“I am.”

“Impressive. They're an excellent firm.”

“The best in New York,” Maddox said, rejoining the conversation. “Brie was recently made partner.”

Stephen nodded. “Yes, I heard that as well. Congratulations, Brie. It's a step up that is more than well deserved.” His eyes moved back to Maddox. “Monroe? That name seems familiar.”

Maddox shrugged. “Probably because it's so common.” Maddox's arm looped around Brie's waist and he glanced down at her. “We should probably be getting back—otherwise someone may steal our beach chairs and we won't have anywhere comfortable to sit for the fireworks.” He started turning her, barely affording Stephen a last glance.

“It was good seeing you, Brie,” Stephen said. “Maybe we'll run into each other again sometime. Manhattan's not as large as it looks.”

“Yes, maybe. Good-bye.” She gave him a little halfhearted wave; then she and Maddox turned their backs and walked back the way they'd come.

Neither of them spoke at first.

“You were a bit rude, you know,” she finally said. “Why didn't you tell him who you are?”

“Because I don't give a damn whether he knows who I am or not. The only reason I could possibly care is if I needed a lawyer and I don't. I've already got you and you're the best.”

“Yes, well, compliment to me aside, there was no reason to be so abrupt with him. Or so outwardly possessive of me. We're dating. I think he got the picture without all the added show.”

“I just wanted to make sure everything was clear so there'd be no misunderstandings.” His voice was low, gruff.

“What kind of misunderstandings? What are you talking about?”

He stopped, turned her to face him. “Because he's the one, isn't he? The one who worked you over? Who put that sad, wary look in your eyes. The look you get sometimes when you think no one is watching.”

She lowered her gaze. “I don't know what you mean.”

“There it is. That's the look.”

She blinked and forced herself to meet his eyes again, her expression wiped clear. “There is
no
look.”

“You can lie to me, Brie. You can even lie to yourself, but don't think for a minute that you're fooling anyone.”

“Fooling how? And about what?”

“About the fact that someone hurt you badly. I've known it for a long while, and now I know who to blame. I've sensed your pain sometimes when we're together. When I try to get past those barriers of yours and you keep me at arm's length.”

“I don't have barriers and I hardly keep you at a distance.” She blew out an exasperated breath. “As you took such pains to make clear back there with your chest-beating, macho-man routine, you're in my bed every night and not just to sleep. I can't remember saying no to you even once, at least not since we've been together.”

Crossing the small distance between them, he drew her into his arms. “No, you never turn me away sexually. You're very generous and enthusiastic in bed. But there's more to intimacy than the physical. It's the times we're not making love that I sense the distance. You only let me get so close—then you freeze me out.”

Her chest grew tight. Was he right? Did she push him away emotionally?

“And you want what?” she said. “I assumed you were satisfied with our relationship, that you just wanted to keep things easy and casual.”

“I do, except . . .”

“Except what? Are you saying you want more?”

Slowly, he pulled her nearer so they touched all the way down—chest, stomach, pelvis, and thighs. “Yeah, I think I do.”

Her heart gave a funny little double beat, her breathing hitching slightly with uncertainty. “How much more?”

He must have sensed her fear; obviously he was good at that. “Hey, don't have a panic attack,” he said. “It's not like I'm asking for a lifetime commitment. Then again—”

“Yes?”

His hands slid along the small of her back to rock her against him. “A key to your apartment might be nice. And I'll give you one for my penthouse at the hotel. You're welcome to drop in anytime, day and night. Actually, I'd like it if you did.”

Something inside her grew warm, sort of melty, like a candy bar that had been left out in the sun. But was he asking too much? Exchanging keys was serious business and she wasn't sure if she was ready.

The smile left his face. “Unless it's still too soon. You don't have feelings for what's his name back there anymore, do you?”

Automatically, she shook her head. But as she did, she realized her answer was the truth. However much she'd once loved Stephen—and at the time, it had been with her whole heart—the years seemed to have worked their magic.

Part of her had always expected it would be agony to see him again. That just a look, a few words, even a casual touch, would be enough to dredge up the old memories, the old pain.

But today, when it had actually happened, when she'd stood only a few feet away from him and spoken of ordinary things and old times, there'd been nothing.

No spark, no pull.

He was just someone she'd known once.

Someone, she realized with a sudden overwhelming certainty, that she no longer loved.

In fact, after the initial shock of meeting Stephen, it had been Maddox of whom she'd been vitally aware as he stood there beside her. Maddox who occupied her thoughts and emotions. Maddox with whom she wanted to sit tonight and watch the fireworks, then go back to his cottage, to his bed, and make love before she fell asleep in his arms.

Holy crap, is Madelyn right? Am I falling for him?

Her heart gave another crazy quick-time beat and her breath hitched in her chest again.

He waited, silent.

She saw him studying her expression, no doubt wondering what thoughts were tumbling through her mind while she decided on her answer.

She locked her arms around his waist and squeezed. “No, I don't have feelings for Stephen. Not anymore. You're right—he did hurt me once, but it was a long time ago. Whatever I might have felt, it's gone now. Over and done.”

He eyed her, a measure of uncertainty lingering in his dark gaze. “You're sure?”

“Yes, very sure. Satisfied now?”

“Maybe.” His voice was gruff.

Stretching up on her toes, she pressed her lips to his. “How about now?”

A glint of humor appeared in his eyes. “A bit better.”

She laughed and kissed him again, harder and far more thoroughly, using plenty of tongue.

“Definitely better,” he said on a growl when they finally came up for air.

She could feel his arousal against her stomach. Her own was sizzling in her blood as well. Maybe they should ditch the fireworks and go back to his place now. She certainly wouldn't mind.

Instead, she took his hand and began walking back, the setting sun a fiery blaze of orange and red and pink on the horizon.

They were nearly back to their beach chairs, Janvid's party going strong, when she tightened her grip on his hand.

“Okay,” she said.

“Okay, what?”

“I'll give you a key.”

He stopped and turned her to face him. “Really? You're sure you want to do this? You don't have to, you know. Not until you're ready.”

A smile stretched across her mouth, a wonderful certainty filling her up as if the waning sun were transferring itself into her body rather than disappearing from the sky.

She felt buoyant suddenly. She felt free.

“Yes,” she said, “I'm sure. Now, let's go watch us some fireworks.”

Laughing, he kissed her again; then together they walked the rest of the way back, hand in hand.

“
. . . And the delegation from Indonesia arrived and everyone is all settled in? Any problems?” Maddox asked, shifting his attention away from the summary report on his computer to focus on his general manager, Oscar Johannas, who sat across from his desk.

It was Monday morning and Maddox's first day back after his holiday trip to the beach. He smothered a yawn, feeling rested despite his overall lack of sleep.

Oscar was a tidy, stocky man of thirty-five who looked like a curious mix between a brawler and a high-class fashion designer. Demanding and particular in both his dress and his habits, he enforced the rules with a tough yet fair hand. He had a sharp intellect and an ability to charm guests and staff alike. But he could be a bastard when necessary and never had trouble maintaining order. He also wasn't afraid to roll up his sleeves and do whatever tasks needed doing, no matter how menial they might appear. Whenever Maddox was away, he had no worries about leaving his flagship hotel in Oscar's capable hands.

When Maddox was in residence, however, he left his penthouse each morning and rode the elevator down to the office he kept on the first floor. Inside, he met with staff, held meetings with high-level vendors and businessmen, and kept tabs on the inner workings of his hotels, both here in New York and elsewhere. He and Oscar had a standing meeting each morning from eight thirty to nine, where the two of them reviewed that day's “hot items.” Leaning back in his chair, he waited to hear what Oscar had to say.

“No, no problems to speak of,” Oscar began, “although there was a bit of an incident last night.”

“What kind of incident?”

Oscar paused for a moment as if considering his words. “Well, it seems that one of our Indonesian guests is a durian lover.”

Maddox's eyebrows drew together. “Durian? You mean that really stinky tropical fruit? The one that smells like old gym socks?”

“And rotten onions and vomit.” Oscar made a face.

“Christ. I have a good idea where you're going with this, but continue.”

“Apparently, the guy had three great big durian fruits brought up to his room without our knowledge and sliced them open to share with his colleagues. The smell was so foul it drifted out into the hallway and into a couple of the rooms next door.

“Robert, my night manager, was called upstairs to find out which of the guests were ill, thinking we might have gotten hit with some sort of stomach flu. One of the maids, who'd come to do turndowns, actually did get sick to her stomach after she tried to enter the room.”

Maddox rolled his eyes skyward but said nothing as he waited for Oscar to continue.

“A doctor was called before anyone knew what was really going on,” Oscar said. “And because of the language barrier and a whole lot of confusion on both sides, it took a while to figure out that the damned fruit was the problem.

“Robert sent people to locate the Indonesian interpreter, who was down in the bar getting plastered. Once they got him upstairs, they had him politely but firmly explain that foods that stink like decomposing garbage are not permitted in the guest rooms. Our foreign guests apologized profusely, then offered to share the damned durian! Apparently it's a delicacy not to be missed.”

At that, Maddox couldn't keep from smiling. “Did Robert accept?”

Oscar cracked a smile too. “Hell no. You ever get a whiff of that stuff? I tried it once on a dare.” He shuddered. “Never again.”

“Oh, it's not so bad. I had it on a trip to Southeast Asia. But I'll admit, it's an acquired taste.” Maddox laughed at the expression of disgust on his GM's face. “So, how bad is the fallout?”

Oscar turned serious again. “We had to relocate the guests staying in one of the nearby rooms and offer a discount to another since we were at full capacity. We're moving Fruit Guy to another room today so we can do a deep cleaning. If the stink won't come out of the room, we may have to call in a biohazard team.”

“Hopefully it won't come to that. Start with housekeeping and see how far we can get.”

“Sure will. Some of the maids are refusing to go in, though. Poor Shirley, the one who tossed her cookies, had to go home to recover. I said we'd cover her lost hours.”

Maddox leaned forward in his chair. “Of course. And offer the maids who
will
go in to clean double their usual wage. I presume you're charging the Indonesians a fee for the cleaning?”

“Already on it. The head of the delegation was told this morning and said they will cover any necessary expenses.”

“So, problem handled.”

“Of course,” Oscar agreed smoothly. “I told you it was nothing major.”

“Any other small disasters I should know about?”

“One little dustup courtesy of Mrs. Russo's Pomeranian.”

Mrs. Russo was a longtime guest, a seventy-year-old widow with a quirky sense of humor and an unwavering devotion to her furry little “pookie-ookie.” She took the dog everywhere she went, carried inside a small shoulder tote.

“Who'd Miss Wiggles snap at this time?”

“An eight-year-old who wanted to pet her. Reached out before anyone could say a word. But the kid's okay. Didn't break the skin and Mrs. R. apologized to the parents. All's well.”

“God, let's just hope that dog never actually takes a chunk out of anyone. It's a lawsuit waiting to happen.”

Oscar smiled. “Which is precisely why you have all those high-priced lawyers on retainer.”

Quite true.

At the reminder, his thoughts went instantly to Brie.

She'd looked like an angel this morning when he'd left her sleeping in bed, faint dawn light poking its way past the curtains, her short blond hair tousled around her face in a halo of gold.

He'd been tempted to switch off her alarm and let her sleep in for once, but knew she'd be angry at his interference. She was a professional just like him and had appointments to keep. So he'd brushed his mouth softly over hers, smiling when she'd murmured his name in her sleep. Then, he'd moved quietly through her apartment and let himself out the door.

He saw Oscar glance at his watch. Nine a.m. Time for his GM to get busy with his other duties.

“Before you go,” Maddox said, “I need an extra passkey for the penthouse.”

“Sure thing. Trouble with your current one?”

“No. It's for Brie Grayson. She's to have full access to my suite, the premium lounge, rooftop bar, pool, exercise and sauna facilities, and any other recreational areas I may have overlooked. Oh, and code it in so she can use my private street entrance as well.”

Oscar stared for a few seconds, eyes wide with surprise, before his face rearranged itself back into its usual expression of imperturbable professionalism. In all the years Oscar had worked for him, this was the first time Maddox had ever given one of his lovers a key to his penthouse and free run of the hotel.

But Brie was different. There hadn't been anyone like her when she was twelve, and there most definitely wasn't anyone who could match her now. She was, and always had been, brilliantly and uniquely one of a kind.

Maddox smiled inside at the thought, then tapped a couple of keys on his computer. “Have security put her on the access list and also inform the kitchen to fix her anything she likes, day or night. No charge and no restrictions.”

Oscar blinked again. “Of course. I'll make all the necessary arrangements right away. Anything else you need me to handle?”

“No, I'm sure your plate is full enough already. See you later.”

Oscar nodded, then left the office.

As soon as he'd gone, Maddox leaned back in his chair again. With a sigh, he dragged his fingers through his hair, his mind still on Brie. Still on their holiday weekend together and everything that had transpired during those far-too-brief yet magical hours.

Honestly, it was as if he'd been put under some kind of spell. What the hell had he been thinking, blurting out a suggestion that they exchange keys? Usually it was the other way around, some latest fling asking him to take their relationship to the next level and let her start moving her stuff in—along with the expectation of a key.

But he'd never handed one out before. Whenever things got to the let's-live-together stage, he would always break it off.

So how surprised had he been when the words had come buzzing off his tongue? How strange to be the one wanting to get more intimate rather than less.

If either of them was reluctant to move things forward in this relationship, it was Brie. She'd been wounded and didn't trust easily. She guarded her heart like it was encased in titanium.

He'd felt that way himself for years. He'd tried marriage and quickly realized what a disaster that was. He wasn't cut out for a lifelong commitment and had closed himself off to the possibility ages ago.

Of course he still wasn't ready and as he'd told Brie, trading keys didn't mean forever. She was having fun and so was he. This would just make the logistics easier.

His eyes narrowed as he thought again of Stephen Jeffries—Brie's ex-lover that they'd run into on the beach. He wished he could have decked the guy, or at least kicked sand in his smug, blandly handsome face. He deserved it for whatever he'd done to hurt Brie.

She'd refused to furnish Maddox with any details and he hadn't forced the issue. Of course that didn't mean he couldn't do a little looking on his own. Just to check the prick out and see what was what.

I shouldn't,
he thought.

Then he tapped a few keys on his computer keyboard.

*   *   *

Brie glanced at the clock and saw that the afternoon had zoomed past. She'd been busy-busy from the instant she'd walked off the elevator and straight into her paralegal Trish's waiting grasp.

The three-day weekend had played havoc with her workload, particularly since she hadn't checked her e-mail or logged on to her computer once while she'd been away. She'd told herself that one of the associates could handle any problems that cropped up over the holiday. And it wasn't as if she'd turned off her phone. If there'd been a real emergency, they could have reached her.

Even so, Maddox was turning out to be a bad influence—although her mother and sisters would likely feel the opposite. They were always harping on her to take a break and relax every once in a while.

Well, boy oh boy, had she ever.

The beach weekend had been nothing short of idyllic, assuming she didn't count the encounter with Stephen, and she'd decided not to.

Truly, she was over him. Now and for good.

If only she could say the same about Maddox.

Every time she saw him, she dug herself in deeper. And now she'd promised him a key to her apartment!

What was I thinking?

But strangely enough, she decided as she took a sip of the now lukewarm cup of English breakfast tea Gina had deposited on her desk several minutes ago, she didn't regret it.

The frightened part of her—and there most definitely was a frightened part—told her to break things off now, while she still could. To run the other way and never look back.

But another part of her, a bigger part, knew it was already too late. However long this relationship with Maddox might last and however much deeper she might get in emotionally, she had to take the chance. She'd always been a risk taker, willing to stick her neck out in hopes of achieving her goals and dreams.

Was Maddox Monroe—the boy who'd once been the bane of her existence, the man who seemed determined to keep her off-balance at every turn—was he her newest dream?

Was a life with him what she really wanted?

But it was too soon to think about anything permanent. Just because she was going to let him come and go at will from her apartment was no reason to think he wanted anything more than fun, convenient sex.

That's what she ought to want as well. What she did want, she told herself.

She wasn't in love with him yet and she planned to keep it that way.

She hoped.

It was a relief when her cell phone rang.

Then it wasn't when she saw who was calling.

Maddox.

Jitters of nervous excitement beat their tiny wings inside her stomach. Jeez, you'd think she was fifteen years old. But when it came to Maddox, she always felt a little like an overly emotional teenager rather than the mature, confident, sophisticated woman she was.

Or liked to think she was anyway.

She hit “answer.” “Hello.”

“Hey, it's me.” His deep voice sent a fresh round of quivers through her, but of a more adult variety this time.

“Hey,
me
,” she teased. “How's your day?”

“Good. Yours?”

“Busy. But then, I'm usually busy.”

“Same here, but never too busy for you.”

A warm sensation grew like a little sun in her chest; she only barely kept from sighing with pleasure.

“So what can I do for you, Mr. Monroe, or is this a business call?”

“No. I trust that you're working on everything for me, including the suit. I just wanted to let you know that I've got meetings lined up here at the hotel tonight.”

“Oh.” Some of her playful happiness fizzled. “So don't expect you for dinner—is that what you're saying? What about later? Will you be over?”

“Actually, I was thinking you could come here tonight. We can have dinner in the penthouse around seven. Then I'll have to head downstairs for a while. But I'll be all yours afterward. What do you say? I have your key ready. I only have to give it to you.”

The warmth returned. “I have yours ready too. Are we really doing this, Monroe?”

“We are, Grayson.” His voice was low and husky. “We most definitely are.”

The flutters in her stomach turned into pinwheels, exploding ones.