No Regrets: Jani Kay (Firebird Trilogy Book 2) (7 page)

He caught up to me with long strides. “Rebecca, you’re testing my patience. You haven’t been here half an hour and already you’re running off.”

The ballroom was empty. “Where are the organizers? I thought we had a meeting when they were done with you?”

“I sent them off. Everything is taken care of. I wanted to speak to you. Alone.”

I quirked an eyebrow at him. “Oh, yeah, is that right?”

“Yes. I have dinner set up in the dining room. James has taken your bag to a guest room on the first floor where you can freshen up.”

“Ummm, the owners won’t mind?”
He wants to talk to me alone.
My promise to Jade flashed through my mind. It couldn’t be that hard to just listen to the man.

“Not at all. Make yourself at home. There’s no one else here tonight except us and a few staff members, so relax, okay?”

I shrugged, too worn out to argue further. “Okay, you’re the boss.”

Maxwell chuckled, his charm and good humor slowly returning. “Yes, I am. And you’ll be smart to remember that.”

Cocky bastard.

“Shall I ask James to show me to the guest room?” I asked as if sugar wouldn’t melt in my mouth.

“Like hell. Come, follow me.” He grabbed my hand and pulled me up the stairs, then to the left until we came to the end of the hallway. Thank God I was fitter; keeping up with his energy and long strides was exhausting.

Maxwell glanced at his watch. “I’ll give you an hour to freshen up. I have some business to attend to before dinner, but then we need to talk. I have something important to discuss with you. It can't wait.” His serious expression caused my heart to stall for a moment. His piercing eyes bored into mine, the weight of his words pressing down on me.

Panic took over my fatigued brain. Was it personal or work related? Whatever it was, it sounded urgent. Ominous.

My heart fluttered at the thought of being alone with the man. Jade’s request and my decision to suspend judgment and give Maxwell a chance to explain himself were about to happen.

My mouth went dry, so I simply nodded before closing the door without a word.

Do I really want to know?
What I didn’t know couldn’t hurt me.

I leaned with my back against the door and closed my eyes.

A tiny seed of doubt planted itself in my mind.

Maybe I was reading too much into it. Maybe he only wanted to talk about the event. But I couldn’t help hoping it would be more—that I would have the opportunity to see into what made Mr. Grant tick.

K
eep control, Max, don’t lose it now.

I turned on my heels and left Rebecca in the guest room. If I stayed a minute longer, I wouldn’t be able to hold myself back. I wanted to smother her with kisses and tell her everything would be okay. The way she stared at me, her green eyes melting into mine, her lips parted as she tried to make meaning out of my words, made my cock twitch and my insides tremble with need.

We needed to talk first.

It was important for our future.

I changed into running gear and went for a run around the estate to clear my mind and burn off the adrenaline that coursed through my body. James drove past me and waved. He was a good man, but I didn’t want him at the house during our talk.

Thirty minutes later, sweating like a motherfucker, I stepped into the shower to get ready for the rest of my evening. I hummed as I washed my body, nervous energy still running through me. It was make or break with Rebecca. I couldn’t fuck this up.

Wanting to be comfortable and relaxed, I slipped into clean jeans and a white button-down shirt, rolling up the sleeves to my elbows. Everything had to be just right—I set off to the kitchen to check. Giovanni, in my opinion one of the best chefs in New York, had come to the house specially to make his famous Italian pasta dish and I’d arranged for Mrs. Roberts to set the table for two.

“Giovanni, the food smells delicious as always,” I complimented as I patted his back in greeting. His moustache lifted at the corners at the same time as his lips. Deep crinkles formed at the edges of his eyes.

“Maxwell, for you, cooking is always a pleasure.” In spite of having moved to the US more than twenty years ago, his Italian accent was unmistakable.

I checked the bottles of wine in the fridge. “Which one do you recommend for that dish?” I held up two bottles. He squinted his eyes to read the labels and laughed.

“Either is good. It's not the vintage of wine that’s important, Max. It's the company you share it with.”

I chuckled at his wisdom. He was a hopeless romantic and not ashamed to admit it.

“You’re right. The lady dining with me tonight is very special.”

“Ah, bellissima,” he exclaimed, looking over my shoulder.

I spun around to see Rebecca standing in the doorway. Her beauty took my breath away. Dressed in a simple top and skirt, her hair flowing down one side of her shoulder, she’d never looked lovelier.

“Good evening,” she greeted Giovanni. “Seems like this is where all the action is.” Her shy smile melted my heart.

“Ah, Max, you didn’t tell me your lady is this beautiful.” He left his cooking and came to kiss Rebecca’s hand.

“Easy, Mr. Italiano. This one is taken. All mine.”

“I don’t blame you, Max, for being jealous. I would be too if she was mine.”

Rebecca pulled her hand away from Giovanni’s lips, her eyes wide as she shifted her gaze to me. “Dinner is nearly done. Mrs. Roberts has set the table in the dining room, so we’ll go in there. Don’t be long, my friend. I think Rebecca may be hungry.”

Nodding, she laughed. “I haven’t had a decent meal all day.”

Giovanni tutted, shaking his head. “Max, I hope you will bring your lovely lady home to dinner more often?”

“That’s the plan, my friend.”

“Home?” she asked. “This is
your
home, Maxwell? I thought you lived in Manhattan?”

“I do. This was my adoptive parents’ house where I came to live when I was fifteen. They downsized to a smaller place two years ago and gifted it to me, insisting I inherit this house that held my happier childhood memories.” I lowered my eyes to the ground as flashes of those days ran through my mind. “I admit, as much as I love it, I don’t use it often.”

Of course Giovanni had something to say about that too. “That’s such a waste. This is a house that should be filled with love and laughter, and bambinos running around.”

He was right. That was why my parents had bought the house in the first place, but after years of unsuccessfully trying to have a family, they decided to adopt instead.
Lucky for me.
Yet, they never gave up on their dream to have a lot of kids running around the place, asking me at every visit when I was going to give them grandchildren. I’d always laugh and deflect their question with a lighthearted joke because I didn’t want to break their hearts by telling them I never wanted children of my own.
Until Rebecca.

I grabbed hold of the cold bottle of wine and steered Rebecca toward the dining room. As much as I enjoyed Giovanni, I wanted her to myself.

“You never said this was your house. I should’ve guessed,” Becca said as she sat down. Her eyes glistened. “What else don’t I know about you, Max?”

I smiled at her. “That, my lovely Rebecca, is exactly the point of tonight’s dinner. There are things you should know about me. But first, let’s eat.”

Giovanni walked in as if on cue. He placed a plate piled high with pasta in front of each of us. Steam rose from the plate and I watched as Rebecca closed her eyes and sniffed.
God, she is adorable.

I poured wine into a glass, swirling and tasting before filling both glasses.

A minute later, Giovanni was back with a bottle of olive oil that he drizzled over each plate with fanfare. Then he piled shaved parmesan cheese on top of that before cracking fresh pepper over each.

“I say goodnight. The dessert is in the refrigerator. You will love it—my mamma’s Tiramisu.”

“Goodnight, Giovanni, and thanks,” I said, happy we’d be alone at last. Placing her napkin on her lap, Rebecca echoed my words.

“A toast,” I said as I raised my glass. She picked hers up and held it to mine. “To the best company I could ever wish for.”

She smiled, a rosy tint spreading over her cheeks that she couldn’t hide even in the candlelight. “Thank you. Salute,” she said softly.

I wanted change—our relationship to grow.

Our glasses clinked and we sipped the wine, neither of us taking our eyes off the other. I'd waited for this night for so long and now that it was happening, I wanted to savor it, take my time and enjoy every moment. So far Rebecca wasn’t resisting or challenging me. As many times as I’d tried to have this conversation with her in the past, it felt right to talk and get it out in the open. Her mood was relaxed and she appeared more at ease and receptive than ever. I felt confident she’d hear me out and give me a fighting chance.
She has to.
The redhead was tenacious, fiery and intense—everything I loved about this woman who was my equal, but fuck, she never made it easy.

Tonight, Rebecca would be mine.

After I explained everything, nothing would stand between us any longer.

The time had come.

I
took another sip of wine. “What do you mean she...she’s not your wife?” My head jerked up and my gaze collided with sapphire pools of darkness.

“I’ve never been married. Not to Natasha, not to anyone.” The tick in his jaw jumped.

I stared into his eyes, looking for traces of humor.
This must be a joke
. A joke on me.

“I-I don’t understand.” It was nearly impossible to formulate coherent sentences when my mind was spinning.

“I’m not married. Natasha is
not
my wife,” he repeated, his tone measured out as if explaining to a child. He filled his glass and drank half of it.

“You’ve been, what, living a lie?”

What about seeing her in his arms with my own eyes? What about all those tabloids pictures of them together?
Pictures don’t lie, do they?

He shook his head. “It's all a ruse. A façade. A well-orchestrated business deal.” His face softened ever so slightly.

“But why?”

His voice was flat. “To keep the media happy. To stop women from hounding me. For convenience.”

“That’s one hell of a scam.” Anger surged through me. I’d believed he was married for so long. Duped. Wasn’t I the fool?

Hurt flashed in his eyes. “It's hard to explain. It was a good idea at the time, but it's superfluous. Things have changed.
I have changed
.”

I sucked in a breath. “What do you mean? How have they changed?”

He pushed to his feet and walked toward the window, his hand raking through his hair. He stared at the moon for what felt like centuries before he replied.

“I made a deal with Natasha three years ago. I was tired of being relentlessly hounded by the tabloids—always speculating if I would get married, making wild assumptions. If I was with a woman, they would hunt her down and plaster pictures everywhere. If I backed off, rumors went around I was gay because I never married. It affected the business. Share prices went down every time a story broke. The board was concerned. They urged me to settle down.”

I squirmed in my chair, my heart racing as I digested what he was saying.

His shoulders slumped forward. He looked disconnected, speaking as if no one were in the room. “I had a long hard think about it. There was no one I wanted to commit my life to. Sure, I had a lot of women I could pick from, all eager to be Mrs. Maxwell Grant. But believe it or not, I’m an old-fashioned kind of guy. My adoptive parents have been married for nearly forty years and still going strong. They adore one another. If I couldn’t have that, I wasn’t going to settle for less.”

Standing against the cold glass window, my heart ached for him. He looked so lonely. I pushed up from the chair and moved closer to him.

“I had to do something. I couldn’t let the business suffer because I didn’t want to commit to a woman.” His jaw tightened, his hand running along the back of his neck. I sensed his despair, knowing the lengths he would go to protect his empire.

“Then a brilliant idea hit me. At least, it was brilliant at the time.” He laughed, but it was humorless and hollow.

He grimaced as he paced the room. “I entered a contract with an up-and-coming young model. She wanted the exposure and fame I could give her as Mrs. Grant. I needed arm candy to portray a settled life to the business world. A win-win situation for both parties.”

I leaned back on the console table, my hands gripping the cold marble for support.

“Is the relationship real?” I whispered.

I have to know.

He pressed his lips together. “The contract stated that she would use my name to propel her career. I would support her financially. In return, she had to deliver...wifely duties.”

He narrowed his eyes as if to gauge my reaction. I stood frozen, my knuckles white, gripping the cold marble as if my life depended on it. My breathing slowed to the point of almost stopping. If it weren’t for my heart hammering against my ribs, I’d believe I was having an out of body experience.

“I couldn’t be caught with other women. That would cause an outrageous scandal, and she wasn’t allowed to fornicate with anyone but me in case she was caught out. She’s a beautiful woman. I could work with that. Fuck her when I needed release, without the emotional involvement.
A perfect plan.
” I flinched at his words. “Until—you.”

He closed the distance between us and lifted my face to his, his eyes burning into mine. I searched their depths for the answers, unwilling to draw conclusions, in case I was wrong. The heat radiating from his body reflected onto my limp body, warming the chill in my veins.

“Me?”

“You.” A slow lazy smile spread across his face. “The most infuriating, rebellious and obstinate woman I’ve ever known.”

All the breath in my body left my lungs. “Oh.”
Does he despise me that much he’s now making fun of me?