Intimate Betrayal (23 page)

R
eese awoke the following morning exhausted and spent. Maxwell hadn't fared much better, but insisted that Reese spend the early part of the day resting. He'd prepared an herbal tea to help her rest and she was finally in a peaceful sleep when he slipped from the bed.

For most of the night, Maxwell alternated between rocking her, massaging her, and talking to her, all while she tossed and turned throughout the night.

Maxwell prepared a light meal of several kinds of salads for Reese when she awoke, knowing she'd be hungry. He made some last-minute phone calls and checked with Carmen at the office. After a ten-minute debate, he'd finally convinced her not to take the trip with them. After hearing about what happened to Lynnette, he had no intention of letting anyone else be put at risk. He had enough to worry about without having to be concerned about Carmen's safety as well. She would meet them at the airport and bring his files that he'd
need for his upcoming meetings. And that was as far as she was going.

While Reese slept, Maxwell sequestered himself in his den, going over his strategy for his negotiations with the Japanese contingent. His intention was to gain their support in expanding his manufacturing operations to Tokyo.

He knew it was a task that was far from easy. He not only had to combat the cultural barriers, but the ingrained prejudices that permeated the entire country.

Yes, he'd mastered the language, the customs, and adopted much of the culture. He'd learned the intricate art of negotiations and the genius of their financial and technological success. Japanese blood even ran in his veins. But he would always be an outsider, never a part of the powerful network that made the real decisions.

That was the barrier he had to crack if he were to ever gain a meaningful foothold for his enterprises in Japan. It had taken nearly a year of talks and trips back and forth across the globe to reach the point where the powers were willing to sit down and give real consideration to his proposal.

He knew the first few weeks would be a series of
machiai seiju,
or teahouse politics. No real decisions or business would be discussed for the first few days. And he must be prepared for every inevitability. He'd worked and planned too long and hard to blow it now.

He scrubbed his face with his hands to wipe away the weariness. He needed to be able to devote all of his energies to closing this deal. But the past few weeks had deterred his focus. He felt physically and emotionally drained. This was not the state of mind he needed to be in, and he had to make the transition before he met with the businessmen in Japan. What he needed to do was have a good workout in the dojo.

He exhaled heavily and squeezed his tired eyes shut.
He wished that Chris was there for him to kick around his thoughts and feelings. At least he'd see him soon enough. That would have to sustain him.

Since they would be arriving so early in Japan, he would at least have the opportunity to unwind and regroup. The change of environment would certainly do him and Reese a great deal of good.

Reese.
Slowly he shook his head in wonder. From the moment she'd set foot in his office, his entire life had changed. He had changed.

All of the reasons he'd given himself for steering clear of relationships, he'd forgotten. Reese had made him forget. He'd allowed his heart to open and accept her in it. He opened doors to his life and let her in. And it felt good. And yes, he was in love with her—deeply and irrevocably in love with her. He was finally able to admit it to himself.

He smiled wistfully, envisioning her face. He was in love with her laughter, the sparkle in her eyes, her sexy voice, the way she walked, talked, made love with him. The way she looked at him and made him feel so very special.

He fully realized what he'd denied himself for so long, giving love to a woman who could love him back.

Maxwell's smooth bronze brow tightened. Could she love him? She'd said she needed him. And there was a time when he would have never thought she'd say that much. But need was a far cry from love.

He expelled a long breath and crossed the room to look out of the window. The soothing vision of the bay spanned out before him. The water lapped gently against the shoreline. Maxwell felt the tension that had coiled his spine and snaked up his neck, slowly being to wane.

He braced the window frame with his hands. Somewhere out there lay the answers to all of the questions. His eyes searched the horizon. But where?

“Hi.”

Maxwell turned toward Reese's voice and he would have sworn that his heart stood still. She was a vision to behold. The near sheer peach lounging pajamas flowed around her slender body, giving the illusion that she floated across the room.

Standing with the light dancing behind her from the kitchen, he could discern every detail of her exquisite form. Her radiant chocolate-brown skin seemed to glow from some inner light, making her eyes sparkle with twinkling lights. Her thick hair tumbled in seductive disarray around her face.

Yes. This was the woman he wanted to wake up with, spend his nights and the rest of his life with. And when this whole sordid mess was over, he would tell her so.

Reese glided slowly toward him until she was inches away. And with every step, she struggled to conquer her involuntary reaction to that gentle loving look in his eyes. She couldn't allow herself to confuse his empathy for her with love. She was certain that it was sympathy she saw mirrored in those ebony eyes.

“Thank you…for last night,” she uttered in a raw whisper, her throat still feeling the effects of hours of groaning and crying. “How bad was it?”

Maxwell traced her jaw with the tip of his finger. “Not too bad,” he lied. The truth was, he'd been afraid for her. Even when she'd cried out and her eyes were wide open, she didn't seem to see him. Terror was in her eyes while she trembled and shook her head wildly.

“How are you feeling?” He eased her into his embrace, pulling her close. Shutting his eyes, he inhaled deeply of her erotic scent, filling himself with its nourishment.

“Better. I think.” The corners of her expressive mouth struggled to form a smile.

“Do you remember anything?” he asked gently, stroking her hair.

She nodded against his chest, the images of her dreams brilliant in the light of day.

“I remember where I've seen Larry before,” she murmured with a shiver of recollection. “He was the one who carried me away from the car before it burst into flames.”

 

The silence lengthened between them, making her uncomfortable. Instead of feeling secure in his company, Reese felt suddenly anxious to escape from his disturbing presence.

Maxwell hadn't said a word since she told him of her dream. He seemed to have withdrawn somewhere deep inside of himself, shutting her out. Now she was angry at herself for having said anything at all. As much as he professed to want her to confide in him, he seemed unable or unwilling to accept what she told him. He acted the same way when she spoke of his father. Although she could understand his resistance, his reactions disappointed her.

They moved through the sprawling house as two separate entities, bringing their baggage to the car.

Reese stood on the passenger side of the car waiting for Maxwell to unlock the doors. She searched for some sign of emotion in his unreadable expression, made more difficult by the dark glasses he wore shielding his eyes. Added to that, she also knew that his face would reveal nothing of what he felt or thought, and she couldn't stand it another minute.

“Are you going to act like this for the entire time we're together, Max?” she suddenly spouted.

With his right hand he removed his sunglasses. His gaze flickered upward and settled on her face. He braced his arms across the roof of the car and looked at her for a long, silent
moment. He seemed more pensive than angry or hurt, Reese realized when she made contact with his eyes.

“No,” he answered simply. He blew out a long breath. “It's not you, Reese, or anything that you've said.” He turned his gaze, momentarily, away then looked back at her. “It just seems that the more you remember, the more it points to my father's involvement and now Larry. I'm trying really hard to digest it all. To find out that Larry was on the scene the morning of your parents' deaths… It's just…”

“Too much to handle,” she said, finishing his sentence.

He wasn't surprised to hear her words echo his thoughts. That seemed to happen a lot between them, as if they were connected on some higher level. “Yeah,” he answered finally. “I'm just trying to process it all.”

She looked at him, her soft amber eyes filled with compassion and understanding. “All I ask is that you talk to me, Max. Just tell me what you're thinking. I can't stand it when you shut me out. It's difficult for me, too.”

His jaw flexed as he nodded. “Let's get out of here.”

 

They drove for a solid twenty minutes without a word passing between them. Reese sat with her eyes glued to the winding tree-lined boulevards, her arms crossed tightly beneath her breasts like shields against the unknown. Intermittently, she stole furtive glances in Maxwell's direction and each time her own anxiety level escalated.

He was the personification of controlled energy; from the set of his square jaw to the pulse that beat at the base of his neck, the strong fingers that gripped the steering wheel like a vise, to the ingrained frown that furrowed his brow and narrowed his exotic onyx eyes. Yet, even with all that she could see, what he was feeling inside was omitted from his expression. One who did not know him would believe
he was simply a man focused on arriving at an appointed destination.

So caught up was she in her analysis of his body language she flinched in surprise when he finally spoke.

“I've been thinking about everything you've told me, Reese, from the beginning.” He paused gauging his words. “I no longer have any doubts that my father and now Larry were both somehow connected…to the death of your parents.” He swallowed hard, the verbal acknowledgement of the truth like a bitter pill in his mouth. He risked taking a fleeting look at Reese.

She was biting on her bottom lip, her hands were clasped tightly in her lap, her eyes wavering between looking at him and the unwinding road as if afraid that to look directly at him would somehow validate what they both knew to be true.

The sorrow that he saw hovering in her amber eyes, he knew in no way reflected the depth of her pain or her inner turmoil.

His deep voice was low, controlled and decisive when he continued. “In accepting this, I also have to accept my own responsibility.”

Her heart slammed against her chest and her head snapped in his direction. Her voice trembled with dread. “What are you saying?”

“When you began seeing the images in your dreams more clearly, and finally told me the date when the ‘accident' happened, I remembered something. And I should have told you then. But I didn't want to believe it.”

Reese pressed her lips together. “Tell me now,” she gently urged.

“I always wondered about my father's late-night meetings with Larry and the hushed phone calls. I vaguely recall the news articles about your father and about the same time as the accident, reporters began hounding us and I never knew
why other than I wasn't supposed to talk with them under any circumstances.”

“And your distrust of reporters began,” she said, her words giving credence to his emotions.

Slowly he nodded in agreement even as the memories grew clearer. “My mother and father seemed to constantly argue during that time, and then out of the blue we packed up and moved to California.” He turned to look at her, marking the look of acceptance mixed with confusion on her face.

“What would the reporters want with your father?” she asked, caution outlining her words.

“Remember, my father works for the Special Forces unit of the Air Force. Your father, if I remember correctly, worked for Intelligence.”

Reese nodded slowly. “And?” She held her breath, waiting for the painful answer that hung on her lips. But she would not speak the words. She needed him to say them. He needed to admit them. Otherwise her declaration of what she believed to be true would sound like another accusation.

“From the little I know of what my father did and does,” he qualified, “his job is to infiltrate and remove any threats to the U.S. military—to the government. He's been thoroughly trained and is only called in for ultra-sensitive duty.”

“There's so little that I know, and worse, can remember about my father,” Reese said wistfully. “My aunt Celeste was always so reluctant to talk about him, and she wouldn't even speak my mother's name.” She snorted in distaste. “Now I know why.” Maxwell reached across the gearshift and squeezed her hand. “There was little or no written record of what happened,” she continued, “and the Air Force has refused to tell me anything about him other than he served his country well.”

“My belief is that your father discovered something he
wasn't supposed to and the wrong person found out and put a stop to it.”

“My father, a threat to the government? Isn't that a stretch?”

“Is it? What else makes sense? That's my father's job, Reese. I never wanted to acknowledge the ugliness of his reality—but I can't ignore it any longer. And right now, my father's biggest challenge is what he believes to be his duty to his superiors and his duty as a father.” His voice hitched with a modicum of emotion. “He's torn between me and them.” He chuckled mirthlessly. “I suppose his big concession was getting Larry to look out for us.”

“When Larry arrives in Tokyo, I'll confront him with what I know,” she announced hotly, emotion overruling her journalistic sense.

Maxwell shook his head. “Not a good idea. The less anyone knows about your memory returning, the better.”