Invincible (23 page)

“Should we try to follow them tomorrow?”

Max shook his head. “Too dangerous. Especially if there are more people involved. Too easy for someone else to spot a tail on Steffan or Irina. But it might not be a bad idea to see if we can have drinks with Steffan tomorrow evening. Maybe we can get him to tell us how he and Irina spent the day.”

“He isn't going to admit he's part of a conspiracy, Max.”

“No. But what he does tell us can be confirmed—or not. Which will tell us whether he was lying.”

“Oh, I see. Should we invite Elena, too?”

“Why not? It'll make it seem more like a social occasion. Come to think of it, maybe Steffan will want to invite Elena. That would be even better.”

“I never thought we'd find any substance to this threat,” Kristin said quietly.

“Maybe we haven't,” Max said.

Kristin realized he was still hoping they hadn't. She
couldn't imagine being forced to report that someone she loved and cared about was a terrorist.

Kristin listened to the vocabulary contest going on between Freddy and Flick in the front of the limo. “Flick was impressed with the clothes,” she said to Max. “She loves the riding crop.” She hesitated, then added, “And she thinks you're wonderful.”

“The feeling is mutual. She's a great kid,” Max said.

“I know.”

“I wish I'd been a part of her life from the start.”

“I can't undo the decisions I made, Max,” she said defensively. “I'm not going to apologize for them, either.”

“You can make sure I get to spend the rest of Flick's life being her father.”

“By joining you in a loveless marriage? No thanks.”

“It doesn't have to be loveless,” Max said.

“You don't love me. I don't love you. That sounds loveless to me.”

“Keep your voice down,” he warned.

Kristin looked to make sure Flick was still engrossed in her conversation with the limo driver before she said, “What are you suggesting?”

He rubbed a hand across his nape, beneath the collar of his tweed riding jacket. “I don't know.”

“Your mother asked me if we'd discussed visitation rights.”

She watched a muscle flex in Max's jaw before he said, “I don't want to visit my daughter. I want to live with her.”

“What if that isn't possible?”

“There has to be some way to make it possible.”

Kristin shook her head. “It's too late, Max. Flick and I have our lives in America. You live here.”

“I'll move.”

“What?”

“You want to live in America? Fine, that's where we'll live.”

“Where
we'll
live?”

“I'll get a house nearby. Flick can move back and forth between your house and mine.”

“No.”

“Now you're being unreasonable.”

“I'm trying to protect my daughter—”

“Get this through your head,” Max interrupted angrily. “Flick has two parents. She's not just your daughter. She's mine, too!”

“Dad? Mom? What's wrong?”

Max swore under his breath.

“Nothing's wrong, sweetheart,” Kristin said. “Your dad and I were discussing—”

“Me,” Flick finished as she scooted back across the black leather seats to join them at the back of the limo. “You were arguing about me. I've been wondering if we're going to be living together from now on. Are we?”

Kristin's heart hurt when she heard the hope in her daughter's voice. She didn't want to dash those hopes. But she didn't want to encourage them, either. “Your father and I are trying to work that out.”

“You sounded mad, Mom. Don't you like Dad?”

“Yes, Flick, but…” She met Max's stony gaze. She waited for him to say something, anything, to take the awful, fearful look from Flick's eyes.

“Your mother and I were friends a long time ago,” Max said. “We're learning to be friends again, but we don't agree on everything. So sometimes we argue.”

“Oh, okay,” Flick said. “Sometimes I fight with Jane. She was my friend at school in Switzerland. But we always made up.” She turned to Kristin and asked, “Are you and Dad going to make up?”

Kristin nodded, because that was easier than trying to speak past the lump in her throat.

“Are you going to
kiss
and make up?” Flick asked Max with an impish smile.

He glanced at Kristin and raised a brow. “How about it, Princess? You want to kiss and make up?”

Kristin met Flick's anxious gaze and realized a kiss was a small price to pay for her daughter's peace of mind. “Why not?”

She leaned toward Max, expecting a peck on the cheek.

Max caught her chin and angled her face so his mouth pressed lightly against hers. His mouth was soft, his kiss gentle. And she melted inside like ice cream on a hot sidewalk.

“That wasn't so bad, was it?” Max asked.

“Not bad at all,” Kristin croaked. Her throat was still swollen with emotion, but she managed to smile for Flick.

Flick clapped. “Now you're friends again!” She clambered back to the front of the limo and said, “Freddy, my mom and dad kissed and made up.” And then, “Are we there yet?”

M
ax deeply regretted inviting Veronica to meet him at Hyde Park. He dreaded the confrontation he could see coming. Flick might not understand the implications of having another woman along for the ride. Kristin would.

He was relieved to discover, when they arrived at Hyde Park Stables, that Veronica wasn't there. Maybe she'd slept in longer than she'd planned.

When Flick saw the small chestnut horse with a white blaze that had been selected as her mount, she was so excited she seemed ready to jump out of her skin. “He's pretty big, Dad,” she said, backed up against him, staring warily up at the horse.

“But gentle, miss,” the hostler said as he finished saddling her mount.

Flick asked Max, “Can I pet him?”

Max put a hand on her shoulder and walked her to the horse's side. The horse turned his head to look at the little girl. Before she could jump back, Max said, “No
sudden moves, Flick. You'll frighten him. Just reach out and stroke his neck slowly and gently.”

His daughter reached out a small, tentative hand. When she touched the animal, his shoulder muscles rippled as though to shake off a fly. Max held on to Flick to keep her from running.

“Touch him a little more firmly,” he instructed. This time he took her hand and stroked the horse's neck along with her, then its throat, and finally its nose.

“His nose is so soft,” Flick said in wonder. “Like…velvet.”

When Max sought out Kristin's gaze to share his enjoyment of Flick's delight, he saw that she looked anything but happy. He raised a questioning brow and watched her attempt a smile. She didn't make it.

Before he could ask what was wrong, the hostler said, “Are you ready to mount, miss?”

Flick looked anxiously at Max.

He smiled down at her and said, “When I lift you up, Flick, just slide your leg over the horse's back and you'll be sitting in the saddle.”

Flick did as he instructed. She looked worried for a moment, but he had a hand on her hip to steady her. He kept a reassuring smile on his face and announced, “You're up.”

She grinned down at him, turned to her mother and said, “I'm sitting on a horse, Mom!”

“I see, baby,” Kristin said.

Max arranged the reins, one in each of Flick's hands
and said, “Pull this rein if you want him to go left, and this one if you want him to go right.”

“Just like turning my bicycle,” Flick said.

“Right,” he replied. “Now let's get these stirrups adjusted.” He settled her booted foot in one stirrup with her knee slightly bent, then adjusted the buckle underneath to shorten the length. The hostler did the same with her other foot.

“How does that feel?” Max asked.

“Good, I guess,” Flick said. “Now what?”

“You get to practice walking your horse in the ring until your mother and I get mounted.”

The hostler led Flick to a fenced-in riding arena and gave her instructions on how to use her heels to urge the horse to walk, while Max checked to see what was delaying Kristin.

“What's wrong, K?” he asked quietly.

“I'm scared, that's what's wrong,” she said, refusing to look at him.

“Of the horse?” he asked skeptically. The placid animal was tied to a hitching post.

“Of falling off the horse.”

“I've never known you to be scared of anything,” he said. “What happened to make you frightened of horses?”

“I got thrown from a horse when I was about Flick's age.”

“I wondered why you never let Flick go riding.”

“I've never gotten back on a horse since.”

“You didn't get right back on after you were thrown?”

She shook her head. “I dislocated my shoulder.”

“Would you rather not ride?” he asked.

“I don't want to spoil Flick's day.”

“It'll spoil Flick's day a lot worse to see her mother in a panic,” Max said sardonically.

“I can do this,” Kristin said. “I want to do this.”

Max could see she was trembling. “Are you sure?”

She nodded her head jerkily.

“Okay. Let's think about this a minute.” He stood in front of her, wrapped his arms around her and gently pressed her face against his chest. “Think about yourself sitting on that horse and walking along the beautiful, oak-lined trails in Hyde Park with me and Flick riding beside you.”

He waited until he felt her trembling stop. Then he released her and took a step back. He lifted her chin with a forefinger and said, “No ordinary horse is going to get the better of the girl I know.”

He took Kristin by the hand and led her to the pretty bay mare that had been saddled for her. He took that same hand and reached out with it to stroke the horse's neck, much as he'd done with Flick. He ran Kristin's hand along the horse's forehead, moving the animal's forelock out of the way.

On her own, Kristin ran her hand down the front of the mare's face and across her nose. “I forgot how soft a horse's nose is,” she murmured.

The horse's ears pricked back and forth as she spoke.

“Why is she doing that?” she asked nervously.

“She's checking you out, just like you're checking her out. Come on, time to get on.”

She grabbed for his hand and said, “I'm not sure I can do this, Max.”

“Sure you can.” He freed himself from her grip, made a cup of his hands and said, “Put your left hand on the front of the saddle, face me and put your left foot in my hands, and I'll boost you up. Once you're up, slip your leg over the horse's back and you'll be in the saddle.

Because she was so lithe, Kristin had no problem doing as he instructed.

“Now breathe,” he said.

She exhaled loudly before drawing enough breath to say in wonder, “I'm sitting on a horse.”

He constrained the grin that was trying to break free and merely said, “Yes, you are. Now put your feet in the stirrups.”

When she looked down to locate the stirrups, she said, “It's not as far down as I remember.”

“You're more grown-up,” he reminded her as he adjusted the stirrups one at a time.

“How do you know so much about all this?” she asked.

“I spent a lot of time on horseback at one of the boarding schools my brothers and I attended. As I recall, it was an incident with a horse that got us thrown out.”

He mounted his horse and instructed her how to turn
her horse left and right, how to stop her mount and how to make her go. He distracted Kristin from her fear with the story of how he'd let the headmaster's stallion out of his stall, how the stallion had gotten friendly with the Latin instructor's mare and how he and his brothers had been kicked out of school long before the resulting foal had been born.

Kristin was laughing when they joined Flick at the riding ring.

“Are you ready to go, Flick?” Max called.

“Ready, Dad.”

“I'm ready, too,” a voice called from behind him.

Max turned his horse and found Veronica sitting on a prime piece of horseflesh—not a rented hack, but her own dainty Arabian mare—wearing a faultless hunter-green velvet riding habit.

Kristin took one look at the other woman and said, “Come on, Flick. We'll take the lead.”

The woman who was supposedly afraid of riding horseback urged her mount onto the trail with their daughter beside her. He was left to deal with Veronica.

“I didn't think you were coming,” he said.

“I thought you were kidding about having company for the ride,” she said, eyeing Kristin and Flick down the bridge of her very pert nose. “Who are those people again?”

“The woman is Kristin Lassiter. I'm playing an exhibition match at Wimbledon with her. The child with her is her daughter.” There it was again. The reluctance to say
my
daughter. Or even
our
daughter. He'd created
his very own drama by inviting Veronica to come along on this ride. He might as well get the worst over with.

“Come on,” he said. “I'll introduce you.”

They trotted to catch up with Kristin and Flick. “Hold up,” he called to the two of them. “There's someone I want you to meet.”

Kristin ignored him, but Flick held up her mount until Veronica, posting with perfect posture in her English saddle, caught up to her.

“I've always wanted a white horse,” Flick said, eyeing Veronica's mount.

“Actually, Blanca is dapple gray.”

“Her name means
white
in Spanish,” Flick pointed out. “And she's mostly white.”

Veronica smiled indulgently. “Yes, it does. And yes, she is.”

“Can I ride with you for a while?” Flick asked.

“Of course,” Veronica replied.

“That way my mom can ride with my dad,” Flick added. “Your
dad?
” Veronica turned to Max, her brows raised in patent disbelief, and said, “This is your
daughter?
”

“Veronica Granville, I'd like you to meet Kristin Lassiter and her daughter—our daughter—Felicity, who goes by the nickname Flick.”

“Is this woman your wife?” Veronica asked.

Max choked, but Kristin said, “No. We're not married.”

“I see,” Veronica said, looking from one to the other. “Well, Flick. Shall we ride ahead?”

“Okay,” Flick said. “But I can't ride very fast.”

“Walking will be fine,” Veronica said. “I'm in no hurry at all.”

Max had to hand it to the reporter. She'd taken the news better than he'd expected. Of course, she'd also gotten herself a scoop. Max Benedict had just admitted to having a daughter, and that he and the girl's mother weren't married.

Max exchanged a glance with Kristin, who shrugged and shook her head in equal disbelief at Flick's maneuvering and Veronica's savoir faire.

As Veronica and Flick rode ahead together, Max joined Kristin behind them. He'd just opened his mouth to ask how she was enjoying the ride when Flick asked Veronica in a loud voice, “Are you my dad's girlfriend?”

“That's a very good question, young lady,” Veronica said, glancing at Max over her shoulder. “One I think you should ask your father.”

Max bit his tongue. The pain kept him from blurting an answer.

Flick turned her horse around to face Max, while Veronica pulled her mount to a halt and turned to join her. Max and Kristin caught up to Flick, and the four of them sat on their horses facing each other.

“Dad? Is Veronica your girlfriend?”

There he was, on the spot, with no safe answer to Flick's question.

“Well, Max?” Veronica said with a sardonic smile. “I'd like to hear the answer to that question myself.”

Max realized he was going to have to make a choice,
one from which there was no turning back. He might have given a different answer yesterday, before he'd known he had a daughter. And before Veronica had chosen to abandon him last night in favor of a stately ambassador.

He was slowly but surely realizing that his days as a carefree bachelor were over, even if he didn't end up marrying Kristin. Being a father to his daughter was going to require some sacrifices. Sleeping his way across several continents was sure to be one of them.

He met the reporter's gaze and answered, “Veronica is my friend, Flick. Not my girlfriend.”

He watched Veronica's back stiffen and saw her mouth flatten into a hyphen.

He'd made his choice. He wasn't too sure just how deeply his rejection had cut. Maybe not as much this morning as it might have before the ambassador had come into her life. He didn't think he'd done more than bruise Veronica's ego. “How was the reception last night, Veronica?”

“The ambassador is a man of many talents, Max,” she said. “If you know what I mean.”

He did. She deserved the chance to remind him that she was a desirable woman, and that he was going to regret letting her get away. But he didn't feel sorry. Except for having invited her in the first place.

“I think I'll ride ahead,” Veronica said. “I'd like to give Blanca a little more exercise than she's gotten on this family ride of yours.”

“We'll see you back at the stables,” Max said.

“I'm afraid I'll be gone before you get back, Max. I've got other plans this afternoon. It was nice meeting you, Kristin. And you, Flick.”

“Nice meeting you, too, Miss Veronica,” Flick said. “You have a really pretty horse.”

“Thank you, dear.” Veronica rode over and kissed Max on the cheek. She leaned close and said, “Good-bye, Max. Thanks for the scoop.”

Max watched Veronica canter her horse away, her form perfect in the saddle. He might have been able to bring pressure to bear to keep her from selling what she knew to some gossip rag. But he wasn't ashamed of Flick. And maybe the publicity would push Kristin into his arms.

“I think she likes you, Dad,” Flick said when Veronica was out of hearing. “Do you like her more than Mom?”

“Flick!” Kristin said.

“No, Flick,” he replied. “I like your mom the best of anyone I know.”

Kristin shot him a surprised look. Quietly enough so Flick couldn't hear she said, “Then why did you invite Veronica to come today?”

“Let's say it was a mistake and leave it at that.”

“Can we trot now, Dad?”

“I need to teach you how to post first.” He showed Flick how to lift her body off the saddle when the horse was jogging by standing slightly in the stirrups and then sitting in the saddle again in concert with the horse's up and down stride, allowing for a smooth ride.

“Got it!” Flick said. “This is neat, Dad,” she said, posting as she trotted ahead.

Max turned to Kristin and asked, “How about you? You okay with trotting?”

Kristin nodded. “I think I've got it, too.”

They jogged along infamous Rotten Row, where Regency-era lords and ladies had driven their curricles in the afternoon to see and be seen, now a wide dirt path running along the outer edge of the park. Max corrected Flick's form as she posted in the English saddle. When their horses slowed again, he nudged his horse close to Kristin and said, “You're doing great.”