at that moment.
A brunette was standing there, waiting for the lift. A strikingly attractive brunette with big brown eyes, eyes which grew bigger when they saw Max, then narrowed as they shifted over to Tara.
Max’s fingers tightened around Tara’s.
‘Hello, Max,’ the brunette said first. ‘Long time, no see.’
‘Indeed,’ Max replied, but said no more.
Tara could feel the tension gripping all of Max’s body through his hand. No, not tension. Hostility. He hated this woman, for whatever reason. Why? Had he loved her once?
Tara stared at the brunette more closely, trying to guess her age for one thing. Impossible to tell accurately. Maybe mid-to late-twenties. She had the sleek look of the very rich, which meant she might be older. Weekly visits to beauty salons could hold back the hands of time. Her face was clear of wrinkles and superbly made up. But her shoulder-length, shiny dark-brown hair was her crowning glory, framing her face in a layered bob with not a single strand out of place.
She made Tara conscious of her own hair, which was scraped back from her face and pulled up high on her head into a tight knot, the only style she could manage in the small amount of time Max had given her to get ready. Less than fifteen minutes earlier, her whole head had been sopping wet.
‘You’re looking well,’ the brunette addressed to Max.
‘If you’ll excuse us, Alicia,’ Max said. ‘We are already late for our dinner reservation.’ And he ushered Tara away, stunning Tara with his rudeness. Ever since she’d met Max, she’d never known him to act like that with anyone.
Tara did not glance back, or say a word during the short walk from the lift to the restaurant. She remained discretely silent whilst the maître d’ greeted them, then instructed their personal waiter—a good-looking young guy named Jarod—to show them to their table.
It was a very special table, reserved for special occasions and people who wanted total privacy from the other diners. Set in a back corner of the restaurant, the candlelit table was housed in a tiny room, which was dimly lit and very atmospheric.
The first time Max had brought her here, she’d thought it was so romantic. Subsequent visits had been just as romantic. Tonight, however, the encounter with the brunette had turned Tara’s mind away from romance. Unless one could consider jealousy an element of romance. Max could say what he liked but the way that woman had looked at him—just for a moment—had been with the eyes of a woman who’d been more than a passing acquaintance, or an employee.
As the minutes dragged on—Max was spending an inordinate amount of time studying the drinks menu—her agitation increased. By the time the waiter departed and the opportunity presented itself to ask him about the infernal woman, Tara feared she was going to put her questions all wrong. She dithered over what to actually say.
‘There’s no need to be jealous,’ Max pronounced abruptly. ‘Alicia was Stevie’s girlfriend, not mine.’
‘I wasn’t jealous,’ Tara lied with a lift of her chin. ‘Just bewildered by your rudeness. So what did this Alicia do to Stevie to make you hate her so much?’
‘The moment my brother was diagnosed with testicular cancer, Alicia dumped him like a shot. Said she couldn’t cope.’
Tara was stunned to see Max’s hands tremble as he raked them through his hair.
‘My God, she couldn’t cope,’ he growled. ‘How did she think Stevie was going to cope when the girl he loved—and who he thought loved him—didn’t stand by him through his illness? I blame her entirely for his treatment being unsuccessful. When she left him, he lost the will to live.’
‘But I thought…’
‘Yes, yes, I blame my father, too. But Alicia even more so. At least Dad never pretended a devotion to Stevie. When he didn’t come home to be by his dying son’s bedside, it wasn’t such a shock. Not to Stevie, anyway. He told me just days before he died that Dad didn’t love him the way he loved me.’ Max’s deeply set blue eyes looked haunted. ‘God, Tara, do you know how I felt when he said that? Stevie, who was such a good boy, who’d never hurt anyone in his life. How could any father not love him more than me? I wasn’t a patch on my little brother.’
Tara frowned. Max had told her ages ago about the circumstances surrounding his younger brother’s tragic death. Yet he’d never mentioned Stevie’s girlfriend’s part in it.
‘Why didn’t you tell me about Alicia, Max? You told me what your father did.’
‘I don’t like to talk about Stevie. I told you as much as I had to, to explain why I didn’t invite you home to visit my parents, especially last Christmas. Alicia was irrelevant to that explanation,’ he finished brusquely. ‘Aah, here’s the champagne.’
Tara wasn’t totally satisfied with Max’s explanation but stayed silent whilst the waiter opened the bottle, poured them both a glass then finally departed after Max told him to return in ten minutes for their meal order.
‘It’s not like you to order champagne,’ she said as she took a sip. Max usually ordered red wine.
‘I thought we would share a bottle. To celebrate the anniversary of our meeting. It was a year ago today that I walked into Whitmore’s. Of course, it was a Friday not a Saturday, but the date’s spot-on.’
‘Oh, Max, how sweet of you to remember!’
‘I’m a sweet guy.’
Tara smiled. ‘You can be. Obviously. But I wouldn’t say sweetness is one of your best-known attributes.’
‘No?’ He smiled across the table, reminding her for the second time that night how very handsome he was. ‘So what is my best-known attribute?’
She couldn’t help it. She blushed.
Max laughed. ‘I will take that as a compliment. Although you’ve hardly been able to compare, since I’m your one and only lover. At least, I presume I am. Though maybe not for long, after today.’
‘What on earth do you mean by that?’
‘Maybe you’ll want to fly to other places. Experience other men.’
Tara stared at him. ‘You don’t know me very well if you think that. What happened earlier, Max, is because I love you deeply and trust you totally. I could never be like that with some other man. I would just die of embarrassment and shame.’
His eyes softened on her. ‘You really mean that, don’t you?’
‘Of course I do!’
He shook his head. ‘You’re one in a million, Tara. There truly aren’t many women like you out there for men like me. True love is a luxury not often enjoyed by the rich and famous. Our attractiveness lies in our bank balances, not our selves.’
‘I don’t believe that. You’re far too cynical, Max.’
‘I’ve met far too many Alicias not to be cynical. Do you know that within six months of telling Stevie she loved him but couldn’t cope, she’d married another heir to a fortune?
