the next morning and finally caught up with the personal items of mail his PA had not opened. A casual glance at the report from the medical he had taken a couple of weeks earlier had told him there was a query about one of his results and that he would need to contact a Dr Foscari.
Two hours later Max had been sitting numb with shock as Dr Foscari informed him that his urine test had revealed irregularities in his testosterone levels—a sign of testicular cancer. The doctor had gone on to explain that it was the most prevalent form of cancer in males between the ages of twenty and forty-four, but was easily treated. He’d told Max not to worry, because the test wasn’t certain, but as a precaution he had made an appointment with a top consultant at the best hospital in Rome for the following week.
Max had walked out of the clinic with fear clawing at his gut. But he had been furious at the mere suggestion he could be ill, and had determined to seek a second opinion. Gina was an oncologist; she would know the leading specialist in the field. He would talk to her over lunch, tell her his fears, knowing she would keep his confidence.
By the time lunch had been over Max had known more than he’d ever wanted to know about his suspected illness. Gina, in her forthright manner, had immediately called Dr Foscari, and after speaking to him had told Max not to panic. She had explained that there might be other causes for the irregular testosterone levels, and that anyway there was now a ninety-five per cent success rate in the treatment of testicular cancer. At Max’s insistence she had gone on to outline the worst-case scenario if it was cancer. She had asked him if he had noticed any little lumps, if he was feeling unusually tired or suffering any loss of libido—all of which he had vehemently denied.
When she had then begun to explain in detail the treatment and the side effects—the possible loss of virility, the freezing of sperm as a precaution against infertility—Max had actually felt sick. To reassure him, Gina had offered to contact a colleague at a clinic in America who was a renowned specialist in the field, in case a second opinion was needed.
He had suggested flying straight to America, but she had told him not to be so impulsive and added that as nothing was going to happen in the next few days he should try to have a relaxing weekend.
Max hadn’t been able to ignore Gina’s opinion because he trusted her completely. He had done since their parents had married, when he was four and she was five, and they had instantly become as close as biological siblings, with a genuine liking for each other that had lasted into adulthood. She had supported him in his ambition to be a geologist, and he had done the same for her in her medical ambition and in her personal life.
‘Max? Max!’
The sound of his name intruded on unpleasant memories of the past. He looked across the table at Gina, and the other two people in their party—Rosa and her husband Ted.
Gina and Rosa were lovers, and had been for years. Ted had his own reasons for keeping the secret—Rosa was the mother of his two children, and Max knew he had a long-term mistress. As for Max, he kept the secret because Gina wanted him to. She was convinced that their parents would be horrified if they knew the truth, and that the potential scandal of the relationship might harm her career prospects.
‘Sorry, Gina.’ He smiled. Personally, he thought Gina was wrong, and believed that not many people were bothered about a person’s sexual preference in the twenty-first century, but it wasn’t his secret to reveal.
‘You have seen her? Sophie Rutherford?’ Gina prompted. ‘Are you okay?’
‘Yes, fine.’ He saw the concern in her eyes and added, ‘I can’t say I am impressed by her choice of partner.’ He cast a glance at the blond-headed Venus in question, his mouth curling in a cynical smile. ‘But I’m not surprised.’
Always a man of action, Max was not given to moods of reflection. But now, as he ate the food put before him, he found it hard to concentrate on the present when the woman responsible for so many painful memories of his past was seated just a few yards away. Seeing Sophie again had brought to mind in every vivid detail perhaps the worst episode in his life all those years ago….
Max had left Gina outside the restaurant, his mind in flux, and slowly walked back in the direction of his office. For a self-confident man who prided himself on always being in control, a man who made business decisions involving millions on a daily basis and never doubted his course of action, it had been sobering to realise he was just as susceptible as the next man to the unfamiliar emotions of doubt and fear. He enjoyed his work, was very successful and very wealthy, and he had gone his own way for years with very little thought to the future. But now he’d been forced to face the fact he might not have one, and suddenly everything he had achieved didn’t amount to much.
If he dropped dead tomorrow his family and a couple of friends might grieve for a while, but eventually it would be as though he’d never existed.
A few days before Max had thought he had all the time in the world, that marriage and children were something he wouldn’t have to consider for years. He had thought in his arrogance that the timing had not been right for an affair with Sophie—that he didn’t need her. But with the threat of serious illness hanging over him time had suddenly become vitally important.
Impulsively he had called his pilot, and an hour later had been flying back to Sicily—and Sophie. Alex be damned! He needed Sophie’s uncomplicated company, her open adoration, her stunning body, and he wasn’t going to wait. He was going to have her—and she might just be the last woman he had in this life.
Max had glanced around the familiar view of the hotel gardens. His dark eyes had narrowed on a group of three young boys in the swimming pool, playing water polo with a girl. The girl had been Sophie, and as he’d watched she had hauled herself out of the water and flopped down on a sunbed, the young boys sprawling on the ground around her.
The mere sight of her in the familiar pink bikini had knocked any lingering doubt from his brain and he’d felt his body stir and strode towards her.
‘Hello, Sophie. Still playing around, I see,’ he drawled mockingly, and tugged lightly on the long wet braid of her hair falling down her back.
Her head turned and her green eyes widened to their fullest extent. ‘Max—you’re back! I didn’t know.’ And the rush of colour and the welcoming smile on her face were all Max could have hoped for and more.
‘Dare I ask if you are free for the evening?’ Of course her answer would be yes. He never doubted it for a moment. And the events of the morning in Rome were pushed to the back of his mind as his dark gaze lingered over her scantily clad form. ‘I thought a drive along the coast, and a picnic, perhaps?’ He wondered why he had denied his own desire the day he met her, three weeks ago.
‘I’d love it,’ she said, a smile curving her luscious mouth, and he couldn’t resist pulling her into his arms and kissing her.
Lifting his head, his brown eyes dark with need, he searched her lovely face. Dio! How he wanted this woman. There was certainly nothing wrong with his testosterone levels. In fact, if he didn’t get away fast the rest of the guests around the pool would be well aware of that, too.
He sucked in a deep, steadying breath and gently pulled her away from him. ‘I’ll pick you up at eight.’ And he turned and walked away.
Sophie watched Max’s departure, her eyes drifting lovingly over him, the misery and doubt of the last week forgotten in her euphoria at seeing Max again.
Later that evening Max helped her out of the car and, lifting a hamper from the back, he took her hand firmly
