hide the shadows under her eyes that her face had felt as if it were encased in mud.
But she’d learned a lot more in the last eighteen months than how to look good on command. She’d learned discipline, and become expert at closing off her emotions behind the remote elegance which had become her trademark.
She called on that discipline now and it did not fail her. The familiar mask slipped into place, not without effort, she had to admit, but well enough that she was able to keep her dignity intact.
“Sorry to disappoint you,” she said, rising to her feet with fluid, practiced grace, “but I stopped crying over you so long ago that I’ve quite forgotten how.”
“Don’t hand me that. I know what I saw.”
She executed a smooth half turn and tossed her parting remark over one provocatively tilted shoulder. “What you saw was a flicker of regret for the mistakes I’ve made in the past—a passing weakness only because weeping does terrible things to the complexion, especially when one’s face is one’s fortune. Good night, Max. I’ve worked hard enough for one day, so if you’re feeling energetic, you might try loading our plates and cutlery into the dish-washer—always assuming, of course, that you remember how to open it. Oh, and one more thing. Please don’t disturb me when you decide to turn in. I really do need to catch up on my beauty sleep.”
CHAPTER THREE
IF THERE’D been any plausible alternative, he’d have spent the night anywhere but in the same room with her. Since he didn’t have that option, he gave her a good two hours’ head start before he went up to join her.
She was asleep—or pretending to be—perched so close to the far edge of the mattress, all it would have taken was a gust of air from the open window to topple her to the floor. Being scrupulously careful to leave enough space between them to accommodate a third body, he inched carefully between the sheets on his side of the bed.
Her breathing was light and regular, which made him think perhaps she really was out cold, and eventually he must have dozed off as well because the next thing he knew, it was four in the morning and somehow, while they slept, they’d gravitated toward each other. She lay spooned against him, with her back pressed to his front.
She was wearing a soft cotton nightshirt and it was either very short to begin with, or it had ridden a long way up from where it was supposed to be. He knew because his hand had found its way over her hip so that his fingers were splayed across the bare skin of her warm, taut little belly. A few inches higher and it would have been her breast he was fondling, a realization which put his nether regions onto instant and standing alert.
She stirred. Stretched a little, like a lean, pedigreed cat. Rolled over until she was half facing him. In the opaque light of predawn, he saw her eyes drift open. Then, as awareness chased away sleep, she grew very still and very, very wary.
For about half a second, they stared at one another, then simultaneously rolled away from each other. She retreated to her side of the bed again and he slunk off to the bathroom, telling himself his problem was that he had to pee.
It hadn’t been the problem then, and it wasn’t the problem three hours later when he found himself suffering the same physical reaction all over again at the sight of his wife—his estranged wife! he reminded himself for about the fiftieth time—presiding over the breakfast table and looking even more delicious than the food on his plate.
“Are you coming with me to the airport this afternoon?” she asked him, her tone suggesting she’d be hard-pressed to notice whether he did or not.
Regarding her over the top of the morning paper, Max had found himself wondering if there was something in the bottled drinking water she favored which allowed her to remain so cool and aloof, when it was all he could do not to break out in a sweat at the thought of the night just past.
“I wasn’t planning on it,” he said, trying to match her nonchalance. “It’s been a while since your parents last saw you. I imagine they’d like to have you to themselves for a while.”
Nonchalant? What a laugh! He sounded as stilted as a rank amateur trying out for a spot on some third-rate TV commercial! Not that she noticed. She simply gave that impassive little shrug of hers, waved the coffeepot under his nose, and said, “May I give you refill?”
He didn’t know what time she’d slipped out of bed, but it must have been early. Not only had she ground fresh coffee beans and made fresh fruit syrup for his waffles, she’d also found time to repair her manicure. Her nails gleamed pale rose against the brushed steel of the carafe.
As for the rest of her…oh, brother! Sleek and elegant in a floor-length, blue-and-purple patterned thing which was neither bathrobe nor dress but something in between; with not a hair out of place and looking as fresh as the morning dew, she gave new meaning to the term “picture perfect.”
“No,” he said, slapping down the paper and shoving back from the table. “I have to get going.” Quickly, before his imagination ran riot feeding itself on memories of the night before and he made a further fool of himself!
“When do you expect to be back?”
“As late as possible. That way, there’ll be less risk of us screwing up the charade.”
Her eyes, pure turquoise in the morning light, pinned him in an unwavering stare. “But you will join us for dinner?”
“Of course. That’s part of our arrangement.”
“And you will remember it’s going to take more than just your putting in an appearance to carry all this off?”
“How much more?” he asked, more to annoy her than because he cared about her answer.
“As much as it takes,” she said.
The remark stayed with him all day, a major but not, he was surprised to discover, unpleasant distraction. By the time he let himself into the penthouse late that afternoon, his dread at what the next two weeks might bring had been diluted by a peculiar anticipation. Damned if he understood why, but having Gabriella underfoot again charged his energy like nothing else had in months!
Stopping by his office to drop off his briefcase, he stood a moment at the partially open sliding doors, unnoticed by the threesome seated a few yards away at the table on the roof garden. He didn’t need to understand the language to recognize a certain tension in the conversation taking place between his wife and his in-laws.
Still strikingly handsome despite failing health, Zoltan sat ramrod-straight in one of the cushioned chairs, his dark eyes watchful as Gabriella replied to something her mother had said. Maria Siklossy, a little heavier than she’d been two years ago, leaned forward, consternation written all over her face.
Gabriella, polished and perfect as ever in a dress which he’d have called washed-out green but which probably deserved a fancier description, traced her finger over the condensation beading her glass. From her stream of fluent Hungarian, only three words had meaning for Max: Tokyo, Rome, and Vancouver.
He didn’t have to be a rocket scientist to figure she was trying to justify keeping three addresses while her husband made do with one, and that neither Zoltan nor Maria was buying any of it. Loosening his tie and rolling back the cuffs of his shirt, Max waded in to do his bit toward easing the old couple’s concerns.
If
