few notches. He grabbed Maggie’s arm and she had to stifle her moan of pain as his hand clamped around exactly where Deveney’s had been.
‘Who is he and how does he know me?’
Without giving her time to speak and in so much pain that she couldn’t, Caleb was marching her out and away from the building. The driver who was standing in for John materialised with the car in seconds. They got in. Maggie was still shaken—couldn’t believe that Caleb had misread the situation so badly.
‘He was a friend of Tom’s…and everyone in there knows who you are.’ She rubbed her arm distractedly.
He was fighting to keep his mouth shut but wouldn’t say anything here in the car. Within minutes they were back at the apartment. The front door closed behind him; Maggie circled slowly to face him. A wary look on her face—a guilty look? He couldn’t tell but he was willing to bet it was guilt. What could she possibly see in that creep?
He came in and lounged against a wall, hands deep in his pockets. In the dim light of the room, he looked magnificent. Dark and brooding, the blue glitter of his eyes brilliant against she snowy white shirt and black tuxedo.
‘So…do you want to tell me what that was? Already lining up my replacement…going for someone you know? Who works the way you’re used to?’
‘You’re sick. I don’t have to listen to this…’
She went to walk from the room, but Caleb took her arm again in exactly the same spot. This time she couldn’t disguise her pain.
‘What is it?’ he asked sharply, taking in the way her face had paled and she looked green. As if she was about to throw up.
‘Nothing,’ she muttered thickly, but couldn’t disguise the tears smarting.
He saw the brightness. ‘Maggie what the hell is it?’
‘Nothing, Caleb,’ she lashed out fiercely. ‘If you can’t see something that’s as plain as the nose on your face, then you don’t deserve an explanation.’ She pulled free and fled for the bedroom, uncaring of where she went, just wanting sanctuary.
He followed her in. ‘What is it? You’re angry because I guessed right? How could you, Maggie? That man is odious…Tell me, did you kiss him?’ He let out a harsh breath, a jealous red mist descending on his vision, his judgement. ‘Of course you did. God! Does he really do it for you? He looks to me to be the type who likes it rough…’
The only thing that halted his tirade was the awful stillness that invaded Maggie’s limbs. Her eyes were huge pools of unmistakable hurt, her mouth open in horror. He knew immediately he’d gone too far and stepped closer. She backed away so jerkily that she tripped over the bed and fell backwards. In a second Caleb was there, bending over, picking her up. His hand on her arm was too much; Maggie felt faint with the pain.
‘What is it…?’ he asked urgently.
‘My…arm…you’re hurting my arm…’
He let go immediately and sat her down on the bed. ‘Maggie, did I hurt you? Show me…’
She shook her head—it was swimming. ‘Not you…him…’
He cursed volubly. Very carefully, he pulled the shoulder of the dress down and uttered an oath fit for a sailor when he saw the livid bruise of finger marks that was lurid against her skin. ‘Why didn’t you tell me…?’
‘Well, you didn’t give me much opportunity.’
No, he hadn’t. Had he really misjudged the situation that badly? All he knew was that he’d taken one look and seen red. He wasn’t used to misreading anything. Never mind a woman being mauled by some jerk. And it was this woman. Maggie. He wanted to go straight out and find Deveney and beat him to a pulp.
‘What happened, Maggie?’
She avoided the question. ‘I need to put some arnica on this or it’ll get worse.’
He jumped up. ‘I’ll get it.’
She directed him to find it in her wash bag and he came back. With infinite tenderness he gently massaged it into her skin. She could feel the tears start again. Couldn’t stop them slipping down her cheeks. She was suddenly very tired of being on the receiving end of Caleb’s cynical mistrust. Tired of having to maintain a façade. And didn’t know if she could go on with the whole charade.
But then…when he caught her face and brought it round to his, and his hands cupped her jaw, his thumbs wiping her tears away, and whispered sorry against her mouth, she felt herself melt inside. Yes, she could tell him the truth. Yes, she could tell him exactly what had happened. And if she did…she might not have to face his censure any more. But that would be it—the end. For the one thing he’d despise even more than what he perceived her to be right now, would be the certain knowledge that she’d fallen for him.
And now, when he was being so gentle, so tender, kissing her with such sweet, restrained passion, the tiredness slipped away and all she wanted was to cling on to this…for a little longer.
That night they didn’t make love. Caleb just tucked her against him, careful to make her lie on her good arm, and held her within the circle of his embrace. When he acted like this, it made it even harder to maintain a distance. Tomorrow—she’d think about it tomorrow, think about building back up her wall of defence. But for now…for now she’d sink deep into the dream…and she did.
A week later Maggie was painting on the terrace; it was a beautiful summer’s day. Her thoughts were on that night, almost a week ago. Since then, she’d caught Caleb looking at her a couple of times with something…some light she couldn’t define. And when he’d caught her eye, invariably the shutters would come down. But something had definitely changed between them. There was some kind of stillness. A kind of reverence when they made love…or maybe it was just her ridiculous imagination.
She furiously stroked her brush back and forth over the canvas, as if to blot out her wayward thoughts. When she heard the phone ring she went in with relief, glad of the distraction. She picked it up. When she put it down she had a frown on her face.
Caleb wanted to see her in his office. For some reason an icy trickle of foreboding skittered down her back. She changed out of her paint-spattered overalls and into simple trousers and a light V-neck sweater. Her hair swung in a plait down her back.
When she arrived on the top floor of his offices, the unsmiling Ivy had morphed into smiling Ivy. ‘Maggie, isn’t it? Please come through. Mr Cameron is expecting you.’
Maggie hid her bemusement as she followed the older lady to Caleb’s office. She knocked and ushered Maggie through the door.
Caleb was standing at the window, looking out over the city. He turned when she came in and Maggie was struck by how serious he looked.
The door closed behind Ivy. Caleb raked a glance over her.
‘What is it?’ She laughed a little nervously. ‘Caleb, you’re scaring me…’ She thought of something. ‘Is it John; is it his heart again?’
He lifted a hand. ‘No…it’s not John. He’s fine and he said to say thank you again for looking after him so well; he was a lot more frightened than he let on. I’ve sent him home to London to recuperate.’
She shrugged, a little embarrassed. ‘It was nothing.’
He walked around the desk and came close. ‘You have paint on your cheek.’
She flushed and lifted a hand to wipe it away. ‘I never looked in the mirror.’
She couldn’t read the expression on his face.
‘Maggie, I’ve finished my work here. I’m going back to London tomorrow.’
Oh, my God…this is it…he’s leaving.
Everything felt woolly and fuzzy, as if it were coming from far away.