The Abby Green Modern Collection

With a sudden harsh breath that was expelled heavily, Caleb silenced her words with his mouth. And, as much as Maggie’s own self-respect screamed at her to pull away, shout out her innocence, she felt herself moulding into Caleb’s chest, her soft curves pressing into rock-hard muscle. Her senses quickly became drunk on him, but suddenly the car came to a smooth halt, not that she would have even noticed if Caleb hadn’t pulled back at that moment. His eyes glittered fiercely in the dim light as they waited for the door to be opened.

‘Just don’t forget that that’s all you are, Maggie. My plaything.’

The heat of the ballroom was stifling, even with all the doors thrown open to the fragrant night outside. Maggie’s cheeks ached and the balls of her feet were burning in the high heels. She was moving from foot to foot in an effort to ease the pain. Caleb, at her side, looked down sharply.

‘What’s wrong with you?’

She refused to look at him, staring at a point to his left. ‘Nothing.’ She’d barely communicated with him since they’d arrived, still stung and hurt and dismayed by the level of his distrust.

He hadn’t seemed to even notice. For what seemed like hours now, she’d endured conversations of inane small talk, being relegated to the sidelines while Caleb had entertained a never ending stream of sycophantic admirers. And she’d endured none too friendly speculative glances from every other woman in the room. When a crush of people had moved forward, Maggie had got separated from Caleb and found herself surrounded by three or four women. They were all dressed in what she knew to be haute couture, totally over the top, but a clear statement of their wealth and status. They had looked her up and down as if she were a specimen in a glass box. She couldn’t believe how rude they were being and tried not to look as intimidated as she felt. One of them spoke.

‘Vous êtes ici avec Monsieur Cameron?’

Without even thinking, Maggie immediately slipped into her schoolgirl French, trying to be polite, wondering who they were and why they wanted to know. ‘Oui…’

‘Ah, bon. Mais juste pour ce soir, n’est ce pas?’

Maggie was trying to figure out what the woman was saying…Was she actually suggesting that she was here with Caleb just for tonight, like some kind of…call girl? A mortified blush rushed through her; they were hemming her in and their overdone faces, lacquered hair and cloying perfume was making her feel sick.

‘I’m sorry…excuse me.’ She tried to push her way out, but couldn’t. She was feeling more and more desperate.

Caleb swivelled his head. Where had she gone? She’d been at his side only two minutes before. He’d got caught in a conversation with a property investor from France and hadn’t been able to extricate himself. He felt mildly guilty that he hadn’t been more attentive to Maggie, but he was still feeling the uncomfortable sensation of being somehow open, foolish in his desire for her…He had to be careful around her.

Then he saw her. She was surrounded by the doyennes of Monte Carlo—he knew them well. His mouth tightened. They were responsible for many matchmaking attempts with one or other of their invariably too young, spoilt and petulant daughters. And he suddenly realised that Maggie looked terrified. Without stopping to think, and knowing that it surprised him as he would have imagined her to be a match for them, he strode over and reached through the women to take Maggie’s arm.

She looked up and the flash of sheer relief and something else that crossed her face made something flip flop in his chest. But then it was gone, as if it had never happened, and now her eyes flashed veritable sparks at him. He smiled his excuses to the ladies and led Maggie away.

‘Are you okay?’ He slanted a look down at her.

She glared up at him. ‘No thanks to you. Those women are…unbelievable.’ She shook her head. ‘You could have warned me I’d need a flak jacket to come here.’

He couldn’t help the unbidden smile. He doubted the women would last again in Maggie’s company; they’d obviously just caught her off guard. He could well imagine what they’d said. And again he wondered at how she hadn’t been better able to handle them. He would have cast her as one herself—well used to the poison-talon-tipped women of society who were more akin to social climbing piranhas.

He refused to dwell on that now. He was thinking ahead and wondering how long he could suffer to be polite before he could get out of there and take Maggie with him. Take her to bed.

‘Ah Cameron, there you are…’

Not just yet, anyway. He pulled Maggie into his side, swallowed a grimace and smiled as yet another colleague bore down on him.

Maggie flicked the object of everyone’s fascination a reluctant look, anger still bubbling through her. She had to admit that he was the most handsome man in the room. He stood head and shoulders above everyone and with that physique…again her insides cramped with nerves and anticipation. Finally, after what seemed like more torturous hours, he leant down, his mouth close to her ear, sending a little shock wave through her.

‘Let’s get out of here.’

She nodded mutely. Time was up, no more waiting. Tonight he would demand payment…take her body and, she was afraid, her soul too. And she couldn’t say a thing.

She suddenly felt absurdly vulnerable and alone, her anger dissolving. What could she say, anyway? As she followed him through the crowd, stopping every two seconds for people to say goodbye, she thought a little hysterically of what she might say if given a chance: how six months ago, on the day of their date, Tom, her beloved stepfather had informed her of his plans to take Caleb over and ruin him. And how, if Maggie didn’t co-operate with his plans to keep Caleb occupied, he would beat Maggie’s mother so comprehensively that—in Tom’s succinct, devastating words, ‘I’ll put her in hospital’.

She could tell him how she’d racked her brains for a way out…but had known, no matter what she did, even if she’d gone to the police, that he’d still make her mother pay. Because, you see, he’d been doing it for years. Once, in her youthful naïvety, Maggie had gone to the police. Tom hadn’t punished her…No, it had been her mother who’d suffered, even though she’d claimed a random mugging to protect Tom. Classic bullying, abusive tactics. He had been very cunning—you could never see the bruises. They had always been well hidden.

She could tell him of how, before Tom’s bombshell, she’d been ridiculously excited at the thought of going on the date with him, had even bought a new outfit. But then…that was when Tom had forced her to go to that shop, had bought that excuse for a dress instead. And had informed her of her role in his awful macabre play.

She could tell him how she’d been so filled with guilt that she couldn’t go through with sleeping with him, that was why she’d stopped…She’d been on the verge of actually telling him everything, somehow trusting that, maybe for once, her mother could be protected.

Maggie was not in Monte Carlo any more; she was back in that hotel room, the memories rushing back with sickening clarity, and she was powerless to escape them. She was on that bed, the sheet pulled around her shaking, half naked body as Caleb stood in front of her, pulling on his clothes. ‘Maggie, you’re a fool. You think I didn’t know exactly what you had planned?’ He gave a harsh laugh as he pulled on his shirt. Maggie felt an icy stream washing through her, the defensive words of explanation dying on her lips.

‘I heard your stepfather. His exact words were, “That step-daughter of mine will do anything and she wants Cameron; she’s with us”. So you see, Maggie, I’ve known for days now that you’ve been cooking up this little plan…very hammy, though. And the outfit? I’ve seen classier ones on women who tout for business on the streets.’

Maggie could feel her insides contracting, pulling inward as if to protect herself from the cruel blows. Her voice was dry and raspy when it came out. ‘But…I never knew…I—’

‘Save it, Maggie. You knew all right. I even have the evidence.’

And she watched as he found his jacket and took out a small envelope, throwing the contents at her. Photos. Lots of them—of Tom and her on Oxford Street, going into the shop, emerging with the bag. Getting into his car. And from these deceptive angles it looked to all the world as though she were the eager accomplice…

She looked up with huge wounded eyes, ‘But when, how…?’

He was almost dressed, not even looking at her any more. ‘I had you followed for the day, just to see for myself. And what a pretty picture those photos paint, don’t you think?’

‘But…you’ve known…you knew all along, for the past—’

‘Yes, Maggie, I’ve known since practically the first day we met. So all those shy, innocent glances, the blushes, were for nothing. Entertaining, but for nothing.’

‘But how could you, I mean, why did you…do it?’ She didn’t know why she was still speaking, couldn’t understand what protective part of her hadn’t kicked in yet.

He came close to the bed and she had to look up. His face was coldly impassive. Shut. ‘Because, Maggie, I desired you. I wanted you. And I knew I could have you. You were offering yourself on a plate, for God’s sake…’ He came down close to her, hands on either side of her body, where she could see the utter disgust and contempt in his eyes. ‘We both know I could still have you now…’ he flicked a derisory glance up and down ‘…but I can’t be bothered. Because, believe me, I never want to see your face again.’

And he walked out of the room without a backward glance. Maggie sat on the bed for a long time, the cold seeping into her bones as she felt something within her shrivel up and die.

By now they were at the entrance to the function room but Maggie wasn’t even aware. She was locked in her own private hell of memories. Caleb looked abstractedly at her hand in his—it was icy cold. Then he looked at her face. She was so pale that he felt a jolt go through him. When he called her name she didn’t respond. Something was very wrong. He lifted her into his arms and strode out of the building. In the car he held her close to his body. He knew that, whatever it was, she wasn’t faking it. No one could fake that.

Back at the hotel, he carried her again, all the way from the car up to the suite. Once inside he poured a glass of brandy and sat her down, making her swallow it. He could see the effect of the alcohol hitting her system; her eyes flared and she coughed. And then she started to shake uncontrollably. He pulled her into his body, waiting until the shaking subsided. Finally he could feel her pull away slightly and he let her go. She looked at him as though seeing him for the first time.

‘What…what happened?’

She could see a light of rare concern in his eyes and wondered faintly what had put it there, while also having the wits to wish desperately that he was really concerned for her.

He brushed her hair back with a gesture that was almost tender, confusing her even more. ‘I think you fainted…without fainting. I’ve seen it before. It’s like a state of shock.’

Maggie dimly remembered following him out of the function room but for the life of her couldn’t remember anything else. She shook her head. ‘I don’t know why…I’m sorry…’

‘Don’t be,’ he said abruptly. ‘Why don’t you get ready for bed? You should sleep.’

She nodded her head and went into the bathroom. She felt exhausted, as if she’d run a marathon.

Caleb went out to the balcony and stood leaning on the same wall that Maggie had earlier. He shook his head. How could she be feeling such grief for that odious man? For that was what it was, must be. Yet, for all that she was, all that her stepfather had been, he shouldn’t have underestimated the fact that she was bound to be in mourning. They had been family, after all. His cynical brain kicked into gear. Perhaps it was also the delayed shock of finding out that Tom’s millions weren’t going to be hers after all. That thought made something cold settle into his chest.

He went to the door of the suite and looked in. Maggie lay curled up on the bed, already asleep.

CHAPTER SIX (#ulink_4cc46349-87cb-59cc-a9e1-d7db793d0007)