The Irredeemable Prince, page 11
It sounded bad when he put it like that. ‘That’s not how it was.’
‘You need me urgently—you admitted it yourself. Is that why you followed me?’
‘No!’
‘I don’t understand, Mackenzie. You admit your need for me, you follow me to a nightclub, but now you want to bombard me with questions when you could be sharing my bed?’
‘Damn it, Devereaux! I didn’t follow you to the club for sex.’ He’d twisted everything and rattled her. ‘I went to see you in your evening environment and to get the answers you don’t want to supply.’
‘You were there watching me?’ His hands clamped down on her shoulders. ‘Spying on me?’
‘Your brother’s hired me to do a job,’ she told him in defence of her actions. ‘I need to know who I’m dealing with—what situation I’m dealing with. I can’t work on your reputation if something’s about to blow up in my face.’
‘What on earth do you imagine is going to blow up?’ Releasing his hold on her, he threw his hands up and laughed in a mocking way, but she saw a flicker of concern in his eyes.
‘Before tonight, I had no idea. At worst I wondered about a secret lover, a secret baby … I even wondered if you were gay.’
‘Definitely none of the above, Mackenzie,’ he scoffed. ‘You need to concentrate on your brief here and stop letting your imagination run wild,’ he told her abruptly. ‘Gabriel’s asked you to reinvent my public image. What I do in my private time has nothing to do with you.’
‘It has everything to do with me if you don’t do it in private! Tonight, you pretended to be drunk. You left with a blonde woman and the photographer outside the club assumed, like everybody else did, that you’d scored yourself another blonde “hottie” for the night— his words.’ She shook her head and willed him to explain his behaviour. ‘It seems like you’re creating a smokescreen around you. Your womanising, your drunkenness, telling me you dislike kids … I’m starting to believe none of it’s real, yet I don’t know why you’d go to such lengths to pretend to be something you’re not—especially when you’re manufacturing negative personality traits.’
‘It’s no smokescreen.’
She resisted the urge to stamp her foot down as she made her point. ‘I know none of it is true. You rescued Eliza, you knew and cared enough about Jemma to find her and see she received the medical care she required. You’re not drunk and you’re not spending the night with a woman, so why pretend? What are you hiding?’
Slashes of red appeared along his high cheekbones and his eyes were chips of hard, blue sapphires. ‘I would be with the woman from the club, but my “blonde hottie” as you call her, had too much to drink.’ For all that she could feel his anger emanating towards her from every pore, he didn’t quite meet her eyes as he spoke. She got the distinct impression he was thinking on the run. ‘I might enjoy a variety of lovers, but I prefer the women in my bed to be sober.’
‘She didn’t look drunk to me,’ she argued.
Unless she’d been drunk on the taste of Devereaux’s mouth and the feel of those strong arms around her. Mac knew from personal experience that his kisses and touch were intoxicating.
Don’t go there!
‘When I realised she’d drunk too much, I sent her home.’ His hand moved in a dismissive gesture. ‘I’d only just finished taking a cold shower, when you stopped by.’ His eyes snared hers as he took a step closer. ‘Are you certain you won’t serve as an impromptu replacement? We’re quite alone … No risk of discovery … Eliza tucked up safe and securely in her bed …’
Mac saw through his attempt to change the subject. She was almost certain he wanted to wrong-foot her or throw her off her trail of questions—that he wanted her to be distracted by this constant thrum of sexual energy between them. She even got the distinct feeling he deliberately insulted her by referring to her as an impromptu replacement.
Although the sexual pull was strong, the sense of mystery was stronger right now. She couldn’t allow him to keep avoiding her questions. ‘It doesn’t add up. Your drunken would-be lover doesn’t explain your own pretence at being inebriated,’ she persisted.
‘I imbibed a little too much tonight, but I recover fairly quickly from drinking to excess.’
‘Let’s get to the real reason you went to the club tonight.’ She crossed her arms over her chest.
His eyes narrowed and he pinned her with a hard stare but remained silent.
‘Who was the man you met with in the manager’s office?’
She could almost feel his need to draw in a shocked breath.
‘You were busy tonight,’ he drawled.
‘The man?’ she hammered.
‘I don’t have to answer your question, but I’ve nothing to hide, so I will. I caught up with an old friend from university days.’
Another lie.
Her arms uncrossed and she moved her hands upward in an abrupt, jerky gesture of frustration and disbelief. ‘In a pre-arranged meeting at midnight? A man who has his own minders?’
‘He guards his privacy zealously.’
‘Hence the meeting at a trendy nightclub rather than in a private room here at the palace, or inviting you to join him at his place, or his hotel room or wherever he’s staying,’ she said sarcastically, not bothering to hide her absolute scorn for his ridiculous story.
‘He’s very wealthy. Eccentricity sometimes accompanies extreme wealth.’
‘Oh, come on, Devereaux! You don’t expect me to believe that!’
‘Believe what you will.’
‘You were with him for all of five minutes. That’s a pretty short catch-up.’
‘We realised we don’t have much in common these days.’ He raised his hand up to his mouth and covered what she was sure was a feigned yawn. ‘It’s late, Mackenzie. I’ve done you the courtesy of answering questions you’ve no right to ask. If you didn’t come here for sex, I’ll say goodnight.’
He started to turn away from her and her hand shot out to detain him. She’d barely touched him when she had to let him go to disconnect the electric current that shot straight down to the juncture of her thighs.
Swallowing hard on her physical response she pushed, ‘Are you involved in something criminal?’
‘You’re out of line.’ A note of anger crept into his voice as he turned back to her.
‘What’s your connection with the Ploutos Corporation?’
He froze at the mention of the company and she saw the shock in his eyes before he looked away from her.
‘Was the man you met in the manager’s office the elusive owner of Ploutos?’ she demanded.
Chapter 9
Mackenzie’s questions were like giant fists. They pummelled Dev without warning. All these years, he’d kept up his cover and nobody had thought to question it. In the space of five days, she’d penetrated his pretence and seen glimpses of the man he was.
At a deep level, he was thankful she didn’t buy the shallow version of him—that she wanted to get to the truth and saw more in him than he wanted to show the world. But, he was afraid for her. She had no idea what she was getting mixed up in and she needed to back off—to stay well away from him—particularly when he went out at night. If anything went wrong in this personal war he waged, he didn’t want her to be a casualty.
‘Are you doing something illegal?’ Mackenzie asked again.
He paced to the other side of the foyer—away from the temptation of taking her and shaking her to within an inch of her life so she’d be scared off.
‘I overheard you on the telephone earlier in the week discussing a meeting at midnight in the manager’s office. It sounded very cloak and dagger. What was it about?’
The cold trickle of fear leached through him.
‘Am I right?’ she pushed. ‘That guy you met. Is he the head of the Ploutos Corporation?’
It was as he’d suspected. She’d seen the name on the financial sheets in his private study before he became aware of her presence and turned them over. Now, she was like a tenacious terrier with a bone, refusing to give it up. ‘You’re way off base.’ He tried to stay calm, and to present as being unconcerned, even though tension lanced through him. ‘I told you the guy I met with was an old friend.’
‘I don’t believe you.’ There was stubborn refusal in her eyes. ‘There’s more going on here than a social catch-up.’
‘As I said, you can believe whatever you want. It’s late and I’m going to bed.’
She stood firm, giving the impression she wouldn’t back away until her questions were answered to her satisfaction.
Damn! She was too clever for her own good and was a risk to all the plans he was involved in. Somehow he either had to get her to resign from her contract, or he had to be able to control her. Neither possibility seemed particularly plausible. The only thing he could think of was to exploit the one weakness she’d shown him—the physical desire she felt for him. If he could take her to bed … make her his … take the edge off all this mistrust and aggression …
‘You’re still welcome to join me.’ He stepped closer, reached out and raised his hand to stroke down her cheek, but she stepped back before he could touch her. ‘Not tonight? Another time then.’ He turned to walk away, but when she spoke again, the sincere concern in her voice made him turn back to face her.
‘I want the truth, Devereaux. Are you in trouble?’
The worry in her liquid brown eyes touched him deeply.
Beautiful. Brilliant. Determined. Strong. Empathetic. This woman who set his body on fire, was everything he’d ever wanted in a mate.
‘What if I were in trouble, Mackenzie? What would you do?’
The anguished light in her eyes softened her gorgeous features. ‘I’d try to help you.’
He didn’t doubt the sincerity of her words. They wrapped around him like a heated blanket on a frosty night, providing warm, reassuring comfort.
There was a profound connection between them as they looked at each other. Dev found himself losing his grip—falling into her, drowning in those eyes and wanting to open up to share all his innermost desires and fears with her.
Whoa! He was on dangerous ground.
He couldn’t share his fears with Mackenzie.
He couldn’t pull her into this dangerous game he played.
Somehow he had to divert her from this topic she was so determined to pursue before the last tattered remnants of his resolve weakened. Latching onto the first thing he could think of—a question which had needled at his brain for days—he said, ‘Tell me about Eliza’s father.’
Immediately, her lush mouth became a taut, bitter line and her eyes hardened.
Her reaction jolted him. He was certain the pronounced change in her wasn’t resentment of the personal question. It struck him that her response was because her relationship with her daughter’s father wasn’t one she’d enjoyed.
Bloody hell! He’d assumed she must still be mourning the death of Eliza’s father, but now he sensed he was way off base.
‘Was he the guy who hurt you?’
Chapter 10
‘We were talking about you,’ she bit out. ‘Don’t change the subject.’
‘Is he the reason you walk around with your heart barricaded up, sending out touch-me-not messages in the way you hold yourself, even while your eyes, your mouth—’ his eyes trailed lower, ‘—and your breasts beg me to do just the opposite?’
‘Stop it!’
But he wouldn’t stop. ‘Eliza said he died before she was born. Were you married to him, Mackenzie?’
‘No.’ She made the immediate denial without even thinking.
‘Was he going to support you and Eliza, or had the relationship gone sour?’
He kept pounding away at her, making her want to raise her hands to cover her ears. To resist the juvenile action, she clenched her hands into fists at her sides and tried to focus on the painting that was just visible if she looked over his left shoulder at the wall. An original Van Gogh if she wasn’t mistaken …
‘Talk to me, Mackenzie.’
‘No. It’s none of your business.’ She didn’t want to talk about it. His questions reminded her of how big a fool she’d been over Grayson.
‘I’m right, aren’t I? He hurt you when you were … What? All of eighteen?’ He shook his head. ‘You were still in your teens and that was years ago. Have you ever let another guy get close since then?’
He was way too close to the truth. All the raw pain and bitter disappointment was just a layer away from exposure. Grayson’s betrayal—his promise to marry her and be a father to Eliza had all been a lie. His words of love and adoration had been lies too. While Mac had tried on wedding dresses, she thought Gray was away for the weekend on business.
His last words to her had been, ‘Trust me.’
Stupidly, she had.
She’d believed he’d given up playing the field because he’d fallen deeply in love with her. She’d been full of pregnancy hormones and very young and insecure, but she’d trusted him because she believed in their love and she’d wanted a future together with Grayson and their child.
It’d all been an illusion based on lie after lie.
There’d been nothing trustworthy about Gray.
The bastard hadn’t gone away at all. A friend had seen him in London with a woman, followed them to a hotel and phoned Mac to tell her. When Mac had phoned the hotel she’d been shattered to learn he was a guest there. Her whole body had shaken as the operator put her through to his room. The phone had been picked up by a woman who’d told her Gray was in the shower.
Even then, Mac had believed it must all be a mistake.
Now, her hands unclenched and crept up each opposite arm until she hugged herself and shrank back against the awful truth she’d learnt. Her surroundings blurred. The hurtful memories coalesced as she relived the weekend that had brought her more anguish than she’d ever known.
Ditching her shopping trip, she’d jumped on the underground and walked the short distance to the hotel. From across the street, she saw Gray standing at the entrance to the hotel with a brunette. Then, her entire world had fallen apart as he’d kissed her passionately. The kiss had gone on and on until Grayson’s silver Porsche pulled up in front of them, and the hotel worker tossed him the keys.
Gutted didn’t come close to describing Mac’s sense of total betrayal. The experience had been an emotional earthquake. It had shattered her confidence, destroyed her trust and left her shaken. For a time she’d been a hollow shell. That same afternoon she knew she had to call off their wedding and plan to raise their child by herself, because she wanted nothing more to do with Grayson.
‘I see the pain in your eyes. It’s time to let it go, Mackenzie,’ Devereaux said softly.
Lost in her thoughts, his voice wrenched her back to the present.
‘You need to move on with your life, both for your sake and for Eliza’s,’ he told her with empathy. ‘Don’t clutch on to your bitterness or your pain will become hers—your lack of trust in men will influence her in her relationships in the future.’
His hand rubbing her shoulder was like a soothing, healing balm to the lacerations on her soul which still bled from time to time. Yet, his words were a stern challenge and were anchored in a disturbing truth she’d never stopped long enough to examine.
Looking up at him, an overwhelming sense of need flooded through her. A need to lean into him, to take strength from him and to obliterate her pain. Transported back in time, she was her eighteen-year-old self again—hurt, vulnerable and in desperate need of comfort and security.
‘Eliza said he died in a factory explosion.’ The words were gentle—coaxing for information, not pushing.
What Eliza had said was a half-truth. It was all Mac had revealed to her daughter.
The Sunday night of the same weekend—before Mac had even had an opportunity to vent her pain and anguish and tell Grayson just what she thought of him—police had found his body in the clothing factory he owned. There’d been an explosion and fire. The fire department had deemed the explosion was arson. The coroner’s inquest had revealed that Gray had been dead before the fire started … that he’d been murdered.
An anguished sob broke from her mouth as she relived the trauma.
‘Do you still love him?’ Devereaux asked softly.
‘No!’ The word erupted through her tight larynx. Turning away from him, she closed her eyes tightly against the tears which threatened and prayed she wouldn’t break down in front of him.
No. She didn’t love Gray. She’d only been in love with an illusion. The illusion had shattered in spectacular fashion and with it, her confidence in her own judgement had been destroyed. To know she’d placed all her faith in a man she couldn’t trust—a man who’d betrayed her—was soul-destroying. It was a blow to her confidence and she’d never recovered from it.
Every now and then Eliza would ask something about her father, and Mac would have to swallow down on her bitterness and pretend to her daughter that her father had been someone worth having fond memories of—a man worth loving. She would never reveal to Eliza that her father had been a cheating, lying bastard. Nor would she admit that his death had been anything other than accidental. Mac would keep up the strain of the pretence even though it still made her bilious.
Enough! She wouldn’t think about Gray.
How had Devereaux turned the conversation in this direction when it was she who’d come with questions?
Yet, she couldn’t even remember her questions and their discussions because his strong hands rested at her waist and drew her back against the wonderful solid wall that was his body. She hadn’t even realised how tense all her muscles had become across her shoulders and down her back, until she felt the heat of his body against hers. Then, it was impossible not to relax back into that haven of masculine strength.
His hands moved up over her arms, and massaged her shoulders. ‘I sense you’ve been to hell. Let me take you to heaven, Mackenzie,’ he murmured close to her ear before he placed kisses against her hair at the back of her head and enfolded her securely in his arms.
