Grand Passion

you told him that you love him?”
    “No,” Cleo shook her head quickly. “I didn't want to push him. I guess I've been waiting for him to wake up one morning and realize he's in love with me. But sometimes I'm not sure he'd recognize love if it whapped him in the face. Men can be so dense sometimes.”
    “You may have to make the first move, Cleo. I'm not sure Max can.” Sylvia ducked her head into the office.
    Cleo stared at one of the three seascapes left on the lobby walls. The other two were now upstairs in the attic.
    But she did not see Jason's foamy seascapes when she gazed at the nearest painting. Instead she looked into the phantom mirror where her deepest secrets were hidden. The figure in the silvery reflection was no longer a mysterious shadow. He was Max, the man she had been waiting for all her life. He had walked into her life and set her free.
    But Cleo knew that she had not yet returned the favor. Max was still trapped in the mirror. She had not yet succeeded in freeing him.

    Cleo and Max did not climb the stairs to the attic room until nearly midnight.
    Cleo was exhausted. The crowd that had checked in for Valence's seminar had been more motivated to party than to study the five steps to success and prosperity. They were still making a lot of noise downstairs in the lounge, but George had assured her he could handle the situation.
    “Any more groups like this one and Mr. Valence can take his show on down the road.” Cleo flopped on the edge of the bed, pulled off her silver shoes, and removed the clip from her hair.
    “I think this bunch is already fairly well motivated.” Max watched her shake her hair free. He smiled the faint, enigmatic, utterly sensual smile of the man in the mirror. “And so am I.”
    “You've had a hard day.”
    “The hardest part is yet to come.” He made his way across the room. When he was standing directly in front of her, he set aside his cane and framed her face with his hands. “But I think I'll rise to the occasion.”
    “Since when did you become the master of the double entendre?”
    “Since I read chapter fifteen.” Max eased her onto her back and came down on top of her. “Funniest chapter in The Mirror .”
    “I'm glad you enjoyed it.” He was warm and heavy and deliciously male. Cleo felt her tiredness slip away. It was replaced by a sense of deep anticipation.
    Max looked down at her. His eyes darkened. “I enjoy everything about you, Cleo.” His mouth covered hers.
    She smiled slowly beneath his kiss. Then, rousing herself slightly, she pushed him gently off of her and got to her feet. She took off her glasses and put them down on the side table. Feeling wonderfully wicked, she started to unbutton her oxford cloth shirt.
    “Did you read chapter sixteen, by any chance?” she asked.
    “Another one of my favorites.” Max rolled onto his back and folded his arms behind his head. The faint smile edging his mouth was full of lazy, seductive challenge. “Going to act it out for me?”
    “If you like.”
    “I like.” His voice was husky with desire. “Go slow. I don't want to miss a single word of the story.”
    Emboldened by the sensual encouragement that she saw in his eyes, Cleo slowly finished undoing her shirt. She let the edges hang over her breasts, concealing and revealing.
    “Don't forget the mirror,” Max said softly.
    Cleo walked over to the mirror and looked at her slightly blurred reflection. Her hair was flowing free and wild around her shoulders. Her eyes were shadowed and mysterious. She looked intriguing and exotic, she thought.
    She was the fantasy, but she was also the creator of the fantasy. She was both seducer and seduced. A sense of her own power as a woman flowed through her.
    Max did not stir on the bed. Cleo knew he was watching her as she watched herself in the mirror, willing her to plunge them both deeper into the world behind the silvered glass.
    Her fingers trembled a little as she undid the fastenings of her jeans. She eased the denim slowly down over her hips, leaving her filmy panties in place.
    Her eyes never left the mirror as she stepped out of the jeans. Her shirttails fell to the top of her thighs, barely covering the curve of her buttocks. She could see the dark thatch of curling hair through the silk of her panties and knew that Max saw it, too. She sensed the smoldering wildfire of his desire and knew a sweet, singing joy that she could create this reaction in him. It gave her a heady sense of