Grand Passion

other side of the room. Max turned his head and saw Cleo standing in the shadows. The light from the hall reflected off her metallic sneakers. He could not see the expression on her face.
    “Max?” She took a step into the room. “I've been looking for you. I think we'd better close down the lounge. This is a rather strange crowd. All those men who arrived earlier are sitting around telling each other about their divorces. Some of them are starting to cry. It's very depressing for the other guests.”
    “I'll take care of it.” Max rose from the chair, grateful for the interruption.
    Kimberly looked at him in open astonishment. Then she swung around to confront Cleo. “I don't believe this. Will somebody please tell me what's going on?”
    “I need Max,” Cleo said quietly.
    “Do you really?” Kimberly gave her a scathing look as she started toward the door. “The real question here is why does Max need you? A word of warning, Ms. Robbins. Max Fortune is not playing bellhop and bartender without a damn good reason.”
    “Is that so?” Cleo angled her chin. “And what would you know about his reasons for doing anything?”
    “A great deal.” Kimberly made to brush past her. “Max and I go back a long way together. Or hasn't he told you about us?”
    “What's there to tell?” Cleo challenged.
    Max swore softly.
    Kimberly smiled coldly. “I think I'll let Max give you the details, Ms. Robbins. You might start by asking him how he got that limp.”

Chapter

9

    H alf an hour later, with all the inn's guests safely tucked in their rooms and George in command at the front desk, Max went up the stairs with Cleo. He was aware that some part of him was still waiting for the other shoe to drop.
    “Sheesh.” Cleo pushed hair out of her eyes. “No offense to the male of the species, but I'll be glad when Mr. Tobias Quinton's gang of manly warriors checks out. It's unnerving having a bunch of men around who are trying to get in touch with their emotions.”
    “We can kick them out tomorrow morning,” Max suggested. “Tell them you have another group checking in or something.”
    “Yeah, but I don't have another group checking in,” Cleo said glumly. “In fact, we're going to be fairly empty this weekend. There's no getting around the fact that Mr. Quinton and his crowd are paying customers. I suppose we can put up with them for a while.”
    “Spoken like a dedicated innkeeper,” Max said as they reached the third floor.
    He hesitated, waiting to see if she would invite him down the hall to her room or put her hand in his and let him lead her up to the attic. She did neither.
    “Well, good night, Max.” Cleo gave him a bright little smile, but her eyes were wary. “You must be exhausted after that long drive. I'll see you in the morning.”
    She stood on tiptoe and brushed her mouth against his cheek. Then she turned and went down the hall alone to her tower room.
    Max did not move for a long while. He just stood there, staring after her until she disappeared. A dark, seething desire twisted his insides, but that was not the worst part. The worst part was that he did not know what Cleo was thinking.
    She had not said a word to him about Kimberly since the confrontation in the solarium. He could not tell if she was angry or hurt or simply cautious. He knew she had questions. He could feel them simmering inside her.
    In the meantime he had a big question of his own, and there was only one way to get it answered. Max tightened his grip on his cane and went down the hall to Cleo's room.
    He came to a halt in front of her door and lifted his hand to knock. He paused, gathering his courage. Asking his question of Cleo was going to be just as hard as returning to the inn without Ben Atkins in tow. Perhaps harder. Max knocked twice on the door and waited.
    It seemed to take forever before Cleo slowly opened the door and peered out through the crack. The hall light glinted on the lenses of her glasses, concealing the expression in her eyes.
    “Is something wrong?” she asked politely.
    “I would like to clarify the sleeping arrangements,” Max said with great care.
    Her brows snapped together in a frown of concern. “Is there a problem with one of the room assignments?”
    “Yes,” Max said evenly. “Mine.”
    Cleo's fingers clenched abruptly around the edge of the door. She looked as if she needed to hold on to it in order to keep from collapsing. “Yours?”
    “I was just wondering where I'm