Grand Passion

here?” Cleo swiftly buttoned her oxford cloth shirt.
    “How the hell should I know? Maybe he's looking for Kimberly.” Max tossed the scarf aside with genuine regret.
    “Why ask for you?”
    Max cocked a brow as he led the way to the door. “Damned if I know. We'll find out soon enough.”
    He went down the two flights of stairs with Cleo hard on his heels. When he walked into the lobby, he knew there was going to be trouble.
    Roarke Winston, patrician-featured, well-dressed, and normally brimming with the subtle arrogance that came from old money and solid family connections, was in a towering rage.
    He swung around as Max entered the room. “Fortune, you son of a bitch. Where's my wife?”
    “I don't know,” Max said calmly. “She's not here.”
    “You're lying.” Roarke started forward, his hands clenched at his sides. His handsome face was mottled with fury. “She's here. I know she is. You talked her into coming here with you, didn't you? You're sleeping with my wife, you bastard.”
    “Take it easy, Winston,” Max said.
    “What made you think I'd let you get away with having an affair with my wife?” Roarke closed the distance between himself and Max with long, swift strides.
    “Stop it,” Cleo yelped in alarm. “Max isn't having an affair with Kimberly.”
    “The hell he isn't.” Roarke's voice rose. “He's wanted to get his hands on Curzon from the start. He figures seducing Kim is one way to do it.”
    “That's not true,” Cleo said. She turned toward the front desk and glared at George. “You're the night desk man, George. Do something.”
    George gazed at her helplessly and then banged the bell that sat on the front desk. Apparently pleased with that decisive maneuver, he banged it again.
    “Oh, for heaven's sake,” Cleo muttered.
    Roarke came to a halt less than two feet away from Max. “You don't love her. You never did love her. You're just trying to use her. I'll be damned if I'll let you do it.”
    He swung wildly.
    “No,” Cleo shouted. “Don't hit him. He didn't do anything.”
    She leaped in front of Max just as Roarke's fist came crashing toward its target. At the last instant, Max realized that the blow was going to strike Cleo.
    He grabbed Cleo's shoulder and spun her aside, out of the path of Roarke's fist. Unfortunately the maneuver did not give him time to use the cane in self-defense. Instead it took him straight into the path of the punch.
    Cleo stumbled and fell. In an effort to avoid hitting her, Roarke obviously tried to pull his punch at the last second. But it was too late. His fist clipped the side of Max's jaw.
    Max staggered, lost his balance, and sprawled back against the front desk. As he slid gracefully to the floor, he saw Cleo reach for the vase that sat on the corner stand. She grabbed it with both hands and took aim at Roarke's head.
    Max didn't know whether to laugh or curse. He was not accustomed to having anyone leap to his defense. It was a pleasant novelty, but enough was enough. If things went any further, someone was going to get hurt.
    “Put the vase down, Cleo.” Max sat on the floor, propped against the desk in what he hoped was a suitably dramatic fashion. He groaned and gingerly fingered the side of his jaw. “I quit, Winston. You're the winner.”
    Roarke stood over him, breathing heavily. “Bastard.”
    “Don't you dare touch him,” Cleo said to Roarke. “Get away from him.” She set the vase down on the stand and dashed across the room to Max's side. “He's not sleeping with your wife.”
    “How do you know?” Roarke demanded.
    “Because he's sleeping with me.” Cleo touched Max's face with gentle, questing fingers. “Isn't that right, Max?”
    “Right,” said Max.
    The sound of running footsteps overhead made everyone, including George, look toward the staircase.
    Ben came thundering down the stairs first. His hair was tousled, and his shirt was unbuttoned. He was trying to fasten his jeans. Trisha was right behind him. She was tying the belt of her robe as she hurried down the steps.
    Sylvia and Sammy brought up the rear. Both were in their nightclothes. Sammy was yawning.
    “What's going on down here?” Ben scanned the lobby scene quickly. “Cleo? Max? Are you guys okay?”
    “No,” Cleo said.
    “Yes,” Max said, overriding her. “Allow me to introduce Roarke Winston. He's Kimberly's husband. He was under the mistaken impression that I was spending the night with his wife.”
    Ben glared at Roarke.