Grand Passion

Curzon-Winston?”
    “No.” Max watched Cleo unfold the last tablecloth. “I want you.”
    “Hmm.” So much for trying to get him to put his quest into words. She understood, then, that his need for a family of his own was an inchoate longing that he probably did not even fully comprehend himself, let alone want to analyze.
    The risk here was excruciatingly clear, Cleo thought. She was in danger of playing the same role in Max's life as Kimberly had played. He did not love her, at least not in the way Cleo wanted to be loved. What Max really wanted were all the things that came with her.
    “Why did you insist on going back to your own room last night, Cleo?”
    “I wanted to think.”
    “About us?”
    “I suppose so.” Cleo refused to be drawn. She did not trust her own mood this morning. She was edgy and unsettled. There were moments when she thought she could see all the way to Max's shadowed soul. But there were other times when he seemed more of an enigma than ever.
    Max leaned forward, his expression intent. “Cleo, let's get out of here for a couple of days. We need to be alone together for a while.”
    She shot him a quick, wary glance. “Why?”
    “So that we can talk, damn it.”
    “We're talking now.”
    “But not for long.” Max glanced toward the door. “Sooner or later someone will interrupt us. You can bet on it. It's damned tough to find any privacy around here, isn't it?”
    “Doesn't bother me,” Cleo said blithely.
    “I noticed. I think you're trying to hide behind the family. Don't be afraid of me, Cleo.”
    That annoyed her. “I'm not afraid of you.”
    “Then why have you been avoiding me since last night?”
    “I'll give you one guess.”
    “Because of Ben's announcement.” Max smiled persuasively. “Don't blame him. He and everyone else here knows that you're sleeping with me, and they all know that you don't make a habit of having affairs. It's logical that they would conclude we're serious about each other.”
    “Are we?”
    Max's smile vanished. “Yes, damn it, we are.”
    Cleo lost her precarious temper. “You might be interested to know that I do not blame Ben for embarrassing me last night. I blame you. You went right along with his announcement. You told everyone we were getting married.”
    “Under the circumstances, it seemed the gentlemanly thing to do. It would have been a lot more awkward for everyone if I'd denied it.”
    “I don't think you went along with the program just because it was the gentlemanly thing to do,” Cleo stormed. “I think you saw Ben's announcement as an extremely convenient opportunity to prevent poor Roarke Winston from beating you to a pulp. You used me.”
    Max's jaw tightened ominously. “You really believe that?”
    Cleo fiddled a bit with her glasses. “Yes, I do.”
    “You really have an attitude problem this morning, don't you?”
    “You think so?” Cleo tilted her head to one side and narrowed her eyes. “Actually, I thought I was behaving with remarkable restraint, given the circumstances.”
    “That's not how I see it,” Max said.
    “Too bad.” Cleo frowned sharply as she saw his hand move on his thigh. “Why are you massaging your leg? Is it bothering you this morning?”
    “Forget my leg. Look, Cleo, I understand that you're feeling as if you've been backed into a corner. I realize we hadn't actually talked about marriage.”
    “Oh, good.” Cleo gave him a bright, brittle smile. “For a while there I thought I was just getting forgetful. It happens when someone is under stress, you know.”
    “Stop being so waspish. I'm trying to have a rational conversation here.”
    “In that case you'd better find someone else to have it with,” Cleo said. “I'm not feeling very rational at the moment.”
    “Damn it, Cleo—” Without any warning Max slammed his palm flat against the table in a small explosion of violence that graphically communicated his own anger.
    The sharp crack of sound startled Cleo. She jumped and took a step back as Max started to rise from his chair. The dining room door burst open.
    “Cleo?” Sylvia's voice was laced with concern. “What's going on here?”
    “I knew someone would come in at the wrong moment.” Max dropped back into his chair with an air of resigned martyrdom. “No privacy at all.”
    “That's family life,” Cleo said sweetly.
    She swung around to face the door. Sylvia stood there, gazing anxiously at the pair near the window. She was not alone. Sammy was