Intimate Betrayal

Her hands were shaking when she attempted to stroke her lashes with mascara. “Must be those five cups of coffee you drank in less than an hour,” she muttered to her reflection, attempting to smile.

Pressing her lips together, she shut her eyes and hung her head, bracing herself with her palms against the cool white porcelain sink. Her head pounded.

It had been three years since she’d had the nightmares. The headaches had all but disappeared. She no longer had to take the prescription medication for the pain; over-the-counter painkillers worked just fine. Until last night. The pain had gotten so intense, she’d had to call her physician in Chicago to phone in a prescription to the all-night drugstore.

She tasted salt in the corner of her mouth. She opened her eyes to see the tears slide slowly down her cheeks. “Not again,” she whispered. “Please not again.”

Maxwell knotted his silk tie and clipped it to his blue pin-striped shirt with a gold clasp bearing his initials: MJK. He took a final look in the mirror, his reflection bringing to the forefront his mixed ancestry. He peered a bit closer and brushed his finger across his left eyebrow where a martial arts mishap had left its mark.

He breathed heavily and shrugged into his jacket. The look of the corporate executive never suited him, but he also realized that it was all part of the facade. Although he always felt more comfortable in jeans, sneakers, and a sweatshirt, he’d always done what was necessary to fit in. Thinking that perhaps by doing so, he’d avoid the extra looks, the questions that had dogged him most of his life.

Maxwell was never ashamed of his mixed Japanese and African-American heritage. For the most part, his exotic looks acted as a magnet, drawing people to him. It was the questions, raised eyebrows, and murmurs of feigned understanding that bugged him the most. He couldn’t answer the questions about his natural mother. He never knew her. According to James Knight, his father, his mother Suki had been killed in Japan shortly after his birth. James had married his stepmother, Claudia, some months later. And since Maxwell could not answer the questions about his Japanese mother, he’d created a picture of her to assuage the missing link of his life.

Over time, he’d gradually built up a wall around himself, keeping people and questions at bay. Yet there was a part of him that believed there was more to the story than his father cared to divulge.

He shook his head, scattering his ruminating. Now was not the time to indulge in things he could not change. So he continued to walk the line between being black and being Japanese, hoping that one day the two worlds would somehow meld into one.

Leaving his bedroom, he collected his keys and briefcase and walked out into the warm, early summer morning to face his day and the probing of Reese Delaware, a day he’d spent years trying to avoid.

Reese was already seated in the reception area when he got off the elevator. She was so engrossed in typing something onto her laptop computer, she didn’t even look up, apparently unaware of his arrival. For a moment, he was glad to see her in her bright lime green linen suit. She wore her hair differently, he noted. Her shoulder-length tresses were pulled away from her face and neck and piled on top of her head in a tumble of jet black curls.

Then, just as quickly as the moment of joy had filled him, it was replaced with the realization that her only purpose was to dig into his life. His smooth brow creased into a frown. Loudly, he cleared his throat. Her head snapped up. Their eyes connected and the charge popped back and forth between them.

“Good morning. Glad to see you’re an early riser,” he greeted. He turned abruptly and strode down the hall to his office, his gait smooth and measured.

Reese took an exasperated breath and snapped her laptop shut. Collecting her things from the seat next to her, she rose and followed him down the corridor to his office. “Why did you come in through the peon entrance? You do have a private elevator,” Reese queried in a taunting note, quickening her pace.

Maxwell pressed his palm on the scanner and stepped beyond the opened doors. “I’m in the habit of taking a quick run through of my facilities before I settle in for the day, if you must know, Ms. Delaware,” he grumbled in a caustic tone. He opened the door to his office.

“I have a very full day today, Ms. Delaware.”

“Are we back to formalities so soon?” she retorted, closing the door behind her.

He turned toward her, and his heart slammed hard against his chest. “Habit,” he offered, knowing that his real reason was the threat of intimacy. Calling her by her first name personalized her, softened her, took her from being a prying journalist to a breathtaking woman. A situation he had no intention of indulging.

Reese shrugged. “Suit yourself, Max.” Meandering across the room, she took real note of her milieu. Maxwell Knight surrounded himself with an eclectic blend of Asian and African art.

His desk was of black lacquer, embossed with intricate jade and gold carvings along its edges. To the far left was a low wooden table surrounded by four pillows covered in brilliant African prints of oranges, golds and bronzes. Above the arrangement, hanging on the wall were two frightening looking swords, with black and gold handles and blades crafted from the finest steel. They glistened menacingly in the sunlight. On the opposite wall, beyond the partition that housed his drafting table, was an enormous wall unit of black lacquer and glass that encased an array of hand-carved statues and artifacts, including a set of African counting sticks. And then there was the bookcase that contained volume upon volume of every imaginable type of literature. Yes, Maxwell Knight was a very interesting man indeed, but it would take all of her skills and whatever else she needed to crack through the veneer he’d painted over himself.

“What’s on our agenda?” She took a seat, and pulled a notepad from her briefcase.

“I have a meeting with the R & D techs—the Research and Development technicians,” he corrected, noting the puzzled look on her exquisite face, “at ten.”

“Will you be discussing the computer chip?”

“Yes, it’s part of the meeting,” he answered tersely, avoiding her steady amber gaze.

Reese nodded and made a note. “Will it be a problem if I bring a tape recorder into the meeting?”

Maxwell’s head snapped in her direction. “I don’t recall inviting you, nor do I recall your asking to attend.”

“Consider it asked,” she tossed back, glaring at him.

“Fine,” he conceded on a growl deep in his throat. “But tape recording is out of the question and if I ask you to leave the room, I expect that you will—without a problem.”

She flashed a coy smile. “Do I appear to be the type of woman to cause problems?” Languorously she crossed her long legs.

Yes, his mind screamed, and you know it. “I really wouldn’t know that, Ms. Delaware, now would I?”

“Well, Max, we’ll just have to find out, now won’t we? In the meantime,” she continued, not giving him a chance to recover, “I’d like to get started with some background information.” She leaned down and reached into her bag to retrieve her recorder, and in doing so, gave Max a brief glimpse of the half-moons that strained against the fabric of her V-cut jacket.

He clenched his jaw and turned away.

Reese straightened and placed the recorder on the desk that separated them. Leaning slightly forward, she depressed the record button.

“I always find it best if the subjects ignore the machine and just talk as thoughts come to them.” She took a breath. “Why don’t we start from the present and work our way backward. I think I’d like to open the story with the excitement surrounding your development of the computer chip and its impact in the marketplace. From there, we can delve into the man that made it all happen.”

While she spoke, Maxwell was transfixed. Suddenly, he viewed her as the seasoned professional that she purported herself to be. She was poised, articulate and direct. Gone was the femme fatale who used her charm to keep men nipping at her heels. She knew when to play and when not to. He liked that.

With less reluctance than he’d anticipated, Maxwell took his seat behind his desk, leaned back, and waited, crossing his arms over his taut belly.

“How soon will the chip be ready for the consumer?” she began. “And how will it all come about?”

In measured tones, Maxwell laid out the future plans for the company he’d built from scratch. “In less than six months, M.K. Enterprises will be put in direct competition with the computer giants that have dominated the computer-chip industry for decades. The speed and software adaptability of the chip will revamp everything we understand computers to be today. We are braced at the threshold of an exciting new era…”

As Reese listened to Maxwell talk in that mesmerizing voice, it was the first time she saw him actually animated. The cool control, almost imperceptible movements were gone. He spoke with his hands, his eyes, his body. The excitement and pride rang through the melodic timbre of his rich baritone. He exuded a raw energy that was contagious. She became entranced, captivated by the magic of his dream.

While he talked and looked into her eyes, he believed, if only for the moment, that she was listening to him, interested in him as a man and not just someone from whom something could be gained. For his entire life, women were with him because of his looks, schoolmates hung around because of his brains, business associates befriended him because of what it could do for them by association. In the dojo he was simply feared for his mastery of the arts. He didn’t want her to know him. Intimacy only brought him pain. His experience with Victoria Davenport proved that.

The sound of the recorder shutting off broke the spell.

Reese blinked several times as if awakening from a dream. Maxwell cleared his throat and slowly brought his hands up to steeple in front of his mouth. Reese watched the subtle transformation, almost as if someone else had replaced the man she was so briefly introduced to. She was more intrigued than ever.

“I need to get ready for my meeting,” he said. “Would you like something to eat or drink in the meantime? I could have Carmen get something for you, if you’re hungry.”

Was that a hint of gentle concern she heard in his voice, or was she only hoping? “I think I’ve had my fill of coffee for the day,” she said with a forced smile, recalling her sleepless night. “But some orange juice would be great if you have it.”

“You didn’t sleep well,” he stated, surprising her with his astute observation. “And you have the beginnings of a headache.”

“What makes you say that?” She watched him rise from his seat and come around to stand behind her.

He placed the balls of his thumbs at her temple and slowly began to rotate them, emitting just the slightest bit of pressure. She almost gasped out loud when the heat of his touch burned through the pain, stripping it away.

“Just relax,” he crooned. “Close your eyes. This will only take a moment,” he added in a hypnotic cadence. He shut his eyes when a piece of his wall crumbled at his feet.

The sensations that rippled through her sent rivers of soothing warmth floating through her body. Unable to resist, her eyes slid closed of their own volition. Inch by inch she felt her body relax, unwind and purr with delight.

He knew he should have never touched her. He should not have come close enough to inhale the fresh scent of her hair, absorb the sensual aroma of her femininity. It was a mistake, but he couldn’t stop himself.

“You have magic in those hands,” she said dreamily. She reached up behind her and clasped his hands in hers.

He pulled his hands from her grasp as if burned and stepped abruptly back.

Reese turned halfway in her seat to look back at him. His nostrils flared as if he struggled to breathe. Yet he barely moved.

“I…I feel much better.” Her eyes roamed over him, searching for a clue to what he was feeling. “Thank you,” she whispered. “How did you know?” she asked again, her gaze following him as he busied himself at the wall unit.

Maxwell bent down and opened the bottom cabinet to reveal a mini refrigerator. He took out a glass pitcher filled with what appeared to be fresh-squeezed orange juice. He then took a glass and filled it.

“It’s in the eyes,” he said finally, crossing the room in a steady fluid motion. “And that little crease between your brows.” He looked down into her upturned face.

Reese opened her mouth to refute him, but couldn’t—it was true. “Thank you—for the juice and the massage,” she muttered pulling all the stops to regain her composure.

“I’ve got to be going. Feel free to sit here for a moment. Carmen can show you to the conference room when I’m ready.” He needed to get away—now.

“I’d prefer to go with you, if you don’t mind.”

“Actually I do,” he replied, comfortably reverting to the man that could not be reached. “There are a few sensitive items I need to go over with the team.” He gave her a long, unwavering look. “I’d prefer if you’d wait as I asked. I’ll buzz Carmen and let her know when you can come in.” His tone was clear. There would be no compromise.

She swallowed the last of the juice. “Fine.’ She stood to leave, preferring to wait with Carmen, perhaps ask her a few questions about Mr. Knight. “If it’s not too much of a bother, I’d rather wait near Carmen’s desk. It’s suddenly very chilly in here.”

“Suit yourself.”

Reese snatched up her belongings, flung the door open, and sashayed down the hall, giving Maxwell a good look at her long legs and swaying hips.

Maxwell sat at the head of the conference table and tried to concentrate on what Glen Hargrove, his chief technician, was saying. But his thoughts kept shifting back to Reese, the way she looked, smelled, felt beneath his fingertips.

Without trying, Reese Delaware had somehow made him feel again. A sensation that he’d long ago denied himself—out of reach of any woman. Victoria had taught him an invaluable lesson, one that he would never forget. Sure there’d been plenty of women who’d kept him warm at night since her betrayal, but they’d only warmed his body, never his heart.

“…so what do you think we should do, Max?” Glen was asking.

Maxwell shifted his gaze in Glen’s direction. “Check the production tapes at the plant. Perhaps the tapes will show who’s screwing up. If that’s not it, then it’s temperature and air quality. You’ll have to get the bio team out there to check it out.”

Glen nodded and took quick notes. He wanted to chuckle. He and Max had worked together since college. He knew Max like a book. There was no way he was actually paying attention to what was being said—at least on the surface. Yet he was still able to answer his question without missing a beat.

“Why don’t you guys take a five-minute break,” Maxwell said, checking his watch. “When we reconvene we’ll be joined by a Ms. Delaware.” He cleared his throat. “She’s the journalist from Visions Magazine who’s been assigned to do a major article on the company. She may want to talk with some of you.”

A unified groan rose from the group of ten technicians. Maxwell knew that his team was single-focused when they walked through the doors of M.K. Enterprises. The slightest deviation from their routine and they became the surliest group of people on the face of the planet. He chuckled silently. Reese Delaware was certainly a deviation.

“Your cooperation is appreciated,” he continued. “See you in five.”

“So, what’s the deal with this Delaware woman? What’s she like?” Glen asked, sidling up next to Maxwell.

He shuffled through some notes on the table and shrugged. “She’s a journalist. And you know how I feel about them.” He clenched his jaw.

Glen looked at his friend from the corner of his eye. “How long is she going to be hanging around?”

Maxwell took a long breath and exhaled. “She’s been assigned to dog my tracks at all of our sites, interview me and anyone who knows me.”

Glen’s thick, brown eyebrows rose. “You agreed to that?”

Maxwell slanted his dark eyes toward Glen. “You know better than that. I got backed into a corner by the Board. They voted for it.”

“Hey listen, before you know it, it’ll be over and she’ll be out of your hair—ancient history.”

“Yeah, that’s the day I’m living for,” he joked, with a half smile.

“That’s a pretty interesting group you have there,” Reese commented as she and Maxwell left the conference room.

“They’re the best in the business,” he snapped, automatically taking her comment as a criticism. He picked up his pace. Her scent was getting to him. He couldn’t think clearly with her so close. She was getting to him. Just as she’d gotten to his crew. They were like putty in her hands. It was comical the way they practically fell over each other to get her attention. She wound them around her pretty little finger like rubber bands. The realization rattled him.

“I didn’t mean anything negative. I think they’re phenomenal. They’re all so young and brilliant. And obviously dedicated to you,” she added.

He heard the ring of sincerity in her voice and it startled him. He gave her a curious look. The idea that his staff was dedicated to anything other than doing a first-class job never entered his mind. He always attributed their zeal to the love of their work.

He frowned. “Your writer’s instinct must be off, Ms. Delaware,” he stated in dismissal. He opened the door of his office and stood aside to let her pass. She looked up at him as she eased by, her warm amber eyes skimming across his face like a stone over water.

A tiny chip from the wall crumbled and fell between them.

Reese and Maxwell spent every day together, practically glued at the hip. The staff of M.K. Enterprises seemed to welcome her as one of them. They more than answered her questions and many volunteered to be interviewed just to be in her company. Reese Delaware had the ability to charm everyone she met. Even him. She was the first face he saw when he arrived and the last one before he left at night. As much as he hated to admit it, he had begun to look forward to seeing her every day. He even grudgingly enjoyed her myriad of questions.

“This has been a very enlightening two weeks,” Reese said, stretching her long, lean body like a contented cat. “I’ve gotten a pretty good picture of who you are as the businessman through your staff and watching you interact with them.” She waited for a reaction and got none, so she went in for the dig. “It’s amazing how they can find so many decent things to say about you, Max.” She strutted back and forth across the room, one arm crossed beneath her breasts, the other hand twirling a loose tendril of hair. “That’s the most curious thing about this whole process,” she added airily. “I’m really looking forward to the trip on Sunday. I can’t wait to see what the California contingent has to say about the irreproachable Maxwell Knight.”

Maxwell didn’t look up from the paperwork strewn about his desk.

Slowly Reese crossed the room, bracing her palms on the desktop.

Still he refused to look up.

Feeling especially mischievous, she flicked a pencil across the desk, finally capturing his attention.

“What is it, Ms. Delaware?” he asked, his heart racing as their gazes connected.

Reese leaned closer, so close she could count the silken lashes rimming those incredible eyes. “I will not be ignored,” she parodied in a great Glenn Close imitation from the movie classic, Fatal Attraction.

Whatever resistance Maxwell had left came tumbling down. It started out as a chuckle, then slowly built in strength and volume to a full-fledged raucous laugh.

Reese, caught up in the moment, joined in with her own throaty laughter, enchanted by the sparkle in his eyes, the velvet timbre of his voice. She propped her hip on his desk.

“We needed that,” she said, catching her breath.

Maxwell nodded in agreement. “I think you’re right,” he chuckled.

“You have a wonderful laugh,” she uttered in a husky whisper. “You should do it more often.”

The metamorphosis was slow but clear. The light gradually dimmed in his dark eyes. Maxwell straightened up in his seat. “Carmen has your airline ticket. Don’t forget to pick it up before you leave.” He cleared his throat. “If you need a car to take you to the airport in the morning, please inform Carmen on your way out.” He returned his attention to the papers on his desk. But suddenly the words and diagrams were all a blur. The rational part of him wished she’d leave. The thoroughly male part of him wished she’d come closer.

Reese would not be dissuaded. “I haven’t seen anything of the city since I arrived,” she hedged. “Why don’t you be the gentleman I know you can be and take me out? Give me the twenty-five-cent tour before we leave for California.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“You can be a gentleman, can’t you?” she taunted, bracing her hips with her fists in a defiant stance. “You have to eat, so why do it alone?”

“What makes you think I’ll be eating alone?”

Her mouth curved up in a grin. “Writer’s instinct?” Her cocked eyebrow punctuated her point.

Maxwell pushed away from his desk and stood up. “I think you need to sharpen up on your writer’s instinct, Ms. Delaware.” He paused then looked at her from beneath dark curly lashes. “But I wouldn’t want you to go back to Chicago believing all the negative things you’ve heard about New Yorkers.”

She watched him as he crossed the room and retrieved his jacket from the rack. A tiny tingle of anticipation rippled in her stomach. This is just the beginning, Mr. Knight, she mused. I’ll get on the other side of that wall no matter what it takes. And you’re gonna have a good time while I’m getting there.

Chapter 3

“Do you come here often?” Reese asked, taking a bite from a succulent piece of batter-dipped fried chicken.

“No. Actually, this is the first time. But I’ve heard a lot of the staff talk about Sylvia’s. They’ve always had good things to say about the food.”

“Believe me, it’s almost good enough to have me make the trip from Chicago.” She grinned. “The atmosphere is great. It’s so cozy and personal.”

“Hmm.”

Reese took a sip of her chardonnay. “Where do you go? I mean—when you go out…on a date?”

“Getting a bit personal, aren’t we?”

She gave him that slow, Mona Lisa smile that made his mouth water. “It’s after hours, Boss Man,” she teased. “Time to lighten up and ‘Let It Flow,’ as Toni Braxton would say.”

Maxwell flashed her a look as cool as the chinks of ice that floated in his glass. He leaned across the table, his voice descending to an intimate low. “Is that right, Ms. Delaware?”

A rush of heat surged through her body. Her heart began to race. She lifted the crystal flute to her lips. Her eyebrows arched. “Very right, Mr. Knight.”

“Will there be anything else, folks?” the waitress asked, successfully breaking their tenuous connection.

Maxwell’s steamy stare never left Reese’s face when he asked, “Would you like something else?”

“What I want I can’t get here,” she said, the seductive timbre of her voice winding its way through his heated bloodstream.

“No. Thank you. You can bring the check,” he finally responded off-handedly.

His dark, haunting eyes glided over her smooth features of milk chocolate, scorching her from the inside out. “Do you have any idea what you’re toying with?”

Slowly her tongue darted out and she licked her lips. “Why don’t you tell me.”

The corner of his mouth curled upward. “I’m not an easy man. I have no intention of building a relationship. I’m not looking for one, and I’m not interested in anyone that is. Still interested?”

“You only think you’re not interested.” She lifted the glass to her dampened lips and smiled. “Your problem is, you haven’t found the right woman.”