A Question of Pride Read Online Free PDF Page B

flea in my ear. I don't know how you put up with me.'
    Because I love you, she said silently. Because I want so desperately for you to love me, too!
    She moved to bury her face in his warm throat, drowning on a wave of desperate emotion. Her lips grazed his skin, eyes closing so she could absorb the pleasure in being close to him. Max trembled, and his arms tightened around her, his lips moved urgently to seek out hers, and they kissed—a long, clinging kiss, that spoke of desperation on both sides.
    They were both a little breathless when they broke apart. Max looked down at her pale face, and spent a long time searching the unhappiness in her lavender-blue eyes. Sometimes—sometimes he could show such beautiful passion that she could almost convince herself that he cared for her more than he liked to admit.
    It was this thought that made her reach up to place another gentle kiss on his mouth, and her smile came quite naturally as she combed the fingertips of one hand through his silky hair. Something strange passed over his expression. He caught the trailing hand and pressed a warm kiss to her palm, then their eyes locked in silent but obscure communication. Then he was turning her within his arm and leading her back to her bedroom, while Clea leaned weakly against him—self-pityingly, almost.
    He sat her down on the bed and came down on his haunches, his ministrations indulgent as he helped her off with her robe and slipped her into bed, pulling the covers over her.
    'Poor Clea,' he murmured, a hand stroking the side of her face. 'I don't remember these—women's problems —ever affecting you like this before.'
    Her expression turned wary, instant defence stiffening her body. 'Damned hormones!' she mocked, smiling up at him as he leaned over her.
    'Mmm.' His eyes twinkled their appreciation of her tease. 'Damned hormones.' He was squatting by her bed, one long, slender hand lost in her hair, the other covering both of hers. 'Shall we give tomorrow night a miss—hmm?' he suggested gently.
    She pulled her hands from beneath his, understanding him exactly. 'Yes,' she said dully. 'We'll give it a miss.'
    Clea supposed that she had asked for that. She had used the only excuse she could think of for her odd behaviour and, in doing so, she had ruined her last weekend with him. It shouldn't hurt that Max didn't want to see her just because he couldn't ... but it did.
    'How did your business dinner go awry?' She quickly changed the subject before the pain began to show. Max only wanted her for her body. She'd known that all along, so why should it hurt to hear him confirm it? Her chin came up proudly. Let it always be said of her that she bowed out graciously!
    Max was straightening up, his expression suddenly dark, as though the memory of his wasted evening put a bad taste in his mouth. 'They—they didn't seem to know what they wanted,' he replied stiffly. Then his smile was back— to mask the other expression. 'You look like a child lying there,' he mocked. 'A rather forlorn, if charming, child.' He bent to give her a brief kiss. 'Sleep the weekend away if you want to. Maybe we both could do with a couple of quiet days,' he added with a touch of wryness. 'I'm expected home for a few days next week—can't turn up at my mother's looking half done to death! She'll nag me all the time I'm there if I do.' He was teasing her, urging her to look less the lost waif and more the self-contained Clea he had moulded her into.
    'What about the theatre-tickets?' she reminded him.
    He shrugged, moving away towards the door. 'I'll be sure to find someone who can use them.' He dismissed them as unimportant. 'Sleep well, Clea. Goodnight.'
    Then he had gone, closing the bedroom door quietly behind him after one of his brief but brilliant farewell smiles, and Clea was left alone to listen to his closing the door of her flat with a finality he didn't know was there.
    Monday morning found Max in a board meeting when the telephone rang on Clea's