The Abby Green Modern Collection. ABBY GREEN

had sprung from her eyes. He reached out a finger and trailed it over one cheek, saying almost wonderingly, ‘You’re even more beautiful when you laugh…You should do it more often.’

      Her belly quivered at his touch, then she hiccuped, ‘Well, I haven’t had much cause lately.’

      Or ever…

      Something dark crossed Caleb’s face and she could see him close up again. No! she wanted to say. Stay with me. He dropped his finger; she felt bereft. She controlled herself again. They were still standing just inside the door.

      ‘I’ve put on some chicken…how does that sound?’

      ‘You cook?’ she asked inanely.

      His mouth quirked. ‘Apparently quite well.’

      She shrugged, trying not to look too impressed, finding herself inordinately relieved to be eating in. They’d eaten out every other night so far, each restaurant more glittering and exclusive than the last, and Maggie was tired. ‘The proof will be in the eating,’ she quipped quickly, not wanting him to see her relief.

      ‘Ouch.’ He winced and started to head back towards the kitchen. ‘Not all of us were trained by chefs; some of us had to learn the hard way.’

      She followed him into the sparkling, brand new kitchen, curious. ‘So where did you learn, then?’

      As she watched, he seemed to know what he was doing, tossing a salad with fluid ease. It would be just like the man to be able to do everything perfectly.

      ‘My mother can’t cook to save her life, or my father, and in lean times, when Dad became bankrupt and when Mother left to tout for her next rich ticket, I had to cook for them or we’d all have gone hungry.’

      Maggie gasped, ‘But you were only a child!’

      He shrugged negligently. ‘Once my mother married again in Brazil, we had a housekeeper, but I still used to cook for Dad in England. I enjoyed it, even if I was one of the only boys doing home economics when I went to school there in my teens.’

      She shook her head; something flipped over in her at this more human side to him. ‘Wow, that was pretty brave! I remember the ribbing we used to give the boys in our school.’

      She thought of his words then and remembered something that Michael Murphy had said that day of the funeral. ‘You said your dad became bankrupt…was…is that why you don’t go after your enemies with total ruthlessness?’

      He looked up, his eyes narrowed sharply on hers. She flushed—what was she doing? They’d been actually getting along.

      He wouldn’t let her escape, lifting a brow.

      ‘What I mean is…Mr Murphy said something about you not being known for being…so merciless,’ she finished lamely.

      He stopped what he was doing and leant both hands on the counter top. ‘And yet I was merciless to you and your family…?’

      She nodded miserably, desperately wishing she hadn’t opened her mouth.

      ‘I only fight back when provoked beyond reason…and you and your stepfather did that, Maggie. You can spare me the armchair psychoanalysis.’

      He had retreated back behind the cool front. She backed away from the door. ‘I’ll just have a quick shower.’

      He looked at the empty doorway for a long time. For a few moments there, they’d shared a lightness he rarely encountered with anyone. And then, with that one comment…she’d actually pinpointed something that was so fundamental about the way he lived, did business, something that no one else had ever picked up on. Not the broadsheets, tabloids, reporters…and they had done their best over the years to figure out the Cameron phenomenon. The way he’d built his fortune from next to nothing, first in Rio and London, then encompassing the world. All by the age of thirty-six.

      The truth was, the way he conducted his business life was inextricably bound up with his past experiences. Seeing his father comprehensively ruined, become a shell of a man, only to be deserted by his tempestuous wife as soon as the money was gone, had left deep wounds. Somewhere deep down, he’d vowed that would never happen to him. His hands had curled to fists and he just noticed them now, consciously un-curling them. He willed the dark memories away. Maggie was just trying to push his buttons…and he wouldn’t let her.

      

      ‘What can I do?’ Maggie’s chin was tilted, her voice almost defiant as she spoke from the doorway. She was determined not to let Caleb see how his shut-down had affected her. His face was still grim. He flicked her a glance, taking in the damp hair that coiled down past her shoulders, a soft V-neck cashmere sweater that clung to her curves. Couldn’t help but notice the shadow of something—was it hurt?—that lit her eyes an intense green. Distracted by that and how it made him feel, he listed off abstractedly, ‘Set the table, get some cutlery, glasses…’

      ‘Yes, sir,’ she muttered under her breath and started opening cupboards. She would not let him see how hurt she was but it was still there, just under her skin like a wound. What had she expected, after all? She shook her head at herself and stretched up to look for plates.

      Suddenly she felt her waist grabbed and she was whirled around and into Caleb’s chest so fast that the breath left her body. He brought two hands around her face, caressing her jaw. Immediately she could feel her body responding, sinking, craving…She looked up helplessly.

      ‘Maggie…just…don’t try to figure me out. I don’t need that. All I need is you…’ he looked to her mouth ‘…this.’

      He bent his head and met her lips with his, kissing, drawing in her full bottom lip, tugging and teasing before sliding his tongue in to delve deep and stroke hers. Her arms moved around his waist and clung, hands moving unconsciously over his shirt. She guessed it was an apology of sorts. But he was also saying that he didn’t need anything from her, not her opinions, not her thoughts, not her concern…certainly not her heart. And, while he kissed her, she could forget that…but when he stopped, she knew the pain would filter through. So, in an effort to avoid that, she kissed him back, hoping, wishing that he’d never stop. She craved the contact that would obliterate her churning thoughts.

      He pulled back. Looking down, he could see Maggie’s eyes still closed and her lips full and pouting. He groaned. She opened her eyes. They looked slumberous. She looked down to his mouth.

      ‘Don’t stop…’ There was something desperate in her voice.

      Reaching up on tiptoe, she brought Caleb’s head down again; she couldn’t reach, she was so much smaller and her mouth hovered inches away, like a succulent fruit. When she said again, ‘Please…don’t stop,’ it lit a flame of desire so strong that he couldn’t resist and he lifted her up, sitting her on the island in the kitchen.

      Coming between her legs, he cupped her face again, kissing her long and deeply. He could feel her hands resting on his chest, then the fingers move to open the buttons of his shirt, slipping inside to caress his skin. It made a tremor of intense longing surge through him.

      He pulled up her sweater, taking it off completely, and her breasts were bare, pert and pink with arousal; he cupped one and ran a thumb over and back over the peak. Her head fell back with the sensation and then he took it into his hot mouth, rolling it, sucking. Maggie was gasping, her hair damp against her back. When he lifted his head finally, she tried to open his shirt the rest of the way but her hands were shaking too much. Caleb’s hands took hers away. ‘Let me…’

      He opened his shirt and Maggie felt the ache growing between her legs. She wriggled on the island and Caleb threw his shirt aside, pulling her against him and running his hands over her back, his mouth on her neck, her shoulder. Her blood was thumping, pumping out of control. She wanted him…now. She wasn’t aware that she’d even said the words out loud until she heard, ‘Really? You want me here? Now?’

      She couldn’t believe they were still in the kitchen, that she’d been so bold, that she’d begged