Intimate Betrayal. Donna Hill

to mass-produce the new program she’d developed. She knew she had to go back with something. But her mind was on anything but business.

      Whether Maxwell took her back or not, she would not sit idly by and let Reese get her privileged little claws into him. She faced herself in the mirror. She’d have to think of something.

      Celeste awoke with the sun as she had for most of her adult life. She sat up in her queen-size bed, then sighed heavily. There was no reason to rush. She had nowhere to go and no one to rush to.

      Until a year ago, she’d been a practicing RN doing private duty for the Air Force, until her growing illness made even that impossible. At least the money she still received helped. Two thousand dollars arrived in her account like clockwork. It’s funny how twisted life becomes, she lamented. Twenty-eight years ago, she’d been paid to keep a secret. She’d felt outrage, humiliation. But she took it to survive. Thirteen years later, the stakes increased and the secret took on devastating proportions. She’d lived well, but lonely as a result. Now, once again, it was her means of survival.

      She turned toward her nightstand to the framed photo of Hamilton Delaware, her one and only love.

      With effort she pushed herself up from the bed. “Things could have been so different if you’d only given us a chance. My sister never loved you the way I did. Damn you Hamilton Delaware,” she railed, hot tears of regret streaming down her smooth face of cinnamon. “Damn you for all you’ve done and God help me, I still love you.”

      She slipped to her knees and buried her face in the sheets of her bed, her body shaken by the force of her sobs.

      The shrill ringing of the phone jarred Reese out of her troubled sleep. For several moments, she thought the sound was only part of the never-ending nightmare that had tortured her throughout the night.

      The phone rang again. This time she opened her eyes but quickly shut them against the onslaught of the brilliant sun. With one hand over her eyes, she groped for the phone with the other.

      “H-ello?”

      “Hey, girl. It’s me Lynnette. I’m at O’Hare on the next flight to L.A. I should be arriving at 5:00 p.m. your time.”

      “O-kay,” she mumbled, struggling to get her thoughts to focus.

      “Reese,” Lynnette said, suddenly alert to Reese’s disoriented tone. “What’s wrong? Are you sick? I tried calling you all evening.”

      “No,” she mumbled. “Really, I’m fine.”

      “Don’t lie to me, Reese. It’s the headaches again, isn’t it? Tell me.”

      “Yes,” she cried, burying her face in her hands. “And I don’t know why. I was fine—until—I left Chicago.”

      “Something is triggering them. We need to just figure out what it is. What about the nightmares?” She held her breath.

      “Those, too,” she admitted in a ragged voice.

      “Hang in there, girl. I’ll see you in a few hours.”

      “Thank you, Lynn.”

      “It’s gonna be cool. Gotta go, they’re calling my flight.” Lynnette hung up and dashed across the terminal, all the while thinking of her friend who was more like her sister. Growing up as teens, Lynnette had watched in fear, shock, and hurt when Reese would literally collapse under the force of the pain in her head. She’d spent nights with her when out of the blue, Reese would toss and turn, scream unintelligible sounds and practically leap from the bed, eyes wide and unseeing in a cold sweat. Yet she could remember nothing of the dreams.

      Lynnette fastened her seatbelt and leaned back. It had been three years since the nightmares had stopped completely. The headaches were manageable. Lynnette closed her eyes. Why now? she wondered.

      Chapter 8

      Reese finally managed to get out of bed and make it to the bathroom. With great effort, she peeled her damp gown from her weary body.

      Reaching for the faucets, she turned on the water full blast and stepped into the pounding shower.

      Twenty minutes later she emerged from the bathroom, wrapped in a thick terry-cloth robe. She checked the clock on the nightstand. 10:30. She should have… “Oh, my God…the car…”

      Walking as quickly as her wobbly legs would allow, she sat on the bed and dialed the front desk.

      “Yes, Ms. Delaware. A driver was here for you this morning. We rang your room, but received no answer. When you didn’t come down by eight-fifteen he left.”

      “I see. Thank you.” Reese squeezed her eyes shut in frustration. “Now what am I going to do? Knowing Max he’ll probably assume I’m having a tantrum about last night,” she grumbled aloud. “Arrogant bastard.”

      She got up from the bed and began to pace, energy slowly winding its way through her body. “He had a helluva nerve kissing me like that and then acting as if nothing happened. He must take me for…”

      The doorbell rang interrupting her diatribe. She stomped across the room fueled by her outrage and flung open the door.

      “I got worried when the driver arrived without you.”

      Reese’s stomach did a quick somersault while her brain scrambled for organization. “M-ax-well.” At that precise moment, with him standing in front of her, looking for all the world as if he’d just stepped off the cover of Ebony Man Magazine, she had a difficult time trying to remember why she’d been so pissed-off only minutes ago.

      “How’s the headache?”

      Briefly she frowned in confusion. “How did you…?”

      “I could see the beginnings last night.” He paused. “I should have stayed to make sure you were alright. I’m sorry.”

      His apology tugged on her heart. “There’s no need to apologize. I didn’t realize it was that obvious,” she said softly.

      He slipped his hands in the pockets of his cream-colored linen slacks in an effort to keep from reaching out and touching her. His dreams had been filled with her; in front of him, at his side, beneath him. When he finally tore himself away from his erotic dreams, he knew he had to see her.

      Maxwell angled his chin in the direction of the interior of the suite. “May I come in?” His dark eyes swept over her and his voice reached down to the bottom of her soul. “I’ll only stay as long as you want me to. I promise.”

      A surge of heat engulfed her, while her heart roared so loudly she swore it would burst. “Sure.” She stepped aside and tugged on the belt of her robe. “Come on in.”

      Maxwell followed her into the suite, the scent of her freshly bathed body leaving a sensual trail for him to follow.

      “Make yourself comfortable,” she suggested, stopping in front of the couch. “I’ll just be a few minutes.” Quickly she disappeared into the bedroom.

      “What in the devil am I going to put on?” she mumbled, frantically tearing through her wardrobe. Finally she decided on a lemon-yellow tank top and lime green cotton slacks, with a pair of espadrilles that matched her top. She slipped a slinky gold belt through the loops of her slacks and pushed tiny gold studs through her ears.

      A look in the mirror caused her to gasp in horror. Her hair was a wreck, hanging limply around her shoulders from the steam of the shower. She pulled a stiff brush through her hair and quickly twisted it into a neat French roll.

      “Not bad,” she nodded to her reflection. Then across her lips she added the barest hint of cinnamon lip gloss, and stroked her lashes with jet black mascara.

      “You go, girl,” she said, smiling. Taking a fortifying breath, she reentered the living area.

      Maxwell stood up the moment she entered and his heart seemed to shift in his chest.