But at the view in front of me, I felt as if I’d stepped into the Queen’s garden party. Well, what I assumed a casual royal party would look like.
Guests moved between linen-covered buffet tables groaning with food that could feed the shelters for a year, and overseen by waiters standing like guards. A chef basted a lamb on a spit a short distance away.
I was extremely glad I’d wore the vintage, figure-hugging dress. It had been a practical choice so it wouldn’t crease. Besides, I had no idea what the dress code was, and Max’s, “you’re beautiful in whatever you wear,” when I’d asked hadn’t helped much. Now? Really grateful.
We hadn’t taken more than two steps when an older, willowy woman with caramel-tinted, bobbed hair, glided toward us, a wide smile on her face. She wore navy pants and a silky, cream blouse with a draped front.
“Max, I’m so happy you came, even if it is so late,” she chided, air kissing his cheeks. “Jo’s here. She’s dying to see you again.” She hooked her arm through his, trying to steer him down the steps to the lower terrace where all the action was… and away from me.
Did the woman really not see me? I glanced down at myself. Nope, I was still here in my vintage dress.
Max extracted himself from the woman. Standing down a step, he held out his hand, and I put mine in his. “Cecilia, this is Ila Logan. My girlfriend. Logan, Cecilia Emerson, a family friend.”
With a handshake that would do a jellyfish proud, she quickly removed her limp fingers. The woman cast her attention back to Max, dismissing me as if I were nothing more than the help. “We missed you, dear. Are you all right?”
“I’m fine.”
“Oh, that’s wonderful to hear.” She lowered her voice. “It’s good that your father got the charges dropped for vandalism. Of course, it cost him a huge donation, but no matter, at least you can go back to school now,” she continued, oblivious to Max’s rigid features or the quiet fury burning in his green eyes. “I found a wonderful place for you to lease. Jo will show—”
“Excuse us, Cecilia.” He grasped my hand and stalked off, bypassing the crowds.
The woman was a piece of work. I glanced back and met her narrowed stare. “She’s not happy.”
“Not my problem.”
“Who is she?”
“My father’s girlfriend.” He cut through the terrace, taking a bend around the house to stop at the white balustrade overlooking the stunning pool area. The wide, blue ocean served as a tranquil backdrop. He paced the area like his skin was the only thing keeping him together.
“Max,” I said softly.
He stopped, tunneled his fingers through his hair, then glanced at me. “I’m sorry about this. Being here feels like it’s crushing the life out of me.”
I walked up to him, slid my arm around his waist and held him. He put his mouth on mine as if in desperation, and I deepened the kiss. Then he was kissing me, seeming to be back in control. It didn’t take much for him to make me forget my surroundings. He licked inside my mouth and sucked on my tongue, hauling me deeper and deeper into a place of untold desire that only Max could sweep me into. A moan escaped me, and I melted into him.
With a groan, he reluctantly dragged his mouth away from mine. “Kissing you in public is always a bad idea,” he muttered, pressing another kiss to my lips. Exhaling roughly, he glanced in the direction we’d come from. Then he looked me over. “You okay?”
“You ask me that when you kiss me that way?” I scrunched my face at him.
He tweaked my nose. “I meant being here in this circus that’s my life.”
“I’m fine.” I gave him a quick smile of reassurance. He laced our fingers, and as we made our way back to the party, I asked, “Who’s Jo?”
“Cecilia’s niece. She has visions of acquiring the family name through me,” he muttered, that grim look once more stealing over his features.
That didn’t surprise me. The woman—Cecilia—was as determined as a vulture after carrion to get both the Sinclairs. Well, she wasn’t getting Max.
A waiter with a tray of drinks stopped before us. Max took a flute of champagne and handed it to me. He got a soda for himself.
I sat on the low balustrade separating the terrace from the rolling green lawns and manicured garden below, the rustling waterfall nearby a soothing sound, and people-watched.
“Maximillian, my dear boy, jolly good to see you.” A stout, older man, stuffed like a sausage in his suit, waddled toward us. Max’s expression evened out, but the jut of his jaw told me all I needed. He didn’t like the man. But then Max rarely liked anyone…well, except for my family and his friends from what I’d seen.
And I couldn’t blame him if this lot of vultures were whom he had to deal with constantly.
“Mr. Renshaw.”
Beady brown eyes skimmed over me. “Who is this young lady?”
