“Ila Logan.”
“Mmm…Irish? She doesn’t look it. How is school?”
“My dad’s Irish,” I interrupted, annoyed at the dismissive tone. “My mom’s Indian, thanks for noticing.”
“It was simply an observation, my dear girl.” And in that nasally inflected voice, he refocused on a tight-lipped Max. “These parties aren’t the same without your dear mother. Now she was a wonderful lady, brilliantly talented. It’s quite tragic really, the way she died. You still don’t remember what happened?” He guzzled more of his champagne. “Not your fault at all, Maximillian. But it is good you’ve moved on. You play music now?”
Maximillian? Moved on?How dare he? The pompous old goat. I didn’t care that he’d dismissed me to my face, but to so sneakily question Max? No matter how solicitous his comments were, the jab there was meant to wound.
The rigid line of Max’s jaw tautened further. I clasped his hand, hoping to calm him. His fingers squeezed mine, a little too hard, revealing just how close to the edge his control was.
“Fuck this shit,” he muttered as the horrible man droned on. “We’re leaving.”
I was only too glad. Max put his hand on my waist, and avoiding the crowd, we entered the house through a side entrance. As we navigated the long corridor, he stopped dead. Frowning, I glanced to the front and froze at the sight of the late arrival.
Her. Jean Creswell. Max’s shrink.
Her pale hair was perfectly styled in a topknot. Her eye-catching red dress was far shorter than mine, and the low V neckline left a lot of skin exposed.
He headed for her. Warily, I followed.
“Max.” A delighted smile lit her pale blue eyes. “It’s so good to—” She broke off when her gaze fell on me. Disdain settled over her features. “I see you aren’t alone.”
He stopped a foot from her, his expression cold. Deadly. A shiver of unease slid down my spine. “You dare confront my girlfriend at her place of work?”
She blinked as if startled by his confrontation. “Max—”
“Who told you about her?”
“Max—”
“Answer the damn question.”
Her expression firmed. “I saw a snapshot of you in the papers. A few phone calls, and I found her. Your father was worried about you and believed the window-dresser you’d hooked up with was the reason for you suddenly being so reclusive. He assumed…” She shrugged.
“What? That I was doing drugs now?” Cynicism scored his tone.
“Max…” She lifted her hands in appeal. “My only concern is your welfare. We are close family friends. She didn’t seem like your usual girls, so I thought to make it easier on her—”
“By telling her we’d fucked?”
Her mouth opened. Closed. Her breath rattled as her gaze darted around. Bitch probably didn’t want anyone to hear what she’d done.
“I didn’t saythat.”
“Sure, you didn’t.” His smile was pure malevolence. “Did you also tell her how old I was?”
The color drained from her face, leaving her ghostly white. “You were eighteen—”
“Right. I was a mess—in pain. I was there for you tofixme—” He broke off. “It no longer matters. I will never trust you or need you in the way you implied.She”—Max reached out and dragged me to his side—“is all I desire. Stay the hell away from my girlfriend and this family. Or I swear I will make Leland Sinclair look like a saint when I’m done with you.”
His grip like a manacle on mine, he headed for the front.
While Max dismissing his psychiatrist made my heart feel lighter, it troubled me that he had so much anger inside him. He needed to talk to someone, someone who understood how to deal with his demons. “Max—”
“I’ll find another shrink, Logan.” Obviously, we were on the same wavelength. “I realize I have to see one. You are too important to me, and I don’t want to ruin things when it’s still so screwed-up in here—” He pointed at his head.
I nodded and let it go. For now.
