He jerked his head sideways, but not before Sarah had seen the strange glitter in his eyes and was awed. Tears ... for her . . . and bitter self-condemnation. Suddenly she didn't want to hear any more of this forced confession. She didn't want to hurt as she had been hurt, she wanted to protect him, to enfold him in her love, never to demand but to give and give without counting cost.
She reached out and put her arms around him tightly, resisting his attempt to detach her. She laid her head against the slightly damp skin of his chest, feeling the soft body-hair tickling her cheek, hearing the erratic beat of his heart.
'No more,' she begged softly. 'You don't have to explain anything to me, Max ... I understand.'
He pulled her head up, cupping her face with gentle hands. 'I hurt you. I owe you this. I can only hope you will forgive me. I came raging back here like a wounded tiger; no wonder my father and Tom decided that drastic measures were called for. I realised, you see, as soon as I left, that I had bungled my chance of real happiness. That like a blind fool I had run away from the very thing I'd been seeking all my life, and given up hope of ever finding.'
He groaned and Sarah was amazed that he couldn't see what was in her face. She knew now what he meant about Roy not mattering, the past only mattered in the sense that it had brought them here, together, in the present.
Couldn't he see that she no longer wanted, or needed to receive his complete submission?
'I love you,' she said softly. Then with force and passion: 'I love you and I'll say it, in your arms and out, for as long as you want me to. I'm yours for as long as you want me.'
He looked white, shaken, so that she smiled and said:
'You knew.' And he smiled too, rather crookedly.
'Wishing made it so.' His voice took on a tone of wonder that caressed Sarah with warmth. 'I never thought I'd fall in love. Take a wife, have children eventually, yes—if only to placate my father. But love? It's a strange country, I don't know it, I don't know the language—'
Sarah laid a small, soft hand over his mouth, feeling joyous, generous—
'I'll teach you. But as long as you feel it you don't have to say it.'
She felt his warm breath against her palm.
'Oh, but I want to. I want to be very explicit.' The smile faded and his voice took on a deep, new strength. 'I love you, Sarah. You're the only woman I've ever said that to. First love, last love, my love.' He kissed her to punctuate the phrases, and the kisses grew slower, longer, as they swayed together, locked in each other's arms, affirming the vow.
'No more objections to being set up?' Sarah enquired huskily at length, as Max nuzzled the long, lovely curve of her throat.
He lifted his head and grinned. It took light years off the charcoal-suited chairman. 'You know why I was so furious? I had my own plans and I saw them go up in smoke before my eyes. Come and see.'
He led her over to the bedside table and sat her, very properly, on the edge of the bed while he drew out a small, rectangular case. He placed it in her hands and sat beside her to watch her open it.
Sarah found the hidden catch and gasped at the sight of an exquisitely wrought brooch, a golden fox with flashing, ruby eyes and lolling tongue, surrounding by an intertwining of chased gold vines. There were two tiny earrings to match, each a copy of the fox's head.
'For me?' she breathed and Max smiled tenderly at her disbelief.
'I have airline tickets too. I intended to come out and prostrate myself. To woo you properly,' he said softly with wry self-mockery. 'I had them specially made to my own design. I made myself wait until they were finished, hoping that the breathing space would give you time to stop hating me for the things I did to you.'
'They're beautiful.' Sarah touched the delicate jewellery with a shaking hand. 'Nobody's ever given me anything so beautiful.'
'And unique, like you,' Max said, immensely satisfied by her words. 'And this, too . . .'
No box this time. A ring—aflame with rubies, afire with diamonds.
'Put it on. No, this hand,' taking it from her nerveless fingers. 'To celebrate what I hope will be the shortest engagement in history.'
'Engagement?' Sarah thought she was going to faint, the jewellery forgotten. 'You want to marry me?'
'Of course I want to marry you,' he said violently. 'What do you think I've been saying? That I love you and want you to be my mistress.' Her face gave her away. 'You must have a very low opinion of me! I suppose I can't blame you for that.'
'No.' Sarah laid her hand on his arm, felt the rigidity of his muscles and hastened to reassure him. 'I only meant that I never thought ... I mean . . .' she floundered, knowing it would hurt him if she told the truth, that she hadn't thought his love sufficiently strong for him to give up his celebrated freedom for it.
'God, is it marriage that's the problem?' he said suddenly, a raw note of uncertainty in his voice. 'Has your experience with Simon put you off?' The emotional struggle showed on his face as he said, slowly, 'I don't want a so-called "open marriage", but if you'd feel trapped with anything more conventional-—' he broke off, wounded by her laughter at this most serious of moments. 'What are you laughing about?'
'You. So abject.' Sarah could hardly speak for giggles, he was so far wrong. 'I'm enjoying it while I can, once we're married I suppose you'll be your usual arrogant self again.'
His eyes gleamed with a return of masculine confidence. 'You can't refuse me now, darling, my father would never forgive you.'