Reckless Encounter Page 11

  “You’re supposed to watch the stage,” she whispered to him.

  “I prefer watching you.”

  Elena focused her attention on the singers, but every cell in her body thrummed with awareness of the man sitting beside her.

  Rather than join the crush for drinks at the interval, they waited in their seats while the auditorium emptied. Once the crowd had thinned, they got up to stretch their legs and use the restrooms.

  During the second act the tenor sang a powerful aria that seemed to reach straight into Elena’s heart. Every time she stole a glance at Max, she found his dark eyes studying her. When the curtain went down at the end of the final act and the lights came on again, Max leaned across the seat.

  “Did you enjoy it?” he asked.

  “Oh yes.” She smiled at him, her emotions vibrant with the raw power of the music. “It was wonderful.”

  “Are you hungry? I’ve booked a table for a late supper.”

  “Starving,” she replied. “I only ate a sandwich on the plane.”

  The limo waited for them a short distance down the street. The evening air carried a chill. When Max noticed she was shivering, he shrugged out of his dinner jacket and draped it around her shoulders. His heat clung to the fabric, making Elena feel as if he were embracing her.

  After he’d helped her into the limo and settled on the back seat beside her, Max reached his arm across her shoulders and pulled her close. “I’m glad you came,” he murmured into her hair. “I’ve been looking forward to tonight.”

  “Me too.” She leaned her head on his shoulder. A sense of peace filled her. Her heart soared with the thought that she would allow herself to enjoy the relationship, never expecting anything, never reaching into the future, never thinking beyond today. If she kept her feet on the ground, she wouldn’t have too far to fall when it came to an end.

  They sat in silence during the drive through the dark night. Turreted Victorian homes flanked the rising and falling San Francisco streets, making it look to Elena as if she’d been transported into a fairytale. Finally, they pulled into a cobbled courtyard illuminated with paper lanterns. Max helped her out of the car, his touch strong and sure at her elbow.

  The restaurant was a large room decorated in cream and gold and furnished with reproduction antiques. Through the panoramic windows, Elena could see the restless churning of the ocean. High above, stars sparkled like a dusting of glitter in the sky. A small sound of delight rose on her lips as they were shown to a table with a view.

  “Would you like a bottle of champagne?” Max asked after they sat down.

  Elena shook her head. “I’d rather have wine. I’ve never really developed a taste for champagne.”

  “Me neither,” Max replied and exchanged a few words with the waiter.

  When the man retreated, Elena directed an enigmatic smile at Max.

  “What?” His brows drew together.

  “I understand that you like Merlot.” Her voice brimmed with amusement.

  “Yes. Why…?” Max frowned and then he caught on. Color tinged his cheeks. He acknowledged his error with a resigned chuckle. “Sorry. I’m not used to taking others into account as much as I ought to.” His raised a questioning eyebrow at her. “Would you like to choose something else?”

  Elena smiled. “Merlot is fine.”

  “You’re making fun of me.”

  “It’s too good an opportunity to miss. Normally, I have to take orders from you. Tonight is my chance to be rebellious.”

  In an absent gesture, Max picked up a knife from the white damask tablecloth and asked, “Am I an ogre, difficult to work for?”

  “Are you going to use that if you don’t like my answer?” She pointed at the knife.

  “What?” Max looked puzzled, then realized what she was referring to. The knife clattered to the tabletop as he released his grip. He shook his head ruefully. “I’m not handling this well at all, am I?”

  “It this something that needs to be handled?”

  “I want to make a good impression. I told you that I was going to court you, and God help me, I’m going to do it as well as any man would.”

  Pleasure filled Elena at his evident lack of experience in wooing a woman, and the effort he was making for her benefit. “Why don’t you tell me something about yourself?” she asked. “I know nothing personal about you, except that you used to be a chartered surveyor.” She shifted her shoulders in an easy shrug. “Where did you grow up? Do you have brothers and sisters? How come you’ve never been married?”

  “Whoa.” Max lifted his hands, palms up. “Is this an inquisition?”

  Startled by the hard edge in his tone, Elena leaned back in her seat. She was about to gloss over the question with a casual remark, but then the waiter arrived to serve the wine and bring the menus. For the next few minutes, they concentrated on making their selections. They agreed on a main course only. Max chose the rack of lamb, and Elena picked the swordfish in a tarragon sauce.

  When the waiter had returned to take their orders and left again, a tense silence fell. Elena sipped her wine, trying to reach back to the happy mood that had suddenly vanished.

  “How come you’re not married?” Max asked gruffly after a while.

  “So, asking only one question at a time isn’t an inquisition?” she tossed back at him. “Or is it that men are allowed to pry but women are not?”

  “Are you telling me that you won’t answer?”

  She arched her brows. “My life’s an open book. My mother was a single parent. She drilled into me that rich boys from uptown only wanted one thing, and the boys in my neighborhood were in gangs and carried guns. It was best for a girl to keep aloof.”

  “College?”

  “Un-uh.” Elena swallowed another mouthful of wine and shook her head. “I was on an academic scholarship. Maintaining good grades was more important than dating.”

  “And when you started working?”

  She cradled the wine glass between her hands, as if to warm the red liquid in order to make the flavor open up, when in truth the gesture was to steady herself. “There was someone I expected to marry. He turned out to be worse than all the ones I’d taken so much care to avoid. We worked together at McKenzie and Harris, and when we broke up he made it impossible for me to stay in my job. That’s why I’m serving notices on defaulting tenants and struggling to pay my bills.”

  “I’m sorry.” Max glanced up and grinned. “That’s a lie. I’m not sorry at all. I’m pleased he’s out of your life. Otherwise you wouldn’t be here with me tonight.”

  The words drew a laugh from Elena, a low and throaty outburst of delight, and to her surprise she realized that for the first time since the breakup with Steven it didn’t hurt to think about him. It was firmly in the past, all of it—Steven, her engagement, the job with McKenzie and Harris. She shared her bright smile between Max and the waiter who’d arrived to bring their food. Why worry about the past when the future was knocking on the door?

  ****

  Max tried to close his mind to the memories Elena’s questions had stirred up. He’d never discussed his childhood with anyone. Not even with Vanessa or Joe. He leaned back in his seat and reached for the wineglass. As he took a sip, he contemplated Elena across the table. She was eating with a good appetite, her table manners impeccable.

  Having learned about her background, he had an inkling of what drew him to her with such a force. She shared the caution that ruled his life. She too had worked hard for success, to break away from the disadvantages of her birth. The same hunger propelled them. They had fought the same battles. The same aloofness shielded them. The same fear of letting anyone close had kept them alone when most people at their age had settled into relationships, started a family.

  Max came to a decision and set his glass down on the white tablecloth. “I don’t know who my parents are,” he said in a voice empty of emotion. “I was left on the doorstep of an orphanage when I was two and a half years old. The on
ly reason I know my age is because a piece of paper with a date written on it was pinned to my clothing. The priests at the orphanage assumed it was my date of birth.”

  “Oh, Max.” Elena stared at him, her eyes full of anguish for the child he had been.

  “I could talk, but nobody could understand me, apart from that my name was Max. By the time they had figured out what language I spoke, and located someone who could understand it, I had stopped talking. I didn’t say another word until I was almost five.”

  Elena’s voice was very soft. “Do you remember anything?”

  “My only memories before the orphanage are of being cold, and listening to a woman singing and talking. I can’t remember any words, just her voice.”

  “Your mother?” Elena asked, with a smile so gentle it tugged at his heart.

  “I assume so.” Max picked up his glass and drained it. “The devil of it is, I was speaking Russian, mixed with Tatar. That’s a minority language spoken in parts of Russia. I spoke the Siberian dialect.” He glanced up at her. “Russia was under communist rule in those days. People couldn’t get out.”

  “You could have been born in America to Russian parents,” Elena pointed out.

  “I find it hard to believe that I wouldn’t have spoken any English.” Max gave a slow shake of his head. “I think it’s more likely that I came in on a ship. A Russian ship docked in San Francisco, and someone smuggled me out and left me at the orphanage.”

  Speaking in that whisper-light voice, as if talking to a frightened child, that gentle shadow of a smile on her lovely face, Elena continued her questioning. It no longer felt like an inquisition to Max. It felt like drawing aside curtains and letting sunlight into a darkened room.

  “Have you ever tried to find out about Russian ships that were in San Francisco on that date?” Elena asked.

  “I thought of it, after the iron curtain came down five years ago, but I don’t expect it would lead anywhere.” Max hesitated. “After I was left in the orphanage, a letter came on my birthday every year. Just a few lines written in stilted English. They were sent from different parts of the world. When I turned eight, the letters stopped coming.”

  He could see Elena frowning now, applying her legal mind to the dilemma. “If the letters were sent from a ship, the postmarks could tell you the routing. You might be able to find out if there is a ship that had been in each of those places at the right time.”

  “It might have been the same person but a different ship every year.” He sent her a taut smile across the table. “I believe it was my mother. She must have died when I turned eight. That’s why the letters stopped coming.”

  “Why weren’t you adopted?”

  “There would have been legal complications as there was no one to sign a release.”

  “How was it at the orphanage? Were you treated well?”

  “I was not unhappy.” Max felt himself tense as his mind reached into the past. “There was this priest…”

  “Oh, Max, no.”

  His eyes darted up to her face and saw the look of horror in her expression. “No, no, not that,” he rushed to assure her. “Quite the opposite. Father Carmichael was as close to a saint as any human being can be. He had a knack of making the boys feel…worthy. Whatever your background, he made you feel there was a place for you in God’s design.”

  “Do you keep in touch with him?”

  The pain Max had thought dulled long ago flexed its claws within him. His fingers tightened around the stem of the wine glass. “He died when I was fifteen.” Max sat in silence for a long moment, the memories flooding back.

  “I remember one day when a new boy came in. He was a nasty piece of work. Father Carmichael was trying to get him to have a bath. The urchin pulled a knife on the priest. Father Carmichael examined the cut the boy had sliced into his hand and said. “Thank you for handing me the knife. I’m sorry I was so clumsy. Oh dear, I’m dripping blood on your arm, let me clean it.” And before attending to his own wound, he grabbed a towel and patted away the blood that had spurted on the arm of the boy wielding the knife.”

  “Do you ever go back?”

  “To the orphanage?” Max shook his head and leaned over the table. “I guess this has been a longwinded way of replying to your question as to why I’ve never married. I’m not good at letting people close.” His voice fell to a gruff murmur. “And I can’t stand it when someone walks out on me without saying goodbye. Just disappears, like those letters one day just stopped coming. That’s why I was so bloody-minded with you after you walked out on my while I was asleep. I knew I was being unreasonable, but I just couldn’t help it.”

  Elena reached across the table and cupped his face, her palm soft against his cheek. Max could smell the perfume on her wrist, something heavy and musky. A seductive scent that suited her.

  “I’m sorry,” she said in a soft voice that reached past his defenses.

  The band of emotion around Max’s chest tightened until it almost crushed his heart.

  “Let’s go home,” he said. As he signed the bill, his hands shook. He found it almost too much to look at Elena. He kept his expression guarded and withdrew into the protective shell he’d used most of his life. So no one would have an opportunity to leave him again.

  Chapter Eight

  Elena sat in silence while the limo whisked them through the dark streets from the seafront up into the hills. Max had retreated into himself, staring out the window instead of holding her against him, his arm wrapped around her shoulders. It didn’t bother her. So much had been said in the restaurant, emotions running like a turbulent river between them. Right now, more words would have stirred up the thoughts that needed to settle down.

  When the car pulled up outside a Victorian villa, Elena spoke for the first time. “I expected you to live in a modern condo in a high-rise building, not in an apartment in a converted period property.”

  “I have the whole house,” Max told her.

  The driver lifted her overnight case from the trunk and propped it on the sidewalk. Max slipped the man a folded bill and wished him good night.

  “Could you lift up the bag and carry it, please?” Elena asked. “The wheels make a racket on the stones and I don’t want to disturb the neighbors.”

  Max picked up the gray trolley case with his left hand. His right hand lingered warm and heavy on the small of her back as he guided her up the short flight of stone steps. Elena stood aside while he opened the locks on the heavy, paneled front door.

  The large hall appeared cluttered. Several paintings hung on the walls, and an array of strange objects covered the row of wooden side tables. In the corner, a striped college scarf dangled around the neck of a plump marble Venus.

  “What are these?” Elena bent to inspect a box made of metal and wood with a gleaming piece of glass embedded in the center.

  Max was keying a code into a beeping burglar alarm. When the sounds ceased, he turned to look at her over his shoulder. “Old navigational instruments,” he replied. “I collect junk. You’ll find engineering tools in the dining room, ship’s clocks in the living room, and old maps along the stairwell.” His mouth twisted into a rueful smile. “I started when I was a kid and never kicked the habit.”

  Elena ran her gaze along the walls. All the paintings were of seafaring vessels. Tall ships with sails straining in the wind, tiny boats almost lost in the white-capped waves. There was even an aircraft carrier with fighter jets lined up on the deck.

  Pity choked her chest for the small boy who’d dreamed of his mother on a ship somewhere in a distant part of the world, and for the man beside her who still carried that little boy inside him.

  “She must have left you behind because she wanted to give you a better life,” Elena said, tears welling up in her eyes. She crossed the floor and stood in front of Max. “She didn’t abandon you. She made a sacrifice for you, and it broke her heart. I know that as surely as I know my own name.”

  Max caught her face betw
een his hands and looked down at her. A wan smile crossed his features. “I knew you’d understand,” he said softly as he used his thumbs to wipe away the tears that streamed down her cheeks. “But there’s no need to cry for me.”

  Elena drew a shaky breath. “I’m not crying for you. I’m crying for your mother.”

  With a low groan, Max pulled her into his arms and held her close, rocking her until her sobs died out. Then he bent down and kissed her with infinite tenderness, his lips offering solace and warmth. Elena’s heart swelled with love. How could she ever have thought Max Glaser arrogant and unfeeling?

  “What do you want to do now?” he asked her in a husky murmur.

  Elena tilted her head back to study him. His heavy features seemed tired, more vulnerable than she’d imagined possible. His expression was so full of emotion it gave him a bruised look.

  “I’d like to go to bed,” she replied.

  Max released her, and then he linked his hand into hers and led her up the staircase, not allowing her to stop and inspect the old maps that captured her attention, although from the corner of her eye she could see the familiar outline of Alaska, and the empty vastness of the frozen wastelands of Siberia.

  “You’ll have time to look around tomorrow,” Max told her as he drew her into a surprisingly bare bedroom, furnished with a matching set of a canopied bed, a pair of nightstands, and a chest of drawers. No ornament detracted from the finely carved decorations on the wood.

  “I’ve never seen anything like this.” Elena traced her finger along the pattern of daisies on the nearly black wood. Every single petal had been carved individually into the timber.

  “I got it in an auction in Seattle. I’m told the wood is ash, stained dark. The whole set is supposed to have been carved by a blind monk in an Orthodox monastery more than a hundred years ago.”

  “I never expected the past would have such a strong hold on you.”