Games People Play Read Online Free Page B

the accident, Max’s accountant came to Sydney on the sly, unable to hold the truth any longer. He’d confirmed Max’s relationship with the office receptionist, the one who looked so innocent and peppy with her fawn eyes and fawn ponytail that swung to and fro. Love, sex—Sydney didn’t care what had compelled Max to cheat. She packed, moved into a pathetic rental, and locked herself in, trying to plot out a life without the man she’d loved and thought she knew.
    And then, while supposedly drowning his remorse on the West Coast, he had plunged off the sheer face of a mountain in a futile attempt to save a climbing buddy, who died in the fall anyway. Max had dropped one hundred fifty feet and shattered three vertebrae. Maybe it was pity that drew Sydney back to him; maybe it was the fact that she hadn’t had time to get over their breakup before he was injured, but against her better judgment, she went when he reached for her. At first his remorse for his past infidelity, his newly loving manner, fed her trust like gentle summer rain. But now, the fragile peace they’d forged trembled like the coffee cup in her fingers.
    “You don’t have to have sex with me at the drop of a hat,” she told him in a low voice as approaching footsteps grew closer. “But you
do
have to talk to me. And you do have to be honest.”
    His expression softened and he stretched out a hand toward her, even though he couldn’t reach her from where he sat. “I will. I’ll—
we’ll
talk about this,” he promised, just in time for the valet to reappear in the breakfast room doorway.
    “Mr. Hennessy is here,” Hans said lightly. “The houseboy is putting his bags in the guesthouse.”
    Sydney glanced between the two men.
Mr. Hennessy?
    “He’s early,” Max said, wiping his unsmiling mouth with his napkin. “But show him in.”
    And before another thought could cross Sydney’s mind . . . before she could draw another breath . . . Mr. Hennessy materialized in the doorway.
    * * *
    C olm stood at the threshold and watched the color in Sydney’s face drain away and return as two red spots on her cheeks.
Nice
, he thought. Beaudoin hadn’t warned her. To her credit, though, she pushed back her chair and rose, graceful, slim, immaculate. No makeup. She stood golden in the autumn sun that streamed in the windows behind her.
    “Hennessy.” With a boisterous enthusiasm most likely for Sydney’s benefit, Beaudoin wheeled back from the table and rolled toward Colm. “Welcome! Sydney, do you remember our new friend?” He directed the question without even looking at Sydney, but Colm glanced her way.
    She definitely wasn’t happy. “What a pleasant surprise, Mr. Hennessy,” she said. “Max didn’t tell me we were expecting you.”
    The left wheel of Max’s wheelchair brushed the leg of Colm’s jeans. When Colm looked down at him, the man’s hand was extended, waiting to crush the hell out of anyone idiotic enough to take it. Colm let a grudging smile touch his lips as he accepted the handshake and Max once again gripped like a steel trap. He was a strong bastard, there was no question. His arms were lean and muscled from pushing himself around.
    “Sydney,” he said, without turning his cool gaze away from Colm’s face, “meet your birthday present.”
    Colm cleared his throat and looked at her.
    She’d seated herself again, fingers white-knuckled on the arms of her chair. “What?”
    “Colm is an experienced art model, darling.” Max’s voice echoed in the massive room, sounding unnaturally friendly and somewhat higher than Colm remembered. “I thought it might be nice to have you work from the real deal rather than go into the city and snap photos of college kids. Your work comes to life when you use live models.”
    Sydney’s pleasant mask never faltered, but her blue eyes narrowed. “When did you arrange this?”
    “A couple of weeks ago.”
    Her eyebrows drew down. “But last night you two acted like you