Slave To Love. Michelle Reid
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more important held their attention from her. But the trouble with that kind of philosophy was that that type of man usually meant a dead-end man with a dead-end job and a dead-end kind of outlook on life that generally bored her to tears. So her relationships tended to be short and disappointing, never really deepening past the kiss-goodnight-on-the-doorstep stage before she was breaking them off.
Until Mac. When Mac had come into her life, every rule she had stood by had just melted clean away! He was everything she didn’t want in a man. Busy, powerful, with the kind of business and personal responsibilities that meant he had to juggle constantly with time to make room for her. He’d even cancelled their second date because business had taken him out of the country for a week! She should have backed off then—probably could have backed off if it had been their first date—but, even by then, it had been too late for her. Like the fool she had discovered she was, she had fallen hook, line and sinker for him that quickly. And for the first time in her calm, well-ordered adult life she’d found out what it was like to lose total control of her own destiny. Solomon Maclaine had become her master. She didn’t like herself for letting it happen but couldn’t seem to do a single thing about it.
He could fill her with a dark and degrading all too familiar disappointment by letting her down at a moment’s notice when something more important cropped up. Then, when she was determined that it would be the last time he would do that to her, he would do something wonderful, like turning up unexpectedly with his arms full of flowers and a sincere apology on his lips that would have her heart melting all over again.
But not this time, she told herself grimly. This time Mac had gone too far. And the cold, hard feeling of loss she was experiencing inside told her that no amount of apologising was going to change her mind.
She had had enough.
‘Listen.’ Joel turned in his seat to look at her as he drew his car to a stop outside the Victorian town-house where Roberta used to share a flat with Jenny before Mac had taken her to live in his luxurious Chelsea apartment. ‘Use the weekend to think about what you’re going to do,’ he advised. ‘You’re thinking with your emotions right now, but give it a couple of days and you should be using your head again.’
‘It’s my emotions which are involved with Mac, not my brain,’ she drily pointed out. ‘And I’ve been applying common sense and modern social standards to our relationship for a whole year now, and look where it’s got me.’ Branded, she thought bitterly. Branded a bimbo by a set of people that she wouldn’t give the time of day to if they weren’t related to Mac! ‘It’s not me who needs to sort my head out, Joel. It’s Mac!’
‘He cares deeply for you, Roberta,’ he insisted urgently, his mouth twisting when he saw the sudden glint of tears flood her sea-green eyes.
‘But not enough,’ she whispered, not denying that Mac did care for her, in some odd, selfish way. No man could give himself so totally in bed without feeling something for the woman lying beneath him—fleeting though that something was. ‘The trouble with Mac is,’ she added grimly, ‘he wants to eat his cake and keep it. And this cake has gone stale enough to chuck into the rubbish bin.’
‘Mac doesn’t think you’re stale,’ Joel protested.
‘No.’ Her eyes flashed him a hard look. ‘But he’s taken so many bites out of me, Joel, that there really is very little left for me to offer him!’
Joel sighed—the kind of sigh that said he was giving up trying to convince her otherwise. And Roberta sighed—relieved that he was giving up, because she’d taken just about all she could right now.
‘I’ll see you Monday,’ she murmured, opening the car door.
‘And if he calls me up looking for you, what do I tell him?’ he asked heavily as she stepped out of the car.
Roberta bent down to look at him. ‘Do you really think he will?’ she mocked, her mouth twisting bitterly on the answer that Joel didn’t even bother saying out loud. ‘Goodnight, Joel,’ she said wearily, and closed the car door.
CHAPTER TWO
JENNY was surprised to find her old flatmate standing on her doorstep, asking for her old room back. ‘OK,’ she demanded, once she’d ushered Roberta into the small, chunkily familiar sitting-room and pushed a drink of something strong into her hand, ‘what has that selfish rat done to make you refuse the final straw?’
‘Not Mac,’ Roberta huskily denied, defending him even while she knew that he did not deserve it. ‘His family.’ And she told her friend the gist of her sudden decision tonight.
‘How is it,’ Jenny demanded angrily when Roberta had finished, ‘that a man of Solomon Maclaine’s tough character can be so weak where his family is concerned?’
‘He loves them,’ Roberta stated simply. ‘And feels guilty for letting them all down, so he spends his life walking a fine line between pleasing himself and pleasing them.’ Her shrug said just how successfully he managed it most of the time.
‘Which gives you the unappetising role of being piggy in the middle.’ Jenny grimaced distastefully.
‘Gave me,’ Roberta corrected. ‘I’ve just resigned from the position, remember?’
‘You haven’t told him yet,’ Jenny wryly pointed out.
‘No,’ she agreed. ‘But I will.’
She had had enough.
‘Actually, I feel quite good!’ she suddenly announced. ‘Beneath the bitterness, of course.’ She acknowledged Jenny’s mocking look. ‘And that’s only there because I felt so humiliated tonight. But, other than that, I feel as if someone has lifted a big lead weight from my shoulders. I am no longer Solomon Maclaine’s hole-and-corner affair!’ she loudly declared. ‘Perhaps now I can begin to get some of my self-respect back.’
‘He’ll be around here looking for you as soon as he finds out you’re not at your flat,’ Jenny warned.
‘His flat,’ Roberta corrected, her soft cupid’s-bow mouth turning down cynically. ‘Mac provided me with that flat because a man of his standing has to maintain certain standards for his illicit affairs!’
‘Plus the fact that having me around here cramped his style!’
Roberta couldn’t help but smile at that. Built on Amazon proportions, with a full figure and the well-toned muscles of a trained physiotherapist, Jenny could frighten off any man with just a certain look!
‘Can I have my old room back?’ she begged her now.
‘Of course you can!’ Instantly Jenny’s softer side was gushing all over her. ‘Do you think you’ll sleep at all?’ she asked concernedly as Roberta got up from the chair.
‘No,’ she admitted. ‘But I’ll try anyway.’
Surprisingly, she slept quite well. Her head hit the pillow in her old single bed in her old familiar room that possessed none of the luxurious trappings Mac had surrounded her with in his personalised love-nest; his darkly attractive face loomed up into the darkness, wearing that rueful little smile he had offered her before his ex-wife had claimed his attention that evening, and, just as she was conditioning herself for a long night’s battle against the weakening effects of that smile, she dropped asleep and dreamed of nothing.
It was wonderful. Like being set free.
* * *
‘Joel’s been on the phone,’ Jenny informed her when she walked into the small kitchen the next morning dressed in one of Jenny’s tracksuits, a pale blue one with a creamy hood attached to the baggy top. ‘He wanted to warn you that, contrary to your opinion, Mac is on the war-path. He’s already phoned his place asking where you are.’
Roberta paused on a moment’s sharp surprise. So her manner last night had managed to get through to him, or he definitely would