Love…she could hear it in his voice and wondered if he’d ever loved a woman with the same fervour, loving everything about her.
‘Did it get to you, too?’ he asked.
Chloe had to drag her mind back to the conversation. She shook her head. ‘I’ve never seen it. My mother dictated what I watched.’
He grimaced, then looked consideringly at her. ‘Would you like to see some of it? I have the whole collection of M*A*S*H in my library. I could give you the first season’s episodes to watch and if you enjoy them…’
‘Yes, please.’ Chloe jumped up eagerly, seizing the opportunity to end the foolish meandering in her mind. ‘Could we go and get the discs now, Max? The activity this morning and the wine over lunch…I’m feeling drowsy so I want to head off for an afternoon nap. But I’d love to see what you saw in M*A*S*H when I wake up.’
He nodded agreeably, rising from his chair, and she quickly collected Luther, who was still asleep. The excursion to Max’s library only took ten minutes. It was an amazing library, the shelves more stocked with CD discs of movies and television shows than books, although there were stacks of them, as well. Max moved straight to the M*A*S*H collection, handed her a set of discs and invited her to exchange them for others anytime she liked. Chloe thanked him and quickly took her leave.
She was tired and she did go to sleep, driving off the madly mixed-up thoughts of Max by reading a book until her eyelids drooped. Luther’s yapping woke her, the insistent noise bringing her slowly out of deep slumber. She rolled over on the bed, intending to scoop the dog up to cuddle him back into silence, then realised the yapping was coming from the living room.
Frowning over what might have disturbed the little dog, she pushed herself off the bed, automatically re-covering herself with the silk kimono she’d donned for her afternoon siesta and tying the belt securely as she walked out of the bedroom.
And stopped dead.
A face was peering through the glass panes of the front door, a face she never wanted to see again-the face of Tony Lipton!
CHAPTER EIGHT
AS Chloe stared at him in stunned disbelief, Tony caught sight of her and with an air of triumphant satisfaction, stepped back, his hand reaching for the door-knob, which turned because she hadn’t switched on the locking mechanism. It had completely slipped her mind-being with Max, thinking of Max. Apart from which, she was supposed to be safe on Max’s property.
The door opened and Tony was in before Chloe could do or say anything to stop him. ‘I wasn’t sure I had the right place with that damned dog here,’ he said, casting a malevolent look at Luther, who was still yapping and jumping at his legs as though to drive him out again.
Good dog, Chloe thought, wishing she had the physical strength to evict her highly unwelcome husband. ‘You have no right to be in this house, Tony,’ she threw at him in bitter resentment.
He glowered at her. ‘You’re still my wife, and Maxa-million-bucks Hart has no right to come between us.’
‘You didn’t mind Laura Farrell coming between us.’
He waved a sharply dismissive hand. ‘That was nothing.’
‘I don’t call a baby nothing.’
He rearranged his expression to apologetic appeal. ‘If you’ll just hear me out, Chloe…’
‘I don’t want to listen to another pack of lies from you. Which is why I took up Max’s offer of this house. What I would like to know is how you got past his security.’
He smirked. ‘I came by boat, snuck under his wharf to avoid triggering any alarm, climbed up the rock breakwater and beat his bloody security.’
‘Then I’d advise you to leave the same way or I’ll call the main house and you’ll get charged with trespassing.’
‘You won’t call anyone, Chloe.’ He moved quickly to stand between her and the telephone, which he must have spotted on the kitchen bench. He held up both hands in a non-threatening gesture. ‘I just want to talk with you. Given the years we’ve had together, I think I deserve the chance to…’
‘No!’ she cut in decisively, determined not to be moved by any persuasion he tried. ‘Our marriage is over, Tony. I won’t change my mind about that no matter what you say.’
The hands turned palm out in appeal. ‘I know you’re upset and you have good reason to be, but…’ He huffed and frowned down at Luther, who’d ceased yapping to sink his teeth into one of Tony’s trouser legs and was trying to tug him towards the door. ‘Will you call this son of a bitch off? He’s ruining my trousers.’
‘I do not appreciate your calling my dog nasty names. He’s simply doing his best to protect me from an intruder and I don’t give a damn about your trousers,’ she said, folding her arms belligerently. ‘It’s you who should call this off and go, Tony.’
‘Your dog?’ He looked sharply at her. ‘Since when did you acquire a dog?’
‘Since I walked away from the people who didn’t want me to have a pet. Namely you and my mother.’
‘It’s not practical for you to have a pet,’ he argued.
‘Not practical for me to have a baby, either.’
Recognising that appeasement was his only favourable course in the face of proven infidelity, he backed down, hands lifted in surrender this time. ‘Okay…okay…’ He tried one of his winning smiles. ‘It’s fine by me if you want to keep the dog. Look…I’ll make friends with him. What’s his name?’
Chloe did not back down. Nothing on earth would make her back down. ‘You don’t need to know his name. You’re not going to be part of his life.’
Tony ignored this assertion and crouched down, arranging his face in an indulgent expression as he reached out to pat Luther. ‘Hello, little guard-dog,’ he crooned. ‘You’re doing a good job but you’ve got the wrong guy. I’m a friend.’
Luther had great instincts. He didn’t believe Tony for a second. He growled at being touched by the enemy, released the trouser leg, snapped his head around and sunk his teeth into Tony’s wrist.
‘Bloody hell! He bit me!’ It was a cry of angry outrage.
Serve him right, Chloe thought with vicious satisfaction, trying to fool a dog like he’d thought he’d fooled her throughout their marriage. The blinkers had fallen off her eyes long ago on that score. No way could Tony charm her into believing anything or doing anything for him anymore.