Or so he had thought.
Yes, she had many, many admirable qualities, but she hadn't possessed the one quality that was essential to any good marriage.
Trust.
Michael picked up her limp hand and held it, watching her chest until he was certain it moved. He thought about the past two years, wondering if she still cooked burgers for strangers and left cookies in the mailbox for the mailman on cold, rainy days.
And despite himself, knowing the pain it would bring, he wondered if she made love with Tom the way she made love with him. Just as he suspected, the image evoked a sharp, stabbing pain in his chest. He silently cursed his weakness, brutally reminding himself of the dark, crushing days and weeks following their breakup. Hell, months.
He'd begged her to believe him. His friends—the very ones responsible for that tragic night in the hotel—had begged her to believe them. But Ashley remained stoic, refusing to consider, even briefly, that he might have been an innocent pawn in a prank gone wrong.
Finally, Michael had come to terms with the fact that Ashley wanted to believe he was guilty. She wanted out of the marriage, and he had supplied the perfect excuse. That realization, more than anything else, had nearly destroyed him.
Then, blessedly, anger had moved in, pushing aside his grief. He'd welcomed it with open arms and had fed that anger over the past two years. It was his remedy for a broken heart, that anger.
As long as he remained angry, she couldn't hurt him.
But now ... now Michael found himself with his guard down. And that just wouldn't do. Without trust, there could never be a relationship between them.
Sex. Body chemistry. Physical attraction. All of those he could handle—and shamelessly enjoy.
Love wasn't in the cards. At least, not with Ashley.
Her slim fingers tightened around his hand. Michael gave a start, his gaze flying to her face. She was watching him.
For how long? Long enough to see the yearning on his face? Michael ground his teeth at the possibility. He forced a careless smile to his mouth. “Well, if it isn't Sleeping Beauty."
Her lovely mouth curved as she asked softly, “You were worried?"
And because Michael was feeling vulnerable and foolish and scared of those emotions, he said with studied flippancy, “Of course. Who wouldn't be?"
* * * *
Okay. So this blunder she could blame on her head injury. If it happened again, she would have no choice but to blame it on sheer stupidity. How could she consider, for one moment that Michael cared? Oh, sure, he cared. Cared like Deckland cared. Like Kim cared. Like Birdie would care. Like she cared about his gambling addiction.
And that, girlfriend, Ashley told herself sternly, was all there was to his present concern. “And don't you forget it,” she muttered beneath her breath.
Michael squeezed her hand, leaning forward. “Are you in pain?"
She shook her head, which made her into a great big liar. She winced and put a hand to her head, carefully outlining the golf ball size swelling. With a groan, she closed her eyes. How utterly embarrassing! She would never be able to face her dinner companions again. In fact, she briefly considered staying in her room for the remainder—
Michael was laughing.
Ashley tried to glower at him, but wrinkling her brow caused pain. Instead, she yanked her hand from his to emphasize her displeasure. “It's not funny, Michael. Aren't you upset that we didn't win? Now you can't gamble away five hundred dollars."
It was a risk, goading him into talking about his addiction, but Ashley was just irritated enough to do it. Let him try to deny he had a problem with gambling.
She wasn't fooled a bit by his puzzled expression. And was that a tiny flash of hurt she saw in his eyes?
"You've forgotten,” he said. “I don't like to gamble."
Stifling a disbelieving laugh, Ashley simply stared at him for a moment, waiting for him to come clean. She knew from past experience that Michael was an excellent liar. In fact, if she hadn't seen him with her very own eyes in that hotel room, then she might have believed him when he claimed he was innocent just now.
But she had seen him, and there had been no mistaking what he had been doing. Even now, after two years, it made her nauseous thinking about it. Ignoring her pounding head, she challenged him. “Are you saying you haven't been gambling since the ship set sail?"
"Well, yeah, I've gambled a bit."
A bit? He called two thousand dollars ‘a bit'? Was business that good these days? Kim had probably told her a dozen times, but when Kim began talking about her wonderful brother, Ashley managed to concentrate on something else until she gave up and changed the subject.
Now she wished she had listened.
Forcing a laugh, she said, “There was a time when wild horses couldn't have dragged you into a casino. Next you'll be telling me you started playing the lottery.” This time, she laughed hard enough to bring tears to her eyes—brought on by the pain she caused herself by laughing. “And we all know that would never happen."
Michael smiled. “Right. We all know that would never happen."
He leaned forward and adjusted the pillows behind her head, his warm breath fanning her cheek. Ashley curled her fingers into the covers to keep them from reaching up and pulling his mouth to hers.
Being around Michael reminded her of dieting; the hunger pains were constant, always ready to tempt her willpower. Only her hunger pains had nothing to do with food and everything to do with the sexy man adjusting her pillows as if he truly cared.
"Tanya is bringing some ice. You should lie still."
"Yes doctor."
"Don't be a smartass."
"Yes doctor."
"If you say that again, I'm going to kiss you."
"Yes—” she swallowed the rest of it. He looked as disappointed as she felt, which most certainly should have alarmed her.
What was the use? She knew and he knew they lusted for one another like nobody's business. They could take up a whole chapter in Deckland's book about body chemistry.
Heck, maybe even the entire book!
Speaking of doctors, “Did a doctor look at my—"
"Yes,” Michael interrupted in a growl. “And he looked old enough to be my great-grandfather."
At his tone, Ashley started to lift her eyebrows, but remembered in the nick of time that it probably wouldn't be wise. Just how hard had she hit that damned ball, anyway? “I take it you weren't impressed with him?"
"With the exorbitant prices they charge for these cruises, you'd think they could afford to hire a decent doctor, one who doesn't have one foot in the grave."
Ashley couldn't resist chiding him. “Michael! I didn't know you were so narrow-minded. With age comes experience—"
"With age,” Michael corrected, “comes forgetfulness, hearing loss, waning eyesight, muddled thinking..."
She held up her hand. “I get the picture."
"I've a mind to file a complaint. Surely they have a suggestion box on this ship, at least."
"Michael—"
"Maybe I should talk to the captain directly."
"Michael.” She grabbed his hand and forced him to look at her. “I'm fine, really. I've got a headache—"
"I'll get you some aspirin.” Abruptly, he pulled free of her hand and rose from the bed, as if he'd just realized he'd given away too much. He strode to the chest of drawers and began rummaging through the array of masculine items he'd brought. “I know I brought some aspirin along."
In puzzled silence, Ashley watched him, daring to speculate. Was it possible that Michael cared a bit more than he wanted to admit? And if it was true, did she want him to?
[Back to Table of Contents]
Chapter Thirteen
For the first hour and a half, Ashley couldn't deny that she enjoyed Michael's attentive care. With bittersweet nostalgia, she recalled the time she'd come down with a wicked virus that had been circulating around town.
Michael had brought
her chicken soup for her sore throat, hot water bottles when she felt chilled, aspirin when her head ached, and a dozen different magazines she hadn't had the strength to read. The only time he'd left her alone was when he'd thought of something else she might need. He had taken a week off from the club just to nurse her.
And he had driven her slowly crazy, just as he was doing now.
"Are you sure there isn't anything else I can get you? An Italian ice, maybe? I remember you love those."
Ashley adjusted the ice pack Tanya had brought her, closing her eyes in the hopes that he wouldn't see how exasperated she was. “As a matter of fact, there is something you can get me."
He perked up, leaning over her eagerly. “What? You name it, baby."
"The ship's passenger list."
"Excuse me?"
"The list of all the passengers. You know, the roster.” She nearly smiled at his dismayed look. “Well, you asked."
"You probably shouldn't be reading,” he said seriously. “Not with that type of head injury."
Ashley silently ground her teeth. “I have a mild bump on the head. No nausea, no dizziness. No concussion."
"You're not a doctor."
"And neither are you,” she countered, forgetting to hide her irritation. “Next, you'll be ordering me to stay in bed the rest of the night."
Michael frowned. “I thought that was understood."
"Michael!” She thought he was kidding; she realized he was not. “I'm not going to miss the stateside pool party when there's nothing wrong with me."
Without a word, he rose and went into the bathroom, returning with a small mirror he'd taken from her makeup case. He held it in front of her. “Take a look."
Ashley snatched the mirror from his hand and looked. “I see a red, round circle on my forehead.” She gently probed the area. “And most of the swelling has gone away. I don't even think it will leave a bruise. In fact, I think a little makeup will take care of what's left."
"Maybe it's worse than you know. Maybe you're delusional."
She glared at him. “You're insane."
"And you've been knocked in the head by a speeding golf ball."
"Made of hard plastic."
"But solid through and through."
The mirror landed at the bottom of the bed, the action relieving a tiny bit of her frustration. “If you're not careful, I'll start to believe that you care.” Ha! Now she would see him squirm—
"I never said that I didn't. In fact, I remember telling you that I did."
"And then you added, ‘who wouldn't?'” She didn't know why she was goading him this way. Hadn't she learned her lesson—over and over again?
Michael paced restlessly, his hands in his pockets. He came to stand by the bed, looking down at her. “What do you expect, Ash? I guess I could give you my heart and let you walk all over it, but you might fall into one of your old footprints and drown."
Her jaw dropped at his ridiculous metaphor. She couldn't believe he was still blaming her for something he had done! She gaped at him for a full thirty seconds before she managed to find her tongue. And then she had to speak slowly, carefully, to keep from screaming like a fishwife. “I hope and pray that Candy keeps a short lease on you, Michael. Does your dear intended know you have a tendency to stray?"
His eyes narrowed. “Candy doesn't have a mistrustful bone in her body, so she isn't prone to jumping to conclusion like someone else I know."
Oh, she knew exactly who he was talking about! “Then I pity Candy.” She shrugged as if she didn't care. “Or maybe you think that what she doesn't know won't hurt her.” She dropped the ice bag; her forehead felt frozen, like her heart. Why were they having this conversation? It was pointless and redundant and resurrected old hurts and past memories that neither of them cared to remember.
Michael seemed to realize this at the same instant. His gaze softened. “I'm sorry. You have a head injury, and here I am adding to your stress. Maybe I should leave and let you get some rest."
Ashley pounced on the suggestion. “I think that's a good idea. We're both tired and our nerves are taut."
And Michael, with his amazing talent for making her forget she was mad, reached out and drew his finger along her jawbone in a slow, sensuous caress.
Her nipples instantly hardened.
His deep voice was husky as he said, “When I'm around you, Ash, my entire body stays taut."
Her pulse leaped. She licked her lips and didn't dare look at him. “H-how can you feel this way after the argument we just had?"
His feathering finger traced a path from her neck to her taut nipple. “How can you?” he challenged softly.
She closed her eyes, fighting hard to keep her body still, to keep it from surging forward at his touch. “Maybe you should go,” she whispered. Weakly. Pathetically. Untruthfully. God, she was helpless when it came to Michael!
Which is exactly why she had refused to see him until their divorce was final. She knew what he could do to her, and the possibility was unthinkable. While she might be able to forget while in his arms, there would always be the daylight hours when she would remember.
It would have destroyed their marriage eventually.
She had chosen to skip to the inevitable end.
The sudden click of the cabin door closing startled her. She opened her eyes, surprised, relieved, and shamelessly bereft to find him gone. What a cruel twist of fate to have thrown them together, Ashley thought, searching for a grain of humor in the situation.
She found none.
Her gaze landed on Michael's cell phone on the dresser. Gingerly, she threw back the bed sheet and got to her feet. She waited a moment, and when nothing alarming happened, she walked to the dresser and picked up Michael's cell phone.
She dialed Kim's number. She answered on the first ring. “Don't tell me,” Kim said in a breathless voice before Ashley could announce herself. “You lost a bundle trying to win my money back. I knew you would. I could have bet money that you would."
When she finally paused long enough for Ashley to get a word in, Ashley said, “Kim. It's me, not Michael."
Silence.
Suspicious silence.
"You're calling from Michael's cell phone,” Kim stated unnecessarily.
"How did you know?"
Kim cleared her throat. “Um, because I've got my phone rigged for a certain ring if it's him.” She laughed, but it sounded forced. “What will they think of next, huh?"
Ignoring the question, Ashley forced Kim to backtrack. “You said something about Michael losing a bundle trying to win your money back. Are you saying that Michael was gambling with your money?” A dozen questions tripped through her mind while she was waiting for Kim to answer. Had Michael borrowed money from Kim to gamble on? Was his addiction that serious? Because the Michael she knew would never, in a million years, borrow money from his little sister. His pride would not have allowed it.
"Please don't let on that you know,” Kim said, snagging her attention again. “He'll be embarrassed. By the way, I saw Tom today."
Ashley was aware that Kim was once more trying to change the subject. This time she let her. “You did? Did you speak to him? Did he say that he missed me?” Now, where was her accelerated pulse and weak knees when she thought about Tom?
She shook her head, disgusted with herself. She knew the reason why she was asking these questions—questions that hadn't occurred to her before this cruise—and the reason was kin to the woman on the other end of the line.
"Yeah, I spoke to him. I ran into him when I stopped in at Trudy's to have a drink with Cobalt. You remember Cobalt, don't you?"
She did and wished that she hadn't. Cobalt often worked as bartender for Kim when she catered parties that served liquor.
Cobalt ... who was tall, dark, handsome, and gay. And Trudy's was a popular gay bar. Ashley knew, because she had gone with Kim to Trudy's for Cobalt's birthday celebration.
Don't jump to conclusions, she told herself. It
's just what Michael would expect you to do.
Tom was gay.
Ashley knew she wasn't being paranoid or jumping to conclusions. No, if she were guilty of anything, she was guilty of being terribly naive.
Tom had suggested they save lovemaking until after they were married. Tom's overnight guest had answered the phone—from the loft bedroom where Tom slept. And Tom was twenty-seven, yet had never mentioned any old girlfriends, not even from high school.
Surprised to find her voice even, she asked Kim, “Was Tom with anyone?"
"Oh, yeah. He was with this really dishy guy named Lenny or Lester or something like that."
"Lindsey?” She heard Kim snap her fingers and knew what she was going to say before she said it.
"Yeah! Lindsey. That's the name. I was sitting with Cobalt, having a Merry Margarita and wondering why you'd never introduced me to this gorgeous guy when I realized he was gay."
Ashley's head throbbed and her eyes burned. Tom was gay. Her fiancé was gay. The man she might have married was gay. Why? Why would Tom pretend to be straight to the point of asking her to marry him? It didn't make sense! “Kim ... how did you know that Lindsey was gay—aside from the fact that he was in a gay bar, I mean.” Kim wasn't gay and she'd been there, but Ashley didn't think the same applied to Tom.
Unfortunately.
"I guess I realized it when Lindsey went to the dance floor with another man. Straight guys just don't do that in public."
By this time, Ashley realized that Kim knew exactly what she was doing. “And that other man was Tom, wasn't it?"
The long silence that followed didn't surprise Ashley, because she knew Kim would hate telling her, knowing how badly it would hurt. “Kim?” she prompted.
"Um, I didn't really notice—"
"Kim."
"Okay, yes, it was Tom. God, Ash, I hate to be the one to give you that kind of news."
Her regret was more than believable. Ashley blinked the moisture from her eyes, determined not to waste her tears on someone as conniving and deceitful as Tom. Nevertheless, her voice wobbled as she said, “Better now than later, right? I would have gotten a nasty shock on my wedding night.” Her laugh was hollow-sounding, even to her own ears.
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