Michael: The Defender

by JoAnn Ross

  He smiled as he felt the runaway pounding beneath his fingers. A wild, out-of-control rhythm that matched his own. “Join the club.” He lifted their joined hands to his lips. “I want you.”

  “I know.” Her smile was the faintest bit shaky, reminding Michael of the sweet, innocent Lorelei he’d once known. And loved. “And you don’t have to be a detective to figure out that I want you, too.”

  It would be so easy, Michael thought. A few steps to the private elevator, a few more seconds to ride to the penthouse, and then he could make all the dreams and fantasies he’d been tortured by for years a reality.

  And then what? What, he asked himself, would change?

  Not a damned thing.

  “There’s just one problem.” He released her hand and thrust his own through his hair in a gesture of frustration Lorelei had come to recognize.

  “I don’t want to think about problems,” she said softly. “Not tonight.”

  He would have had to have been deaf not to hear the invitation, and the plea, in her dulcet tones. Once again the rebellious little voice in the back of his mind reminded Michael how easy it would be to make love to Lorelei. Another, stronger voice reminded him of all the reasons he couldn’t do exactly what his body—not to mention his mind and heart—had been aching to do since she’d exited that jetway.

  “Better tonight than tomorrow morning.” He suspected he was going to hate himself in the morning. But not nearly as badly as he would if he gave in to temptation. “What you said about not playing around where you work...” He paused. “I’ve always had the same rule.”

  Lorelei didn’t believe that. “You met Desiree when you were investigating her stalker.”

  “True. But we didn’t get together until the guy was behind bars.”

  Lorelei gave him a long look. “I almost believe you’re telling the truth.”

  “I’d never lie to you, Lorelei.”

  “But you wanted her.”

  Michael was uneasy talking about another woman—a married, pregnant woman, for Pete’s sake—while his body was still aching for Lorelei.

  “Most men would. But we were friends long before we were lovers.”

  “And now you’re friends again.” Lorelei frowned as she remembered the shared embrace.

  Michael wondered if that was jealousy he heard in her voice, and knew he was in deep trouble when he hoped it was. “A man can’t have too many friends.”

  “Nor can a woman.” The mood was fading. Lorelei could feel it slipping away. “Is that what you’re saying? That you only want to be friends?”

  Did she think he was nuts? “Hell, no.” He resisted the urge to drag her into his arms, kiss her hard and deep and long and drive her as crazy as she’d been driving him. “What I’m trying to say, obviously very badly, is that I think it’d be better to practice restraint. For now.”

  Lorelei remembered, all too clearly, how she’d always hated the way Michael had of always being right.

  “Anyone ever tell you that you’re too old to be a Boy Scout, O’Malley?”

  Michael threw back his head and laughed.

  “Believe me, sweetheart,” he said, as he opened the driver’s door, “I’m about as far from being a Boy Scout as you can get.”

  As he walked around to open her door, Lorelei, who’d gotten out of the habit of expecting such southern gentleman gestures, considered that he might not exactly be a Boy Scout. But Michael O’Malley was still the closest thing to a knight in shining armor she’d ever known.

  DAMN HER! The man sat in the dark, watching as she and the bodyguard walked hand in hand to the parking garage elevator, her dress like a silver beacon in the darkness of the underground parking area. Of all the women in Hollywood, she was the one he’d always believed to be pure of heart Which was why he’d chosen her for his beloved. She was the only woman he’d ever met who could soothe the searing pain in his breast and calm the roaring in his head. He’d always considered her an anomaly for Hollywood: a good, pure girl with a golden heart.

  In the beginning he’d even allowed himself to believe that she was a virgin. A virgin who’d saved herself just for him.

  But ever since coming to New Orleans, she’d begun to show her true colors. Before her arrival in the Big Easy, her social life had resembled that of a cloistered nun. But suddenly, it was as if she were a particularly colorful snake who’d shed its skin, revealing the ugliness inside. He’d watched her with the detective tonight, watched their exchanged glances, casual touches, lingering looks, and he knew that they were sleeping together. There was even a chance, he thought again, given how carefree she’d been while shopping for that too revealing dress with Shayne O’Malley, that she was sleeping with the Incredible Hulk’s brother, as well.

  Despite the damning evidence against her, he’d been trying to keep an open mind, trying to give her the benefit of the doubt. But as he watched the elevator door close, the elevator that would take them up to the suite, where they would no doubt undress each other, then spend the night in a fevered frenzy, he was forced to accept the unpalatable fact that the woman he’d put on a pedestal, his own vestal virgin, so to speak, was just another common ordinary piece of Hollywood trash.

  Bile rose in his throat as pictures of Lorelei with the detective writhed in his mind like poisonous snakes. He opened the door to his rental car and threw up the rich canapes and champagne onto the concrete floor. Then, his stomach empty, his mind cleansed and his blood cooled, he turned the key in the ignition. As he drove out of the garage, the man began to plot his revenge.

  9

  LORELEI WAS RELIEVED when the next three days went smoothly. To her surprise, she began to become accustomed to being with Michael. She found that she enjoyed his company, enjoyed talking with him about everything and nothing, enjoyed looking up after shooting a scene to find him watching her with open admiration, enjoyed him practicing her lines—which, predictably, Brian kept changing—with her back at the hotel at night.

  Although no one could ever convince her that she and Michael hadn’t been truly in love, they’d never been lovers. Thinking back on it, Lorelei decided that raging hormones and the rampant insecurities that personified everyone’s teenage years, had also kept them from being friends.

  The fact that they could be close friends now was as pleasing as it was surprising. In fact, although she’d always hated exercise, and only did it to keep her curves in control, she found that one of the high points of each day was running with Michael in the morning. Even if she hated to think what the daily stop for beignets was doing to her waistline.

  But she wasn’t going to worry about her weight. After all, she was only going to be in New Orleans a few more days, Lorelei reminded herself. Then she’d return to her real life in Los Angeles, and her uncharac-teristic indulgence in the delicious, deep fried southern donuts and the rest of the local fare Michael had been coaxing her into eating would become merely a fond memory.

  Along with the sound of jazz floating on the sultry perfumed night air, the jingle of the harness bells on the horses that pulled the tourist carriages around the French Quarter, and the low deep tones of the paddlewheel boat whistles on the wide Mississippi.

  Unfortunately, she’d also be leaving Michael behind.

  “What’s the matter?”

  Lorelei hadn’t realized that she’d sighed until she heard his voice. She shook her head and forced a smile. “Nothing.”

  Michael had never been one to let things drop unsettled. “Are you worried about your upcoming scene?”

  They were on the way to the bar where the stripper scene she’d been dreading was to be filmed. This time she didn’t even try to stifle her sigh. “I’m not wild about the idea,” she admitted. “But Eric thinks it’s pivotal.”

  “Pivotal.” Michael chewed that one over. “That’s a new term for gratuitous sex.”

  Since she’d come to value his opinion, Lorelei turned toward him. “Do you really think it’s gratuitous?”
>
  He shrugged, wishing he’d just kept his mouth shut. What the hell did he know about the movie business? Lorelei had built an enviable career playing the siren. Who was he to criticize, even if the thought of her taking off her clothes today had kept him awake all last night

  “Hey,” he said, wanting to apologize for making a tough day even harder, “if Eric says it’s pivotal, he’s probably right After all, every movie you’ve ever made with him has been a box office smash.”

  “I didn’t realize you kept track of things like that.” She decided she liked the idea of him having read about her, thought about her, during their time apart.

  “I don’t really. I told you, I did my research after Shayne took this case.”

  “Oh.” So he hadn’t been thinking about her after all.

  “And if this movie turns out half as good as Hot Ice, you undoubtedly have another hit on your hands.”

  “You saw Hot Ice?” Despite all the sexy scenes in that film, she’d been proud of her work, pleased that she’d been able to create a character with more layers, more depth, than Brian had conceived when he’d written the role.

  “About a dozen times.” His grin was quick, warm and faintly self-conscious. “You were terrific. The way you portrayed that cat burglar’s internal conflicts made her a remarkably sympathetic character. I could see how the cop couldn’t help but get involved. Even knowing ahead of time that there was no safe way out of the relationship.”

  “Thank you.” Nothing he could have said would have given her more pleasure. The compliment, easily stated and seemingly genuine, warmed her. “What about you?” she asked as they paused to let a clutch of tourists pass in front of the car. “You are, without a doubt, the most straight-arrow man I’ve ever known. Could you see yourself falling for a woman like that?”

  “In a heartbeat.” His grin faded. His expression was as serious as she’d ever seen it and from the lambent fire gleaming in his midnight blue eyes, Lorelei realized that they were no longer talking about her fictional cat burglar.

  Her mouth went suddenly dry. She swallowed. “We need to talk.”

  “I’d say it’s about time.” Past time, Michael amended, thinking of all the things he’d spent years wishing he’d said. Better late than never, he decided.

  “The problem is that I can’t focus on today’s shoot while I’m all mixed up about us.”

  At least she was willing to admit that there was an us. That, Michael decided, was progress. Terrifying, in its own way, since he had no idea where they’d go from here, but it was progress, nevertheless.

  “Let’s take things one at a time,” he suggested. “The first order of business is for you to film today’s stripper scene. Then we’ll go back to the hotel and order an early dinner. And talk afterward.”

  She’d been waiting over a decade to learn why he’d dumped her. And, although it no longer stung, there’d been a time when Lorelei had fantasized about making him crawl. However, now that she’d been given another chance with this man, she wasn’t going to wallow in the past. They’d discuss it, like the two intelligent, rational adults they’d grown up to be. Then they’d put it behind them and move on with their lives.

  Which, of course, only presented another set of problems. Even supposing Michael did want a future together, how willing would he be to go through life as Mr. Lorelei Longstreet?

  Talk about quantum leaps, she thought. Although she knew that Michael truly cared for her and had no doubts at all that he wanted to go to bed with her, nothing he’d done or said had even hinted that he might be thinking of ever-afters.

  You’re hopeless, Lorelei scolded herself. You’re behaving the same way you did back in high school when you used to write his name all over your folder. She’d thought she’d grown up. Obviously, when it came to Michael O’Malley, she’d always be sixteen years old.

  “Well, we’re here.”

  Jerked from her mental turmoil, Lorelei looked up at the gaudy Bourbon Street nightclub that had been booked for the film crew to use for the next six hours. At her insistence, the cocktail waitresses and dancers who usually worked during the day were being paid double the wages and tips they could expect to make during their lost shifts. Eric had laughed at her, accusing her of being a bleeding heart liberal. Lorelei hadn’t denied the charge. But she had stuck to her guns.

  “I guess I may as well get it over with.”

  “I guess so.” Michael sounded no more eager than she.

  Lorelei suddenly realized why she’d been so worried about this scene. It wasn’t as if she’d played a nun in her other movies. She’d certainly had her share of bedroom and shower scenes. Especially during her first year in the business, when she’d played a conniving soap opera vixen who’d slept with seemingly the entire male population of Pine Valley.

  But never had Michael O’Malley been watching from the sidelines. And that, she realized, made all the difference.

  “You understand that it’s not me, don’t you?” She turned to him, taking hold of his arms. “That it’s just a role I’m playing? That when I’m up there, it isn’t really going to be me stripping.”

  Her expression was as earnest as he’d ever seen it. Beneath his jacket, her nails were biting into his arms. “Give me some credit, Lorelei. I know the difference between acting and real life.”

  “So, you’re not going to be jealous?”

  He laughed at that. A rich, bold masculine laugh that dispelled the tension hovering over them like a thunderhead. “I’m a detective, sweetheart. Not a saint Of course I’m going to be jealous as hell. I also intend to put every guy in that club today on notice.”

  “On notice?”

  “They can look. But they can’t touch. Any one of them who makes a move to lay a finger on my girl is going to get shot.”

  My girl. Once again the sixteen-year-old girl’s heart that was still lurking inside her began doing somersaults. “You’d never do that.”

  “Want to bet?” He wasn’t smiling. But Lorelei knew he was kidding. He had to be. Wasn’t he?

  While her mind was still struggling with that question, without warning, Michael’s head swooped down and he covered her mouth with his.

  The sparks, which had been smoldering silently for so many years, instantly flared to life. Lorelei’s tumbling thoughts disintegrated, vaporized by the heat of Michael’s lips, the burning touch of his broad hand as it slipped under her cropped cotton sweater, touching her in the way she’d been aching to be touched for days.

  His lips scorched hers; his tongue dove deep, drawing a shuddering moan. As he pulled her against him, heat to heat, Lorelei was caught up in a furnace blast of fire and steam.

  Kissing Lorelei was like a roller coaster ride down memory lane. She was everything Michael remembered her to be, and more. When she’d been younger, she’d tasted sweet, like forbidden fruit. During the intervening years she’d ripened to a lush, heady maturity.

  She tasted as effervescent as the champagne she was undoubtedly accustomed to drinking in Hollywood, as rich as imported cognac, more dangerous than a bottle of the moonshine his uncle Claude used to make out in the bayou.

  She was in his system, making him drunk. Perhaps, what he’d been thinking night after sleepless night was true: she’d always been there.

  He didn’t want to ever stop kissing her, he wanted to strip the sweater and jeans off her lush body. He wanted to claim her for his own, which was what he should have done years ago before she got on that damn plane that had taken her away from him. But Michael forced his mind to cool.

  “If we keep this up,” he muttered, dragging his mouth from her lips to nuzzle at her fragrant neck, “we’re going to get arrested.”

  “That’s okay.” Her hair rippled down her back as she tilted her head back, luxuriating in the warmth of the caress. “Surely you have friends on the force.”

  “Friends who’d get a kick out of busting me for a 288.”

  Deciding to take turns, she pressed her o
pen mouth against his neck. “What’s a 288?”

  “An L and L.” When she touched the tip of her tongue to the vein throbbing beneath his jaw, Michael groaned. “Lewd and lascivious.” Did she know she was driving him crazy? Of course she did, he decided as her tongue continued to trail a wet swathe down his burning skin. “Not to mention the ever popular 311...indecent exposure.”

  She felt him tremble and experienced a surge of feminine power stronger than anything she’d ever felt before. “Neither of us is indecent.”

  “Not yet.” He took hold of her shoulders and put her a little away from him. “But if you keep kissing me like that, I’m not going to be responsible for what happens.”

  “Pooh.” She smiled at him. With her mouth and her wide, silvery eyes. “You’re the most responsible man I’ve ever met, Michael.”

  He hated hearing that. It made him sound boring. Dull. Which, Michael allowed reluctantly, he probably was, compared to those high-living L.A. hotshots she was used to dating.

  He sighed and ran his hand down her hair. “We’d better get in there.”

  “I suppose we should.” She’d never been late for a call in her career. But never had she had less incentive to move from where she was.

  They entered the bar, his hand lightly on her back in the possessive way she’d grown accustomed to. Michael tried to tell himself he was imagining the anticipation sparking the humid air, but watching the male eyes follow Lorelei as she disappeared into the ladies’ room, which had been designated a dressing room and which Michael had already checked out and declared secure, he knew that every guy in the place was waiting to watch Lorelei strip.

  The thought was not an encouraging one. Tamping down the jealousy, Michael concentrated on trying to figure out which of the men on this set today was Lorelei’s stalker. Unfortunately, the suspects made up a very long list.