by Kylie Brant
The janitor shrugged and looked at a point beyond her left ear. After long moments he muttered, “Okay,” and turned and left the room.
Michele leaned back in her desk chair and shook her head in amusement. She had never had so many people take such an interest in her private life before. James would be absolutely appalled if he knew that Scott had taken it upon himself to plead his case with Michele.
Eventually her thoughts drifted away from her co-workers and back to Connor. She thought again about what Julie had said about Connor being jealous of James. Hugging the idea to herself, she busied herself with the mound of papers she needed to work through. This evening, Connor McLain was going to become aware of how much she valued him in her life. She would make sure of it.
Chapter 14
Connor barely looked up when the door to his office opened.
Cruz sauntered in and dropped into a chair opposite the desk. “What’s the good news, pal of mine?”
“There isn’t any,” Connor said shortly. “The creep who broke into Michele’s last night must have worn gloves. No prints or anything else that would lead us to him.”
Cruz cocked a dark eyebrow. “Nothing? How’s Michele this morning?”
Connor sighed. “Fine. She appreciated your cleaning up her place for her.”
Cruz waved the thanks away. “De nada. But if she’s okay, why do you look like you’d like to go a few rounds with this year’s heavyweight champ?”
“I’d rather,” Connor explained darkly, “take him on than Michele.”
His friend chuckled. “Packs quite a punch, does she?”
Connor’s thoughts went back yet again to the bombshell she had hit him with earlier, and he felt an immediate tightening in his gut. “In her own way,” he responded cryptically.
“How’d she take the suggestion of moving in with you?”
Connor squirmed uncomfortably. He hadn’t exactly presented it to her as a suggestion, more as a demand, really. “Amazingly well, considering,” he responded finally.
Cruz cocked an eyebrow. “Yeah? And she didn’t buck you on the idea of you or me as temporary companions?”
He closed his eyes in memory. “That’s where I kind of lost her,” he admitted.
“But you explained it was for her safety, right?” prompted Cruz. “You told her it was the only way we could make sure that nut doesn’t go any further than he has with her?” As he received no reaction, he stopped and invited, “Feel free to jump in here with an answer anytime.”
Connor looked up, after being absorbed in his own thoughts again. “She doesn’t see the need for it,” he said shortly, rising to pace the small area. “Says she won’t wait around for one of us to accompany her everywhere. Probably afraid we’d cramp her style,” he added bitterly.
Cruz frowned at his friend’s obvious consternation. “But you insisted, right? Because it really is the only way.”
“Yeah, I insisted. And she will have one of us with her at all times, whether she likes it or not.”
“So what’s the plan for tonight?” he asked lazily. “If you have to work, I’ll be glad to watch her for you. I could take her out to this cozy little French restaurant I know of . . . .”
“Not a chance,” Connor shot back. He stopped, recognizing the glint of humor in his friend’s eyes, and said, “Besides, she has bigger plans than that for the evening. She’s attending the city’s annual fund-raising ball for the homeless.”
Cruz whistled tunelessly through his teeth. “Well, la-di-da,” he mocked. He grinned at Connor, his teeth a white slash in his bronzed face. “Just the kind of affair you love, buddy. Bet you get to dress up in a monkey suit and everything, don’t you? Couldn’t you talk her out of it?”
“She’s chairperson for the committee or some damn thing,” Connor grumbled. “And as for your next question, have you ever tried to talk Michele out of anything?”
Cruz’s grin flashed again. “Well, no, I didn’t think you’d approve. But there was that little waitress we both met. I was able to—”
Connor looked pained. “You know what I mean. There’s no way to change Michele’s mind once it’s set. She’s going, and I get the idea that I’m the last person in the world she wants as an escort, you know?”
Cruz regarded his friend more soberly. Here, at last, they were getting to the crux of what was bothering Connor. He knew how much Connor hated high-society events, but he also knew his friend well enough to know that having to attend one in order to see to Michele’s well-being wouldn’t have put him in the mood he was presently in. He very much resembled a man who would like to put his fist through the wall, and Cruz couldn’t remember the last time he had seen him like this. “What makes you think that?”
Connor’s expression grew savage at the question. “Well, it’s pretty apparent, isn’t it? These things are arranged months in advance, but today was the first I heard about it.”
Maybe Michele knows how you feel about these functions.”
“Or maybe she doesn’t want to be seen with me with all her friends and colleagues around. She probably had Ryan all lined up to escort her and schmooze all the social lions for contributions. Maybe I’m good enough to call when some nut is threatening her, but not to escort a real live ice princess.” He crossed his arms across his chest, his face twisted with self-disgust. “Hell, I knew the score all along. I’m not the kind of guy Michele needs. She should have someone like her, a professional who enjoys the opera and the ballet, not some cop who’s seen too much to match her ideals, whose idea of a good time is floor seats at a pro basketball game. I’m mighty good enough to be her stud, but—”
“First time I heard you complain about that,” Cruz put in, tongue-in-cheek.
Connor glared at him. “You know damn well what I mean. We’re too different. Anyone can see that.”
“Too different for what?”
Connor stared hard at his friend, realizing the trap he had just been led into. Because he knew exactly what Cruz was getting at, even if he refused to give an answer. He had never before cared much what, if anything, he and his frequent dates had in common, other than mutual attraction. He had never looked for more, had never wanted more.
His mind shied away from what that meant. When he finally spoke, his voice was bleak. “It doesn’t matter. She needs me right now, but when this thing is over, so are we. That’s the way it has to be.”
“You know,” Cruz said soberly, “I haven’t seen you this twisted up over a woman since Tricia, and you married her.”
Connor’s mouth went down. “I distinctly remember you trying your best to talk me out of that decision.”
“Michele isn’t Tricia. And there’s a major problem with being alone, amigo.” Cruz waited a heartbeat. “It’s damn lonely.”
“How profound.”
“Decide what you want and go after it. That,” said Cruz, as he rose to leave the room, “is what you’re noted for, isn’t it?”
The closing door made barely a ripple in Connor’s concentration. Yeah, that sure as hell was what he was noted for. But how did he go after what he wanted when he wasn’t even sure what that was?
He shook his head in finality. Cruz didn’t know what he was talking about. Connor knew in his gut what was right for Michele, and he wasn’t it. He was going to have to pull away, maintain some distance between them. That would be difficult given their current physical proximity, but he would have to try. Then maybe it would be less painful when this whole thing was over.
Maybe, but he doubted it.
* * *
Michele checked the clock once more, then turned away, satisfied that they had plenty of time before she was due at the fund-raiser. Connor had arrived home less than an hour before. They had exchanged hardly a word before he’d brushed by her to go get ready.
She frowned as she looked in the mirror for the last time. He had seemed withdrawn, and she wasn’t sure whether that was due to work or to his aversion for the affair they wer
e about to attend.
She made a face. She could certainly guess. She knew how he felt about functions like this one, but she had promised herself that she would leave no doubt in his mind about who she wanted to be with tonight, and she was going to do that.
Her reflection mimicked her, biting her lip reflectively. Michele caught a look at herself and stopped, muttering a curse. She quickly reapplied her lipstick, then put the lid on it and dropped it into her bag. She had arrived at Connor’s long before he had, thanks to Julie’s help in clearing her desk. She had made a quick stop at home first, but she hadn’t lingered there, packing only a few clothes and toiletries. Later she and Connor could go back for more of her things, but the house had seemed too eerie to her after Connor’s warnings for her to be comfortable enough to take her time.
She smoothed her long white formal gown with one hand, turning this way and that in the mirror to check for wrinkles. The dress left one shoulder bare and most of her back, as well. It fell to the floor, sheathing her body sleekly. It was gathered between her breasts, emphasizing her high bosom. Her hair was pulled up in a smooth knot, and diamond studs glittered at her ears. Taking a deep breath, she left the room to wait for Connor.
He didn’t keep her waiting long. She heard his footsteps coming toward her and whirled around to face him, her breath stopping in her chest. He was incredibly handsome, and her heart kicked into a faster rhythm at the sight of him. In shorts and a tank top, chinos or jeans, he was a virile, unmistakably sexy male. In a tuxedo, Connor McLain was heart-stopping.
The austere contrast of the snowy white shirt against the black tux should have tamed him, should have made him look a bit more civilized, a little more conventional. Instead it contrasted with his dangerous good looks, highlighting them. His gold hair brushed the satin sheen of his collar in back and provided a vivid contrast to its inky shine.
He looked like a magnificent lion, petted and preened and forced into a civilized setting, but the formal clothes merely highlighted his wildness. Michele swallowed hard. She wasn’t used to having to combat an urge to undress a man before they went out the door for the evening!
Connor stopped when he saw her, his chest growing tight as he surveyed the vision before him. Here was the epitome of his fears, Michele looking as ethereally lovely as he had always imagined her. She looked as comfortable in her designer dress as he’d always known she would, and though she looked gorgeous, he couldn’t tell her so. His throat was too full. If this didn’t prove he’d been right about her all along, he didn’t know what would. Soon he would escort her to a place where she would fit right in, further setting her apart from him. And though that was exactly what he had told himself he wanted, he was reluctant to see it actually happen.
They stared silently at each other, each lost in their own thoughts, for long minutes, before Michele noticed the missing studs on Connor’s shirt.
“Did you forget something?” she asked teasingly, and he blinked at her before belatedly remembering the trouble he had encountered earlier.
“I never can get these blasted things,” he muttered, thrusting the handful of studs at her, and she smiled as she took them. She moved closer and worked each through its buttonhole slowly. She recognized the ruffled shirt as the one she’d worn the first night they’d made love, and the sight of it evoked heated memories. She peeked up at him through her lashes and saw that he was staring straight ahead, holding himself rigid.
Connor stood still under her touch, scarcely daring to breathe. She seemed to be taking the devil’s own time with those studs, and he wondered if it was because she, too, remembered the time when she had worn this shirt. Even as he’d shrugged into it, he’d been ensnared by the image she’d presented wearing it, the memory of how it had draped her lovely form, and how that evening had ended.
There was a muscle jumping in his cheek, and Michele smiled to herself. He might be trying to hold himself back from her, but he was not unaware of her. Judging by his heightened color and rapid breathing, her nearness had more effect on him than he was willing to admit, and it was a heady feeling indeed.
“There,” she finally said, smoothing her hands down the front of his shirt. “All done.” Then all teasing left her face as he looked at her, really looked at her. The air around them seemed charged, and she forgot her plan, forgot everything but Connor and the effect he had on her.
“You’re beautiful,” she whispered, sliding one hand along his freshly shaven jaw.
“God, I hope not,” he muttered, giving her an aggrieved look. “That’s not exactly the look I was trying for.”
“No? What look were you trying for?” she asked.
“Early Spencer Tracy, maybe a dashing Clark Gable.”
“Well—” her voice was shaky “—I think you’ve surpassed dashing.”
“You think so?” he asked huskily, moving one hand up to cup hers and bring it to his lips.
“Definitely.”
Connor pressed a kiss to her palm. He couldn’t maintain a distance from her, not a physical or an emotional one. It was impossible for him to be unmoved by her, and he was stupid to think otherwise. Why the hell should he even want to? Better to enjoy to the fullest each moment he had with her. To hell with tomorrow. “And you are breathtaking,” he whispered, his face drawing closer to hers “Like an angel, so perfect that I’m afraid to touch.”
“Don’t be,” Michele breathed as he hesitated a fraction away from her lips. “Because I want to be touched by you. Very much.”
His mouth pressed lightly against hers, stealing the words from her lips. Michele moved closer, seeking more from him. When he would have moved away, she slid one hand around his neck and kept his mouth on hers, twisting her own sweetly beneath him.
Something more than desire curled through Connor, and he gathered her closely, trying to stay mindful of her dress and carefully arranged hair. But it was hard to keep his hands off her completely, and he stopped trying. Their mouths moved together, their tongues meshing wildly, before he finally broke away.
He rested his forehead against hers, their breathing labored. “We’d better stop or we’ll never leave here,” he murmured, touching her mouth regretfully. “Your lipstick is smeared.”
“All over you,” she returned softly, one finger tracing the fullness of his bottom lip, which was smeared with traces of vivid color.
Connor pulled his handkerchief out and wiped the telltale marks away slowly, watching as she went to the mirror in the hallway and repaired her mouth quickly. He felt almost regretful when she finished. He would rather have arrived there as they were, branded by each other’s passion, a visual reminder to all of their involvement. He shook his head at his own fantasy.
Without any more words they collected their coats and left the house, the bond between them stronger than ever.
* * *
Their seats were at one of the head tables, and Michele could feel Connor tighten when he saw that James would be seated on her other side.
“Who’s he bringing tonight?” he asked suspiciously.
Michele slid her glance to him. No way would she let on about the conversation she had had with James earlier that day. “I have no idea,” she responded calmly, turning to look fully into his eyes. His head was bent, a slight frown marring his face, and she sensed that he would have liked to pursue the matter further. Her next words sidetracked him “The only escort I have any interest in is my own.”
Her words, delivered in an intimate voice, and the warmth in her direct look caught him off guard, as did her actions for the rest of the evening. Far from ignoring him, as he had been wearily certain would happen, she made sure he was at her side the entire night. She left him only once, to converse with some of her committee members about their part in the program. But even that was for only a few minutes.
Connor felt himself visibly relaxing at being the center of her attention. Michele treated him no differently here than when they were out alone, introducing him to
each person who came up to speak to her. It was far more than he had expected, far more than he had hoped for. He even unbent enough to slip his arm around her waist, and she didn’t resist. In fact, she seemed to welcome his touch, moving closer to him.
“McLain, I certainly didn’t expect to see you here tonight,” a jovial voice hailed them, and Connor turned slowly, his face tightening once more. “Mayor,” he said, greeting Larry McIntire laconically.
The politician eyed him shrewdly. “Not your usual choice of gatherings,” he noted.
“No, it’s more yours,” Connor returned easily enough, but Michele noted that neither men wore a smile that reached his eyes. She looked between the two of them confusedly, aware of the tension radiating between them but at a loss to explain it.
Connor gestured to Michele. “Have you met Michele Easton, Mayor? She was on the committee that arranged this fundraiser tonight.”
Michele found both her hands grasped in Larry McIntire’s. “It’s a pleasure, Ms. Easton,” he told her, not relinquishing her from his grip. “And from what I’ve seen so far, you and your committee have done a wonderful job here tonight, a wonderful job. Through your diligence I’m sure funds will become available for even more shelters for the poor homeless souls who roam our streets. The work you people do is greatly appreciated.”
“Thank you, sir,” she replied simply, extricating her hands gracefully. Fortunately his attention was called away by someone else, and within seconds he was striding away.
“I have never trusted that man,” Michele muttered as an aside to Connor, and his eyes widened. “He’s entirely too smooth to be believable.”
“You’re an excellent judge of character,” he allowed. At her raised eyebrows he elucidated. “I’ve known Larry McIntire for years, and he’s the smoothest son of a bitch I’ve ever met. I wouldn’t trust him any further than I could throw him.”
“There seems to be bad blood between the two of you,” Michele observed.
He snorted. “I wouldn’t let him stand in back of me holding a sharp instrument, if that’s what you mean.”