Dangerous Passion

by Bonnie Dee

  Now what? Torn between sending Micah on his way and jumping his bones, I stood and wavered. Micah took the decision out of my hands. He dropped down on the couch and started to watch the movie. I had no choice but to sit beside him and listen to the stilted, rapid-fire dialogue too.

  “Jeez, I hate old movies,” I admitted after about three minutes. “I never really got the attraction. Everybody overacts, even the big-name stars we’re supposed to admire.”

  Micah picked up the remote and started channel surfing. “Glad you said that. I didn’t want to be the one to dump on classic movies in case you loved them.”

  “Given your wardrobe, I thought you were into vintage stuff.”

  “Clothes and some music, sure. Not movies.” He glanced down at his pleated pants and two-tone polo shirt and smiled. “Actually there’s a story behind the threads. There was this old guy who owned the store where I grew up, a hole-in-the-wall like every business in our little town, but Mr. McGrew dressed like he was somebody. Could’ve been one of those sharp-dressed gangsters in that old movie. He wore these fedoras I coveted like crazy. He was a nice old guy. Used to tell me wise stuff I needed to hear but wouldn’t listen to. I figured out later he knew I nicked candy and other little things from the store, but he let it slide.”

  Micah absently fingered the buttons on the remote, and I noticed how elegant his fingers were. He could have been a pianist or a surgeon with hands like those.

  “So one day McGrew wasn’t around, the store was empty, and one of his hats was just sitting there on the counter. There weren’t security cams in the store. I took it and ran.”

  I stayed silent, understanding Micah was sharing something important, something that had shaped him.

  “Of course, I couldn’t wear the hat in public. Everyone would know where it came from. But when I was out in the woods or fishing with J.D. or even doing chores around the house, that hat was always on my head. But I couldn’t go in the store anymore. I felt like McGrew would take one look at me and call me on it. I’d never been too bothered about guilt before, but that hat put a weight on my head.

  “Finally, I couldn’t take it anymore. I walked into McGrew’s store. He was the only one there, stocking shelves, singing along with Frank Sinatra, and wearing a mint-green cardigan with a stripe on each side over this crisp white shirt. He must have had packs of those white shirts. They always looked clean and brand-new, not like they’d been washed with rocks like all me and my brothers’ clothes.”

  Micah blinked, seemed to snap out of his memory, and shook his head. “You don’t want to hear about this. It’s stupid.”

  “No. It’s not at all stupid. Trust me, I understand growing up resenting people who had all the stuff you didn’t. There was this girl at my middle school who used to dress like a magazine model. I was jealous of everything she had. I get what you’re saying. So, what ended up happening?”

  “It’s not like I resented Mr. McGrew. More like I wanted to be him. Or be his kid or grandson or something. Anyway, I finally gave the hat back, and he took it. Didn’t ban me from his store or even scold me. I remember hoping he’d be so impressed by my honesty in returning it he might give me a reward or a job in his store or something. But that’s not what happened.”

  Micah shrugged again, and I felt the pain of the boy who’d dreamed of a better life than he’d gotten.

  “Point is, soon as I had two cents to rub together, I started dressing snazzy, which, to me, meant dressing like McGrew. That’s why the vintage style.”

  “Well, it looks good on you.” My throat was tight with emotion. I was so touched he’d shared that story with me. But I managed to keep my tone light. “Guess you’re lucky Mr. McGrew didn’t wear overalls with no shirt under them and a mullet, or you might be sporting a very different look.”

  Micah grinned. “Trust me, darlin’, where I come from, there’s still some who dress that way. It ain’t an ironic choice neither,” he drawled.

  We laughed over that, and then I shared a memory of my favorite teacher in seventh grade—the one who’d almost singlehandedly made sure I didn’t flunk out because I was really floundering that year.

  Turned toward each other on the couch, my legs curled under me and Micah’s sprawled across the floor before him, we told each other details of our lives. And although the undercurrent of attraction continued to buzz between us, just then sharing our stories felt more important.

  The night grew late and the feeling in the quiet room more intimate. I’d completely forgotten why I’d taken an instant disliking to Micah when I met him. My mouth was dry from all the talking when we finally kissed.

  Micah had wrapped up a story about how he and J.D. played a prank on their bossy older brother, and he was laughing. That groove by his mouth flashed, and I simply had to kiss it, so I did.

  I leaned in, cupped his cheek, and stopped his laughter with my lips. Our tongues experimented with the taste and texture of each other’s mouths, a tiny lick, a dart inside, and then a long slow tangle that went on for what felt like hours. Our hands traveled, clutching at fabric or smoothing over bare skin, grasping for more naked flesh.

  My body felt like a melting candle, soft, buttery wax. I was ready to start taking more clothes off, and I’d pulled back to do it, when Micah put a hand to mine, stopping me.

  “Think I oughta go now,” he said, snapping me out of my trance.

  Of course, he was right. This was my employer’s house. The company I worked for had rules I was breaking.

  “Yeah. Okay.” I took a breath and ran a hand through my wild hair.

  I walked Micah to the door and waited while he put on his coat.

  He faced me in the foyer, and our reflections did the same. “Want to go out again? Not just playing pool. A real dinner date this time.”

  It started in my toes and surged up through me until it reached my face, a whole-body smile I couldn’t have suppressed if I’d wanted to.

  “Yeah. I’d like that,” I said.

  Micah kissed me once more, and then he went off into the night, my polite gentleman caller leaving me with the old-fashioned kiss on the doorstep.

  As I closed the door behind him, my feelings were a Tilt-o-Whirl, spinning around, throwing me from side to side. This unexpected liking for Micah had come out of left field, and I wasn’t sure what to do with it. Sexual attraction was one thing, but genuine caring was something else entirely.

  Were we actually going to go out on a date like a real couple? And where might that lead? I suddenly realized it didn’t matter. I’d already bought the ticket for the ride. I was sitting in my seat, safety bar in place, waiting to see how wild it got.

  Chapter Nine

  Micah

  “Just what the hell do you think you’re doing?” J.D. shouted across the bar the next day almost the moment he entered the door. “There are thousands of women in this city you could hit on. Why do you have to pick the worst choice possible?” he demanded as he stalked through the empty room, which would be filling with customers in about an hour or so.

  I opened a fresh case of Smirnoff and started loading the shelf. “I don’t think Gina’s a bad choice. In fact, I think she’s pretty great.”

  “Come on, Micah, you know you’ll use her and lose her like you always do.” J.D. hung up his jacket and joined me behind the bar. “Gina is one of Leah’s best friends. You’re going to end up breaking her heart, and that’s going to make things awkward for all of us.”

  My little brother’s bossy, better-than-you tone sounded way too much like Jonah’s. It pissed me the hell off. “Why don’t you mind your own fucking business? Maybe this one’s different.”

  I wasn’t sure if I was arguing because I didn’t want J.D. to be right or if I really believed it.

  “The girl might be different from the type you usually hook up with, but you aren’t. You’re not built for relationships. You’re too much like Dad.”

  I don’t get angry often. It seems like a waste o
f energy to me. I’d rather have fun than fight. But at that moment, I was ready to shove my fist into J.D.’s smug face.

  Of course, he’d punch back, and I’d be in a lot worse shape if we started brawling. That boy is fit. So instead of getting physical, I clomped downstairs to the basement storage room for another case of liquor.

  I stayed down there longer than I needed to, reining in my temper, and then reliving the previous night. I couldn’t believe Gina and I had literally talked for hours. I don’t know if I’d ever had that long a conversation with a woman, or enjoyed spending time with one so much.

  Then I’d broken off our make-out session when it was pretty clear she was set to go further. I couldn’t chalk it up to Daddy’s mantra about “leave ’em wanting more” because I knew that wasn’t why I’d practically fled the house. It was the way I’d felt when we were kissing that made me want to pull back and get some space between us.

  Her soft skin under my hands had felt like silk. Her lips tasted sweet, and her warm, generous kisses whipped up my desire. Her solid, curvy body molded around mine, and that was fantastic. All the required elements for sex were there—desire and two willing bodies. Problem was I liked Gina too damn much. Liked her as I would a friend. And I didn’t do friendship with women. Meshing lust and liking, making them balance somehow, was confusing the hell out of me. It was uncharted territory.

  Who was J.D. to say I couldn’t change?

  I hefted a couple of boxes of beer and climbed the stairs, ready to drop the subject and move on. But my idiot brother and self-appointed conscience wasn’t ready to let it go.

  Emptying the dishwasher of last night’s glasses and setting them back on their shelf, he continued as if I’d never left. “Even saying you might actually like Gina, that doesn’t mean you’re good for her. You’re a bookie, Micah. Much as you don’t think it’s a big deal, it’s actually illegal. If she knew, I don’t think she’d want to go out with you.”

  The hard red knot of anger tightened my gut again. The mouth on this guy. We’d both done our share of petty larceny back in the day in Kentucky. Operating a little sideline business taking bets was nothing. It wasn’t as if I was kneecapping people who didn’t pay up or anything. Besides, bookmaking made up a nice chunk of my income.

  I slammed the boxes of beer down and glared at the interfering asshole. “You going to say something to her, or is Leah?”

  “Leah’s got nothing to do with this. She said we should leave you guys alone and let you work it out. This is me looking out for a friend.”

  J.D. folded his arms over his chest like the bodyguard for women’s safety and purity he imagined himself to be. “I know too much about you to think this crush can last.”

  “Well, fuck you too, douche bag! I didn’t ask for your opinion. Mind your own fucking business,” I snapped.

  “It’s my business if someone I care about gets hurt.” He dropped his arms and gave an exaggerated sigh, the self-righteous prick. “I’m just asking you to think about what you’re doing. Consider someone else’s feelings for once and then decide if it’s worth banging Gina for the thrill of the challenge.”

  I kicked the case of beer hard enough to make the bottles inside rattle. All it did was hurt my toes. I didn’t want to admit J.D.’s opinion of me cut deep, or that it was so sharply accurate I couldn’t deny the truth in what he said. I wished I could kick him out of my place and tell him to find a job somewhere else. But I was short of bartenders. Besides, no matter how mad he made me, we were blood.

  Fucking brothers! Both of mine drove me crazy.

  I pointed at the beer. “Finish stocking. I’ve got other business to tend to.”

  J.D. didn’t say anything else as I walked away. Maybe he knew he’d pushed too far, and that even I have goddamned feelings.

  I went to the cubbyhole in back I called my office and slammed the door, sat down and went through my text messages. Nothing so far today from Gina, but there was another text from Dale. Those had been piling up over the past few days, each more urgent than the last.

  Really need your help on this deal. Call me.

  Shit’s getting real. I need a partner.

  And the most recent one: Call me now. You OWE me.

  I sighed. Croft knew how to hit me where I lived. I’m all about loyalty once I decide to commit to somebody. Dale had mentored me when I moved to Chicago, made introductions to people and showed me the ropes. We’d gone in on the cage match deal together as equal partners. I’d never had reason to doubt his allegiance to me or mine to him. When the cops picked him up after the fire that burned down the garage, he’d taken all the heat and denied my involvement when they tried to get him to incriminate his business associates. He’d been a better friend to me than J.D. was being at the moment.

  Dale wanted my help now, and I’d bailed on him.

  My thumbs flew over the keyboard. What do you need?

  I set the phone aside and went back to brooding about Gina for a while. I couldn’t get her out of my head, which was starting to freak me out. Probably J.D. was right, I should cut my losses and end this thing before it went any further.

  The whoosh of an incoming message made me snatch up my phone again.

  Still not Gina. I clicked my tongue as I read Dale’s desperate plea.

  Really need your help on this job. One time only. You OWE me, bro!!! I’ll call with the details.

  My resolution began to crumble. I might have a lot of crappy traits, but my faithfulness to friends is one thing I’m actually proud of. But this was what that dependability got me—dragged into something I didn’t want to get involved with. I knew a deal like this could be a rabbit hole without a bottom. One time turned into two or ten. Still I’d make the plunge for Dale, who’d taken the fall for me without question.

  Sick with apprehension but chock-full of honorable loyalty, I dialed my business partner to find out what he needed from me.

  Chapter Ten

  Gina

  I didn’t want to put too much faith in Micah’s talk about going on a date. Things like that had a way of falling through. But that night as we’d sat so close and talked for so long, I’d felt something happening, a sense of unfolding between us. The shift in mood was almost too subtle to define, but it felt real.

  Micah didn’t text or call for a while, but I know how guys are. They don’t like to seem too eager. Neither did I so I didn’t contact him either, though I thought about him way too much. Every time my phone rang my heart beat faster—until I checked the caller ID.

  A few days later, as I was doing homework for my online biology class, my mom called. “Hi, honey. How’s everything going?”

  “Pretty normal.” I glanced over at Sonia, napping in her chair in a patch of sunlight from the window. “How are you guys?”

  “Good. Your dad’s back is better with that new mattress. We’re thinking about taking a trip to see your grandparents in Florida later this winter.”

  “That’ll be nice.” I half listened, still reading a question on my tablet.

  “I feel like I haven’t seen you in so long. I want the whole family to get together on Sunday for dinner at home. Will you make it?”

  I mentally reversed the order of the words. You will make it was what she meant. When Mama called her chicks home to roost, they came.

  “Sure,” I said. “I miss you too.”

  “Good. Listen, I don’t know if you’ve talked to any of your brothers lately. I want to give you a heads up about a couple of things.”

  I stopped reading and paid attention. “What’s up?”

  “Things are a little strained between Michael and Marybeth right now. Nothing serious, I don’t think, but they’re going through a rough patch in their marriage.”

  “Um, okay.” I pictured my oldest brother with his domineering ways and his hot-tempered wife who didn’t give an inch. As far as I could tell, their entire marriage had been one long “rough patch.” That was hardly news. Or maybe it was getting
pretty serious if Mom bothered to bring it up.

  “Tony’s on a business trip and won’t be able to make it. He’s doing great. He just works too hard, and he won’t listen when I remind him there are more important things in life than getting ahead.”

  “You know how he is, Mom. Whatever he’s focused on, that’s all he can think about. Giving him advice is like throwing rocks at a steel wall. You’re not going to make a dent. He has to come to it on his own.”

  “I know.” She sighed loudly. “I just worry he’s going to spend his whole life alone because he didn’t take the time to figure out what’s actually important.”

  I didn’t bother to point out that different people have different ideas about the most important thing in life. For my mother, it would always be family and children.

  “Anyway, at least Frankie has finally met someone. She’s important enough that he’s bringing her to dinner, so that’s promising.”

  “Seriously? Frank’s bringing a date? That’s”—unbelievable, astonishing, outrageous, insane—“awesome.”

  “About time.” She paused a few beats and…here it came, “What about you, honey? Seeing anybody special?”

  “I’m seeing a whole lot of my client. I’m with her almost around the clock, except for when someone covers for me.”

  “It’s too much. You’re too young to take on that kind of a responsibility. You need to be around people your own age.”

  “I see my friends in my free time. This is really no different than any other job.”

  “Except you live there instead of your own apartment, which doesn’t give you much of a life of your own.”

  “It won’t be forever. I’ve had jobs like this before. Mr. Lee, for example. Eventually it ends, and when it does, I’ll be back in my own place again.”

  I studied Sonia’s fragile face, the way the light seemed to shine through her skin rather than on it, and recalled what a job ending usually meant. A client might run out of money to pay for the service, or someone like Sonia might deteriorate beyond my skill to care for her. Or she could pass away. Likely she would, from what the doctor said, anywhere from six months to a year with her deteriorating health.