Bryan swore he would see steam rising soon from Brad's ears.
"I won't do it. You hear me?” Brad went on in barely controlled fury.
Joel walked up silently and intervened. “If you two have a gripe, take it out in the alley."
"Happy to.” Colin got up, knocking his chair on its side.
It was so unlike Brad to give anyone a dirty look but he managed to as Colin strode to the back door. They exchanged heated words before Colin leapt at Brad, grabbed him by the back of his jacket collar and dragged him outside, like a human toying with a lifeless marionette. Bryan shook his head, unable to make out what had happened between the pair.
"What's going on?” Joel paused at the table.
"Don't know,” Bryan responded truthfully.
"Looks like they're dealing, but it's not coming off,” the beefy bartender muttered. “I hate drug dealers. They're the worst kind of scum on the face of the earth."
Bryan snorted. “Anything's possible with Iceman."
"I really didn't think they knew each other. They both come here but have never even exchanged glances. Now, it's like they can't do without each other."
Brad walked in, his expression less hostile but wary, as if the problem he had presented to Colin had been solved to his satisfaction. Iceman followed, and magnanimously brushed the other man's lapel off, before he reseated himself at the same table as Brad took.
"Good ‘ole bugger,” Bryan mumbled, glad Iceman had chosen to sit elsewhere.
Joel wiped his hands in his apron and strode off. Bryan watched Brad lose his cool and start to get angrier and more verbal but couldn't make out his words above the country music spilling from the jukebox. They continued in that vein for several minutes before Brad leapt up and ran from the bar. Colin shrugged and smiled to himself.
Bryan puzzled over the fact that Iceman and Brad knew each other. They had made no effort to acknowledge each other at the Anessa party. After a full minute, Colin readjusted himself and walked out into the cold night.
* * * *
Nicole didn't know what to think as Michael rose, drew the speculum slowly from her vagina and untied her wrists and ankles as if they were made of precious china. Soft light illuminated the bed. His features were once again unreadable.
She rubbed her wrists, more for something to do than because they hurt. The accessories for her ravishing disappeared. She gazed at him sleepily, watching his sure but languid movements. Everything he did was meticulous, as if he had pre-planned each detail in advance. Now would he take her, plunge his cock into her still yearning pussy? He slipped his muscular arms into the sleeves of his dark blue jacket.
When he leaned over her, she felt embarrassment that he could do the things he did to her and that she barely batted an eye. He gazed into her eyes, his own still indecipherable. “I love you, Nicole. No matter where I was or the miserable condition I was in, I never stopped loving you.” He kissed her lips lightly, almost like a lazy butterfly wafting by on a sultry summer day.
Surprised by his words and his apparent gentleness, she did nothing as he left the room. She heard nothing except for the sound of his light tread down the stairs. She crimped and uncrimped a fistful of the champagne-soaked comforter in her right hand. What had he done to her?
Her cheeks flamed. Uneasy with her nudity and the fact that her body had betrayed her, she slid over the side of the bed and rose on wobbly legs. The room smelt of her female arousal and the heavy scent of bubbly. In the hushed silence, she waited for Michael to return, to continue his tormenting.
The woman reflected back in the dresser mirror was dishevelled and blushing but there was a sparkle in her eyes that hadn't been there earlier this evening. Nicole snarled at the mirror, ducked and rummaged for a light pink sweat suit in a bottom drawer, angered at her sense of vulnerability. She was smart and self-sufficient. How could she have allowed Michael to use her the way he had?
She welcomed the cool material covering her, enveloping her in a safe cocoon. He had stretched her pussy so wide. At first, there had been pain but her warm wetness had accommodated the speculum. Would he do it again? Where had he gone?
This time, he would have a shrieking cat with outstretched claws fighting him. What gave him the right to tie her up and leave her unsatisfied? Dressed and comfortable with her battle stance, she stepped up to the window, drew the sheer lace curtain aside and looked out on to the driveway. The limousine was gone. Tyre tracks were barely visible in the heavily falling snow. She gritted her teeth and slammed a fist on the windowsill. An overwhelming sense of relief that the bastard had left fought with a sudden emptiness that he had abandoned her. He was playing with her, making her feel like a sex toy. She vowed she would never let him near her again.
Turning from the window, she remembered how Michael had claimed fierce possession of anything he considered his. Rubbing her forearms, she shivered. Why couldn't he let her alone to live her life in peace? Why had he returned to wreak havoc with her emotions? And her body? If he wanted revenge, why hadn't he exacted it? Why had he told her he still loved her when he didn't mean those words that should never be spoken carelessly?
She ran down the stairs, thinking perhaps he was tricking her into believing he had left before he jumped her. Her skin tingled at the thought but she tamped down her desire. She had to remain steadfast in her determination not to let him near her again. Obviously, he still affected her.
A quick hunt showed the house was truly empty. She breathed a deep sigh of relief. Hopefully, she wouldn't have to battle him, and herself, tonight. She sank into a chair at the dining table and watched the snow falling outside under the yellowish glow of a sodium vapour light.
The clock set in the microwave told her it was half past midnight. Why had she deluded herself into thinking Brad was the right man to spend the rest of her life with? He was so totally obsessed with his first wife and the overwhelming hurt she had inflicted upon him. Nicole had tried to work through the problem with him, acting as his confidante, but after several years, why couldn't Brad let go of his ex-wife and move on? He was much too focused on the past that tore at his heart and from which he couldn't extract himself. Belatedly, Nicole thought he could still be in love with his ex-wife. Wasn't there only one true love in this life?
She didn't know if she should tell Brad that Michael had brought her home. Her train of thought reminded her that the bed was a mess and the comforter looked as if a heavy rain had poured down on it. Nicole couldn't find the energy to run upstairs and roll up the comforter to wash it in the morning. Instead, she opened the window above the kitchen sink and took a breath of brisk air. How could she deny that Michael had brought her home? In a limousine, no less?
She couldn't help but think of Michael's powerful body hovering over hers and his piercing gaze meeting her eyes. He reminded her of a panther on the prowl, each movement graceful and easy.
A sob welled up in her throat and threatened to choke off her air. Despite his denials to the contrary, Michael was a murderer. Nothing had changed there.
Hope flooded through her. If she explained her past and what part Michael had played in it to Brad, perhaps he would listen and they could let the evening alone as if it hadn't happened. For the first time in her life, she came to the conclusion that she had built her life around a pack of lies. She couldn't forget the love she and Michael had once had for each other. But neither could she forget that he was a killer with a prison record and, despite how many women were attracted to men who were in prison or had been paroled, she wasn't one of them.
A small noise interrupted her thoughts. Dread travelled along her spine. Michael had a key. He could unlock the door whenever he wanted to. She listened intently but she heard nothing. First thing in the morning, she would make sure the locks were changed on all the doors. She didn't want to be near him again, breathing in his musky scent, her gaze lingering on his mesmerising blue eyes, remembering what they had once shared together.
"I don't want you near me, J
ames Carmichael,” she said out loud. “No matter what the consequences are."
"Are you talking about me?"
She whirled around, pressing a hand over her breast. He had returned.
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Chapter Seven
* * * *
Nicole stared at Michael, leaning arrogantly against the doorframe as if he owned her house. She managed to find her voice. Without a doubt, he had heard her. “Get out."
"I came back because I want to talk to you."
She couldn't believe his audacity. He looked haggard and tired. She felt her resolve weakening. “Get out."
"You never gave me a chance to explain why I was holding the knife. Before you ran away."
She stepped back from him, edging against the Formica counter. Had he come back to finish her off? Had she lulled herself into a false sense of safety?
He spread his hands out in supplication. “I didn't kill my father. I want you to believe that."
She watched the earnest expression but wouldn't relent. “I saw you,” she whispered. “You held the knife. If I hadn't seen that, I might have believed you were innocent.” Her hair flowed around her waist as she shook her head to emphasise her point.
"Appearances can be deceptive,” he said, suppressing the sudden anger flaring to life in his eyes.
"Why can't you just leave me alone? You were tried and convicted."
"An innocent man can't just walk away from seven years of hell, Nicole. He has to find a way to make the real murderer pay the price."
"Maybe you've convinced yourself into thinking you didn't do it."
Michael shook his head. “I don't need a counsellor. I had enough of that bullshit in prison. I need to redeem my name and regain those lost years."
"You can't do that. No one can.” The conversation was taking a turn that made her afraid. She knew threatening to call the cops wouldn't do much to dissuade him or make him leave. It hardly mattered that she would have to find some way past him to get to the phone in the hallway. She found herself searching for a weapon on the kitchen counter, but berated herself for her habit of cleaning up after every meal, no matter how small or large it had been.
"Don't think about that, sweetheart. I assure you it won't work."
She wondered how he could possibly know what she was thinking. But hadn't he always known and voiced her thoughts before she did? “I'll kill you if you come near me again."
He chuckled. “That's very amusing but I don't think so. You love me far too much to hurt me."
Nicole swallowed heavily. Where had she heard that the line between love and hate was a thin thread, that murder was most often committed in a fit of rage or passion? Was it possible that was the reason why Michael had killed his father, that deep love had turned to hatred? She had spent the last decade trying to bury the pain of who he had become. Now, when she had succeeded, he had the nerve to waltz back into her life and reopen the healing wound.
"You've always loved me. From the first time we met."
"Don't delude yourself.” Nicole remembered how she had been on foot and waiting for a train to pass at a crossing and Michael had driven up in a sporty red car. They had been practically side by side. Feeling awkward, she had begun to talk to him above the rattling steel wheels and the shaking ground. He had been handsomely rakish in a golf shirt that had shown her a peek at his fuzzy chest. She had loved him from the very first time she had set her eyes on him.
"I'm not the one trying to fool myself. I'd say you're doing a fine job."
She blinked back the tears threatening to spill down her cheeks. “Leave me alone. Can't you see that what we had is over?"
His eyes set in a grim line. “You just need time to adjust to me being in your life again. It would probably be an understatement if I said you were still in shock."
"I don't want you in my life,” she reiterated. “I've erased you from my thoughts as if you never existed. Why can't you understand that?"
His shoulders sagged briefly. Was he feeling the same sadness and formidable loneliness she did at times? “I wish I could kiss you but I don't want to goad you into using a butcher's knife on me. I love you,” he finished before he disappeared into the hallway.
Nicole stared out of the kitchen window for a long time before she heard a car drive up, crunching snow under its wheels. Had he returned again? Why couldn't he understand she didn't want him in her life?
The door opened. She shrank back against the counter, dreading another encounter with the man who had turned her world upside down. Instead of Michael, Brad shuffled in. Snowflakes melted on his hair and shoulders.
Pausing by the open door, he surveyed the kitchen, not surprised to see her. “You made it home,” he said in a deadpan tone.
Snow drifted inside and onto the doormat.
She shrugged, relieved Michael hadn't come again.
"Who brought you home?” This time he gave her a suspicious look.
She marched past him and closed the door, cutting off the stiff wind blowing inside. “A taxi."
He shook himself out of his jacket. “Really?"
Nicole suddenly saw him in a new light. How could she have made herself believe she was in love with him? She felt friendship for him. And a great deal of pity. He wasn't exactly the type of man to invoke a woman's lust. He was homey, and that's all he would ever be. “Really."
His eyes were bloodshot. So he had been drinking again, she supposed.
"Do you want a cup of coffee?"
"I want you to answer my questions."
"I don't owe you anything,” she said, flipping on the light switch.
"Who said anything about owing me? I want to know what went on tonight."
She shrugged listlessly, unwilling to talk about what had been an ordeal, and a pleasurable thrill, at the same time. She had no intention of ever seeing Michael again, so discussing that with Brad was unnecessary.
"I saw the way he looked at you,” Brad said in a voice laden with accusation.
She set the teakettle on the burner to boil some water to make a cup of decaf.
"It's all in his head."
"What, Nicole? What's in his head?” Brad ran a hand through his hair.
"Whatever kind of stunt he was pulling."
"He's not the kind of person to pull that kind of shit."
"Then you don't know this man you idolise so well."
"He does things to help people,” Brad went on relentlessly. He hadn't moved from the doormat. “He spends a great deal of time making sure his employees are happy, and consequently that their families are too."
"He's not worth worshipping."
"I respect him. I don't worship him. There's a difference."
"I don't think you know the difference.” She went about getting a mug, spooning instant coffee granules into the bottom.
"It's not in his mentality to cosy up with a woman he doesn't know. He respects people."
"And let me guess, they respect him back, is that it?"
"What happened tonight got me wondering about you."
Nicole didn't flinch. The words hurt coming from a man she had known for fourteen years, one she had trusted not to hurt her. “What are you wondering?” she asked offhandedly, screwing the plastic lid back on the glass container.
"That either you know him, or you're some kind of tramp."
His words sliced across her consciousness. Placing her hands on her hips, she slowly turned around and faced him. “What on earth are you talking about?"
She couldn't understand how earlier this evening, she had been living the all-American dream, planning to get married, and now all her plans had come crashing down.
"So you're going to deny how he ran his finger down your shoulder and called you sweetheart. What do you do when my back is turned?” he demanded, still not moving.
"He mistook me for someone else,” she lied.
"Uh-huh. If that's what he did, then why didn't you tell him so? Why d
id you let him continue believing he had the wrong woman?"
As if she hadn't tried to stop Michael at the party. She had to find some way to turn this conversation around without having to defend every movement she had made. “Is that why your wife left you, Brad? Because she wasn't willing to put up with your constant questioning about where she went?"
This hadn't been the first time he had grilled her about where she had been. At first, she had seen his behaviour as being over-protective but now she saw he might be jealous.
"This has nothing to do with her. This is about you."
The kettle's shrieking made Nicole jump. Quickly, she circled and shut the burner off. “You didn't answer my question."
"Meg did what she wanted to do."
"And did she start asking why you were questioning her all the time about where she went?"
"I'm going to tell you something,” he said, his voice low and measured. “I need this job in a bad way. So I'll tolerate his pawing but that's where my tolerance ends."
Nicole's heart drummed loudly in her ears. Had she really heard him correctly? “If you hadn't demanded I go to that party in that tiny bit of fabric, none of this would have happened,” she said, turning the tables.
"Oh, so it's my fault."
"Remember? I didn't want to go? You said I had to?"
"Can't you do better than that?"
She rubbed the back of her hand, trying to ease the tension that had crept into her fingers. Her head ached. Michael had cracked her world, the one she felt safe and at ease in, wide apart tonight. He had had no right to do that.
Brad ambled into the kitchen and slumped into a chair at the dining room table. “I wanted something more for us than what I had with Meg. I wanted a perfect marriage, based on love and trust. I thought I had found it with you. But I was wrong."
Nicole said nothing. Earlier this evening, she would have said the same thing but his insecurities were too blatant to make her comfortable with him.
"It was supposed to be just the two of us. Not a threesome."
She examined him, his long face and his reddened cheeks as if he was suppressing the urge to cry. Perhaps this once she warranted his accusations but she wasn't the type to flirt or have an affair with another man. It wasn't part of her emotional makeup.
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