by Carole Dean
Their dinner orders came, and he kept his eyes on Nikki while the waiter placed the plates and sprinkled Parmesan cheese over their two orders of tortellini. To Michael, the room had become smaller, the air heavier. Just looking at her shortened his breath. But if it was a game she wanted, a game she’d get. Hell, he might even enjoy it.
“I never thought you’d be so obliging,” he said, rubbing his jaw as an aid to keep from laughing. “Or creative. The private line and travel budget are excellent ideas. A trip now and then does help to keep the passion alive. Although with you and I, I don’t expect that to become a problem.”
He reached for her hand, took it firmly in his, gently caressing her palm before letting his thumb rest on the pulse of her wrist. There was no mistaking its pace, and he smiled knowingly into her eyes before he went on. “About that key to your apartment, could you have it cut tomorrow? We don’t have much time, and I’m not a patient man.” He stroked her pulse point. “I want you, love. As much and as often as I can have you—and as soon as possible.”
Nikki was caught by the deep timbre of his voice—the open look of desire in his eyes. It was her turn to be wary. She smiled weakly and tried to check the flash fire burning from his stroking thumb and up her arm. She tried to pull back her hand, but he tightened his grip. She couldn’t think of a thing to say, so she drank more wine.
“You want me, too, don’t you?” he finally asked, lifting her hand, turning it, and kissing her palm.
He might as well have used a branding iron. “Michael, don’t—” She was in trouble. Big trouble. Events were slipping from her charge, and she was dizzy. The heat of his eyes and the burning trail of his touch disoriented her. If only he’d stop looking at her like that. She had to make him stop looking at her.
“Don’t what?” he asked, for all the world as if he didn’t know.
“Michael, please, I would like—” Nikki wondered what exactly she would like. She couldn’t think. Her head was filled with smoke and wind, and she was warm, too warm.
“What I’d like, I hope. A bed. A very big bed.”
“Another glass of wine,” she blurted. “I’d like another glass of wine.” She managed to free her hand. It was Nikki who reached for the wine bottle.
Michael settled back in his seat. “Do you usually drink this much wine with dinner? Or am I making you nervous?”
“Nervous? Me? Of course not.” No. Nervousness wasn’t her problem. But raging hormones were. And if it took a gallon or two of wine to make it through this dinner, so be it.
Nikki hadn’t known exactly what to expect from Michael when she planned this demonstration. She hoped he’d be embarrassed, maybe even angry. Instead he’d regarded her as his evening’s entertainment and appeared to be enjoying every minute of it. The niggle of a question formed in her mind. There was no way he believed what she said, was there? Nikki felt threads of panic lacing themselves through her rib cage. She drank more wine.
It was Michael who spoke next. “I’m glad you’re not nervous, because there is something else we should discuss. Now that I see you’re so open about everything.” He paused to give her a joltingly seductive smile, then raised a questioning eyebrow. “But it is delicate.”
“Delicate?” Nikki eyed him suspiciously and drained her wineglass, although her head was dangerously foggy already. “What do you mean, delicate?” She poured the last of the wine into her empty glass.
Michael appeared to reconsider, frowned slightly. “I think we’d better forget it. It takes considerable sophistication to openly discuss certain aspects of a new relationship, and I wouldn’t want to embarrass you. I’m a bit of a detail man when it comes to certain things. You’ve probably noticed that. I like to know what to expect. Still, if you mean what you say about wanting to please me ...”
He was casually turning their empty wine bottle upside down and placing it back in the ice bucket to the side of their table.
“Embarrass me? Don’t be foolish. I’m not a complete innocent, you know. Now what is it you want to talk about?” The wine gave Nikki a solid shot of courage. She could handle this, no problem.
“You’re sure?”
“I’m sure,” she said, trying in vain to get back into character. She was getting just a bit sleepy. “I like to think you and I will be able to talk about anything. Now what is it you want to discuss?”
“Sex. Sexual practices, to be precise. What I like, what you like. Where. How often. That kind of thing. Don’t you think a man and a woman should—”
Nikki choked on her wine. As she coughed, sputtered and gasped for breath, Michael left his chair and came to her aid, so too did the waiter and maître d. Now she wasn’t only entertaining Michael, the whole restaurant had tuned in.
The three men took attentive positions around her back, as she fought to regain her composure. After a couple of deep breaths she glanced up at Michael. There was no mistaking the humor in his eyes. He was definitely laughing at her. Sexual practices, indeed!
“Please sit down, Michael.” She glared at him and then looked as pleasantly as her foggy head would allow at the hovering restaurant staff. “I’m fine now. Thank you.”
When they left, she turned to her dinner companion.
“You enjoyed that, didn’t you?” she hissed.
“I’ve enjoyed the whole evening so far, but judging by the tone of your voice, I’m betting the fun’s over.”
“You’re right about that.” Nikki blew at a tendril of her long hair that had fallen across her face. With an impatient hand, she brushed it aside and reached for her glass.
“Don’t you think you’ve had enough?”
Nikki gave him a stubborn look and took another drink. There was no way he was going to tell her what to do. Who did he think he was anyway? Nikki looked at the food on her plate. When did that come? She didn’t remember ordering any food. A tear coursed down her cheek, She brushed it away with the back of her hand. She felt wretched and tired. Damn the wine.
This evening had not gone the way she wanted it at all. She’d made a complete jackass of herself. She clenched her teeth and tried to raise her eyes to the man sitting across from her. When she finally got her eyes to focus, she saw Michael was smiling. She wanted to read the smile. Was it kind, mocking, self-satisfied? She couldn’t tell. Her eyelids felt heavy; she dropped them and stared at the tablecloth. Maybe another sip of wine would clear her head.
But when Nikki reached for Michael’s still full wineglass, he stayed her hand and stood. “Come on,” he said brusquely. “Let’s get out of here. Get you home.”
Nikki felt an arm go around her. A strong, friendly arm. Nice. Kind of cozy and reliable. She liked it, but she wasn’t ready to go. She wanted to think something through. She couldn’t remember what it was, but she knew it was important. She also wanted to sleep.
“Do you think you can stand up?” The deep voice sounded as if it cared. Now both arms were around her. It was Michael’s voice, Michael’s arms. So good. What was he saying? Something about standing up? She rose uneasily to her feet. If Michael asked her to stand up she would. She wanted to please him, isn’t that what she’d said? Isn’t that what she’d set out to do?
Chapter Thirteen
Michael opened the restaurant door and helped Nikki outside. The cold night air brought some order to her addled senses, but she was still numb and surprisingly weak. All she could think of was getting home and going to bed. She fumbled for her car keys.
“What do you think you’re doing?” he demanded.
“I’m looking for my keys. What do you think I’m doing?”
“I think you’re crazy if you believe for a second I’m going to let you drive anywhere.”
“And how do you think you’re going to stop me?” Nikki stuck her chin out and kept digging for the keys.
“By force if necessary.” Michael’s face was grim. “You know damn well you’re in no condition to drive. Come with me.”
Ignoring her struggle,
Michael took her arm and steered her to the parking lot at the side of the restaurant. When Nikki tried to pull back, his grip tightened. She wanted to fight, but she was too tired. By the time they got to his car, she was tired enough to let Jack the Ripper drive her home. The whole evening was a bad dream. She couldn’t see straight, couldn’t talk without mumbling, and worst of all, she couldn’t think. She figured out one thing. Michael was right; she should not be driving. She could barely keep her eyes open.
Michael slipped a key into the passenger lock of a silver Jaguar. When he opened the door, she slid into the seat without argument. She was rubbing her upper arm by the time he got into the driver’s seat.
“I’m sorry. Did I hurt you?”
She put her arm down but refused to look at him. “It doesn’t matter.” She gave him her address and rolled down the window. The evening air was frigid, just what she needed to revive her depleted energy.
“Are you all right?” he asked, giving her a curious sidelong glance.
“Fine.”
“You’re sure?”
“I’m sure. Just drive—please.” Nikki was determined to avoid all conversation until her head was working properly again. Besides, she was at a loss what to say. She was sure someone owed someone an apology, but she couldn’t decide who exactly owed whom. Confused thoughts flapped around her brain like a flock of disturbed sparrows. She breathed in the cold night air and shook her head against the insistent lethargy.
What a hash! All she wanted now was to get home, take off her ridiculous clothes, shower, and go to bed. She’d figure out what went wrong tomorrow.
Michael drove in silence until they reached her apartment and he parked the car. By the time he reached her side, she was already out the door. She’d taken a determined but wobbly step forward, when one of her stiletto heels drilled into the rain-softened earth. She started to fall and Michael reached out to steady her.
The second Nikki fell against the warm wall of his chest, she reacted, instantly focusing all her frustrated anger and disappointment on the man who—to her whizzed-out brain—was the cause of them.
She shoved at his chest—hard, almost violently, as if his touch repulsed her—his very closeness offended her. “Don’t! Get away from me! And stop—stop mauling me!” She spit the words out, glared up at him, and stumbled from his arms, her breath coming in rapid, uneven pants.
Michael recoiled as if struck.
Even in her daze, she couldn’t miss the hurt in his eyes or the flare of anger that quickly veiled it. Oh, God, what had she done? She closed her eyes and let out a long painful breath.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean that.” Now aside from feeling like a top that just stopped spinning she was leaden with guilt. “I wasn’t thinking and—”
He cut her off. “Which way to your place?”
Nikki was going to say she could manage on her own, but thought better of it. “Over there.” She pointed to the third door on their left.
Michael took her arm and started toward the door. When they got there, Nikki again rustled in her bag for her keys. When she found them, he took them from her, opened the door, and handed them back.
“You should be fine from here. Good night, Nikki. I’ll see you Monday.” He started to walk away.
“Michael.” She was calling him back. She couldn’t believe it.
He turned at the sound of her voice but didn’t speak.
“Would you like a cup of coffee?” She was crazy. She should let him go. He was hurt, angry and disgusted with her. Isn’t that what she wanted?
Michael ran a hand through his dark hair, then shook his head. “I don’t think so. I think there’s been enough damage inflicted on both of us tonight. I don’t think I have the stamina for another round. Thanks, anyway.” He started to turn away again.
“Please. No battles. Just a cup of coffee. I promise.”
He remained standing a few steps away from her. Under the porch light, she could see his eyes searching hers.
“Tell me, is the offer of coffee an attempt to placate your boss or the man?”
“The man,” she said quietly. “Now please come in before I pass out in my own doorway.” She forced a smile.
He hesitated again, then moved toward her. Nikki sagged in relief when he followed her inside.
“Make yourself comfortable.” She took his jacket and pointed to the leather sofa in her small living room. “I’ll only be a minute.”
In her bedroom, she glanced quickly in the mirror and grimaced at her reflection. “Yuck,” she said aloud, rubbing at a smudge of blue shadow on her cheek. She was a mess. She tore off her clothes, made a beeline for her toothbrush, and then the shower. She didn’t want to make him wait, but this was an emergency.
***
Edgy, Michael paced the living room. When he heard the sound of the shower, he relaxed. Knowing he had few minutes to himself before she came back, he looked around the room.
Nikki’s apartment, like the woman herself, had élan and a style that eschewed rules in favor of personality. It was color and comfort. On one wall a pair of bright prints depicted children playing on the beach. Another wall was covered in travel posters and framed photographs. The remaining wall held bookshelves. He moved toward it.
The books were in no order, suggesting they were read according to mood rather than plan. There was William Blake opposite Peter Drucker, a romance novel balanced against an anthology of English literature, and a Farmer’s Almanac snuggled among Durant’s multivolume Story of Civilization. The happy chaos of the books made him smile. His own bookshelves looked much the same.
He was impatiently scanning a copy of a recent thriller and wondering what the hell he was doing here, when he heard Nikki come back in the room.
“I’m sorry I took so long. I had to shower—get rid of the stage makeup,” she said, looking as ill at ease as he felt.
Michael put the book away, waited. The way he saw it the ball was in her court. He was here because she’d invited him. What happened next was up to her.
But, God, she was beautiful!
Nikki couldn’t take her eyes off him—or the naked display of desire in his gaze. Her own response came from a nether place within her, a flutter in her stomach, a pounding heart, a softening of muscle. Moisture.
He smiled then, a small, regretful smile, and she heard him draw in a long breath.
She swallowed, briefly closed her eyes, then opened them to find him still staring at her. Silent as stone. His gaze as still and warm as a touch.
“I’ll make that coffee now,” she stammered.
He nodded but didn’t speak, turning back to the bookshelves while Nikki escaped behind the long bar separating the kitchen from her living room.
Michael watched her. She was perfect. Form-fitting denims, blue cotton T-shirt, the blazing fall of hair, all of it pure, unadorned Nikki. He wondered why she’d chosen a T-shirt with the words GO FOR IT emblazoned across the front. The words were not meant for him, she’d made that plain.
His earlier uncertainties about having coffee with her intensified. He must be some kind of masochist. The space between them was electric. He ignored the current, thinking instead of the rough force of her hands pushing against his chest, pushing him away. A no with a capital N.
He saw her reach up to the second shelf for the coffee and immediately went to her. Without comment, he grasped her outstretched arm and pulled it down, touching it carefully just above her elbow.
“Did I do that?” He was looking at the pale beginnings of a bruise. “I was rough on you. I’m sorry.” He stroked the bruise gently, cursing himself silently. Bloody Neanderthal thing to do!
“You were right not to let me drive. I don’t know what I was thinking. As for the bruise, it’s nothing. I bruise if someone gives me a dirty look.” She reclaimed her arm and reached again for the coffee. He couldn’t help noticing her hand was shaking.
“Shall we sit down?”
she suggested when she’d started the coffee. “The coffee will take a minute or so.”
Jumpy and unsettled, Nikki headed back to the living room, wondering if she was quite over her stupid little wine fest yet. Or maybe it was Michael’s continued silence as he followed her, then joined her on the sofa—he at one end, she at the other, one soft leather cushion resting empty between them. He fixed his eyes on her and kept them there.
“Nikki, why am I here?” he asked, his tone as quiet as his question was blunt.
She fought the impulse to give a glib answer. Why had she asked him in? Nothing had changed. He was still her boss. It was probably the worst decision she’d ever made, and yet sitting here with him across from her—her heart nearly beating its way out of her chest, she couldn’t regret it. She’d never wanted to be with a man so much in her life. He was a beckoning adventure, an unknown road, an exciting mystery waiting to be solved. He was everything she’d never planned for—and she craved him. And she didn’t dare say any of it.
“Nikki?” He questioned again.
“I want to, uh, apologize,” she stammered. “I’ve been acting like a common, garden-variety bitch. About tonight ... dinner. Can you ever forget it?”
“I’m not sure I want to. I haven’t had an evening as memorable for a long time.” A hint of his wicked smile returned before his voice deepened. “It was a bravura performance and a hell of a demonstration of what you think I want from you.”
He didn’t give her a chance to answer—not that she had one—just got up from the sofa and went over to the dark fireplace. “Shall I light this?”
“Sure. I’ll get the coffee.”
Nikki sensed he needed a diversion. She watched from the kitchen as he fanned a flame to life. When she returned with the coffee, he stood leaning against the narrow mantel. When he continued to stare at her, she gave him a nervous, puzzled glance.