by Carol Caiton
She frowned. The answer to that was pretty obvious. He was here to see her. For some reason he wanted to talk.
Well, she wasn't going to walk over and make it easy for him. She'd made it easy for him the last time and look where it had gotten her. He'd turned his back in a roomful of people and had ripped her heart to shreds. She didn't want him to hurt her again.
She kept her eyes trained on the far end of the corridor, though her peripheral vision kept him in sight with each step. Of course, every cell in her body was bursting with new life and tingling with awareness, but she held tight to her emotions. As she drew level with him then passed, she noted three things. The nasty cut beneath his left eye was completely healed, he hadn't shaved this morning, and his eyes were still glued on her.
But he still didn't approach and that confused her. He didn't call her name and he didn't fall into step beside her. He just stood on the opposite side of the corridor and watched.
Was he waiting for some signal that would tell him she'd accept him back into her life a third time? Mentally she shook her head. That wasn't going to happen. She'd just be setting herself up for another fall.
Her next class was in a different building but she didn't allow herself to turn and look to see if he followed. She didn't even pretend to drop something in order to take a covert peek. She was just starting to move forward again and the wisest thing she could do was ignore him and go to class.
That didn't stop the world from looking exceptionally brighter, however. And in spite of her self-lecture, concentrating in class was ridiculously impossible. Her mind's eye kept seeing his clear blue ones watching her. They'd been sober and unsmiling, none of his easy charm visible.
The majority of her classes fell on Tuesdays and Thursdays. She'd worked it that way believing she'd be at RUSH the other three days of the week. So today was a full day and she had yet another class before she could get in her car and go home. Would Michael be waiting in the hall again after this one?
He was.
Just as before, he'd taken up a position on the other side of the corridor, closer this time, maybe ten feet along, and his eyes locked on her as soon as she exited the classroom.
Butterflies danced a festival in her stomach and her heart picked up a lively pace. But she kept her eyes focused straight ahead, just as she had before. And just as he had before, he watched her through the crowd as she drew near and passed, not approaching and not calling out to her. Apparently he just wanted her to know he was there. Why?
She felt a little lightheaded with excitement. If he'd been standing out in the hall for the duration of her last two classes, he'd been waiting and watching for her for more than two hours.
She considered that, considered his sober expression and knew there was more going on than a simple desire for her to know he was there. Whatever it was he wanted, he was serious and she had an awful time resisting the urge to walk up and ask him outright what it was.
She continued on to class, took notes by rote, and had no idea if what she typed into her laptop made sense. She kept glancing at her wristwatch and the only thing she retained was the image of Michael's eyes, clear and somber, watching her. Would he be in the corridor yet again?
She saw him even before she had everything stuffed into her backpack.
Seated in the front row, she automatically looked toward the door when class was dismissed and spotted him immediately. He stood directly across the hall this time and his eyes locked with hers.
Fumbling with her laptop, she managed to slide it inside her backpack, then stared at the zipper and went very still. All at once she realized what it was he'd been doing and the significance of his carefully measured approach.
The last time he'd touched her they'd been in the parking garage at RUSH. Raw with pain, the vision of his romp with the tall brunette so clear in her mind, she hadn't wanted his hands on her. She'd cringed from him, spontaneously reacting the way she did when anyone else touched her.
And Michael had realized that. She remembered that. He'd released her right away, but the shock in his expression, the confusion in his eyes . . . . She remembered that as well. And now, today, he'd spent long, empty hours closing the distance between them, little by little, giving her the space he thought she needed to get used to him again. Did that mean he wanted another chance?
She swallowed against the ache in her heart. Her knees felt weak and she nearly sank back down into her chair.
Careful, Rachel, she told herself. Be careful. She could be interpreting this all wrong.
With a shaky breath she slid one strap of her backpack onto a shoulder and waited until she was the last person left in the room. She met his eyes across the expanse of the room, approached the door, and gave him a single nod before turning into the corridor and walking toward the exit.
He fell into step beside her.
He didn't speak and he didn't touch her in any way. They were together, but a looming wall stood between them.
She didn't doubt his objective now. Those long, empty hours told her he was serious enough to wait, that she was important enough to wait for, and his quiet effort pierced through her reserve.
At the end of the corridor he opened the door and held it for her. She looked up, met his eyes, and quietly thanked him.
He nodded, but held his silence, following her out into the sunshine.
A small crowd had gathered around two male students sitting at the curb. They tapped a rhythmic tempo on a pair of bongo drums while over in the grass, two others she recognized from lab class tossed a Frisbee back and forth.
She adjusted the strap of her backpack and started for the parking lot, Michael silent at her side. Midway along the path she took a deep breath and edged closer to him, then closer still. It was time.
Fingers tight around the strap of her pack, she bumped her shoulder against him, just as she had the night he'd taken her out to dinner.
His quick intake of breath told her right away that he understood. He knew that if she touched someone—anyone—it wouldn't be by accident.
He stopped walking.
She stopped as well, letting him know she walked with him, not alone. Mouth dry, unable to bring her eyes any higher, she stared at his T-shirt and waited.
"Rachel."
It was a soft murmur filled with quiet emotion and tears came to her eyes.
He slid an arm around her waist and guided her onto the grass toward the shade of an old, gnarled tree. Spanish moss hung low, swaying with the movement of air. Then he drew her to a stop.
Turning to face her, he stepped in close and carefully slid his other arm around her. "I'm sorry," he whispered. "I'm so goddamn sorry."
He bent his head until his face was in her hair and rubbed his cheek against her temple. "I'm so goddamn sorry," he murmured again.
Tears ran down her face. The strap of her backpack slid down her arm and she let it drop to the ground. She slipped her arms around his waist, a rush of joy sweeping through her, filling her so fully, so completely, she trembled with it. She loved being touched, loved being held like this, enfolded in his arms. She breathed in the scent of him, absorbed through every sense the feel of him holding her close, and locked the memory of it in her mind. Because in her heart, she knew it wouldn't last. It couldn't. RUSH would always be there between them with all its beautiful women and daily temptations.
So she was setting herself up for a broken heart after all. But walking away from him just wasn't possible. She wasn't strong enough. For now, for just a little while, she'd bathe in his affection and pretend.
"Come home with me," he said, threading his fingers into her hair and tipping her head back.
"Yes." She didn't even think about it.
"Ah, baby, don't cry."
"I can't help it."
"C'mon. Let me carry your stuff and you can drive me over to my car."
* * *
Michael didn't want to take separate cars. He didn't want to be separated from her
at all. Three times she'd walked right past him and ignored him. He couldn't be sure she'd seen him the first time, but she definitely had the last two. What if she changed her mind? What if she started thinking about the way he'd brushed her off and decided he wasn't worth the trouble?
He'd done a shitload of thinking during the past week and he'd made some life-changing decisions that put her at the center of his world. He was gambling big—with his emotions, with his life—and he didn't want her doing a one-eighty before he had a chance to make things right. The thing was, if he rode with her in her car he'd have to leave his Lotus here and that wasn't a good idea. The last time he'd left his car in a parking lot it had been stolen and he'd almost ended up in jail.
So he picked up her backpack, waited for her to wipe her face, then fitted her under his arm so she could show him where her car was parked. He'd have to gamble a little more and hope fate was in a good mood today.
He opened the car door for her, watched her hair drift forward as she slid in behind the steering wheel, then he walked around to the passenger side and got in. Ordinarily he would have admired the lines of her Bugatti and checked it out, but today wasn't ordinary. Today was filled with uncertainty and possibilities that had some big-assed knots twisting in his stomach and they weren't gonna ease up until everything was settled.
He was parked in the next lot over. "Do you remember where I live?" he asked as she maneuvered through the aisles.
"No. I'm sorry. I slept on the way there, and I was worried about Jill when you drove me home."
"Nothing to be sorry about. Just follow me, okay? I'll be sure not to lose you."
If he so much as thought a traffic light might change when he got near it, he'd slow down way before. And he'd ask about her sister some other time. For now he wanted her focused on him.
He got behind the wheel of his own car and she waited while he backed out. Then he drove with one eye on the road, the other on his rearview mirror, and his fingers around the gearshift didn't relax until she turned into his driveway and pulled up alongside him. Man, he had it bad. It scared him to feel this much.
He got out of his car and made it over to hers as she opened the door. A breeze blew her hair in front of her as she stood up and he watched as she tucked it back over her shoulder.
"Rachel."
She looked up.
But he had no idea what he wanted to say. He had her here, finally, but the future was still open-ended. Like every other time he was near her, emotions crowded in on him and her name had just slipped out.
"Hold me, Michael," she said when he just stood there. And damn if that wasn't exactly what he wanted to do.
"C'mere."
She stepped forward and he slid both arms around her, wrapping some of her hair in his hands as he did. One small knot unwound inside him as he stood there, breathing slowly, feeling her hands on his back.
He squeezed a fistful of her curls between his fingers, then released them and smoothed them down her back. He'd started falling for her that first day when he saw her at the koi pond. He knew that now. And every time after that, he'd felt more balanced when she was near. She centered him somehow. He knew something inside him connected with her in a way he hadn't felt since he was a kid. It was something deep, like down in his soul. And yeah, it scared the frigging daylights outta him. Because even after seventeen years, the love that had ripped his heart out when he'd lost everyone who mattered to him was still a buried weeping wound—another piece of himself he kept locked in a tight vault.
Fuck, he didn't want to love like that again. He never wanted to love like that again. But when she'd cringed from him in the parking garage at RUSH and then calmly walked away, that same goddamn wound from his childhood started bleeding all over again. He'd broken out in a sweat, tried to fill his lungs with air as he watched her drive off, and he knew—he goddamn felt another piece of himself tear away.
The brunette he'd left waiting in the admin lobby had wanted a good time, but he'd already known his good times weren't so good anymore. They hadn't been for a while. In fact, a lot of things had been lacking lately and the thought of going back to his office for a casual fuck left him vaguely disgusted.
So he'd phoned her at Admin and told her he had to cancel. Then he'd taken the stairs down to the first level, fished his keys out of his pocket, and had parked his ass inside his car, thinking until his stomach growled. Then he'd pulled it together and drove home.
That had turned into one hell of a long night, the longest he'd had in years. Ghosts from his past escaped the vault, stuff he didn't want to think about, didn't want to remember—never wanted to remember. He'd fought them off, but they wouldn't stay buried and he'd had to wrestle for control, carefully letting them surface one by one, like he'd told Rachel.
It had taken hours. More than half the night. He had a hell of a lot of demons in his past. But he'd taken his time. He'd given each of them as much of himself as he could bear, broke out in a sweat more than once during those long hours, and fought his way through the muck, the hate, the filth, the violence . . . and then the revenge. And later, when he got all those ghosts back in their coffins, he knew it was time to think about the present. He had choices now. There hadn't been much room for choices in his past, but there sure as hell was now. He'd sloshed through mountains of shit to make sure of it.
But his shirt had ended up damp with perspiration and he was hungry again. So he'd taken a shower, pulled on a pair of sweats, and made himself a sandwich.
When he was done, he'd looked over at his reflection in the row of sliding glass doors and thought about RUSH. He thought about Simon and the others. He thought about the research he did on the side. He thought about some ideas that had been swimming around in his head. And when he'd gone through all that, he made a fresh pot of coffee and he thought about Rachel.
The image of her wearing his clothes was the one that came to mind first, his gray sweats bunched up around her ankles and calves, the T-shirt that almost reached her knees, her beautiful blonde curls damp around her hips from his shower. That image alone made his heartbeat speed up, and he'd tried to analyze why, to figure out what it was about her that affected him the way it did. Why had it scared the hell out of him when she recoiled from his touch and walked out of his life? Why did he have this sense of urgency to win her back? And why did he feel like he needed her . . . as though she was the answer to some question he hadn't figured out yet but knew he'd better have her with him when he did?
He was afraid to get more involved. What if he lost her like he'd lost everyone else? He'd smother her with that fear, needing to keep her close just so he could breathe. Could he control it? Did he have a choice?
At four in the morning he'd massaged the tension out of the back of his neck. Wanting to go to bed, he thought maybe he could sleep since he'd made some definite decisions and accepted the things he couldn't change. But he still had to figure out how to get her back. He'd hurt her. More than once. He'd told her with his actions that he wanted nothing to do with her and she'd heard him loud and clear. She'd heard him so loud and clear, when she came to RUSH that last time, it wasn't to see him, to try to talk with him. It was to see Mason. Period. She'd been on her way out when he'd stumbled into the corridor with his amber link and he would never have known she was there if he hadn't.
So what did he have to do? How could he reverse all the damage he'd done and get her to give him one more chance. How could he show her he was serious this time? And once he'd done all that, once he had her at his side, how could he make sure he kept her there?
He got to work the next day in time for the Thursday morning board meeting, but barely. He was tired and he could have taken the day off to get some sleep, but the course of action he'd decided on meant he needed to be at that meeting and, mentally, he was energized. The fact was, the longer he waited, the longer Rachel would have to get over her hurt and move on. And selfish bastard that he was, he didn't want her getting over any more hur
t than she already had. So he'd shocked everyone at the table with his news, except maybe Mason. And no one, including Mason, had been happy with him at the end of the day.
But he was driven now to have what he wanted and she was here, at his house. Her arms were wrapped around him and little by little, the tension he'd been living with for days was leeching away. He would have followed her from class to class every day for as long as it took to get her like this. So fate had smiled on him after all.
"Rachel," he murmured into her hair. Fuck . . . he felt so damn much inside. He wasn't going to tell her that though. Not yet, anyway.
But she nodded her head against his chest like she understood. And that was okay.
"Get your stuff, baby. Let's go in the house."
He held her a moment longer, then she eased away and dug inside the Bugatti for her purse. He watched, aching inside and feeling good at the same time, and he didn't know how he could feel both those things in the same moment.
He draped his arm around her shoulders and walked with her to the front door. But they got no farther than the foyer before he pulled her against him again. Just for a minute, he told himself. He just wanted to stand there and hold her and settle into the fact that she was letting him back in.
He closed his eyes. He felt her hands travel over his back, felt her tits pressed firm against his ribs, felt her breathe . . . . He'd never wanted someone like this before. He didn't know how she could want him too, not after the way he'd treated her.
"Ask me again," he murmured near her ear.
She lifted her head from his chest and looked up.
"Ask me what I want from you," he said.
She knew right away what he was talking about. She'd faced him in the parking garage at RUSH and asked him what he wanted from her and he hadn't had an answer. But he had one now.
The warmth in her eyes turned cautious. She searched his face and he wondered what she was looking for. Sincerity? It was hers. Loyalty? She had that too. Anything more than that they'd figure out along the way 'cause he was going the distance with this.