“Wow.” She turned to Michael. “What a great room.” But she was already turning back to study what had caught her gaze off to one side. “I figured you must have your own bath, since there was nothing of yours in the hall bath, not even a razor.”
“I told you the other day that you could look around.”
“I didn’t want to invade your privacy.” But she couldn’t help cocking her head to one side, wishing she could see further to figure out why there was so much light coming from the bathroom.
He touched the small of her back slightly. “Go ahead and look.” He cast a quick look at his watch, and she remembered the time.
“Never mind.” But she was really curious.
One dimple winked at her, still such an odd sight in such a rugged, very masculine face. “Go ahead. You know you’re dying to look. It’s really pretty great, if I do say so myself. It’s one of the parts I remodeled.”
So she walked across the thick rug in greens and golds and browns, thinking that Michael’s room brought the mountains inside, both with the huge windows and the colors he’d chosen.
At the door, she stopped in shock. “Wow” was all she could think to say.
Remnants of sunlight cascaded down from a skylight, as well as from the huge window over a whirlpool tub. No expense had been spared, from the steam bath shower to the expanses of marble to the tile floors. The mirrors over the vanity reflected the mountains and trees outside.
Suzanne smiled. “I could live in this room.”
He met her smile. “I feel the same. It’s self-indulgent, I know, but—” He shrugged. Then his eyes darkened. “If you wanted to borrow it sometimes—”
She shook her head rapidly, almost frantically. She saw him reflected in the mirrors, standing behind her, his powerful body sheltering hers, so male, so enticing. Visions of his hands on her, of being naked in that tub swamped her brain so fast she felt light-headed…visions of being skin to skin with Michael, of lying in that huge bed…of Michael naked in—
“No.” Her voice was too sharp, she knew, but it was her only defense against a gut-deep longing that accompanied the visions.
Knowing she should apologize, she lifted her gaze to his, to see his eyes darkening with a preternatural awareness of her thoughts.
He wanted her, too. She could see it, could feel it in her bones. Longing shimmered up her spine, desire tugging low in her belly.
“Suzanne…” His voice was low and far too tempting. The man could tempt a saint. He took one step closer to her.
She stepped around him. “Michael, I can’t.” Poised to flee, she made herself turn and face him. “I’m sorry. It’s not that I— It’s just that—” How did she explain?
His eyes went soft and just a little sad. “You don’t have to explain. I understand.” His voice was gentle, if a little rough around the edges. “Why don’t you go get dressed?”
She studied him for a long moment, wishing things were different. Wishing she were someone else, someone who would be a fitting match for this man, someone without a past. But she couldn’t wish Bobby away, nor did she want to do so. Her choice was clear and could be her only focus. And Michael had made it very, very clear that he did not want another family.
“I’m sorry,” she said again. And then she fled.
Michael watched her walk down the stairs, so solemn, so uncertain, and struggled to draw in a deep, calming breath. The scene in his bedroom and his far-too-strong wish to keep her there, to tumble her to his bed, had been unsettling enough. But this dress. Sweet mercy. He’d done too well. And it wasn’t really the dress. It was the dress on her. She looked like a goddess wrapped in moonlight and dreams, her vivid coloring the perfect foil for the seductive mystery of the silk.
He hadn’t intended it to be seductive—God knows, he didn’t need her to be any more so than she already was—he’d merely chosen the dress for how it seemed to complement her beautiful eyes. Her very sad eyes, so full of confusion and worry and way too many nerves. Lightly, she touched the cameo at her throat as though it would protect her.
He realized he hadn’t spoken yet, hadn’t told her. Both of them could use some lightening up, so he let out a long, low wolf whistle.
When she grinned and color stained her cheeks, he knew he’d chosen right. Keep it light, Longstreet. She’s nervous enough. Help her enjoy the night. “You look like a million bucks. I’ll never get a chance to dance with you.”
Fear stabbed the violet orbs. “You said you’d—”
He crossed to where she stood and looked down at her. With the heels, she was tall enough that he didn’t have to bend down so much. “I promised you I’d stay with you as long as you needed me, and I meant it.” Then he forced a grin when he found himself wanting to growl. “But I’m going to have to bloody some noses to keep the guys away.”
Her smile was wide and genuine. “You think so?” She glanced down, then back up. “Michael, you shouldn’t have, but it’s the most beautiful dress I’ve ever seen. I don’t know how much—”
He pressed one finger to her lips, then jerked it away as if burned. “If you say one more word about money tonight, I won’t be responsible for my actions.” He stroked her chin gently. “Please. Forget the cost of the dress. I can afford it. Just try to enjoy it instead of getting mad.” He smiled. “Besides, I’m about to make you madder.”
“What does that mean?”
“It’s a surprise.”
Her gaze narrowed.
“Close your eyes.”
Slowly, suspicion in every line of her frame, still she did so.
He pulled a square box from his pocket, removing one earring from it. Mounted on amethysts lay cameos of palest alabaster to match the heirloom necklace. Gently, before she could react, he slid aside her hair and fastened the earring to one delicate lobe.
“Michael, what—”
He concentrated hard on fastening the second earring with his too-large fingers.
And tried not to think about the silken skin he couldn’t help but brush.
“Michael, no, you can’t—”
“There,” he sighed. “Finally. I was afraid I’d hurt you.” He drew her toward the mirror in the foyer and held her before him, his hands on her bare shoulders, reluctant to move them away no matter how her skin burned under his palms. “What do you think?”
She leaned back against him slightly, her eyes wide and round and confused. Too quickly she pulled herself away, and he had to fight himself not to draw her back against him, hard. The delicate spot where neck and shoulder joined was bared to him and he wanted badly to place his mouth there, to tempt her to surrender to him, to test the strength of the wanting he saw in her eyes, day after day.
Her breasts rose with her indrawn breath, and his gaze slid to the shadowed valley between the tender slopes. It would be so very, very easy to slide his hands down from her shoulders, to cup her breasts in his palms, to nudge aside the fabric, to turn her around and bend her over and put his mouth—
“They’re beautiful.”
He snapped out of fantasy and tried to concentrate on her words. “You like them?”
“How could I not? Look at them,” she sighed.
“They almost do you justice,” he said, unable to help sliding his hands down her arms. “They’re almost worthy of your beauty.”
She blushed again and shook her head, swaying back against him slightly. “You don’t have to say I’m beautiful just to be nice, Michael.”
The contact burned. He had to stop this now or they would never make it out of this house, his conscience be damned. He removed his hands from her and moved away quickly, flicking her a grin he hoped looked more casual than he felt. “Too bad you’re not up for a quick fling, Suzanne. I’d show you just how little ‘nice’ plays a part in my behavior.”
She stiffened, and though it was what he’d intended—to gain distance by reminding her that any relationship could only be physical—he couldn’t quite congratulate himself.
But his need to have her was getting stronger by the day, and he could see no way for them to win.
She pulled the silk shawl that had come with the dress up around her shoulders and tilted her chin up in defiance. “Did it ever occur to you that a quick fling might not be enough? That maybe even Love ’Em and Leave ’Em Longstreet might meet his match one day?”
Oh yeah. It certainly had. But no way was he telling her that, not with this ache for her eating a hole in his belly. They were moving closer every day to a conflagration he knew they must avoid. He couldn’t fall in love, but she could—and he could definitely see the potential to want to keep her in his bed for a long, long time. Down that road lay a host of problems and, all wanting aside, he liked Suzanne too much to let that happen.
“I never said you didn’t make me want to chew through walls to get to you, Suzanne.” He escorted her toward the door. “But I think we both know it would be a big mistake.”
She nodded up at him, her eyes huge and solemn. “The biggest.”
He tried not to feel insulted as he led her outside. “You’ll let me know, though, if your base desires overcome you, right? If you suddenly come to your senses and see the wisdom of using me for my body?” He grinned past a faint ache.
Suzanne laughed then, and if it was a little strained, it was still musical and welcome. “You’ll be the first to know, Mr. Mayor. That I can promise.”
But her tone made it very clear that he shouldn’t be holding his breath.
As they approached the Longstreets’ enormous mountain home, ablaze with lights and music, Suzanne’s stomach clenched. Valet parking, sophisticated women, silver-haired men who moved with the grace of years of command and power…this was not a world she knew, not a world in which she fit.
Michael placed one large warm hand at the small of her back and leaned down. “Imagine them in their underwear. It’ll do the trick every time.”
She was too surprised to stem the laugh that bubbled up. Just that quickly, she relaxed and glanced up to catch his wink. “Stick with me, babe. Just remember, you can do no wrong. You’re the golden girl who finally caught Romeo Rich Guy.” He grinned as he threw her caustic phrase back at her and slid his arm around her waist, catching her against him for one too-brief hug.
Then they were inside, being greeted by a couple who could have stepped out of the pages of Vanity Fair. “Hello, Suzanne,” Grace Longstreet said. The tall woman, slim, elegant and champagne blond, leaned down to press her cheek to Suzanne’s. “We’re so very happy to meet you at last.” She clasped Suzanne’s hand between both of hers, and Suzanne was startled to see Mrs. Longstreet’s eyes—Michael’s eyes—brimming with unshed tears. “I hope you’ll let me take you to lunch soon to chat, just us girls. I can’t tell you what this marriage means to us.”
Suzanne felt like a fraud; nonetheless she smiled and agreed, but then Michael led her gently to his father. Looking at John Longstreet showed Suzanne just how wonderfully Michael would age. She knew the older man was very frail but he still stood straight and tall, his thick shock of white hair so dignified that she almost missed the kind blue eyes that studied her thoughtfully.
He leaned down from a height almost as great as Michael’s and grasped her hand, his voice a warm, soothing baritone. He looked at the Longstreet cameo at her throat, glanced at his son solemnly, then back at her. And smiled. “You’ve made an old man very happy, my dear. If this son of mine doesn’t make you blissfully happy, you just tell me and I’ll straighten him out.” His smile flashed white and gleaming as he spoke a little softer. “But I’m almost certain my son is not foolish enough to let a gorgeous creature like you out of his grasp. Not when I see that you’re not only beautiful but intelligent and caring, as well.” He patted one hand on top of their joined hands. “Welcome to the family, Suzanne. You’ve given us a dream.”
He was so warm and kind and genuine that she could barely stand continuing the lie. She glanced over at Michael to see a plea in his gaze. She thought of how he’d extended himself for Bobby and knew she could do no less, no matter what kind of fraud that made her.
So she spoke from the heart, as far as circumstance would permit. “Your son is a wonderful man,” she said honestly. “You’ve done well by him.” Then, just as Michael had accused her of doing, she acted on impulse and wrapped her arms around John Longstreet’s shoulders, giving him a quick hug.
He returned the hug, and she could feel the brittleness of his bones beneath his perfectly fitted tux. A faint tremble in his shoulders told her just how much a strain this evening was putting on him. When they moved apart, she thought she might be able to do what no one else here could and get him to sit down, so she whispered to him, “My feet are killing me in these high-heeled sandals. Would you be willing to help me find someplace to sit down?”
He cast her a glance that said he knew exactly what she was doing, then looked at his son and his wife. “Excuse me, son. I’m going to go hold court with the star of tonight’s show.”
Michael shot her a warm glance filled with pride. “I’ll help Mother with the receiving line while you two take a break.”
She felt a light touch on her shoulder and turned to see Grace mouth a thank-you, her look one of immense gratitude, before she turned to the next guest.
And so it was that Suzanne passed a good hour sitting on a large sofa falling in love with Michael’s father as he introduced friends and made her feel completely at home and at ease. She knew from the first moment she met his parents that she could give no less than her best, not simply for the sake of her bargain with Michael, but for the sake of these very kind and generous people.
Soon Grace Longstreet came over and visited with them a bit. Her questions were more incisive than her husband’s, and Suzanne had to do some fancy foot-work to keep their cover story intact. When Michael showed up to ask her to dance, she accepted with relief, bending first to kiss his father’s cheek. “Thank you both for making me feel so welcome. I see now why Michael is such a good man.”
They were still beaming at her when Michael whirled her away to the dance floor. “Thank you,” he said. His eyes were a soft warm green now. “I haven’t seen my dad that energized in a long, long time.”
“He’s a wonderful man, Michael. They’re both so kind.”
“My mother’s very impressed, and she doesn’t impress easily.”
“You said she was desperate. She’s probably just grateful I have all my teeth.”
He laughed. “You’re right, they weren’t going to be picky, but you come as a huge relief. My mother, who isn’t exactly a libertine, even said she could see why you could provoke me to something so impulsive.”
“What does that mean?”
“It’s my mother’s very polite way of saying you’re a knockout.”
Suzanne rolled her eyes.
Michael whirled her around, and Suzanne’s head felt light. “It’s true,” he said.
The admiration in his eyes was heady and sent her spirits soaring. She felt like nothing so much as Cinderella at the ball with the prince, while the king and queen watched and smiled fondly. She was somewhere outside herself, not Suzanne Jorgenson anymore but some fairy creature who could be Suzanne Longstreet, a woman who would wear beautiful dresses, who would belong in a place like this. She floated on the music, the glitter of the sparkling chandelier, the enchantment of this magical evening.
Michael pulled her close, and her breasts rubbed his chest, her thighs brushed his own. She could feel him harden against her. He leaned in and brushed her ear with his lips. “I want you, Suzanne.”
Warm breath whispered down her neck, and Suzanne shivered. “Michael, we agreed—”
“I know what we agreed. I didn’t say this was smart.” But his large warm hand slid up her back and caressed naked skin. For a moment, he held her so close she could barely breathe from the overload to her every nerve. He was so big, so larger than life in many ways, that he swamped her senses, made it hard to rem
ember anything when he was in the room. Feeling him against her, feeling his body’s response stirred something deep inside her.
She tightened her fingers on the back of his neck, sliding them upward into his hair while she pressed her face into his shoulder and tried to remember why she shouldn’t crave his touch. She opened her eyes and realized they were in a dark alcove. She started to speak, but suddenly his mouth was on hers, hot and dark and demanding.
With a whimper, she gave in, answering his kiss with all the hunger that had been building for days. Michael took her mouth and gave no quarter, the easygoing man nowhere in sight. The man who held her now kissed her with power and barely leashed passion, his tongue sweeping inside and taking control. His kiss was alternately rough and sweet, fiery and tempting as his strong arms surrounded her, making her feel both protected and all but ravaged.
He broke away for one second, his eyes more vulnerable than she’d ever seen them. “Kiss me,” he said roughly. “Kiss me back.”
It was what she wanted, what she’d wanted since that first night. Past her defenses he stole like a thief in the darkness. She fell headlong into temptation, pressing her body against his, heedless of anything but this man, this night. When she heard Michael groan and felt his hands on her body, she wanted to strip them both naked, wanted to surrender to his magnetism, to the full power of her own passion, her own greed. Her head spun with magic and delicious fear, climbing toward a high, exhilarating peak, teetering on the edge of some sweet, terrifying ecstasy she’d never known, but wanted desperately. She wasn’t afraid; she wanted only to go closer and closer to danger until she stood on the edge of that cliff and felt the wind whip her hair and sting her face.
They could have magic between them, if only Michael would believe in love and open his heart. “Oh, Michael, could we make this work?” She let longing and hope spill into every word.
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