A Man In Demand

by Cheryl Anne Porter

  Ida smiled, patting her husband’s arm affectionately. “Glad you joined us. But that’s too far off.” She turned to Mike. “Melba is Jack’s first cousin, and they live in New Jersey.” He nodded. And realized how much he missed his own parents, seeing these two loving people together. His folks were pretty upset with him for breaking off with Caroline. He’d called them last weekend, and it had not gone smoothly, to say the least. But before they’d hung up, they’d come around, telling him they understood. But he knew better—they didn’t. They cared a lot for Caroline. But wait until they met Julie. There was no one like his redheaded, long-legged little friend, who would be giving them more grandchildren in the near future, if he had anything to say about it. When Jack tapped at his forearm, Mike jumped guiltily, sure the man had read his mind. “Sir?”

  “We were just saying what about Saint Patrick’s Day? She’d never suspect a thing.”

  Mike looked at Ida. She ran a finger over her calendar, located the date and raised her head, a green party already shining in her eyes. “It’s staring me in the face, if I’d only looked. The seventeenth is on a Tuesday, so I’ll make it an early buffet, and everyone can wear green. It’ll be fun.”

  Mike winked at her and then grinned at Jack, holding his hand out to be shaken. “Mr. Cochran, you’re a genius.”

  He shook Mike’s hand and turned his dancing eyes to his wife. “You hear that, Ida? I’m a genius. Now there’re two people who think so—me and Mike.”

  Ida pursed her lips and shook her head. “Just be glad you didn’t have to wear a toga again, Mr. Genius. You make a much better leprechaun.”

  “I GUESS YOU HAVE TO GO.”

  “I guess I do.” But Mike didn’t move.

  Julie and Mike had managed to get through their first official date—and hadn’t ended up in a washroom! Mike was really trying this friendship thing. But now, as she stared at him, Mike’s black eyes—she’d swear to God-actually turned up at the corners, making him look like some kind of satyr. His ears even seemed pointed. Ohmigod, he’s the big bad wolf in Little Red Riding Hood Hadn’t he called her that when he was in her bed—not more than several yards away?

  “I guess you have to go so your baby-sitter can get home.” Was that automaton’s voice hers? Julie crossed her arms over her blouse-covered breasts, hoping Mike wouldn’t notice her suddenly attentive nipples.

  “Yeah, I have to go so my baby-sitter can get home.” His voice sounded just as tinny as hers had.

  She could feel it—he wanted to grab her and make mad, passionate love to her. And, boy, did she want him to. But friends didn’t do that. They talked and got to know each other. Okay. She could do that. “You want me to walk you home?”

  Mike cocked his head at her. He smiled. “You know, I think I do.” He crooked his elbow as an invitation for her to take his arm.

  Okay. This was doing something. This was good “That night air felt kinda cool. Let me get my sweater.”

  Quick as a blink, Mike ripped his maroon sweatshirt off over his head and held it out to her. “I’m too hot right now. Wear mine.”

  Julie stared at his broad, muscled chest, covered now only by a crew-neck T-shirt, and willed herself not to pass out. This was not good “Okay.”

  She reached out and took the warm garment from him. Slipping it on over her white blouse and jeans treated her to the warm and heated scent of Mike DeAngelo. The sweatshirt was huge, and she smoothed it down, taking care not to do so in any suggestive or erotic way, thinking Mike was closer to being a charging, rutting bull than he was a gentleman. The sleeves hung past the tips of her fingers and the hem was halfway to her knees. She looked up at him as she rolled up the sleeves. Her hands stilled as she noticed the transfixed look on his face. Oh, he liked her in his clothes. He liked it a lot. Julie swallowed, hoping her lascivious thoughts would go the same way. They didn’t “Are you ready?”

  His black-winged eyebrow rose evilly. “Oh, yeah, baby, I’m ready. This ain’t a gun in my pocket.”

  Julie breathed in sharply. “Um, um, I guess we ought to go.”

  “We ought to goddamned do something.” Mike shifted from one cowboy-booted foot to the other, and then reached up, in obvious and sheer distress, to run both hands through his hair. Seeing the flexing muscles in his arms, his expanding chest and concave belly above his Levi’s that tautened his thin cotton undershirt, Julie brought her fingers to her mouth.

  Turn around and open the door. Turn around and lock the damned door before he gets out. Julie jerked around and ripped the door open. “We’ve got to go—now! Before we do something we’ll be sorry for.”

  Mike slumped and he let out an audible breath. “You’re right.” He strode purposefully by her, out of her apartment and into the breezeway before turning back to her. “You still coming?”

  She wasn’t sure, all of a sudden. Was she strong enough to be in his company for even the few minutes more it’d take to walk him home? Then she looked at him, at the clear pleading in his face, and gave in. “I’m coming. I always walk my dates home. I wouldn’t want anyone to accost you.”

  “Gee, thanks, big, strong lady. I feel safe when I’m with you.”

  Julie poked her tongue out at him and grabbed her key ring from off the end table by the door. Stepping outside, she closed the door behind her and jiggled the knob to be sure it was locked. It was. As tightly as a chastity belt. She turned to Mike and smiled…sort of. “Okay. Let’s go.”

  Within a few seconds, Mike had his arm around her. His wrist dangled over her shoulder and his hand hung loosely above her breast, but not touching it. Feeling safe and warm with him so near, Julie smiled into the darkness that enveloped them like a heavy blanket. She was, walking Mike home. How funny was that?

  “Julie, remind me, the next time I see your father, to tell him how much I hate him.”

  12

  “ALL RIGHT. WHAT’S YOUR favorite color?”

  “Purple. Look! There’s Aaron up to his neck in those plastic balls.”

  Mike looked and waved at his son. “Yeah, he loves all this play stuff here.” He turned back to her, censure clear in his expression. “Did you say purple?”

  Julie frowned in defense of her answer. “I’m a redhead. I look good in purple. Not everyone can wear it.”

  “Not everyone wants to. What’s your favorite ice cream flavor?”

  Not for the first time of late did she sense something more here than met the eye. Julie turned her full attention on the FBI agent sitting next to her at the indoor playground. “Mike, why have we been playing twenty questions since you got back from Boston? We have been together every evening, and it’s the same thing—more questions. I’d think you’d’ve asked these easy ones first.”

  “Just answer the question, ma’am.”

  Julie sighed. “Mint chocolate chip.”

  Mike pulled back and really frowned. “That’s disgusting.”

  In a pout, Julie crossed her arms. “You don’t like my favorite color. Now it’s my ice cream. See? I told you we have nothing in common.”

  “Sure, we do. When’s your birthday?”

  “I’ve already told you. I remember saying it. Oh, okay. September 25. That makes me a Libra. I was born right here in Tampa, graduated from Brandon High School and earned my degree in marketing and my MBA from the University of Florida. Which makes me a Gator. There. Feel better?”

  “Some. What’s your blood type?”

  “All right, that’s it. Mike, you’re beginning to sound like my mother.”

  He looked offended. “I’m going to pretend you mean that in a nice way.”

  “Well, I don’t. The only thing you need is a legal pad and rings on every finger.”

  “That can be arranged. Okay, a few more questions.” He leaned in toward her. “Do you sleep in my sweatshirt you never gave back?”

  Julie nearly slid off the chair. “Don’t go down that road, friend Mike. Do you want it back?”

  He smiled—no, leered—
at. her and sat back up. “Fine. Don’t tell me. And no, I don’t want it back. You keep it. Back to the questions. How much vacation time do you have coming to you?”

  “What? Where’d that come from?”

  “Just answer the question. It’s important to my plans.”

  “Your plans? Maybe I have a plan, too. Like maybe I plan to ask you a bunch of personal questions.”

  “Fine. My birthday is November 4, and I’ll be thirtytwo. My favorite color is blue. My favorite ice cream is plain chocolate, like any normal person’s. And my blood type is A-negative. Feel better?”

  Julie narrowed her eyes at him. “You’d better tell me what’s going on, Mike.”

  He grinned at her. “Okay, vacation time? Come on, Julie, we’re getting behind here.”

  She surrendered. The man was relentless. “Well, you know me—Ms. Workaholic. At least, I was before I met you. I mean, here it is seven o’clock on a Thursday, and I’m not still at work. Any other time I would be. Okay, okay, I’m getting there. Keep your pants on.”

  “It’s getting harder every day to do that. Now, once again, vacation time?”

  Julie thought about it. “Probably more than six or seven weeks.”

  He frowned. “Damn, it’s a good thing I came along to give you a life. Okay. What’s the bank’s maternity-leave policy for its executives?”

  Julie couldn’t find her voice for several, very long seconds. Did he know? She sat up straighter, all the while denying to herself that her face was heating up nicely. “Gee, why do I think you have some hidden agenda here, Mike?”

  “Beats me. Your face is red. Now, answer the question, ma’am, or I’ll be forced to put you under a bright light and get out the brass knuckles. You know they’re standard government issue.”

  “Yeah, I know. I watch TV. All right, quit frowning like that. Three months. New mothers get three months. Now, why would you need to know that?” Julie was afraid she’d have to take advantage of that company perk before very long. She hadn’t had her period yet. And not even a blessed cramp to cheer her.

  “Three months? Damn. If I had to push a watermelon out my—well, I couldn’t, could I. But anyway, I’d want to lie around and gripe for about a year. You women must be tough.”

  “We are. Tougher’n you guys’ll ever be.” Julie really did not want to talk about motherhood. How was she going to tell him—especially if they decided not to be together? And even if they did, would she always wonder if it was because she was pregnant? What then? And why were they even having this conversation? He didn’t want a working wife, and she wasn’t giving up her career. Hello, deadlock.

  In a dire effort to change the subject, she remembered something he’d said on their first “date.” “By the way, you never have told me why you hate my father. What’d he ever do to you?”

  Mike sat up straight and looked like a little boy caught with his hand in his mother’s purse. “Nothing.”

  Julie laughed. He was so big and strong and handsome and virile—and yet could be so endearing. “Yeah, right.”

  “Okay, the truth. I hate him for having such a frustrating daughter. There. It’s out.”

  Julie twisted her lips. He was lying, and she knew it. Now, how to find out the truth? Aha. Two can play this game. “That’s not what Sal said.”

  Mike jumped up. “What the hell did Sal say?” His yelling drew the attention of every man, woman and child in the indoor playground.

  Julie cut her gaze from Mike to look all around them. She smiled at their audience and shrugged her shoulders. Waggling a finger at him, she gloated shamelessly. “Sal hasn’t said a word. I just wanted to see if there was something there. And apparently, there is. So spill your guts, DeAngelo.”

  Mike sat back down, leaning forward in his seat and peering intently into her face. “We have to get to know each other, remember?” He lowered his voice. “No sex, no fights—just friends.”

  “That’s what all this is about?” Suddenly, it was heartwarmingly funny. Poor guy. He was burning up for her, but sticking to his word. How sweet. How torturous. Then, Julie really looked at him. There were deeper hollows than before under his cheekbones. He looked a little thinner, but it was hard to tell under all that muscle. Could it be that he hadn’t shaved today? Darned if he didn’t need a haircut, too. The man was falling apart. On account of her. Good Lord, she was killing him. She reached over to him and put her hand on his. “Mike, you are the biggest sweetie I’ve ever met.”

  He stared at her hand as if he’d just found a wonderful treasure there. “No, I’m the horniest sweetie you’ve ever met.”

  Julie gave a tiny shriek and covered his mouth with her hand. “Mike DeAngelo, there are children present.”

  He lifted her hand and ran his tongue along her palm. Julie jerked her hand away and stared wide-eyed at him for about ten seconds. Totally captivated and totally willing to be ravished, she intoned, “My middle name is Marie. My favorite movie is Monty Python and the Holy Grail. I love to read romances. I love chocolate more than breathing. I’m not afraid of bugs, even spiders. I have a terrible temper and hate to lose at sports. And once when I was ten, I spit on my friend, Beatrice, and threatened to pull all her Barbie doll’s hair out if she told. There. You know everything about me. Can we go to bed now?”

  It was Mike’s turn to stare wide-eyed at her. Suddenly, he burst out laughing, and not two seconds later, he grabbed her and wrapped her in his ironclad embrace, thoroughly kissing her. When he released her, within a second of them forgetting themselves and disrobing, their parting was punctuated by a deep and abiding silence all around them. Julie turned with Mike to see everyone—everyone!—staring at them.

  Mike darted her a look and then stood up. He opened his jacket and pulled out his badge, holding it up and showing it all around. “It’s okay. I’m with the FBI.”

  “AND THEN HE SAID, ‘It’s okay. I’m with the FBI’. There was no one close enough to see if he really had a real badge, but they scattered, anyway. I swear, is that the funniest thing you’ve ever heard?”

  Rosie, Sal’s latest flame and Julie’s new friend, laughed for a minute and then crossed her arms. She’d certainly taken Julie’s hint to wear green to her parents’ party tonight seriously. The woman looked like an exotic parrot, but a cute one. “God love him. But I have to tell you. The funniest thing I ever heard was when Sal—he told me this-was at lunch a couple of weeks ago and got to gesturing at Mike with his meatball sandwich. He ended up flipping a meatball onto a lady in the next booth and told her to send her cleaning bill to Uncle Sam!”

  Julie, a green plastic bowler hat on her head, stared at Rosie and then they both killed themselves laughing. “I swear, Rosie, where do we get these guys?”

  Rosie waved a hand dismissively. “Eh, they’re government issue. There’s a factory in Jersey that churns them out. I’m just glad I got me one. Did he tell you how we met? He brings some suspect into the hospital when I’m on duty. Turns out she’s pregnant. OB got called. I went down with the doctor. Kismet, huh?”

  Her emotions at war, Julie smiled and nodded. She had no desire to hear the word pregnant. Slamming the lid on that thought, she focused on Rosie. Mike had told her that Sal and Rosie were quite the item now, since their shared first date with Mike and Julie. Rosie was so pink and fiery and petite, like an opal, next to Sal’s big diamond-in-therough personality. “I love Sal, don’t you? He’s such a big sweetie.”

  Rosie continued placing shamrock-stamped paper plates, cups and napkins around the huge mahogany dining room table at Julie’s parents’ home. “Yeah. He thinks you hung the moon, too. He told me about the ring he got you. Don’t you just want to chew this guy up?”

  Julie held her hand out. “Look. I’m wearing it.”

  Rosie grabbed at her hand, turning it this way and that as she admired the gumball ring. “Hey, just in time for Saint Patrick’s Day. Look. It’s turning your finger green.”

  Julie laughed. “Yeah, that’s why I
saved it for today. Oh, and thanks for coming early to help set things up. Mom hardly ever gets in over her head with a party, but this time, I don’t know. She’s acting all flustered and nervous about something.”

  Rosie shrugged. “It’s okay. It’s nice to be included. Being single isn’t all it’s cracked up to be, is it?”

  “No.” Julie looked down at the punch bowl into which she was pouring ginger ale over lime sherbet. A sudden lump in her throat made her swallow hard. She fought the welling tears, but feared she was losing.

  Rosie moved to her, putting her hand on Julie’s arm. “Hey, kid, what is it?”

  Julie looked up, quickly swiping at her tears as she glanced over her shoulder toward her mother’s kitchen and then back at Rosie. She moaned. “Oh, Rosie, what am I going to do? I’m pregnant. I did a home test, and it’s positive. And, worse, Mike doesn’t want a working wife. And I just got promoted to a vice presidency at my bank, and I won’t give that up. And I can’t—”

  “Come here, honey. That’s enough. Don’t worry.” Rosie, shorter than Julie, still enfolded her in her arms and patted her back as she rocked slightly. “I don’t think you have a thing to worry about. You want the baby?”

  Julie nodded.

  “Okay. I’ll put you in touch with a good doctor. Hey, you love Mike?”

  Julie nodded even more vigorously.

  “See there? Those are all the ingredients for a happy ending. Have you told him yet about the baby?”

  Julie shook her head.

  Rosie laughed. “Women’s lib. Go figure. Nothing’s changed between men and women, has it? My advice is, don’t tell him. Not yet. Wait until after the party, okay?”

  Julie nodded slowly. But wondered, what difference would it make—before the party or after the party? The problems were still the same. But somehow, the thought of putting off the inevitable, even for a few hours, appealed to her. Mike may as well have a good time, even if she couldn’t. She’d tell him he was going to be a father-again—later tonight. Or maybe tomorrow. Or the next day.