A Man Like Mike

by Sami Lee

  Feeling poleaxed, Mike sank onto the bed. I don’t need or want anything from you. Her words reverberated in his head, hitting him like blows. He felt gutted, and he realised for the first time how much he had come to appreciate being needed. Being necessary. Yesterday she had opened up to him about her past and had let him comfort her. She had even allowed him to help her with Bailey’s cake. They had worked as a team, and that’s what he had thought he and Eve and even Bailey were becoming—a team.

  Her outburst told another story. She didn’t want to work with him. She wanted him to leave her alone.

  Well, that was just fine, he told himself. He could accommodate her.

  Tamping down his hurt, Mike ripped off his wet shirt and headed for the shower.

  All week, Eve used the laptop she’d brought home from work to prepare reports Nathan hadn’t even asked for, just to have something to do. Mike would head off to work soon after she arrived home from the office, leaving her alone save for Bailey, who went to bed hours before she was ready to do the same. Working kept her mind off Mike, the aloof way he had been treating her ever since her eruption on Sunday.

  She should have been relieved at the distance he seemed more than willing to put between them, but instead she felt hurt, isolated. Yet, as distance was exactly what she had demanded, she could hardly complain about feeling left out in the cold.

  Besides, she would have to get used to it. Mike would leave for Melbourne soon, surely, although when she didn’t know. He had still not mentioned his plans to her. On Wednesday evening she called Denise, making arrangements to drop Bailey off at her house the following Saturday morning. Despite the emotional exchanges that had passed between them the previous Sunday, Eve kept her tone professional. Even when Denise made a point of inquiring after her. “Is everything all right, Eve?”

  Eve forced herself not weaken at the apparent concern in the other woman’s voice, reminding herself that no matter what anyone said, she would always be an outsider to the Wilcox family. “I’m fine,” she told her, feeling the lie hurt her chest. She so wished she could confide her inner turmoil to someone, but Mike’s mother was hardly the right person. She added, somewhat fatalistically, “Everything’s as it should be.”

  Friday evening came around, and Eve had run out of reports to write. Mike went to work, as usual, and she settled Bailey into a peaceful sleep, wishing she could do the same for herself. She ate minestrone for dinner. The chilly atmosphere between them notwithstanding, Mike still prepared food each day, leaving her an evening meal. The small but significant consideration left her feeling more sad than anything.

  After dinner, she poured a glass of red wine and ran herself a hot bath, soaking in rose-scented bath beads until the water turned cold. Drying off, she wrapped herself in her thick towelling robe and settled down to watch television, flicking idly through the channels until she found a re-run of an old movie she loved from the 90s. Resting her head on the sofa arm, she settled down to watch.

  Some time later she became aware of something warm touching her shoulder, of being softly rocked. The feeling was strangely comforting, and Eve tried to move farther toward the warmth, releasing a sigh of pleasure.

  Mike pulled his hand away as though it had been singed. In a fashion, it had been. The way Eve sighed and snuggled closer to the hand he had laid on her shoulder sent fire-hot lightning bolts through him, and when he took his hand away, she groaned in sleepy disappointment, making him ache to touch her again, to give her what she wanted in sleep, if not in wakefulness.

  Taking a moment to rein in his impulses, Mike silently studied her. She looked so content curled up on the sofa, her head resting on a red velvet cushion that she clutched with both hands. Her lashes rested on her alabaster cheeks, and he saw that close up they were actually a dark, rusty shade of red, not brown as he had first thought. She’d evidently washed her hair and let it air dry, the smooth red strands glistening in the soft lamplight. She smelled like roses, an intoxicating aroma.

  Mike took a deliberate breath, still not sure he was ready to touch her again. He considered leaving her where she was but knew she’d be more comfortable in her own bed. And the night had grown chilly. Her feet, not to mention a good part of her leg, poked bare and exposed to the air from beneath the thick white robe she wore. Mike’s gaze locked on that expanse of smooth, slender calf for far too long before he chastised himself. He half stood to gather her in his arms.

  When he started to move her, she moaned and rolled onto her back, the action causing the lapels of her robe to part. Mike saw the cinnamon-hued lace neckline beneath dipping low over the soft curves of her breasts and sucked in a breath, feeling as though he’d been punched.

  It was the same sweet little something she’d been wearing the night they’d disagreed over Bailey. He recognised it instantly, even though he’d only ever seen that same meagre glimpse of lace then, because it had haunted his imaginings ever since.

  His pulse thumped through this veins, desire gripping him. Dimly, he knew he ought to go, that the best thing to do would be to leave her where she was and disappear before she ever realised he’d been here.

  Yet he couldn’t move. He stayed leaning over her, his face close to hers until it was too late to sneak out unnoticed. Her eyelids slowly lifted, and her dark chocolate eyes landed on him.

  Her gaze was disoriented, not fully awake. She smiled dreamily, air puffing past her lips. “Oh,” she said, that syllable drawing over his flesh like a physical caress. “You’re back.”

  Mike could barely speak for the pleasure that coursed through him. She hadn’t smiled like that or shown any sign that she was glad to see him in a week—a week that had seemed to last months. “Yeah,” his voice croaked, “I’m back.”

  She reached out a languid hand and touched his face, making his heart race. Her voice was sleep thick, throaty and sexier than anything Mike had ever heard when she said, “I missed you so much,” and urged him toward her with a slight pressure on his neck. She lifted her face, offering her lips.

  Mike’s control snapped. Allowing the pent-up longing inside out of its confinement, he took her mouth, groaning as the connection was made. She tasted faintly of wine and strongly of a sweetness that was something only Eve had, the something that drew him to her despite all their disagreements and differences and drove him half mad with yearning.

  Abandoning the idea of lifting her, Mike eased down on the sofa and gathered her in his arms.

  The thought went through Eve’s mind that this was one very vivid dream. An intense, wonderful dream. One in which Mike had sought her out, the passion in his kisses telling her he would never leave her. She eagerly accepted the invasion of his mouth, wrapping her arms around his neck to stop his retreat. Yet it didn’t seem like he was going anywhere. It seemed like this dream might never end.

  He released her mouth, leaving her gasping for breath, and trailed tiny, hurried kisses across her cheeks. “My sweet Evie, I’ve dreamed about being with you like this. I thought it would never happen, but I couldn’t stop wanting it to.”

  His emotion-soaked words drugged her. “I’ve dreamed about it, too,” she admitted, the words niggling something in her brain.

  Wasn’t she dreaming now?

  Mike made a growling sound and dipped his head to kiss her throat. Slipping inside the opening of her robe, his searching hand found her breast, softly kneading the tender flesh.

  Eve gasped, her senses stimulated by the flash-fire of heat that flared inside her. The feelings were too wonderful to be real, but for the first time since she had opened her eyes she realised they were real. She wasn’t dreaming, Mike was really here with her, kissing her wildly and running his hands over her through the satin of her nightie.

  Her eyes flew open. Her body stilled with shock, and Mike lifted his head to search her face. “Evie? Are you okay?”

  The concern in his expression warmed her heart, and for a moment she forgot all the reasons she needed to object to th
is. She reached up and touched his cheek. It felt like the finest grade of sandpaper beneath her palm. Honesty came to her as naturally as the desire that had welled at his touch. “I love the way you call me Evie.”

  His lips curved in a slow and sensual smile that increased the tempo of her heart. “Then I’ll do it all the time.” He tilted his head to press a kiss to her palm. “My sweet, beautiful Evie.”

  The tenderness of his words imprinted on Eve’s heart, and she felt what meagre resistance she possessed slipping away. His lips moved to her wrist, resting against the leaping pulse point there before moving along her arm. Eventually he reached her shoulder, and placed soft, loving kisses there as he found the strap of her nightgown and gently tugged it aside.

  The heat intensified inside her, anticipation mounting to an almost unbearable point. He meant to make love to her, if she wanted him to. If she wanted him to? There was no question about that as far as her body was concerned. It fairly crooned beneath his touch, singing out for more and more and more of him. Oh, Lord help her, she wanted this.

  He kissed a trail from her collarbone to the neckline of her nightgown, his lips brushing against the lace in a teasing manner that pushed at the edges of her sanity. “Oh, Mike,” she rasped, her tone imploring him to stop this exquisite torture. “Please.” Please love me. Not just now, not just tonight.

  Forever.

  Pushing himself up from the couch, Mike bent down and scooped her effortlessly into his arms, taking her mouth again as he cradled her against his chest and carried her down the hallway.

  To her bedroom, she knew, and had no intention of stopping him. In fact, no coherent thought at all entered her head, until a piercing sound cracked the silence of the night, shattering the sensuous spell that held her in thrall.

  Bailey.

  Mike’s groan of protest rumbled through her. He whispered against her lips, “He’ll stop.”

  Bailey had other ideas. He cried out again, this time more urgently. The sound was like the bucket of cold water Eve had desperately needed, and she pushed against Mike’s chest until he swung her feet to the floor with a muttered curse.

  With a hand on her arm, he stopped her as she would have darted away. “Evie, wait.”

  “I have to go to him.”

  “I know. Just tell me you’re not going to use this as an excuse.”

  She couldn’t quite meet his eyes. “An excuse for what?”

  “To change your mind.”

  His tone was gently imploring, and it forced Eve to look at him. He was so handsome, so masculine and strong … but it was the hint of vulnerability in his eyes, the smoky green still befuddled by desire, that almost did her in. She almost leapt back into his arms and promised him they would pick up where they left off once she got Bailey settled.

  She opened her mouth, then determinedly closed it. Bailey’s waking had been a badly needed stop sign, one she couldn’t afford to ignore. “My mind had nothing to do with what just happened. I was still half asleep.”

  He all but dropped her arm. “Are you trying to tell me you were too out of it to know what you were doing?” His jaw set in a hard line as his eyes narrowed on her in disbelief. “For the record, we were about to make love.”

  “We were about to have sex.” What else could it ever be, when Mike was planning on leaving and he hadn’t even bothered to tell her? There was no chance of a relationship here, only a one-night stand, something Eve had never indulged in, nor ever been tempted to. Until tonight. “A one-off mistake we would have regretted.”

  He blanched, and she wondered if her bluntness had surprised him or wounded his ego. He turned away before she could make an assessment, his profile looking austere in the dim light.

  She wanted to say something, to find a way to apologise. But Bailey’s cries demanded attention, and she had already delayed long enough.

  Besides, there was nothing more to say.

  Without another word, Eve rushed to the nursery. She picked Bailey up, in her emotional state forgetting she usually rubbed his head without taking him from his cot. She cuddled him to her chest, holding him close and breathing in his sleepy baby scent. She murmured shushing noises against his temple and allowed him to toy with her hair until, with the minimum of fuss, he started to drift off.

  Replacing him in his cot, Eve wished she could settle her own agitation that easily.

  She had almost gone to bed with Mike. The realisation made her shudder with mingled desire and dismay. She had wanted him, and her body was telling her she still did, but she had no clue how she would handle that level of intimacy with him. She was deathly afraid that, with her defences stripped away, she might make some desperate plea for him to stay, revealing her need for him.

  With trepidation, Eve slipped out of the nursery into the hallway, half expecting Mike to still be there, demanding honesty from her instead of veiled excuses. But she needn’t have been so anxious.

  The hallway was empty.

  Chapter 10

  The following morning, Eve left the house early, before Mike surfaced from downstairs. Cowardly though she knew it was, she felt ill-equipped emotionally to face him.

  She drove to Mike’s parents’ house and delivered Bailey into Denise and Allen’s waiting arms. Denise covered her grandson’s cheeks with effusive kisses until Allen took him away, swinging him around in a circle by his arms as the little boy laughed gleefully.

  Eve smiled as she watched. She had seen Mike do that very thing the second night he had stayed at the cottage, the night he had cooked her dinner and started worming his way into her heart.

  She grew still at the thought. Her heart. She had feelings for Mike that went beyond the physical, beyond being grateful for his support where Bailey was concerned. She might even be falling in—

  “Will you stay for a cup of tea, Eve?”

  Denise’s query broke into her thoughts, and Eve shoved them aside, labelling them pointless and silly. “No, thank you, Denise. I need to get going.”

  When she pulled into the driveway of the cottage, Eve saw that Mike’s car was gone. In the kitchen, she found a note.

  Had to go out and run some errands. Back later. –Mike

  Had there really been errands to run, or did Mike merely want to avoid her as much as she did him? Eve quickly dismissed the idea. Subterfuge wasn’t his style. She was the coward here.

  Although she wasn’t really hungry, Eve fixed herself a sandwich for lunch, eating it out on the back deck to take advantage of the sun’s warmth before winter really settled in. Then she wandered back inside the house and rinsed her dishes. Afterward, she stood in the middle of the kitchen, wondering why she felt so uneasy. Then it hit her.

  Without Bailey here to occupy almost every waking moment, she didn’t know what to do with herself.

  She frowned in consternation. It hadn’t been that long ago she had entire weekends to herself that she had no trouble filling. What had she used to do?

  She had read—but none of the books in Jacinta’s collection interested her. She had visited with Jacinta. God, she missed Jacinta. Thinking of her friend, Eve thought of the one task she had avoided doing since she’d moved in here: sorting through what was left of Jacinta’s personal effects.

  Clutching onto the one thing that was sure to monopolise her thoughts, Eve headed toward the door at the end of the hall.

  The master bedroom remained nearly as untouched as it had been the day, a week after the funeral, that Eve had moved her few things into the house and taken up residence in the guest room. Allen had come by the day before to take Derek’s personal items and clothing, leaving only the main pieces of stained timber bedroom furniture and Jacinta’s belongings. Jacinta’s mother had declared herself unable to cope with the anguish of sorting through her daughter’s effects and had quickly returned to Singapore with her new husband. Her father had been equally unhelpful. So the responsibility had been left to Eve.

  The master bedroom was larger than either hers
or Bailey’s, with a set of French doors that opened onto the front deck. Everything was coated with a layer of dust that the early afternoon sun highlighted, mocking her. She hadn’t spent enough time cleaning in here. She considered cleaning it now, but knew she was searching for more excuses to put off the inevitable. Taking a deep breath to steel herself, she opened the closet door.

  Much later Eve surveyed the piles of clothes and shoes laid out on the queen-size bed and shook her head with a smile. Jacinta certainly had liked clothes shopping—not surprising given how great she looked in everything. A potato sack would have looked exclusive-nightclub-worthy on her tall, statuesque frame, yet Jacinta had preferred designer labels, no doubt about it. There must be thousands of dollars worth of outfits. Since nothing was going to come close to fitting Eve even if she had the flair to wear it, she saw no option but to give the clothes away.

  The Lifeline store was about to get a sizeable donation.

  She found boxes in the area just outside Mike’s bedroom. She was turning to go back up the stairs when the door behind her opened.

  She halted abruptly in stride, three empty boxes in her arms. The box on the top slid off the small tower she had created. Instinctively, she reached out to grab it, dropping the remaining two boxes in the process.

  The next minute she was crouching to retrieve them, with Mike on his haunches beside her. “I’m not usually so clumsy.” She felt herself babbling but was powerless to stop it. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

  The lie heated her cheeks and she was glad she hadn’t tied back her hair so now her face was concealed from Mike’s sidelong glance. She knew exactly what was wrong with her—heart palpitations, an elevated temperature and a serious case of the jitters, all courtesy of Mike Wilcox. “What are you doing here anyway? I thought you were going to be gone all day.”

  “Sorry to disappoint you,” he said in a voice like dry ice.