“You are grumpy.” Lily shook her head. “You should have known you aren’t cut out for marriage. Why, they’re taking bets at my bookstore on how long it’ll last” She tsked like a clucking hen. “The Wentworth playboy and the bakery girl.”
Michael stared at her.
“Just too cute,” Lily said, her perfectly drawn eyebrows arching. “Just too unbelievable.”
A burn started in Michael’s gut. “Unbelievable how?” he said softly. “Unbelievable why?” Others in line turned to watch the exchange.
Lily stepped away from him. “Nothing, Michael,” she said quickly. “I’m just playing with you.”
The doorbells jangled again. From the corner of his eye Michael glimpsed a blue parka and a red scarf. Beth and Mischa. The relief at locating them didn’t ease the burn in his belly.
“Michael?” The surprise in Beth’s voice would do nothing to ease Lily’s suspicions. He felt the woman’s crafty eyes scrutinizing them.
The Wentworth playboy and the bakery girl. The worlds-apart dig would confirm for Beth everything she had been trying, so obviously, to tell him last night.
Damn Lily. Knowing her, and knowing this town, a comment like that would be sure to find its way back to Beth. Especially if the dissolution of their marriage followed so quickly on its heels.
Beth moved close enough to grab. He found her hand on the stroller handle. Found her gaze and held it. He tilted up her chin and pressed a soft kiss to her lower lip. It didn’t taste like the wrong thing to do.
Beth’s breath blew soft against his cheek before he turned toward Lily.
“I don’t play around about my wife,” he said. “I don’t play around about my marriage.”
“Michael?” Beth asked again.
He hated that question in her voice. It said she didn’t know him, didn’t trust him. Lily would pick up on it. He squeezed her hand. “I’ve been looking for you. We have a lunch date, remember?”
Bea quickly came around the counter, all certainty where Beth was all confusion. “And I promised to baby-sit.” She slid the stroller out of Beth’s grasp. “You two just take your time.”
“We have a reservation at Oscar’s,” Michael said. They had no such thing, of course, but Oscar would find a table for them. He bent quickly to taste Beth’s lips once more.
For Lily’s benefit, of course.
“If you’ll excuse us.” Michael nodded to Bea, to Lily, to anyone who might doubt the strength of his marriage, and then pushed his beautiful wife out the door.
* * *
“I’m not dressed for this place,” Beth hissed to Michael. She scooted her chair closer to the table, hoping the other patrons of the upscale restaurant would think she had on a skirt with her blouse instead of ancient jeans.
“No one’s looking at you,” he said, picking up the menu.
Beth grimaced. “Yeah, right. Just like no one was looking at me in the bakery.”
His menu slapped against the white tablecloth. “Did someone say something to you?” he asked, his voice gone harsh.
She blinked. “How could they? You hustled me out of there in thirty seconds.” They’d all been staring at her when she came in the door, though. And something had been going on between Lily Baker, the bookstore owner, and Michael. Her heart dipped.
He picked up the menu again, opened it almost too casually. “So, no one has said anything to you about…anything?”
What is he afraid I’ve been told? Was it about Lily? The woman was older than Michael but beautiful.
“Is there something you want me to know?” she asked softly. Was it Lily he wanted?
“What about you?” he replied. “Are you sick? Mischa?”
She blinked. “Sick?”
“Dr. Scudder. I went home to see you and saw your note. Did you have an appointment today?”
Beth’s cheeks heated and she fingered the cold silverware. “You’ve never come home at lunch before.” What had been so important that he’d interrupted his day?
The waiter showed up at their table and took their order. Then all was bustle around them: water glasses filled, breadbasket and butter delivered, their meals set before them. After a few more minutes, Beth speared a slice of chicken breast from her Caesar salad and finally made herself ask the question.
“Why did you come home early today?”
His gaze remained on his plate. “I wanted to talk with you.”
The handle of the fork bit into her palm. She thought of the evident tension between Michael and Lily in the bakery. Did he want to confess he had a mistress? Did he want her to know that he was cheating on his convenient wife? “About Lily?”
“Lily?” His head came up and his eyes narrowed. “What about Lily?”
Beth’s heart bumped against her chest. “I thought…maybe you wanted to tell me you were seeing her.”
His eyebrows snapped together. “Seeing her?”
He wasn’t making this easy. Beth swallowed. “She, um, seemed pretty interested in you back there.”
“Lily?” He laughed shortly. “She’s only interested in two things. Making trouble and Jack. And not necessarily in that order.”
Michael’s voice grated at his brother’s name. Beth made herself take a bite of chicken and chew. He downed the rest of his ice water in one gulp.
The instant appearance of a waiter to refill the glass didn’t dispel the edgy mood at the table. Beth put down her fork. “Is that what makes you angry at Jack?” she had to ask. “That Lily wanted him?”
Michael stared at her. “I don’t get why we’re talking about Lily.”
Beth stared back, trying to puzzle out his mood. “Because talking to her seemed to upset you. I just thought maybe…”
His eyebrows raised. “Maybe?”
“You married me on the rebound. That it was Lily you wanted.”
He groaned and ran a hand over his face. “Beth.”
She didn’t want to guess at what he meant by that. “Tell me, Michael.”
“Damn,” he said softly. “I keep messing this up.”
“Tell me.” She had to know.
“I don’t—”
“Honesty is the best policy. Alice always said that and she’s right.”
Michael groaned again. “Alice, bless her everlovin’ heart, never had a wife that should be set free.”
Cold blasted over Beth’s skin. Goose bumps rose at her wrists to run up her arms. “Alice never married,” she said, just to prove her mouth could still move.
“It doesn’t surprise me.”
Beth took a sip of water to moisten her dry mouth. “What do you want, Michael? Just tell me.”
He looked up. Dark eyes ringed with gold. The wedding band on Beth’s finger felt like a warming fire to her hand. She stroked the gold with her thumb.
“I wanted to set you free,” he said.
Beth pressed the ring into her finger. “Because?”
“Damn Grandfather,” he said between his teeth. “Damn the trust fund. Damn the Oil Works.”
Beth closed her eyes. She wanted to take back what she’d said about honesty. She wanted Michael to lie to her. For some crazy reason she wanted to go on being married to him. She wanted him to want that, too. Damn their differences.
“But I won’t let you go.”
Beth opened her eyes.
“Not yet, anyway.” Michael reached for her hand.
His grip was hard, uncompromising. She tried to keep her fingers still, but they pressed back. She should ask him why he’d changed his mind.
“We do have a bargain,” she said instead.
“Right.” He nodded. “We have a marriage.”
Heat slid up her arm toward her heart. “Right”
“Are you sure?” His thumb painted erotic sensation over the top of her hand. “You can wait for your freedom a little longer?”
Honesty is the best policy. “I don’t want to be set free,” she said. Even if it would be safer.
“Not ye
t,” he added.
“Not yet,” she agreed.
“Problem is,” he said out of the blue, “the ranch house is small.”
She knew what he was talking about. If they continued to live together in their tiny place…She took a breath and made a decision. “Yes,” she said.
He cocked an eyebrow and his hand gripped hers tighter. “Elijah can’t come over every evening, you know. He won’t tonight, for sure. He’s ticked at me.”
“Yes,” she whispered. There wasn’t anything else to say, really. They had always been heading toward this, no matter their denials or their differences.
“God, Beth.” Michael’s nostrils flared and she saw the thrum of his heartbeat at his throat. “It’s frustrating as hell to hold you and…”
“It was my doctor’s appointment today.” A flush of heat waved over her face. “I’m…well.”
His eyes closed. “Beth, do you mean—”
“Yes.” Beth had to smile. She wanted to be happy at this moment, no matter what might come after. “Michael.”
He opened his eyes, focused on her curving mouth. “I like what I see.” He grinned back, and his thumb came up to stroke her lips. “We can?”
She nodded. “Dr. Scudder says I’m ready for…”
“Me.” Michael said it with such certainty. But then his grin died. “Are you sure, honey?”
Of course he didn’t mean was she certain the doctor was right. Of course he was asking if she was willing to go to bed with no more promises between them than a temporary marriage vow.
When she thought he wanted Lily she’d been hurt.
When she thought he wanted to end their marriage she’d been afraid.
“Yes, Michael.”
8
Of course the long afternoon allowed all kinds of second thoughts. If Michael had been able to go home with her right then…But he and Elijah had a meeting at the bank that afternoon. He’d left her outside the bakery with only one kiss. Beth closed her eyes and remembered his warm hands cupping her cold cheeks, the heated taste of his mouth.
“I’ll be home soon,” he’d whispered in her ear.
But was it soon enough? Beth bathed Mischa in a little tub at the kitchen counter and tried to calm her wild heartbeat. With Michael around, his dark eyes following her, his touch igniting hot chills over her skin, it was easy to ignore her worries.
But once alone…“Mischa,” she asked the baby. “Am I doing the right thing?”
He stared back seriously. Beth groaned. Of course she wasn’t doing the right thing. Mischa was a reminder of how wrong she’d been before when it came to men.
A woman shouldn’t go to a man just to fill an empty heart. “Haven’t I learned anything?”
She dried the baby off and held him against her. But her heart wasn’t empty. Mischa was there. Her maternal protectiveness overflowed the measly organ at the very glimpse of one of her son’s smiles. Beth realized she was no longer the lonely woman who’d fatefully bumped into Mischa’s father one day on campus. The lonely woman who’d driven away from L.A. with a pregnancy that only she wanted.
Lonely!
Beth put her hand over her mouth in astonishment. She’d thought the word twice without even a ripple of dread. The emotion she refused to acknowledge, that she’d always feared was…gone.
Mischa had banished it. She kissed the top of her son’s head. “Oh, my darling—”
Michael.
The truth slid out. Not that Mischa wasn’t the dearest, most precious being, but her loneliness had been a grown-up pain, a hurt that only a man could fill.
Michael.
Goose bumps waved over her body.
Panic sucked away her breath.
Despite all her experiences, all her calluses, she was in love with him.
“Oh, no.” Tears pricked the corners of her eyes and she had to wipe her cheeks dry with a corner of Mischa’s baby towel. “We’ve got to go, Mischa.”
The thought energized her. They’d go someplace far away. Michael wouldn’t look long, if at all. He’d find some other woman, some woman who didn’t feel as fragile as glass. Some woman who didn’t feel an emotion so painfully new, painfully fresh. He’d find someone who wasn’t feeling love for the very first time in her life.
She ran into her bedroom, noting the time. It was well past five and Michael could be home any moment. She hurriedly dressed the drowsy Mischa and laid him in his crib. Her hands slipped on the handle of her duffel bag as she pulled it out of the closet. One of her paper shopping bags was crumpled. With desperate fingers she smoothed it out.
She packed Mischa’s clothes first. Then, worried about the minutes ticking by, she pulled on her coat and grabbed the diaper bag. Who cared about her clothes when her heart was at stake?
Trembling, she slung the duffel bag over her shoulder and ran to the kitchen for her car keys. She’d throw in their things, warm up the car, go back for Mischa at the very last.
She pulled open the front door. Hit Michael, cheek to chest.
His arms closed around her.
She waited for her soul to shatter.
He laughed.
“If you were any bigger, you might have knocked me over.” His hands on her shoulders, he held her away. “So anxious to see me?”
Tell him you changed your mind. He’d understand. She’d say she didn’t want to go to bed with him, thanks all the same. Her mouth opened.
Nothing came out.
“You’ve been crying,” he said.
That age-old orphan instinct kicked in. Never let them see your pain. “No!”
His hands tightened on her shoulders. “Did you hurt yourself? Cut a finger? Stub a toe?” His gaze ran over her. “What are you carrying?”
“Nothing.” Pitiful answer.
He shut the front door behind him. Beth concentrated on a point over his left shoulder. She tried to think of how she was going to get out of the house with Mischa at nearly six in the evening on the night she’d promised to go to bed with her husband. On the night that she wanted to go to bed with him so very much.
“Beth,” he said quietly. “Are you leaving me?”
She couldn’t say she was. She didn’t want to. She only knew she should.
“Beth, what is it?”
Mute, she shook her head. If you spoke your fears, they could gobble you up. If you closed your eyes to them and gave them no voice, then maybe, just maybe, they couldn’t conquer you.
“You’re afraid.” He said it for her.
“Yes.” The word hissed out, and she slumped, deflated. “I’m sorry, but…yes.”
Unbelievably, he smiled. “You admitted that to me once before.”
The memory burst into her consciousness. She hadn’t remembered it until this instant. On the night she’d given birth to Mischa, she’d told Michael she was afraid. Had some instinct known then that he was the one?
He slid the duffel bag off her shoulder. It plopped to the floor. Mischa’s diaper bag followed. He shrugged out of his jacket and dropped it over the getaway bags. Somehow it seemed like a sign. To get to them she’d have to get past Michael.
One of his big hands slid around the back of her head. He pulled her against his chest. “Now,” he said, his voice rumbling against her cheek. “Tell me what you’re afraid of.”
Air stuttered into her lungs as if she’d just been sobbing. Her arms circled his waist and she held on. What could she say? “Mischa’s father…” She had some vague notion of explaining how different her feelings for him had been. How shallow it was compared to what she felt for Michael. Then she’d get in her car and drive off.
“He gave up the term father the second he let you get away, Beth.”
She nodded. Michael was right. She gathered her breath and her courage. This wasn’t about Evan. This was about Michael and how dangerous he could be to her.
His knuckle stroked the underside of her chin. Feathers of sensation rushed toward her breasts. “Michael,” she whispered,
looking up at him.
Dark eyes ringed with gold. They got to her every time. His hand stroked her cheek and she caught a glimpse of his wedding band. She closed her eyes.
“Beth.” He said her name like a sigh. He bent close and his breath blew over her mouth. “I won’t hurt you, Beth. Not like he did. You’ll be the one to say when it’s time to call it quits.”
Beth lifted her lashes. Looked into Michael’s face. Dark eyes ringed with the gold of promises. She could say it wasn’t time for them to go to bed. She could say now was the time for them to part. But she’d never been in love before.
She rose to tiptoes. “Make love to me,” she said, and kissed him.
Michael knew he had a way with women. He appreciated them. He liked them. He treated them well and in return they’d always brought him pleasure.
Yet never before had a woman made his hands tremble.
Never before had he been so worried about getting a woman to bed.
Or been so certain it could be so good.
She’d whispered, “Make love to me,” and then to make Murphy always right, Mischa had begun an insistent wail. Beth had left his arms to get Mischa settled for the night.
Michael hadn’t minded. Beth would be back, he was sure of it. But when he’d first entered the house…then he had read the need for escape on her pretty, pretty face.
He would have let her go, too.
Maybe.
But instead, she’d kissed him and something hot and happy had bubbled up inside him.
“Hi,” she said softly from the kitchen doorway.
Michael turned, smiled. “Hi.”
“What’s going on in here?”
He held up two prepared dinner plates. While desire insisted he bed her as soon as possible, instinct urged caution. “I nuked some leftovers.” He grinned with wicked intent and wagged his eyebrows. “Thought I’d feed you first.”
A wash of pink slid up her neck toward her brilliant eyes. He laughed, that exuberant feeling bubbling again. “Do I embarrass you?”
She pursed her lips and lowered her lashes. Performed a subtle sashay in his direction. Got close, looked up. “You turn me on,” she said.
He reeled against the edge of the countertop. It was only a little dramatic exaggeration. She slayed him. One minute sweet, one minute saucy. Hell, it was going to be a night.
The Millionaire and the Pregnant Pauper Page 9