by Joan Hohl
“Were you drinking, Wolf,” she asked softly, “on an empty stomach?”
“I had a couple of beers in a bar over at the Point,” Wolf replied equally softly. “To pass the time while I waited for my date to put in an appearance.”
Feeling her face flush, Micki looked away from him and glanced into the faces of the people moving around them. Up until that point her mind had been so full of Wolf she’d been only aware on the surface of the hum of voices, the sound of laughter around her. Tugging her hand free of his grasp, she walked to the rail and stared out at the dark, white-capped water.
“Why didn’t you keep our date?”
Wolf bent his long frame beside her, rested his forearms on the top rail, propped one foot on the bottom rail. He had removed his suit jacket and it dangled in the air over the beach, held in the fingers of one hand.
Micki’s eyes clung to the gentle movement of the jacket, held so carelessly in those strong fingers. Not unlike the way he handles women, Micki thought suddenly, a shiver feathering her back. The idea of being held in those strong hands, even carelessly, made her feel sick with longing.
“I asked you a question.” Wolfs edged tone jolted her back to reality.
“I went up to Atlantic City this afternoon to introduce myself to the manager of the shop I’ve been transferred to,” Micki explained nervously. “We got talking shop talk and the time slipped away. By the time the shop closed, I’d forgotten about our date and when she asked me if I’d like to have dinner with her and the other two women who work there, I said yes.”
“You are a very bad liar, babe,” Wolf grated, not looking at her. “Now would you like to tell me the real reason?”
“Honestly, Wolf, you are—” Micki began angrily.
“Honestly?” He cut her off. “I don’t think so, sweetie. I honestly think you’ve been lying through your teeth. Why the hell won’t you level with me? Did you go out with another guy?” He was on the attack now and Micki felt cornered by his stinging tone. “Someone you ran into after you agreed to go with me? If so, why the hell didn’t you call me and break the date?”
Micki turned to face him, her eyes bright with anger. “Would you have let me break the date?”
Wolfs silvery eyes turned the color of cold steel as he stared into hers. “Probably not,” he finally snapped, after a few long, nerve-racking seconds.
“That’s what I thought.” Micki wrenched her eyes from his, stared sightlessly out over the ocean. “So I simply decided not to keep it.”
“Were you with another man?” Wolf’s tone held a strange, breathless quality Micki couldn’t define. For a brief moment she considered telling him she had been out with another man, then she sighed and murmured, “No.”
She heard her sigh echo beside her before his voice, close to her ear, sent tiny little chills skimming over her body.
“What are you afraid of, honey?”
“Wh-what do you mean?” she stammered. “Afraid of?”
“Are you afraid, if you go with me, I’ll get you alone and want to touch you?” His breath fluttered the hair near her ear; his words started a fluttering in her mid-section. “Afraid I’ll want to hold you in my arms and kiss you?” His voice went low. “Afraid I’ll want to make love to you?”
Micki’s hands gripped the rail. She couldn’t answer, she couldn’t move. In fact, she could hardly breathe.
“You’d be right.” Wolf’s voice was very low now, low and urgent. “I do want to do all those things.”
Motionless, unseeing, Micki stood as if fused to the boards beneath her feet, the need to have him do all those things draining all the color from her face. Oh, God, how she ached to be in his arms, and yes, in his bed. Her own thoughts frightened her into action. Pushing herself away from the rail, she dashed across the boardwalk, dodging in and out, around the startled faces of people. Wolf caught up to her as she came off the ramp.
“Running away again?” His tone was now sharp with exasperation.
“I simply want to go home.” Micki shrugged his hand from her arm. He slid it around her waist, held on tightly.
“What are you running from, do you know?” Wolf asked tiredly. “Did you know six years ago?”
“Shut up,” Micki cried, then lowered her voice at the sharp glance a man passing them threw at her. “I don’t want to talk about six years ago. I don’t even want to think about it.”
“Why?” Wolf rapped softly. “Why don’t you want to talk about it?” Micki was almost running in her urgent need to get home. Wolf tightened his hand at her waist even more, forcing her to slow down. “Why don’t you want to think about it?”
“I told you why in your apartment the other day.” Micki lied frantically. “It’s dead and there’s nothing as dead as a dead love affair.”
Wolf came to an abrupt halt and grasped her shoulder to turn her toward him.
“So that’s what it was,” he rasped, “a love affair.” His soft laughter had the sound of rusty metal being scraped. Micki felt fear clog her throat “I’ll give you a hundred dollars against a Mexican peso I can breathe life into it again.” His fingers dug into her soft flesh to draw her closer. “What kind of gambler are you?”
His mouth touched hers and at that moment a car full of teenage boys drove by. Laughing and hooting, the boys called encouraging suggestions to Wolf and though he released her, he threw them a wicked grin.
Micki used his momentary inattention to move away from him. Wolf was right behind her.
“For God’s sake, kid, slow down.” His big hand swallowed hers, held fast. “I wasn’t going to hurt you.”
The mere thought of you hurts me, Micki’s mind cried silently. Shaking her head to dislodge the thought, she said bitingly, “I know that, but I hate being put into a position to receive that kind of taunting catcall.” She tried to tug her hand free, shot him a sour look when his fingers tightened. “And I’m not a kid.”
‘Then stop acting like one,” he bit back. ‘Those boys didn’t mean any harm.” Micki withdrew into a stony silence. Walking steadily, her eyes straight ahead, she sighed with relief when they turned the corner onto her street. She couldn’t wait to get into the house for the simple reason she wanted to be with him so badly.
Wolf stopped, pulling her up short, several yards from the house. With a casual wave of his hand he indicated a flame-red Ferrari parked at the curb.
“Come have a drink with me,” he coaxed. “I haven’t had my dessert yet.”
“I don’t want a drink,” Micki said flatly, swinging away from him again. “I’m not thirsty, I’m tired.”
Hurrying up the front walk, she prayed her father had not come back downstairs and locked the door. She had to get away from Wolf. She knew it. She had been tempted to go with him, had wanted to go with him. And she knew that given even the few minutes it would take her father to come down and open the door for her, Wolf would be able to persuade her into going with him.
“Why are you so tired?” Wolfs hand on her arm made her pause in front of the door. “It’s only eleven fifteen.”
“I’m not physically tired, Wolf.” Micki had not turned her head, and her words seemed to bounce off the door, back into her face.
Wolfs hand left her arm to circle her waist and she felt her throat go dry when he stepped closer to her. With trembling fingers she clutched the doorknob as if grasping for a lifeline.
“Micki, baby.” Wolfs soft voice, only inches from her ear, was a nerve-shattering temptation. “If you’re not really tired, come with me.”
“But I am really tired,” Micki insisted in a dry, crackling voice. Her hand turned the knob and pushed, relief washing over her when the door gave under pressure. “I’m tired of this conversation. I’m tired of defending myself.” Turning her head, she forced herself to meet his gaze levelly. “I’m tired of your company, Wolf.”
Wolf stepped back as if she’d actually struck him. His face drained of all expression and quite a bit of color. His lips
thinned. His eyes narrowed.
“Okay, baby.” His lips barely seemed to move around the muttered words. “I guess you can’t make it any clearer than that.” He turned away, started down the porch steps, then turned back swiftly. “But if you change your mind, you’ll have to call me. I won’t be calling you.” His lips twisted, almost as if he were in pain. His voice rasped against her ears. “I’ve had about all I can take of your brand of rejection.”
Micki gasped audibly. Stung by what she considered was the unfairness of his taunting words, she retaliated without thinking.
“Don’t hold your breath.”
“Very classy,” Wolf drawled stingingly. “And you say you’re not a kid. You’ve said very little to prove otherwise tonight.”
His silvery eyes, sharp with scorn, moved dismissively over her body, then, with a shrug, he turned away again.
Hurt unbearably by his sarcastic words and the scorn in his eyes, Micki was goaded into trying to hurt back.
“If you hurry, Wolf,” she called softly, as he started down the walk, “you can drink a gallon of dessert before the bar closes.”
“Grow up, kid,” Wolf tossed back disparagingly, not even bothering to look back.
* * *
Chapter 6
Wolf’s parting shot nagged at Micki’s mind for most of the following week. She just could not decide what exactly he’d meant by it. Not “Grow up, kid.” She understood that well enough. But the prior one, the one about his having had enough of her brand of rejection that bothered her. She was sure the gibe could not be taken at face value, for that would indicate his being hurt, and that concept she could not accept.
During that week, the last of her vacation, Micki kept very busy and away from Regina’s questioning eyes. She spent hours on the beach, soaking up sun, acquiring a deep tan that made her eyes look an even brighter blue. She saw, or spoke on the phone to every one of her friends still at home, including Tony, who called and asked her to have dinner with him on Saturday night. She accepted eagerly for two reasons. One, she would be truly delighted to see Tony again and two, she was ready to jump at any excuse to get out of the house.
Determined to keep her mind occupied every waking minute, she lived that week on the run. From house to beach, back to the house to shower, then out again to have lunch or shop with Cindy, or visit her old haunts. For several hours on Tuesday afternoon she lost herself in the nineteenth century by way of the Historical Museum. All other thoughts were sent packing as her imagination was caught, then consumed, by the lifelike reality of the priceless antique furniture and household articles used in the display areas set up as living room, dining room, bedroom, kitchen, and nursery.
A small smile tugged at her bemused expression as she imagined herself and her friends dressed in the apparel worn at the turn of the century, carefully preserved and kept in glass cases, in the Fashion Room.
As she moved slowly through the Sindia Room, she could almost feel the anxiety of the crew of the four-masted bark when it was driven onto the beach in a gale on December 15, 1901.
The contemplative state induced by her visit into yesteryear stayed with her through the remainder of the day and evening and left her with the surety that an individual life was indeed too short to be wasted.
On Thursday evening she agreed to go with her father and Regina to the Music Pier for the concert given nightly by the Ocean City Pops. Her father and Regina went inside the large building on the pier while Micki sat on a bench outside as she had years before, watching the ocean’s constant movement while she listened to the music.
The strains of Rodgers and Hammerstein music, blending with the muted roar of the sea, evoked memories of her girlhood. In the years she’d been away, she hadn’t consciously realized how much she’d missed it all. And now, the atmosphere, the ambience, seemed to seep through her skin into her heart. Irrevocably her wandering thoughts led to Wolf.
Moving restlessly on the slatted wood bench, she fought in vain against the image that would no longer be pushed away. Silvery eyes mocked her struggle. Sighing softly, Micki closed her eyes while the essence of him took control of her senses, her emotions. Where was he tonight? What was he doing? Most importantly, who was he doing it with? Her own thoughts bedeviled and hurt her, yet she could no longer keep them at bay. She was resentful, hurt, jealous of his activities, his companions, even though she knew she had no right to be. She loved him distractedly, passionately, and that love had the effect of slashing her to ribbons inside.
She needed him in every way, and the growing intensity of that need sparked near panic. With a sickening feeling of humiliation clogging her throat, Micki faced the realization that unless she found a way to dislodge his occupation of her mind she would be reduced to calling him, as he had suggested she should.
With determination spawned by desperation, she made plans for the rest of the summer, pushing aside the nagging reminder that the best laid plans . . . She had to overcome her emotional obsession with him. She had to— somehow. For one tiny moment she allowed herself the remembered breathlessness aroused by his arms, his mouth, then, with a quick, sad shake of her head she wished him to Siberia, or some other, much hotter, place.
The sound of the sea and the music lulling her into a somewhat dreamlike state of wishful thinking, Micki convinced herself of her eventual success. She would throw herself vigorously into her new job and fill her non-working hours by finding and settling into a new apartment. Even though she had made arrangements to have her things packed and trucked to her father’s house when her lease ran out at the end of August, she could take a run up to Wilmington to oversee the removal. Born of desperation, ideas popped into her mind. There were any number of things she could do to stay busy and, she vowed fervently, she would do them, all of them, to escape the hold Wolf had on her.
Riding the crest of optimism as bravely as a surfer skimming a wave, Micki walked home from the concert with a jaunty stride, humming snatches of the music she’d heard.
“I get the distinct impression you enjoyed the concert,” her father teased.
‘Very much,” Micki affirmed, flashing him a smile. “I always have. The tenor soloist was pretty good, at least what I could hear out at the rail sounded good.”
“I liked the aria the soprano sang,” Regina inserted quietly. “Even though I can’t remember the name of it and your father knows absolutely nothing about opera. Do you know it, Micki?”
Know it? Micki hadn’t even heard it. Shaking her head, she frowned.
“No, I’m sorry, Regina, I’m afraid I don’t know any more about opera than Dad does.”
“It doesn’t matter really,” Regina smiled. “It’s just been tantalizing the edge of my memory, if you know what I mean?”
Did she ever, Micki groaned silently. When it came to a subject tantalizing the memory, she was an expert. Veering sharply from the thought, she launched into another song, singing where she knew the words, humming where she didn’t.
“Do you have plans for the weekend, honey?” Bruce’s soft voice cut into her slightly off-key version of “A Cockeyed Optimist.”
“Yes,” Micki nodded. “I’ve been invited to Cindy and Benny’s for dinner tomorrow and I have a date with Tony Saturday.”
Micki didn’t miss the sharp-eyed glance Regina shot her at the mention of Tony’s name. In an effort to block any questions from her stepmother, she rushed on. “Why? Was there something you wanted me to do?”
“No, no,” Bruce assured her. “We were invited to a cookout Saturday evening and you were included, if you were free.”
“A cookout? Where?” Micki asked curiously.
“At Betty and Jim Grant’s,” Regina answered for her husband. “Betty wanted to meet you and thought this might be a good time and way.”
“And I would like to finally meet her,” Micki assured her. For Micki, Regina’s friend Betty had been a warm voice on the phone. They had become friends while Micki was away. Although she had not i
ntruded at the time of Bruce’s illness, her voice had been a bracing encouragement at the other end of the line during those nerve-racking days. “Ask her if I may have a raincheck.”
“Not necessary,” Bruce put in smoothly. “I would like you to keep two weeks from Saturday open, honey. There’s a celebration party being planned for that night and, as the Grants will be there, you will meet Betty then.”
“A celebration party?” Micki’s brows went up. “For what?”
“A big-time developer and several realtors, myself included, are on the verge of closing a very big deal. It’s been in the works for some time, and we decided a celebration was in order. We’d like you with us for two reasons. First, simply to have you join us in celebrating the successful conclusion to some very long, hard negotiations. And secondly, because it will be the last evening we’ll spend together for a while as”—he paused to glance at his wife—”Regina and I will be flying to the West Coast the following afternoon.”
“You’re actually going?” Micki cried happily. ‘Terrific. How long will you be gone? Where are you going? I mean, are you going to stay in Frisco the whole time or are you planning to take in other places—Vegas, Mexico?”
“I believe you are nearly as excited as we are,” Bruce laughed when Micki finally ran down. They were almost home and as they turned onto the front walk he dropped an arm around her shoulders. “The minute we get into the house we’ll show you our itinerary.”
He removed his arm to unlock the door. “We plan to be gone the last two weeks of August” With a wide courtly sweep of his arm he ushered them inside. “So will you go to the party with us?”
“Yes, of course, if you want me to go,” Micki answered quickly. “Now, lead me to your itinerary.”
They sat around the kitchen table, tall, moisture-beaded glasses of iced tea in front of them, until after midnight, Regina and Bruce talking at the same time, cutting in on each other as they outlined their plans for Micki.
* * * *
For Micki, Friday evening was an unqualified success. Cindy had gone all out in her preparations for dinner and the dining-room table gleamed with her best china and crystal (Micki’s wedding gift to them). The menu complemented the entree of fried chicken. The consommé was delicious, the small parslied potatoes cooked to just the right peak, and the tiny creamed peas and pearl onions tender. For dessert Cindy served a rich homemade cheesecake Micki was sure she could not possibly manage, but she did.