by Noelle Adams
When she looked up, Michael had on his professional face. “Did you need anything before you go to bed?”
She shook her head, strangely crushed at having lost the moment of closeness. “Thanks. I’m fine. I’m going to take a bath and turn in.”
“Okay. I’ll be out here all night.” He gestured toward the living area. “Pete will be outside. The security system I had installed last month is top of the line. There’s nothing for you to worry about.”
She told him goodnight and went into the bedroom. Roger would sleep in the small bedroom over the garage, and Pete and Michael wouldn’t sleep at all.
She drew herself a bath and poured in some lavender honey bath oil. Then she soaked for a long time in the sudsy water, thinking about Michael and how she’d somehow grown into her feelings for him. It hadn’t really happened all of a sudden—she just hadn’t been aware of the change until her feelings had completed the transformation.
She wondered how he felt about her.
He cared about her as a person—she was sure of it. If she hadn’t realized it before today, then she would know it now for sure. But whether his feelings were at all like hers was impossible to judge, since he masked his real self behind his stoic professionalism.
He’d seemed to feel something for her just now, though, until she’d withdrawn in nervousness.
She suddenly remembered he’d been stroking her hair as she’d slept on his lap on the drive here.
She stretched in the tub, reveling in that memory, as blurry as it was.
He wouldn’t have caressed her that way if she’d just been a job to him.
There was something else, something just on the edge of her consciousness.
She cleared her mind and tried to remember.
He’d been hard, she realized with a rush of excitement.
He’d been aroused when her hand had unconsciously rested on his groin in the car. She’d felt him before he’d moved her hand away.
He must be attracted to her. At least a little.
He’d told her at the party that, if she stopped hiding and revealed who she really was, anyone would adore her.
She suddenly knew what she was going to do. It would take all the courage she possessed, but she could do it.
She was shy, but the only way to get what she wanted was to stop hiding.
Not from everyone, but at least from Michael.
She trusted him, and it would be worth it.
She got out of the tub and dried off. The first thing she did was check the nightstand. She’d dated a guy earlier that year for a couple of months until they’d both realized it wasn’t going to work because he kept getting frustrated with her introversion. They’d come here once for the weekend before they’d broken up. There was still a box of condoms in the drawer, and she checked the date on the box to make sure they hadn’t expired.
Since that was covered, she searched through the dresser drawers. She always kept some clothes here, but she didn’t have anything remotely sexy. She would feel absolutely ridiculous in a racy outfit anyway, since it just wasn’t her style. She had a lot of baggy pajamas and sweats—but none of that would work at all.
The only nightgown she had in the cabin was a white cotton one she wore when it was really hot in the summer. It had thin lace straps and cinched under the breasts with a ribbon. It looked too young and innocent for her purposes, but it would be better than flannel pajamas.
She pulled it on over her head and lathered on some lotion that smelled like the bath oil she used.
She brushed her hair and tried to fight back her breathless nerves.
Other women did this all the time. It wasn’t wrong or inappropriate to let a man know she was interested. Just because she’d never done it before, didn’t mean it wasn’t worth doing now.
She had to be brave.
If she stalled any further, she would change her mind completely, so she made herself walk out of her bedroom and into the living room.
Michael was sitting on the leather couch, looking at something on a tablet and drinking a cup of coffee. He’d taken off his tie and the jacket to his suit and had pushed his sleeves up to his elbow.
She’d never seen him so undone, and the sight made her stomach clench in desire. He glanced up and almost jumped to his feet when he saw her.
“Is everything all right?” he asked, his eyes scanning her body the way they always did, assessing her condition.
They lingered a little longer than usual on her legs and breasts, and she tried to take heart in that very small sign of interest.
“Yes,” she managed to say, her voice sticking in her throat.
“What did you need? I thought you’d gone to bed.”
“I didn’t.” She suddenly felt absolutely stupid. She’d only ever dated very outgoing, assertive men who weren’t intimidated by her quietness or her father, so they’d always made the initial moves. She’d never been in this situation before, and she wondered how other women managed to pull it off without feeling like a fool.
Of course, she also wondered how women managed to be the center of attention without trying—talking to people easily and naturally—so there were clearly a lot of social interactions she just wasn’t cut out for.
Having absolutely no idea what to say, she went to sit down on the couch. Michael sat back down beside her.
His eyes searched her face. “I thought you might need to be alone, after today.”
She normally would have wanted to be alone. She wasn’t sure what had gotten into her tonight, and she was starting to think her spontaneous decision had been a big mistake. Since she’d trapped herself by coming out here, though, she managed to say, “I don’t want to be alone.”
“Are you nervous about the stalker?” He was still peering at her as if he were trying to figure out what was going on in her mind. “If it would make you feel safer, you can stay out here with me.”
She nodded, since at least that got closer to what she wanted.
“You’ll get too cold wearing that. Run put something else on.”
She glanced down at her little gown and saw that her nipples had tightened—from the cold or something else—and their outline was clearly visible through the light fabric. “I don’t want to put anything else on.”
She should have been able to make the statement sound sexier than she had. She was a total flop at being seductive.
“Claire,” Michael began, his voice taking on that thick tone she remembered from earlier. “I know you have the right to wear whatever you want. But your looking like that makes it very difficult for me, so I’d appreciate it if you could cover up a little more.”
She stared at him, suddenly hopeful. And now she saw what she’d been too nervous to notice before—a certain tension in his jaw and shoulders and a delicious smolder in his eyes that he was dutifully trying to hide. “I didn’t think…I didn’t think you even noticed how I looked.”
He focused down at the tablet he’d set on the coffee table when she’d entered the room. She could tell he was now trying to keep his eyes from slipping over to her body. “You were wrong.”
She was breathless with something other than nerves. She leaned closer and put a hand on his chest, the way she had before in the car—when she’d thought he might kiss her. “Well, since you brought it up, your looking like that makes it very difficult for me.”
He turned his head toward her with a jerk, and she saw his attempt to rein in his desire was failing. “My looking like what?”
“Looking like…like Michael.” She slid her hand up his chest, raising it to his face. She stroked the rough skin of his jaw.
“Claire,” he breathed, almost shaking with the visible effort it took to hold himself back. “You should go back to your room.”
“I don’t want to go back to my room.” She pulled her legs up beneath her so she could get in a better position. Then she leaned forward until her lips were just an inch from his. “I want to stay here with you.�
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With a rough groan, he pulled her into his arms and into a hungry kiss.
Her body thrilled with pleasure as his arms tightened around her and his mouth moved against hers with hard urgency. She tangled her fingers in his thick hair and opened her mouth to the teasing of his tongue.
Trying to get closer to him, to feel his big, hard body more fully, she straddled his lap as the kiss deepened even more. Her body now pulsing with growing arousal, she pressed her breasts against his chest and moaned into his mouth when she felt one of his hands slide down to her bottom, cupping it possessively.
Her head fell back when their mouths finally broke apart, and she gasped loudly as his skillful mouth traced an erotic line down her exposed neck.
His body was deliciously tight, and she loved how she could sense something deep and intense coiled inside him, on the verge of releasing.
She wanted to release it.
She couldn’t seem to keep her hands off him. She stroked his broad shoulders, the rippling muscles of his arms, the lean planes of his chest. All of it was Michael. All of it was strong and hard and hot and absolutely unshakeable.
“Fuck, Claire,” he murmured as he finally raised his head. His skin had broken out in a sheen of perspiration. “We shouldn’t do this.”
“I want to do this.” She grabbed his head and pulled him into another kiss.
She heard him make a deliciously low sound in his throat as his tongue tangled with hers and one of his hands found the curve of her breast.
They were both breathing raggedly when they pulled out of the kiss. He leaned his forehead against hers. “This happens sometimes. It’s a natural response to a crisis situation. You want this now, but—”
“It’s not the crisis situation. I wanted to do this before I knew there was a real danger.” She wriggled on his lap, her body desperate for friction.
In her wriggling, she discovered something new. He was just as aroused as she was. He was hard beneath the fabric of his pants.
She started to grind herself against the bulge in his trousers until he released a helpless groan. She’d never dreamed a man as controlled as Michael would respond to her that way.
She tried to kiss him again, but she was suddenly dislodged from his lap. He’d picked her up and rolled her over onto the couch so he could heave himself to his feet.
She stared up at him, panting and disoriented. “Michael?”
“I’m sorry,” he rasped, facing away from her and rubbing his face with one hand. “I’m sorry, Claire. I should have stopped us sooner.”
“But…but I wanted…” She felt like something heavy had fallen from the sky to flatten her. To crush her.
“I’m sorry. But it would be a mistake. We can’t do that.”
A hot wave that wasn’t arousal swallowed her up. “Okay. Okay. I’m sorry if I… I’m sorry.”
“You have nothing to be sorry about. It was my fault.”
It hadn’t been his fault. It was her fault. She was the one who’d come on to him so shamelessly. And he clearly didn’t want this to happen.
He was attracted to her—that much was obvious—but he didn’t feel the same way she did.
She should have known better than to hope for it.
She shut down for a few seconds, dropping her eyes, pulling herself inward, hiding.
Then she stumbled to her feet. “I’m really sorry.”
Michael started to respond. She heard him say, “Claire.” But she’d already withdrawn into herself too much and now had to get away.
She had to be alone.
She had to somehow recover from this.
As quickly as she could, she returned to her room and closed the door with a loud click, shutting out Michael and the rest of the world.
The walls of the room were a barrier she desperately needed.
She curled up in a ball on the bed, and it was several minutes before she could let go enough to even cry.
Five
Claire had gotten through her first wave of emotion and was lying on the bed, trying to convince herself to pull it together—that this wasn’t really so bad—when she heard a knock on her bedroom door.
Her room was supposed to be safe. Her room was supposed to keep out the world. She couldn’t bring herself to respond immediately.
“Claire.” Michael’s voice, just on the other side of the door. “Claire, can I come in?”
His voice sounded strange—tired, stretched, not controlled. It upset her unduly, and she had to fight off another surge of emotion.
“Claire, are you all right?”
She could tell, from the anxious resonance of his tone, that he would barge in if she didn’t say anything. “I’m fine.”
She thought she’d sounded okay, that she hadn’t given away her state of mind, but evidently she was wrong.
“Please don’t cry. I’m really sorry. Can I come in?”
She couldn’t speak immediately. Then she sat up straight in bed when she saw the door open.
Her face worked desperately as she tried to hide her emotions from Michael, who stood in the doorway of the room. “I said I’m okay,” she forced out.
He walked over to the bed, his expression torn with some sort of strong feeling. No trace of anything stoic or impassive now. “Shit, Claire. I’m so sorry. I totally blew this whole thing. I never meant to hurt you.”
“It’s okay.” She managed to compose her face and voice. “It’s not your fault. I’m really fine. I can handle it if someone doesn’t want me.”
It hurt though. Even just saying the words. It hurt so much her chest ached with it.
She’d thought for a short time that Michael might want her—know her—for who she really was.
His face twisted inexplicably. “You think I don’t want you?” He reached out and took her face in both of his hands. “Claire, you have no idea how much—”
His words were interrupted by the sound of a high-pitched blaring that filled the whole cabin.
Without hesitation, Michael regained his feet and ran out to the living area. Claire stumbled after him. He’d already picked up his tablet and his gun when she reached him.
“Someone’s on the north side of the property,” he muttered, checking the screen of the tablet. He’d shifted in just an instant into crisis mode, completely alert and primed for action, his earlier emotional distraction forgotten.
Claire couldn’t shift quite so quickly. Confused and disoriented, she hugged her arms to her chest.
Pete ran in through the front door of the cabin, his gun in his hand.
“Get back in your room,” Michael ordered her curtly. “Call your dad and don’t hang up with him until I get back.” He turned to Pete. “Stay with her. No one gets in.”
When she didn’t move fast enough, Michael pushed her back into the bedroom. Pete took his position in the doorway, and then Michael disappeared out the front door.
Claire was shaking all over as she reached for her phone and dialed her dad. It was late, but he must not have been asleep because he answered on the second ring.
“Hey, is everything all right?”
“I don’t know.” Her voice was wobbly.
Her father’s voice changed immediately. “What’s going on?”
“There’s someone on the property. Michael went to check it out.”
“But Pete’s with you?”
“Yes, Pete’s here with me.” She took an uneven breath, suddenly terrified about the idea of Michael out there with a psychotic person. He was always meticulously careful about her safety, but he might not be as vigilant about his own safety.
What if something happened to him?
“Is there something else?”
She swallowed over a knot of fear. “No. I’m just scared. He’s out there all by himself. What if—”
“No one is as good at this sort of thing as Michael. You know that.”
“Yeah.”
“I picked him out on purpose because he’s t
he best—so nothing would happen to you.”
“I know.” She lay on her side on the bed and curled up in a ball, the phone at her ear. “But what about him?”
“He’ll be fine. Everything will be fine.”
“Yeah.”
She couldn’t seem to say anything else, and her father evidently understood. She kept the phone to her ear as she waited, hearing nothing but her father’s soft breathing.
She wanted to go outside and look for Michael. She wanted to go out and help him. But she wouldn’t dream of being so foolish. She didn’t have the skill to help in any way and, if she tried, she would likely only get herself hurt. Or killed.
Or get Michael killed.
She wasn’t sure what she would do if that happened. He’d been part of her life for so long—and he meant so much more to her than she’d ever realized before.
Even if he didn’t want to have sex with her, she couldn’t stand for him not to be healthy and safe.
After about ten minutes, her anxiety was shifting into panic. “It’s taking a really long time,” she said into the phone. She sat up and looked over at the doorway. “Pete, do you think you should go check and see if he’s all right?”
“Not under any circumstances,” her father exclaimed.
“There’s no way I’m leaving you alone,” Pete said at exactly the same time. He seemed to notice something on her face and tapped on his earpiece. “He checked in a couple of minutes ago. He was fine. Still looking. There’s a lot of property here to search.”
“Oh. Good.”
So all Claire could do was wait.
She ended up waiting almost forty minutes. Pete let her know every time Michael check in, which helped a lot. It was only really bad the last fifteen minutes, when Pete didn’t hear anything from Michael.
But finally Pete said, “He’s got him. He’s got him.” He left the doorway to walk toward the front of the cabin.
Claire sat up immediately. Her father must have heard what was happening because he said, “Don’t go anywhere. Don’t do anything until Michael gets back.”
“I won’t.”
A few seconds later, Michael appeared in her bedroom. Pete must have taken charge of the stalker because Michael was alone.