Tough As Nails

by Jackie Manning

  When he leaned back in his seat, she looked over at him. “I’m glad you were at the dinner tonight.”

  He rolled his head to look at her. “Because the stalker might be there?”

  The car drifted quietly into the stream of heavy Saturday-night theater traffic. In the insulated luxury of the back seat, they heard nothing of the blaring horns and screeching tires of the outside world. “No,” she said finally, her gaze on the clear crystal in her lap. “Receiving this award means a lot. It’s nice to have someone there who…” Someone who means a lot to me, she realized, but instead said, “Who knows how much my work means to me.”

  His eyes, darker than midnight blue in the passing car headlights, told her that he understood perfectly. She put her hand on his and squeezed it. “Thanks,” she said, her throat tight with a mixture of emotions she didn’t want to analyze.

  As the limo turned down a wide avenue, a familiar tune began playing on the stereo.

  Their song.

  She glanced at the built-in shelf along the side of the limo. A bottle of Dom Perignon sat surrounded with ice in a bucket. Two gleaming champagne flutes stood waiting in the rack.

  “What’s going on, Michael?”

  “What?”

  “If this is some kind of prelude to seduction, you can stop right now.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “The champagne? The music?”

  He chuckled deep in his throat, which only irritated her further.

  “The champagne comes with the limo. As far as what music the driver picks, hey, I had nothing to do with it.” He couldn’t quite hide the grin from his face. “Now, relax and let me take care of you.” He took her hand. “After the day you’ve had, you deserve some pampering.”

  She pulled her hand away. “There’s a vast difference between pampering and seducing.”

  “Dammit, Bria. I’m not trying to seduce you.”

  She looked at him and realized he had no idea how seductive he was. She felt a little disappointed and deeply chagrined. He was right. After all, he hadn’t even offered her a drink or opened the champagne. Ordering the limo was a thoughtful thing to do, and she was reading suspicions into everything he did because…because she wanted him to seduce her.

  She took a deep breath and forced herself to face him. “I’m sorry, Mike. I’m not myself tonight.”

  His eyes gleamed in the shadows. “Don’t apologize. Anyone would feel vulnerable. You’ve been through hell. Sit back, close your eyes and try to enjoy the evening. You’re safe now.” His voice was low, as soft as a lover’s sigh in the moonlight. Damn, she had to stop thinking this way about him.

  She laid her head against the supple leather and drew a long breath. The words to their song swept through her mind, making her deeply aware of the man beside her.

  How could he sit back and enjoy the music? she wondered. She wanted to order the driver to play something else, but if Mike could sit here and listen to those plaintive words, then so could she.

  He crossed his legs, and she was aware of the sharp crease at his knee so close to hers. She was aware how the side seam of his tuxedo shone in the passing headlights. How his thigh touched her leg whenever the limo turned a sharp corner. How his hands rested in his lap, his index finger keeping time with the beat of their song.

  Thank God he wasn’t singing along, as he used to do. How she loved his rich, resonant voice. “You should form a rock band,” she’d teased, and they’d laugh as he broke into a perfect imitation of their favorite singer.

  “What are you thinking about?” he asked.

  “Nothing in particular. And you?”

  “I was wandering down memory lane.” He shot her a long, thoughtful look. “Must be the music.”

  “Yes, next to the sense of smell, music is the best trigger for inducing memory.” She laughed nervously. “I sound rather clinical, don’t I?”

  “Hmm. I notice you become quite clinical whenever I touch a nerve.”

  She gave him an indignant huff. “What do you expect? I’m a psychologist.”

  “You’re also a woman.”

  “Meaning?” She waved a hand. “Oh, never mind. I have no wish to pursue this.”

  He began humming along with the melody.

  She couldn’t believe it. She tried to keep a neutral expression, but he must have sensed that she was uncomfortable because he asked, “What’s the matter? You used to love that song.”

  She forced a grin. “Some things change.”

  “And some things stay the same, Bria. What we had together was good. Most of it, anyway. Don’t toss away all the good memories with the bad. I sure as hell don’t.”

  She felt he’d turned the tables on her. She was the one who gave advice, not the other way around. She tried to make light of the matter, think of something glib to say, anything to lighten the mood. But all she could think of were those damn lyrics she knew so well.

  “Stop humming,” she said finally. “I want to hear this part. I’ve always loved this riff of baritone sax.”

  He quieted, and in the darkness, she could almost see his grin. “Still like to dance?” he asked.

  “None of your business.”

  “We were quite the couple on the dance floor. I still have that trophy we won in that little club in that Bangor hotel. Remember?”

  “No.”

  “I’d made a deal with the hotel manager to tend bar on New Year’s Eve in exchange for a room for the holiday weekend.”

  She would never forget. It had been his Christmas present to her. Two nights and one day at one of the nicest hotels in the city. They’d arrived on Friday night, as excited as two teenagers. They’d only been married a few months and were living on Mike’s salary as a bartender. He also was the custodian at the apartment building where they lived, rent free. A wistfulness filled her as she remembered how completely ill equipped she’d been for that lifestyle. But she’d loved being a wife. Mike’s wife. For the little time it lasted.

  “I’m not really interested in a ride down memory lane, Mike.”

  “You were so beautiful. Almost as beautiful as you are now.”

  She turned away from him. What was he trying to do? Her throat tightened with…dear God, she was going to cry. She cleared her throat. “Why don’t you call and see if they’ve caught the stalker?”

  “Erickson will call me if they have any news.”

  She whirled her head to look at him. “Do you think Leonard Braewood is still at the hospital?”

  Mike leaned his head back against the seat, his eyes closed.

  “He got away.”

  “How is that possible?”

  “How did he plant that bug in your office phone? How does he know so much about your routine?” He opened his eyes and looked at her. “Try not to think about Braewood tonight. Tomorrow morning, we’ll meet with Liam and go over our new strategy. For now, just put everything out of your mind and let me worry about it.”

  She rubbed her temples. “Easier said than done.”

  His warm hand came up behind her neck and gently massaged her tight muscles. Just as he used to do. Stop it, Brianna, she told herself. She closed her eyes and forced herself to enjoy the delicious feeling that his experienced hands played on her shoulders.

  “Larry didn’t seem to be enjoying himself,” he said a few minutes later.

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Oh, kind of the way he looked. It was obvious he wanted to know where I fit into the picture.”

  “Larry is the model of decorum. If he was curious, he’d never give in to it.”

  She heard him chuckle and she opened her eyes and looked at him. “What does that dirty little chuckle mean?” she asked, brushing away his hand from her neck. But when she touched his fingers, he caught and held on to hers, and for the moment all she could think of was how very close he was, so very close. She could feel the warmth of him, the brush of his knee against hers. She could feel his strong, steady hands
curl her fingers within his palm as their gazes fixed with one another in the shadowed darkness.

  Without a word, he lifted her face to his and captured her lips. Her eyelids fluttered shut, and something twisted inside her. Her mouth opened, so willing. Too willing. No hesitation, no little start of surprise. As their kiss deepened, she knew she should stop this, but the lyrics of their love song from another time filled her mind, their promise and meaning as heartfelt now as then.

  When his tongue came inside, she knew this was what she’d wanted. Just this once, she thought, drawing him closer. What harm could one kiss do? She leaned into him, so familiar, so comfortable. Her eyes stung from wanting this for so long.

  His breath quickened against her cheek. She moaned, feeling herself soften against him. So safe, so glorious, so familiar.

  His mouth took hers sweetly, persuasively. She craved more, suddenly impatient with what was building between them. This moment had been inevitable and irreversible, gaining speed the moment she’d walked into his office.

  She had wanted this. From the moment she’d first seen him in his office, she’d wanted him to hold her, to kiss her, to comfort her.

  A deep growl rumbled in his chest and he whispered her name against her ear. He moved slightly, revealing that he was fully aroused. Her heart hammered when his hand slid over the swell of her left breast, his thumb rotating the nub in exquisite pleasure. Suddenly she felt as if she were stepping out on some high, thin wire like a tightrope walker working without a net. A shock of understanding pulled her away, away, away, back to firmer, safer ground.

  Merciful heaven, what was she doing? She forced her mind to work. How long had it been since she’d felt the comfort of a man’s embrace, or sensed a man’s genuine desire? No wonder she was temporarily insane with passion.

  “Mike, we have to stop,” she whispered in a shuddered breath. Gently, she withdrew her arms from around his neck. His chin rested against the top of her head while they caught their breath, their hearts thudding side by side.

  “I hadn’t planned to do that,” he said finally, his arm still around her shoulder. When she didn’t answer, he drew back and looked at her. His gaze flicked down to her lips. “I don’t think I ever got you out of my system.”

  She needed control, and the only way she knew was to take it. “You’re feeling lust. Plain and simple. Understandable, after what we’ve been through today.”

  In the shadowed darkness, she saw his dark eyebrow arch. “Hormones?”

  She straightened the black strap of her dress then checked each diamond earring. “Grownups have hormones as well as teenagers,” she said lightly.

  “You still like to pigeonhole feelings, don’t you?” His voice was hard, accusing.

  She didn’t want to have this conversation. Why couldn’t he just drop it? “It was just a kiss.” She brushed at her skirt. “It won’t happen again.”

  “The hell it won’t.”

  She turned to look at him. In the headlights from the car behind them, she could see his jaw clench. “Bet on it.”

  His eyes flashed and a ghost of a smile lit his mouth.

  She glanced away, afraid he might see the crack in her confidence.

  “MIND IF I TRY SOME of your vegetable moo shu?” Mike asked while he opened the last of the white food cartons they’d bought at the Szechuan and Peking take-out place around the corner. No sooner had the limousine dropped them off at the Crib, a little more than an hour ago, than they realized they were starving.

  “Go ahead,” Brianna called from the hallway. She stepped into the kitchen, towel-drying her damp hair. He looked up to see that she’d changed into a pair of faded denim shorts, a yellow T-shirt, and she was barefoot. With her face free of makeup, he was reminded of how she’d looked when they were first married.

  “Smells delicious,” she said, gazing at the cartons he’d lined up along the marble counter. She bent over the one nearest her. “Mmm, what’s this?”

  He took a breath before daring to speak. “Char su ding.” He watched as she peeled the paper away from a set of wooden chopsticks. “Roast pork sautéed with vegetables and almonds.”

  “I don’t remember when I’ve been so hungry,” she said, spearing a mushroom and plopping it into her mouth. She looked around the gleaming rectangle of stainless-steel cabinets. “Where do you keep your plates?”

  He shook his head. “Sorry. Don’t have any.”

  Her eyebrow lifted. “You don’t have plates?”

  He grinned. “I’m very seldom here.” He picked up a mouthful of diced vegetables between his chopsticks. “And when I am, I order takeout.”

  She glanced at the large refrigerator beside the dishwasher. “Don’t tell me. You use the fridge for storing bacterial cultures?”

  He feigned a scowl. “Don’t be silly.” Trying not to laugh, he added, “Go ahead, nosy. Take a look.”

  She shot him a wary glance before she opened the door. Her jaw dropped. The shelves were filled with camera film. Cases upon cases of various brands and speeds. “Film?”

  “There are chemicals in the back for developing, too.”

  “No one can say you’re not full of surprises.” She closed the door, unable to keep the amusement from her voice.

  “Eat your moo shu before it gets cold.” He watched her pick up the carton, her eyes fixed on its contents. He was relieved that she’d agreed not to talk about the stalker until the following morning. But small talk between them was like walking through a minefield. Any subject, no matter how trivial, could remind them of who they were and what they’d meant to each other. He could sense she was thinking the same thing.

  “Do you cook?” he asked finally, hoping to fill the awkward silence.

  She swallowed a mouthful then met his gaze. “Does nuking frozen meals from the health-food store count?”

  He grinned. “Remember that fancy cooking class you took?” By her uncomfortable pause, he was sorry he’d mentioned it. She had enrolled in a weekend class in culinary arts the summer he’d first met her. She’d surprised him with her first home-cooked meal, a huge strawberry molded from cream cheese. He’d come home from working a double shift at her dad’s paper mill, starving to death. One look at that tinted-red strawberry, well… He’d tried not to laugh, but he’d hurt her feelings just the same. Then she laughed and they ended their spat as they always had, by making love like crazy fools.

  “I’ve picked up a few culinary pointers since then,” she said finally, placing the carton on the counter. “Guess I’m not as hungry as I thought.”

  “Brianna, we need to talk about this.”

  “About what?”

  “About the past. It’s not going to go away.”

  “Look, Mike. We agreed we could work together if we kept the past where it belongs.”

  “That kiss we shared in the limo wasn’t part of our past. Denying it didn’t happen isn’t going to make what’s between us go away.”

  “I’m not denying anything. And there’s nothing between us.” She stared at him, her eyes wide and shadowed. “I care for you, Mike. I always will. But we have no future. That’s not good or bad, it’s just the way things are.”

  “How can you be so damn sure? You don’t know who I am, yet you’re ready to judge me.”

  “I know the signs.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “Your lifestyle, for one.” She waved her hands. “This. This opulent apartment, with as much warmth as a Stealth fighter jet. Why, you can’t settle down long enough to buy a loaf of bread.” She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. When she spoke, her voice was soft. “You’re right, Mike. I was judging you, and I have no right.” She opened her eyes and met his gaze. “I’m sorry. Who you are and how you live is just fine.”

  “Tell me you don’t want to go to bed with me and I won’t ask you again.”

  She cringed. “You’re not playing fair.”

  “Tell me.”

  “Okay, damn you. If that�
��s what you want. I don’t want to—”

  He stepped toward her, closing the distance between them to mere inches. “Look me in the eye when you say that.”

  Her eyes glistened with vulnerability. “I’m going to bed. Alone.” When she dashed from the room, he made no attempt to stop her.

  Chapter Eight

  The next morning, Brianna knew she needed to set up a regimen. Although she was an organized woman and enjoyed structure, a schedule would also keep her emotions concerning her ex-husband at bay. After last night and the way she’d eagerly returned his kiss—God, she had practically been all over him—she definitely needed an agenda. Or so she thought.

  At 5:00 a.m. that morning, she had no sooner started out the door for her morning run, when Mike appeared from his bedroom. Freshly shaved and showered, he looked incredibly sexy in a white T-shirt that stretched across his powerful chest and broad, muscled shoulders. The casual beige running shorts he wore contrasted handsomely with his deep tan. It was enough to take her breath away.

  “Mind if I tag along?” he said, humor twinkling in his blue eyes. He clipped a water jug to his belt and followed her down the hall.

  “Do I have a choice?” She whipped her hair back into a ponytail, securing it with an elasticized band.

  His smile was his only answer.

  “How did you know I was going for a run?” she asked.

  “At breakfast yesterday, you mentioned that you’d missed your run. You weren’t going to leave without me, were you?”

  She didn’t answer directly. Instead, she said with a chuckle, “I hope you can keep up with me.”

  They didn’t speak again until they were out on the street. “After our run, I know a little place around the corner that opens early for breakfast. Do you still love waffles?” he asked, the wind whipping his hair.

  “Waffles sound great,” she offered, not answering his question. Did he have any idea how painful it was that he kept bringing up the past? Even the little things he remembered.