She considered the depths of the dark eyes so intent and serious above her. She wouldn’t be here if she hadn’t already known the truth of what he was saying. Yet her fear was so great, had been with her so long. How could she know what he would do when she made him really angry?
This was Michael. The only man for whom she had felt desire in more years than she cared to remember. He was solid, a rock she could use to climb up out of the abyss. Kate’s fingers touched his wrists, moved softly toward the clenched fists that opened to receive her. Hands locked together, Kate drew his fingers down, lifting her chin to offer him the full expanse of her neck. Michael’s thumbs hovered over the points where he could as easily kill her as make love to her. She withdrew her hands, laying her arms out to her sides. Completely vulnerable.
Michael had no illusions. Kate hadn’t given in. She offered a challenge, a gauntlet thrown down, raising the battle to a new level. Very carefully, he fanned the oil from under her chin, up to her ears, softly teasing his way around the lobes. Then down and around, until both strong hands were fitted around her neck. She stared at him unblinkingly. And smiled. Michael caught his breath, nearly knocked the oil over in a scramble to get some more.
When his fingertips teased her nipples, then ever-so-gently spread the languorous aroma of roses over the modest mounds of her breasts, Kate felt a hot flush start at her toes and proceed upward until her cheeks waved a red flag even in the dim light of the bedroom. Even worse, she heard Michael’s chuckle. “It’s not funny!” she protested.
“Oh, yes, it is. You’re such a hard little nut, but you blush like a schoolgirl.”
“I’m not little!” Kate could have bitten her tongue off. Of course she was little. That’s what this was all about. She was little exactly where she didn’t want to be little.
Michael had sense enough to keep his mouth shut. Bending down, he placed a soft kiss on each taut nipple. “M-m-mm, tastes good,” he murmured.
“It’s the roses.”
“Uh-uh. It’s essence of Kate.”
Kate twitched as his fingers moved lower, dipping into her belly button, palming her blessedly flat stomach, tracing the crevices at the top of her thighs, the angled lines that led, straight as arrows, to the most private part of her. She should be participating. Her mind knew it, but her body overruled. It was miracle enough that she could lie like a lump and let him touch her. But for how much longer? The magic of the oil, the wonder of his touch, seemed to fade in the glare of the red flags set off by his approach to what she had kept private for so long.
Michael outfoxed her, skipping to her feet and ankles, wending a slow journey up her legs. By the time the sensuous movement of his fingers and palms reached her inner thighs, Kate was ready to scream. Her mind whirled, fleeting delight replaced by panic. The specter of rough sex, of tolerating it—worse yet, of fighting back, being ruthlessly overpowered—hovered around her. For a blinding moment she heard the roar of Tag’s voice, felt the burst of pain as his fist crashed into her face. “I can’t!” she gasped. “Michael, I can’t!” In one lithe movement Kate slid into fetal position, head bent, arms hugging her knees.
Of course he walked out on her. Stalking out of the bedroom, out of her life.
This was Michael who would never force her. Michael who had done everything right . . . until she had appeared to play the ultimate tease. When, at the eleventh hour, she panicked and his anger exploded. But not into words, not into blows. He’d simply sprung up from the bed and left the room.
Dear God, what happens now?
A glimmer of reason returned. Michael was naked. He couldn’t have gone far.
She was a Florida Knight; this, the final round of the tournament. One they were both going to win. Kate stepped down onto the thick plush carpeting, started for the door. She stopped, turned back to the bedtable, smiling softly as she covered her hands with the scented oil. An aphrodisiac, that’s what Diane had said. Well, it was time to prove it was true.
She found him standing at the kitchen sink, head bent, shoulders hunched, his hands gripping the ceramic tile. Strands of black hair drooped limply over his forehead, dripping water into the sink.
“Get your clothes on, I’ll take you home,” Michael barked without turning around.
One step at a time, Kate told herself. I broke it, I have to fix it. Love, like war, has its own unique code of honor.
She moved in behind him, trailed her oil-scented hands up from the small of his back to his shoulders. He might as well have been the Rock of Gibralter, cold hard granite sculpted in human form. She transferred her attentions to the area just above his tailbone and thought she felt a tiny twitch. She pressed her lips to the spot she’d just so lovingly oiled, then traced her tongue up his spine, pausing for a light nip where his flesh burgeoned into muscles as she approached his shoulders. This time she could almost swear she heard a swiftly stifled groan. Raising on tiptoes, Kate kissed the back of his neck, nuzzled her way around to his ears, her hands braced on his broad shoulders.
“I smell like a damn rose,” Michael growled.
“It’s supposed to be an aphrodisiac,” Kate taunted. “Give in, Turco. Don’t be so stubborn.”
“Me?” Michael’s head shot up, his arms flexed against the edge of the sink. He swung round to face her,. “I’ve given all I’m damn well going to give, Kate. I’m sick of playing games. Either—”
“S-sh.” Kate put her fingers to his lips. “Don’t say it, I guarantee you’ll regret it. You’re a noble man, Michael Turco. A saint. You could give classes in patience. Obviously, I was put here on earth to torment you.”
Michael glanced down at his sex, which was as limp as the dishrag hanging over the faucet, and heaved a sigh. “I’m sorry,” he ground out, “but I don’t know how much longer I can take this, Kate.”
She entwined her arms around his neck, pressed her breasts into the dark hair dotting his chest. Smiling seductively into his skeptical black eyes, she performed a sinuous series of belly dance moves against his deflated penis. Kate watched, fascinated, as his eyes rang the changes from long-suffering, resignation, anger . . . to reawakening desire. Oh, yes, she might not have had any experience at seduction, but it was an instinct that was hard to put down. Somehow, when really needed, it just came naturally.
Lady Knight grabbed her captive by the hand, hauling her willing but still wary conquest back to the scene of a love that was just beginning.
Resistance was minimal.
Chapter 21
At ten after nine Kate slunk into her chair in the office. All the lights were on, Barbara Falk’s door closed. On this, of all mornings, her boss had an early appointment and Kate hadn’t been there to meet and greet. A glance at the appointment book revealed Barbara’s client was the lone female member of the city council. Kate jabbed the switch on the surge protector with unnecessary force, then sunk her head in her hands and mouthed a word she usually reserved for her attempts to be one of the boys while battling on the lyst field. As the various office machines hummed into life, she contemplated her sins.
But her scowl refused to stay in place. Guilt and anger were hard to sustain when her world had been reborn with hope and—perhaps—with love. Love. She savored the word. What she and Michael had experienced last night was close enough—a conflagration strong enough not to be doused by the reality of daylight. Embers glowed in the pit of her stomach, warmed her body and soul. Exorcized the ghosts. Next time . . . next time there would be no hesitation. The spark would flare at the slightest look, the softest touch. Kate’s lips tilted up in a dreamy smile.
Nine twenty, and she hadn’t done a lick of work. Michael’s ego would go nova if he found out. Ha! She’d probably been forgotten the minute he walked out the door this morning. Maybe even by the time he’d crawled out of bed. Men!
Michael wasn’t most men.
With deliberate ruthlessness Kate compacted her headful of erotic visions, tucked them into that classic niche labeled, “I’ll t
hink about it tomorrow.” So much for you, Michael Turco. This girl has to earn a living.
And, besides, he’d always be there, waiting for her. If only as an erotic, sometimes poignant memory no one could ever take from her.
Yet . . . their night together had been a close-run thing. Kate supposed they both deserved high marks for courage.
Dammit! Barbara wasn’t paying her to sit at her desk, her mind floating on the scent of roses and patchouli. Musk. Ylang-ylang . . . Kate glared at her computer screen, clicked on the icon to load her word processing program. The phone began to ring.
It seemed as if half the population of Golden Beach had suddenly decided to buy a house, have a crisis over a custody case, make a will, ask questions about probate. Kate plunged from one task to another so fast she didn’t even have time to be grateful she was being spared Barbara Falk’s Monday-morning barrage of questions. So how was your weekend? Did you see Michael? Are you two getting along all right? I hope you realize what a treasure you’ve got there. Oh, by the way, how’s the investigation coming along?
Kate juggled a real estate contract on her screen, the ringing phone, and Barbara’s demands for instant copies. She faxed ten pages to city hall, looked back blankly at her screen, and scrambled to find the notes she’d made on this particular transaction, when she had an awful feeling the price on the screen was for the last real estate contract she had put together, not the present one.
At first, she didn’t even look up when the outer door opened. Whoever it was could wait five seconds while she found the legal pad she needed. A flat-out busy morning on top of almost no sleep had thinned her customary competence and good nature. Back to the door, Kate made a face at the haphazard stack of papers next to her computer. The morning-after wasn’t supposed to turn a woman into a short-tempered bitch. No way. Abandoning her search, she swung round, her best professional-greeter smile pasted on her face.
A stranger stood there. Tall, hard-bodied, intimidating. A lean tower of gray, topped by a black campaign hat worn flat over equally black hair, the flash of the front-centered badge, the gold acorns peeking over the wide brim. A gold bar, black trim on his epaulets, black stripes down the sides of his pants. The ominous effect of gray and black unmitigated by the bright blue arm patches featuring a large and brilliantly colored Florida orange. Black holster, black gun, black cellphone. The all-too-familiar black zippered boots. Craggy, intimidating features softened by the slightest hint of a smile. Eyes questioning as he absorbed her shock.
Kate didn’t know this man. In her thoughts Michael, the trooper, had been a romantic vision. In the solidness of reality, he was Smokey, the boogie man with flashing blue lights, gimlet eyes, a ticket book, and big black gun. May I see your license and registration, ma’am?
“I had to see the police chief, so I thought I’d stop by while I was downtown.” Michael leaned in to get a closer look at her face. “Kate . . . what’s wrong? You look like death warmed over.” Comprehension came slowly. His uniform was so much a part of his life, it hadn’t occurred to him that Kate had never seen it before. He had trouble finding the right words. After all, most women fell hard for the uniform.
“Uh, Kate . . . you know what I do. You know this is what I am.” When she continued to stare at him from a face almost as white as the papers on her desk, he added, with a dry Florida drawl, “Why, Ms. Knight, I didn’t realize you had a problem with authority figures.”
Control. That’s what this man represented. Absolute control over everything and everyone. She’d made a mistake. A terrible mistake.
Again.
“Michael!” Barbara Falk burst through her office door, hands outstretched in greeting. He whipped off his campaign hat. “You look splendid, absolutely splendid. And gold acorns now. Most becoming. Doesn’t he look positively scrumptious, Kate? Kate?”
“I don’t think I’ve ever heard anyone use the word scrumptious before,” Kate responded faintly.
“It’s a perfectly good word and covers the situation nicely,” Attorney Falk declared. “Lieutenant, you must have knocked them dead out in the mall. Better check the hall, Kate. It’s probably scattered with female bodies of all ages.”
“Mrs. Falk,” Michael protested, “if there’s one thing I’m not, it’s a sex symbol.”
“No,” Barbara agreed cheerfully. “That’s your brother. Your sheer presence is what blows people away. Women like powerful men.” After a sharp glance at her paralegal, she added shrewdly, “Most women, anyway.” Barbara shook her head, as if mystified by the odd ways of certain people. “Nice to see you, Michael,” she declared. “Drop in anytime.” As she hastily retreated to her office, she wondered what kind of storm was brewing in her outer office.
“Scrumptious is a pretty scary word,” Michael offered.
“It’s silly.”
“Look at me, Kate.”
“I can’t.”
“Kate, this is me. Michael. You’re not some latter-day flower-child who thinks all cops are the enemy. I know you’re not. So what’s wrong?”
“I’ll get used to it, just give me time.”
“What’s to get used to?” Michael demanded. “This is what I am. What I’ve always been. This is the only me there is.”
“You surprised me. My mind’s not functioning well enough to figure out why I feel this way, let alone find an explanation. So go away . . . please. Give me time to sort it all out.”
Silence hung between them like a wall. Michael glanced at Barbara Falk’s firmly closed door, leaned in until he was close to Kate’s face. “Last night . . . I thought we were good together. I thought we got things worked out. Is it the uniform or second thoughts?”
“I don’t know,” Kate whispered, still refusing to look at him. “Go away, Michael. Please.”
He straightened, clapped the wide-brimmed black hat with badge and acorns back on his head. Most riddles were a challenge he relished, but not this one. Executing a military-style turn, Michael stomped out of the office. Kate could hear his boots echoing hollowly all the way down the outside hall.
Kate swung into the parking lot in front of the sales center for Golden Beach Groves, leaped down from the van, charged into the air-conditioned combination of retail store and packing shed. She skidded to a halt between a shelf of old-fashioned penny candy and a counter displaying locally made citrus jellies. Hell bent on talking to Mona, she’d just realized her tongue was tied by Michael being undercover. How could she spill her anguish over his uniform when she couldn’t even admit he ever wore a uniform?
Kate stood there, trying to look as if her immobility were due to her interest in examining what the small store had to offer. To her left, a multi-level conveyer belt whirred as workers sorted produce. Wood-slatted crates were stacked on the floor, white cardboard shipping boxes on counters above them. Classic tourist items—drinking glasses, mugs, night lights, books, cards and T-shirts, all with a Florida theme—occupied the rest of the small space. The rack of refrigerator magnets featured pelicans, flamingos, palm trees, dolphin, shark, and a variety of tropical fish. A furry gray manatee hung from the ceiling, along with a more menacing-looking black shark that looked remarkably like the kite she had flown with Michael.
Michael, the cop. The man with a gun.
Nowhere could Kate see Mona. Slowly, she turned and looked behind her. Still, no Mona. Just a check-out counter and a low table stacked with heavy-duty red net bags of oranges and grapefruit, each proudly labeled, “Golden Beach Groves, Golden Beach, Florida.” Kate breathed a sigh of relief. She couldn’t talk to Mona until she found some way to pour out her heart without giving Michael’s secret away.
If she complained about Michael, Mona was going to think she was crazy.
She probably was.
Stalling for time, Kate left the air-conditioned building and wandered out onto the porch. To her right, the line for ice cream at an outside window was only three people deep. Obviously, the Winter Season was winding down. Kate had freq
uently seen the line extending half-way down the length of the fifty-foot porch. Ice cream. Maybe that’s what she needed. Golden Beach Groves was famous for its soft ice creams in orange and lime. The orange was usually served in a cone, swirled with vanilla; the lime swirled with chocolate. Both were unforgettable.
She ordered a cone for Mona as well, then realized, as the warm air immediately began to work on the towering stripes of orange and vanilla, she couldn’t put off her visit to Mona a minute longer or she’d be standing in a puddle of ice cream. Gingerly, Kate juggled the cones so she could open the door into the store. This time, ignoring everything except not dunking ice cream on the customers, Kate headed straight for Mona’s tiny office in the rear. While rapping on the door with her elbow, she licked the dripping rims of both cones in order to stave off disaster. By the time she’d handed over Mona’s cone, dropped into the old straight wooden chair at the side of her desk, and taken a healthy lick off the top of her own ice cream, a little light had begun to flicker at the edges of her gloomy world. Mona’s cheerful round face, the shrewd brown eyes that matched her hair, were just the haven Kate needed at the moment.
Mona shoved the papers she’d been working on to one side while doing an emergency circumnavigation of her cone. “So,” she demanded, “what’s happened? Come on, girl, tell it to momma.”
Kate hung her head, used her melting ice cream as a delaying tactic. She savored, swallowed. “I don’t know,” she mumbled.
Mona glanced at the old-fashioned round clock high on the wall. “It’s one-fifteen,” she declared. “That means you got out of work, jumped in the van, and came straight here. No lunch, no errands, no nothing. So tell me what’s going on.”
“I–I . . .” Kate stammered, shook her head. Then she blushed, fiery red suffusing her pale coloring.
Mona’s eyes widened. “You didn’t?” she gasped. After a second look into the depths of Kate’s, eyes, she exclaimed, “My God, you did! When? This weekend?” Mona’s eyes lit with uncomplicated joy. “Oh, wow, that’s great! Wait’ll I tell Bubba.”
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