It's In His Kiss

by Mallory Kane

  Michael didn't answer as he pulled out of the parking place.

  "Michael?"

  "What?"

  "You didn't answer my question. When did you stop asking out every girl you met?"

  "I never did that," he said tightly.

  She was surprised at the tension in his voice. She'd always teased him about dating around and he'd always taken it good-naturedly. "Ooh, who's touchy now? What was the matter with Blondie?"

  "Nothing."

  "Are you seeing someone?"

  "No." He maneuvered onto West End Avenue and headed out toward West Meade.

  "Where are we going?"

  "My apartment. I told you, I want to change clothes."

  They rode in silence for a few moments. "So how come?" Cat asked.

  Michael glanced toward her. "How come what?"

  "How come you're not seeing anybody?"

  He shrugged, and wiped a bead of sweat off his temple. "I'm just not."

  Cat leaned back against the leather seats. "Ah, I love this car. Remember when you first got it? We almost lived in it for weeks."

  "What I remember is that you complained there was no air conditioning, then you complained that it rode rough, then –"

  "Okay! Enough already. You make it sound like I complained all the time."

  "If the anal retentive personality fits –"

  "Hey!"

  Michael laughed.

  "Well, I really do love the car."

  "I know. I almost asked you to drive it while I was gone."

  "Oh, wow, I would have loved that. Why didn’t you?"

  A frown worried his mouth and he shrugged. "I figured you wouldn’t want to, since you were so angry with me."

  Cat remembered the day she’d told him about her engagement. "Seems to me you were the one who was angry. Why’d you go to Japan, Michael? Was the job that good?"

  "It was good."

  "Because you were so excited about the DA’s office. What happened to--?"

  His frown deepened as he pulled into an apartment complex. "Truth, justice and the American way? Truth and justice lost out."

  "Ouch. That sounds bitter."

  Michael didn't answer. He just got out of the car, leaving Cat to follow. They walked up a set of stairs to a second story apartment. He unlocked the door and Cat stepped into the room. She whistled as she looked around.

  The living room was stark, with bright white walls and deep red quarry tile floors. There was a pale gray leather couch, a glass-topped coffee table, and a navy blue recliner. Sheer white curtains floated at the windows and the balcony doors.

  "Very classy. What'd you do, date a decorator?"

  His cheeks turned pink. "Just for a few weeks, right after I got back from Japan." He nodded toward the kitchen. "Get yourself some water. I'm going to change."

  Cat grabbed a bottle of water, then walked over to check out the bookcase.

  Michael's tastes in reading hadn't changed much. There was still a bewildering variety of books on his shelves, from science fiction to philosophy to murder mysteries to classics. He also had a small DVD collection, which included the Star Wars Collector's Edition, several Tarantino films and a host of others. His CDs were predictable. He still liked the oldies. There were a notable few newer groups. He had a couple of Coldplay albums and a few blues collections. Then she saw a CD that surprised her. Carrie Underwood.

  "Since when do you like country music?" she called out as she studied the photo on the cover. "Or maybe it's not the music, it's--"

  "What?" Michael yelled.

  Cat's gaze touched on a framed picture. Abandoning the CD, she picked up the photograph. It was of Michael and her, on the floating pier at his parents' lake house. They'd been walking around the lake, barefoot and in jeans. Michael was shirtless and his broad, tanned shoulders gleamed with droplets of water. Cat was wearing a little pink bikini top. They stood side-by-side with their arms crossed.

  She was grinning at the camera, and Michael was grinning at her. But something was just a little bit off about the picture. She looked closer, thinking again how handsome he was, even then. She preferred him now, though. His face was leaner, his body harder, more mature. The self-deprecating smile that always played around his mouth had turned more confident. She rubbed her thumb over his face, just as Michael's hand deftly snagged the frame. Cat gasped.

  "What are you looking at? Oh." He set the frame down.

  "That was taken that last weekend, before you left for Japan, wasn't it?"

  He nodded. "Sarah took it."

  "I was pretty skinny then." Cat wondered why he’d had that particular photo framed. She started to ask, but he was frowning at the photo.

  "You haven't changed," he said quietly.

  "Oh, please. I'm fatter. I'd weigh even more if I hadn't cut off five pounds of hair."

  He looked up at her, an oddly serious look in his eyes. That awareness that had floated in the air between them at her apartment was back. Cat couldn't tear her gaze from his. She swallowed, somehow feeling as if he had delved into her very soul.

  "Um, I'm not that much fatter, am I?" she finally managed.

  Michael blinked, and the supercharged air went back to normal. He shook his head. "It's hardly noticeable. You know, I really do like the--" he gestured around his head.

  "Short and spiky look?" she supplied with a grimace.

  "Whatever. It makes you look like a kid."

  "Well, I can certainly use every advantage."

  "That's true, at your advanced age."

  "Okay, enough of that, youngster. Ready to go? I believe you recklessly promised me ribs."

  He looked back at the photo, then set it down. "Did I promise you ribs?" he asked. "I must have thought you were really pathetic."

  She made a face at him. "Hah. I happen to know from Sara that you secretly love spareribs."

  "Yech. Well, if we're going we've got to hurry. I've got a racquetball game later."

  She followed him out the door.

  "Where to," he said as they headed back to his car.

  "The Rib Shack."

  "Ah, your favorite place. Great menu. You can get ribs, ribs, or of course the house specialty. Ribs. Who decided that?" He flashed his million-dollar smiled at her, and she felt it all the way to her toes.

  "Moi. The pathetic over-the-hill, spiky haired one." She grinned at him.

  "You sure are high maintenance, Cat."

  She rolled her eyes. "You have no idea."

  CHAPTER FIVE

  The next morning, Cat sat in the driver's seat of Michael's car and kicked her sneakers off onto the ground below the open door. Then she wiggled her toes and sighed.

  Michael folded his arms and leaned against the car. "What are you doing?"

  "I'll tell you what I'm not doing. I'm not looking at another apartment. Aren't you exhausted?" She eyed him with exasperation. He didn't even look hot. The white tee shirt with the Vanderbilt University logo on the pocket looked fresh and crisp, and his hair, well, the less said about his perfectly tousled hair, the better.

  Cat, on the other hand, felt sticky and grimy and wilted. She pushed her fingers through her short hair. "Even my hair is damp," she groused. And my shirt is wrinkled and my feet hurt."

  "You're falling apart, old-timer."

  "Thank you so much for taking every single opportunity that comes your way to remind me that you're nine months younger. I guess when I turned thirty, everything started to go. Well, it's not that long for you either, twit."

  Michael straightened. "Sitting here in the sun isn't helping your disposition or making you any younger. What do you say we go back to my apartment and take a dip in the pool?"

  "Oh, that sounds like heaven, but I can't. I've got to find an apartment by Tuesday, so I can give notice, or I'll have to pay next month's rent." She sighed and slipped her feet back into her sneakers and tied them. "Which I can't do. I couldn't have afforded this month's rent, but luckily, David paid it. He said it was th
e least he could do. I agreed. Just take me home and I'll go looking some more this afternoon. You don't need to tag along."

  As Michael drove back to her apartment, Cat looked over her notes dejectedly. "Everything is so expensive. I think I'll become homeless. Do you think anyone would mind if I put a couch in Centennial Park?"

  Michael smiled. "I have a feeling there's an ordinance against that."

  Leaning her head back against the seat, Cat closed her eyes. "What if I claimed squatter's rights?"

  Michael didn't answer. Cat peeked at him thorough one half-closed eye. He was frowning. "What if you moved in with me?"

  Cat's eyes flew open. "What if I--what?" She stared at him, but his eyes were on the road. After a minute, he glanced at her and shrugged.

  "Move in with you? Into that decorator's dream? Aren't you afraid I'll track in dirt or something?"

  "I think you could be trained to wipe your feet."

  Cat thought about it. Live with Michael? "I don't know. What if we're not compatible?" He'd always been a great friend, but he'd been back in Nashville for three years, and hadn't let her know. Worse, he'd forced Sara to participate in his scheme to hide from her. She wasn't sure she even knew him any more.

  On the other hand, why not? They always had fun together, when they weren't arguing about each other's taste in dates. She glanced sidelong at him.

  "Well?" Michael asked, pulling into a parking place at her apartment complex.

  "Oh, I'm just wondering how long it would take before one of us strangled the other."

  "It would just be until you find a place. Shouldn't be more than a couple of weeks, a month maybe. Right?"

  "Michael, have you ever actually lived with a woman?"

  "What kind of insulting question is that? Besides having a sister, I think I've spent enough nights with females to know they leave a trail of nylon and cotton balls and strange, unmentionable things in their wake."

  "Oh, ha-hah!"

  He opened the door and got out.

  Cat followed. "What are you doing?"

  "Coming in with you. We need to look at your furniture."

  "No, we don't." She shook her head as she unlocked the door. "We can't live together. I mean, what would all your dates think?"

  "Thanks for the compliment, but I’m pretty sure ‘all my dates’ won’t mind. Contrary to popular belief, I don't have a constant stream of women in and out of my apartment."

  "Well, that's a relief."

  "Now." He walked around the living room. "What's your favorite chair?"

  She turned in a circle, following him. "I don't have a favorite chair."

  He pointed to the couch. "The couch? That's where you were drowning your sorrows in sweet goo the other night."

  "I only lit on the couch because I didn't have a free hand for the lever on the recliner."

  "So the recliner then?"

  "No. I mean--no. Michael. Look. It's sweet of you to offer, but I need to find my own place."

  "It's not like we'll be living together forever. Just until you can find an apartment you can afford."

  "You don't know my boss," she retorted with a wry grin. "My paycheck is so small it has an inferiority complex."

  "What else do you want to keep?"

  She frowned at him. "Do you know how irritating it is that you never listen to me? I said I don't think it's a good idea for me to move in with you. What about dating?"

  Michael grinned at her. "It's a flattering offer, but no thanks."

  "Grrr! I mean, what about your dates? What will they think if you're living with a woman?"

  "Maybe they'll think you're my roommate, or my friend. Maybe they'll be jealous." He waggled his eyebrows.

  She laughed. "I'd forgotten how you do that with your eyebrows. Stop it. I'm serious."

  "Me too. Now, what else do you want to keep?"

  "Michael, I'll need this furniture when I get my apartment."

  "This is the stuff you bought with David, right?"

  She nodded.

  "Then leave it on the curb, as far as I'm concerned."

  CHAPTER SIX

  After the cryptic remark, Michael disappeared into the bedroom. Cat spent two seconds wondering at the odd note in his voice, then she followed him.

  "-- a good idea," he was saying as she caught up with him.

  "What? What's a good idea?"

  "Taking your bedroom set, since my second bedroom is nothing but a junk room. No furniture."

  "Michael. You're riding roughshod over me as usual, and not listening to a word I say."

  He turned and looked at her, his eyes sparkling. "What?"

  "You never change, do you?"

  "Nope. Good old Michael. Always the same."

  An odd note in his voice made her glance at him. But he just shrugged and smiled. Somehow she got all tangled up in his smile, and couldn't pull her gaze away. She was doing that a lot lately, and she wasn't sure why.

  His smile slowly faded. "Tell you what, Cat. Never mind. I don’t know what I was thinking. This could turn out to be the longest couple of weeks of my life."

  "You’re taking back your offer? Why?"

  "Maybe I’m not up to listening to your sniping twenty-four hours a day."

  "Sniping?" Cat stared at him. "You think I snipe?"

  He shrugged.

  "Oh. I mean, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to snipe. I was just teasing."

  "No, it's me. I just haven't been sleeping well. Forget what I said. Sure you can stay with me."

  "Really? Great. I mean, thanks. And I'm sure it’ll only be a couple of weeks. It'll be like the old days when we lived next door to each other, except that now we'll be in the same house." She smiled at him, but his gaze slid away for an instant.

  Then he pushed his hands into his back pockets. "Okay, then it's settled. I'd better get going. It's late, and I've still got briefs to review."

  "Thanks, Michael." Cat put her arm around his neck and kissed his jaw. His evening stubble scratched her cheek and his unique scent tickled her nose. He'd never gone in for after shave or cologne. He smelled clean, like Ivory soap, and something that was just him. She'd know him if she was blind and deaf, and in a roomful of people, just from his scent.

  He looked down at her with a strange expression in his eyes, as if he were trying to read her mind. Then he dug his keys out of his pocket and jangled them. "I guess I'll see you tomorrow." He headed for the door, then turned. "Can you be ready by noon? I've got a buddy who has access to a truck. If he's not out of town, we can borrow it."

  "Sure," she said, crossing her arms. "Michael? I didn't ask you how much your rent is. I mean," she laughed shortly, "can I afford half your rent?"

  He turned with his hand on the front door knob. "You can definitely afford it. You won't be paying rent."

  She raised her brows. "Ooh, I'm to be a kept woman?"

  He grinned. "I've got plans for you."

  "Really?" She propped her fists on her hips. "What kind of plans?"

  He waggled his eyebrows, which started her laughing. "You'll see, my pet."

  "You remind me of Groucho Marx, except prettier. I'll cook. How's that?"

  Michael stepped out of the door and leaned back in, leering. "I was counting on it, among other things."

  "Oh, go away. It's true. Men do think of only one thing."

  "Every fifteen seconds."

  "Get out of here," she laughed, bumping the door shut with her hip. Still laughing, she went into the kitchen and poured herself some juice. This was going to be interesting. Michael had been conspicuously absent from her life for quite some time. She flopped down on the couch. She'd missed him. He was very dependable, very consistent. He'd always managed to make her feel better. It was going to be nice to have him around. A smile tickled her lips as she turned up the glass to drain it. Dependable. Consistent. Somehow, although the words still fit him he was different now. He seemed bigger, bolder, more confident. And way hotter than she remembered.

&n
bsp; * * *

  On Monday morning, Cat slapped at the alarm and groaned. How did morning get here so early every day? It was downright aggravating. She dragged herself out of bed and walked straight into the closet.

  "Damn," she muttered, fighting off a barrage of kamikaze clothes hangers. She squinted around. Oh yeah. She was in Michael's second bedroom. The door to the hall and the bathroom was thataway.

  She pushed open the bathroom door and ran into Michael. "Ack!"

  "Hey!"

  He had shaving cream all over his face and was leaning over the sink looking in the mirror. Cat scrunched up her eyes in the bright bathroom light. "What're you doing in here?"

  "Shaving." His sleepy gaze in the mirror roamed over her clothes, which consisted of panties and a cotton camisole with little blue flowers embroidered on the bodice.

  Suddenly Cat felt unclothed. It was strange, feeling modest in front of Michael. They used to have sleepovers--well, when they were six "I, uh, sort of assumed--."

  He raised his eyebrows for a moment, then lowered them as the light bulb went on in his head. "Oh! Right. I've just always used this bathroom."

  Cat yawned. "Instead of the one that's about four steps away from your bed and attached to your bedroom?"

  He shrugged. "Yeah. The shower in here is better."

  "Well, should I use yours?"

  "No!" he snapped, as he rinsed the razor. "I mean, I'm nearly done now. I'll use my bathroom in the future."

  Cat waited at the door as he loaded up toothbrush, toothpaste and dental floss into his shaving kit. She couldn't avoid looking at him. He was right there in front of her, shirtless, with blue boxers on and nothing else, well except for the coating of shaving cream on his face. Something decidedly uncomfortable was going on in the pit of her stomach. Deb was right. He was gorgeous. Every last inch of him. When had his shoulders gotten that broad? When had he developed those abs? She looked him up and down until her eyes lit on the boxers, and suddenly, they commanded all her attention.

  "Uh, Michael?"

  "Yeah?" He slung a towel around his neck.

  "What the hell is that on your boxer shorts?"

  He looked down, as if he'd only just noticed them. He glanced up at her, glowering under his brows. "Nothing. Song titles."