It's In His Kiss

by Mallory Kane

  "Cat," Michael said, taking the carton of ice cream out of her hand. "Here, give me that. Are you sure you didn’t polish off a bottle of wine with dinner?"

  She tried to lick the ice cream off her chin with her tongue, but it wasn’t long enough. To her dismay, her eyes misted over. She shook her head. "No. Wine makes me nauseous. I can’t drink enough to get drunk, so I get drunk on sugar instead."

  Michael swiped the melted cream with his thumb, then stuck it in his mouth.

  Suddenly, Cat's entire consciousness was taken over by the sight of him sucking on his thumb, that thumb that had just touched her chin. A thrill skittered through her. She blinked and tried to look away, but she couldn't take her eyes off his mouth.

  "I’m not sure I understand why this has you so upset. I think it’s nice if Janice has found someone who loves her."

  It took her a beat to catch up with what he was saying. "Oh, do you? Good for Janice. Let her go off yet again, and stay til the honeymoon is over, and forget about Cat. Cat will manage. Cat always manages." She licked the spoon, which had melted ice cream dripping off of it.

  Michael smiled and caught a drip of melted chocolate at the corner of her mouth with his finger. "You’re making a mess of yourself, Cat."

  "Well, I’ve got a right."

  "Actually, Cat. I don’t think you do."

  She stared at him. His smile was gone. He licked the chocolate off his finger, and then looked at it and frowned. When he raised his gaze to hers, his eyes were dark and smoky. "Not everything is about you, Cat. You may not have had the best life, but it was a pretty good one. Your grandmother took great care of you. Your mom was always trying to find something." He shrugged. "I don’t know what. Just like I don’t know what it is you’re looking for. But maybe your mom’s finally found hers. Maybe Williams Blair is just the man for her. Who are you to begrudge her the chance to have happiness? Why can’t you be happy for her, instead of moping around here feeling sorry for yourself?"

  Cat stared at him, the achy place inside her throbbing. "What’s wrong with you, Michael? You used to support me. You used to be on my side."

  "This is not about choosing sides, Cat. I’m on your side. I’ve always been on your side. The thing is, everybody has. Including your mother. She may not have been the best mother, but she's the only one you've got, and she deserves your support, and so does Hank." His face was dark, his eyes stormy. He thrust the ice cream carton back at her. "Here. Take your ice cream and drown your sorrows. But do it quietly, please. I’m a little tired of listening to your whining."

  Cat realized her mouth was open at the same time she realized Michael had turned around and was stalking off to his room.

  "M-michael?"

  He stopped without turning around.

  "I, uh, didn’t mean to whine." She set the ice cream down. "It’s scary to think that my mother may have actually gotten her life together." She laughed shakily. "I think I always thought that, no matter how my life went, at least I was doing better than she was." Her voice broke at the end.

  Michael turned around, a mixture of pity and irritation on his face. At least that’s what it looked like to Cat. He shook his head, then walked back over to stand in front of her. "You’re a mess."

  She nodded, her chin quivering. "I--kn-know."

  "I mean literally. You’ve got chocolate all over your face." He touched the edge of her lip, then licked his forefinger, then touched it again.

  The feel of his wet finger on her lip did something to Cat’s insides. They seemed to turn liquid and hot. Her tongue darted out, and touched his finger. She couldn’t tear her gaze away from his.

  His hand cupped her chin, and urged her head to tilt backward. Without even thinking, Cat followed his lead, allowing him to control her movements. He brushed his forefinger across her lip again, then leaned down and put his mouth where his finger was.

  He was kissing her. This was no peck on the cheek, or casual buss on the mouth like earlier. This was a real, genuine kiss. His lips touched hers, tentatively at first, then more firmly. He slid his hand from her chin down her neck, then wrapped his fingers around her nape, while at the same time his mouth opened and his tongue probed at her lips.

  Cat’s pulse raced, her heart pounded, and that liquid heat inside her was fast reaching the boiling point. She opened her mouth and kissed him back, as deeply and deliciously as he was kissing her. His hand caressed the nape of her neck as he kept kissing her, until she felt light-headed.

  He whispered her name and the sound of his familiar voice brought her up short. This was no way to kiss a best friend. She pushed away.

  Michael froze, his eyes still closed.

  "You--" Her voice gave out. She took a shaky breath and tried again. "You--know what we need to do?" she croaked.

  He sighed, and Cat could have sworn he was having trouble controlling his breathing. "Maybe," he said softly, then raised his gaze to hers.

  She almost experienced total meltdown at the raw hunger in his eyes. She swallowed and looked down at her hands, where the ice cream carton's frozen surface was numbing her fingers, despite the heat blazing deep inside her. She whirled and opened the freezer door, fighting for control. "We need to wash your clothes."

  CHAPTER TEN

  Michael stared at the back of Cat's head. Her short hair left the nape of her neck bare. His fingers tingled at the memory of her soft, vulnerable skin. He wanted to put his lips there, where wisps of hair curled. He wanted to nuzzle the soft place behind her ear. He needed to control himself.

  She closed the freezer, and went to the sink to rinse her hands, still talking.

  "I mean, you've got that pile of dirty clothes in there on the bathroom floor. I still think one morning it's going to rise up and walk out here under its own steam and ask what's for breakfast." She rinsed her hands, then started washing the wine glasses.

  "Cat, I don't want to wash clothes."

  "Well, they've got to be done." She grabbed a dish towel and began polishing the glass. "I uh, I just want to--," she turned to look at him.

  He knew that look, that tough mask she put on which didn't quite hide her uncertainty. He'd seen it dozens of times over the years. He hated that he'd been the one to put it there this time. She'd always trusted him, and he'd always tried to live up to that trust. He couldn't do it this time though, because he wasn't sure he could trust himself.

  "I just want to get out of the apartment for a while." She shrugged.

  Michael figured it was up to him to lighten the mood, since he'd been the one who'd brought sexual tension, into their relationship. "Hey, be my guest. I'll provide the quarters, and you can go wash clothes to your heart's content. I think I'll go to bed."

  Cat frowned. "Okay," she said slowly. "Sure. I'll just get some pillow cases to stuff your clothes in." She put the glass away and folded the towel. "Know where the laundry room is?"

  Michael forced himself to laugh lightly. "Come on, twit. You think I'd let you wash my clothes by yourself? I'd end up with pink underwear."

  "Oh, please," she shot back, and he was thrilled to see the spark in her eyes. "Looking at those promo boxer shorts, I'm guessing you already have pink underwear."

  Relieved that the tension was over, at least for now, Michael turned to head for his bathroom to gather up his clothes.

  He stopped in front of the bathroom door, and Cat ran into him from behind. She said something, but he was too busy trying to ignore the softness of her breasts pressed against his bare bicep to hear her. He stepped over the pile of clothes, more to get away from the seductive heat of her body than anything else, but she followed him in.

  When she leaned over to pick up a pillow case, the little black dress gaped in front, and Michael had an unobstructed view of her perfect, rounded breasts. He groaned under his breath.

  "What?" she asked.

  He concentrated his gaze on dirty tee shirts, and spoke through gritted teeth. "Tell you what. I'll gather up the clothes, and you go ch
ange into something a little more appropriate for an evening at the laundromat."

  She straightened as a cute little blush brightened her cheeks, and one hand fluttered toward the low cut neckline of her dress. "Fine." She thrust the pillow case at him. "Fill this up," she demanded, then whirled and flounced out.

  I'm filling something up, but it's not a pillow case, he thought, moving uncomfortably as his arousal pressed against the tight denim of his jeans. For a second, he contemplated jumping into the shower and turning on the cold water. The thought was almost as good as the deed, and his body relaxed a bit. As he stuffed tee shirts and socks into the pillow case, he wondered how he was going to pretend that the kiss never happened.

  What a stupid thing to do, kissing her. At least up until now, all he'd had were fantasies, which he'd done a pretty good job of keeping under control. That is, until she'd moved in with him.

  But now, in one evening, he'd managed to shatter every illusion he'd ever had that he could just be Cat's friend. It had started with the dress. As long as she wore tee shirts and jeans, he could fool himself into thinking they were just buddies, no different from when they were kids and both looked like sticks. But then she'd put on that dress, which outlined every luscious curve and dip and rounded, supple inch of her.

  Then she'd stuck her little stockinged feet up on the rail next to his. The last time he'd noticed her feet had been that last day at the lake when they'd walked along the sandy shore barefooted. Tonight, just like back then, he thought her feet were perfect. Small and slender, with little pink toes tipped with red polish, and a delicate instep that he wanted to kiss. Elegantly packaged in sheer black stockings, they were the sexiest feet he'd ever seen in his life.

  Then that kiss. Don't even go there, he told his brain, but he was too late. His brain, and his body, were already there. Her lips were soft and sweet, and they'd trembled when he lowered his mouth to hers. Her breath had escaped in a sigh when his tongue dared to part her lips. Michael groaned at the desire that streaked through him.

  "Ready?"

  Cat's voice right behind him startled him. He jumped.

  "Whoa, twit," she laughed. "It's just me. Don't get your shorts in a twist."

  Too late, he thought wryly. "You surprised me." He turned, and saw that she'd put on black jeans and an oversized tee shirt that said "www dot don't mess with me dot com" on the front. To his dismay, the shapeless tee shirt didn't cool his desire one iota.

  "You haven't made much progress," she remarked, picking up a pile of clothes. Michael dutifully held out his pillow case, and Cat stuffed her armload of clothes into it. Michael looked down. There was her vulnerable nape again. His mouth watered with the need to taste her skin. He dipped his head before he got himself back under control. He winced internally. This could prove to be a very long night.

  In the bright, sterile laundry room with the smell of detergent and bleach hanging in the air, it was a little easier to quell the fantasies. Gimme a break, he groused at himself. You're thirty years old. Quit acting like a horny teenager.

  Cat had jumped up on the long table and sat, Indian style, sorting through his laundry. She tossed white tee shirts and sheets and towels into one pile, and colored items, including his boxers, into another.

  He grabbed the whites and started wrestling them into a washing machine.

  "What are you doing?" she asked, laughing.

  He shot her a glare. "Washing clothes."

  She jumped off the table. "No, no, no. You can't put that much stuff in one load. They'll never get clean."

  "Cat, look. Right there on the front of the washer, it says extra heavy duty."

  "Twit. As usual, you only notice the argument that supports your case. What does it say next to extra heavy duty?"

  Michael laughed at her awful imitation of his deeper voice. He pretended to squint at the label on the front of the washer. "Please overload?"

  She swatted at him. "It says do not overload."

  "So how do you know when it's overloaded?"

  "Maybe because you graduated from college and law school."

  Michael gave her a mock serious look. "So I should take a few things out?"

  "Oh, you are so cute, you--man!" She turned and laid her palm against his cheek, grinning at him.

  Her hand was hot and soft against his skin, and a surge of renewed desire overtook him.

  Almost as soon as she touched him, she jerked her hand away. "Anyway," she said, and proceeded to divide the load among three washers.

  Michael retreated and let her handle the laundry, as he watched her. She was decidedly uncomfortable around him, since the kiss. But was that good or bad?

  He couldn't tell. If there was one thing he knew about Cat, it was that once she decided to retreat behind her tough-as-nails mask, it was almost impossible to penetrate it. He'd managed to in the past, when she needed his famous shoulder to cry on, but this time he was working at a disadvantage.

  This time he was the one she was hiding her feelings from. He watched her, using every ounce of willpower he possessed to resist pulling her into his arms. He strained the limits of that willpower to stop himself from satisfying the longing he'd lived with ever since he discovered the difference between men and women, the longing to make tough, brave, vulnerable Cat his own, and to give himself to her just as completely.

  Cat finished filling the washing machines, adding soap and inserting quarters. She dawdled over the last few coins, turning them over and over in her hand. What was she going to do when she finally had to turn and face Michael? Would he see in her eyes how much she wanted him to take her in his arms and continue what he'd started there in the kitchen?

  From the moment his lips touched hers, she'd felt a rush of sensation as exciting as it was terrifying. Michael, good old Michael, was the best kisser she'd ever known. His firm, wide mouth had sent hot, liquid desire pulsing through her. Kissing him was literally like nothing she'd ever experienced.

  She was attracted to Michael. She lusted after her best friend. As soon as the thought flitted through her brain, she knew it was wrong. She wasn't lusting after him. At least not just lusting. It was more than that. She was terribly, petrifyingly afraid that she was falling in love with him. And if she fell in love with Michael, she'd be sunk, because every time she thought she was in love, she ended up blowing it. She was that much like her mother. She couldn't sustain a relationship if her life depended on it.

  Oh, yeah? Well your mother seems to be doing quite well right now.

  Shut up. What do you know?

  She grabbed her head. Stop it!

  "Cat? You okay?"

  Cat blinked. Michael. "Oh, sure. Nothing. It's nothing. The left side of my brain was having an argument with the right side, that's all." She tried to laugh it off, but the laugh came out a little hiccuppy, like a half-sob or something. She winced.

  "Are you sure you're all right?"

  "Sure. I'm fine." She straightened her shoulders and put on a smile.

  She put her hands on her hips and surveyed the washers, all busily humming away. Desperate to think of something to talk about, she remembered the dating service questionnaire. She took a long breath. "Isn't it funny how different men and women are?"

  "Hilarious," Michael answered drily.

  "No, really. For instance, what are your three favorite parts of your body?"

  Michael stared at her. "What? Where'd that come from?"

  "Just humor me. It's from a--magazine article. Yeah."

  He shook his head in wonder.

  "Just answer the question."

  "Okay. Breasts." He looked her over. "Buttocks, and feet."

  Her body felt like he'd touched her everywhere his gaze had fallen. She laughed nervously. "Not my body, you dope. Yours."

  "I don't have three favorites."

  She slapped at him. "Come on."

  "Contrary to what women think, men don't think about their bodies that much."

  Cat grinned. "Right. So are
you saying men only have one favorite body part?"

  He laughed and his cheeks turned pink. "No. I'm saying that men don't think that way."

  "Oh, I get it now. Men spend their time thinking about women's bodies."

  "Forget your magazine article. I'm not answering any more questions."

  "Oh come on."

  "You just want me to embarrass myself."

  "No I don't." She looked at him quizzically. "How would you embarrass yourself?"

  "Forget it. I'm not answering."

  "Fine then. What do you want to do?"

  A glimpse of the hungry look came back into Michael's eyes, but he looked away, toward the washing machines, and shrugged. "I don't know. Go back upstairs and eat double chocolate fudge ice cream?"

  Remembering his finger against her mouth and what that had led to, Cat shook her head vehemently.

  "No? I don't know then," Michael said. "What did we used to do when we couldn't find anything to do?"

  Cat smiled. "We never had trouble finding things to do, remember? There was always somebody to talk about, or a book we wanted to share, or a boyfriend or a girlfriend--" she stopped. For some reason a lump grew in her throat.

  She'd missed him. There had never been anyone in her life she could talk to like she could to him. Not even her grandmother. Gram had been wonderful, but Cat had never been able to tell her everything, not like she could Michael.

  And now, she was so scared. About everything. She'd failed at three relationships. Strike three for Cat. At the same time, her mother seemed to be getting her life together at long last. Cat wasn't sure how she'd cope if her mom straightened out her life.

  "Cat?" Michael was watching her keenly.

  She blinked again, pulling herself out of her funk and back into the present, with Michael. "Yeah?" she said, as casually as she could.