License to Love

by Barbara Boswell

  He reached into the pocket of his sport coat and pulled out a tiny stuffed toy lion wearing a blue and white shirt and cap with the letters PSU on the front. It was the Nittany Lion, Penn State’s mascot. He’d purchased it as a memento of his and Michelle’s first long talk on the phone. Steve set it on the kitchen counter to surprise her.

  The surprise was on him when a dark, sleek Siamese cat appeared out of nowhere to leap on the counter and snatch the small toy in its mouth. “Hey!” Steve demanded in a whisper. “You can’t have that!” He was careful not to raise his voice. It was most unbecoming to scold a date’s pet.

  But Burton the cat was undeterred. He ran under the living room sofa, carrying his prey. Once safely ensconced there, he began to meow pitifully. His routine, which included all of Michelle’s attention when she returned from work plus tidbits from her dinner, had been disrupted by her late arrival and frantic preparations to dress. Worse, there was no dinner, only the dry cat food in his bowl.

  Steve grimaced. He knew cats; there were eight of them living in the Saraceni home in New Jersey. They were masters at hiding and escape. He wouldn’t get the stuffed animal back until the Siamese decided to relinquish it.

  Burton continued to yowl and Michelle scurried out of the bathroom, still shoeless. Steve didn’t kid himself. It was the cat, not him, who’d brought her running.

  “Poor Burton, poor Burtie boy,” she crooned. “What’s the matter? Where are you?”

  “He’s under the sofa. He took one look at me and ran,” Steve said wryly.

  “Burton is shy around strangers,” Michelle said apologetically. “He gets nervous, he’s a little high strung.”

  “He’s also a thief,” Steve murmured, but Michelle didn’t hear him. She was already on her hands and knees in front of the sofa, talking softly to the cat, trying to coax him out.

  Steve glanced at her, swallowed, then steadfastly fixed his gaze on her. For the first time that evening he had a chance to see her, really see her, and he liked what he saw. She was wearing a short black stretch velvet dress, a pull-over sheath with long sleeves and a wide neckline. Cabochon-shaped faux stones in bright multicolored hues studded the material and glimmered in the lamplight.

  The effect was dazzling but Steve was appreciating the sight of her long shapely legs encased in sheer dark hose and tucked under her even more. His eyes lingered on her der-riere, rounded and pert and accentuated by both her position and the stretchy fabric of the dress. He found himself smiling.

  Suddenly his unheralded arrival, the uninspiring drink and the cat’s theft of his gift were only minor irritants, something to good-naturedly shrug off. The sight of Michelle in that dress was an auspicious sign of a very memorable night, he was certain of it.

  “Come on out, Burton.” Michelle continued to sweet talk the cat, to no avail. “He’s got something under there and he’s chewing on it.”

  “Burton’s captured himself a Nittany Lion,” Steve said dryly. “Is he a Pitt fan or what?”

  Looking confused, Michelle stood up, smoothing her dress with her hands.

  Steve was still smiling. She really was a knockout! Her figure, contained but not concealed beneath those tailored suits she favored in the office, more than fulfilled its promise in that short, sexy black dress. Her blond hair fell loose and lustrous to her shoulders.

  “I brought you a little mascot but Burton saw it first and carried it to his lair,” explained Steve. “I think he’s dining on it now.”

  “Oh, dear!” Michelle looked distressed for a moment, then began to laugh.

  Steve stared at her, transfixed. He’d never seen her laugh like that. The sound warmed him and her face, her eyes— she was beautiful! He couldn’t tear his eyes away from her.

  “Well, I thank you for the thought and Burton thanks you for the gift, I’m sure,” Michelle said, starting out of the living room again. “I’ll get my shoes and my purse and we can be on our way.”

  She returned moments later wearing black velvet evening pumps with high, narrow heels and carrying a short black cardigan-style coat. “It occurred to me that I haven’t been a very good hostess. I’m sorry I’ve been rushing around so much since you’ve arrived.”

  Why, she’d paid more attention to the cat than to Steve, Michelle acknowledged ruefully. Her dating/entertaining skills were definitely rusty. And perhaps she shouldn’t have laughed when the cat swiped his gift? She sought to make amends. “It was so thoughtful of you to bring—”

  “—the cat a present?” Steve finished, his dark eyes twinkling. “Next time I’ll bring you something. And there’s no need to apologize,” he added gallantly. “You’re well worth the wait.” He took her coat from her, to assist her into it. “You look beautiful tonight, Michelle.”

  Michelle flushed with pleasure. “Thank you.” The warmth in his eyes as he looked at her, the admiration in his voice made her feel beautiful. She sent a mental thanks to her stepsister Ashlinn for insisting that she buy this dress when the two of them had been shopping together in New York City last fall.

  She turned to slip into her coat, slightly tilting her head so her hair fell forward. Steve stared at the soft vulnerable skin of her nape as a jolt of sexual electricity streaked through him. Impulsively he put the coat aside and laid his hands on her shoulders, drawing her back to him. He inhaled the alluring scent of her perfume and his mind clouded. Unable to resist, he touched his mouth to her nape.

  Michelle shivered. She wasn’t accustomed to being caressed. Intellectually, she knew she was probably quite vulnerable to even the simplest touch, but emotionally, physically she savored the feel of his lips against her sensitive skin, the strength of his strong fingers kneading her shoulders. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt so feminine, so desirable. Maybe never. But she could feel the heat and power of Steve’s desire against her. He wanted her! And instead of feeling nervous, she was thrilled.

  Whether she turned of her own accord or Steve turned her around himself, Michelle wasn’t sure, but somehow she was facing him. She gazed up at him and her breath caught in her throat. His eyes were dark, fiery and intense. She felt his gaze slide over her, her mouth, her breasts, her legs, assessing and admiring.

  His head lowered to hers and her lips tingled with anticipation. The way he was looking at her, the way he was handling her was wildly exciting. It was the way of an experienced, confident man, a man who understood how to please and satisfy a woman.

  Maybe too experienced and probably too confident. The cold voice of reality broke the sensual spell enveloping Michelle. She had always had a practical, down-to-earth streak that kept her strong and steady. Just when her thoughts veered toward the likes of a confession-magazine narrative, that prosaic little voice in her head inevitably brought her up short.

  Giving her head a small shake, she pulled out of his embrace. “I don’t think we—” she began.

  “Of course. I understand,” Steve said quickly. He frowned, confused. He’d touched her and come close to losing his head. An unsettling development. He liked being in control, he insisted on it. You’re no grabby adolescent, he admonished himself. Get a grip!

  “I know how much women hate having their makeup smeared at the beginning of the evening. I hope you’ll accept my apology.”

  “Smeared makeup?” Michelle echoed, staring at him. Furthermore, he hadn’t made an apology to accept. “You think that’s why I—” She decided that she was offended. “My makeup had nothing to do with it. Even if I hadn’t been wearing any, I would’ve called a halt because—I hardly know you and I don’t make a practice of... of kissing men I don’t know.”

  “What about the men you do?”

  “What?”

  “Just a little joke,” he said hastily. “Anyway, we weren’t kissing.”

  Michelle blushed. “But we would have been if I hadn’t—”

  “Maybe. Maybe not,” he interrupted, shrugging. “I might’ve called a halt to things, too, you know.”

/>   “Oh, of course. Out of concern for the state of my makeup,” she drawled caustically.

  Steve heaved a sigh. “Look, I know bickering is an effective way to diffuse sexual tension, but to be honest with you, I’ve never cared for it. I’m not the confrontational type.” “I’m not, either.” Michelle stared at him, nonplussed. “Is—Is that what we were doing?”

  “Afraid so. And I’m sorry about that women-and-their-makeup crack, too. It was insulting.”

  “As you intended,” she said slowly. “My, you’re good. You said it so ingenuously I thought you weren’t aware of how insulting you were being.”

  “It’s a talent of mine. Sort of goes with the territory.”

  “Disguising carefully aimed barbs as artless blurts of spontaneity.” She looked dismayed. “In politics, I’ve learned to read between the lines but dealing with you seems to require reading between the words.”

  “And you’re questioning whether or not I’m worth the time and the trouble,” surmised Steve. “I know the feeling. I wondered the same thing about you when I first arrived and you weren’t crawling all over me, panting with delight.”

  Her jaw dropped. “Is that the way your dates normally greet you?”

  “Let’s just say.. .yes.”

  “Oh.” His honesty disarmed her. She remembered her hurried, distracted greeting to him. And then she’d left him alone with the irascible Burton! What could she say? She wasn’t about to apologize for not jumping him at the door. For not panting with delight at the sight of him!

  She cleared her throat. “Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea. We, uh, obviously had different ideas about what kind of an evening this was going to be and—”

  “Michelle, I decided that you definitely were worth the time and trouble,” he cut in, his dark eyes blazing.

  “Despite a lamentable lack of crawling and panting?” Her lips twitched.

  Steve laughed. “Maybe it’s time for a change.”

  It was also time to learn why he was captivated by that cautious half smile she was giving him, why he was intrigued by her reluctance to accede to his charm. He wasn’t the sort of guy who thrived on the challenge and conquer of women who played hard to get. He went for the sure thing every time, as his disapproving sister Jamie continually pointed out to him. And what was so wrong with that? he’d often wondered. After all, he worked hard at his job. He certainly didn’t want to expend any extra efforts on dating!

  Michelle’s heart seemed to jump into her mouth, which had suddenly gone dry. His slightest touch seared her with a seductive heat that made her ache. She was going to have to be very careful around this man, this too handsome man who had been badly spoiled by all those nitwits who crawled all over him and panted with delight merely because he’d shown up.

  But she nodded her acquiescence and allowed him to help her into her coat. Her decision had been made. She had always wondered if she would ever meet a man who interested and excited her as much as her job. Steve Saraceni did. He was worth her time and trouble.

  The maitre d’ at the restaurant knew Steve and deferentially escorted the couple to the second floor where cushioned banquettes were built into a turret. Lacy curtains ensured the diners’ privacy. Candles flickered on the table and a haunting romantic ballad played softly in the background. It was the perfect setting for romance.

  Maybe too perfect. When Steve reached over and covered her hand with his, Michelle quietly but carefully removed hers, using the pretext of arranging her napkin on her lap. It would be so easy to lose herself in the romantic atmosphere, to let Steve hold her hand and ply her with the excellent wine he’d ordered. But Michelle had never been one to take the easy way. She made a vow to keep her head.

  But that didn’t mean she couldn’t enjoy the superb food and Steve’s company. She was, very much. “I love their seafood bisque,” Michelle said, sighing appreciatively as she inhaled its tantalizing aroma.

  “Mmm, me, too,” Steve agreed. “And my grandmother has given Alfred’s northern Italian dishes her stamp of approval, although she remains firmly convinced that southern Italy is the gastronomical center of the world. I brought her here for dinner when she came to visit me and my cousin Saran.”

  Michelle liked the way he smiled as he talked about his grandmother, his eyes warm with humor and affection. “Was she bom in Italy?”

  Steve nodded. “In San Vito on the Adriatic. Her family immigrated to the United States when she was two. They passed through Ellis Island. We took Grandma there after it reopened as a museum, and she swore she could remember her family’s arrival there.”

  “Maybe she could. I have some memories of being two. They’re vague and sketchy but real.” Michelle twisted her napkin in her lap. “That was the year my parents were divorced. I remember sitting at the top of the stairs with my older sister and brothers, watching our father leave, carrying his suitcase. My sister picked me up and carried me into her bed. She was crying, but I wasn’t. I guess I really didn’t understand what was going on.”

  Steve frowned. “Divorce is hell on kids. My two nephews took it hard when their mother—that’s my sister Cassie—split with their dad. It wasn’t Cassie’s fault,” he added swiftly, loyally. “Her husband got sick of being married and wanted out. Cassie and the kids moved in with our folks and Grandma.” His frown deepened. “The whole family thinks her ex, Wayne Blair, is something akin to the antichrist, but—” he paused “—the guy isn’t evil, he just wasn’t cut out for marriage. Wayne was a lousy husband and an indifferent father. He felt trapped, they didn’t understand, everybody was miserable. He actually did Cassie and the kids a favor by leaving. They’re happier and better off without him around.”

  “That’s his rationalization, I’m sure,” murmured Michelle. “Quite convenient and self-serving. And a whole lot easier than having to stick around, to grow up and make things work.”

  Her remark rankled him. Though he disliked his former brother-in-law for hurting his sister, Steve had an uneasy feeling that he himself wouldn’t fare much better in the husband-and-father role. He considered himself a bom-free type with a congenital need for independence. Not a self-serving, rationalizing, immature type.

  “Uh-oh. I just remembered why I never discuss serious topics, like divorce, on dates. Too emotional and controversial.”

  “Which would certainly put a damper on all that crawling and drooling you expect from your dates,” Michelle said drolly.

  Steve was startled. He wasn’t used to being needled by his dates. Of course, he rarely—never?—dated anyone as intelligent as Michelle. “Panting,” he corrected, grinning in spite of himself. Actually, he rather enjoyed her needling. “My dates crawl and pant. I draw the line at drooling.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Whatever. Anyway, you’re right, there are some subjects that ought to be avoided during dinner. Traumatic childhood memories, for one.” Her tone was light, but she shifted uneasily. “I don’t know what possessed me to inflict mine on you.” An embarrassing lapse, another sign of her moldering social skills, no doubt.

  She quickly sought to make amends. “Look, it’s starting to snow,” she exclaimed, glancing out the window. Her smile and her voice were very bright. “I don’t remember any of our esteemed area meteorologists predicting that. Don’t tell me they’re wrong again! Remember last year when they predicted a blizzard with at least ten inches accumulation and instead the day turned out to be fifty degrees and sunny?”

  Steve knew it was his turn to chime in with an amusing anecdote about weather and the hapless foibles of those predicting it. Michelle was behaving exactly as he had directed, smiling brightly and chattering about bland generalities, keeping it light and impersonal. Why on earth did he have the perverse wish to revert to their earlier conversation, which had been emotional and revealing and entirely too personal? There was no need for him to know—no reason for him to wonder—

  “What happened after your dad left?” he asked suddenly.

  Miche
lle looked at him as if he’d grown another head. “I thought we agreed to talk about something else.”

  “Well, I-”

  “There’s no reason for you to politely pretend an interest in my distant past,” she said dryly. “I don’t even find it very interesting.”

  “I’m not politely pretending interest. I am interested. Why did your folks split up? Did your father decide he wasn’t into marriage and kids, like Cassie’s ex?”

  “Oh, it wasn’t that,” she said quickly. “In fact, two years after the divorce, Daddy married a widow with three children. They adored him and he was devoted to them, too. My father is very much a family man. It was his career that broke up my parents’ marriage. Dad was a career Army officer and Mom hated moving from post to post. She demanded that he give it up and he wouldn’t. He couldn’t. He’d been an Army brat himself and he loved the service.” “Mmm, that is a tough one. I can’t see giving up my work for anyone or anything.”

  “Me, either. I never blamed my father for choosing the Army, but my mother never forgave him. She’s still angry with him, even though she’s been remarried to a perfectly nice man for the past twenty years.”

  “Whew! Talk about holding a grudge!”

  “My sentiments exactly.” Michelle shrugged. “Enough Carey family history. If we’re swapping life stories, it’s your turn to tell me more about the Saracenis.”

  “There’s not much to tell. My parents were high school sweethearts who were born and raised in Merlton and are still living there. Grandma lives with them and so do Cassie and her two kids. My sister Jamie lives less than twenty minutes away with her husband and new baby.” He shrugged. “It works for them, they’re happy. But all that togetherness makes me claustrophobic. From the time I was in elementary school I wanted to get out, to have more, to do more, you know?”

  “No.” Michelle shook her head. “That’s my dream life— an intact family in the same place, always there for you. My family is scattered all over the country and always has been.”