It also occurred to her that she might learn something useful about him, something that could help her with a story. She’d always been driven, and she’d never been ashamed of her ambition. She’d just gotten the promotion she’d been working toward for three years, and the last thing she was going to do was let a perfect opportunity slip by her.
She didn’t know how this chance encounter with Michael Martin might help her career, and she didn’t even know if she’d want to use it.
If he found out she was a reporter, however, she’d blow her only advantage.
That summer she’d interned for his father, she’d been crazy about Michael. It wasn’t just a teenage crush. It had been real, intense, and physical. The more time she spent working with him, the deeper the bond had grown.
She’d given him her virginity after being caught up in a rush of feeling and desire one evening. She didn’t regret it. At the time, she’d been sure that Michael had valued her and appreciated their night together, although it was obvious he wouldn’t pursue a relationship. She was going away to college soon anyway.
Now, however, she didn’t know if he’d ever felt anything for her at all.
When she’d known him in Whitesville, he’d been quiet and intense. He’d always been treated like a king by their town—because of his father—but he’d never seemed to be a spoiled asshole.
Either she’d been wrong or he’d changed.
The years since then had confirmed Michael’s reputation as a player and a ruthless businessman. His romantic affairs were high-profile and numerous. It wasn’t until recently that he’d made even the gesture of settling down with one woman, and that engagement had ended dramatically—with Gina throwing the engagement ring at Michael’s face in the middle of the lobby of his corporate headquarters and screaming about his being a liar and a cheat.
It was hard to hold onto the fond memory of a lost love when the man had proven himself to be so cold and heartless in the years that followed.
Allison had put it behind her, and she certainly wasn’t going to leave an injured man stranded on the side of the road.
But she also didn’t really trust him, so she kept the fact that she was a reporter in her pocket.
She was soaked, shaky, and exhausted when they reached the side door of the big house. It was locked, of course. Allison considered a few options, swiping rain out of her eyes. She’d done a certain amount of snooping when she was younger, and she still knew how to pick a lock.
Without hesitating, Michael shrugged out of his jacket, balled it around his fist, and broke the small window next to the door with a sharp jab against the glass. When he reached through the window, he was able to unlock and open the door.
Allison had to admit his method was more efficient than fiddling with the lock.
She let out a long breath when they stepped out of the wind and rain. It was dark in the back hallway so she flipped a light switch.
“No power,” Michael muttered, when the lights failed to come on. He was dripping onto the tile floor, his expensive shirt and dark trousers pasted to his lean body. The wound on his head was still bleeding, and the sight of smeared blood trailing down to his neck was very disturbing.
With a sinking in her heart, Allison stepped over and picked up a landline phone. “Phones are dead too. We’re out in the middle of nowhere here, so who knows when we’ll get them back. We’ll have to make do, I guess, until the storm passes.”
Michael wiped some of the moisture off his face. He was still ridiculously handsome, and he projected an even stronger sense of power and masculinity than he had when he was younger. “It’s better than being out on the road. Hopefully, this old place will hold up.”
“It’s pretty sturdy.” She sounded more confident than she felt as the windows clattered with a particularly fierce gust of wind. “The first thing we should do is check out your injury.”
“I’m fine,” Michael said, frowning at her with an arrogance that immediately annoyed her. “And I’d prefer not to be babied.”
“Babied? Are you serious? You crashed your car and concussed yourself! I’m not planning to serve you tea and chicken soup, but we should at least wipe up the blood.”
Michael touched his injured head, as if he hadn’t realized it was bleeding. Then he arched his brows. “If I’m not mistaken, you’re the one who was driving in the middle of the road, so I have you to thank for my crashed car and potential concussion.”
Allison snarled at him. Never had she met such a stubborn, spoiled man. He definitely hadn’t improved with age. “I’m the one who thought of this place and hauled your arrogant ass here. While we’re spewing out indictments, let’s not forget that.” She shook her head impatiently. “Why the hell are we arguing? I’m going to look for some medical supplies. If you don’t fall over on your way there, maybe you can find the kitchen and see if there’s any food.”
She’d started down the hall when Michael’s voice stopped her. “While you’re looking around, see if you can find some dry clothes.”
She aimed a questioning look over her shoulder, not so much at his words but at his slightly thick tone.
The erotic texture of his voice reminded her vividly of the night she’d spent with him. He’d murmured throaty endearments about how beautiful, how sweet, how incredible she was. He’d made her experience depths of pleasure she hadn’t known were possible.
Her body was suddenly washed with a hot wave of visceral desire. Even in wet clothes and with a smug frown on his face, Michael’s strong, lean body and innate power drew her irresistibly. His sopping shirt clung to his broad shoulders and tight abdomen, and the wet fabric revealed the rippling of muscles beneath it.
She wanted him. So deeply she was astounded and terrified.
And it only got worse when his blue-gray eyes smoldered with an answering heat. “You need to find something dry to wear.”
Allison glanced down at herself and realized that her own clothes revealed as much of her body as his did. She sucked in a sharp breath at the sight of her tight nipples through her shirt. More heat coursed through her as realized what he’d seen and how he’d reacted to it.
She would face more than one danger in this house, stranded alone with Michael in the middle of a storm.
“I might have a minor head injury,” Michael murmured, an even more erotic texture to his tone. “But the rest of me is working just fine.”
Chapter Two
As she walked away from Michael, Allison realized that she wouldn’t need to hunt through the old house for some dry clothes. Her overnight bag was still in the back of her SUV.
Although she hated the idea of braving the storm again, it would be worth it for her luggage, so she unlocked the front door of the house, got her car keys ready, took a deep breath, and dashed out into the rain and wind.
A minute later, she was back inside with her overnight bag in hand. She carried it with her as she explored the second floor, peeking into bedrooms and checking out the contents of medicine cabinets and closets.
For the most part, her search turned up furnished but otherwise empty rooms, but in one large suite she found a closet of musty clothes and some stored toiletries. She gathered what she needed and headed off to find Michael again.
She discovered him in the kitchen, digging through the pantry. The kitchen was old-fashioned and pleasant, although very dim, since it was lit only by the gray light from one window and a few candles Michael must have found.
“There are plenty of matches,” he said, his head still stuck in the pantry. “And there’s some canned food in here. Better than nothing, I guess.”
“That’s good.” Allison dumped her treasures on the butcher-block table. “I found some medical supplies. And lots of towels. And I got you a change of clothes if you want to get out of your wet ones.”
When she finished speaking, she wished she hadn’t mentioned his wet clothes. Because all she could see was the way his soaked trousers molded the firm contours of his ass.
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He glanced over his shoulders and caught her leering at him. She knew because his eyes took on that hot expression again.
“I got my bag out of the car,” Allison said hoarsely, trying not to do something as ridiculous as blush. “If you let me fix your head, we can get into dry clothes.”
“I hope you’re not planning to fuss over me.”
“Don’t flatter yourself, but you’re bleeding all over the place, and it’s only sensible to disinfect and bandage the wound.” She exaggerated the extent of his bleeding because his lofty tone annoyed her. He had bled quite a bit, though, and the sight of it smeared on his skin and his collar was disturbing.
He relented, frowning as he sat down at the kitchen table. “I checked the stove, and the gas is working. We should be able to light a burner.”
“Good.” She was genuinely relieved to hear this piece of information, but she was too distracted to focus on it. She dampened a washcloth and used it to wipe the blood from Michael’s head. Once the excess blood was cleaned off, she applied the antiseptic wash she’d found and taped a bandage over the wound, trying to avoid his thick hair as much as possible.
She worked in silence, her hands strangely shaky but as gentle as she could make them. She felt tense and anxious as she tended his injury. Part of it was concern about hurting him, but it was more than that. The act felt personal, intimate, and she stood very close to him as she worked.
She wished he would say something. She wished he didn’t pulse with a kind of masculine, powerful energy. She wished her fingers didn’t tremble as they brushed over his skin. And she wished she didn’t sense the tension in his muscles as he sat perfectly still and submitted to her care.
When she finally finished, her belly twisted with nerves and emotion, and another kind of compulsion coursed through her with her blood.
She couldn’t help but remember how it had felt to kiss him, touch him, make love to him. She’d just been a teenager, easily swayed by the attractions of an older man, but she wanted him again now—just as strongly as before.
He was no longer the quiet, careful young man she’d known before, however. Although he might be attracted to her for the moment, she had no desire to be one in the long list of Michael Martin’s sexual conquests.
So she pitched her voice matter-of-factly as she moved to rinse the bloodied washcloth out in the sink. “There. That’s all I can do. It doesn’t look too bad really. Are you still dizzy?”
“I’m fine. If it’s a concussion, it’s a mild one.” His words were convincing, but he didn’t move from his chair. He watched her with deep, intense, blue-gray eyes.
She felt oddly self-conscious as she turned around, and her whole body shook with inexplicable waves of anxiety and need. She was usually a confident, no-nonsense woman, and she wasn't used to feeling this way, so she reacted with her characteristic sharpness. “Are you just going to sit there and drip on the floor?”
Michael’s eyes narrowed astutely. “You’re shivering.”
“Well, what do you expect? I’m cold, wet, and stranded with you in the middle of a tropical storm!”
Chuckling, Michael stood up and picked up the white t-shirt and jeans she’d brought down. “This all you could find?”
“There were some old tweed suits and a couple of pairs of overalls. I figured you’d prefer the jeans.” The image of Michael in tweed or overalls made Allison snicker despite herself.
“Good call.” He ran his eyes up and down her form, his eyes lingering on her breasts beneath her wet, clinging shirt. “I’m going to change clothes. I’d suggest you do the same.”
Even such innocuous words fueled Allison’s desire. She felt her nipples tighten and her intimate muscles clench at the expression in his eyes.
But she told herself to be sensible. There were far more urgent things for her to worry about than jumping into bed with Michael Martin.
* * *
Michael dried himself off with one of the towels Allison had found and then pulled on the dry clothes. The t-shirt was fine and the jeans basically fit, but he’d prefer to wear his own clothes.
Had he been thinking, he would have grabbed his bag from his SUV before they abandoned it.
Before he returned to the kitchen, he took a minute to school his body’s reactions. He was responding to Allison in ridiculous ways, turned on by the feel of her gentle fingers on his head and by the ironic lilt to her voice. He’d been partially hard as he left her a minute ago. Her wet, transparent shirt was temptation enough, revealing that body he was dying to touch again, but he was usually far more controlled than this, even with a woman he desired.
His only explanation was that the blow to his head had affected his composure and good sense.
He was about to leave the room he’d ducked into—furnished as a study or office—when something on a shelf against the wall caught his eye.
An old, portable radio.
He grabbed it and brought it with him as he returned to the kitchen. There, he took a can of soup from the pantry and a pot from the pot rack. He was in the middle of lighting the burner to the stove when Allison returned.
“Oh!” she exclaimed, coming into the kitchen wearing a pair of casual gray pants and a red top that flattered her figure. “You found a radio. Are there batteries?”
“They’re dead, but maybe we can find some elsewhere in the house.” Michael hunted through the utensil drawer until he found a can opener. “Chicken soup?” he asked with a wry note of amusement. “There’s a tea kettle there too, if you’d like.”
Allison blinked at him for a moment. Then evidently remembered her tart comment from the drive to the house. “Tea and soup sounds good to me, but don’t expect me to serve it to you in bed.”
The last word conjured up a series of erotic images in Michael’s mind, and they evidently showed in his expression.
Allison glanced away, looking delectably embarrassed. “I didn’t mean that.”
Michael’s lips twitched up. “I know. Although you wouldn't hear me complaining.”
He wished he knew more about her life over the last seven years. She’d dropped off his radar completely after she left Whitesville for college, and his dad had moved their company to New York.
There seemed to be so many layers to her now, though. She was obviously an attractive, intelligent, and confident woman, but at times he caught flickers of something like innocence lingering under the surface—in the way she blushed, in the way she glanced away.
It fascinated him. Mesmerized him. Called to him in a way that just a beautiful body wouldn’t.
He’d seen hundreds of beautiful women before. He’d taken an endless number of them to bed.
But there was so much more to Allison that he couldn’t yet define. She was a mystery, a puzzle, a challenge.
Even the frown she was giving him now, obviously annoyed at the way he was staring at her, made him want to sink into a kiss, sink into her body.
Clearly the head injury had hopelessly rattled his brain.
He turned back to dump the soup into the pot on the stove, and Allison puttered around, filling up a tea kettle with water from the sink—which thankfully still worked—and then starting to search through the rest of the drawers.
After a minute, she let out a squeal. Michael turned to see her holding up three packs of batteries. “What size do we need?” she asked.
“C.”
Allison tore open a pack, beaming at him with a breathtaking smile. “We’re in luck.”
While Michael heated up the soup and poured it into two bowls, Allison got the radio working and turned the dial until she found a station.
They listened to weather reports while they ate their meal, and by the time they finished they’d heard enough about the situation to be relieved.
The storm had reduced in intensity significantly by the time it hit land, and it was moving fast. The immediate coastal areas were the ones in most danger from the storm surges. The rest of the region,
including where they were now, could expect tumultuous rain and heavy winds, but the forecasters expected the worst to be through by tonight.
It wasn’t going to be as destructive as storm as everyone had feared.
“Whew,” Allison said, leaning back in her chair. “That’s a relief. We should be all right here, then.”
“And we can probably get out tomorrow. One night shouldn’t be too bad.”
Now that he knew they weren’t in a real crisis, Michael decided it wouldn’t be unreasonable to indulge some of his other impulses.
They were stuck together for one night. They were obviously attracted to each other. His headache had reduced to just a low throbbing. And they had nothing else to do to entertain themselves.
His engagement to Gina had lasted six months. For a while, he’d actually thought he was in love. He’d known Gina for years, and he’d believed she truly understood him. She was sweet and pretty, and she fit well into his social world as a beautiful companion who could charm everyone they met. She didn’t make Michael worry too deeply or stress too much. She was easy, and it seemed a natural match.
She’d been pliant and accommodating—in the bedroom and out of it—which had suited Michael just fine. But he’d never felt the kind of hot, intense physical need for Gina that he was experiencing now.
For Allison.
Whom he hadn’t seen for years.
And who really wasn’t his type.
He’d been dead wrong about Gina, in every way that mattered, and it would be a long time before Michael let himself commit to a woman in that way or let himself be so vulnerable again.
But one passionate night with Allison wouldn't be a risk, and it might be exactly what he needed.
She was attracted to him too. He knew it. He saw her cheeks flush deeply and her breathing quicken to an eager panting as she stared at him, the heat in her green eyes smoldering to match his before she glanced away.
What was it about her that he found so compelling? He still couldn’t identify it. But his body tightened excitedly as he noticed the outline of her erect nipples and the delicious curve from her waist to her hip.
Storm Front (Reunited Hearts) Page 2