Michael definitely wasn’t going to waste this one night.
* * *
Allison wished Michael would stop staring at her that way.
It was as if he wanted to swallow her alive, as if she’d be burned to embers by the heat of his intensity.
She remembered some of that intensity from when they’d known each other before, but it had gotten even more powerful over the years as he’d matured into the man he was today.
She knew what he wanted. She wasn’t a fool, and she wasn’t inexperienced. She had a relatively active social life, although it had been a year since she’d had a real boyfriend. She was, however, perfectly capable of identifying the particular blaze she saw in his eyes.
He wanted to take her to bed, and the truth was she wanted it too. He’d been a considerate, passionate lover seven years ago, and her attraction for him hadn’t diminished at all.
But something inside her resisted being another one-night-stand for him.
Michael wasn’t relationship material for her. He was well-known as a player, and she didn’t always agree with his business ethics. Plus, the fact that she was a reporter and he’d admitting to hating them would be an impassable obstacle.
Her body wanted him. No doubt about that. But she rarely let her body’s impulses control her decisions. She was happy with her life—her job, her circle of friends, her city, and all of her dreams. She wasn’t going to disrupt everything for one good fuck.
She put the dishes in the sink and turned on the water to rinse them out. She was shivering a little, but she didn’t know if it was from an excess of feeling or from being wet for so long. It wasn’t particularly cold outside, but the house felt cool and damp. “You know, just in case, it might be a good idea for us to fill up a couple of the bathtubs with water. That’s what they say to do, in case the water goes out.”
“Sure. It couldn’t hurt. Hopefully, we won’t need it.” He paused. “Are you cold?”
“A little. I can find a blanket when we’re done in here.”
“I saw a fireplace in the front room with some cut wood beside it. I don’t know what the condition of the wood is, but maybe we could get a fire going.”
“Sounds good.” She wanted to get away from him for a little while, so she turned off the water in the sink. “I’ll fill up bathtubs if you want to work on the fire.”
When she’d filled up three of the five bathtubs in the house, she returned to the living room to find Michael poking at a blazing fire.
It was getting darker outside, and the rain was still coming down in sheets. The ceaseless wind made a howling sound and clattered at the windows. The violence of the weather made Allison anxious, even knowing the storm wasn’t as bad as it could be.
She picked up a wool throw from a side chair and wrapped up in it on the couch. “Good job with the fire,” she said, determined to be friendly and natural. “How’s your head?”
“It feels fine.” Michael turned to glance at her over his shoulder, his skin glowing orange-red from the fire in the shadowed room.
“Seriously, Michael. I know concussions can sometimes be tricky. Are you dizzy? Do you still have a headache?”
“No to the dizziness. Yes to the headache. But it’s not bad anymore.” He met her eyes evenly. “I’m fine, Allison.”
She nodded, satisfied that he was telling her the truth.
He looked unusually casual in his t-shirt, jeans and bare feet. Almost like he was someone other than Michael Martin—unstoppable business force and unflappable sex god.
Right now, he looked almost human. And as sexy as any man she’d ever seen.
Allison reminded herself of her reasoned conclusions about resisting a one-night-stand, and she tried not to focus on the smooth breadth of his shoulders and the lean strength of his legs.
She sucked in a sharp gasp as he got up and seated himself on the couch beside her, much closer than she would have preferred.
“Michael,” she began, wishing she didn’t sound quite so breathless.
He reached out and gently tucked a stray strand of her damp hair behind her ear, his knuckles grazing her overly warm cheek as he did. “Allison.”
She felt herself leaning toward him, unable to look away from the magnetism of his gaze.
“You’re so beautiful,” he murmured, his voice hoarser than normal. He brushed her cheek with his knuckles again. “Even more beautiful than you were before.”
Allison swallowed hard, desire pulsing through her body and tightening her muscles. “Michael, I’m not sure this is a good idea.”
“Why not?” He adjusted on the couch so he could take her face in both of his warm hands. “You can’t tell me you don’t want this too.”
“That’s not the point.” Quite against her will, Allison’s head fell back into his hands and her spine arched slightly, stretching her top against her breasts. The throw she’d been wrapped up in had fallen down past her waist. “I’m just not sure it’s smart or…or…”
Her voice trailed off as Michael’s face eased so close to hers she could feel his breath on her skin. “Or what?”
“Smart,” she said stupidly.
At the moment, she couldn’t remember why she’d been so resistant. He wanted her. She wanted him. One night and nothing more.
“Very true,” he murmured, his voice an erotic caress, just before he kissed her.
His mouth was searching and skillful, and she opened to him almost immediately. His hands tangled in her hair as he held her head in place for his kiss, and she moaned low in her throat as his tongue explored her mouth and slid along her lips.
Overwhelmed by the hot power of him, Allison wrapped her arms around his neck, trying to pull him even closer. She pressed her breasts against his chest, eager for friction wherever she could get it. And the warm, male scent of him surrounded her, drove her to distraction.
She clawed at his back in the first surge of eagerness, but soon she melted into the embrace enough to slide one hand up to stroke his hair, making sure to avoid the bandage. And eventually she became conscious that Michael’s hands had moved as well, caressing her body as he pressed it even more tightly against his.
She gasped as their mouths broke apart, and her head fell back as Michael trailed his lips along her jaw and down the line of her neck. Washed with waves of heat and desire, she moaned again, this one long, low, and hoarse.
Michael tightened against her. She could feel the tension in his muscles, knew he was just as turned on as she was. He fondled one of her breasts as he raised his face for another deep kiss.
Her arousal was wet and aching, and she squirmed in his arms as the kiss grew increasingly urgent.
Only when she felt his hand dip under the edge of her top to stroke her bare skin did she realize what was about to happen.
It would be so easy—to let Michael make love to her, to share another intensely pleasurable night, to get swept away in this powerful lust.
But she didn’t know Michael anymore. Didn’t necessarily trust him. And something inside her hinted that he wouldn’t be an easy man to get over.
It hadn't been easy the first time.
So she pulled back, flushed and panting, and managed to choke out, “We better stop.”
Michael froze, nearly shaking with coiled tension. “Why?”
“It’s too soon for me. And…and I don’t know if I want it.”
For a moment, she didn’t know how he would react. Then he gave a brief nod. “Understood.”
She peered at him, feeling embarrassed and uncertain and still shuddering with desire. “Are you mad?”
“Of course not.” He smiled at her, a familiar expression that let her release her pent breath. “I suppose we can find something else to do.”
They looked around the living room, at the powerless lights, television, computer, and stereo system.
Maybe they could find cards or a board game, tucked in a closet somewhere. At least they could turn on the portable radio
.
“Besides,” Michael continued, his voice husky again, “It’s still early. Maybe you’ll change your mind.”
Chapter Three
After some searching, they found an old game of Monopoly on the top shelf of a closet in one of the bedrooms. There was also a well-worn edition of Candy Land, but they decided Monopoly was probably the better choice for the evening’s entertainment.
While Allison made some more tea, Michael rooted around in the pantry until he found a box of unexpired cookies. Then they set up the game in front of the fire while the rain pounded down on the roof and the wind shook the doors and windows.
By the time they began playing, Michael’s headache was nearly gone. When he placed his first hotel on Boardwalk, he decided that, while not a perfect use of the evening, things definitely could have been worse.
Allison sat cross-legged across the board from him, and her wet hair was drying in kinks and flips from the heat of the fire. Her cheeks were pink now, and her eyes narrowed as she watched him count his money.
They’d been playing in mostly silence, but now she muttered, “I’m not sure this was a fair game, even at the outset.”
Michael arched his eyebrows, hiding a smile at her grumpy expression. “Why not?”
“How exactly does a normal person like me have a chance of winning at Monopoly against a ruthless business tycoon like you?”
“You think I’m ruthless?” He wasn’t offended as much as he was curious. It had been a long time since anyone had been so blunt with him.
“Aren’t you?”
He gave a slight shrug before rolling the dice and automatically buying the property he landed on. “I suppose you’d know best.”
He intended the murmured reply to be sarcastic, and Allison obviously took it as such. A flicker of surprise and then guilt passed over her face. “Sorry,” she said, dropping her eyes. “I guess I don’t really know you anymore, so it’s not fair to assume everything that’s written about you in the papers is true.”
“I wouldn’t trust anything written in the papers,” he said easily. He hadn’t intended his words as a rebuff. He had nothing against Allison, and putting up walls at this juncture would interfere with any possibility of getting her into bed later on. “In my experience, journalists aren’t overly burdened with qualities like honesty or morality.”
Another expression flashed over Allison’s face—this one harder to recognize.
Then she slanted him a curious look. “You’ve gotten rather bitter in the last seven years.”
It was true. When he was younger, Michael had been willing to take a chance with other people. Now, he rarely bothered. His one attempt in years had ended as a humiliating failure. He still cringed inwardly at the thought of Gina’s attempt to use him and how close she’d come to succeeding.
Michael had learned that people were nearly always out for themselves. To expect differently was to invite disappointment.
He had money, power, the thrill of competition, his choice of life’s sensual indulgences. He could live a very satisfying life without exposing himself to the vulnerability of risking his heart.
“What about you?” he asked, skillfully turning the tide of the conversation to something he was more comfortable with. “What have you become in the last seven years?”
Allison smiled at him—a smile that reminded him so strongly of the teenager he’d known before that his heart clenched in his chest. “I’ve got a pretty good life, I think.”
He studied her face and realized she was telling the truth. She was satisfied with her life, with the way she’d shaped herself since he’d last seen her. She wasn’t living with huge regrets or with a long history of broken dreams.
It didn’t take much for him to remember what Allison had been like all those years ago. Her razor-sharp wit and driven intelligence had encircled something uncertain and trembling—a core of insecurity that had spoken to him back then as much as her beauty and irony.
She’d grown up, and she hadn’t let that insecurity define her, but he couldn’t help but wonder how much it still affected her.
“How are your parents?”
Allison’s smile faltered. “They both died. Two years ago.”
Michael swallowed, suddenly uncomfortable. Both by the sudden shift in mood and by the sorrow he could see in her green eyes. “I’m sorry.” The words were mostly empty, but he had to say something.
She shrugged. “It was a car accident. They both died instantly.”
“I always liked them. They were good people.”
The words were sincere, and Michael was glad he’d said them when she broke into another smile, this one rather poignant. “Yeah. They were.”
They played in silence for several more minutes, and Michael tried to fight the rise of sympathy so he could return to their previous mood. Soft feelings wouldn’t help him seduce Allison the way he intended, and he definitely didn’t want anything more lasting than another pleasurable night with her.
He focused on winning the game—collecting property and increasing his growing piles of fake cash—but he kept glancing at Allison across the board.
She was beautiful, burnished with the light of the fire. Her hair was messy and her face scrubbed clean of makeup, but her unpolished appearance somehow made her even more desirable. She wore thick red socks, and one of her manicured fingernails was chipped, but the light and shadows from the flickering flames danced across her smooth skin, softening her lovely features and highlighting the lines of her lush cleavage.
Once again, he felt a surge of desire, and he recognized that it was more than her beauty that was turning him on.
Seven years later, and she was still Allison. She’d given him her virginity all those years ago, but he could still sense something beneath her stimulating wit and vibrant intelligence—something small and trembling—that felt almost untouched.
It was something he wanted, once again, to touch.
* * *
Allison could almost believe that Michael felt bad about her parents’ deaths.
She’d surprised a look of grief and understanding on his face before he’d masked it in his characteristic way.
She was a little uncomfortable with that recognition. It was much easier to see Michael as a smooth, heartless player. Thinking of him the way the papers painted him meant she wouldn’t be troubled by haunting memories of the young man she’d known, the young man she’d given her heart and her body to seven years ago.
He’d changed. She saw plenty of evidence of the way he’d grown more jaded, more guarded and cold over the years.
But he hadn’t changed completely, and the humanity in him was what she was most afraid of.
It was always what she couldn’t resist.
Allison made herself ignore it. While the weather wasn’t as destructive as it could have been, they certainly weren’t in an ideal situation to indulge in a one-night stand. Plus, she hadn’t been honest with Michael about her real profession, which she was starting to feel guilty about. He’d also recently broken up with Gina Lane—and who knew what sort of baggage he was carrying from that break-up.
This just wasn’t the time or place to give into the temptation to fall into Michael Martin’s arms—no matter how irresistible those arms happened to be.
To distract herself from any physical urges, she put up a valiant defense at Monopoly. It was a hopeless one, of course. Michael was a master of capitalism, and—after two hours—he’d soundly trounced her, leaving her completely bankrupt.
By that time, she’d drunk about four cups of tea, and they’d finished the package of cookies. She was getting tired, and Michael was looking more and more attractive in the flickering shadows of the room.
“Well, that’s it for me,” Allison said at last, starting to pick up the game pieces. “I think I’ll go to bed.”
She felt Michael’s eyes on her, and she forced away the thought of how incredible it had felt to kiss him earlier that evening.<
br />
She wasn’t a naïve girl anymore. She wouldn’t be swayed by a pair of haunted blue-gray eyes and or a force of masculine charisma.
She was far too smart to fall for Michael Martin again.
“Where are you planning to sleep?” he asked, sorting out his money and putting it back into the appropriate slots.
“I guess I’ll take one of the bedrooms.” She stood up and stretched. Then noticed how the move had caused her shirt to stretch across her breasts, diverting Michael’s gaze. Quickly lowering her arms, she picked up a large candle. “I’ll take the one on the ground floor, if that’s all right.”
“Sure.” Michael smiled at her and made no move to try to change her mind. “I’ll take care of the fire here and then find a bedroom for myself.”
Surprised that he wasn’t trying to convince her to join him in bed, Allison started toward the door. Then she paused and glanced back at him over her shoulder.
Michael slanted her a hot smile. “Was there something you wanted?” His eyes glinted, and he exuded so much primal heat that she suddenly felt naked.
Allison actually blushed, despite her determination to remain cool and aloof. “No. Have a good night.”
Then she fled, before she gave into the temptation to rip off Michael’s clothes and have her wicked way with him.
The bedroom she chose was cold and dark, but she put the candle on the nightstand and quickly changed into a pair of pajamas from her overnight bag. Then she crawled under the covers and stared wide-eyed up at the ceiling, on which the candlelight was dancing. The storm outside was louder and more violent than ever, making her occasionally shiver in anxiety.
She tried to convince herself she’d made the right decision, the wise decision, the mature and reasonable decision.
Michael wasn’t an easy man to get over, so it was best not to risk her feelings—even for one night.
It didn’t matter how much warmer and more secure she would feel if Michael was sharing her bed.
* * *
A loud crash startled Allison out of a surprisingly sound sleep.
She sat up abruptly in bed, panting and trying to orient herself. She’d blown her candle out before she went to sleep, so the unfamiliar room was pitch black. The air against her bare arms and face was cold, and the roar of the wind outside was frightening.
Storm Front (Reunited Hearts) Page 3