Otherwise, she felt like a flop when she gathered with the others for the press conference Michael had organized at four o’clock that afternoon.
She was near the back, and she held her breath as he arrived—exactly on time—and walked over to stand in front of the bank of microphones.
He wore a black suit and a blue tie. He looked as slick, cosmopolitan, and controlled as a lawyer or a politician. He wore his professionalism like armor—and he felt miles away from her. Nothing at all like the handsome, compelling man in ill-fitting clothes she’d made love to just a few weeks ago.
He explained his purposes for the benefit and what they could expect the next day, but he told them nothing Allison hadn’t already known. He emphasized the destruction of communities by the storm and his personal connection from growing up nearby and being in the area at the time of the storm.
Not once did he meet Allison’s eyes. Not once did he even appear to notice her. She raised her hand and shouted out questions with the rest of the reporters, but he never acknowledged her.
Not once.
It was possible he hadn’t seen or recognized her, but she didn’t believe it for a minute.
Maybe he was just trying to pretend she didn’t exist.
She wasn’t going to be able to do a good job with this story unless she was able to interview Michael, like Jeff had instructed. She couldn’t imagine he’d grant her an interview, though.
As the press conference ended and she’d gained nothing worthwhile, she felt a sinking in her stomach. She dreaded the idea of failing in this assignment. She’d just have to think of a more creative way to approach the challenge.
She was mulling over ideas as she started to leave the building with everyone else, planning to go back to her hotel room and plot out an appropriate strategy.
She’d never let a few obstacles stop her before. She was hardly going to give up now.
A hand on her shoulder stopped her before she could exit the building. “Excuse me,” a female voice said.
Allison turned to see an attractive brunette with sleek hair and long legs highlighted by a pencil skirt. “Yes?”
“Mr. Martin would like to speak to you.”
“Excuse me?” A chill ran over Allison, and her breath caught in her throat.
“Mr. Martin would like to speak to you,” the woman repeated.
Allison knew she should jump at the opportunity, but a sudden rush of nerves made her ask, “Are you sure you have the right person?”
“Ms. Dent?”
“Yes. That’s me.”
“I have the right person.” The brunette didn’t look friendly. In fact, she looked cool and a little disapproving.
Allison suddenly realized what might be happening.
Surely, Michael wouldn’t really throw her out or tell her not to come back tomorrow. Yes, she’d batted the idea around, but she’d never actually thought he would. She was a professional journalist, and she had legitimate press credentials.
If he dared to throw her out, then she would tell that story.
She squared her shoulders and steeled her nerves. Then she followed the brunette to find out what Michael wanted to say to her.
* * *
Infuriating was what it was.
Michael was used to being in control of things—circumstances, other people, his behavior, his own mental processes. He hated feeling helpless, out of control. He hated when his own mind wouldn’t do as he instructed it.
He’d dated Gina for months before he’d found out what she wanted from him. They’d been engaged. He’d given her a ring. He'd been planning a life with her.
But he’d managed to put Gina behind him a lot more quickly than he had Allison.
Allison—whom he’d been with just a couple of days. Who had lied to him and tried to use him, exactly like Gina had. Whom he hadn’t seen in weeks now.
Allison—whom he still couldn’t stop thinking about.
It was bad enough that he kept picturing her smile, kept remembering her laughter, kept imagining her moving beneath him. She didn’t deserve this sort of obsession, and it infuriated him that she’d gotten so far under his skin.
But now she was here, covering the benefit he’d been using to get her off his mind.
He had no idea what she was really doing here, and that infuriated him even more.
So he paced as he waited in the room he was using as a temporary office until the benefit was over, and he’d worked up a fair amount of anger by the time his assistant led Allison into the office to see him.
When he’d first seen her during the press conference, shoulder to shoulder with the rest of the reporters who’d become the bane of his existence, he’d felt a pang of bitter pain so sharp he’d lost his breath.
He assured himself he’d hid his reaction and acted as if nothing was wrong.
But knowing Allison was a journalist and seeing her as a journalist were two different things.
And the lie she’d told him still stung.
She looked wary and determined as she stood in front of him now. She also looked beautiful, her brown hair slipping out of the clip she’d tried to secure it in.
Michael dismissed his assistant and met Allison’s eyes, trying to figure out what he wanted to say to her.
“Well?” he prompted at last, when all she did was stare.
“You summoned me.”
He was annoyed by the flicker of admiration he couldn’t help but feel at her cool nerve, but he squelched it. “What are you doing here?” The words were more predictable than he would have preferred, but at least they got to the heart of the issue.
“What do you think? Covering the press conference and the benefit.”
“I thought your magazine focused on politics.”
She gave a slight shrug. “You’re big news. You know that by now.”
He did know that. He was mostly killing time so he could observe her reactions and figure out what her game was. “So it’s just a coincidence they sent you?”
“No. I wrote a few other stories about the storm so my editor wanted me to do this too.”
It actually made sense, and Michael had to acknowledge the possibility that she was telling him the truth. It seemed like an unlikely coincidence, but stranger things had happened.
“Are you planning to throw me out?” Allison demanded, her eyes narrowing.
He’d considered it initially but immediately dismissed the idea. Not only would the gesture be petty—and Michael hated being petty—but it would also be counterproductive and could cause public relations problems.
He gave her a cold smile. “If I did, I have no doubt that you’d plaster an exaggerated account of it all over the papers tomorrow.”
“I wouldn’t go quietly,” she murmured, her eyes never leaving his face. Not very many people would hold his stare when he was in this sort of mood. Something else to reluctantly admire about her. “I promise.”
“I’m not going to throw you out. You’re welcome to cover the benefit if you want. As long as you don’t have any other plans.”
“Like showing up in your bedroom wearing nothing but one of your shirts?”
Her tone was thick with sarcasm, but the involuntary image her words evoked did uncomfortable things to Michael’s body.
Fighting the wave of arousal, he bit out, “I assume even you wouldn’t be foolish enough to try that.”
For the first time, his words had a visible effect on her. She winced very briefly, as if she’d been stung.
“I apologized,” she said softly, turning around as if she would leave, although he certainly hadn’t dismissed her. “You’re the one acting like an ass.”
For some reason, despite all of the good reasons he had to resent her, the words hit home. His defenses had been raised far too high to let down, and he still sensed something else underlying her presence here—something beyond her stated assignment. His instincts were rarely wrong, and he’d been used too many times to let it hap
pen again.
But her words struck a chord just the same.
That only infuriated him more.
Without thinking, he reached out and grabbed her wrist, swinging her around and pressing her back into the wall. Holding her arm in place, he used his body to imprison her. He asked roughly, “What game are you playing?”
She stared up at him, her eyes wide and her cheeks flushed. “Damn you, Michael. I’m not playing a game. Why must you always expect the worst from people?”
“Because the worst is inevitable.” He leaned even closer, his face inches from hers. He was nearly shaking with intensity, and he could feel that she was trembling too.
“Well, I only lied to you once, and I said I was sorry. I don’t deserve for you to treat me like some sort of cheap—” She cut her own words off and didn’t finish the sentence. Instead, she pushed against his shoulder with her free hand, obviously trying to give herself some space.
Automatically, he grabbed her second arm and held it against the wall like the first. He stared down at her, fueled by emotion and a deep desire that both shocked and enraged him.
But he physically responded to the soft strength of Allison’s against him. She struggled against his grip. His body hardened and tightened at the way her breasts rubbed against his chest, at the way her hips squirmed restlessly against his pelvis. He responded by instinct alone.
He kissed her. Hard, deep, and unyielding.
It took him only a minute to realize that she wasn’t responding. She wasn’t moving at all. She’d gone almost limp as he held her against the wall.
He jerked away as soon as this knowledge penetrated the fierce haze that clouded his mind, and his passion died in a wave of both shame and revulsion.
What the hell was he doing?
He realized he’d been gripping her wrists so tightly they might bruise, and he dropped her arms like they would burn him.
Her knees buckled briefly, but she managed to straighten up.
Yes, Michael was angry. And still suspicious. And he had just cause to resent her deception.
But there was no excuse for losing control the way he had.
Allison’s face twisted, but it was with anger more than fear or pain. She swiped at her mouth with the back of her hand. “What?” she snapped. “Is that supposed to turn me on? Or was that some sort of punishment?”
Michael had absolutely no idea what it was. He had no idea why his life had suddenly become this hot, chaotic tangle of extremes. He just stared at her, breathing heavily.
She was panting too, and he couldn’t help but notice that her nipples were poking out tantalizingly through the fabric of her top, under her unbuttoned jacket.
He looked away immediately. Forced his mind back to the control he’d tried to cultivate over so many years of his life.
Finally, he forced out, “If you want something from me, just tell me now.”
For just a moment, her eyes looked wounded. “I don’t want anything from you, Michael.” She turned to leave and added under her breath, “I never did.”
He didn’t reply. Just watched as she walked away, her hips swaying with a sensuality he knew was unconscious.
When she stopped, he wasn’t prepared. He’d assumed she would storm off in a huff. A justified huff since he’d treated her quite shoddily.
But she paused and glanced back at him over her shoulder. “Is the dog all right?”
Ingrate was, at present, in the maintenance room of this very building, since the animal howled every time Michael tried to leave him alone. So he’d been taking the dog with him and trying to convince himself Ingrate was nothing but a damned inconvenience.
But his voice was softer and just a little husky as he admitted, “The dog is fine.”
Chapter Nine
Allison wasn’t sure what she’d been expecting from the gala.
But it wasn’t this.
She knew, as a reporter, that she wouldn’t have access to the ballroom and wouldn’t get to mingle freely with the guests. Journalists, although they were required to dress appropriately for the evening, were relegated to the main entryway of the building and couldn’t participate in any of the festivities. She wasn’t surprised or disappointed by this.
But she hadn’t expected to feel like she was covering the red-carpet entrances at the Oscars, asking women who they were wearing and men who their dates were, and that was exactly how she felt.
Michael had effectively managed to give journalists nothing substantial to cover, so all they were left with was fluff.
She’d been more successful earlier in the day as she covered the art show and silent auction. She’d gotten some good interviews and had all the information she needed about the paintings and who had purchased them. The gala in the evening was the big event, however, and she couldn’t have the access she wanted unless she forked over several thousand dollars for a ticket.
After an hour of watching the arrival of affluent members of New York society dressed to the nines in tuxes and evening gowns, Allison gave up on the front entrance and decided to try something else.
She hadn’t even seen Michael this evening. He must have arrived by a different entrance, obviously intent on avoiding the media as much as possible.
She wondered who his date was tonight.
She wondered if he regretted the way he’d treated her the day before.
The memory of their intense encounter yesterday made her uncomfortable, so she pushed it from her mind as she left the building and forced her way through the crowd on the sidewalk. Everyone was trying to get the best view of the popular film star who was just exiting her limo out front.
Allison had no interest, so she wandered farther down the block, searching her mind for an interesting approach to the story she had to write. She would have to think of something, or Jeff would consider her a failure for not getting an interview with Michael like he expected.
After a few minutes, she noticed Ray across the street. He was the elderly man she’d spoken with the day before. She called out a greeting, and he waved her over.
Deciding she had nothing better to do, she crossed the street—shamelessly jaywalking—and caught up with Ray on the opposite sidewalk.
“You looking for an interesting angle?” he asked. He had gray hair and was wearing baggy trousers and a red vest-sweater.
Allison perked up. “Always.”
“You care about Virginia, and you seem like a smart girl. Check this out.” Ray starting walking down the block, as if he never doubted she would follow him.
Allison followed him.
The day before, they’d talked about Virginia and the storm, so she knew he was invested in the issue. She doubted he worked for Michael, or he wouldn’t be talking to her now. But he’d been in the building yesterday so maybe he had something worthwhile to show her.
It wasn’t like it would hurt to look, since she was just wasting time at the moment.
Ray headed to a diner on the corner of the block and, when he pushed in through the door, Allison was right behind him.
She immediately realized what was going on.
A group of twenty or twenty-five people was gathered in the diner, chatting and drinking coffee. Propped up on the tables and booths were about a dozen picket signs.
With a surge of excitement, Allison realized that they were about to stage some sort of protest. “What’s the issue?” she asked Ray, who’d slid into a booth beside a young woman.
“Lighthouse,” Ray said, obviously a man of few words. “Take a seat. We have another twenty minutes or so.”
Allison did as he instructed, getting excited for the first time that evening.
She talked with the protesters and learned that they were working for the survival of a historic lighthouse on one of the islands near Sunset Cape. It had been seriously damaged by the storm, and the plans were just to tear it down. A developer had wanted the land it stood on for more than a decade anyway, so the local government was reco
nciled to the impending destruction of the landmark.
Ray and his fellow protesters wanted Michael to get involved, to use his money and influence to save the lighthouse. They’d attempted in several ways to get his ear on the issue, but they hadn’t been able to get past all the barriers he had in place to avoid unwanted conversations.
So this was their method for making their case. A staged protest in the middle of his fancy gala benefit.
Allison was delighted—both at their earnest support of the lighthouse and at this interruption to Michael’s flawless arrangements for the evening. They were clearly not violent or criminally minded, so she had no fears that things would get out of control.
It seemed like such a fun, old-fashioned thing to do, and it would really beef up her story.
She talked to the different people in the diner, getting some great quotes and taking notes like mad as they organized themselves. This would be a perfect angle for her story—one that would distinguish it from all of the other reports about designer clothes and film stars.
Ray worked in the maintenance department of the building, so he was their “inside man.” He was going to let them in through one of the back entrances so they could actually get inside.
Allison fell back as they left the diner and headed around the rear of the building. She followed them, of course, but she didn’t want there to be any confusion about her actually participating in the protest.
If she wasn’t on the job, she would have considered joining them, but she couldn’t blur any lines at the moment.
They all entered the building and quietly made their way through empty hallways as Ray took them an alternate route toward the main hall that led into the ballroom. There, they quickly took their places right at the entrance, where well-dressed denizens of the city were mingling with champagne and polite laughter.
The protesters were in place before anyone could react or alert security. They held up their signs and sat down against the wall. They’d decided not to chant, march around, or cause an uproar. They were just going to sit.
Storm Front (Reunited Hearts) Page 9