Allison hid a smile of amusement as she imagined Michael’s response to this interruption.
She was sure the last thing he wanted for his classy publicity stunt was an annoying sit-in about a lighthouse he’d never heard of.
Served him right.
Allison snapped pictures and took notes as quickly as she could, and she waited to see what would happen next.
* * *
Michael’s evening wasn’t going as planned.
All of the preparations for the event had gone smoothly, and the art show and auction had been a success, with an impressive sum being collected for reconstruction along the coast. The gala had sold out, even with the exorbitant price of attendance. He’d managed to avoid the gauntlet of journalists—which he knew would include Allison Dent—and he’d even been able to leave Ingrate in the back office without the dog howling his head off.
But plans had veered off course the moment he saw Gina Lane arrive as the date of a prominent attorney. Michael stared at his ex-fiancée in her pale pink evening gown and long, smooth hair, and he did so without a pang of desire or regret. She hadn’t broken his heart. The break-up had proved he’d never really been in love with her, although he’d thought he was for a while. He had nothing but mild contempt for her now.
He was annoyed by her presence here, however. It would rile up all of the ruthless reporters, who would endlessly speculate on how he and Gina would interact after such a public and dramatic broken engagement.
Michael was sure she’d come here tonight to prove something to him. Prove that she didn’t care that he’d dumped her, that she could find another man as eligible as he was.
He just nodded at her politely and otherwise ignored her existence.
He was far more absorbed with what Allison might be up to.
And if she hated him now for the way he’d treated her the day before.
The memory made him want to cringe, so he had to force it out of his mind. Otherwise it would distract him from the socializing a night like this always entailed for him.
He’d managed to focus his energies on strategically cultivating business and political connections when Cole—the head of security—caught Michael’s eye with obvious intent.
He deftly extricated himself from a conversation with a state senator and stepped over to talk to Cole.
“We have a situation, sir,” Cole said in a low voice.
“Tell me.”
“A group of protestors got into the building and have stationed themselves at the entrance to the ballroom.”
Surprised, Michael asked, “Are they causing trouble? I haven’t heard anything.”
“They’re not making any noise. They’re just sitting out there with signs, but it’s definitely causing a scene.”
Michael wanted to groan but he suppressed the urge. “Are they in sight of reporters?”
“Not directly. They’re in the hall, not the entryway.”
“Get rid of them—as discreetly as possible. I’d rather not call in the police, and I definitely don’t want unnecessary publicity over this. And, for God’s sake, don’t hurt anyone.”
Cole nodded and started toward the entrance to the elegant ballroom, speaking softly into his earpiece.
Michael went back to the senator, hoping the incident could be taken care of quickly, but feeling a prickle of instinct telling him that it wasn’t going to happen that way.
A few minutes later, he heard a brief burst of noise from outside the ballroom entrance. With a sigh, he started toward the noise, moving at a natural pace so all the gathered guests wouldn’t troop over to peer at the happenings.
As he reached the hall, he saw a number of attendees staring in one direction. Michael turned to look and jerked to a shocked halt.
There appeared to be more than twenty protestors. They’d been sitting on the floor with signs about some sort of lighthouse. Six members of security were attempting to dislodge them from their positions.
The protestors weren’t fighting back, but they also weren’t moving.
Cole was using his best strategies of intimidation—at least, all that didn’t rely on the use of a weapon—and several of the protestors had been “encouraged” to stand by other guards.
But as soon as they were released, they sat back down again. At least they weren’t shouting or chanting, or they would have alerted the media. But it wouldn’t take long before the reporters realized what was going on, and that kind of publicity was the last thing Michael wanted.
As Michael watched, one of the guards—who appeared to be getting frustrated at the protesters’ obstinacy—lifted an older man in a red vest-sweater with more force than was entirely necessary.
The man stumbled a little as he was hefted to his feet. The guard, realizing he’d been rougher than instructed, let go of the man’s arm. The old man toppled over.
The onlookers broke out in a murmur of disapproval. Michael’s heart gave a kick of consternation, and he stepped forward instinctively to help the man.
But he was distracted by a familiar voice, crying out, “Ray!”
Allison, looking gorgeous and undeniably sexy in a deep red cocktail dress and upswept hair, ran over to help the man to his feet. “There’s no need for brutality, you asshole,” she snapped, glaring heatedly at the offending guard.
Michael blinked, trying to figure out what Allison was doing in this group of protestors and telling himself the surge of adrenalin he experienced was from the rising crisis and not from the unexpected sight of this one infuriating woman.
Before he could speak and somehow diffuse the situation, it spiraled even farther out of control. Another one of the other guards had been trying to dislodge a young man who had linked arms with a few of his compatriots. The momentum of his pull forced the guard backwards, and his body turned to control the backlash.
He accidentally elbowed Allison in the gut as she’d been trying to help Ray sit back down on the floor.
She doubled over in obvious pain, and Michael let out of an automatic roar of outrage at the sight.
“Enough,” he bellowed, when Cole and the other guards turned in his direction. “Let them go. Now.”
His security obeyed and Michael stepped over to Allison. Putting a hand on her shoulder, he asked, “Are you all right?”
She nodded. “Accident.”
He couldn’t suppress the tug of admiration at this further evidence of Allison’s irrepressible sense of fair play. Even after being brutalized.
“Are you all right, sir?” Michael asked of the older man in the vest-sweater, the only other person he’d seen who might have been injured.
“No harm done,” the man said gamely.
Michael was conscious that the tussle had gotten the attention of both the gala guests and the hoard of journalists in the entry of the building.
Thinking quickly as he moved into crisis mode, he tempered his voice so only those close to him could hear. “Isn’t there any way we could come to terms here?”
“They just want you to hear their case,” Allison said. She was still holding her stomach, and her face was disturbingly pale. She’d been elbowed hard.
Michael understood at once. He looked at the older man, since no one else had stepped forward as the leader of the little group. “I can give you a half-hour after the gala to make your case. I’ll listen to anything you want to tell me. If you can move this to a more propitious place.”
He saw the man meet Allison’s eyes, and he saw her give a discreet nod.
Ray said, “Agreed. Let’s go, folks.”
The motley group of protesters, looking victorious and rather worse for wear, marched down the hall and away from the ballroom, escorted by a few of the guards.
Allison was still beside Michael, and he realized that he’d at some point put a supportive arm around her waist—quite unintentionally, of course. Since she didn’t look entirely steady on her feet, he didn’t remove it. He asked dryly, “So now your ill-will toward
me has prompted you to join a protest?”
Allison sucked in a sharp breath. “No. I wasn’t—”
“Not here,” Michael interrupted. He started to walk her toward the back office, wanting to get her off her feet and out of the view of an inordinate number of spectators.
He was ridiculously torn between concern for her and bitterness over what might be another betrayal.
“Call the medic,” Michael said in an undertone to Cole, who was waiting for instructions. “The back office.”
“I don’t need a—” Allison broke off as she tried to catch her breath.
Michael ignored her protest. There was no way he wasn’t going to have a doctor examine her, after she’d been injured when he was responsible.
He kept his arm around her as they walked, and her soft, warm body against his roused the most absurd feelings. It wasn’t even lust. It was something else—something tender and protective.
He tried to talk himself out of the feelings as he remembered all of the reasons he had to resent her.
It didn’t entirely work.
* * *
Allison felt like she’d gotten the wind knocked out of her, and it wasn’t just from an elbow in the gut.
Certainly, getting slugged in the gut by the elbow of a very large security guard was the last thing she needed. It left her winded, unsteady, and a little nauseous.
But she was also stunned and breathless at the gentle, considerate way Michael was helping her down the hall.
His arm felt more than perfunctory. It felt supportive, warm, like he was genuinely concerned about her.
She really shouldn’t enjoy it so much.
He helped her into a sitting room that was out of the way of the ballroom. After easing her down into a comfortable chair, he left the room with a murmured comment.
He returned a few minutes later carrying three glasses. One with water, one with wine, one with a soft drink that looked like ginger ale.
Looking a little sheepish, he said, “I didn’t know what you’d want.”
Allison couldn’t help but chuckle at his incongruous expression. For some reason, he was even more handsome and appealing when he wasn’t perfectly suave and self-assured. “Thanks.”
She sipped the ginger ale and tried to catch her breath, deciding she didn’t really feel too bad now.
Michael talked on the phone to someone who sounded like part of his security team. She listened to the one-sided information and deduced that Ray and his friends were camped out at the diner again, and they’d wait until the gala was over so they could have their valuable half-hour with Michael to convince him to save the historic lighthouse.
Allison was ridiculously pleased that he’d agreed to hear their case. She’d figured that he would do whatever was necessary to avoid unnecessary press coverage, but she thought he’d been genuinely concerned when she and Ray had been knocked down, and she didn’t think it was just because he was worried about any legal or public repercussions.
It was an encouraging reminder that he had a heart beneath his slick, controlled façade. She’d known that heart before, but then he’d seemed to change.
Maybe she hadn’t really changed.
Michael didn’t say much as they waited a few minutes for the medic to arrive. When he did, Allison suffered through a brief examination, which concluded the way she knew it would. A report of perfect health.
She felt a little self-conscious when the medic left her and Michael alone again. She could feel his eyes on her, and she didn’t know what his quiet expression meant.
“I wasn’t part of that protest,” she said out of the blue, not sure why she felt prompted to make that truth clear. “I’d talked to Ray, the man who was knocked down, this afternoon. And then he alerted me to what they were doing so I came to cover it. I thought it might be a good story.”
“Of course.” She couldn’t tell if his tone was sarcastic or not. His expression revealed nothing.
“Thanks for making sure I was all right,” she added. “I’m fine.”
“Good.”
She swallowed hard and stood up. “Okay then. I guess I’ll…I’ll…”
She trailed off at the sound of a scratching from a door off the sitting room. She turned in the direction of the sound, and then she heard more scratching, this time paired with a familiar whimper.
Allison gasped and cut her eyes over to the man beside her. “Michael?”
He made a reluctant face, but, without protest, he walked over and opened the door.
The dog rushed out in an ungainly sprint, eager to get to Allison, whose voice he must have recognized from inside the office.
With a delighted laugh, Allison knelt down, heedless of her beautiful new dress. She gave the dog a hug and let it lick her chin.
“Ingrate,” Michael said curtly, “Stay down.”
The dog had made a move as if he would jump up on her, but he obediently wriggled on the floor instead.
“Why didn’t you leave him at home?” Allison asked, laughter still evident in her voice.
“He howls. Endlessly. I can’t tell you how grateful I am that you saddled me with him.”
This time, there was no doubt about the dryness of his tone, but Allison wasn’t fooled for a moment. Obviously, Michael didn’t dislike the animal as much as he liked to pretend. The dog was beautifully groomed and obviously well-fed. He had a very expensive leather collar on, complete with tags and the name “Ingrate” engraved on a silver plaque.
And Michael hadn’t left the dog alone in a big penthouse apartment to howl himself sick.
With a surge of tenderness, Allison hugged the dog again, overwhelmed with affection—for the dog and for its owner.
He might be an arrogant, stubborn, paranoid bastard.
But at least he loved their dog.
After a minute, she realized Michael was gazing at her, but she didn’t know what his expression meant. She looked up, feeling self-conscious again.
“Anyway,” she began. Then realized she had no idea what to say.
Michael didn’t seem to know either. “Anyway.” He cleared his throat. “I should go back. I’ll be missed.”
She nodded. Of course he would be missed. He was the center of attention wherever he went. “I’ll…I’ll go.”
He opened his mouth as if he’d object, but then he shut it again.
Allison started to stand up and felt an unexpected rush of blood to her head, causing her vision to blur for a moment. She swayed.
She wouldn’t have fallen, but Michael was next to her in less than a moment, offering her a supportive arm around her waist.
“I’m fine,” she said. “Just a head rush.”
“You can stay here, if you need to—”
“I’m fine,” she repeated, breaking off his offer. She was a little embarrassed about acting like such a wimp. “Really. But thanks.”
She gazed up at him, momentarily mesmerized by the soft, questioning expression in the blue-gray eyes.
He must have noticed the change in her expression because his brows drew together slightly. He leaned toward her slightly.
Instinctively, Allison swayed toward him. And, before she knew what was happening, the distance between them was closed.
Michael was kissing her, and she was responding—passionately.
It wasn’t sexy, playful, or hungry like their embraces during the storm, and it wasn’t hard and angry like the day before.
His lips on hers, his hands on her face, were intense and almost questioning.
She had no idea what was happening or why it was happening, but her body responded eagerly, naturally, and a wave of pleasure and excitement washed over her.
She’d reached up to wrap her arms around his neck and to press her body more tightly against his when a noise from the door behind them startled them apart.
“Michael?” The soft, feminine voice spoke from the now opened doorway. “Is everything—”
Both Allison and Mich
ael turned to stare at the newcomer, flushed and still half in the embrace.
Gina Lane’s pretty mouth dropped opened as she discovered them.
Allison jerked out of Michael’s arms and felt, for the second time that evening, like she’d just been slugged in the gut.
Chapter Ten
“What’s going on in here?” Gina demanded, looking baffled and horrified as she stood in the office doorway in her pink dress and shiny shoes.
Michael opened his mouth, but no words came out. He was startled and disoriented from being so abruptly interrupted from the kiss, and he still felt like he was drowning in Allison’s intoxicating scent and warmth. His hands had dropped instinctively from her face to her waist, but hers were still gripping his lapels. Their bodies were so close they brushed against each other.
After clearing his throat, he managed to ask in a somewhat natural tone, “What did you need, Gina?”
Gina’s round eyes took on an almost pitiful look that used to tug at his heart. It didn't anymore. She was focused now on Allison, and recognition finally registered on her face. “Allison?”
“Hi, Gina.” Allison’s voice was slightly ironic, but her expression was sheepish and almost relieved as she stepped away from Michael.
He could understand what prompted her response. A small part of him was relieved at the interruption too—although the rest of him was screaming in frustrated outrage. He wasn’t sure what had possessed him to kiss Allison the way he had tonight. It had felt inevitable, instinctive, but it wasn’t particularly rational, and it was just as well they were stopped before he’d gone any farther without thinking things through.
“What are you doing here?” Gina demanded of Allison, her skin clear and pale and her gray eyes enormous in her pretty face.
The corner of Allison’s mouth quirked up. “Working on a story.”
Michael almost chuckled at the quick succession of expressions on Gina’s face—confusion, indignation, and bewildered disapproval. Her final look was one of outraged self-righteousness, a look she’d mastered well.
She turned to him. “Michael! What's going on here? I don’t understand!”
He sighed at the helpless plea in her voice. At one point, it would have triggered an instinctive urge to protect, but now it was more annoying than anything else. “I’m not surprised,” he said blandly. Then, to pull the situation back into some semblance of sanity and order, he added, “Did you need something, Gina?”
Storm Front (Reunited Hearts) Page 10