“I’d heard there was a problem or something, and then you disappeared.” She fluttered her eyelashes with a convincing expression of concern. “I was worried about you.”
Michael had no idea what had motivated this outburst of concern, but he was convinced it wasn’t genuine. His best guess was that Gina was prompted by curiosity and a desire to be on the “inside” of whatever was happening. “Everything is fine,” he told her, not about to provide her with any details.
“But what’s going on?” Obviously, Gina was getting frustrated by his reticence because her voice was pitched an octave higher than normal.
The shrillness must have alerted Ingrate to the importance of the situation. He’d been hanging back behind Michael’s legs, but now he loped over toward Gina, wagging his tale with wary interest and sniffing inquisitively around the hem of her evening gown.
“Oh,” Gina exclaimed in surprise, taking a step back. “Why is there a dog in here?”
Since she had never been afraid of animals, Michael assumed her reluctance was because she didn’t want Ingrate to mess up her clothes.
“He’s just saying hi,” Allison put in, looking a little impatient as Gina ignored Ingrate’s friendly advances.
“Michael!” Gina said in almost a whine. She lifted the hem of her dress as Ingrate continued snuffling around her shoes.
Michael noticed the more obvious sneer on Allison’s face, and he couldn’t help but remember that—although her dress was just as attractive as Gina’s—Allison had knelt down a few minutes ago to give Ingrate a hug instead of shrinking back from the innocent dog.
“Ingrate,” Michael said curtly, gesturing down toward his heel. Although he hadn’t spent much time training the animal, the dog was naturally responsive and obedient. As expected, Ingrate came reluctantly over to sit on the floor next to Michael’s feet. “Gina, why don’t you go back to the ballroom?”
“But…” Gina trailed off, looking dumbfounded at this abrupt dismissal.
Michael couldn’t imagine how Gina would assume that he would want her around—after everything that had happened between them. Maybe she actually wanted him back.
He wasn’t going to waste his time wondering.
“I was speaking to Allison,” he added, raising his eyebrows with obvious intent. “In private.”
Gina’s eyes flickered back and forth between Michael and Allison, obviously offended by this turn of events. Then she pulled herself to her full height—never very significant—and stormed off in a huff.
When the door fell shut behind her, Michael and Allison just stared at each other.
Allison looked slightly awkward, and Michael felt the same way. He wasn’t sure why he had kissed her—he wasn’t sure he even trusted her. But he knew he no longer felt the rage and bitterness he’d experienced toward her before.
Allison reached down and scratched Ingrate behind the ear. “Well,” she said, obviously at a loss for words. “You better get back.”
“Yeah.” Michael didn’t know what to say either. “Do you feel all right?”
She blinked, as if she’d momentarily forgotten being socked in the gut by an elbow. “Yeah. Thanks.” She walked slowly to the door and looked at him over her shoulder. “I’ll talk to you later.”
Part of Michael wanted to stop her before she disappeared out of his life for good, but then he remembered Ray and the other demonstrators.
Allison was on a story here, and it wasn’t finished yet.
She wasn’t going anywhere tonight.
* * *
After leaving Michael, Allison wandered around, pretending to take notes for her story but mostly just trying to sort through the chaos in her mind.
She couldn’t figure out her feelings—toward Michael, toward anything—so she put them on hold. It would be too hard to draw any real conclusions tonight, and she had other things to do anyway.
She went across the street to the diner to talk to Ray and get more information for her story. Shortly after midnight, a couple of members of Michael’s security team came in to the diner to escort the protestors over to their interview.
The gala must be over.
Allison wondered what would happen at that interview, and she really did hope that Michael would be receptive to their concerns for the lighthouse. It wasn’t only because of the lighthouse that Allison hoped for a good outcome—it was for Michael’s sake as well.
A half-hour later, Ray returned, his wrinkled face positively beaming. He told her that Michael had agreed to give the issue some consideration and to find out more information about the lighthouse. It wasn’t a definite decision but it was better than Ray—and Allison—could have expected.
When Ray left to go home, saying it was way past his bedtime, Allison was beaming too.
She stayed in her booth at the diner, sipping coffee and waiting without any conscious intent.
But she knew what she’d been waiting for when she saw Michael through the window. He was looking in at her, standing outside on the sidewalk with Ingrate on a leash.
Without thinking through the significance, Allison got up and went out to join him.
“So you think it’s a worthwhile cause?” she asked, without any greeting except a pat on Ingrate’s head.
“Maybe.” Michael’s face was thoughtful, which Allison knew to be a promising sign. He didn’t look slick and charming. If he had, she would know he wasn’t serious about the issue. He only used that superficial charm to blow people off.
Without discussing it, both of them started to stroll down the sidewalk, letting Ingrate lead the way. The night was mild and the downtown blocks well-lit by the streetlights. Allison felt tired but comfortable, and she didn’t really want to talk.
Obviously, Michael didn’t either.
They walked in silence, and they must have looked rather incongruous walking a dog in their evening clothes at one-thirty in the morning.
After several minutes, Michael stopped in front of a building. When the liveried doorman greeted him by name, Allison realized why.
This was Michael’s building—his apartment was on the top floor. He was home.
And Allison had no idea what she was doing here too.
She stood and stared silently at his tired, handsome face, perspiration dampening his forehead and his bow tie loosened at his collar. She felt a surge of hunger rush through her. The same hunger she’d felt on the way back to the city after the storm.
She wanted him. Not just his body. Him. Michael. All of him. Even with everything that would always come with him.
“Allison,” Michael said, his voice slightly thick. Something new now smoldered in his eyes.
She wondered if he’d read her expression or if he was responding to some other stimulus. “Yes?” she breathed.
“Come upstairs with me.”
She faced a moment’s hesitation. This would probably be a mistake. They had no future, and going any further with Michael now would risk far more than a random one-night-stand.
But she felt herself nodding anyway. “Yeah.”
Michael put a hand on the small of her back—she could feel the warmth of his touch through the fabric of her dress—and he walked her into the building.
They went up the elevator to the top floor and then into his penthouse apartment. Allison had never seen it before. She’d never imagined she would.
In some ways, it was what she’d expected—high-end decorating, a sleek marble entryway, and an aura of wealth and power. But the art and furnishings as she made her way further into the home were not ultra-contemporary or impersonal. There were centuries-old oil paintings and antique pieces rich with history and character.
She looked around but didn’t speak. Neither did Michael. He just leaned down to unhook Ingrate from the leash. The dog immediately scurried toward what Allison assumed was the kitchen.
They followed more slowly. While Ingrate lapped at a large water bowl, Michael poured out two glasses of red wine.
Allison sipped hers, leaving the kitchen and wandering into the main living area. She stared out through large windows at the illuminated cityscape.
Michael joined her, looking out at New York as well.
She figured they should talk. She wondered if he was still angry with her, if he could possibly lower his defenses and realize the one lie she’d told wasn’t an intentional betrayal. She wondered if he knew she wasn’t like Gina.
Then she wondered why she cared about the answers so much.
He turned toward her and his supple lips parted, but he didn’t shape a word.
Allison’s breathing accelerated at the heated intensity of his blue-gray eyes. He took her wine glass from her hand and set both of them down on the side table.
Then he slid his fingers into her hair. His lips parted again. This time, so did Allison’s. When he leaned into a kiss, she opened for him immediately.
She wanted him. Wanted him desperately.
It was why she’d come up with him tonight.
* * *
Michael’s senses were on overload as he fumbled with the zipper to Allison’s dress.
They’d stumbled into his bedroom, still in their embrace, unable to pull away from each other, even to walk or remove clothes.
Desire surged through him, hardening his body and firing his nerve endings. When he’d asked Allison up, he hadn’t been sure she’d accept. Now, he wasn’t sure what he would have done if she hadn’t, if he hadn’t been able to bury himself in her hot sweetness tonight.
She’d pushed his jacket off over his shoulders and was working clumsily on the buttons of his shirt. Michael stroked her mouth with his tongue and finally slid down her dress zipper. He tore his mouth away so he could watch as the red silk slipped down her curves to puddle at her heels.
He hardened all the way at the sight of her fair, luscious figure, barely covered by the flimsy bra and panty set she wore.
Allison wasted no time in yanking off his shirt and tie, and her eyes were greedy as she used her palm to rub the bulge at the front of his pants in a way that made him groan.
When he couldn’t stand it anymore, Michael pulled her into another kiss, unable to get enough of the feel, scent, and taste of Allison. He lifted her ass until she could wrap her legs around his waist, and he carried her to the bed that way. He ended the kiss only when he eased her down on top of the covers.
He stared down at her, breathing heavily and willing his body under control so he could last long enough to please her.
“Michael.” Her eyes were wild, and her voice was impatient and stretched thin. She reached her arms out to draw him into the bed with her.
He quickly rid himself of his pants and let her pull him down on top of her.
It was so stimulating. So intoxicating. That she wanted him so much. Even now. Despite everything.
She writhed beneath him, her soft, eager body doing tortuous things to his already battered control. He groaned as he stroked her warm skin and managed to focus enough to trail kisses down her throat to her breasts.
He teased her with his tongue through the lace of her bra until she arched and whimpered. Then he unhooked her bra and pulled the fabric away, desire coiling inside him even more fiercely at the sight of her bare breasts and tight, rosy nipples.
He lowered his head again and suckled hungrily, loving her breathless sounds of pleasure and the way she restlessly tossed her head. She kept arching up into his mouth, obviously wanting more stimulation.
When she tried to hook her leg around his hip so she could rub her groin against him, Michael released her breast and moved lower, mouthing her flat belly and the lush curve of her hip.
Allison’s fingers rubbed his scalp through his hair deliciously, and Michael’s skin broke out in a hot sweat. Despite his own urgency, he pulled off her panties. Then he nuzzled her intimately, pleasuring her with his tongue until her body shook helplessly, the tension shattering as she came hard with his name on a taken breath.
Drunk with the erotic scent of her arousal and overwhelmed with both her passion and her responsiveness, Michael adjusted himself above her and leaned down into another kiss.
As they kissed, Allison yanked down his underwear and took his hard, aroused flesh in her hands. He closed his eyes and groaned as she massaged him with a perfect rhythm.
Before he lost it completely, he reached over to the nightstand and found a condom. He rolled it on and positioned himself between her legs.
Michael met her eyes as he thrust himself home.
Both of them moaned hoarsely as her pliant flesh molded itself around him. Their lovemaking fell immediately into a fast, hungry rhythm. Allison moved with him, wrapping her legs around his hips and panting just as shamelessly as he was.
Michael didn’t know why he needed this—needed her—so deeply, so completely.
But he did.
His whole world narrowed down to the jiggling bed, the intensifying sensations, and Allison’s hot, sweet body beneath him, driving him out of control.
Their sounds of effort and pleasure were wordless—rough grunts, thick gasps, and helpless whimpers. But, as he felt his climax about to break, Michael gasped, “God, Allison! Now!”
Allison whimpered again, her whole body flushed and shaking. She cried out loudly as her spine arched back and her body clenched brutally around him. “Michael,” she breathed as climax overtook her.
It was all that he could take.
With a muffled roar, Michael let himself go, his hips jerking against hers in final, urgent thrusts. His vision whited out as he came, and he collapsed on top of her, burying his face in her fragrant hair.
Both of them panted desperately as their bodies relaxed. Michael didn’t want to move. He only pulled away long enough to dispose of the condom. Then he collapsed back beside her and pulled her into his arms.
He was torn in too many ways. He shouldn’t trust her. She was a reporter. She’d lied to him. He didn’t even know why she was with him now.
But Michael needed this, and he was almost convinced that Allison needed it too.
* * *
Allison had fallen asleep in Michael’s arms, and she was still there when she woke up. She felt warm, cozy, and protected against his firm, relaxed body, and it took every ounce of her willpower to gently roll away.
Once again, Michael had given her a kind of pleasure she’d never experienced before. But it was more than that. They’d hardly spoken at all, during the whole course of their lovemaking, but it felt like they’d shared something. Something deeper than sex.
But she’d thought the same thing seven years ago. And she’d thought so a few weeks ago when they’d been trapped in the middle of the storm.
And she’d been crushed both times.
Michael was still asleep. She stared at him for a minute. He looked younger, less experienced, as he slept.
She had a train to catch in a few hours. She had to go back home. Back to D.C. Back to her life.
Foolishly, she leaned down and pressed a soft kiss on the side of his mouth. Then she quietly climbed out of the bed.
She found her clothes and threw them on, making sure she hadn’t left anything behind.
Then, checking once more to see that Michael was still asleep, she silently slipped out of the room.
Chapter Eleven
Elizabeth slid into her seat at a pub table in a trendy coffee bar and passed one of the mugs she carried to Allison.
Allison sipped her second cappuccino of the afternoon and tried not to act too droopy. The gala had been over a week ago, but she hadn’t even begun to return to anything like emotional normalcy.
She’d known sleeping with Michael again would be a mistake. She’d known doing so would destroy any chance she had of getting out of their relationship unscathed. She’d known she would fall for him completely, when there wasn’t any hope for a relationship.
And she’d done it anyway.
Lori and Elizabeth exchanged glan
ces over their mugs, and then Elizabeth said bluntly, “All right. Spill it.”
Allison blinked. “What?”
“You told us you fucked him again and that it didn’t mean anything, but obviously that was a big fat lie.”
“Don’t be mean, Elizabeth,” Lori put in, elbowing her friend reproachfully. Turning to Allison, she added, “We just mean that obviously you’re kind of down, and it might help to talk about it.”
Allison released a sigh and gave up her unsuccessful attempt to act natural. “I’m sorry. I’m a crappy friend. I didn’t mean to lie to you guys. I just hoped that, if I pretended it was nothing, then maybe that’s what it would be.”
“That’s never worked for me either,” Elizabeth muttered ruefully.
“So making love to him last weekend did mean something to you?” Lori asked, her romantic inclinations sharply attuned with obvious hope.
“We didn’t make love. We had sex.”
Elizabeth laughed, and Lori rolled her eyes as she objected, “I’m not sure I believe you. You’ve been depressed since you got back. It did mean something—more than casual sex.”
Allison swallowed and admitted the truth to her friends and to herself. “Yes. It was more than casual sex.”
“Well, what’s the problem?” Lori demanded. “Why shouldn’t you two be together if you both—”
“Wait a minute,” Elizabeth interrupted, frowning. “Let’s not forget that this is the same Michael Martin who’s acted like an ass on more than one occasion. He screwed her and dropped her when she was only eighteen.” Before Allison could object to this version of events, her friend pressed on, “And then he screwed her and dropped her again because he got all huffy over one harmless lie. He hasn’t turned into some sort of Prince Charming.” She eyed Allison suspiciously. “Has he?”
“No. Prince Charming he’s not. I’ve made a bunch of mistakes too, so I’m not going to hold all that stuff against him. But this isn’t some great love story. He’s a complicated man, and I…I like a lot about him. But I don’t see any possibility for a happy ending here. He’s made it clear all long that he’s not looking for something long-term with me. Even assuming he could ever get over the little fact that I’m a reporter.”
Storm Front (Reunited Hearts) Page 11