So he got up and began to pace. It seemed easier than looking in her face, watching all that good and trust flowing all over the place. "Are you sure about this? About me?" he said, man enough to ask but not man enough to leave.
She took her time to answer, as if she was picking her words carefully. He steeled himself for rejection. It probably would be best, especially for her.
"You have a good heart. A kind heart. I don't know about your career choiceswe'll have that discussion laterbut no one has ever done what you just did for me."
Once again he began to breathe. Okay, life was looking up. He'd probably go to hell for this, but it'd be worth it.
"What did I do for you?" he asked. As far as he knew, she had handled everything pretty much on her own. He'd done squat.
Michelle fiddled with her glasses, drank two long sips of water and, in general, kept him waiting far too long for his answer. Finally she spoke. "No one's ever watched out for me or protected me. I was always the smart one. Able to do everything. And tonight I discovered the luxury of letting somebody else do it."
"Well, you did do a good bit. The virus was a masterstroke," he said, needing to point out the obvious.
She came and stood next to him, her hand stroking his arm. Everywhere she touched, he started to burn.
"We make a good team, don't we?" she asked, unbuttoning his shirt.
Part of him was dying to touch her, but part of him knew that he was pulling her into a place that she didn't belong. He stood silent, not stopping her, but not touching her, either. It was a compromise that he could live with.
Her fingers slid along his shoulders, the shirt falling to the floor. The air cooled his overheated skin, her light touches driving him slowly and purposefully insane.
"Where'd you get that scar?" she asked, tracing the line across his arm, her eyes alight with curiosity.
It was an innocent question, and he had a well-rehearsed answer waiting on his tongue. Everyone else had been told that it came when he did two years in Joliet. Just another prison brawl.
She didn't press him, but waited patiently, her eyes still holding that godforsaken trust.
"I ran into a tree on a motorcycle when I was sixteen," he said, the truth spilling out without any influence of alcohol at all. He needed to earn the trust that was shading her eyes.
"You could have been killed," she murmured.
"I was wearing a helmet."
She traced the line of red flesh with her lips.
"You have any scars?" he asked, struggling to breathe.
"I had my appendix out when I was thirteen. There's a little scar there," she said, her eyes dancing behind her glasses.
It felt so good, so normal to be standing next to her, and Dominic gave up the fight. Slowly he unbuttoned her shirt, exposing her bare skin inch by inch. He eased the shirt off her shoulders, letting it fall to the floor, and she stood before him dressed in jeans and a sensible white cotton bra.
Rediscovering a talent long buried, he unhooked the fastener at the back with a single snap. She was gorgeous. Her skin was the color of peaches, her nipples dark and erect.
She was absolutely perfect, so Dominic gave her one last chance before the perfection was gone.
"This is it, Michelle. If you're going to come to your senses, do it now, because I don't think I can stop." It was a silly thing to say. He knew he had to have her. Guys like him weren't known for their unselfish attitudes. But it made him feel less tainted to say the words.
She didn't answer, just smiled. A wanton, sly smile that told him everything he needed to know. For tonight at least, she was his.
Now he wanted to see all of her.
The jeans were taken care of, then the white cotton panties. Very practical packaging for such a long, marvelous body. Her curves were subtle and fluid, and trapped his gaze more completely than any pinup.
The traces of mischief disappeared from her eyes, replaced by nervousness. One of her feet crept demurely over the other, like covering her toes made her less vulnerable.
He hated to see her weakness, because it pricked at his conscience. He needed her strong.
"You are so exquisite," he said with complete honesty. His hands cupped her shoulder, then slid down her arms, trapping her so that she wouldn't leave him.
Looking pleased, she smiled. "So are you."
Slowly he shook his head. "I meant all of you."
Behind the glass lenses, her light blue eyes were tender, so wonderfully tender. She leaned forward and softly met his lips. "I did, too."
Dominic chose not to argue. She had papers published in magazines he couldn't even read. Someday she was going to have long lines of initials after her name. It seemed easier to just believe her.
Doing his best to play the part, he picked her up and carried her into the other room, laying her down on the small bed.
She cleared a spot on her nightstand, right next to The Long History of Neutrinos a little light reading. Then she took off her glasses and laid them down.
It was the first time he'd seen her eyes without the layer of glass between them. They were softer, and gentler, blue running into grays, making a color so clean it didn't compare to anything he knew. At that moment, he was eternally grateful that she couldn't see him as well as she should.
"Can I ask you something?" she said.
He would have given her the world when she looked at him like that. It made him feel warm and alive. "Anything," he answered.
"Would you please get naked, too?"
Laughing, he complied in record time. And then he lay down next to her.
The lights were low, the air filled with the cool breeze from the air conditioner, but his body was tense, his blood hot and full of anticipation.
There was no more waiting.
Finally, he could touch her.
Carefully he found the thin white scar that traversed her abdomen and pressed his mouth against it. "Very sexy," he said.
"Thank you," she said politely, amazingly prim for a woman who was wearing no clothes.
He used his hands to explore her, watching her face as he learned what pleased her. She bit her lip when he lingered at the bend in her arm, when he traced the curve behind her ear and when he stroked her breast.
Unable to resist, he drew her nipple into his mouth, her body jumping in shock. He pulled her closer against him and began to suck. Her legs moved restlessly, fighting the power inside her, but he didn't want her to fight it, he wanted her to let go. He covered her with his body, trapping her legs between his own and then re-focused his attention on her other breast.
This time her hips rocked against him, her pelvis curling and uncurling with such finesse, he had to pull back.
"Honey, you're going to have to slow down," he said. He knew they weren't going to be together forever. With her brains, it'd only take one night for her to see the mistake she was making, and he was determined that everything be perfect so he could remember it forever.
However, he had underestimated Michelle. She laughed, and Miss Prim and Demure disappeared. She rolled against him, her hand reaching down to boldly stroke him.
Holy Mary. Quickly he bracketed both of her hands in his and pulled them above her head.
"Stay there," he ordered.
"Like this?" she asked, grabbing the iron rails of the headboard and arching her back, which caused him a small heart attack. Michelle Cushing Coleman was not only brainy, but a minx. It was enough to make a lesser man run.
Just to punish her, he went back to all the places that had made her moan before. He kissed with his lips, he nipped with his teeth, he delighted her with his tongue. Each time her hands fell from the rails, he replaced them, tracing the soft line of her arm with his lips, then ending with one soft bite. Because she'd been bad.
As her eyes grew wilder, he worked his way in a line down her legs. Such perfect legs. Long, lean, but full of power. Each part held his attention. He discovered she was ticklish on the back of her ank
le; he found a sensitive spot on the back of her knee and slowly, carefully, he parted her thighs.
Her hips arched upward, but this time he was prepared.
He put one finger inside her, testing, finding her beautifully damp. "Very, very nice."
He put his mouth to the soft mound and began to tease her, putting aside his own needs, wanting to pleasure her. She would never realize what she'd given him, and he had to do something for her.
Her small gasps of air told him exactly what she liked, and he returned again and again until her breathing became ragged and her hands locked in his hair. When her body bucked beneath him, his muscles shook, a warning that he was losing it.
Quickly he sheathed himself and in one hard thrust, he was inside her.
Oh.
She was tight and wet, and her legs wrapped around him, locking them together.
One night, just one night.
For three heartbeats he closed his eyes, feeling the blood pulse through his body. The heated air was heavy with her spicy scent and the distinctive smell of sex. Neither of them moved.
Eventually he gathered his control and he kissed her, counting each kiss in his head, knowing it wasn't enough. She tasted of mintmarvelous, mundane mint.
Then he began to thrust, slowly at first until they were moving in rhythm. Her eyes never left his, the trust never disappearing. There was something deeper that lurked in the blue depths, something that made his hand reach for hers and clutch desperately.
Then he forgot to think, forgot to count, simply pounded into her until they were one.
* * *
Chapter Eight
One night.
Mickey heard the soft whisper in her ear and she wanted to cry. Minutes ran into hours, time moving much too quickly. Her kisses became more frantic as the night grew darker. He never stopped touching her, never stopped kissing her.
Pleasure and pain merged together as her body tired. Still she welcomed him to her.
One night.
His back was slippery to her touch, but her hands held him tightly. Each time her fingers slipped, she went back, and this time held him tighter.
Some part of her understood the reasons why. Some part of her even agreed. But her heart cried.
She had finally found someone that she could love. And sex would be all she could have. But she didn't care. She kissed him desperately, angrily. While he thrust inside her, their bodies quietly in tune in ways their worlds would never be, she buried her lips against his neck. Furiously she sucked at the warm flesh, marking him in her own way. The movement kept her mouth sealed, kept her from saying words that she shouldn't.
Stupid words.
So she kissed his mouth, his neck, the scar on his arm. Anything to keep her silent.
The covers wedged in between them, and angrily she kicked them away. Tonight was for her. It was all she had.
Finally, when the first light was breaking along the wall, they fell asleep together, arms and legs entangled.
The night was over.
Mickey awoke an hour later, savoring the sound of Dominic's even breathing. Her eyes felt tired and dry, and every muscle in her body was sore. Slowly, she stretched, pieces of her aching in places she'd never known existed.
She, who never called in sick, thought about calling in sick, but what would that solve? Dominic would be gone soon. No reason to laze about in bed.
She watched him sleep, his features softened and gentled in repose. What things had he done in his life? She wanted to ask, but didn't dare. As her father had often said, some truths were better left unsaid.
And wouldn't he have a fit if he knew? Mickey had never been rebellious or flighty. She was intelligent, ambitious and focused. Just as a Coleman should be. Hell, she didn't even know that she had it in her to do something so unconscionable as to actually sleep with a known criminal.
She told her brain to shut up, but once started, her brain never turned off, and the doubts began bombarding her mind like so many streaming pions.
What if he had actually killed somebody ? She'd seen the marvelous way he'd handled John. That came from experience, not from theoretical research. And the way he broke in through the window. It didn't look like the first time he'd done that, either.
Yet in his sleep he looked so innocent. She sighed. He was so perfectly made, it was like Apollo had come down from the heavens and slipped into her bed.
It didn't matter what he looked like, or how carefully he listened to her, or how passionately he made love. She wouldn't see him again.
Facts were facts.
There were two categories of men: Fling and Relationship. Flings were the secret ones, the ones that got written up in the diary, but that was about it. Hot sex, no regrets. The badder, the better because that way the line never got muddied. The Relationship menokay, there'd only been three of those in her lifethey were the acceptable ones. Intelligent, loyal and dependable. Guys you brought home to dad.
But a Fling guy would never come charging to her rescue. A Fling guy would never call her exquisite. Heck, even the Relationship guys never called her exquisite. No one had ever done that but Dominic.
Painfully her heart clenched inside her chest. Get over it, Mickey, she reprimanded herself, this is a guy who will end up in jail or swimming with the fishes.
She climbed out of bed and walked to the window, just in time to see the brilliant fireball light up the sky. A new day. Any other day and this would be her favorite time to be alive.
She pushed the lace curtains aside and watched while all the world was still. Her apartment faced a long expanse of parkland, and far off she could hear the traffic from the freeway. But that was another place. Here, in her window, there was only green. Green trees, green grass that was decorated by the patchwork of white trillium that managed to bloom in the summer.
A group of blue grosbeaks squawked angrily. Probably some female, kicking her Fling bird out of the nest. She watched the single bird that was left sitting alone.
Stupid bird.
"I should be leaving."
At the sound of his voice, Mickey turned. He was more than half-dressed, looking in a huge hurry to get out of there. Typical Fling guy. The long hours of making love had disappeared, leaving only the morning-after awkwardness.
Suddenly her nudity seemed out of place and overdone. She walked over to her closet and pulled a wrinkled, oversize T-shirt from the pile of clothes at the bottom. Thank God for closet doors. So easy to throw everything out of sight.
"You should take a plant with you," she said, wanting to fill the empty silence. "You'll breathe better."
She wanted him to have something that was hers. Something that he could look at, and think of her. She wanted to think he would think of her. If he killed it, well, she had recovered from heartbreak before.
He walked over to her, closer, as if he wanted to touch her. She held her breath, wondering if he was going to break the rules. One-night stands didn't involve secondary touching. That implied something more.
He didn't touch her, but his eyes were nice, and a little unsure. "You're really going to give me a plant?"
"If you'd like," she said with a casual shrug.
He smiled. "I'd like."
As she walked into the living room, he followed, and she raised the blinds, flooding the room with the light from the east.
"You know, you should have frosted glass or something. People could see in and know you're here alone. It's dangerous," Dominic said, walking over and testing her door lock.
"You know a lot about safety," she said, raising an eyebrow.
He shrugged. "Comes with the territory. You need to be careful."
Because now there was no one else to look after her. Now she was back on her own. "Thanks," she said, wondering if she should shake his hand.
He shoved his hands into his pockets, no hand shaking there, and waited.
The plant. Oh, God. She grabbed one of her favorite ivies. Seven years old and comple
tely dependable. "This is Persimmon."
"A persimmon plant?"
"No, that's her name."
"Oh," he said, in a tone that spoke volumes. You're a fruitcake, Mickey .
Mickey ignored the tone. No one else knew she named her plants, not even Jessica, who knew everything. "Just water her once a week. She can go two weeks if you forget, but she'll get yellow and droopy. If you talk to her, it helps."
Seriously, he nodded. "Okay."
And now they were back to goodbye. She put on a perky smile. "Well, thanks for everything."
He clutched the plant to him, a barrier made of clay, dirt and carbon-based life-forms. "Yeah."
"You know how to get back to the city?"
Dominic nodded.
"I should pay you," she said, remembering their agreement.
He looked slightly disgusted. "I'm not taking your money. Forget about it."
Like she could. "See you around," she said, even though she was never going to see him again.
He turned toward the door, opened it and then shut it. "Michelle "
Her heart started thumping, and she held her breath. Please, please, please.
He took one step closer. She waited.
One more step and then there was only Persimmon between them. "You be careful," he said, his face lined with worry, his eyes tired.
"I'll be fine. I always am," she said, keeping with the perky smile.
He bent his head. He was going to kiss her. That fabulous mouth was going to touch hers once more.
She parted her lips and closed her eyes.
It was soft and careful. So careful she wanted to cry.
She didn't open her eyes when he lifted his head, nor when he opened the door. In fact, it was a good ten seconds after the door closed that she dared to peek.
Once again, she was alone in her apartment.
First thing she needed to do was water the plants. Mechanically she went about her morning routine. Shower, one bowl of cereal and the morning paper. She watched the news and saw all the pain and suffering in the world. Eventually she turned off the television and left for work.
It Should Happen to You Page 9