Breeze off the Ocean (14 page)

When he stopped the car in front of her house, he kissed her gently on the mouth and whispered, “If things go right, I’ll send you an invitation. Okay?”

“You’d better,” Micki warned.

“A promise,” he vowed. “And, Micki, toss off that load of guilt and shame you’ve been toting.”

“Yes, Tony,” Micki promised meekly.

As she slipped into bed, Micki prayed her hunch about Tony’s girlfriend had been right. She was almost sure it was, as it was exactly the sort of thing she might do in the same situation. Anxious for him, wanting to see him happy, she hoped it would not be long before, keeping his promise, he sent her an invitation to his wedding.

As to her promise to him, there was no need to worry about that, simply because she never had felt guilty or ashamed. At first, sure she should have them, she’d wondered about her lack of those feelings. The searing pain, the disappointment, the anger she’d had, hadn’t had the power to change what had been a joyous experience into anything else. She’d discovered sheer delight, an exquisite Eden in Wolf’s arms, and nothing that happened after that had been able to erase it from her mind.

What disturbed her was her inability to find that Eden in any other man’s embrace. It was not a man’s mouth that ignited the spark, but Wolf’s mouth. It was not a man’s hands that fanned the flame, but Wolf’s hands. And it was not a man’s body that could consume her in the blaze, but Wolf’s body. With sad defeat, Micki faced the possibility that no other man but Wolf held the key that could unlock her emotions.

What do I do in that case? Micki wondered sleepily. Marry another man, any other man—Darrel—and act out a part the rest of my life? The thought sent a shudder down her spine and her last coherent thought was
I must call Darrel.

It was mid-morning before Micki woke. Fuzzy minded, heavy lidded, she stumbled down the stairs and into the kitchen. Her father paused in the act of pouring a cup of coffee to give her a grin devoid of any sign of sympathy.

“Hangover?” he chirped brightly.

“No,” Micki denied honestly. “But I do feel like a washout. I think I’ll just loaf around the house today if I want to be in decent shape to start my job tomorrow.”

“Sound thinking,” Bruce intoned. “By the way, you had two phone calls last night, Wolf Renninger and a Darrel Baxter.”

“Wolf?” Micki pounced on the name. “What did he want?”

Bruce shot her a sharp glance before lifting his shoulders in an I-don’t-know shrug. “You’ll have to ask Regina, she took the calls.” Heading for the doorway Micki had just come through, he added, “If anyone wants me, I’ll be on the front porch reading the paper.”

Micki itched with the desire to go in search of Regina but deciding to be prudent, she poured herself a small glass of juice and a cup of coffee, dropped a slice of bread into the toaster, and sat down to wait for Regina to find her. She didn’t have long to wait. Regina came into the kitchen as Micki was finishing her toast and starting on her second cup of coffee.

“Good morning, Micki,” Regina greeted quietly. “Did you have a good time last night?”

“Yes, thank you,” Micki answered warily, studying her stepmother’s face for maliciousness. Finding none, she blurted, “I hear I had some calls last night.”

“Yes,” Regina nodded. “A guy named Darrel Baxter called soon after you left, and a short time later Wolf called.”

“What did they want?” Micki asked quickly.

‘To speak to you, of course,” Regina replied smoothly.

“What did you tell them?” Micki demanded sharply.

“Really, Micki.” Regina’s eyes flew wide at Micki’s tone. “What could I tell them? I informed them both that you were out for the evening with Tony Menella. You were, weren’t you?”

“Yes, yes, of course,” Micki sighed contritely. “I’m sorry, Regina. I got in very late and I’m irritable this morning.”

“I’ve experienced the feeling,” Regina smiled. “Oh, yes, Mr. Baxter said he’d call sometime today.”

“And Wolf?” Micki was almost afraid to ask. What, she wondered, was he up to? Why had he called when he had assured her he would not?

“Wolf said thank you very coldly and hung up,” Regina replied from the counter, where she was getting herself a cup of coffee. Turning to Micki with the pot held aloft, she asked, “Can I heat yours up?”

“Yes, please.”

Micki brought the cup to her lips, gulped most of the lukewarm brew down her suddenly parched throat before handing the cup to Regina. After refilling the cup, she carried both cups to the table and sat down on the chair opposite Micki.

“Micki.” Regina’s tone held confusion. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing’s going on,” Micki returned quickly. “I don’t know what you mean by going on.”

“You know perfectly well what I mean,” Regina sighed. “The day you came home you absolutely refused to discuss Wolf Renninger. In fact you would not allow me to speak that person’s name. Since then he has called here several times and you have seen him at least once that I know of. Last night Wolf’s tone was not only cold, it was”—Regina hesitated, as if searching for the exact word—”proprietorial.” Having found the word, she placed hard emphasis on it before going on. “I don’t like feeling in the middle, while still in the dark.”

When she paused for breath, Micki seized the opportunity to declare flatly, “He has no right to sound proprietorial.”

“Right or not, he did,” Regina retorted. “Which leads me to suspect he will be calling again. Now don’t you think it’s time we talked frankly about what happened six years ago and clear up that mess once and for all?”

“No!”

The chair scraped the floor and nearly toppled over as Micki jumped up. She was at the doorway when Regina’s voice, sounding both tired and impatient, stopped her.

“Micki, you don’t understand,” Regina argued. “There are things you must know. Things about Wolf and—”

“I don’t want to hear it,” Micki cried, rushing through the doorway. “And I won’t listen.”

“For heaven’s sake, Micki,” Regina called after her. “This is ridiculous.”

“So, okay,” Micki shot back as she swung around the banister and started up the stairs, unaware of her father standing in the front doorway holding the screen door open. “I’m ridiculous.”

“What in the— Micki?” Bruce’s voice was sharp with concern. “What’s all the shouting about? I doubt any of the neighbors missed a word.”

“I’m sorry, Dad, but I can’t—I won’t—” Micki paused at the growing look of confusion and alarm on his face. “Oh, hell,” she sighed, running up the stairs.

“Micki!” Bruce called after her then called sharply, “Regina!”

Micki didn’t wait to hear any more. She ran inside her room, slammed the door, and leaned against it, breathing heavily and fighting tears. Oh, why did Regina persist in tormenting her? If she really wanted a smoother relationship between them, why didn’t she let the subject drop?

Still tired from her physical and emotional exertions of the night before, Micki’s thoughts tumbled, none too rationally. Were Regina and Wolf still seeing each other behind her father’s back? But if they were, why had Wolf insisted she go out with him? Wasn’t one woman at a time enough for him?
Damn Regina,
Micki silently cursed her.
If she hurts Dad again I’ll. . .
Not knowing exactly what she’d do, Micki’s fury turned to Wolf. Why was he doing this? And why, after stating so flatly that he would not call her again, had he called last night? Were Regina and Wolf working together to drive her away? That thought brought her up short.

“Please, no.”

Moving her head back and forth against the smoothly finished door, Micki wasn’t even aware that she’d whispered the words aloud. The very possibility of her reasoning being correct tightened a band of pain around her head. If it was true, if their affair was still going on, she, simply by being her father’s daughter, and being in the house, was a definite threat to them.

Her breathing suddenly constricted, Micki stumbled across the room and dropped onto the bed. Six years ago she had thought the intensity of the pain she suffered at the image of Wolf and Regina entwined together, exactly as she and Wolf had been, could not possibly be deepened. She had been wrong. The anguish she felt now far superseded what had been before.

“Goddamn you, Wolf Renninger.”

The muted curse held more the sound of an animal’s snarl than the lucid words from a reasoning mind. And like an animal’s claws, her elegantly long, painted nails dug viciously into the rumpled bedcovers on the unmade bed.

Harsh, rasping breaths were drawn in roughly around the unreleased sobs gripping her throat. And eyelids were anchored firmly against hot tears she refused to let run free. Curled up tightly into the fetal position, Micki’s slim ball of a body caused the mattress to tremble with the force of the shudders that shook through her.

Dear God,
the silent plea was wrenched from the depths of her being,
I
take it back, don’t damn him. Just, please, please, make him go away and leave me alone before I give in to my need for him and damn my own soul in the giving. You see,
the chaotic thoughts ran on,
I love him so terribly, and if he manages to get me alone, I don’t know how long I can hold out against the urge to lose myself, my very identity inside his arms. If you have any mercy, help me. And, if you have any justice,
she added irreverently, bitterly,
you’ll give a small slap to Regina’s conscience.

By the time she finished her somewhat unorthodox prayer, Micki’s sobs filled the room and her tears soaked a patch of the sheet under her face. The sound of her sobs blocked out the quiet tap on her door and a second later the click the latch made as the door was opened. Nor did she see the alarm that filled her father’s eyes as they encountered her shaking form. The anxious sound of his voice told her she was no longer alone.

“Princess, what is wrong?” Bruce probed gently, bending over the bed to stretch his hand out and smooth her hair from her damp face. “What has happened to make you cry like this? Was it something Regina said or did?”

Yes, it was both those things.
Micki had to bite back the words as, rolling onto her back, she shook her head and lied. “No, of course not” Swallowing down her sobs with the air she drew into her lungs, she hiccupped, then rushed on. “I’m tired. Tony and I danced for hours last night and despite what I said, I’m afraid I drank too much. After that I went to Tony’s apartment with him and—”

“You did what?” Bruce’s voice, sharp with sudden anger, cut across her babbling explanation. “That’s why you’re crying, isn’t it? What did he do to you?”

“Do?” Micki asked blankly. “What do you me—?” She stopped, stunned, as her mind caught up with his train of thought Before she could deny his impression, he was speaking again.

“Answer me!”

Never before had Micki heard quite that harsh a tone from her father, seen such fury in his eyes. Struck momentarily speechless, Micki stared at him in wonder.

“Well, if you won’t answer me”—he swung away from the bed—”maybe he will.”

“What do you mean?” Micki squeaked. “What are you going to do?”

“I’m going to call him,” Bruce snapped, moving toward the door. “Better still, I think I’ll go see him.”

“Dad, stop!” The sobs, the tears, were forgotten as Micki scrambled off the bed to run after him, clutch at his arm. “It’s not what you’re thinking. I swear nothing happened.”

“He didn’t try to make love to you?” Bruce rapped.

“Well, not really—he—” Micki floundered.

“That’s what I thought.” Bruce shook her arm off, continued toward the door.

“Dad, please, nothing happened.”

At the frantic, pleading note in her voice, Bruce turned to look at her, his angry eyes raking her face.

“Suppose you tell me exactly what did happen.”

“Tony did kiss me,” Micki admitted. “But he didn’t really want me.” His body stiffened and again she caught his arm, explained. “Dad, Tony is crazily in love with a girl he met in Atlantic City. What he really wanted was someone to pour his heart out to.”

“And that’s all?”

Watching the anger drain out of his face, Micki expelled a long sigh of relief. Her father’s fury was an altogether new experience for her, never having been exposed to it before. If she hadn’t seen it with her own eyes, she would not have believed it.  For a few seconds there, that furious man had been a stranger, not the gentle father she thought she knew. Subdued by this new facet of her father’s personality, she avowed, softly, “That is absolutely all.”

“All right.” Although the anger had left his expression, it still edged his tone. “But what the hell possessed you to go to his apartment in the first place?”

“But why shouldn’t I have gone with him?” Micki asked, genuinely puzzled.

“Why?” Bruce exclaimed. “You know full well why. You’re not that naive.”

“No, I’m not,” Micki returned with force. “And I’m no longer a little girl. And Tony’s is not the first guy’s apartment I’ve been in. Good grief, Dad, I’m twenty-five years old, not sixteen.”

“And everyone knows twenty-five-year-old women never get attacked.” Bruce’s voice dripped sarcasm. “Or hurt, that only happens to sixteen-year-old girls.”

“Oh, Dad,” Micki sighed. “I’m fully aware of what goes on out there in the big bad world, but I can’t hide myself behind locked doors, or wrap myself in cotton.”

“No, you can’t,” he agreed, but then qualified, “but you don’t have to invite trouble or go looking for it either.”

Knowing there was no way she could win, but unwilling to give in, Micki insisted, “I don’t go looking—”

“Micki,” Regina’s call ended the argument. “You’re wanted on the phone.”

Casting a rueful glance at her father, Micki left the room. Who, she wondered in amazement, would have believed he’d react like that. And what in the world would he have done had he ever found out about the weekend she’d spent with Wolf? A shudder rippling through her, she started down the stairs only to stop suddenly, her breath catching in her throat. Could that be Wolf on the phone now? Slowly, her steps lagging, Micki descended the stairs, went into the living room, and picked up the receiver.