Not the Marrying Kind (Destiny Bay Romances - Forever Yours) (12 page)

She wasn't about to answer that. “Why don't we tell crime stories?” she asked brightly instead. “Why don't you tell me all about your biggest cases?”

He laughed, letting his hand curl around to hold the back of her head. “And all about how I got into this profession so you can figure out what's 'wrong' with me? No, thanks, lady shrink. I can do without a session on the couch.”

“Suspicious type, aren't you?” she muttered, closing her eyes again. “I think I really should go to my room and get some sleep.”

“And you call me suspicious?”

She felt his hand on the back of her neck, rubbing softly, easing her tight muscles. The feeling was so delightfully soothing, she didn't want to stop him.

“You're going to have to stay here, my beautiful captive. I'm not going to let you go.”

Beautiful. Funny—she didn't think she'd ever been called that before. Her mother had been beautiful, and a lot of good it had done her in the long run. So Shelley had decided at an early age that she would never count on her own looks, which were fine, but unspectacular. She would count on her brain. And that was exactly what she'd done.

She'd never done anything to draw attention to her looks, and over the years she'd forgotten to look at herself in mirrors. Suddenly she wondered what she looked like, what she really looked like. Could she possibly be beautiful, lying here in agony on a hotel room carpet? Not a chance. Michael really did live in a dreamworld. Either that, or he spoke with a very forked tongue.

“Why don't we get you into bed?” he said softly, very close to her ear. “I'll carry you. “

“No!” She shook her head vigorously. “No, I'm fine right here.” She'd seen the bed, all turned back and inviting. And she'd been shaken by how tempting it looked.

His strong hand was making magic circles of warmth all across the width of her upper back. “I have no designs on your virtue, Shelley,” he told her, his voice edged with irony. “Believe me, I like my women healthy and willing.”

Of course, he did, Shelley told herself. And how many of them had there been over the years? She didn't want to think about that. A man with his looks and masculine magnetism—she had no doubt he was seldom without female companionship when he wanted it. The question was, what did he want with her?

“I don't know why you want me to stay,” she murmured, stretching under the tantalizing touch of his hand. “I'm not exactly good company this way.”

His hand stopped, fingers tightening slightly. “You have a pretty low opinion of the male gender if you think I can't enjoy you without sex,” he said shortly, his voice unusually harsh. “I can get sex anywhere.” His tone softened. “But a Shelley Carrington only comes around once in a million years.”

She opened her eyes and looked into his deep, velvet gaze. This wasn't just a line, she decided, a sense of awe growing into wary uncertainty. He really meant it. What could that mean?

Did it mean she could relax and enjoy him too? Did it mean she could let down the barriers and . . . fall in love?

Falling in love. She closed her eyes again as he continued to massage her. Why did they call it that? It made love sound like a deep hole, a sort of psychic well, that one fell into if one wasn't careful. And then there was the long, long climb back out. Was she ready to take the risk?

“Why did Shelley Carrington come around, anyway?” he asked curiously. “How did you happen to fall into my lap twice in a lifetime?”

“Oh—” She avoided his gaze. “Robin, my roommate, and I just came down for a few days of vacation.”

“What luck.” He grinned and she couldn't tell if he was suspicious. “What room are the two of you staying in?”

She told him. “We've only got it for two more nights. Then it's back to work.” She yawned and snuggled down into the carpet again, feeling marvelously relaxed.

She heard the zipper at the back of her dress being lowered and she stirred, ready to protest, but he stopped her with a soft kiss just below her ear. “Don't worry,” he whispered. “No ulterior motives. Just relax. Take a nap. Pretend I'm your nanny putting you to bed.”

“Nanny Michael.” She chuckled at the concept. “Tell me a story, Nanny.”

“All I know are ghost stories.” He unclasped the back of her strapless bra, giving him free access to her back, from the top of her spine almost to the tip of her tailbone. She scrunched her elbows in, making sure the clothing didn't fall all the way free. For some strange reason she believed him, believed that he wasn't trying to arouse her with his touch. That helped her to relax, and with relaxation came contentment.

“Then tell me a ghost story,” she said.
 
She yawned sleepily. “A nice scary ghost story to keep me awake.”

She could hear the grin in his voice. “How about a nice boring ghost story to put you to sleep? That's the only kind I know.” He shifted his weight so that he could put more grip on the rubbing. Her muscles felt deliciously lazy now, completely limp. “I make this one up as I go along for my friend’s six-year-old. It knocks her out in about forty-five seconds. Let's see how long it takes with you.”

Shelley lay very still as he began his story. A few hours ago, if he'd told her he sometimes spent time making up bedtime stories for a little girl, she would have thought he was joking. Now she knew better. What other surprises did this man's handsome face mask?

His rambling story concerned a girl named Ginger and a big old-fashioned house with lots of mysterious rooms and things that went drip-drip-drip in the night and doors that slammed shut behind her. Shelley didn't really listen to it all. She drifted in and out of the story, in and out of her thoughts, and then closer and closer to sleep.

Michael's hand worked its way across every inch of her back. It was amazing how good that felt, and how close it could come to sensuality without quite going over the edge. Another time, she knew, another place, and a touch like that might send her beyond rationality in seconds. But right now, it merely comforted, though it didn't try to hide the promise of things to come.

Sleepily she wondered what on earth she was doing here, lying on the floor of Michael's hotel room. It was ridiculous really. She should pull herself up and get back to her own room. She knew he would let her go if she made it clear that she really wanted to.

But did she really want to? That was the point, wasn't it?

His voice was as soothing as his hand; low and rumbling, caressing her. She opened her eyes into tiny slits, watching him. As she watched he bent over her, dropping a soft kiss in the small of her back, and suddenly the embers that had been so docile leaped into flame, flaring through the danger zone, and she gasped, pulling up, remembering just in time to hold her dress against her chest.

“Sorry.” He grinned sheepishly. “All in all, you've got to admit, I've been pretty good. Haven't I?”

Leaning on one elbow, just as he was, she smiled back at him helplessly, feeling a rush of crazy affection that was even stronger than the desire that had burned in her only seconds before. Every instinct in her body said, “
Grab him, take him in your arms, hold on tightly, forget tomorrow,
” and it took all her strength to stop from doing just that.

“So-so,” she said instead, hoping he couldn't tell why her voice was just a little shaky. “But like the man said, it's not over till it's over.”

He shrugged, palms up. “I don't know why you're not sound asleep. With my niece it takes no time at all.”

She couldn't hold back a grin. “With your niece I doubt if you add the complimentary back rub.”

He snapped his fingers. “So that's it.”

“Could be.”

“How are you feeling?”

“Better.” She started to pull herself into a sitting position, still clutching her dress tightly to her. “I'm sure I can walk now. And I really should get back to my room. ...”

“Not a chance.”

She gazed at him, wide-eyed, as he raised to one knee, scooped her up with one arm under her legs and another at her back, and stood with her in his arms.

“It's bedtime for lady shrinks,” he told her cheerfully.

“Michael!”

“Hush.” In three wide strides he had her lying back against the fluffy pillows. “Just listen to your nanny, now.” He grinned down at her, then went serious. “Shelley, listen to me. I'm not going to try to seduce you tonight. I promise. You're going to sleep in this bed and I’ll sleep somewhere else.” He gestured toward the chairs. “But tomorrow morning anything goes. Okay?”

She was helpless, utterly helpless. All he had to do was flash those pearly white teeth at her, and she was ready to do whatever he wanted. She let out a long, despairing sigh. “What am I going to sleep in?” she asked hopelessly.

He blinked. “I’ll tuck the covers over you if you're shy, and you can pull off your clothes underneath.”

“You expect me to sleep in the nude?”

“Why not? I do.”

She opened her mouth, but there didn't seem to be any logical way to answer that.

Still, he seemed to understand. “I'm afraid I don't carry spare nighties in my suitcase,” he apologized sadly. “I may take it up though. Especially if you promise to keep meeting me like this.”

Before she could answer that, he had another idea. “Tell you what. I'll give you one of my T-shirts.”

“Your T-shirts?” She still clutched her clothes suspiciously, and started pulling the covers up over them too.

“Sure.” He reached into his case and pulled out a large white jersey shirt with short sleeves. “This will fit you as well as any pajama top.”

She put out a hand to take it from him, but suddenly he drew it back out of her reach. “Let me,” he said softly, his eyes dark and shadowed.

She hesitated, then began to take off her clothes under the covers. There wasn't much to it. He'd already unzipped the dress and unclasped the bra. She had only to wriggle out of them and pull them out from under the covers.
 

The sheets felt cool and clean against her naked body. “I'm ready,” she said, holding her hands out to him. He came toward her slowly, putting the shirt over her head, putting the armholes in position, like a mother dressing a child. But there the similarity ended.

Holding her dark gaze with his brilliant blue one, he slowly shoved back the covers. She didn't stop him. She knew as surely as she knew her name that she couldn't stop him, no matter what he meant to do.

He glanced down at her uncovered breasts. She heard him mutter something under his breath, but she couldn't make out what it was. Then he leaned down and gently kissed first one rosy nipple, then the other, bringing each of them taut and dark in the lamplight before beginning the slow, exquisitely slow, task of drawing the shirt down over them. Shelley held her breath, closing her eyes, not sure if she was trying to avoid facing this moment or trying to extend it as long as possible.

His warm hands slid over her skin, and just before he'd covered her navel, he bent to kiss it. Then he abruptly rose from the bed and started across the room.

“Where are you going?” Darn. He'd think she wanted him to come back and finish what he'd started. And if the truth were known, maybe she did.

“You go to sleep, lady shrink. I've got things to do.” He swore softly, shaking his head. “Shelley, I am going into this bathroom to take a cold shower. A very cold shower.” He opened the bathroom door, then looked back at her. “In fact, if you should hear a scream, a sort of wolf-like cry of despair, coming from this general direction, call room service for ice cubes.” And he disappeared into the little room.

Shelley stared at the door as it closed behind him. She heard the sound of the shower and knew that all she had to do was jump up and throw on her dress, then dash out the door, and this whole silly adventure would be over. Didn't he know that?

Of course, he did. He was either too confident in his own powers of attraction to think she'd try to escape—or too trusting. Which was it?

Whatever. She snuggled down into the pillows and yawned. She was going to wait right here and talk to him about it when he came out again.

CHAPTER SIX:
 

Take My Breath Away
 

Michael was very clean but his mood wasn’t particularly joyful.
 
Shelley was fast asleep.
 
The lights were turned down low.
 
And he was draped, fully dressed, across the top of the covers, close enough to watch over her, but not close enough for touching.
 
And this was the way he swore he would stay—until morning.

Then, all bets were off.
 

Meanwhile, he watched and brooded.
 
What was it about this woman that had him tied up in knots?

He thought about that day he’d found her in the beach-side café with her family members.
 
When they’d had their quick, sharp exchange in anger, he’d left thinking it for the best.
 
She wasn’t his type.
 
She wanted too much from him—more than he could give.
 
And though he felt a powerful attraction, he would get over it.
 
He always did.
 

Then she’d fallen into his lap again, coming around the corner at the most opportune time, joining in with his con without a hitch, showing a remarkable talent for lying, when you came right down to it.
 
And he adored her for it.
 

But he had to admit, she still wasn’t right for him.
 
He should get up and walk away.
 
Leave a note.
 
Tell her he had a call from his supervisor and had to report somewhere else.
 
Leave her behind and forget all about her.
 

He toyed with the idea for a few minutes, knowing he wasn’t going to do anything of the kind.
 
He wanted her.
 
Having her was going to create all sorts of problems.
 
But he didn’t care at this point.
 
He wanted her and that was all he could think about.