Not the Marrying Kind (Destiny Bay Romances - Forever Yours) (16 page)

Despite her unease she chuckled. “Lots of luck.” Then the smile faded. She didn't want to answer his invitation outright, because she didn't want to get involved in an argument at this point. “Do you know how to sail?”

“Of course, I know how to sail. I know how to do almost everything.” His boast was so little-boy proud, she had to hold back her laughter. “And if I don't know how, I'll learn.”

He turned her, kissing her soundly and then looking down at her, his eyes shining with something—what was it? Affection? Humor? She wasn't sure, but whatever it was, it was irresistible.

“You're pretty cocky, aren't you?” she said teasing him. “You think you're pretty hot stuff.”

“I am hot stuff,” he shot back. “Want me to prove it again?”
 

“Not right now,” she answered. “Memories will have to suffice.”

“Only for a little while.” His face came down gently against her cheek, rubbing back and forth in a warm, sensual caress. “But it'll seem like forever. Be in bed when I get back. Okay?”

She ignored the implications of that request, looking up at him with surprise. “Are you going to be that late?”

“Yeah.” He grinned. “It might be as late as four o'clock this afternoon.”

“Michael!” She laughed, caught again in the magic of his warmth.

“Can I help it if I want to make love to you again?” He kissed her neck. “And again and again. ...”

She sighed, closing her eyes. His touch was a bright piece of heaven.

“What are you going to do while I'm gone?”

Her silence had made him suspicious, she decided. But it was best not to come right out with the truth. He'd fight it. She wasn't up to that.

If she were brave and strong, she would tell him the truth right now. He deserved as much. But she wasn't strong, she was finding out. She wasn't strong and she might give in to his arguments. Much safer not to let him make them.

“I'm not sure,” she told him. “I might write a letter.” That much was true. He didn't have to be told the letter was to him.

“Good.” He let her go. “Just as long as you're here when I get back.”

Luckily that wasn't a question and she didn't have to answer it. Instead, on impulse, she went up on tiptoe and kissed his lips. “You're a very special person, Michael,” she said, her voice husky. “I'm glad we ran into each other last night.”

And she was, too. Whatever painful residue she would carry away from this encounter, it had been well worth it. She would never forget him, or the time they'd spent together.

He looked a little surprised, but he didn't seem to sense the despair behind her words. “I'm glad too,” he said, stroking her hair. “You saved me the trouble of coming looking for you.”

“Looking for me?” She made a skeptical face. “Are you trying to tell me that was in your plans?” And yet why not? It had certainly been in hers. She'd gone looking for him, looking for trouble. What insanity had ruled her? Hadn't she realized how impossible it would be to fall in love with him? He'd warned her, after all. And still, she hadn't been able to stay away.

“Absolutely.” Something wavered in his bright blue eyes. “Well, not exactly,” he admitted reluctantly.

She didn't know whether to be hurt by the admission or flattered that he didn't seem to be able to lie to her. “Somehow I had a feeling it might not have been.”

His face took on an earnest expression that erased all the lines of humor. “You made a big impression on me, Shelley, right from the first. And when you responded with all that delicious fire in your office ... well, when I left you there, I had no intention of trying to see you again. I've told you before relationships don't mesh with this job.
 
And after we said good bye at Mickey’s café, I was sure I would be able to put you out of my mind in no time at all.” He shook his head, his eyes dark. “But I kept thinking about you all week.”

He sounded surprised, as though he wasn't used to remembering women that way. She wanted to glow with the pleasure his words aroused, but she couldn't. She wished he hadn't started this exercise in candor. It wasn't going to make it any easier to do what had to be done. Somehow she had to turn this around and get them back on a light, breezy plane. If he said much more along these lines, she'd end up sobbing in his arms. Just to imagine him thinking about her all week. . .
 

“Well, they do say it's the thought that counts, don't they?”

It didn't take much to tickle his funny bone. The grin was quickly back. “It was more than a thought, really,” he said, tongue firmly in cheek. “You stuck in my mind like a sticky burr, prickly and annoying. You know what I mean? Like an itch I couldn't reach.”

“An itch, huh?” She cocked her head to the side, eyes bright and sassy. “What happens now that you've scratched it?”

His eyes blazed, and she jumped away, sensing the attack of a tickler, but he grabbed hold of her before she could escape, tilting her back until they both collapsed, laughing, onto the bed. “It turns out to be a serious rash. A terminal disease,” he growled, holding her down. “I'm going to need constant therapy.”

His hand slid in under her blouse, cupping her breast, and his mouth took possession of hers, lighting a fire with his tongue, his body moving against her with a growing urgency that started a twisting, writhing sensation in the pit of her stomach.

“This is therapy?” she gasped when he finally let her up for air.

“The very best.” He shook his head ruefully. “But I've only got time for a limited dose right now.” He shifted his weight, freeing her. “Duty calls.”

He touched her cheek with his index finger, slowly tracing a pattern while he watched, bemused, then he gathered himself and rose from the bed. Turning away, he stripped off his sport coat and opened his suitcase. She sat up and watched, eyes wide, as he took out a revolver in a holster and strapped it to his shoulder, then put the sport coat back on again.
 

“Do you think you're going to need that?” she asked, her voice shaky.

“You never know. I've had to use it on occasion.” Then he saw her face and he stepped over to draw her up into his arms again. “Hey, no big deal. Believe me, I've been in this business for a long time and I've never been badly hurt yet.”

“Just a little hurt?” she asked in a quavery squeak.

He made a face. “Just a very little. A scratch. A skinned nose. Nothing worse. Really.”

“You swear it?”

He held his hand up in a Boy Scout salute. “I swear it,” he said solemnly. “And I'd never lie to you.”

The gun panicked her. She didn't want him hurt. The thought of someone hurting him made her feel very fierce, as though she would hunt down anyone who did anything to him and break them with her bare hands. And even that reaction stunned her. She'd never felt so strongly protective of anyone before. A whole new aspect of her personality to explore.

“Maybe I should come along ...”

“No.” He was coming on very domineering all of a sudden. “You can't. You wait here.” He let her go, and the look in his eyes told her his mind was already on the job ahead. “See you soon.” And he was out the door.

Just like that. “Good-bye, Michael,” she whispered into the empty room. “It's been nice.” She felt hollow, like a child the day after Christmas. It was over.

She walked slowly around the room, stopping to look at the clothes spilling out of his suitcase.
 
A piece of paper had fluttered just under the bed and she pulled it out, ready to put it back in the case where it seemed to have come from.
 
But she glanced at it first, and then stopped and read the whole thing.
 
It was a funeral program, dated just days before, for someone named Grover Campbell—wasn’t Grover the name of Michael’s old partner?
 
Yes.
 
Yes, it was.
 

Shelley began to tremble.
 
Quickly, she stuffed the paper into the suitcase and turned away.
 

“Oh Michael,” she whispered, tears in her eyes.
 
“Be careful.
 
Stay safe.”

And she doubled over as though in pain.
 

It wasn’t much later when she let herself out of the room and took the elevator to the floor where Robin and she had booked their room.

“Well, there you are.” Robin greeted her with a wide grin. She was sitting in the middle of one of the twin beds, applying scarlet polish to the tips of her toes. Her short chestnut-brown hair shone silkily as she talked, bouncing when she nodded her head to emphasize points.

She carefully set aside her bottle of nail polish. “Listen, I met your hunk last night. If that's the kind of man you psychologists get to work on in your clinic, I'm heading back to college for my degree. Wow!”

“Robin, I'm sorry about deserting you last night. It was really a strange thing, I don't know—”

“Are you kidding?” Robin bounced up and down on the bed like a teenage girl who'd just heard her favorite rock star was in the lobby. “It was fantastic! It was the most romantic thing I ever saw! The way he swept you off your feet . . .” She swooned dramatically across the bed, then grinned. “When's the wedding?”

Shelley kicked off her shoes and flopped down on the bed beside her, lying on her stomach and resting her head on her folded arms. “There's not going to be any wedding, Robin. It's not like that at all.”

“Give it time.” Her friend nodded wisely. “He's crazy about you. I could tell. When he came to get your suitcase, he kept asking questions ...”

Shelley raised her head. “What questions?”

“... and telling me cute little things about you ...”

“What did you tell him?”

“... and saying things like 'I hope you don't mind if I monopolize your friend for a while. Like maybe the rest of her life.'”

“He didn't say anything of the sort!”

Robin sighed. “Well, he would've if he'd thought of it.”

And that shows how accurate your intuition is, Robin my friend
, Shelley thought sadly. “What questions?” she repeated aloud.
 

Robin's smile was smug. “You wouldn't want me to betray a confidence, would you?”

Shelley glared at her, rising as though ready to back up her threat. “You wouldn't want me to throw all your underclothes off the balcony, would you?”

“Watch out for the toes!” Robin wriggled her still-drying toenails at Shelley. The pout on her pretty red mouth looked almost real. “Boy, give the girl a lover, and she turns on her best friend,” she complained.

“Robin!”

“Okay, Okay.” She sat up, cross-legged, and obviously relishing her role. “He wanted to know what you liked for breakfast—”

“And you told him nothing but black coffee.”

“Right. Then he asked if there was some man lurking around in your life, someone he was going to have to outfight or outsmart in order to win you.”

“He didn't say that! “

“He most certainly did. He didn't put it quite that way, but that was the gist of it.” Robin gasped. “My God, you're blushing!”

Shelley flopped back down on her stomach, hiding her face. “I am not,” she replied, her voice muffled. But she knew she was.
Oh, Michael, Michael, why did you have to be so lovable?

“It's finally happened.” Robin was so entranced by her friend's romance, she forgot to tease. “You're in love, aren't you? Really, head-over-heels in love.”

Shelley peered out from under her arm. “I've been in love before,” she said grumpily. “Don't act like it's the end of the world.”

Robin shook her head firmly. “If you mean that schoolgirl fling with Barry, forget it. You never really loved the man. When you found out he had another girl stashed away, you were so relieved, you ended up being her best friend.”

That was a novel way of looking at her heartbreak. But Shelley had to admit Robin had a point. The romance with Barry hadn't come close to touching her as deeply as Michael did. And she barely knew him! What might it be like to really get to know him, to spend her life— forget it. There was no chance, and thinking about it would only bring more pain.

“This is different,” Robin went on. “The man is different. I knew the moment I saw you two together that you were made for each other. You looked so perfect sitting at that table down at the Boar's Head. As though you were already man and wife.”

Shelley couldn't resist a smile. Little did Robin know!

“He told me his name was Michael. But that's about all I know about him, except that he's gorgeous. Where does he live? What does he do for a living?”

What indeed. Shelley hesitated, not sure what she was allowed to tell. Of course, she trusted Robin implicitly, but it wasn't her secret. She couldn't do anything that might possibly put Michael in jeopardy. He lived a shadow life, a life she couldn't share. She sighed, avoiding Robin's eyes. “It doesn't matter. I'm not going to see him again.”

For once Robin was so flabbergasted, she couldn't think of a thing to say. She sat staring at Shelley, her mouth hanging open.

“I know we've got reservations for another night,” Shelley went on, sitting up on the bed, “but I've got to get out of here. You stay, if you want, and I'll take a bus home.”

“You just hold on a minute.” Robin had her stubborn face on. “I'm not going to let you do this.”
 

Shelley glanced at her friend, then away. “Oh, Robin, you don't know.”

Robin grabbed her hand and squeezed it. “I know, all right. I know you. You've fallen hard and you're scared to death, so you want to run back and hide in your books and cases, where it's nice and safe and boring.”

“No.” She shook her head sadly. “That's not it. You don't know the background of all this.”

Robin bounced on the bed in her impatience. “I don't have to know the background to recognize a woman running from love when I see one. And you're the one who's supposed to know all about what makes people tick!” She took Shelley's shoulders in her hands to make her meet her eyes. “Physician, heal thyself!”

“Oh, Robin!” Shelley broke away from her grip and rose from the bed, pacing the floor with restless unhappiness. “Someday I'll be able to tell you all about it, and then you'll see how wrong you are. I've got to go.”