Not the Marrying Kind (Destiny Bay Romances - Forever Yours) (19 page)

Shelley sighed.
 
There was no hope.
 
Somehow her struggle had turned very quickly into something that more closely resembled a snuggle. How did he always manage to do this to her?
 

“Michael!” She was beginning to feel the sweet narcotic pull of his seduction. “Stop it!”

“Such rebellion,” he murmured near her ear. “How did I seduce you before? What was my secret?” He chuckled. “I remember now. Food jokes.”

“Oh no, please. . . .”
 
Despite herself the laughter was welling up again.

“Let's see now. Oh, I've got one.” He licked her ear lobe teasingly. “You know what ghosts eat for breakfast, don't you?”

“Michael.” She tried to make it sound like an ominous warning, but she failed. Naturally.

“Dreaded wheat, of course.” He shook his head. “I'm amazed you didn't know that one.”

“Oh, Michael.” She gave in and smiled. “You tell the most awful jokes.”

He raised an eyebrow wickedly. “Watch out or I'll tell you the one about the world-famous chef who had to give up making his prize-winning souffle when his wife left him. He found he just couldn't make it without her.”

He leaned back and looked into her face. “Just like me,” he said huskily. “I'm beginning to realize I can't make it without you either. So cut out this talk of incompatibility, would you?”

What was he saying? She stared at him, too stunned to resist when he kissed her, then too confused. Was he saying he loved her? That he wanted to be with her forever?

No, stupid
, what was left of her rational side retorted mockingly.
He's only saying he wants to be with you until the excitement dulls and he's ready to move on to find a new place with more thrills.

But even those doubts faded as his incredible warmth flooded her, taking over like a hot desert wind, sweeping through her body, through her emotions, laying waste to all her defenses.

She was in her own kitchen with Michael's arms around her, Michael's mouth on hers, but she felt as though she might have been on the edge of an Arizona mesa—hair streaming behind her, head thrown back, body stretched like a bow, welcoming the rush of the hot wind as it sped over the burning red sands and came to curl around her body.

What she felt for Michael was like that: a force of nature more than an act of man. It overwhelmed her, swept her away, tossed her into dreams and fantasies she'd never experienced before. How sweet it would be to let that happen, to relax and sail along with that desert wind. But she couldn't allow that.

“Michael ...” Somehow she'd ended up tight against him, inside his jacket, arms around his waist, her hands beneath his shirt, exploring his back. His flesh was slick and smooth and she wanted to run her hands down the length of him. She buried her face in his chest, breathing in the crisp male scent that came in a wave of warmth from his skin. She knew with sudden certainty that she would never feel for another man what she felt for this one.

“Don't bother me,” he breathed against her neck. “I'm busy right now.”

“We've got to talk.” She struggled to get free, not sure if the major battle was with him, or with herself. “Please, Michael. Please.”

He let her go reluctantly, his touch lingering on her breast, then her shoulder. “I don't think I'm going to like this talk,” he grumbled as she led him to the kitchen table and sat across from him. “I can feel a real wave of logical thinking coming from your direction. I hate logical thinking.”

How was she going to be able to sit here and look into those crystal-blue eyes and still get out what she had to say? “Michael,” she began shakily, “why aren't you in Hawaii?”

“Hawaii?”
 

Suddenly a strange thing happened. The face that had been so open, so full of humor, so loving, turned to a steel mask that she hardly recognized. She'd touched upon his work in a way he didn't like at all. Just seeing that transformation sent a distinct chill down Shelley's spine.
 

“See?”
she told herself.
 
“See just how quickly his emotions can turn?
 
You can’t count on him.
 
Wake up!”

“What are you talking about?” he asked, his tone crisp and cold.
 

She looked down at her hands. “I know you've been in Hawaii.”
 

“Where did you find that out?” His voice was as sharp as the blade of a knife, and when she looked up, his eyes were cold as glacial ice.

That must be the man criminals see when the time comes to reveal who he is,
Shelley thought, wide-eyed. She wouldn't want to tangle with him if he ever really got angry. Thank goodness there was nothing to hide here.
 

“Sam Gladstone told me. I—I happened to see him at the station house the other day...”

“And he just blurted it out?” He didn't believe that for a minute, but at least the ice had melted. He didn't feel threatened by her knowing anymore. Sam Gladstone's name seemed to work wonders. “Sure, he did.” His mouth twisted. “Come on, Shelley. Sam wouldn't tell a thing like that to a casual visitor. It wasn't for general knowledge.”

She certainly wasn't going to admit what she'd gone through to find out. “I asked him,” she said quickly. “I was wondering how that case with Harry Stickler came out, and I just asked him. And—he told me.” Was he going to buy it?

“Give me a break.”

Nope. What was she going to do now?

“I know Sam a little better than that.” He narrowed his eyes at her with mock menace. “You must have batted those big brown eyes like crazy to charm old Sam into giving away my secrets.”

She lifted her chin proudly. “I didn't have to bat anything. I just presented my case with logic and reason.
 
A few times.”

“Ah hah.”

“I…I convinced him I just wanted to know how you were doing, nothing about the details of where you were or what you were working on.
 
And once he was convinced, he told me what he knew.”

He reached out so fast, she didn't have time to draw away, and then he had her wrist in his hand. He gazed at it for a moment, then leaned down to touch the tender center where her pulse beat with his lips before looking up into her eyes.
 

“Then tell me this, lady shrink. Why would a woman who'd professed to want nothing more to do with me go to that kind of trouble to find out where I was?”

There was no logical answer to that question.
 

“Just crazy, I guess,” she said unsteadily, instead of answering seriously. “But that's not the point.”

“It may not be your point,” he said, his gaze smoldering provocatively, “but it's exactly mine.”

She took a very deep breath and held it for a long moment. “Michael, listen to me. I'm a psychologist. I'm developing a clinical practice. I love what I do. I've studied all my life for this. I'm a settled, conservative kind of person.”

He nodded. “So far, I follow you.”

She gazed at him earnestly, trying to make him understand.
 
“You live a very different sort of life. You're here today, gone tomorrow. You follow excitement, wherever it leads. You thrive on taking chances. You”—her voice dropped almost to a whisper— “you scare me. I don't think I can deal with that kind of constant risk. The worry.” She swallowed hard. “And most of all, the fear that you’ll be gone when I get up in the morning.”

She'd expected him to rebut everything she said, but he fooled her again. He slowly let go of her wrist, not saying a word. When she met his eyes again, his glance was somber.

“You really lay it on the line, don't you?” he said quietly. “You look ahead in ways I don't usually do.” He sighed. “What can I tell you, Shelley? I care a lot about you.
 
But I can't promise you white lace and a double-ring ceremony. Not with the way I live.”

That was just what she knew was true, but it still hurt. Maybe a little piece of her heart had hoped to hear him declare his wild life over—that he would give up anything and everything to have her. But she knew how unrealistic that was. At least he didn't lie.

“That doesn't mean I don't want you.” He reached out again and took both her hands in his. His eyes were dark and infinitely blue. “And you're not the only one who's scared,” he said softly, looking at her as though that should mean something significant. But what did it mean?
 

You've got to tell me
, she wanted to say aloud.
I'm a little too dense to get this
from hints. If you want me to know something, you've got to tell me right out. Otherwise
I'll never believe it.

But he didn't say another word, so she ventured another question. “Are you going to take the job in Hawaii?”

He groaned.
 
“I didn't realize Sam was such a blabbermouth,” he muttered, shaking his head.
 
“No, I'm not taking it.”

“Why not?”

He dismissed it with a shrug. “You're not in Hawaii,” he said simply. “And I want to be where you are.”

Oh sure.
 
He exasperated her, but a little part of her loved it.
 
He was filling her head with charming nonsense and she knew it.
 
How could that possibly be true? They hardly knew each other. And he had so many resources, so many options.
 

And yet she knew it was true on her part. She felt that way about him. That's why she knew she had to stay away. Didn't he realize she was doing this as much for his sake as for her own? Didn't he remember how he'd told her that an emotional relationship would make him vulnerable in his work? She couldn't risk being the cause of his getting hurt.

“You can't be where I am,” she told him, trying hard not to let her voice tremble. “Because I'm not going to see you.”

He sighed, let go of her hands, and leaned back in the chair. “I was afraid you were going to make this difficult.”

“Not difficult,” she told him sadly. “Impossible.”

The front door opened. Robin was back. “I'm home,” she called unnecessarily from the other room. “How come I don't smell those steaks on the grill?”

Michael stood and came close to where Shelley was sitting. “I've got news for you, Shelley,” he said softly, cupping her chin in his hand and tilting her head up so that she had to look into his eyes. “You and I started something when we met.
 
It’s there.
 
It’s real.
 
We need to use what we made together and fill in the blanks.”

She winced and looked away.
 
She knew he wasn’t talking about a long-term commitment here.
 
Hadn’t he just said so?
 
So what was the point?

“I had a feeling that was the way it was going to be from the first,” he said softly, “but after our night in Newport I was sure of it. It's going to take some time to convince you of this, I know. But I've had tougher cases.” He face softened into a slight grin. “None I cared more about winning, however. And like the Canadian Mounties, I always get my—woman.”

Robin chose that moment to breeze into the room. “Hi, guys. Michael staying for dinner?” she asked hopefully. “I bet he'd like one of those steaks.”

“No,” Shelley and Michael both answered at the same time, though each for different reasons.

 
“I've got to go,” Michael said, still looking down at Shelley. “I've got to get back on the job.” Leaning down, he dropped a quick kiss on her unresisting lips. “But I will take this along with me.” Turning, he grabbed a fork and stabbed one of the steaks, thrusting it into the empty paper sack.

“What do you want that for?” Shelley asked, frowning as she rose from her chair.

He waved the paper bag under her nose. “I heard what you said when you first came in. I'm not letting 'good old Jeff' have anything that belongs to me.” He gave her a piercing look. “Nor anyone else, for that matter.” He softened his words with a smile at Robin. “See you later,” he told them both before heading toward the door, the sack with the steak held firmly in hand.

Shelley stood frozen to the spot, then rushed after him.
 

“Wait,” she called, catching up with him on the stairs.
 
“Michael.
 
You just don’t listen, do you?
 
I’m not going to see you later.
 
I’m not going to see you ever.
 
We can’t…I mean, there’s no way…”

He caught her chin in his hand and stared down into her eyes, shaking his head as though he really didn’t get what her problem was.
 
“It’s a small town, Shelley.
 
I’m assigned here for at least another week.
 
We’re bound to run into each other.
 
We can’t avoid it.”
 
He shrugged, his gaze darkening.
 
“Whether you like it or not,” he added, then dropped his hand and started down the stairs.
 

She watched him go.
 
He didn’t look back.
 
Slowly, she walked back into the apartment.
     

“Shelley,” Robin said tentatively, moving toward her, “is there anything—”

“Not now.” Shelley threw her a look that was desperate and apologetic at the same time. “I can't talk about it now.” And she fled to her bedroom.

I always get my woman
, he'd said. How she longed to be just that! But it was impossible. For his own good as well as hers. How was she going to convince him of that?
 

 
There was a light rain falling, but Michael hardly noticed.
 
He walked the dark, midnight streets until he reached the embarcadero, and then he stopped and stared out at the ocean.
 
He heard laughter coming from one of the yachts in the marina, the kind of laughter that signaled someone was drinking a little too much.
 
But he didn’t care.
 
He was thinking.
 
Thinking about Shelley and how he’d got himself tangled in this damned web of emotion.