Not the Marrying Kind (Destiny Bay Romances - Forever Yours) (21 page)

“Are you volunteering?” she snapped back, then groaned. He'd gotten to her again.

“Oh-ho. She's got a wicked temper after all.” He grinned happily.

Shelley picked up a ball of lettuce as though she were ready to lob it at his head. A sudden fantasy ripped through her mind. She'd throw the lettuce at Michael. He'd come back at her with a barrage of brussels sprouts. The whole section would erupt with flying food, everyone getting involved in the action, and she would escape through the produce man's entrance. She balanced the lettuce in her hand, biting her lip. It was a tempting thought. To stay here this way was madness. The food riot seemed like sanity in comparison.

“Did anyone ever tell you that the freckles on your nose dance when you're angry?”

Angry? Hah! Anger was her only defense. Somehow she managed to frown again. “This isn't fair, Michael. You know you're taking advantage here. I wish you'd leave me alone.”

“Sorry.” He popped a juicy cherry tomato into his mouth. “Can't do that. All's fair in love and war, and I'm fighting for my life here, you know.”

His tone was light, but his eyes were full of meaning. Shaken, she turned to the produce bin and began shoveling mushrooms into a plastic bag. “You know what the girl mushroom said to the boy mushroom?” he asked softly, picking up two of the little vegetables and holding them out. “You're a real fun guy.”

She kept on shoveling, eyes slightly blurred by moisture. It wasn't working. She was going to give in to him. She could feel it coming.

“Don't you get it? Fungus-fungi?” He threw the mushrooms into her bag. “She gets it,” he said as though talking to himself. “She just doesn't like it, fool.” He sighed. “Time to work on a new approach.”

Suddenly his hands were on her shoulders, turning her. “I'm going now,” he informed her. “I'm off to lick my wounds and ready myself to return and face the slings and arrows of your scorn.”

“Outrageous fortune,” she corrected automatically, hardly hearing what he was saying. She kept her eyes downcast so he wouldn't see them filling with tears. His hands felt so strong and warm on her shoulders. She was melting again.

“What?”

“Slings and arrows of outrageous fortune,” she repeated, blinking away the moisture.

“Listen, doll,” he said in his thickest Bogart imitation yet. “It's my quotation, I'll mess it up my way.” He chucked her under the chin, then glanced at his watch. “Gotta run. Duty calls. Take care of these for me, will you? We’ll share them for breakfast someday.”
 

He took the sack of doughnuts and six-pack of beer from his cart and placed them in hers. Then he turned and looked at her for a long moment. Eyes finally clear enough to risk meeting his, she looked up and found his gaze dark with real emotion.
 

“I need you, Shelley,” he said simply. “And I'm going to find a way to prove it to you.”

The breath had stopped in her throat, but he didn't know that. He was walking out through the supermarket, leaving her behind, leaning into the broccoli for support.

“I need you,” he'd said, just like you told someone you liked his new haircut, or that you'd forgotten to send him a card on his birthday. Did he mean love, real love, the kind that lasted forever and cemented an attraction into a bond of oneness? No. More likely he meant something short and sweet and very, very sensual.
 

She was in turmoil again. She moved through the store like a sleepwalker, paying for the groceries and carrying them to her car without thinking. Was she wrong to keep him at bay? Was she really doing this for him? Was she too scared to face the truth?

“Garbanzo bean soup?” Robin asked a few minutes later, back in the apartment, as she began pulling the cans from the bag. “Vegetarian herb broth?”

There was no point trying to explain to her roommate what had happened. “You've got to be open to new experiences, Robin,” she said instead, suddenly finding herself giggling with semi-hysteria. “Learn to try what scares you.”

That night her emotions were riding a roller coaster. One minute she was in the depths of despair, sure that it was insanity to let herself fall in love with Michael; the next, she found herself grinning like a loon, happy just to think about him.

Robin kept her distance, mostly eyeing Shelley from around corners, as though afraid whatever she had might be contagious. She still monitored the phone and checked the mail, but when something did come from Michael, she couldn't bring herself to refuse it. Looking guilty as a naughty pup, she carried it in the front door.

“It says 'photograph enclosed',” she explained. “You can't send it back without taking a peek. We
can steam it open and glue it back. He'll never know.”

Shelley stared at the big manila envelope Robin held out to her. She knew what she should do, but she also knew what she was going to do. Not letting herself think, she reached for it, ripped it open, and pulled out the picture.

There, in black and white splendor, was Michael, naked except for a very large maple leaf, strategically placed. The painted background was dismal, a godforsaken plain covered with burnt trees. There was a card attached. It said:

Dear Shelley,

This is how I feel without you. Naked and desolate. I'll make a solemn oath never to utter another food joke in your presence if you'll just promise to have dinner with me on Sunday.

Love,

Michael

P.S. What's your position on body-part puns?

She knew she'd been staring at the picture for much too long. That wasn't so bad really. It was the goofy smile she couldn't hold back that was embarrassing.

“I take it you don't want to send it back?” Robin asked at last, and Shelley clutched it to her chest as though she were afraid Robin might try to take it from her.

She couldn't speak. Mutely she shook her head, backing off to her bedroom.

“And we score another point for Michael's side,” Robin called out to no one in particular, but Shelley didn't pay any attention. She was in her room, staring at the picture, grinning again. For the first time she was able to study every gorgeous bit of Michael without any interference from anyone else. There was only one question that kept nagging at her. Who had taken the picture?

The reference to “love” didn't fool her. She knew he was joking. Men like Michael didn't ever mean it, and she'd never even thought about it. No white lace and double-ring ceremony, he'd warned her. Well, she was beyond waiting for that. She'd run to him in a minute if . . . if she wasn't so scared.

Robin received a letter from the company Jim worked for in Peru. Jim had taken a leave of absence a week before her letter had arrived. No one knew exactly where he was. It was thought he might have taken a train trip to Brazil. He was due back by the end of the month. Did she want them to hold her letter until then, or send it back?

Robin was just about at the end of her rope. “Brazil!” she'd wailed. “Isn't that where they have that beautiful white sand beach with all those bikinis? And Carnival? The girl from Ipanema? How am I going to compete with that?”

Shelley tried to comfort her, but she was inconsolable. “I'll bet he's met someone else.” She sighed, lying back into the plush cushions of the couch. “I'll bet he took her to Brazil.” Tears welled in her eyes. “Oh, Shelley, I've been such a fool!”

If Jim was off in the wilds of Brazil somewhere, there was no way they could contact him. The best thing Shelley could think of was to try to get Robin's mind off her problems, at least for a while. Ignoring her objections, she bundled her up and took her to a movie and then out to eat Chinese food afterward. The food just about did the trick. There was something about hot and sour soup and pan-fried dumplings that seemed to soothe Robin's soul. By the time Shelley had her home, she was waxing philosophical about the whole affair.

And Shelley was wondering where Michael was. At the theater she'd watched with only one eye while the other was taking in the view of the other seats. While they ate behind tinkling bead curtains, she kept losing the train of conversation while she craned her neck, watching the door, sure that Michael would show up at any moment. But he hadn't.

And yet he would. It was only a matter of time. She was sure of it.

And she was right, but true to form, he caught her off-guard again. And once again, it was in the place she would least have expected him to find her. In fact, when she walked into the beauty parlor to have her monthly shampoo and cut, she'd felt as though she'd left a burden at the door. She was ready to relax, forget about everything else, and enjoy being pampered for an hour.

The shop was decorated with lots of wood and hanging plants. It was long and narrow, and at peak periods, such as today, eight operators were at work at once, creating enough beauty to flood the town.

“Come on back here,” Nancy said, fastening the plastic bib that covered her from neck to knees. “I'll get you started on your shampoo right away.”

She stretched out in the reclining chair, her head back in the sink, her eyes closed, and let her body float away as Nancy sprayed the warm water in her hair and began to rub in the slippery shampoo. It felt so good, so soothing, she didn't even pay attention when Nancy murmured something about being right back and left her there. It wasn't until Michael's voice came drifting in through her misty dream that she opened her eyes wide with shock and tried to sit up.

“Hello, lady shrink,” he said softly. “Head-shrinking the easy way, aren't you? Does this count toward your degree?” He put a hand on her shoulder, keeping her down. “Uh-uh. Don't get up. You'll get soap in your eyes. Lie back. Trust me.”

There really wasn't much choice. The chair was tilted back in a way that made it impossible for her to get up without doing something very awkward, like rolling onto the floor. So there she lay, blood rushing to her head, glaring up at Michael's smiling face.

“What are you doing here?” she hissed, hoping to get her dislike of his presence across without making a scene. “Where's Nancy?”

“Gone,” he said cheerfully. “I'm taking over.”

“What?” Despite the odds, she tried to rise again, only to be pushed back, firmly but gently, by her new shampoo person.

“Relax,” he told her, and then his hands were on her head, and he was kneading the soap into her scalp.

“I don't believe this!” she cried, feeling utterly helpless. She knew what she must look like with her hair all wet and stringy, and the picture wasn't pretty. “Why are you doing this?”

“Nancy's going to be busy for a few minutes,” he told her as though it were an everyday occurrence. “I volunteered to take over.”

She looked up at him, wincing as he splashed fresh water in her hair that hit her eyes. “And she let you? Just like that?”

“Well ...” He bent down and gave his captive audience a quick peck on the nose. “I sort of told her I knew what I was doing. That I'd studied under Saint Jacques in Quebec and knew all about the wedge cut and all that new stuff.”
 

The kiss was very nice, sort of comforting, like the warm lick of a favorite spaniel. How could she stay angry with this man?
 

“Who,” she demanded, “is Saint Jacques?”

He shrugged. “You got me. I made it up. But she seemed impressed.”

“Michael...” Oh, the hell with it! She was going to laugh if she wanted to! And laugh she did.

“Quiet,” he told her with a mock frown. “You'll scandalize all the little ladies under the dryers. Just close your eyes and see if you like this.”

What he did next was what should have scandalized all the little ladies under the dryers, if only they'd known just how heavenly his touch was on her unprotected head. Michael may not have studied under anyone named Saint Jacques, but he'd learned something somewhere.

His fingers moved strongly—rubbing, caressing, sifting through the thickness of her hair and finding every nerve ending she possessed. When she opened her eyes into little slits, all she could see was the sky-blue of his. When she closed them again, she could feel the warmth his fingers conjured up, and as all tension slowly fell away, a delicious tingling came to take its place. She felt him. She loved him. She wanted him with every part of her.

His touch was circling her ear, sending a tiny chain of chills across her, down her spine, down her legs. The little bubbles of the shampoo crackled like thunder in her ears, but she didn't notice. She was focused on Michael, and only Michael. Every sense was tuned to him, waiting to feel his command.

His fingers drew a line of sensation down her cheek, and she opened her eyes to meet his smile. His eyes were deep as mountain lakes. She wanted to plunge in, to draw him down on top of her, to roll with him in mountain meadows, crushing the wild flowers with their lovemaking..

“Like it?” he whispered.

She smiled, then let her lids drop sleepily again. More, she wanted to say. Much, much more.

But all too soon it was over. The warm water was cascading over her hair, rinsing out all the soap, and Michael was righting the chair so that she could finally come into a sitting position.

He put a towel over her head and she peeked out from under, suddenly shy to let him see her this way, without her dignity.
 

“Where did Nancy go?” she asked. “What have you done with her?”

“I just sent her on a little errand,” he said, taking her hand to lead her back to Nancy's booth. “She'll be right back.”

“What did you do?” she asked suspiciously, sitting in the chair and turning it so she could look into his face. Michael was picking up a pair of scissors and experimenting, snapping them open and closed, and Shelley forgot all about Nancy for the moment.

“Oh, no, you don't,” she said with firm conviction. “You may be borderline capable of washing hair, but cutting is a no-no.”

He looked crestfallen. “Just one little experiment?” he coaxed. “Wouldn't you like to try the wedge? It's all the rage with the new wave rock stars.”

“Where's Nancy?” She was getting desperate imagining what her hair would look like once Michael put his theories into action.