Not the Marrying Kind (Destiny Bay Romances - Forever Yours) (5 page)

“What makes you think I might need psychotherapy?” The low silkiness of the voice warned her he hadn't taken kindly to her idea. He'd abandoned his lunch and was staring at her with very little humor left in his eyes.

Uh oh.
 
She felt a catch in her heartbeat.
 
He was so very attractive—and so very wrong for her.
 
She knew that instinctively.
 
He was danger and excitement.
 
She was careful preparation and cautious contentment.
 

Would it be worth the risk to fall in love with a man like this?
 
Maybe.
 
But that was something she would never find out.
 
Nope.
 
Not her style at all.
 

“Everyone can use a sounding board now and then,” she covered vaguely. “You know, this California roll is really very good.” She popped the last bite into her mouth and chewed on it innocently, glancing almost surreptitiously to see what Michael had left on his plate. The roll hadn't been large at all, and she was still hungry.
 

“Why don't you give me some analysis?” His hand reached across the table, suddenly covering hers.
 

She looked up quickly, eyes widening.
 
His touch was just a little familiar, a little too warm, startling her. But he held tightly, and the tease was back in his eyes.
 

“I'll have the appointments set up with you instead of Doctor Kramer. I'm sure you could help me uncover all my neuroses in record time.”

“I can't do it,” she squeaked out, embarrassed by the shakiness of her voice. “I'm not a fully qualified psychologist yet. I'm only interning.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Just a baby shrink, are you?”

She stumbled on quickly, trying to explain. “I do some counseling. I've got a limited license as a therapist. And I teach a night class at the local junior college on Thursday nights. But I can't take contract work from government agencies.” She drew her tongue across her lips. “You see, I've completed all my classwork, but I've got a certain amount of intern hours to fulfill, and my thesis to complete, before I'm a full-fledged clinical psychologist.”

“I see.” His fingers moved on hers with easy, seductive power. She felt as though he were about to reel her in, arm first. “And just what does your thesis deal with?”

She couldn't seem to take her eyes off his hard, brown fingers, but she kept talking as quickly as she could. “The psychology of color as related to dietary habits,” she explained, putting her mouth on automatic. “You see, the color of food has so much to do with how we perceive it, how we taste. So I've conducted countless experiments. I cook macaroni in red food coloring, green scrambled eggs, purple applesauce, and I setup test feedings, studying how appetites change when confronted with unconventionally colored food.”
 

“Green eggs?” he asked, his face contorted In horror.

She nodded. “Black mashed potatoes, orange milk.”

He let her hand go in a rush of laughter. “Incredible,” he sputtered. “And you have the nerve to turn up your nose at sushi?”

“Oh, but that's totally different,” she protested, and then sank back in her seat, realizing it wasn't at all.

He slid across the seat and rose from the table. “Shelley Carrington,” he announced, reaching down and putting a finger under her chin to tilt her face up toward his. “I find you quite delightful, but I'm going to have to ask you to excuse me for a moment. I have a telephone call to make.
 
It’s private and it can't wait.”

Still smiling, he leaned down and dropped a light kiss on her lips, and then turned and left her to stare after him in pleased astonishment.

He was so cool, calm and collected.
 
Was he for real?
 
Regardless, she liked him. A slow smile spread across her face as she whispered the words aloud. She liked Michael Hudson. Liked him very much. And that scared her.

She hadn't felt so strongly attracted to a man since—Lord, she could hardly remember when. Barry, probably, and their romance had flowered during her senior year of college, while she was trying to decide whether to go on to graduate school and starve, or get a job and make a decent living for a change.

She'd ended up doing both, working as a secretary in the day and going to night school to finish her degree. And that was why it had taken her so long to get to the verge of earning her full professional credentials. At the time her disillusionment with Barry had helped to make her decision easier.

He'd been a loving friend, with thick, curly red hair and serious green eyes that seemed to say he loved her. His lips said the same thing, not to mention his body. And she'd been so sure they would marry when they graduated.

It wasn't until she'd thought she'd surprise him by finding an apartment for the two of them to share after the wedding that she'd met his other girlfriend-- Lydia, his very pregnant live-in lover, about whom Shelley had never heard a whisper.

Once the truth was out, she could look back and see all the signs she'd blithely ignored before. The way he'd avoided taking her to his rooms at a nearby boarding house, the nights he'd been too busy “studying” to see her, the fact that he claimed he didn't want to have a phone. His life with her had been restricted to on-campus. He'd lived another life in town.

“I need you both,” he'd protested when she'd confronted him. “I need the intellectual stimulation I get from you, the earthy mothering I get from Lydia. Why can't women accept these things?”

Oh yeah.
 
Why, indeed?
 

The pain of his betrayal was awful.
 
For two days, she thought her life was over.
 
But then, a strange thing happened to Shelley. Her love for Barry evaporated like morning fog.
 
Once she’d really taken a look at him, she’d realized she’d only been with him because he was comfortable.
 

And now, here was Michael Hudson, stirring the embers of old excitements. She shook her head, smiling at her own silliness. She mustn't take this too seriously, she told herself. Better to put her mind on something else.

Something like food. She glanced down at her empty plate, then across at the little mounds left in Michael's lacquer tray. The California roll seemed better and better the more she thought about it. How different could the sushi Michael ordered be? She reached over with her chopsticks and poked at one mound, testing the thin piece of white, flaky material lying on top of the rice, Michael was right. If she could face black mashed potatoes without a quiver, how could she cringe at raw fish? Looking around quickly to make sure no one was watching, she broke off a tiny piece and put it on her tongue, shuddering slightly as she did so.

No taste. She moved it around in her mouth experimentally. No taste at all. Maybe she needed a bigger piece.

Getting really brave now, she took a larger bite and chewed it thoughtfully. There was a taste, but it wasn't the least bit fishy. In fact, it was so delicate, so light, the meat seemed to melt in her mouth. Full of confidence, she picked up the rest of the mound—vinegared rice, raw fish, and all—and popped it in her mouth.

Delicious. It tasted like the restaurant smelled, slightly exotic, but very good. She wanted more.

“Ah-hah!” Michael's voice went through her like an electric shock, and she jumped back guiltily. “I knew I was a fool to trust you too easily. A woman who would take the food right out of a man's mouth!”

“It wasn't anywhere near your mouth,” she retorted, pretending to pout. “And anyway, you were the one who wanted me to open my mind.”

He dropped down into the seat and slid the entire tray over to her side of the table, “Feel free” he told her. “I'm glad to think I've done my part to promote world peace and international understanding.”

She grinned a bit sheepishly, but she didn't turn down his offer. “I don't think I can do much to affect world peace,” she admitted. “But if eating good food helps, I'll certainly try to do my part.”

He sat back and watched her eat, his eyes warm and amused. Looking up, she met his gaze and suddenly felt as though she had a mouth too full of oatmeal. Swallowing carefully, she tried to get him talking again.

“Did you reach the party you were calling?”

He nodded, not saying a word, just watching her. She remembered what he'd said before. “I find you quite delightful” had been his exact words. His eyes were saying the same thing in their own way.

It was very exciting, but she knew it was also an exercise in danger. Get him talking, she told herself. Quick, before you begin to believe what his eyes are saying.

Groping, she came back to the phone call. “Well, did they give you a new cloak-and-dagger assignment?” she asked, her voice slightly high. “Are you heading off to try shoplifting in other parts of the country?”

His eyes darkened seriously. “My work isn't something I can joke about in public, Shelley,” he said quietly.

She sat back, a bit stung by his rebuke. Of course, it wasn't; she should have known better. “How long have you been at this . . . profession?” she asked in a softer voice, glancing around to make sure there was no one within earshot.

He shrugged his wide shoulders. “It seems like all my life.”

“Is it dangerous?”

His face broke into a smile. “Your eyes are so big. No, it's not very dangerous. Not any more so than high-rise construction work or hang gliding.”

It was obviously very dangerous. And just as obvious, that was part of what he loved about it. She felt a vague wave of regret. Pity the poor woman who fell in love with Michael Hudson.

“I suppose you have to move a lot.”

He nodded. “It's best to keep the territory fresh. That way the targets don't know who you are.”

“And relationships don't get too demanding?” she guessed with sudden insight. That was probably another thing he liked about the job. There was always a good excuse for moving on.

“Relationships don't even exist,” he informed her with a jaunty smile. “I can't afford to get too close to anyone. Not only is the time too short, the barriers one tends to let down in such a situation could render one vulnerable to . . . others.”

My God, Shelley thought, staring at him openmouthed. Didn't he realize what he was doing? He was a prime candidate for severe psychological problems.
 

“I can read your mind, lady shrink,” he informed her with a groan. “And you can forget it. I'm a perfectly normal, happy man. And I don't need a psychologist to tell me otherwise.”

“I didn't say a word.” She blinked at him innocently. “Not a word.”
 

Yes, she decided as she finished every bit of the sushi, except for the mound covered with a thin slice of octopus, and drank her tea. Yes, her earlier feeling had been right. Pity the poor woman who fell in love with Michael Hudson.

It was a good thing she was immune. Oh, she liked him. In fact, she liked him very much. And his potent masculine appeal was undeniable. But she'd spent years slowly building the solid wall she lived behind, and she really had no fear that it would shatter in this one encounter. And, as he'd said himself, she probably wouldn't see him again.

CHAPTER THREE:
 

Casing the Joint
 

They left the tiny sushi bar and went to the curb to hail a cab. Shelley watched with a twinge of resentment as a yellow car sped to their side the moment Michael called it. That was the sort of man he was, Shelley thought: one who could produce anything he wanted with a snap of his fingers. She spent agonized eons trying to shout down a taxi every time she was stranded. Michael had only to lift a hand.

The ride back to the department store was short, but Michael kept her laughing all the way, giving a running travelogue of Destiny Bay streets as they went. The taxi dropped them at her car, and she noticed Michael seemed poised to walk off once she was settled.
 

“Where are you parked?” she asked as she lowered herself onto the velour seat of her silver-blue compact.

“I'm not,” he replied cheerfully. “I don't usually leave loose ends flapping behind me when I work.”
 
His smile was beginning to feel less personal, a bit more distant, as though he was getting ready go on to new things and had already half forgotten her.
 
“But my apartment is fairly close.
 
I think I’ll walk.”
 

She hesitated, heart beating.
 
It was now or never, wasn’t it?
 
Did she want him?
 
Or was she too scared to put up a fight for him?
 
If she just let him go, she might never see him again.
 

“Why…why don't you just come on back to my office with me?” she heard herself saying.
 
“It’s just a few blocks away.
 
And you can make your first appointment with my partner.”

Perfectly logical, Shelley thought. Why not? But somehow her heart was beating so hard, she had to strain to hear his answer.
 

He looked almost reluctant.
 
There was something in his eyes—impatience?
 
Had he had enough of her?
 
Did he have something else he really needed to do?
 
She couldn’t tell.
 
But his hesitation only lasted a few seconds and then he was smiling and reaching for the passenger door and getting in beside her, talking the whole time, saying he would call for someone to bring his car to her office, and she breathed a sigh of relief.
 
At least he hadn’t rejected her flat.
 

But as she maneuvered through traffic, such as it was in Destiny Bay, she began to wonder what she thought she was doing.
 
And what was she going to do with him once she got him to her work place?
 
This was nuts.
 
She should have left well enough alone.