Not the Marrying Kind (Destiny Bay Romances - Forever Yours) (9 page)

“I was just a kid,” Tag was saying, staring at the wall.
 
“Sometimes I didn’t protect Missy like I should have.”
 
He turned to pin her with his beautiful gray eyes.
 
“You know what I mean?”
 

She thought she might have an inkling and it filled her with a sick feeling of remorse.
 
Missy was such a sweet girl, but as scared as a kitten.
 
She wasn’t sure she really wanted to know what had made her that way.
 

“I just thought, maybe if she talked to you about what happened….”

Regret choked her.
 
Ethically, she really couldn’t treat her cousin.
 
She turned to try to explain all that to Tag, but she read the pain in his eyes and she melted and took a deep breath instead.
 

“Listen, maybe I can take her out to lunch one of these days and we could talk and I could see what I think.”

He gave her hand another squeeze.
 
“Thanks, Cuz,” he said, and then his face changed and Shelley looked up to see what he’d noticed.
 

Mickey had come out, smiling as she caught sight of them.
 
She gave Shelley a grin, then turned and looked at Tag.
 
The look that passed between the two of them took her breath away.
 
Now that was what she would call electricity!
 

She looked from one to the other in amazement, but for all they noticed, she might as well have been invisible.
 
She hadn’t known…she hadn’t realized…Tag and Mickey had a real thing for each other, didn’t they?

Her first reaction was incredulity.
 
After all, Mickey had to be almost ten years older than he was.
 
But from the look of things, age was not an issue with them.
 

“Hi,” Mickey said to him.
 

“Hi,” he said back.
 

Silence—but the emotion was so thick, you could cut it with a knife.
 

Shelley cleared her throat and Tag’s head jerked as though he was coming out of a sleep-walking spell.
 
Mickey finally noticed her, too.
 

“Oh, hi Shelley.”
 
She blinked.
 
“Where’s that handsome man who was asking after you?”

“Gone.
 
He…he was just…”

“Passing through.
 
Yes, so he said.”
 
Mickey shrugged.
 
“Win some, lose some.”

Tag made a restless move and looked around the crowded café.
 
“Where’s my girl?” he asked gruffly.
 

“Meggie?”
 
Mickey’s daughter was a favorite with anyone who saw her.
 
A bouncing cutie right out of a Shirley Temple movie, she supplied entertainment for everyone when she was around.
 
“She’s in the back.
 
I think she’s watching Curious George.”

Tag slid off the stool and shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans.
 
“I think I’ll go say ‘hi’,” he said, and with a nod to Shelley, he started off toward the back room.
 

Mickey moved on to help a customer and Shelley sat where she was, marveling over the look she’d seen between her cousin and the woman he was so obviously smitten with.
 
How long had this been going on?
 

She looked back at where the others were still enjoying each other, but she wasn’t in the mood any longer.
 
A long walk on the embarcadero with the ocean spray in her face—that was what she needed.
 
She had a lot to think about.

CHAPTER FOUR:
 

We Meet Again
 

Robin was pouting, holding out a slick brown object on a fork. “Just one more chocolate-covered strawberry. Come on, I'll share it with you.”

Shelley groaned, leaning back in her velvet-padded chair. “Not another bite. Really, I'll blow up like a blimp and float off if I do. I haven't eaten this much since the Thanksgiving when I was ten.”

All the restaurants in the Bay Vista Grand served wonderful food, but the Boar's Head, where they were dining on this Saturday night, was especially nice.

“That veal was as tender as fish, honestly. And that caper sauce ...” Robin swooned back in her seat, ecstasy written all over her pretty face. Shelley's roommate shared her type of build, but for some reason it looked very different on her. She'd been an athlete in school, always out for the track team or playing basketball, and it still showed in her bearing and casual manner.

“Yes,” Shelley agreed. “Everything was marvelous. Everything except those slimy snails. Why you always have to order those things, I can't understand.” Shelley shuddered.

“It could be worse,” Robin answered. “Just think of what a meal would be like with that patient of yours, the tarantula-spider guy.”

Shelley laughed. Though she never referred to her patients by name, she sometimes told Robin anecdotes about her day. She'd almost told her about Michael Hudson the night after she'd met him, but something held her back. Even now, as her gaze quickly skimmed the tables of the large dining room, looking for a sign of him, she hadn't told her roommate why she'd agreed to come on this vacation with her, and why she'd insisted on staying at the Bay Vista Grand.

They'd arrived late Friday afternoon and had joined the other guests at the TGIF cocktail party around the outdoor fountains. They'd dined in the Boar's Head, then gone on to spend a few hours in the disco downstairs. Robin had found a man as athletic as she was, and the two of them had danced continuously, while Shelley had turned down more offers than she'd obliged with a dance, growing progressively more and more exhausted by the effort her friend seemed to be putting out.

They'd slept, spent Saturday sailing, playing tennis, and walking the length of Balboa Island before showering and dressing for dinner again at the Boar's Head.

Michael Hudson had never appeared.
 

Just thinking that made her shudder.
 
Of course he’d never appeared!
 
There was no reason he should be here.
 
The only thing to tie him to this place was a stupid matchbook. When she thought about it now, Shelley had to smile at her own adolescent behavior. For all she knew, he'd picked up the matchbook in a bar in Timbuktu. Why she'd been compelled to come here she wasn't sure. It was ridiculous, and she was glad now that she hadn't told Robin the truth.
 

Besides, she really didn’t want to see him.
 
She’d sworn off even thinking about him.
 
Hadn’t she?
 
But, with a silent groan, she knew it wasn’t any use pretending.
 
If there was some way to know how to find him…

No!
 
She wouldn’t let herself think that way.
 
He was so over for her.

No, he wasn't here. And yet she'd still dressed as though she hoped to see—well, someone special. She'd borrowed another dress from Robin, a light chiffon in rainbow colors that was tight across the bodice and swirled around her legs as she walked.

“We've got to find you a man,” Robin was saying now, sprawling across her chair like a friendly puppy. “I mean, what did we come for anyway?”

Shelley smiled at her friend. “I came for a little relaxation and a little fun, to get my head out of my psychology texts and see what the rest of the world's been up to while I've been drowning myself in case studies and personality evaluations. Why did you come?”

Robin grinned. She was not to be dissuaded from her path. “To find you a man. And look what happened. I was the one who ended up doing all the dancing last night.” She shook her head sternly. “No, tonight we find one for you.”

“Oh, Robin,” she moaned. “I'm so full, I don't think I can walk, much less dance. Let's pass on that tonight.”

“Not on your life. If we don't get busy, we'll end up leaving before we have anything to show for this whole vacation.”

“I've got a start on this summer's tan,” she answered hopefully. “Won't that count?”

They paused while the waiter refilled their coffee cups.

“No more for me,” Robin said. “I want to run up and change my shoes. This pair is killing me. I'll never be able to dance in them. I’ll meet you back down here in a few minutes.”

Robin hurried off while Shelley sat alone at her table, watching the other diners. A couple across the room was obviously in love. She wondered if this was their honeymoon. Something about the way they sat—so close together, their heads almost touching—pulled at her heart, making it twist painfully in her chest.

The time sped by and Robin didn't reappear, so Shelley decided to go on up and meet her at the room. She signed the check, gathered her purse, and threaded her way out between the tables into the lobby. As she was leaving the huge room she looked back for one last scan across the assembly, and as she did, she ran into someone coming in around the corner.

She knew who he was before her head had swung around. Every nerve end was jangling, every sense aware.

“Michael!”

He stared down at her, his brows pulled together in consternation, holding her back from the collision they'd just had.
 

“Oh, Michael.” For some reason she was laughing, probably from pure embarrassment.
 
The last time she’d seen him, they’d parted in anger, but all that was swept away at a glance.
 
It was Michael, the man she dreamed about at night.
 
She was so happy to see him, she was trembling with it.
 

“Who's this, Mike?” The couple coming in behind him came into her field of vision for the first time. “Someone from home?”

She looked back up into his face, startled to see him mouthing something to her he obviously didn't want the others to hear, but she hadn't caught enough of it to know what he was trying to convey to her.

“Julie, darling,” he said aloud, quickly wrapping his arms about her and pulling her close. “What a surprise.”

She gasped at the strength of his hug, struggling against it, but at the same time she heard his whisper in her ear: “Just follow my lead.”

And then he kissed her.
 

For someone who had been frowning ferociously the last time she’d talked to him, he had one heck of a kiss.
 
It started slowly, but the intensity grew and grew and she found herself sinking into it like a swimmer in a warm sea.
 

When he finally pulled away, still holding her with one tight arm about her shoulders, she was reeling.
 
She’d never been kissed like that before.
 
And all she wanted was more.
 

“It's Julie,” she heard him saying as though in the distance, her senses sizzling and her head spinning. “She's flown out from Tulsa to surprise me.” He motioned toward the other two. “Julie, meet a wonderful couple, Clayton and Margery Weeks. This here's my wonderful little wife, Julie Daniels.”

Wife? She gazed from one face to the other, completely at sea, but not sure what to do about it. She blinked and tried to smile at them.
 
If this was a joke, she might as well let it ride until she got the punchline.

“How—how do you do?” She put out a tentative hand that was overwhelmed by Mr. Weeks's elegantly long fingers, then by the shorter but no less elegant hand of his wife. The two of them looked like an ad for a very expensive automobile. Except for the American accent, she wouldn't have been surprised to hear them announced as the lord and lady of some British title.

Michael was dressed in slacks and a plaid sports coat, a style at odds with the fashionable dress she'd seen him in before. But somehow it looked just as natural. She had a feeling he would look at home in any outfit. He seemed to take on the characteristics he needed along with the clothes.

“Julie, honey, I can't believe it!”
 
Michael’s voice was slurred just enough to sound very mid-western.
 
“What did you do with the kids? Who's looking after my tomato plants?” He grinned at the Weekses. “Only about six inches high, but already they're putting out buds. Amazing. We'll have tomatoes by Memorial Day, guaranteed.”

Shelley felt as though she'd stepped into some sort of time warp. She didn't dare look the Weekses in the eye, so she kept her gaze trained almost desperately on Michael, hoping to learn what on earth was going on.
 

But the truth was slowly seeping in on her. There was only one explanation possible. She'd obviously walked into the middle of Michael Hudson at work. Of course, that was what it was. He was in the middle of one of his undercover operations, and she'd blundered into it.

“Your table, Mr. Weeks.”
 

The Weekses were an impressive-looking couple. She noticed they rated the manager as their escort. Whatever, they were Michael's business. The sooner she faded from the scene, the better he would probably like it. Smiling warily, she began backing away. “I really have to go. ...”

“You're just in time for dinner, Julie,” Michael told her heartily, stopping her retreat as he tightened the arm that held her. “Just wait till you taste the food here. We've got nothing like this in Tulsa.”

The thought of eating again sent a sick shudder through her. “Oh, no,” she said, trying to smile. “Why don't I just—”

“You ate on the plane from Tulsa, did you?” Michael's grin was mildly wicked. She found herself smiling back, caught up in his charm once again. “Never mind. You'll forget all that when you see the menu here.”

“I've seen the menu here,” she managed to hiss as they walked behind the Weekses toward their table. Michael was still holding her, and she couldn't help but notice how nicely they fit together. “I feel as though I've eaten everything on it tonight.”