It's In His Kiss (4 page)

"Yes it was. If that's why you're here, you can leave. I've got enough of Michael's Best Low Blows to fill a book." 

"Okay, okay. I'm sorry. I just wanted to see my best friend."

"That's not going to fly. After three years, you just happened to decide to call the day after my fiancé dumps me? Yeah, right." She narrowed her eyes. "Sarah gave you my address too. I'm going to break your sister's silk nails, one by one. And I'm never going to tell her anything again."

Michael's blue eyes widened innocently. "Which brings up another interesting question. Why did you never call me?"

"Phones work both ways." She shrugged. "I thought you'd call me. You were the one who was so mean. Maybe I felt like you didn't want to talk to me. Remember that day you--and I quote, 'washed your hands of me.'" Cat waved the spoon. "Or was it when you said 'Cat, why do you keep falling for the same losers over and over again?' Oh wait, that was the same day." She dropped the spoon into the can. "So if you're here to gloat, you missed gloat night. Tonight is mope night."

He shook his head. "I just wanted to see how you're doing and offer my shoulder."

 "Well great. Okay, here you are. Cry on your shoulder, blah blah blah, thanks. Fine now. Goodbye." She waved a hand. "You've done your duty and I'm not in the mood to give you more ammunition for your Gotcha Gun, so you can just go on home. And if you were thinking about 'commitment lecture, part deux' you can forget it."

"Actually, that would be 'commitment lecture, part trois,' but who's counting." Michael gave her a little smile and tented his fingers over his hard flat abdomen. "So, your fiancé got cold feet?"

"David and I went together for over four months. I'd even picked out my wedding dress."

"Yeah, I know."

Another reminder that he’d been in the same city all this time and never called her.
That hurt.
 

She was a bit stunned to realize it was easier to deal with David’s rejection than Michael’s.

"You never answered my question."

He raised his brows.

 She sighed. "Why did it take you three years to let me know you were back?"

His eyes darkened and he frowned. "I told you," he said, looking down at his hands. "You said you never wanted to see me again."

"So have we now established that
never
is around six years?" 

"Something like that." He shrugged, the nonchalant gesture at odds with his intense gaze. "So this David. He's the third fiancé? You got their heads mounted in your den?"

Cat smiled ruefully. "Oh, ha-hah. "Sarah's just a fount of knowledge, isn't she?"

"She let me know what was going on. You seem to be collecting exes like some people collect souvenir shot glasses."

"I am not. Three is hardly a collection. Besides--"

"Besides what?"

"Besides, I didn't break up with David. He broke up with me." Suddenly, Cat felt embarrassed under his blue gaze. "'Scuse me," she mumbled, and escaped into the bathroom. She ran cool water on her fingers, rinsed her mouth, and splashed a little water on her hot cheeks. Taking a deep breath, she tried to catch her whirling thoughts. What was the matter with her? Why was she so close to tears all of a sudden?

 She'd taken David's rejection stoically, thinking he might have been right about her level of commitment. But Michael's sudden appearance, and the realization that he'd been right here, in Nashville, for all this time. That hurt.

Drying her face, Cat considered the bigger question. Why were her emotions in such turmoil? She'd known for weeks that her engagement to David was on the verge of collapse, and she ought to be overjoyed to see her best friend.

 Taking a deep breath, she returned to the living room and then folded her legs under her again. "Aw, hell, I didn't get all the sticky stuff out of my hair."

"Cat, quit grooming and talk to me."

She reluctantly chuckled at his reference and finger-combed her hair, making sure all the stickiness was out. "So how was Japan?"

"You know that's not what I mean. Why did David break your engagement?"

Cat sent an exasperated glare his way. "If I'd wanted to talk, I'd have talked to Sara, or Debra from work, or scores of other
available
friends." She discovered a sticky spot on her chin, and wet her finger in her mouth and scrubbed at it, then sat back and gazed at Michael critically. Her stomach did a tiny flip-flop. It was very good to see him. 

"You know, you haven't changed much." His black hair shone with blue highlights in the dim light of her torchiere lamp. He'd lowered his gaze to his fingertips and the layers of black eyelashes made little fuzzy shadows on his cheekbones. He hadn't changed. He was still the same old Michael, maybe a little leaner, a little harder. There were a few lines around his eyes, and he looked kind of grim right now, but she still saw in him the cocky eight-year-old who'd taken the time to befriend a sulking, bad-tempered, lonely little girl. A lump grew in her throat. "I missed you, Michael."

She'd known him since they were eight. She'd spent hours studying his face, but she still couldn't figure out how a nose that was too short and lips that were bordering on thin could stop females in their tracks.

He looked up, unconsciously tossing his hair back with a quick shake of his head. The familiar gesture increased the size of the lump, and she couldn't suppress a wan smile.

He studied her, a frown marring his features. "I missed you too."

Something hung in the air between them, something heavy, unspoken. It made her uncomfortable. She quickly rushed to fill the silence. "I see you still have the famous hair. It's so perfect. Do you know what I'd give for hair like yours?"

"Let's see. As I recall, when you were eleven, you'd
die
for hair like mine. When you were sixteen you'd kill for it. I'm still waiting for an offer I can't refuse." He grinned at her. 

Oh, she'd missed that wicked grin. She chuckled in spite of herself, wincing at the watery quality of her laugh. It would be so easy to take him up on his offer of a shoulder to cry on.

Instead, she gave him a mock scowl. "You can't do this. You can't come in here and charm me into forgiving you." She poked herself in the diaphragm with her thumb. "I've earned my right to be miserable.
And
to be mad at you. It took me hours to get into this funk. Don't you dare cheer me up." 

"That's what I'm here for. Cheer you up, lend you my shoulder. I'd give you my hair if it would help."

"Oh, trust me, that would definitely help. Perfect hair would give me one thing that was perfect." Cat looked at her bony knees, sticking out from under the Halloween tee shirt. To her dismay, tears filled her eyes.

"Boy, you are feeling sorry for yourself, aren't you?"

"Hey, I've got a right." She took a short breath to keep from sobbing, and ended up hiccupping. "Oh great. Now I've got--hiccups."

"Come over here, Cat." Michael held out his arms.

She looked longingly at him. How many times in the past six years had she longed for one of his comforting hugs?

Right now though, her composure was hanging by a very tenuous thread, and his sleekly muscled arms and broad chest looked way too inviting. If she gave in and let him console her, she might fall apart. She shook her head.

"Cat, come on."

Lowering her gaze, she set her jaw. "I do not want to be comforted. I want to be miserable. I want to drink cheap wine and think up horrible ways to kill the ex-fiancé. At a time like this, a girl needs
girlfriends
, to ritually burn love notes, and eat disgustingly fattening stuff." 

He nodded. "If I'd known how bad off you were, I'd have brought double chocolate fudge ice cream. Isn't that what you were wolfing down the first time I saw you? After your mother left you with your grandmother and ran off with that bass player?"

"You remember that?" she asked, wishing he hadn't. Michael knew entirely too much about her. She tried to divert the conversation away from herself. "Enough of my sad life. Tell me what you've been doing for the past six years. Are you married? Engaged? Dumped?" she finished hopefully.

He laughed. "None of the above. And quit trying to change the subject."

Cat felt a surprisingly strong whoosh of relief to know that Michael hadn't gotten married. It was nice to have him back, even nicer to know he hadn't changed. His indulgent laugh reached a place inside her that hadn't been touched in quite a while. The place felt dusty and unused, but it also felt good.

He was too adept at finding her hurts and soothing them. How different would the last six years have been if Michael had been here? She swallowed with difficulty. That pesky lump was back. Some questions were better left unanswered. He hadn't been here, and that was that.

Smiling ruefully, she shook her head. "You've apparently developed a hearing problem. I do not want to talk."

"I was right, wasn't I?" He made a show of counting on his fingers, holding them up. This is fiancé number three?"

"You are without a doubt the most stubborn individual in the entire world."

"Second only to you, champ."

She sighed. "I'm warning you. Lay off the charm. Have you forgotten how mad I am at you?"

His deep blue eyes clouded. "Nope but I was hoping you'd forget."

"Forget, hah! You ran out on me."

"No, I didn't," he said quietly. After a pause, he continued. "Anyway, I'm here, and I'd like to have my best friend back."

Zing!
She closed her eyes, and willed herself not to cry. She wanted her best friend back, too. But not tonight. Not when his mere presence reminded her of her screw-ups. She needed time to build up her tough armor again, to repair the cracks. 

"I'd like that, too."
Where did that come from?
So much for building the armor. 

He held her gaze for a long moment, then nodded. "Good. Now how about that hug?"

She wrapped her arms around herself, holding her breath as Michael pulled her into his warm strong embrace. She shook her head against his neck, breathing in his clean scent, and pulled away before the tears that clogged the back of her throat could erupt.

"Hey, I know," she said a little hoarsely. "I'm pretty sure I have some tequila. We already have the lemons. I'm thinking maybe I should get drunk."

"I'm thinking maybe you should tell me what kind of stupid notion made David dump you?"

She sighed. "If I tell you will you leave?"

His mouth quirked up. "It's a deal."

Relieved, Cat stretched out on her stomach on the couch, grabbing a pillow to rest her chin on. "He's old money. In Nashville, that means from the fifties."

Michael nodded.

"We'd been engaged for six months. This was our place."

"And he broke up with you?"

"Yeah. Isn't that a riot?."

"It's certainly breaking new ground, for you. So what happened? From what Sara said, you were hauling around the Hope Diamond this time. What do you do with all those rings, anyhow? You must have quite a collection."

She stuck her tongue out at him. "I have never kept an engagement ring. That's a nasty remark."

"You never kept any jewelry from your fiancés?"

She glanced at him sheepishly. "Well, now I didn't say that. I kept the gifts. Just not the engagement rings."

"Ah--."

"Don't 'ah' me. I know what that 'ah' means." Cat hugged the pillow tighter and closed her eyes. It felt like old times, confiding in him. Ever since the first time they ever saw each other, she and Michael had been best buds.

Sara, two whole years older, couldn't be caught dead with a mere child, but Michael, nine months younger and in the same school grade, was the perfect companion. How many times had they lain out under the stars, slapping at mosquitoes and naming the constellations, or sprawled on the pier at the lake, reading to each other from their latest favorite book, or dissing their schoolmates?

His soft voice broke into her thoughts. "You never did tell me what happened."

"Nothing really happened. He just called it quits."

He raised his brows slightly.

"Don't look at me like that. I'm hurting. I thought you were offering comfort."

His gaze didn't waver.

"We'd practically set the date. I mean, I was picking out invitations and china and stuff." Cat winced. "Oh, crap. I've got to call the stores and cancel the bridal registry."

"So you'd set the date. And then?"

She shrugged. "Yesterday, he told me he--" She pressed her lips together and concentrated on a hangnail. "Well, he broke up with me."

"Come on, Cat. Don't stop now. What did David tell you?"

She scrunched her eyes closed and buried her face in the pillow. "I don't want to talk about it."

"Cat--."

She took a long breath and expelled it quietly. "He said he felt like--" she stopped. "You know, what difference does it make what he said?" She mimed a huge yawn. "Aren't you tired? You probably have to get up early. Wow, look at the time!"

Michael didn't move. "You're just prolonging the agony, you know. I'd hate to have to torture you for the information."

"You wouldn't dare. Anyway, I'm not ticklish any more."

"Really? You outgrew ticklish?"

She looked at him suspiciously. "Yes."

"I don't believe you."

She looked up at him in mock horror. "Do
not
even consider tickling me. I'll throw condensed milk all over you. In fact, I'll throw up all over you." 

"Okay, but there are other forms of torture, you know." He folded his arms and looked down his nose at her. "Now tell me what he said."

"He didn't want to marry me, okay? I don't see what the point is of analyzing it to death." She looked at him suspiciously. "I need a drink of water."

She pushed herself up off the couch, and escaped into the kitchen, where she took her time. "Ever notice how good water tastes after you eat sweets?" she called from the kitchen.

"You're not fooling me. You hate water. I can stay here all night, if I have to. So you might as well tell me."

She had to smile at his persistence. He hadn't changed. He'd always forced her to look at her problems logically, instead of through the haze of her volatile emotions.