It's In His Kiss (7 page)

"Sorry. I didn't get much sleep last night."

"Where are you looking? Near here? There's a new complex going up in West Meade."

Where Michael lived. Michael
and
her ex-fiancé. "Yeah. I've driven past it. I can’t live there. It's practically on David's parents' doorstep." 

"That close, eh. Oh, well never mind."

"Besides, I don't have to move to pay more than I can afford. I can do that, in fact I
am
doing that, right where I am." She scooted her chair over and pointed at a highlighted ad. "Look at this renovated Victorian. High ceilings and all that dark wood." 

"Yeah but it's way over in the riverfront district. That's a long commute. Plus, you have to be careful about the location. There's good and not so good."

"I know," she sighed. "They're just so beautiful. Anyhow, I've got to spend all day tomorrow looking."

"I'm just glad it's you and not me. I am so relieved that we finally have a house of our own." Debra sighed and rose. "Well, speaking of a house of our own, I guess I'd better get myself home. Phil will be going nuts. It's his week to pick up the kids at daycare, and he has no idea how to entertain both of them by himself."

"Bye."

Debra started out of the tiny space that comprised Cat's cubicle, just as Michael rounded the corner and blocked her way.

"Eek!" she shrieked, nearly bumping into him. She ducked and he raised his arms. The effect was comical, since he was at least a foot taller than she.

He grinned down at her. "'S'cuse me. I'm looking for--hi, Cat. Ready?" He was all dressed up in a dark navy three piece suit with a snowy white shirt and a designer tie.  

"Hi."

He flattened himself against the cubicle wall as Debra squeezed by. She turned her head toward Cat and mouthed 'wow' and rolled her eyes.

Cat giggled.

"What?" Michael said, raising his brows. "Do I have catsup on my tie?"

"No." She waved her hand. "Are you going to eat ribs dressed like that?"

"I thought we could stop back at my place so I can change. I see you're properly attired for ribs."

Cat stood and grabbed her purse. "It's casual Friday. What's wrong with it?"

"Nothing. That's what I said. You're dressed just right."

"No, you said I was 'properly attired.' That was sarcasm."

He shook his head indulgently. "It’s just lawyer mode. You sure are touchy. Let me try again. You look great."

"Eh--" she held out her hand and waggled it from side to side.

"You look marvelous!"

Cat smiled. "Okay, you're getting there. Well, come on then, I'm starved." She sidled past him.

It was easy to forget how tall he was until they stood really close, or someone as short as Debra stood next to him. He was at least six two, which made her five-eight seem small. As she brushed against him, she had a sudden realization. Michael was very hard, very--male.

Whew!
Where did that come from? Cat sucked in her tummy and squeezed by. Behind her, Michael cleared his throat.  

As they headed toward the elevator, Debra stuck her head out the door. "Cat? Can you come here a second?" she called. "I need--something."

Cat glanced over her shoulder. The innocent look on Debra's face immediately made her suspicious. "Can't it wait until Monday? I thought you were gone."

Debra shook her head. "No, it can most definitely
not
wait until Monday. In fact it can't wait another two minutes. She'll be there in just a minute, Gorgeous," she called out to Michael and winked at him. 

Michael chuckled as he stepped into the elevator. "Want me to hold it?"

Cat shook her head and sighed. "No. I'll be right down. Nothing could have come up this late. She probably wants to tell me I have toilet paper sticking to my shoe or something."

He pointedly looked her up and down as the elevator doors closed.

Cat glanced behind her at her heels and at the back of her jeans as she trudged up the hall and into the office. "What?" she said to Debra.

"Oh--my--God!" Debra breathed, her hand to her breast.

"Debra, are you okay? You're not pregnant again, are you? You're positively pale."

Debra leaned against a bookshelf and fanned herself with her hand. "I feel pale. Cat, you have got to latch onto that guy, right now. Oh--my--God!"

Cat stared at her, one fist propped on her hip. "You want to tell me why the histrionics?"

"You want to tell me why you've never mentioned your 'best friend' before? I feel it's my duty to inform you that he's gorgeous."

"So you said." Cat considered. "I guess he could be classified as gorgeous."

"You guess? Cat, tell me you're not blind."

"I'm not blind. But, Deb, I've known him since he was eight years old. And trust me, at eight he was not gorgeous. He had crooked teeth, and I was at least six inches taller than him. Of course he always did dress well." She paused, remembering the feel of him as she'd squeezed past. "He's got a good body, I guess."

"You guess? You
guess
? Who cares what he looked like at eight? This is now. I tell you, if I weren't married--." 

"Now stop it. I don't care what new mothers say, drooling is not even attractive on babies, much less grown women. Michael's like my--well, not my brother, but my cousin or something."

"Oh, be still my heart."

Cat laughed. "I had no idea anybody actually said that. Next you’ll be putting the back of your wrist to your forehead and fainting on the fainting couch. You could be straight out of a historical romance novel."

Deb mimed fanning herself with her hand.

Laughter bubbled up from Cat's chest like shaken champagne. "You do understand, right? Michael and I are friends? I mean really, truly friends, since forever. Nothing more?"

"I understand what you're saying. I just don't understand your reasoning. What's the matter with him? Is he gay? Please tell me he's not gay. Or taken?"

"No!" Cat laughed. "Nothing's the matter with him. He's a friend. You know, one of those people you can depend on. Someone you can tell things you'd tell no one else," she said pointedly.

Debra held up a hand. "Come on. This is me. I'm not starting any gossip. But you need to take a serious look at the bird, or in this case the hunk, in your hand." Debra hoisted her tremendous purse up onto her shoulders. "I've got to go."

"Go? You called me back here and now you're going to leave?"

Debra shot her friend a dazzling smile. "You've got a gorgeous hunk waiting for you."

CHAPTER FOUR

Cat threw up her hands as Debra exited. She looked at her watch, then left, locking the door behind her. Downstairs, Michael was talking to Blondie, the new security guard.

Cat smiled as she approached quietly. Michael Grey at work. Like his attitude toward his appearance, like his sense of style, his friendly manner and his sex appeal were totally unconscious. She thought about Deb's reaction to him, and what he'd say if she told him. That was the amazing thing about him. He truly didn't realize how special he was.

He leaned casually against the counter, talking to the guard. His attitude was indolence, his longish hair gave him just the right touch of rebellion to offset the tailored business suit. He'd loosened his tie and unbuttoned the top button of his shirt. And Cat swore she could see the sparkle of his dark blue eyes from fifty paces.

The blonde guard was lapping it up, too. She was attractive, if you liked the obvious type. Her hair was long and, although she wore it up, several strands had artlessly escaped and framed her face, which had way too much make-up for Cat's taste.

Michael laughed, and the sound made Cat want to laugh too.
Oh yeah.
He was definitely easy to look at. Black hair with blue eyes should be declared a lethal weapon.  

Cat wrinkled her brow. Now that Debra had mentioned it, Being with Michael
had
always meant being the center of attention. She'd pretty much taken his looks for granted, just like he always had. After all, she knew which tooth was chipped, where his cowlick was, and his really big secret, that he had a heart-shaped birthmark on his tummy, below his navel. 

The blonde laughed and leaned forward, the action pushing her breasts up and out.

"Hmm, methinks yon comely lad needs rescuing," Cat murmured to herself, then coughed discreetly and held her shoulders back. The successful young businesswoman on her way home from work. It might work better if she weren't wearing jeans and a Henley tee that screamed J. Crew.

Michael shifted his gaze from the blonde to her. He straightened and his smile widened. "Here she is now," he said.

The blonde flashed an expensive set of teeth at her, as she looked her up and down. "Hello."

"Hi!" Cat grinned and cut her eyes over at Michael, sending him a silent warning.

His brows drew close in a frown. "Uh, Cat--."

She ignored him. "You must be new," she purred.

"Why no. I've been here three months," the blonde said, and pouted for Michael's benefit. "I'm stuck with the evening shift."

"That's funny. I've never noticed you before. Aw, well, hang in there. You'll be promoted, some day."

The blonde frowned and opened her mouth, but Michael stepped between them. "Come on, Cat. We'd better get going."

"I'm sure I'll see you around, if you work this late all the time," Cat tossed back over her shoulder as Michael herded her toward the door. "I get off every day at five." She waggled her fingers at the guard.

"Still living up to your name, I see," Michael muttered as he pushed open the glass door and went through, then held it for her.

"What?"

"Meow . . . ."

Cat smiled. "I wasn't the one acting like I was in heat. I rescued you. You should thank me."

"Okay, thank you. What made you think I needed rescuing?"

 "You didn't recognize that deadly blonde widow spider? Hourglass figure. Eats males alive?"

 "Very funny."

 "Ah the sun feels good," she said, shivering as she walked outside. It was always cold in their building. "So, did you make a date with her?"

Michael unlocked his vintage Porsche 911. "No. As a matter of fact I didn't."

"Why not? Did I interrupt too soon?"

He sent her a mild glare as he started the car. "I don't ask out every woman I meet, Cat."

"Really? You used to."

"Yeah, well I got over it."

"No kidding? When?" Cat leaned back against the worn leather seats, and let the heat seep into her back. It was just like old times, bantering with Michael. She hadn't felt this good in a long time, maybe since he'd left. Cat smiled secretly. With a slight pang, she realized that her best times had always been with him.

Michael didn't answer as he pulled out of the parking place.  

"Michael?"

"What?"

"You didn't answer my question. When did you stop asking out every girl you met?"

"I never did that," he said tightly.

She was surprised at the tension in his voice. She'd always teased him about dating around and he'd always taken it good-naturedly. "Ooh, who's touchy now? What was the matter with Blondie?"

"Nothing."

"Are you seeing someone?"

"No." He maneuvered onto West End Avenue and headed out toward West Meade.

"Where are we going?"

"My apartment. I told you, I want to change clothes."

They rode in silence for a few moments. "So how come?" Cat asked.

Michael glanced toward her. "How come what?"

"How come you're not seeing anybody?"

He shrugged, and wiped a bead of sweat off his temple. "I'm just not."

Cat leaned back against the leather seats. "Ah, I love this car. Remember when you first got it? We almost lived in it for weeks."

"What I remember is that you complained there was no air conditioning, then you complained that it rode rough, then –"

"Okay! Enough already. You make it sound like I complained all the time."

"If the anal retentive personality fits –"

"Hey!"

Michael laughed.

"Well, I really do love the car."

"I know. I almost asked you to drive it while I was gone."

"Oh, wow, I would have loved that. Why didn’t you?"

A frown worried his mouth and he shrugged. "I figured you wouldn’t want to, since you were so angry with me."

Cat remembered the day she’d told him about her engagement. "Seems to me you were the one who was angry. Why’d you go to Japan, Michael? Was the job that good?"

"It was good."

"Because you were so excited about the DA’s office. What happened to--?"

His frown deepened as he pulled into an apartment complex. "Truth, justice and the American way? Truth and justice lost out."

"Ouch. That sounds bitter."

Michael didn't answer. He just got out of the car, leaving Cat to follow. They walked up a set of stairs to a second story apartment. He unlocked the door and Cat stepped into the room. She whistled as she looked around.

The living room was stark, with bright white walls and deep red quarry tile floors. There was a pale gray leather couch, a glass-topped coffee table, and a navy blue recliner. Sheer white curtains floated at the windows and the balcony doors.

"Very classy. What'd you do, date a decorator?"

His cheeks turned pink. "Just for a few weeks, right after I got back from Japan." He nodded toward the kitchen. "Get yourself some water. I'm going to change."

Cat grabbed a bottle of water, then walked over to check out the bookcase.

Michael's tastes in reading hadn't changed much. There was still a bewildering variety of books on his shelves, from science fiction to philosophy to murder mysteries to classics. He also had a small DVD collection, which included the Star Wars Collector's Edition, several Tarantino films and a host of others. His CDs were predictable. He still liked the oldies. There were a notable few newer groups. He had a couple of Coldplay albums and a few blues collections. Then she saw a CD that surprised her. Carrie Underwood.