Truly Madly Deeply Boxed Set (39 page)

In silence they lay on their backs and stared at the wide expanse of sky. White puffy clouds dotted an otherwise clear blue backdrop.

“Beautiful,” she murmured.

He glanced over at her. “Sure is.”

“Mike?”

“Hmm?”

“What’s it like dropping into the world’s hot spots?”

He stiffened. Her choice of topic surprised him, but he couldn’t bring himself to be anything but honest with her. “Exciting.”

“Dangerous?” Carly asked. Because the thought of Mike in the center of some war-torn country or worse sent goose bumps chasing along her skin.

“Sometimes.”

She wondered how she’d feel, knowing he was putting himself in danger, not knowing if he’d make it back home alive and in one piece. She shivered from the sudden chill. He drew her close, probably mistaking the impact of her turbulent emotions for a reaction to the cool ocean breeze.

Her head lay in the crook of his shoulder and she savored the closeness they’d found on an emotional level. “Why do it?” she asked.

“It’s not for the glory or the thrill of cheating death, though there are some guys who feel that way.” His warm breath fanned her hair. “I’m not sure exactly, but I like knowing I’ve made a difference. That maybe one picture prevented someone somewhere from starving to death or being killed.”

Aid those in need. Did he realize how similar his goals were to her own? “Sort of like the reason for my column.”

“How so?”

She didn’t realize she’d spoken aloud. “So many kids have no one to talk to. I hope at least one person is able to make a tough choice because someone cared enough to listen.”

During the worst period of her life, no one had been there for her. No one had listened. Her mother had refused to discuss the tragedy or the impact on their lives, leaving a teenager to cope alone. She couldn’t turn to her obviously grieving father, and besides, her anger at him wouldn’t allow her to. She hoped some teenager used her column to vent feelings he didn’t feel free to express at home.

“We’re some pair.” He chuckled aloud. “We sound like avenging angels.”

“I’m no angel. I’m just making sure no kid thinks he has to go it alone.”

“Like you did?”

Carly pushed herself to a sitting position and stared. She wanted to lash out, to shout at him.
Stop finishing my sentences. Stop reading my mind
. He was getting too close and it frightened her. “How...”

“Educated guess.”

Obviously she was easy to read. Mike brushed the grains of sand from her back. After this roll in the sand, she’d need another shower. Unwilling to drop the subject at least until she learned what she wanted from him, Carly glanced over. “So what are your reasons for playing the Good Samaritan role?” Some deep, dark secret like her own? she wondered.

“Nothing I haven’t already told you. When you grow up without, you tend to overcompensate. This latest escapade with Pete drove that point home.”

At the mention of her ex-fiancé’s name, she waited for the pain of betrayal to surface. It never came. Relief, pure and sweet, flooded her. “How so?” she asked Mike.

“He thinks money and power will make up for all he missed. He doesn’t realize that material wealth won’t replace love.”

Why had he chosen that particular word? She whipped her head around expecting to meet his potent gaze. Instead, Mike was staring out at the ocean, one hand rubbing his right shoulder hard.

She studied him. His muscled physique created waves of longing, but what did she feel for this man that was so different than anything she’d ever experienced? Was it to be savored as something special or feared as an extension of her father’s legacy? It was about time she found out.

Her future was at stake.

“So Peter’s looking for money and power to make him happy.” Which cemented what she’d already known—the reasons why he’d gotten and remained engaged to her. “But what are you looking for?” she asked Mike. “All the travel, the danger—are you running?” she asked softly.

He didn’t respond.

She placed a hand on his arm. “I think you are.” Which made them very much the same, Carly thought sadly. “The question is, when will you stop?” When would she?

He remained silent. The answer was locked inside him, she thought. And like her, he’d have to face his private demons. Sooner or later.

* * *

Mike stood in the entryway to Carly’s kitchen, eavesdropping on his chef for the evening. She stood, hands on her hips, staring into an oversized lobster pot.

“Call me a coward, but I can’t do it.” She brushed her bangs off her forehead with her fingers.

He grinned as she glanced from the wriggling lobster on the counter to the boiling pot on the stove. “Can’t do what?” he asked.

“Drop live lobsters in there. I thought I could, but I can’t.”

Mike glanced at the counter where two lobsters moved languidly in plastic bags. “Dinner?”

“Only if we boil them alive.”

He chuckled. “Why don’t you go outside for a while? I can handle things in here.”

She glanced into the steaming pot. “They scream.”

“What?”

“When I was younger I went to a friend’s house for dinner. Her older brother took a lot of pleasure in informing us that if you listen carefully you can hear their high-pitched screams before they die.” She shuddered.

“You don’t believe that.”

“Not anymore, but I did. I was ten. I had nightmares for weeks.”

“Boys can be cruel.”

“Yeah. So can men,” she said.

“I’ll give you that.” He leaned over and kissed her soft cheek, then gave her a playful swat on the behind. “I’ll handle this.”

“I owe you one.”

He met her gaze. “And I fully intend to collect.”

She turned for one last look into the lobster pot .Mike snuck up behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist and burying his face in the expanse of skin at her neck. Her vanilla-like scent was permanently etched in his dreams. Reality was much sweeter.

She stiffened at his initial touch but relaxed against his insistent nuzzling at her ear. His hands splayed across her stomach. Every ounce of willpower he possessed went into keeping them below the round swell of her breasts. He pressed his lower body into her back and was greeted by her soft moan of pleasure in response.

He wanted to turn her around and bury himself inside her. He wanted to see her face when he entered her heat for the first time. He wanted all those things and more. But he didn’t deserve them. Not when he couldn’t give her all she so obviously needed.

He wanted to step back but needed her warmth and closeness for a minute more. Then he’d let her go. A yellow gauze dress ended above her knees and her bare back had turned a deep bronze courtesy of the sun. Her skin felt warm and welcoming to his touch.

He steeled himself to back off, but she turned. Any progress he’d made dissolved like a sand castle under a crushing wave. Eyes glazed and face flushed with desire, she looked disoriented and unsteady. He reached out a hand to support her and immediately noticed that her nipples were drawn tight beneath the flimsy fabric.

Without conscious thought he brushed one distended peak with his thumb. She swayed toward him, and damned if her knees didn’t almost buckle. Control deserted him, and all good intentions along with it. Any thoughts he’d had of restraint vanished. He knelt down and replaced his hand with his mouth, suckling her through the material of her dress. She braced herself by grasping the handle of the stove.

He bit down lightly. She murmured his name at the same time her legs gave out completely. Mike reached for her, supporting her until she was able to stand on her own.

“You’re a hazard in the kitchen,” she said in a husky voice.

“Look who’s talking. Dress like that and expect results.” He laughed and she joined him. For the first time she didn’t pull back or appear to mentally berate herself for her desire. Progress? A start? Or just an aberration? he wondered.

She pointed to the large metal pot. “You have lobsters to cook,” she said in an unsteady voice.

“Then get going... before I get distracted again.”

Carly didn’t miss the desire in his gaze and opted to bolt for the deck. She kept herself busy setting the table, opening a bottle of wine and contemplating the wisdom of inviting Mike for dinner. She’d convinced herself she could get to know him without any complications. He’d been in the kitchen all of thirty seconds and common sense had deserted her.

The last time in her apartment, she’d been devastated by the fact that when she should have been seeking comfort, she’d only felt desire. Now while seeking to prove to herself that she could exert self-control, it all but deserted her.

What would happen if she gave in? a little voice in her head asked. Gave herself over to Mike, to passion, to all the emotions she’d taught herself to fear? The answer came easily and without thought. She’d fall in love... if she hadn’t already. And then what?

The man had a penchant for travel and danger. He wasn’t the type to settle down, and even if she could get past the fear of their explosive chemistry, she wanted someone who would put her first. How could she love a man who might never make it home? How could she have the safe family she wanted, or subject children to his kind of unstable life? No, she thought sadly, their future just didn’t exist.

She deliberately ignored the shaft of pain the thought caused, attributing it to hunger. “How long does it take to boil the damn lobsters anyway?” she muttered aloud.

* * *

Carly picked up the nutcracker and attempted to tackle a large lobster claw. The shell cracked. Mike’s startled laugh surprised her, and she looked up to find him wiping water from his face with a paper napkin.

“You squirted me.” He grinned.

“Sorry.” She licked freshly drawn butter off her fingers and stared at the large claw on her plate. “I forgot lobster’s like spaghetti. It’s a no-no on the first date.”

“So is corn on the cob.” With a grin, he took a large bite. “So it’s a good thing this isn’t a first date.” He waved the corn in the air as he spoke. “We’re way beyond first impressions, remember?”

She leaned back in her chair and swirled the wine in her goblet. “What were your first impressions, anyway?”

He rested on one elbow and turned to study her. “I thought you were sexy as hell and I wanted you,” he said in a low, steady voice.

“Oh.” She felt her lips move, heard her response, but her brain had ceased to function. Her body, on the other hand, leapt to life. Every nerve ending tingled in delicious anticipation of his touch. Even her breasts felt unnaturally heavy. She waited for him to reach for her.

Instead he asked, “What were your first impressions?” The gold flecks in his eyes danced with delight, in obvious anticipation of her response.

“I thought the police ought to do a better job of patrolling the city streets,” she said, treating him to one of her sweetest smiles. After all, his rugged charm
had
nearly sent her running in the opposite direction.

Before she could gloat over her comeback, his arm reached out and his hand grasped her wrist, pulling her close. The warmth of his touch seared her skin. “Didn’t anyone ever teach you what happens to women with smart mouths?” His face was inches from hers.

“No. Why don’t you show me?” The wine had dulled her more rational self and replaced it with a courage she didn’t ordinarily possess. Nothing else explained such bold, wanton behavior, especially in light of her self-revelations earlier. But those revelations had served another purpose besides shedding light on the future. They’d made her realize she couldn’t give up the present. It was all they had.

Her eyelids fluttered closed and he slanted his mouth across hers. He kissed her softly, gently. She had expected the hot intensity of their past encounters. His tenderness caught her off guard.

Nothing could have surprised her more than the reverent way he caressed her mouth. He wet her lips with his tongue, then rubbed his own against hers, soaking up the moisture. He created a damp path down the side of her neck and up to her ear, where he paused and nibbled the lobe with his teeth. As if from a distance, she heard her own satisfied moan.

The cool ocean air hit wet areas of skin and she shivered. His thumb traveled the same path as his lips, drying the moisture and warming her at the same time. The gentleness of the gesture shocked her, causing a lump to form deep in her throat.

She drew a deep breath and waited for the sensual onslaught to continue. His fingers merely traced the outline of her mouth. She opened her eyes to find herself staring into his. Her body felt alive with need. She ached for him, yet a part of her knew she should call a halt to this now. It wasn’t too late.

Nervously she ran her tongue over her lips, coming into contact with the rough pad of his thumb. His skin tasted salty and warm, making her wonder what other tastes and textures awaited her. She wanted Mike with a depth of feeling that surpassed mere passion. As she contemplated those rampant emotions, she feared she had been wrong. Perhaps it was too late. For a lot of things.

Slowly, he removed his hand from her soft lips. “When you said feast, you weren’t kidding.” He pointed to the table. With difficulty, Mike changed the topic to more mundane issues. Like food.

Her forehead creased in confusion and she fingered her bangs in the nervous gesture he’d come to anticipate and enjoy at the same time. Mike stilled her hand with his and groaned. He’d had no choice but to stop. Every time he kissed her, her honest, open response startled him. When they made love—and he didn’t kid himself that it might not happen—he wanted her acceptance to be made knowingly. Not in the throes of passion. After his glimpse into her innermost fears, he owed her at least that.

“You liked the dinner?” she finally asked, regaining her composure.

“Loved it. I can’t remember the last time someone cooked for me.”

“As it turned out, you did the cooking.”

“Yeah, but only because their screams of pain didn’t bother me.”

He winked and she tossed a paper napkin at him. “Chicken,” he teased.

“Maybe.” She shrugged and began clearing the table. With his help, Carly collected the plates and extra food and carried everything into the kitchen. She looked at the pile of dishes in the sink and sighed. “The perils of eating in.”