Read Between the Lines

by Erica Spindler

  Michael drew a long, shuddering breath and met her stormy gaze. He couldn’t answer her, because he didn’t know why. He only knew that it mattered so much it hurt and that without her he might never be whole again. Feeling as if he was acting in an absurd play, portraying a part that had been destined for him, knowing in his gut that it would be his downfall but unable to avoid it, he entered her. She made a sound of pleasure that was mirrored in her eyes.

  They rocked together, hearts hammering, breath short. Katherine moved her hands to the back of his head, tangling her fingers in his thick, dark hair, drawing his mouth to hers; Michael slipped his hands underneath her, bringing her even closer. Their lips muffled each other’s cries as they reached for the stars and caught one.

  The star was brilliant and warm; the experience brief but magical. Katherine curled up against his side for a moment of perfect contentment before reality set in.

  And set in it did—awkward, uncertain, terrifying. Indecision gripped her with a force equal to the desire of a minute ago. Katherine squeezed her eyes shut and drew a deep breath as she acknowledged the truth. This time she couldn’t crawl out of bed and slink back to her room to hide. He wasn’t drunk or asleep; he would remember. And she had to deal with the consequences of what had just happened between them.

  She let out her pent-up breath in a silent sigh and opened her eyes. “Michael, I—”

  “Don’t say anything, Katie,” he said quickly, softly, as he pulled her closer to him. “I feel terrible. I feel... Katie—” He drew in a ragged breath. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for this to happen, didn’t plan for it to.”

  For one brief moment she felt nothing, then pain tore through her. In every way, history had been repeated. She’d changed her looks; she’d flirted, teased, provoked. And still nothing had changed.

  That wasn’t true, she thought, clutching at what was left of her pride. Something had changed. This hadn’t been an accident; she hadn’t just given in to circumstances. She had made it happen; for once, with Michael, she had controlled her own destiny.

  It took everything she had, but she met his eyes. “Don’t be sorry. I wanted this with you. I asked for it.” She walked her fingers up his chest with a playfulness she was far from feeling. “After all, a girl has to be discriminating about whom she has an affair with.”

  For a full minute Michael was quiet. When he finally spoke, his husky voice didn’t give a clue to how he felt. “Is that so?”

  “Mmm-hmm...” She worked to sound sophisticated. “Why settle for less than the best?”

  “The best,” he murmured almost to himself, trailing his fingers through her hair. “I’m flattered but not sure I’m up to the job.”

  His words cut like paper—thin, deep and stinging. This was it? One night? He wasn’t even interested in an affair with her? Tonight was no different than twelve years ago, only now she couldn’t blame booze or youth or her own ineptness. Tears, welled in her eyes; she furiously blinked them away. She would not cry over Michael Tardo! She’d given it a shot; she could hold her head up and say she’d tried.

  “Come on, Michael,” she said, attempting a light tone and achieving a brittle one. “You’re the one who described yourself as a wonderful lover.”

  “True.” Michael tightened his fingers in her hair, then relaxed them until the inky strands feathered through his fingers. “And tonight, right or wrong, mistake or not, we’re lovers. So...”

  Before she had time to catch her breath, he’d captured both of her hands in one of his and hauled them over her head. She met his gaze as evenly as he met hers. “So?” she prompted, her voice no more than a whisper.

  He raked his gaze slowly over her, then returned it to her face. “There’s still—” he lowered his head “—a little—” he made a warm, wet path across her breasts “—night left.”

  Heat crept over her until she thought she must glow from it. There was no chance for permanency; he didn’t even want an affair; she should stop this now. “Michael—”

  “No,” he murmured, trailing the fingers of his free hand over her. “No talking. There’ll be plenty of time tomorrow for that. Tonight—” he ran the flat of his hand over her abdomen, then lower “—is only for this.” He found her, hot and moist, and she arched against him.

  “Michael—” she let out her breath slowly “—stop that.”

  “Stop what?” He leaned down, his mouth hovering a fraction from hers. He moved his fingers. “This?”

  When she bit back a moan, he enticed her again. “Or this?”

  “No...yes. I think...I’d like to...” All thoughts of stopping flew out of her mind as slow strokes became maddening circles.

  “Cat got your tongue, Katie?” He nipped at her bottom lip, catching it, pulling it slowly into his mouth.

  “Oh...” He finally released her hands, but she used them for pulling closer instead of pushing away. She clung to him until everything disappeared but the sensations rocketing through her.

  When her pulse had finally slowed, when she felt she could once again think coherently, she turned to him, smiling lazily. “As you said, tonight is only for...this.” Before he realized what she meant, she’d captured him.

  Chapter 7

  Michael was gone. Confused, disoriented, Katherine sat up in bed and pushed the tangle of hair out of her eyes. She scanned the room. Judging by the slant of the light through the windows it wasn’t much past seven; she was alone. A thread of panic tightened in her stomach, and she tried to push away her sudden fear.

  He was probably making coffee, she told herself, throwing back the blankets and getting out of bed. Or reading the paper. Sure. He was here. He wouldn’t have left without saying anything. She pulled on her robe, stepped into her slippers and went out to look for him.

  The house was still, cold, empty. Katherine stopped in the kitchen, noting that he hadn’t even taken the time for a cup of coffee. He’d wanted to get out fast, she thought, taking perverse pleasure in the way that truth twisted in her gut. She crossed to the coffeepot, filled it with water, measured out the grounds, then plugged it in. As she turned to leave the room, her gaze lighted on the gloves she’d tossed on the counter the night before as she’d angrily faced Michael. Near them was Michael’s still-full glass of wine. She stared at the objects, her eyes misting over. Empty gloves, untouched wine—a barren still life, a still life that mirrored the way she felt inside.

  Sucking in a determined breath, she crossed to the gloves and picked them up. The leather was cold but soft against her palms, and she held on to them tightly. Why was she surprised by Michael’s desertion? There was no reason for her to be hurt. He’d made his feelings perfectly clear last night; why had she expected them to be any different in the harsh light of day?

  No melodrama, Katherine told herself, curling her fingers around the supple leather. No anger, no disillusionment. She’d taken her chance; she’d known the odds going in. She would accept what happened and start to build the rest of her life.

  Squaring her shoulders, Katherine went to her coat and tucked her gloves into its pocket. She would have a nice, quiet Sunday, she told herself. She would enjoy a leisurely breakfast while she read the paper, then she would dress and maybe do a little shopping. Sure. It would be perfect.

  Ignoring the hollow feeling in the pit of her stomach, she opened the front door to retrieve the paper. It was there and she plucked it up, then, unable to help herself, moved to the window that looked out over the parking lot. She was being silly. The parking lot wouldn’t tell her any more about where—Her breath caught. Michael’s car wasn’t gone—and neither was he.

  He was standing beside his restored Corvette talking with a woman.

  A young woman, Katherine thought, feeling a tightness in her throat. Even from this distance she could see that the girl was beautiful: tall, with long blond hair and a willowy figure.

  As Katherine watched, the girl placed her hands on Michael’s shoulders and looked adoringly up at h
im. The tightness in Katherine’s throat moved to her chest, and she whirled around and raced back inside.

  She didn’t stop until she’d reached the kitchen and the louvered door had swung closed behind her. Her whole body shaking, she sagged against the counter. She wasn’t certain how long she stood there, refusing to think, refusing to acknowledge what she’d seen. Michael had left her bed to go to another woman.

  Finally, she drew in a deep, shuddering breath and pulled herself erect. She stared out the window, hurt ballooning inside her. Maybe it was a mistake. Maybe he—

  “You’re up.”

  Katherine spun around in surprise. Michael was standing in the doorway, his face flushed from the cold, his hair spiky from his own fingers. As he shrugged out of his jacket he met her eyes. In them she read regret, concern, guilt. And in that instant, she felt exactly as she had twelve years ago. Funny—a few, short months ago, she wouldn’t have believed she could ever feel that raw, that vulnerable again.

  She straightened her spine, suddenly as furious as she was hurt. “Shouldn’t I be?”

  Michael met her eyes and wished he could turn the clock back twenty-four hours. There was a catch in his chest, and he shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “No. It was just that you were—”

  “Sleeping so soundly when you left,” she finished for him, her voice cold.

  “Yes.”

  She turned back to the window. “Convenient.”

  He lowered his brows. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Nothing.” Katherine realized she was gripping the counter so tightly the edge was cutting into her hands and relaxed her grip.

  He’d hurt her, Michael thought, searching her expression. He didn’t know—and couldn’t allow himself to wonder—how she felt about him, but his leaving while she still slept had hurt her. He longed to pull her into his arms and soothe her; he pushed the longing away. This was the way it had to be.

  He stared at her set profile and sighed. “I’m sorry.”

  His apology ripped through her; Katherine looked over her shoulder and met his eyes anyway. “For what?”

  “For... everything.”

  Anger shot through her. He couldn’t even admit the truth out loud—that he regretted they’d made love, that he’d gone to another woman, that he’d left her alone after the night they’d shared. Well, she wouldn’t hide or pretend. Not this time.

  “I’d think that even with the one-night stand crowd a note or a goodbye is expected after a night like ours.”

  What could he say to her? That he’d needed to think, to plan how he could cut her quickly and efficiently out of his life? He looked away. “I was wrong; I shouldn’t have left without talking to you.”

  When she only looked at him, he stretched a hand out to her. “Katie, I feel like a real jerk. I’m sorry. Last night shouldn’t have—”

  “Don’t say anything else!” she interrupted, whirling around to fully face him. “And for God’s sake, no more apologies! We went through this last night. There’s no reason for you to feel guilty. Nothing happened that I didn’t want to, that I didn’t ask for.”

  He crossed his arms over his chest to keep from reaching for her. “But I knew going in that I couldn’t give you anything, Katie. You didn’t. That wasn’t fair.”

  Bitterness rose like bile in her throat. She’d known it all along—she’d just refused to believe it. “Don’t flatter yourself, Michael. You don’t know what I’m thinking or what I want.” She angled her chin defiantly. “I had fun. If you remember, that’s what I’d set out to do.”

  Her words twisted in his gut. He wanted to haul her against his chest and kiss her until she admitted she felt more than that, that last night had been as special to her as to him. He reminded himself that he was the kind of man who could desert a sleeping woman and turned away from her. “Great. I had fun, too.”

  “Good.” She dumped his glass of wine from the night before in the sink. “I’m glad that’s settled. I’m going to dress.” As she brushed by him, he caught her arm. She met his eyes.

  Michael stared at her, and the memory of what her arms had felt like around him, holding him, pulling him closer as he moved into her, swamped his senses. “Dammit, Katie. We’re friends. Let’s not throw that away.”

  “Don’t worry, Michael.” She laughed; the sound was cool and tight. “I don’t feel any differently than I did before last night, or for that matter, than I did twelve years ago.”

  Michael’s gaze searched her face. Her cheeks were the color of the small pink flowers that grew wild at the side of the road, her eyes the flawless blue of the Mediterranean. And she was telling the truth. She felt the same as she always had; last night hadn’t meant more to her than “fun.” Terrific. Great. It was what he wanted, too.

  Ignoring the knot in his chest, Michael lowered his eyes to her mouth. It was set but still soft; the need to kiss her rushed over him like wildfire. He wanted to press his mouth to hers and feel it moisten and part under his, wanted to soothe, excite, possess. He wanted to prove this thing between them was so much more than “fun.”

  He couldn’t afford to touch her again. Ever.

  He dropped his hand, and she started toward the door. Just as she reached it, he said, “We’ve been invited to a party.”

  Katherine stopped but didn’t turn around. “When?” she asked, even though she had no intention of going, no matter when it was being held.

  “Next Saturday night.”

  “I have plans.”

  He clenched his fists. With Dean? “Break them.”

  She turned back to him then, furious. “I don’t think so. We’re not dating, Michael. Go without me.”

  “No,” he said softly, dangerously. “It’s my friend Sam Steele’s sixieth birthday and we’ve been invited. What would Susi think if I came without you?”

  Katherine tossed her head back. “I don’t care.”

  “Well, I do.” Michael pinned her with his gaze. “You made a deal, Katie. I agreed to become your study partner, and you agreed to pretend to be my lover.”

  “And you promised my bedroom door would stay closed,” she shot back, knowing it would hurt him and wanting him to experience just a modicum of what she was feeling.

  Michael took a step toward her. “Your bedroom door did stay closed, Katie. Surely you remember your impatience—” he swept his eyes slowly over her, before meeting hers once again “—or should I refresh your memory?”

  Chills raced up her arms. She told herself anger caused them; she knew better. It was the picture Michael’s words had elicited—the white couch, their hastily discarded clothes, pillows thrown aside in a frenzy. She and Michael—breast to breast, lips clinging, crisp hair against smooth skin. His breath against her ear—hot and ragged, her hands against his flesh—urgent, demanding.

  “Don’t bother,” she snapped, realizing her heart was beating fast and her breath was short. “I have a memory.”

  He folded his arms across his chest. “So, are you going to hold up your end of the bargain?”

  Katherine gritted her teeth. He knew her and her damnable sense of fair play too well. “Fine,” she snapped. “What time?”

  “Seven-thirty.”

  Without acknowledging him in any way, she left the kitchen.

  * * *

  The night of the party arrived, despite Katherine’s wish that it wouldn’t. While Michael checked their coats, she nervously smoothed her sweater-dress over her hips. It was straight, unadorned and the color of elderberries. The soft, wide leather belt at her waist was the same color as the dress, as were her pumps.

  The dress was a perfect choice for a party being held at the Wagon Wheel Lodge in Rocton. The resort was designed with an Old-West motif, and this building was a replica of a dance hall, complete with wagon-wheel light fixtures, polished wood floor and exposed log beams. The atmosphere was suited to loud music and laughter, or warm drinks and cozy conversations in front of the huge stone fireplace
.

  She was in the mood for neither, Katherine thought, resisting the urge to smooth her dress yet again. She shot an irritated glance over her shoulder at Michael. He looked relaxed, even pleased with himself. She stiffened her spine. She resented the fact that he’d maneuvered her into accompanying him tonight by playing upon her overdeveloped sense of responsibility. And it was that same sense of responsibility that wouldn’t allow her not to act the part of Michael’s lover. But she didn’t have to like it, she vowed, turning to him as he came up beside her.

  He laid a possessive hand against the small of her back, and Katherine stiffened. “We don’t have an audience, Michael,” she said coolly, stepping away from his touch. “So hands off.”

  Michael narrowed his eyes and closed the tiny gap she’d made between them. He cupped her face in his palms. “Still angry about having to change your plans? Would it help if I said I was sorry?”

  She drew in a sharp breath at his tone. He was patronizing her! “No,” she whispered angrily, trying to ignore her racing heart. “Now let me go.”

  He brought his hand up to cup her other cheek. The curve of his lips was wicked. “Oh look, here comes Susi.”

  “Michael, don’t—”

  “The perfect audience,” he continued, trailing his thumb across her flushed cheek.

  “—you dare. I mean it, Michael.”

  “So do I.” His lips hovered above hers. “Look in love, Katie.”

  Katherine flattened her hands against his chest as his mouth settled over hers. She meant to push him away but his mouth was warm and familiar, his taste as heady, as potent as fine old brandy. She curled her fingers into his lapels and gave herself over to his kiss.

  And a moment after she did, Michael lifted his head. “She’s gone,” he whispered, his lips still only a fraction from hers.

  “Mmm.” Katherine’s eyes fluttered open.

  He smiled down at her. “You can let go of my jacket now. But you don’t have to. In fact, I prefer my women draped over me.”

  Katherine jerked away from him as if stung. “Don’t flatter yourself. I said I would play this damn part and—”