Read Between the Lines

by Erica Spindler

  As he slipped inside her, she clutched at him with a force that would leave marks; his mouth caught her cries of pleasure. Their lovemaking was silent and furious—more about passion and desperation than about need or tenderness.

  But the edge of tenderness was there, Katherine thought later, as her breathing began to slow, her flesh to cool. It always was with Michael. He said he had nothing to give her, yet when they were together like this, it seemed he gave her everything. She trailed a finger over his damp stomach. Or did she just imagine the tenderness, the sharing, because she needed to? Maybe Michael was a good lover because he made every woman feel the same. The image of the young woman in the parking lot, her body pressed to Michael’s, shot into her head and Katherine shuddered and pushed the image away. She couldn’t believe that. Not and maintain her sanity.

  “Are you all right?” Michael nuzzled the top of her head. “Cold?”

  “I’m fine.”

  “Regrets.”

  “No.”

  “Good.” Michael ran the soft, fuzzy fabric of her gown between his fingers. “You want to hear something funny?”

  She lifted her head to see his face. His lips had curved but there was no humor in his eyes or tone. “Sure.”

  “This makes me feel eighteen again.” He lifted the flannel gown, just a little, with his forefinger. “And totally befuddled.”

  She rolled onto her side and propped herself on her elbow. “My nightgown? I don’t understand.”

  “Back at school I had a dream about us making love.” He drew his eyebrows together as he ran the flat of his hand over the curve of her hip. “It was so real that at first I wondered—” he laughed tightly and shook his head “—in the dream you were wearing one of these flannel gowns and sweat socks.”

  Katherine went stock-still, afraid if she moved she would find that this was only a dream. After all the time that had passed, after all the hurt, to learn that in his own way he remembered. “Oh, my God.” It was all she could say, and even then her throat closed over the words.

  “Tell me about it.” He smiled and this time there was a trace of amusement in the expression. “I’ve carried that dream around with me ever since—and had a truly bizarre fascination with sweat socks and flannel.” He wiggled his eyebrows at her. “Kinky, isn’t it?”

  Katherine’s heart beat so heavily in her chest she thought it might break through. She was delighted; she was terrified. She’d held on to this secret for so long, she wasn’t certain the words would even form on her tongue. Just as she wondered how Michael would react to the truth, he began again.

  “I was a lot of things back then, but at least I can’t claim to have been a defiler of virgins. Every woman I’ve ever been with has known her way around. And exactly what she was getting into.” An edge crept into his voice. “No, I left that type of thing for my father.”

  Katherine’s blood went cold as she thought of what Sam had told her about Michael, his father and mother. She couldn’t tell him. Not now, maybe never. It would only affirm everyone’s comments of “like father, like son,” and she couldn’t hurt Michael that way.

  She slid her arms around his neck and met his eyes. “I’ll have to go shopping tomorrow—flannel shirts, flannel slacks, flannel sheets...”

  With a husky laugh, Michael lowered his head. “Don’t forget sweat socks. Lots and lots of them.”

  * * *

  The following Friday night, Katherine popped her workout tape into the VCR, then sank onto the white carpeting. It was over. Tomorrow, the study would be declared a bust, its participants set free. Michael would move out of her house and, she feared, out of her life.

  Would he go back to the woman she’d seen him with in the parking lot? Katherine realized her palms were damp and wiped them against her thighs. She’d often wondered about the long-legged blonde, had wondered if he still saw her, wondered if the woman knew about her and Michael. She’d never had the guts, or the heart, to ask, and it bothered her that she might be one of those women who would ignore rather than face the truth.

  Even wondering about it now brought an ache so sharp that for a moment, Katherine couldn’t breathe. She sucked in air, trying to reason with herself. This week Michael wouldn’t have had the time, or the energy, to see another woman. The days had flown by in a whirlwind of passion and passion’s lethargy. It seemed that she and Michael had spent more time in bed than out of it. They’d even eaten in bed—finger-food feasts that Michael had brought home expressly for that purpose.

  Katherine sighed and flopped back against the thick, white pile. When they were making love, she felt wonderful, and when they weren’t, she was depressed. Depressed because Michael didn’t love her and because nothing could change that fact—no amount of wishing, praying or cajoling. Right now, their romantic relationship was convenient. When it was no longer easy, and without love, the passion would burn out. Besides, she knew—without proof, but in her gut—that Michael wasn’t happy.

  Katherine frowned and plucked at the carpeting, ignoring the perky aerobic instructor on the screen. Why did she think that? He’d been attentive, passionate, romantic—the kind of lover most women only dreamed about. He never tired of her, and...

  And it seemed that theirs, the most intimate of relationships, lacked intimacy. Katherine scowled up at the ceiling. Now, that was nonsense.

  Her chest tightened, and she squeezed her eyes shut. It wasn’t. Michael was holding a part of himself from her—an essential part, the part that really made two people lovers. The part he had never held from her before.

  She wanted to scoff at her own thoughts again, but she wasn’t even up to the charade. The truth was, she and Michael hadn’t talked all week. Oh, they’d teased and made love-talk, but all in all they’d shared nothing more than the moment and their bodies.

  Maybe she just needed the three magic words to make her happy. Maybe she was too greedy, selfish, inexperienced. Katherine shook her head. No, it wasn’t any of those things. It was the hopelessness of their relationship; it was the fact that Michael always talked in terms of goodbye.

  But still, Katherine thought resolutely, other women would kill for what she—She curled her fingers into her palms in frustration. She wasn’t other women; it wasn’t enough.

  “You’re not going to stay in shape that way.”

  Katherine’s eyes snapped open. Michael was standing over her, smiling wickedly. She looked from him to the workout in progress on the television screen and blushed. “I guess I didn’t feel like exercising tonight.”

  He made a great show of disappointment and squatted down next to her. “Not at all?” He ran a finger over the creamy triangle of flesh exposed by the top’s deep V. “Maybe I could change your mind.”

  Her heart started rapping against her chest. He’d only been home a couple of moments and it had started already—they were being glib and sexual and superficial. But she hadn’t the strength of will to stop and found her lips curving despite a lingering sense of sadness. “I’m awfully tired.”

  “Are you sure—” he dipped the finger underneath the stretchy fabric and the peaks of her breasts tightened with excitement “—I couldn’t do anything to convince you?”

  Katherine sighed as his hand moved lower; her eyes fluttered shut. “I suppose if you worked...very hard.”

  Michael laughed softly and removed his hand. “Speaking of...” He straightened her top and stood back up. “This will have to wait, my sexy professor, because I have work to do.”

  Katherine pouted—she couldn’t help herself. “You have to go in to the bar tonight?”

  “Nope. I have work to do right here.”

  “Here?” She sat up and watched as he retrieved a metal toolbox and a large shopping bag. “What’s that?”

  “A surprise.” His eyes crinkled at the corners. “Go back to your workout.”

  Frowning, she jumped up and followed him to the kitchen. He looked entirely too pleased with himself. “I thought we’d already
established that I didn’t want to exercise.” Her frown deepened as he took a hammer and screwdriver out of the toolbox. What was he going to do with those? “Michael, I don’t like surprises.”

  “Spoilsport.” Whistling, he opened the window over the sink and proceeded to unfasten the screen. Cold air barreled in from outside.

  Goosebumps rose on her bare arms, and Katherine hugged herself. “Michael, you do know that it’s freezing—”

  “I know.” He smiled and carefully levered the screen through the window and inside. “Look in the bag and die, Katie.”

  She stopped in her tracks. The man must have eyes in the back of his head, she thought, sniffing. “Okay, go ahead and destroy my house, leap if you want. Since you seem intent on freezing us, I’m going to put on some warmer clothes.”

  “Great.” His smile widened. “And don’t come back for twenty minutes.”

  Nineteen-and-a-half minutes later Katherine pushed open the kitchen door and stepped cautiously inside. Michael was making a pot of hot chocolate—it was unbearably cold in the room—and grinning like a satisfied cat.

  She moved her eyes from him to the window; her mouth dropped. He’d hung a bird feeder outside her kitchen window. It was designed to look like a Swiss chalet; it hung off a bracket that was attached to the window frame. And by the looks of the bright red cardinal perched there and pecking away, he’d already filled it.

  Pulse fluttering, Katherine crossed to the window. The cardinal paused and looked at her, then as if understanding there was a barrier between them, continued to enjoy his meal.

  Katherine turned slowly back to Michael, blinking against the tears in her eyes. “I don’t know what to say. This is so sweet... I...” Her throat closed over the words, and she turned back to the window. A little brown sparrow had joined the cardinal, and the two birds had formed an uneasy alliance.

  Michael came up behind her. He wrapped his arms around her and nestled her back against his chest, resting his chin on the top of her head. “I wanted you to have some company... after I leave.”

  The pain in her chest made it hard to breathe. She squeezed her eyes shut, and when she reopened them, the cardinal had flown off. “Thank you. I love... it.”

  Michael seemed not to notice the awkwardness of her last words. He rubbed his cheek against her hair. “Susi was in this morning.”

  Katherine blinked at the sudden change in subject and turned herself around in his arms. He hadn’t mentioned Susi since before the party. “She was?”

  “Uh-huh.” A teasing light was back in Michael’s eyes. “She brought a gift.”

  “She did?” There was no reason why she should be jealous, Katherine scolded herself. Michael wasn’t interested in Susi except as the daughter of an old friend. She was jealous anyway.

  “Yup.” Michael pressed a kiss onto her forehead, then released her. “Chocolate?” He didn’t wait for an answer, just started filling two mugs with the steaming beverage.

  “What was it?”

  He handed her a cup. “An Icelandic wool sweater.”

  “Oh?” She angled her chin up, just a little. “Why aren’t you wearing it?”

  “It wasn’t for me.”

  It took several seconds for his words to register. When they did, her eyes widened, then narrowed. “If not for you, then who?”

  Michael smiled. “Seems she came looking for me one evening when I wasn’t in and ended up talking to Tommy, my new bartender. My new college-age bartender. One thing led to another, and now I’m out of the picture.”

  Katherine’s heart sank. The only reason she’d been able to come up with that he might want to continue living with her—Susi—was no longer a viable one. “How convenient,” she said, forcing nonchalance. “Now you’re really off the hook.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “The study.” Katherine looked at him over the rim of her cup. “It’s been cancelled. I found out this morning; Marilyn will officially announce it to you tomorrow.” Something flashed in his eyes, then was gone so quickly she thought she’d imagined it.

  “I see.” He brought his drink to his lips. “So, I have one more interview?”

  “Yes.”

  “What were the results?”

  “Overwhelmingly negative. Marilyn’s discouraged.”

  “Too bad. How’s the chocolate?”

  “Fine.” Katherine glanced down at her mug. He hadn’t reacted at all to her news, she thought miserably. But why should she have hoped differently? He’d been honest and had given her just what he promised—physical gratification with no strings and no future. Tears welled in her eyes, and she turned back to the bird feeder. She wanted to ask what it was going to mean in terms of their affair—fling, she corrected herself—but this time, even calling herself a coward didn’t help. She kept her mouth shut.

  * * *

  The next morning Michael slammed his car door behind him and started across the parking lot in front of the Social Sciences building. The day was brilliant but cold. March, one of the most unpredictable months in Rockford, was living up to its reputation. Yesterday the temperature had skyrocketed to the sixties, but overnight a cold front had come through and it had plummeted to freezing again.

  Michael scowled and pulled his collar up around his neck. His foul mood had nothing to do with the weather and everything to do with Katherine and his own feelings.

  The truth was, he felt too much. He’d even been foolish enough to toy with the idea that maybe, just maybe, there could be a chance for him. He glared up at the clear blue sky. Dammit, he shouldn’t have gotten himself into this situation in the first place. He’d known all along what kind of man he was; he should have let her walk away. It would have been better for them both.

  But he hadn’t been able to do that. Being with her had felt too good, and he’d wanted her in a way he’d never wanted a woman before. She’d become an obsession. So he’d tried a compromise—a physical relationship, one where the guidelines and limitations were clearly delineated at the start. He’d presented it as bluntly as possible, hoping she would back off—and praying she wouldn’t.

  In the same paradoxical vein, the past week had been heaven... and hell. When he was with her, he felt stirrings he thought had long ago died inside him and started to believe in things he’d given up on years ago. But every time he began to believe and feel, he would think about all the reasons why he shouldn’t.

  Michael climbed the building’s steps, swung open one of the doors and went inside. He stopped, unzipped his coat and pulled off his gloves, drawing his eyebrows together. He’d been twelve the first time he’d angrily confronted his father. He remembered demanding, Mom loves you. How could you have treated her that way? Just as clearly, he remembered being stunned by his father’s answer. I love your mother, but I can’t change who I am.

  Michael dragged a hand through his hair; it was crisp and cold against his fingers. The study ending would be the perfect opportunity to end their affair. He could slip gradually out of Katie’s life, seeing her less and less until both had forgotten what they’d shared.

  There was an unfamiliar ache in his chest, and Michael drew in a slow breath. It didn’t ease the pain, so he absently rubbed the spot over his heart. Maybe she wouldn’t have trouble forgetting, but he would. His obsession with her hadn’t lessened as he’d hoped it would; instead, obsession had become necessity, and he didn’t know if he could let her go. And that was dangerous.

  He stopped in front of Marilyn’s office. The door was open; she was at her desk surrounded by disordered stacks of paper. “Hi, Marilyn. You ready for me?”

  The redhead looked up and smiled wearily. “Come on in, Michael.”

  He crossed the room and slid into the chair opposite her. “I hear we won’t be seeing each other again.”

  “Nope. This is it.” She sighed and looked down at her hands. “I’m sure you also heard that the whole thing was a bust.”

  “Yeah. Too bad.”

  “
I feel like a real jerk. This hypothesis started with me. And it’s the first one in five years that’s been a total failure. Maybe I’m not cut out to be a sociologist.”

  Michael grinned at her melodramatic sigh. “Better not let Dr. Reed hear you say that. She’ll feel obligated to give you one of her inspirational talks.”

  Marilyn smiled warmly. “She’s quite the little cheerleader, isn’t she?”

  “She always has been. It’s one of the things...” He saw Marilyn’s speculative glance and cleared his throat. “So, what kind of probing, too-personal questions are you going to ask me today?”

  “None. Today you fill out—” She started shuffling through the papers in front of her, huffing when after several moments she still hadn’t found what she was looking for.

  “You know, Marilyn, I’m not the most organized person, but—”

  “No comments from the peanut gallery. Ah—” she pulled a manila file folder out of one of the stacks; as she did several others slid to the floor “—here it is. As I was saying, today you fill out another questionnaire. This one is similar to the one you were given when the study began. However, the questions are subtly—”

  “Excuse me.” They both turned to the doorway. Ron was there and looked flustered. “Marilyn, I need a little help over here. Tracy Lynn’s—”

  “Oh, no.”

  “Oh, yes. She’s hysterical about the study ending. Says she can’t live without Nick.”

  “The soap opera continues,” Marilyn muttered, jumping up. “Michael, the questionnaire is right on top, so go ahead and start filling it in. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

  Bemused Michael watched her go, then turned back toward the desk. He shook his head as he reached for the file folder on top. As promised, the questionnaire was right in front. He took it out, then, unable to help himself, started leafing through the rest of the file’s contents.

  All his comments were there, as were Marilyn’s evaluation of them.

  No indication of any change... seems unaffected by cohabitation... uncommunicative this week... totally indifferent—too indifferent?