One Final Step

by Stephanie Doyle

  “I promise we’re not going to do anything you don’t want to do.”

  Madeleine hated statements like that. It meant if she caved, when she caved, it would be all her fault. Of course, if she did cave then that’s exactly what it would be.

  Her fault. Her fault for not fighting her feelings harder, for not exerting more control over her mind and her body.

  Her fault for being weak. But only when it came to him.

  All she had to say was no. All she had to do was send him on his way, let him know she would be in touch with him regarding the interview and call an end to their working arrangement. She could go back to Philadelphia, put him behind her and move on with her life.

  Her ruthlessly controlled and freezing-cold life. A life she was coming to believe she had grown tired of. It was in her power to change it.

  “Okay.” The word was more of a whisper, but she watched him smile slowly.

  “Don’t look so nervous. I’m a good cook.”

  She tried to smile, but could feel it wobble. He took her hand and walked her over to the door, where her shoes were waiting for her. She stepped into them without releasing his hold. He continued to grasp her hand as he led her out of the suite and down the elevator to the parking garage and his car.

  When she saw the key marks she gasped, but he dismissed it as the work of some juvenile delinquents. Then she stopped thinking about the car altogether.

  She was going with him, willingly, to his house. Leaving the safety of her hotel and breaking away from seven years of strictly followed rules. Madeleine tried to tell herself it didn’t have to mean anything. She could control her every action. It would be dinner and conversation and nothing else.

  She almost believed it.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  “MORE WINE?” Michael tilted the bottle at the edge of her glass, waiting for her answer. He could see the hesitation and wanted to tell her she was as safe with him after two glasses of wine as she was after only one. But they’d had a nice dinner and he didn’t want to remind her of the tension they had each felt before.

  When she’d opened the door of her hotel suite the jolt had been physical. He felt it and he knew she felt it, too. They were two people standing on either side of an entrance, afraid to move because of what might happen if they did.

  Michael hadn’t felt anything like it since he’d been in high school and in lust for the first time with Carol McGrady.

  But he wasn’t in high school anymore and nothing that happened between them would be as innocent. They both had too much baggage for that to be the case.

  Eventually Madeleine nodded an answer to his question and he tipped the expensive Chardonnay over until it filled her glass.

  “You were right about your cooking. This was delicious.”

  “I can make two things. Hot dogs and salmon. I figured you would prefer salmon.” They had stopped at a local fish place and picked up their dinner. A few vegetables along with flavored instant rice and the meal was simple but satisfying.

  He liked having her in his home more than he could say. There were no fancy-restaurant airs. No waiters or waitresses tripping over themselves to be nice once they recognized him. Nobody interrupted their conversation with requests to take their plates away or for water refills.

  They simply sat around the island in his kitchen on high stools and ate and talked.

  “Your home is lovely,” she commented, her eyes looking out at the great room that extended past the kitchen.

  He guessed it was. He’d paid handsomely for it to be so. He’d told the decorator that he wanted elegance and sophistication. They were the most opposite things he could think of from his days growing up in the trailer. He wanted pretty where there had been grime. Expensive things where there had been only trash.

  He wished he’d had more connection to the things that had been bought for him. He hadn’t thought to pick out the art pieces he liked, or choose between different color schemes. He’d given everything over to the decorator without really thinking about what it meant to create a home.

  Sometimes it made him feel like a stranger in his own house, but he couldn’t fault the decorator for that.

  “Thank you. I hoped it would impress you.”

  “You think you needed a house to impress me?”

  “I knew my faultless manners weren’t going to do the trick.” He smiled. “You might have noticed I can be a little rough around the edges at times.”

  “At times. But it’s what makes you you. And I’m not impressed by a house.”

  “No?”

  She shook her head. “I am impressed by the man, however. The very smart man who created a very incredible car that I believe will have the effect you want and revolutionize how we think about driving.”

  “You’re good for my ego. Sure I can’t convince you to move to Detroit to be my cheerleader?”

  He watched her face change. She tried to hide it as she took another sip of her wine. Was it disappointment? It certainly was awkward. Not one for subtlety, he pushed the issue.

  “Look, I know we’re coming up on the end here. There’s really not much more you can do to shine me up.”

  “I think if Peg agrees to the interview, you’ll need help with the prep. But you’re right, other than that I don’t know if you really need me anymore.” She set her glass on the granite top and slowly pushed it away from her. Like she would soon push him away.

  “That’s not true. I do need you,” he said abruptly. He got down from his stool and moved toward her. He crossed his arms over his chest and thought about what he could say, what he could ask.

  “Michael, don’t do this. We both know this wasn’t going to be anything more than a temporary work assignment. Yes, I think we’ve also developed a…friendship. And if I leave on good terms, then we can continue being friends.”

  “I don’t want you to go. Tell me I’m wrong, but I don’t think you want to leave.”

  She got down from the chair and took a few steps away from him, at least out of arm’s reach. “Michael, I like you. And yes, I’m probably going to miss our friendship, but if you thought there could be anything else between us, you were wrong. If for no other reason than you’re going someplace I can’t follow.”

  “I’m not going anywhere. I’m building a car. I’m partnering up with a large company. That’s it. End of story.”

  “No, you’ll see. With your enthusiasm, your passion, you’ll be the face of whatever this turns out to be. You’ll be huge. People will know you. They’ll know everything about you. They’ll certainly know who you are dating.”

  Michael moved toward her, closing the distance. He was a fool to be pushing this, he knew it, but he couldn’t stop himself. He needed her. It was the only thought that rang true in his thick, stubborn skull. And she wasn’t saying she wasn’t interested. She was saying she didn’t like the idea of him being famous.

  “You’re speculating. You have no idea what this is going to turn out to be. Admit you’re afraid of the way you feel about me and that’s why you’re running.” She shook her head and it aggravated him like no gesture he’d ever seen before. “You’re lying.”

  Madeleine stopped backing up. “I’m not. And I’m not running away. I’m going home. It isn’t out of fear—it’s because that’s where I belong.”

  “Like hell it isn’t about fear.”

  “It’s about self-preservation. It’s about not making the same mistakes I made before. I don’t want a man who has anything to do with the media or the press. I can’t have cameras in my life. I can’t do it.”

  “Then who do you want? Anybody? Have you felt like this for anybody since your oh-so-tragic fall?”

  Nobody had ever said he wasn’t ruthless. Not one person, even after he had changed his life so drastically, had told Michael Langdon he was a nice guy. He sure as hell didn’t feel nice. He felt a little crazy, like this precious thing was slipping through his fingers and he couldn’t find a way to make it stop.


  “We’re friends. You said that’s all you wanted.”

  “Sorry, sweetheart. I saw the way you smiled at me when you opened that door today. I know better. You want me. I know it. You think I can’t see it when you look at me?”

  “Shit.”

  The foul word coming from her Ivy League lips stunned him. He realized he’d put her on this pedestal of femininity and class. To hear her curse, and do so over him, made him feel like laughing and scooping her up in his arms and twirling her about.

  “What do you want from me, Michael? Why are you pushing me?”

  He couldn’t say what he wanted. He only knew what he didn’t want. “I don’t want you to go. Stay here with me. Let’s see what could happen. Don’t we owe ourselves that? A chance at maybe…I don’t know…happiness?”

  She crossed her arms over her chest and raised her head up as if seeking divine intervention. “That’s not going to happen. I still work for you. If you think I’m going to set up house here and be your little lady…that’s not going to happen.”

  “You’re right. I was stupid. I forgot one last thing.”

  This time Michael did pounce. He had his hands around her upper arms, holding her in place. He felt like a predator who had latched on to something too big for him to hold, but hold her he did.

  “Madeleine, you’re fired.”

  It was the last thing he said before he swooped down and kissed her.

  * * *

  SHE COULD HAVE PUSHED him away. He hadn’t used his strength against her, only his desire and his insistence. She could have pushed him away, asked him to take her back to the hotel, never to see him again.

  Just like she could have stopped what happened with the president.

  This is different.

  The thought crept into her mind and she acknowledged the truth of it. This wasn’t like the last time. This didn’t feel dirty or tawdry. This didn’t feel like spinning out of control. Maybe because Michael was nothing like the president. He always listened to her.

  The truth was, she wanted this kiss. She’d thought about it for days, maybe even weeks. He’d been right. When she’d opened the door to him earlier that evening she could have put her arms around him and kissed him with everything she had inside of her.

  It’s what she’d wanted to do. It’s what she’d done in her mind. But the controlled, sensible and cold Madeleine prevailed.

  Yet when she accepted his invitation for dinner at his house, she intentionally brought herself to this place, knowing the intimacy between them would only grow.

  A hotel room was sterile and cold, but this was where he lived. Where he ate and cooked. Watching him with a goofy smile on his face as he mashed up the instant-rice bag before putting it in the microwave had been charming. Teasing him as he tried to carefully turn the fish in the sauté pan without breaking it apart had been fun.

  She’d been deluding herself if she’d thought this night was going to end any other way. It was time to be honest with herself about why she’d broken her rules. The only reason was that she wanted this. She wanted him.

  She put her arms around his waist. Feeling the muscles in his back clench as she leaned into his kiss was pure joy.

  He broke away from her lips and captured her cheeks in his hands. “Madeleine, don’t tease me.”

  “Was I teasing you?”

  His lips curled. “No, you were kissing me.”

  “I like doing that.”

  “Me, too.” He paused as if unsure what came next.

  “I’m tired of fighting it, Michael. Whatever this is, it’s something, right?”

  “It’s something,” he said, but she could see a distraction about him. He was thinking, planning, looking for the place they had to go next. She didn’t want him to do that. She didn’t want to think too much about anything.

  “Kiss me again,” she demanded.

  Gently he cradled her face in his hands and brought his lips to hers. “Madeleine,” he moaned. “You’re killing me.”

  She felt a tension in him she didn’t quite understand. There was no ease in his kiss. No melting sense of rightness now that they had finally given in to what they both wanted. He was kissing her with purpose, but she didn’t sense he was letting himself become aroused like he was arousing her.

  She moved her body against him and felt him back his hips away.

  “It’s okay. I give up. I surrender.”

  He looked at her then, trying to understand what she was saying. “What are you saying…?”

  “Michael, make love to me. That’s what I’m saying.”

  He let her go then and took a cautious step back. Again, not something she was expecting.

  “Isn’t that what you wanted?” Doubt started to creep in. Maybe he wasn’t sure what he wanted.

  “I want you,” he said roughly. “I want you like you can’t understand. What I feel inside, it’s like this thing trying to bust out of me.”

  Yet she could still sense his hesitation. She took a step toward him this time. “Then take me upstairs. I’ve been in ice for seven years and I want to get warm. I want to feel heat. Make me warm. Please.”

  He grabbed her hands and bent his head, kissing her on the knuckles. “You sure about this?”

  “Yes. You were right about everything. I was going to run because I was afraid. But suddenly I don’t feel afraid anymore.”

  “Okay. Okay. We can do this.”

  He took her hand and she nearly had to jog to keep up with him. She was about to tell him she didn’t believe this was a race to anything but he was leading her up the stairs and all words fell away. Two French doors opened into the master bedroom, which was decorated with chocolate-brown tones and dark purple accents.

  He turned to her again and kissed her. Again she felt a tension she didn’t understand. She couldn’t tell if he was rushing because he was desperate to make love to her or because he wanted to get it over with.

  “Michael, stop.” Madeleine pushed away from him, feeling as if she was some sort of goal he wanted to reach. Rather than feeling like a woman who was about to become his lover.

  He backed off and his eyes never left her lips. “What?”

  “Are you sure you want this? We don’t have to…”

  “No. Of course we have to. I have to.” He shook his head. “I want to. Let me…” His voice trailed off and he left her standing in the middle of the room while he walked away from her.

  “I’m going to change real quick.”

  She watched him walk toward another door that she imagined led to a closet, but when he turned the light on she could see it was a tiled bathroom. Maybe he kept a robe on the door? He swung the door nearly closed, and she couldn’t help but wonder what was making him so nervous.

  It wasn’t helping the situation. She was already anxious enough for both of them. It would have been so much easier to simply rely on him to take the lead and make things calm for her. But it didn’t seem like that was going to happen and it confused her.

  The man was a known playboy, so it wasn’t as if having a woman in his bedroom was new to him. Or maybe it was. Maybe he didn’t bring those women back to this place. Maybe he was nervous because what was about to happen between them was special.

  At least, that’s what she wanted. She wanted it to be very special.

  Looking around, she took in the room. She expected his bedroom to be more personal than downstairs. Maybe pictures of his racing wins or of Archie. But there was nothing. Impersonal art decorated the walls and elegant pillows were sprawled on the bed. The floor underneath her feet was hardwood covered in thick lush rugs that would make it bearable walking from the bed to the bathroom on a cold winter night.

  She could hear him moving about in the bathroom. He’d been in there for a couple of minutes. He was taking nervous to a whole other level. It looked like it was going to be up to her to calm them both.

  “Michael, you know you don’t have to be worried.”

 
There was a pause, then “Huh?”

  “I mean this is supposed to be fun. Yes, maybe this is going somewhere between us, but I don’t want to put a lot of pressure on us for some earth-shattering experience. Let’s just relax and take it easy. We have all night, don’t we?”

  “All night,” he echoed. Then she thought she heard him curse under his breath. Suddenly the sound of little objects tapping along the bathroom floor could be heard. She watched as something slid out under the door and rolled along the hardwood floor in her direction.

  Walking over, she bent down and picked up what turned out to be a little blue pill. The drug’s name was printed in neat, tiny letters. She read it and stunning disbelief slammed into her. Followed quickly by the thought that he wouldn’t do this to her. That he couldn’t be doing this to her. Not him. But the evidence was in her hand.

  “Don’t,” he said as he pushed open the bathroom door. He was dressed in a silk robe. “Give me that!”

  She pulled her hand away even as he reached for it. “This? You need this to sleep with me?”

  His eyes closed and he seemed to be mumbling, or possibly praying. When he opened them he looked at her and said very slowly, “Madeleine, you need to listen to me.”

  But she couldn’t hear anything beyond the buzzing in her ears. He was known for chasing women all over the world. Actresses, supermodels, car groupies. He’d never been seen without a woman draped all over him in a picture and yet for her, he required prescription stimulation.

  “Is this some kind of sick…?” She couldn’t finish. She couldn’t imagine what this was. But she knew at least one thing. He didn’t want her. He wasn’t aroused by her. He simply wanted to have sex with her. Like those other men did, like she was some kind of prize to be won. A novelty to be used and discarded.

  She flung the pill at him.

  “Madeleine, wait.”

  Why, when there was no point? She knew who he was now and she didn’t want to listen to any excuses he might offer. It would only hurt more if he tried to justify his actions. She turned and started running for the stairs, but he reached out to grab her arm.