Not America’s Jezebel. Not the Scandal of the Century. Not, as the First Lady once referred to her, the First Whore. Simply Madeleine Kane.
Madeleine thought about what Peg had said about losing Ben. It would be like losing God. If she did lose him, would it mean the spinning would start up again?
She hoped not. The waters were calmer now and after five years she liked to think she was stronger. More balanced.
Hadn’t she kissed Michael in a public place?
That was daring for her. For others, that was the equivalent of walking down the middle of the street naked.
She still couldn’t believe she’d agreed to it or that they were actually caught by an aging usher with a bright flashlight. Smiling to herself, she realized the whole adventure had been fun. And fun, much like vacation, was a concept she thought was more for others than for her. She liked it.
She liked it a lot.
CHAPTER TWELVE
“IT’S YOUR TURN.”
“This is stupid.” Michael looked at the cup filled with dice and wondered how it was a man could sink so low.
“It’s Scrabble, it’s not stupid.”
They were sitting on the floor of her suite having finished their meal from room service. After a couple of days of dating Michael had quickly determined Madeleine’s range of comfort and it didn’t extend much further than her business range of comfort.
Dates could encompass movies; walks in the park, but only when Madeleine felt she was sufficiently camouflaged; lunch with Archie at Darnell’s; and dinner at his house or room service in her suite. Anything else she deemed too “risky.” And given that she thought walking through the park was putting things on the line, he knew any argument on the subject was pointless.
Not that he minded. Spending time with Madeleine any way he could was worth it. If he was a little disappointed that he couldn’t impress her with fancy restaurants and trips on a private jet to New York, he’d dealt with it. Besides, he’d done those things with other women who had meant nothing to him and she might not like the idea of following in their footsteps. And it wasn’t like Madeleine was the type to be impressed watching him spend his money, anyway.
But after they’d removed the remnants of their meal and the empty bottle of wine they’d shared out into the hall, she had suggested playing a game.
A board game. It was emasculating—or it would have been if he hadn’t already been emasculated. Because one of the problems with not being able to take her to a show or a restaurant or a sporting event meant much of the time they spent together was alone and in private.
When a man was alone with a woman he wanted… in private…certain thoughts came to mind. Maybe she thought she was helping sidestep the issue of sex in their relationship, but in his mind all she was doing was calling it into sharp focus.
Things were becoming increasingly difficult in that area. Each time they said hello or good-night, they started kissing and it was like setting sparks on dry kindle. He felt his body react in ways he didn’t think he would ever feel again. Always to be followed by the plummeting realization he couldn’t take what he wanted because his body would ultimately betray him. Their passion could only go so far before it would stop. He left her wanting and unsatisfied and even though she denied it, he knew it had to be frustrating.
Hell, he was frustrated.
Michael was beginning to think it was time to change that. After all, there were many other ways for her to achieve sexual release. At least one of them should be able to get off. He was about to say something when her cell chirped from her desk.
“Leave it,” he urged her.
“Can’t. Could be Ben.” Unraveling her legs from the twist she’d arranged them in, Michael watched as she gracefully transitioned from sitting to standing in a way a man never could.
Knowing they were staying in, she’d worn stretchy yoga pants and a soft, well-worn sweatshirt. Her hair was pulled into a careless ponytail and her face was clean of any makeup he could see.
He thought her more stunning than any of the models or starlets he’d ever dated. The fact that her feet were bare and he could see her toes were painted ridiculously pink made him feel like a king for being allowed into her inner sanctum.
She was maddening to him. Seemingly within his grasp, but still out of reach.
“Hey, Peg. Okay, great. I’ll run it by him and then we’ll talk about scheduling. Thanks.”
She turned back to him with her bottom lip between her teeth and he instantly had ideas about replacing her teeth with his. He could, he had, nibbled on that mouth for hours.
“What?”
“Peg wants to do the interview. Her boss is excited about the idea.”
Michael leaned back on the couch behind him. “You don’t look excited by the idea. I thought this was what you wanted.”
“It was. I think it’s a great opportunity to show not only who you are but what the car is about. People are going to be interested. Not just people in the automotive industry, but I bet the government, as well. They’ve been trying to push electric cars for years, but the demand isn’t there. You can change all that and create a new demand.”
“So what’s the problem?”
“No problem,” she said slowly. “Maybe a concern. Peg is one of the best at what she does. She’ll dig. She’ll dig real deep. So will whoever is actually going to do the interview.”
Immediately Michael understood. “You’re worried she’ll find out the truth.”
“She’ll find out about the attack and why you served the full three years. There is no doubt about that.”
“I’ve covered my tracks, Madeleine. Very well. She’ll find out about the assault but not why I initiated it. Prisoners get into fights all the time. It happens.”
“And you’re going to be okay talking about it?”
“Sure,” he joked. “I love to talk about it. It’s my favorite thing in the world. Ask me anything about my time in jail. I’ll tell you about the food and the chores and what it’s like to sleep on a cot you’re too big for.”
She walked over to him and knelt next to him. “I’m serious. This isn’t something you have to do if you don’t want to.”
“You said it’s the best way to attract attention. That’s what this whole shindig was about, remember?”
“I remember.” She sighed.
“It’s going to be okay,” he promised her. At least he hoped it was going to be okay. Thoughts of Nooky emerged, but Michael believed he’d scared the guy off for good. He hadn’t seen or heard a word from him since that day at the park nearly a week ago. Although he probably should check in with Archie to see if the rat had quit his job. He made a mental note to follow up.
No, he didn’t think Nooky was the issue. The question was, how many more like him were out there? How many more times would some rat come find him and threaten to tell everyone all his secrets?
Inwardly Michael shrugged. He didn’t know, but it was his cross to bear. It was the one thing he kept going back to anytime he took a moment to feel sorry for himself. Everything that happened, the attack, his sexual issues as a result of it, the people like Nooky who would forever stink up his life, all of it was because of what he’d done.
He’d made the choice to steal the car. He’d done that and no one else.
“Do you want to keep playing?”
Michael looked at the abandoned game pieces and rubbed his hand over his face. “No, I don’t want to play a game anymore.”
“Can I ask a question instead?”
Inwardly he tensed. Somehow he knew this wasn’t going to be good. “Okay.”
She settled against him on the floor and being comfortable enough there he didn’t think to move.
“How did you do it? How did you change?”
“You mean, how did I escape becoming a career criminal? That’s easy. After I beat the crap out of Ricca…”
It was funny to him. It was a name he hadn’t allowed himself to think of
in years. Hadn’t even thought of it until Nooky wrote it in a note and now he’d said it. Out loud. He waited for the memories first, then the crippling sense of shame, but there was nothing. Only Madeleine pressed against his side waiting for some magic answer as to how he turned his life around.
He didn’t know how magic it was, but it was the truth.
“After the fight, I spent the next two weeks in solitary. I thought about what would happen if he died. I mean, it would be murder, right? Maybe manslaughter, whatever, but I knew if he died it meant I was going to have to spend the rest of my life in prison. I couldn’t do that, so I was going to kill myself.”
She made a small sound, not quite a gasp, more like a hiss.
“And it wasn’t the teenage melodramatic kind of thought. I mean, I knew deep down that this was it. I couldn’t do it for life. Which meant I wouldn’t live if he didn’t live. When I got out of solitary they told me he woke up from the coma. He didn’t appear to have any lasting brain damage and in a few weeks would probably be fine. So now I was going to live. Not die, but live. I thought to myself…you got your life back, asshole. Now what are you going to do with it?”
She bumped his shoulder with her own. “You shouldn’t use that kind of language.”
He laughed at that. “Sorry. I forget I’m dealing with Miss Ivy League over here.”
“So you had a rebirth and decided you were going to change everything.”
He looked at her then. “Not at first. Had you asked me then I probably would have told you my plan was to be a better car thief and not get caught. Over the years that changed. I kept to myself pretty much but I would hear guys talk in the yard and whatever work assignment I was on. Everyone I knew or heard about was a do-over.”
“Do over?”
“Do-over,” he explained, “is when you commit the crime, do the time, then do it over again.”
“Career criminals,” she surmised.
“They couldn’t learn. I used to get so frustrated. Why didn’t they learn? If you were a house robber and you got caught and you were back in jail for robbing a house then you obviously didn’t figure out how not to get caught. Idiots. Then it hit me, the only way not to get caught was to not do it in the first place. That’s when I knew if I was going to really make it out of that place and never go back, I was going to have to figure out another way to earn a living.”
“That’s a good story,” she said. “You tell whoever is interviewing you that story and you might change some lives.”
“It’s a crap story, Madeleine.” He didn’t want to paint a pretty picture, at least not with her, that he was the bad boy who had turned everything around. A feel-good ending to a hard-luck case, which is what all the stories about him portrayed. With her he had always been honest and he didn’t want to back away from that.
“That experience ruined me.”
She nodded and rested her chin on his shoulder in support. “Yep, in one way. But it also made you, in another way. How’s that for irony?”
Eff irony, he thought. But he didn’t say the word out loud because Madeleine didn’t like bad language.
For a time they sat there together, until the restlessness inside him kicked in. He stood. “I’m going to head out.”
“Don’t,” she said. “Stay and have another drink. We’ll be bad and order up another bottle of wine.”
He smiled at her version of bad. “I can’t do that. I have to drive home.”
“Then stay…the night.” Immediately she rose onto her knees and shuffled around until she was in front of him. It was erotic since she looked so earnest.
“Madeleine…”
“Is it wrong for me to ask? I mean, I thought we could sleep together. Just sleep. I haven’t done that in a very long time.”
He hadn’t done it ever. He’d never been much of a cuddler, anyway, and the lingering fear of having his partner turn to him the next morning expecting him to have an early morning boner was enough to make sure he left before any sleeping happened.
But this was Madeleine and she was sort of begging on her knees.
Every instinct he had told him this was a bad idea.
“Okay.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
“ARE YOU READY?” she called from the bathroom adjacent to the bedroom.
Michael looked around the empty hotel room not sure what to expect. He certainly hoped she wasn’t about to put on some sexy show. That would only be embarrassing for both of them.
They had decided on the second bottle of wine. It was the only way he was going to make it through another round of Scrabble. The result was Madeleine knew a lot of crazy words and they were both slightly tipsy.
She more so, which made him wonder about what she was about to come out of that bathroom wearing. Maybe something see-through would be fun, after all.
He’d undressed down to his boxer briefs and was now taking off his watch to leave on the bed stand. It seemed such a natural thing for a man to do but inside he was nervous as hell.
“Michael?”
He’d forgotten he was supposed to answer. “Yeah, yeah,” he said and sat on the edge of the bed.
The door to the bathroom opened and the bathroom light filtered around her. She’d gone with an oversize T-shirt and a pair of cotton shorts. No peekaboo nightie, but he thought this outfit was just as sexy. Her hair was still tied back in a loose ponytail and he could smell the faint hint of mint from the toothpaste she’d used.
If he’d been asked when he first met her what kind of pajamas did he imagine Madeleine Kane would wear, he would have said something sleek, cool and sexy. Elegant silk in deep rich colors.
The more he was coming to know her, the more he realized how far away she was from that cool facade he’d first met. He smiled thinking about the way she’d sat across from him on that first meeting so prim and professional. The way she could show cool disdain with simply the lift of an eyebrow.
He’d wanted her then. Wanted to put her on a pedestal and worship her forever.
But he wanted this version more, this flawed and contradictory woman. This was the woman only he got to see. He sensed he was among very few people in her life who had the privilege.
“No shirt?” Her voiced faltered a bit and he wondered if she was as nervous as he was.
“I didn’t think to pack pajamas and I sure as hell am not wearing yours.”
She smiled. “I guess that doesn’t work in reverse, does it?”
“No. Come here.”
She walked over to him and he opened his legs to allow her closer. He ran his hands over her bottom and rested his head against her chest, finding a home there he hadn’t known he’d been looking for. Her fingers ran through his hair and then rested on his shoulders. The nerves faded a bit.
“Can I kiss you?” she wanted to know.
He lifted his head. “You can always kiss me.”
Moving out from between his legs, she crawled onto the bed and lay down on her side facing him. “Then come kiss me.”
Michael lay down. “I thought you said you wanted to kiss me.”
“I guess I did.” She undulated toward him, moving her body as close as she could. Her leg slipped between his and she cupped his cheek with her hand.
He was in a pool of Madeleine and he didn’t want to get out.
“Thank you for staying with me,” she whispered before pressing her lips against his.
The trick, Michael learned, was to stay in his head. As long as he could remain there it stopped him from feeling the rush of pleasure, which came every time they touched. He didn’t want the pleasure anymore. At first it had been alluring, even tempting, to think that it might change something or lead to something more. But the crash and fall were always too disappointing.
So he kissed her and he used his lips and his tongue but inside, mentally, he was putting letters together to form unappealing words.
Burp. Dirt. Jail.
But then she sighed into his mouth and her l
eg shifted up over his thigh. Instinctively he pulled her closer, his hand reaching for her bottom to bring her into full contact with his body. He felt her breasts against his chest. Soft mounds of flesh highlighted with hard tips poking through the cotton of her shirt and marking his chest.
Her hands were on his back and he realized this was the first time she’d touched him, skin on skin. It was electric. Like he was truly being touched for the first time in years. As if he’d been nothing more than a ghost walking among substantial people. Through her touch he felt himself coming back to life. He could feel her fingers, her palm…the tip of a nail gently tracing a path down his spine.
Don’t think about how good she feels in your arms. Don’t think about her tongue teasing your ear or her lips pressed against your neck.
Don’t think.
It was all feeling too good. Suddenly he was a man in bed with his woman after a nice night and they were going to make love. He was going to sit her up and pull her T-shirt over her head.
He tossed the shirt to the floor.
He was going to cup her breasts and lower his head to suck on a hard nipple.
Her moans echoed in the hotel room, growing louder as his mouth grew bolder.
He was going to tug her cotton shorts down her long legs, letting his fingers graze the underside of her knees.
She bent her legs when he touched the sensitive skin there and then he flipped the shorts over his shoulder and they, too, landed on the floor.
She was naked. She was underneath him. He had everything in the world he wanted.
Except an erection.
On his knees, his weight braced on his hands while he held himself above her, he looked down at his body. There was a change. He could feel the rush of blood to his groin and if he was being generous with himself, he might have said he was semihard. But it wasn’t enough to get him where he wanted.
Deep inside her. He needed that now. Not for the sake of the sexual release, but for the connection to her. He wanted them locked together. Her fingers reached up and caught in the waistband of his briefs. Immediately he pulled her hands away and pinned them against his abs.
One Final Step Page 14
