by Radclyffe
Michael walked around behind her desk and slumped into the chair. When she tilted her head back and closed her eyes, Sloan felt the desire to comfort her constrict her chest so tightly she couldn't breathe. She swallowed the urge to smooth the furrows from Michael's brow with a caress, steadfastly ignoring the buzzing deep in her belly. Uh uh. No way. Do not even think it.
"Let me make you some coffee," Sloan suggested when she could get the words out without tripping over her runaway hormones.
Michael shook her head impatiently, but she smiled gratefully when she said, "No. Go back to work, Sloan. I'm all right. I just feel like my entire life has been a charade and I never realized it." She rubbed her hands over her face. "God, I sound pathetic. I'm sorry."
Sloan gritted her teeth until her jaws ached, willing herself to stand still. She wanted so badly just to touch her hand.
That's what you need, but probably not what Michael needs.
Desperately, she sought the words that would help ease the terrible pain she saw in Michael's wounded eyes. "You're not pathetic, you're just hurt. That's human."
Michael stared at her, her expression softening. "It's not what you think, Sloan. I'm not mourning my lost marriage. I'm just so angry at the mess I've made of my life, and how foolish I was not to see it. What's wrong with me that I could spend all this time in some charade and not even know it?"
Sloan went to her, finally trusting that she had her own emotions under control. She grasped Michael's hands lightly, gazing intently into her face, praying that her words would somehow penetrate Michael's anguish and self-doubt.
"There's nothing wrong with you! You've accomplished remarkable things in your life, and you're not the first person to make a mistake about a relationship. It took a lot of guts to face him, and tell him, and to walk out of there. Don't beat yourself up like this," she said, her voice thick with feeling.
God, she's magnificent and she doesn't even know it!
Helpless to stop, Sloan lifted one hand and brushed strands of blond hair from Michael's cheek. Her hand was trembling; she wasn't certain why. She stroked a thumb across the bruised shadow on Michael's cheek, wishing she could soothe the pain from her soul.
"Don't be so hard on yourself," she whispered again.
Michael fell into Sloan's deep violet eyes, almost floating on the comforting sound of her words, not really hearing them, but sensing the caring behind them. She had no idea why it felt so good for this woman to touch her hand or stroke her cheek, but she felt soothed somewhere beyond words. "Thank you," she said softly.
They were so close, if Sloan dipped her head just a fraction, their lips would meet. She wanted to, more than she had wanted to kiss any woman in longer than she could remember. She wanted to so badly it was a pain in her chest, and a hunger that went deeper than anything she had ever thought to feel again. There was such innocence and tenderness in Michael's eyes that all she wanted was to cherish it. She stepped back abruptly, more frightened by her own feelings than she could stand. She dropped her hands to her sides, fists so tight her fingers cramped. Her throat was so thick she wasn't certain she could speak. She stumbled back another step on legs that shook, swallowed painfully, and finally managed, "You don't need to thank me. You're incredibly brave."
Then she grabbed her jacket, made an excuse about needing to check in with her office, and left hurriedly, leaving Michael to stare after her with an odd sense of loss.
When Sloan got to the gym, she wrapped her hands and pounded the heavy punching bag until she couldn't lift her arms, finally sagging to the floor, her arms around the gently swaying bag, her sweat-drenched face pressed to the rough canvas cover, holding onto it with all the desperation of a lover betrayed.
CHAPTER NINE
IT WAS ANOTHER week before they spoke again. Sloan was spending most of her time with Mayfield, the systems administrator, and Michael was in and out for meetings, planning conferences, or working in her office. They passed each other coming and going, and that was enough for Sloan to see that by midweek Michael appeared to be in control again. The shadows haunting her blue eyes had disappeared and her gaze was clear. Sloan could sense Michael's distraction, but the fragility of that morning after her encounter with Jeremy was gone. It was just as well that their separate endeavors prevented much interaction, because Sloan found it difficult to concentrate with Michael in the room. Usually when she was working at the computer, she wasn't aware of anyone or anything around her. Annoyingly, the few times they were together now she found herself listening to the small sounds Michael made while working, or turning her head to look at her as she bent over her drafting table, or watching her as she talked on the phone. This was no time to lose focus, not when she was reaching a critical point in the changeover from the old system to the newer, streamlined, more secure one she had devised.
It was close to 8 PM on a Wed night when Michael opened her office door and walked down the hall to the cubicle where Sloan was working. "Can I see you for a moment in my office please? Michael asked quietly.
It hadn't escaped Michael’s notice that Sloan had been avoiding her, and she could only imagine it was because of the scene she had made in the office that morning after confronting Jeremy. Her loss of composure embarrassed her still. Nevertheless, she needed an update on Sloan's progress because the situation with Jeremy was rapidly approaching crisis proportions. It was hard for her to admit, but she missed her casual conversations with Sloan while they worked together. She missed Sloan’s quirky grin and quick humor, too.
Sloan looked up at the sound of Michael's voice, immediately struck once again by her timeless beauty. Her pulse sped up just a little and she felt that swift automatic tingle of arousal that was as involuntary as her heart beating. She quickly ignored it, nodding, "Yes, of course. I'll just be a minute."
"Good," Michael smiled, suddenly happier than she had been in days. "I ordered some Chinese, and I always get more than I can eat by myself."
Sloan walked into Michael's office a few minutes later, closed the door, and looked at her, one elegant dark eyebrow raised in question. She couldn't stop herself from grinning with pleasure. Michael looked stunning in a forest green suit that was tailored just enough to accentuate the curve of her hip and the long line of her slender thighs. Sloan knew she was staring and hoped her quick surge of pure lust wasn't obvious.
Michael stood in front of her desk, leaning one hip against the edge, her hands clasping the polished wood on either side of her. She smiled, a brilliant smile that sent the blood coursing hotly through Sloan's veins.
"How are we doing?" Michael asked, apparently oblivious to Sloan's reactions. She indicated cardboard cartons of food on the glass-topped table in front of the leather sofas along with wooden chopsticks in paper sleeves, a stack of paper plates, and napkins. "Help yourself. It's the maid's night off."
Sloan occupied herself with the food, grateful for something to take her mind off Michael Lassiter's body. "Pretty well, actually. Your systems administrator is a good man. It won't take too long for him to figure out I've installed a detection program that reports to an ICEcap server, though."
It was Michael's turn to lift an inquiring eyebrow, and Sloan laughed.
"It's a secondary security checkpoint that accumulates detection data from multiple networked computers, then analyzes and tracks intrusions. The problem with any detection system is that all Internet transmissions are not attacks. Some legitimate Internet applications communicate with your network in the same way that hackers do. The more external points of entry to the system you have, such as access from personal home computers or distant office sites, the more holes you have in the system. My job is to make the system as tight as possible and still allow those who need to get in to be able to. Mayfield is naturally curious as to some of the changes I've instituted, but I don't think he's particularly suspicious yet. Is he someone you can trust?
Michael shrugged. "I really have no idea. I'm sure that lines of allegiance wil
l be drawn rather quickly when it becomes generally known that Jeremy and I are divorcing. I think most of the theoretical people will want to stay with me. As to management, it's hard to say. Probably the bottom line will be their perception of who will most successfully run the company. And that's where the problem will be. I expect the fact that I'm a woman may decide it for some of them. Right now, I'm hoping I can keep things quiet for a bit longer until my attorney can present Jeremy with a buy-out agreement. Maybe in the end money will sway him. We also have two big projects nearing completion – one with the government and one in the private sector. If I can bring these in on time with no hitches, that will go a long way toward solidifying my position. I need to be able to show that I can lead the company, not just the design divisions."
Sloan nodded, thinking it a sound plan, if it was really money Jeremy Lassiter wanted to exact from his wife. She had no doubt that Michael could handle the business challenges to come. "I'm going to need to go to your New York office fairly soon. That seems to be the weakest link in the network. I'll need a few days up there to physically look at the system. I've got Jason backtracking IP addresses from the analysis engine I've loaded into your personal computer. Most of it will turn out to be nothing, but it's always worth checking."
Michael sighed, absently drawing a bit of hair off her cheek, tucking it behind her ear. Sloan watched the delicate movement of Michael's slim fingers as she lifted the golden strands, struck by the grace and elegance of the small gesture. She must have been staring, because Michael blushed slightly. Sloan quickly averted her eyes.
Christ, Sloan, get a grip. You can't keep looking at her like she's lunch!
"I'm going a little stir crazy in the hotel," Michael confessed. She had taken a suite of rooms at the Four Seasons when she moved out of her house. There wasn't much that she actually needed. She had her computer, so she could work, and she had taken most of her clothing with her that first night. Nevertheless, the evenings alone at the hotel were beginning to wear on her. It was surprising, really, because being alone was something she had gotten used to. It didn't ordinarily bother her. For some reason, she found herself restless and agitated. And aware for the first time of being lonely. She kept thinking back to the evening she had spent with Sloan and the others at the Cabaret. She had felt lighthearted and excited and somehow so free. She realized she missed that feeling.
Sloan said nothing, trying her best not to think about Michael Lassiter in any way at all except professionally. She definitely did not want to think about her in terms of dinner at the Monte Carlo restaurant, or a stroll along the riverfront in the moonlight, or perhaps a nightcap in Michael’s hotel room. She absolutely did not want to think about leaning over and kissing her, which was exactly what she had been thinking for at least ten minutes. She leaned back on the sofa to break the spell. It didn't work.
"I was wondering if Jasmine is performing again Friday at the Cabaret?" Michael asked impulsively. It must have been just the memory of how happy she had been for those few hours, because it certainly couldn't have anything to do with the fact that Sloan had made her feel so special. Or how the brief touch of Sloan's long, lean fingers seemed to make her skin tingle.
"Actually she isn't," Sloan said gently, sensing how hard it had been for Michael to ask. The quick flash of disappointment on Michael's face caused her to lose what remained of her better judgment. "She and the troupe from the cabaret are performing at the annual AIDS benefit at the Franklin Center. Jason, Sarah and I will be going. Would you like to join us?"
"Oh, I couldn't. That's very kind of you, but I'm sure you've already made other arrangements," she said, thinking of the remark Angela had made about Sloan's popularity with women.
Sloan grinned somewhat sheepishly. She didn't think it would be prudent to tell Michael Lassiter that her date had dumped her after Sloan had informed her that she wasn't interested in a serious long-term relationship. The timing had been terrible, but Sloan had to find some way of explaining why she hadn't wanted to sleep with Diane the previous Saturday night. It was hard enough to come up with an explanation to herself. She wouldn't even consider that it might have something to do with the thoughts of Michael that had kept intruding all evening.
"Actually, I have an entire table reserved, and there's plenty of room. There would just be the four of us until Jason left for the performance."
Michael recalled the handsome young man she had met briefly that day in Sloan's office. "Jason would be- ?" Suddenly she remembered Jasmine's brilliant blue eyes and her elegant but strong features. The two images came together in her mind, and she gasped in surprise. "Oh my God, Jason and Jasmine -"
Sloan laughed. "Amazing, isn't it?"
"Incredible. However did you two meet?" she asked innocently.
It was there again, that quick flash of barely disguised pain. Then Sloan shrugged it off, and answered carefully, "We both worked in Washington in the early '90s. I happened to see Jasmine one night in a bar. She was really hot in black leather pants and a skimpy little top, and she was getting plenty of looks. I asked her to dance."
She was still a little embarrassed that Jasmine had turned her down flat when she suggested they go somewhere a little more private. Sloan could still remember how turned on she had been after only one dance with her. Sloan cleared her throat, and continued, "I thought it was odd that she didn't seem to be interested in any of the women who were clearly interested in her. A couple of days later, I passed this guy in the hall. He had the most beautiful eyes, and when he saw me he blushed. And I knew."
"What did you do?" Michael asked, reaching for one of the fortune cookies in the bottom of the paper bag. She was fascinated. The image of Sloan and Jasmine dancing was surprisingly exciting.
"My first reaction was to be pissed off," Sloan said immediately. "I actually wondered for a minute if he was some kind of undercover agent gathering dirt on government employees."
Michael was about to laugh, but one look at Sloan's face told her she was serious. "Does that sort of thing actually happen?"
"Not so much anymore, but it certainly has in the past. And Washington is a very paranoid place. But I had danced with him, and I knew he was the real thing. He was the best transvestite I had ever seen. Everything – the way he moved, the way he spoke, hell, even the way he felt! Jasmine is as real as it gets. No agent would have been able to pull that off. I turned around, followed him down the hall, and pushed him into the men's room. Then I asked him what the fuck was going on."
She grinned a little ruefully at the memory, remembering how pale Jason had been, and how frantically he had looked around the restroom for someone to help him. He must have thought she was really going to hurt him. She remembered too the sinking feeling in her gut when she realized that that's exactly what he expected, for someone to hurt him. She had stepped back from him, put her hands in her pocket, and looked him up and down. He was wearing a Brooks Brothers suit, polished loafers, and a tie with a perfect Windsor knot. Then she had said, "I liked you a lot better in those leather pants."
"I liked you a lot better in yours, too," he had responded softly. "And that wasn't me, actually, it was Jasmine. I didn’t mean to lead you on, you know. I thought a dance would be okay."
Sloan remembered how quietly he had said that, a slight wistful tone in his voice. She understood what he was trying to tell her. She had no idea why he trusted her, but he did. She glanced at Michael, and continued.
"He explained to me that he was straight, which is why he didn’t go dressed to a men’s bar. He wasn't interested in picking up men, and was afraid there'd be trouble if he refused. At least in a lesbian bar, Jasmine would fit in, and she could always say 'no' if someone came onto her."
"My God, how difficult that must be," Michael murmured. "It would be so much easier if he were gay."
Sloan was surprised at how easily Michael grasped Jason's dilemma. Jason could date straight women, but then how would he explain Jasmine? When dressed as Jasm
ine, expressing himself as Jasmine, he appeared physically female, but he did not want to attract men. He ran the risk that whoever might be attracted to him would be repulsed by his particular form of self-expression.
"He hasn't had an easy time," Sloan agreed. She didn't think it was her place to tell Michael that Sarah and Jason were going out on their first date that Friday night. She trusted Sarah to be able to handle the situation, but she wasn't at all certain that Jason could. He was too used to hiding, and too used to anticipating rejection. She wasn't certain he would be able to recognize true affection when he found it. "So, Sarah and Jason and Jasmine and I will all be there. Please, join us. I'd like that very much."
Michael nodded, realizing that she wanted to do that more than she had wanted anything in a very long time. She pulled the small slip of paper from the stale cookie and read,
"You will find happiness in the most unexpected place"
Then she smiled, and said, "Yes, so would I."
CHAPTER TEN
WHEN MICHAEL ANSWERED the knock on her hotel room door at exactly 8pm Friday night, she was momentarily speechless. Sloan stood before her, dashingly turned out in a finely tailored charcoal pin-striped, pale gray tuxedo, complete with a pleated white shirt, French cuffs, a navy cummerbund and white bowtie.
"You look... magnificent," Michael finished, laughing as Sloan responded with a small bow.
Sloan searched for words, mesmerized by the vision of Michael in a black silk dress that hugged her sleek figure, thin straps at the shoulders accentuating a tantalizing expanse of décolletage exposed by the low sweep of the clinging bodice. The soft swell of her breasts was just a promise beneath the exquisite material, but it was enough to send the blood rushing from her head to the depths of her belly. Her throat was suddenly dry. She was aware that she was staring as the silence between them lengthened, but she was having trouble catching her breath. Finally, she brought her gaze to Michael's, where blue and indigo fused, and they smiled into one another's eyes.
