BABY & THE BEAST

by Laura Wright

  A grin split his face. "Watch." He dipped his head and tasted paradise.

  Isabella sucked in a breath as she felt Michael's tongue graze the slick heat of her. Windows surrounded them, leaving their actions and reactions open to the world. Out this far, surely no one was going to see them, but the element of erotic risk added to her already heightened sense of need.

  Never in her life had she trusted a man so completely. Never in her life had she given herself so fully. But this was Michael, the man she loved, making her breath catch, her nipples tighten and her core flood with aching heat.

  The feeling was so foreign it frightened her at first, but when she looked down, watching him move so tenderly, the fear gave way to pleasure. The soft, ragged strokes, the teasing, the pressure. Her mind went blank, totally white.

  Then suddenly, through the haze, she felt him ease a gentle finger inside her. She gasped, took him fully. And as he gave her short, little thrusts, something happened. A storm began building inside her, a storm that only Michael could intensify, that only Michael could quell.

  Frantic moans erupted from her throat. She felt wild, like a starving lioness with its prey in sight. Her instincts took over and she pressed herself closer to him, letting her head fall back. More than anything, she wanted to give herself to him, all that she was. She wanted him to know that only he could make her feel this way, make her react like this. But she couldn't remember how to speak.

  Michael worked his magic as her body quaked. She was a racehorse, frantic, enjoying the journey but desperate for the finish line. She forced her heavy head to lift, her eyes to open. Deep and low, she shuddered at the sight of him, his dark head buried between her thighs.

  Lost, she gave in, allowing the ripples of orgasm to take over her body. Squalls of torment crashed into her, and she shuddered. Heat thrashed through her core over and over.

  But as the waves lessened in size and power, Michael didn't draw away. As if he knew how sensitive she was, he went on, slowly, building the tension anew with his tongue. Her mind slow, but her body wakening again, she welcomed the building heat inside her—then raging heat that came faster this time. And when lightning hit and climax came once again, she cried out her pleasure, then collapsed back onto his desk.

  She felt weightless, replete, as though she were floating down a river of feathers. Gradually she began to mentally paddle to shore, certain that her love for Michael would never wane. She was his.

  As her breathing slowed and her body temperature fell, she eased her eyes open. Michael stood above her, tousled hair, his chest once again glistening with sweat and the front of his sweatpants bulging with arousal. Lord, she wanted to touch him, feel his weight on her, feel him inside her. She wanted to make him feel what she was feeling right now. Reaching out, she took his hand and tried to pull him to her.

  But his expression stopped her, and she released him. The frown lines around his mouth plainly showed that he wouldn't allow himself the same pleasure he'd just given her. His eyes were like onyx, his body language warning trespassers to beware. Isabella's heart lurched. He'd closed himself off again.

  Suddenly she felt very exposed. She looked down to see her clothes mocking her from the floor.

  Michael turned to face the window. "I'm not sorry about what just happened. Now you can never say…"

  Quickly as she could, she picked up her clothes and dressed, frustration ruling her heart. "Never say what?"

  "That I don't want you. Or that I don't see you as a woman. Because, I do." Staring out the window, he exhaled heavily. "When it comes to you, I seem to have no self-control."

  For a moment she wanted to believe that his admission was a compliment, but she knew better. She knew he was afraid to care about anyone and anything, and she knew why. She wanted to storm out of the room, let her own anger war with his, but her love wanted to offer him comfort. She walked to the window and put a had on his shoulder. "Michael, I know that—"

  "Maybe it's good that you're leaving tomorrow," he said. "There's nothing for you here."

  She dropped her hand from his shoulder. "Maybe you haven't noticed, but I'm not asking for anything."

  "You deserve to ask, Bella. You and Emily deserve a man who believes in love, trust and happily-ever-after." His hands were splayed on the glass above his head as he stared out into the night. "You see those pictures on my walls?"

  Her gaze swung to the etchings she'd noticed the first time she'd come up to his office. "Yes, I see them."

  "They're here to remind me that they're as close as I'm ever going to get to a fairy tale."

  Isabella stared at his back, his bitter tone washing over her. She'd had enough. She was growing weary. "If that's what you believe, Michael, then I'm sure it'll come true."

  Turning, she left him at the window. She loved him almost to the point of pain, but she wasn't going to beg him to give up the past that held him hostage.

  She stepped into the elevator and said, "Second floor." If he wanted her, wanted the real love she offered, he knew exactly where he could find her.

  In the world of the living.

  *

  Same road, same car, same driver, same passenger.

  But no snowstorm.

  Michael glanced out the window of the town car as they sped along, half expecting to see Bella's clunker on the side of the road. But this time she wasn't there. More than likely she was happily baking away in her newly opened shop, listening for Emily's cry on her baby monitor, catering to a town that adored cream puffs and apple fritters.

  Two weeks had passed with the speed of an ice age. He'd tried to keep his mind off them, but with Thomas calling almost daily to tell him how well Bella and Emily were doing, he hadn't succeeded very well. Sure, he was glad to hear that they were all right, but the calls served as thorny reminders of how empty his house was now. How empty he was.

  After a week of that agony, he'd packed up and gone to California early, hoping that work would once again be his saving grace.

  But while he was working with Micronics, the CEO had insisted on showing him a few sights. Everywhere Michael had gone, from the ocean to Hollywood and Vine, his mind had remained on his two ladies. How he'd wished that Bella and Emily were there with him. He'd actually felt jealous of the people in a tiny snow-covered Minnesota town—jealous because they were now the lucky recipients of Bella's time and attention the way he had been for almost a month.

  He leaned back against the leather seat and crossed his arms over his chest. What a fool. He missed her laugh and the way she battled with him over anything and everything. He even missed her coming up to his office and interrupting him ten times a day. And that image of her on his desk…

  He hadn't been able to work there since that night.

  But he'd get her off his mind soon enough—he had to. Just as soon as he stopped by to thank her for her part in sweetening his deal with Micronics. When he saw her again, maybe this … spell she'd cast over him would finally disappear.

  He snorted at the absurdity of that thought as the driver pulled up to her bakery. The first thing Michael noticed when he stepped out of the car was a shopkeeper's back-at-such-and-such-a-time sign hanging in the window. But instead of numbers, different activities related to Emily filled each spot. And right now both hands pointed to "Quiet. Baby sleeping."

  God, he missed … everything about them. With reverence, he eased open the front door. The scents of chocolate and fruit and spices wafted through the air, while the most beautiful woman in the world stood behind the counter, her blond hair up in a loose bun, her cheeks flushed, her white apron smeared with goodies, engrossed in helping old Mrs. Boot with her cookie selection.

  "So that's two caramel crunchies," Bella whispered. "Four raspberry cobbler bars, seven black diamonds and an éclair, right?"

  "I think that'll hold me and Ed till Monday," Mrs. Boot said in hushed tones.

  "Four days?" Bella tipped up her chin as though she was thinking about that very har
d. "I don't know." With a smile, she grabbed two more éclairs and put them in the bag. "On the house."

  "Thank you, my dear." Mrs. Boot's gaze flickered toward the door and Michael. She grinned and said, "Can't tell if she's a devil or an angel."

  "I have trouble with that myself," Michael whispered as he walked toward them.

  Surprise lit Bella's blue eyes as she watched him approach. No doubt she wondered what he was doing here. And right now, he could hardly remember. All he wanted to do was take her in his arms and plant a kiss on her soft mouth.

  Looking from one to the other, Mrs. Boot cackled softly, then made her way to the door, giving Michael an exaggerated wink. "Have a good afternoon."

  When the old woman had gone, Bella looked at Michael and said professionally, "Can I help you, sir?"

  But her clipped query didn't dissuade him. He'd been an ass the last time they'd been this close. She had a right to be angry with him.

  He sidled up to the counter. "Once upon a time, there was an amazing chocolate doughnut that a magical young lady made for me." He raised a dark brow. "Ever heard of anything like that?"

  "I might have," she said quietly. "What'll it cost me to get one?"

  She shrugged. "I don't know. They're pretty special."

  "I'm not going to argue with you there." He gave her a half smile. "How about a night out?"

  "Excuse me?" Guarded tone, guarded eyes.

  "Dinner? Tonight? With me."

  Her lips parted, her eyes filled with uneasiness. "I don't think so. I'm not really comfortable going back to your—"

  "Not at the house. Here in town."

  Her brows drew together. "I don't understand."

  "I thought we should celebrate," he continued. "After all, you're the reason Micronics just doubled their offer for my software."

  "I'm what?" she said as a hint of warmth lit her eyes.

  "Those amazing ideas you gave me. I want to take you out and thank you properly."

  "Oh. Right." She looked down. "Congratulations."

  She didn't sound pleased, and for a moment he wondered if he'd done the wrong thing coming here. But then his gaze found hers again, and he felt the need that had pulled him all the way back here from L.A.

  "I miss you, Bella. Please." Don't say no.

  For a long moment she didn't say anything, just stared at him. He was ready to call himself three kinds of idiot for baring his soul when she unexpectedly bent down and took something out of the display case.

  When she stood back up again, a tentative smile graced her beautiful face, and a chocolate doughnut lay in her hand. She held it out to him. "Pick me up at seven?"

  * * *

  Chapter 9

  « ^ »

  The mouthwatering scents of garlic, onions and grilled meat floated in the air. As Isabella sat across the rough-hewn table from Michael in the Fielding Supper Club—the Gazette had called it the best chop house this side of St. Paul—she tried to tell herself that this wasn't a date. That it was just a thank-you for helping him. But she couldn't stop wondering if maybe his tough shell was cracking a little. He'd probably never been "out on the town" in Fielding with anyone. Of course, "out on the town" in a burg this tiny wasn't saying much, but still, for him it was an unprecedented move.

  And then there was the wonderful words he'd uttered, words that made her believe again that anything was possible.

  He'd missed her.

  Covertly, she abandoned her steak for a moment and stole a glance at him. He looked like a magazine cover in his black turtleneck sweater and jeans, a lock of black hair falling over one eye.

  She mentally sighed and went back to her dinner. She'd missed him, too, and the ache had only deepened in the past weeks. It had been impossible to leave him when she had, yet somehow she'd found the strength. But today, when he'd walked into the bakery and looked at her with those mesmerizing eyes, she just hadn't been able to say no.

  Maybe this dinner wasn't exactly a date, but Michael was here, in public, and all eyes were on him. And he'd chosen her to accompany him. It was a step in the right direction, a chance, a change. God help her, but she was going to cling to that.

  "How's your steak?" he asked, cutting his own superbly grilled porterhouse.

  "Wonderful." She glanced around the room at the watchful crowd, then back at him. "Listen, I don't think they'll stop unless you nod and smile at them. They probably don't think you're real."

  "And what do you suppose they think I am?"

  With a shrug she offered, "Alien, robot. You work with high-tech stuff. You know, rumors start."

  "Yes, I do know," he said dryly. "I've had my share of rumors."

  "Just give 'em a smile. Make their night."

  On a chuckle, he looked up and waved. At first everyone just stared, then each in their turn gave him a return wave or a smile. When he finally brought his gaze back to her, his brow was furrowed.

  "What's wrong?" she asked, taking a bite of her baked potato. "Not what you were expecting?"

  "I don't know. I'm trying to avoid having expectations."

  She smiled at that, took his newly acquired ease as another sign. Maybe if he came to town more often, he'd get to know some people, make some friends.

  And see her.

  She lifted her mineral water and saluted. "Congratulations again on landing another multimillion-dollar account."

  "And to you, for having such amazing insights." His gaze warmed. "I couldn't have done it without you."

  That look went straight through her, hitting every sensitive area she possessed. "Sure you could have. But thanks for the compliment."

  He drank deeply from his glass of merlot. "Listen, Bella. In all seriousness, without your input, the deal wouldn't have been nearly as lucrative. I wanted to get you a gift, but I know how you feel about pay-backs." He paused. "So, since she was the inspiration, anyway, I got Emily a gift." Michael handed Isabella a thick envelope. "I funded a tax-deferred education account for her."

  Stunned, Isabella could do nothing but stare at the envelope. A college fund for Emily. It was something a father… She exhaled heavily. Her mind swam. How could she accept such generosity?

  But before she could utter a word, he added, "It's for Emily, Bella. I want her to be able to go to the college of her choice. Let me do that for her."

  The sincerity of his words tore at her. The wise part of her warned her to say thanks but no thanks. But the part that saw his need to do this couldn't refuse. She didn't know what else to say but, "Thank you, Michael."

  He would be tied to them for life now, she thought as he nodded and returned to his meal. Did he understand that? And right now did she care?

  If she had the magic eight ball that her father had given her for Christmas when she was ten, she was sure it would read, Don't count on it. Because even if this moment, or series of moments, was all there was, she didn't care. She'd take what she could get and let God handle the rest.

  After all, He did work in mysterious ways.

  When they finished dinner, Michael paid the bill and got their coats. "I forgot to congratulate you on the bakery," he said, holding out her navy wool Peacoat. "I noticed you don't have a sign yet. What are you going to call it?"

  "I'm not." She laughed at his perplexed expression. "I'm leaving it up to Fielding. I placed a fish-bowl on the counter and asked everyone to write down a name."

  He shrugged into his leather jacket and grinned. "A smart businesswoman."

  Her smile wide, she shook her head at him. "Letting people decide the name of the store is not just a business decision. I want them to feel like they're a part of the shop."

  "I like that," he said thoughtfully as they walked out of the restaurant.

  Snowflakes fell from the night sky and the air was scented with holly. Christmas was coming, the time of year for happiness, cheer and goodwill toward men.

  To this man, she thought with a smile. "So how was your first official dinner in Fielding?"

&nb
sp; "How do you know it was my first?"

  "Just a hunch," she said. "Was it all you imagined it to be?"

  "More," he said dryly.

  She laughed. "You think you might do it more often now?" She mentally crossed her fingers.

  "That depends." He stopped at the door to her shop. "You going to be there?"

  "Maybe." There they were, so close. But a gap of uncertainty hung between them. "Would you like to come up and say good-night to Emily?"

  He nodded. "Yes, I would."

  Michael felt like a world-class fool as he followed Isabella through the bakery and up the stairs. For some stupid reason, he'd hoped that seeing her for a few hours would cool his burning need to be with her. But it hadn't. It had only made him want her more.

  Ruth greeted them at the door with a sleeping Emily in her arms. After a quick chat, she handed her off to Michael and left, saying she had to hurry home to watch Jay Leno with Thomas.

  For Michael, seeing Emily was like coming home. After a month of caring for her, hearing her different cries, holding her, feeding her, he was due. But the little girl had something else on her mind, so he reluctantly handed her over to her mother.

  "I should go and feed her," Bella said hesitantly. "Do you want to—"

  "No. I'll stay here." If he was going to save this night from turning intimate, watching Bella nurse was out of the question.

  She didn't leave immediately. He knew, because he could feel her eyes on him as he walked around the room, looking at her place. The changes she'd made since he'd last seen it were amazing. Her touch was everywhere. In the dried flowers, comfortable couches, brightly colored rugs, overflowing bookcase, smiling photographs of her and her father and Emily. It all had her signature. Homey, warm and incredibly inviting.

  "Your leg bothering you tonight?" she asked, rocking Emily in her arms.

  "Some." He turned to face her. "You don't happen to have a whirlpool on the roof or anything, do you?"

  She shook her head. "Sorry."

  The ache in his leg had turned raw about a half hour ago, but he'd pushed it out of his mind. In the past year, acute pain had started to accompany the ever-present ache. His doctors had said that there was nothing they could do. It came with age and weather. Move to California or Florida, they'd urged. That would probably be the wisest decision. But lately the idea of leaving the sleepy little town of Fielding had sounded more unpalatable than ever.