by Helen Conrad
“Don't bother me,” he breathed against her neck. “I'm busy right now.”
“We've got to talk.” She struggled to get free, not sure if the major battle was with him, or with herself. “Please, Michael. Please.”
He let her go reluctantly, his touch lingering on her breast, then her shoulder. “I don't think I'm going to like this talk,” he grumbled as she led him to the kitchen table and sat across from him. “I can feel a real wave of logical thinking coming from your direction. I hate logical thinking.”
How was she going to be able to sit here and look into those crystal-blue eyes and still get out what she had to say? “Michael,” she began shakily, “why aren't you in Hawaii?”
“Hawaii?”
Suddenly a strange thing happened. The face that had been so open, so full of humor, so loving, turned to a steel mask that she hardly recognized. She'd touched upon his work in a way he didn't like at all. Just seeing that transformation sent a distinct chill down Shelley's spine.
“See?” she told herself. “See just how quickly his emotions can turn? You can’t count on him. Wake up!”
“What are you talking about?” he asked, his tone crisp and cold.
She looked down at her hands. “I know you've been in Hawaii.”
“Where did you find that out?” His voice was as sharp as the blade of a knife, and when she looked up, his eyes were cold as glacial ice.
That must be the man criminals see when the time comes to reveal who he is, Shelley thought, wide-eyed. She wouldn't want to tangle with him if he ever really got angry. Thank goodness there was nothing to hide here.
“Sam Gladstone told me. I—I happened to see him at the station house the other day...”
“And he just blurted it out?” He didn't believe that for a minute, but at least the ice had melted. He didn't feel threatened by her knowing anymore. Sam Gladstone's name seemed to work wonders. “Sure, he did.” His mouth twisted. “Come on, Shelley. Sam wouldn't tell a thing like that to a casual visitor. It wasn't for general knowledge.”
She certainly wasn't going to admit what she'd gone through to find out. “I asked him,” she said quickly. “I was wondering how that case with Harry Stickler came out, and I just asked him. And—he told me.” Was he going to buy it?
“Give me a break.”
Nope. What was she going to do now?
“I know Sam a little better than that.” He narrowed his eyes at her with mock menace. “You must have batted those big brown eyes like crazy to charm old Sam into giving away my secrets.”
She lifted her chin proudly. “I didn't have to bat anything. I just presented my case with logic and reason. A few times.”
“Ah hah.”
“I…I convinced him I just wanted to know how you were doing, nothing about the details of where you were or what you were working on. And once he was convinced, he told me what he knew.”
He reached out so fast, she didn't have time to draw away, and then he had her wrist in his hand. He gazed at it for a moment, then leaned down to touch the tender center where her pulse beat with his lips before looking up into her eyes.
“Then tell me this, lady shrink. Why would a woman who'd professed to want nothing more to do with me go to that kind of trouble to find out where I was?”
There was no logical answer to that question.
“Just crazy, I guess,” she said unsteadily, instead of answering seriously. “But that's not the point.”
“It may not be your point,” he said, his gaze smoldering provocatively, “but it's exactly mine.”
She took a very deep breath and held it for a long moment. “Michael, listen to me. I'm a psychologist. I'm developing a clinical practice. I love what I do. I've studied all my life for this. I'm a settled, conservative kind of person.”
He nodded. “So far, I follow you.”
She gazed at him earnestly, trying to make him understand. “You live a very different sort of life. You're here today, gone tomorrow. You follow excitement, wherever it leads. You thrive on taking chances. You”—her voice dropped almost to a whisper— “you scare me. I don't think I can deal with that kind of constant risk. The worry.” She swallowed hard. “And most of all, the fear that you’ll be gone when I get up in the morning.”
She'd expected him to rebut everything she said, but he fooled her again. He slowly let go of her wrist, not saying a word. When she met his eyes again, his glance was somber.
“You really lay it on the line, don't you?” he said quietly. “You look ahead in ways I don't usually do.” He sighed. “What can I tell you, Shelley? I care a lot about you. But I can't promise you white lace and a double-ring ceremony. Not with the way I live.”
That was just what she knew was true, but it still hurt. Maybe a little piece of her heart had hoped to hear him declare his wild life over—that he would give up anything and everything to have her. But she knew how unrealistic that was. At least he didn't lie.
“That doesn't mean I don't want you.” He reached out again and took both her hands in his. His eyes were dark and infinitely blue. “And you're not the only one who's scared,” he said softly, looking at her as though that should mean something significant. But what did it mean?
You've got to tell me, she wanted to say aloud. I'm a little too dense to get this from hints. If you want me to know something, you've got to tell me right out. Otherwise I'll never believe it.
But he didn't say another word, so she ventured another question. “Are you going to take the job in Hawaii?”
He groaned. “I didn't realize Sam was such a blabbermouth,” he muttered, shaking his head. “No, I'm not taking it.”
“Why not?”
He dismissed it with a shrug. “You're not in Hawaii,” he said simply. “And I want to be where you are.”
Oh sure. He exasperated her, but a little part of her loved it. He was filling her head with charming nonsense and she knew it. How could that possibly be true? They hardly knew each other. And he had so many resources, so many options.
And yet she knew it was true on her part. She felt that way about him. That's why she knew she had to stay away. Didn't he realize she was doing this as much for his sake as for her own? Didn't he remember how he'd told her that an emotional relationship would make him vulnerable in his work? She couldn't risk being the cause of his getting hurt.
“You can't be where I am,” she told him, trying hard not to let her voice tremble. “Because I'm not going to see you.”
He sighed, let go of her hands, and leaned back in the chair. “I was afraid you were going to make this difficult.”
“Not difficult,” she told him sadly. “Impossible.”
The front door opened. Robin was back. “I'm home,” she called unnecessarily from the other room. “How come I don't smell those steaks on the grill?”
Michael stood and came close to where Shelley was sitting. “I've got news for you, Shelley,” he said softly, cupping her chin in his hand and tilting her head up so that she had to look into his eyes. “You and I started something when we met. It’s there. It’s real. We need to use what we made together and fill in the blanks.”
She winced and looked away. She knew he wasn’t talking about a long-term commitment here. Hadn’t he just said so? So what was the point?
“I had a feeling that was the way it was going to be from the first,” he said softly, “but after our night in Newport I was sure of it. It's going to take some time to convince you of this, I know. But I've had tougher cases.” He face softened into a slight grin. “None I cared more about winning, however. And like the Canadian Mounties, I always get my—woman.”
Robin chose that moment to breeze into the room. “Hi, guys. Michael staying for dinner?” she asked hopefully. “I bet he'd like one of those steaks.”
“No,” Shelley and Michael both answered at the same time, though each for different reasons.
“I've got to go,” Michael said, still looking down at Shelley. �
��I've got to get back on the job.” Leaning down, he dropped a quick kiss on her unresisting lips. “But I will take this along with me.” Turning, he grabbed a fork and stabbed one of the steaks, thrusting it into the empty paper sack.
“What do you want that for?” Shelley asked, frowning as she rose from her chair.
He waved the paper bag under her nose. “I heard what you said when you first came in. I'm not letting 'good old Jeff' have anything that belongs to me.” He gave her a piercing look. “Nor anyone else, for that matter.” He softened his words with a smile at Robin. “See you later,” he told them both before heading toward the door, the sack with the steak held firmly in hand.
Shelley stood frozen to the spot, then rushed after him.
“Wait,” she called, catching up with him on the stairs. “Michael. You just don’t listen, do you? I’m not going to see you later. I’m not going to see you ever. We can’t…I mean, there’s no way…”
He caught her chin in his hand and stared down into her eyes, shaking his head as though he really didn’t get what her problem was. “It’s a small town, Shelley. I’m assigned here for at least another week. We’re bound to run into each other. We can’t avoid it.” He shrugged, his gaze darkening. “Whether you like it or not,” he added, then dropped his hand and started down the stairs.
She watched him go. He didn’t look back. Slowly, she walked back into the apartment.
“Shelley,” Robin said tentatively, moving toward her, “is there anything—”
“Not now.” Shelley threw her a look that was desperate and apologetic at the same time. “I can't talk about it now.” And she fled to her bedroom.
I always get my woman, he'd said. How she longed to be just that! But it was impossible. For his own good as well as hers. How was she going to convince him of that?
There was a light rain falling, but Michael hardly noticed. He walked the dark, midnight streets until he reached the embarcadero, and then he stopped and stared out at the ocean. He heard laughter coming from one of the yachts in the marina, the kind of laughter that signaled someone was drinking a little too much. But he didn’t care. He was thinking. Thinking about Shelley and how he’d got himself tangled in this damned web of emotion.
Love?
Ridiculous. He’d never been in love and never wanted to be. Lust was more like it. Deep, quivering desire, an aching hunger, a tortured need. Yeah, that about nailed it. But he frowned, realizing there was more to it. Possessiveness? The need to stake a claim? The overwhelming urge to protect her, and keep others away from her? Sure, he felt all that. More than he’d ever done for any other woman. He groaned aloud and shook his head.
So what?
It would fade. There would be someone else, some other place he had to be, some assignment so dangerous, so exciting, he would forget all about her. Sure. Had to happen. It always did. It was just a matter of time.
But until then—he wanted her, wanted to be with her, wanted to make love with her. She was resisting. So what was he going to do about it?
Charm her. That was something he knew how to do. He couldn’t grab her and sling her over his shoulder and carry her back to his bed. People frowned on that. She might react badly. He didn’t want to try to talk her into it. Too tedious, and he didn’t really have that much time left.
So charm was all he had left. He would make her laugh. Make her love him. Drive her crazy. That he could do.
He knew she had a thing for him. He’d been there before. He could tell. Was it fair to exploit that? Was he going to come off like a stalker?
Maybe. That was the chance he would have to take if he wanted to be with her. Either that, or he could walk away.
He stared out at the ink stained ocean, seeking advice, seeking inspiration. What was it going to be? The devil or the deep blue sea?
He nodded. Game on.
CHAPTER NINE:
Irresistible is What You Are
“It was that vacation weekend in Newport.” Robin sighed, hand to forehead in dramatic anguish. “Too much sun. It's addled your brain.”
“Robin,” Shelley warned, holding her coffee mug as though it were a cup of brandy on a snowy plain, and the only thing between life and frostbite. “I'm counting on you to help me.”
Robin sat across the kitchen table, shaking her head. “Would a true friend help you to ruin your life?”
“Would a true friend help me ruin Michael's?” Shelley had tried to explain to Robin, giving her as much information about what Michael did as she dared.
Robin frowned. “I'm not sure I buy this business of his feelings for you ruining his concentration and dedication. It sounds fishy to me. I still say you're running away from something.”
Shelley took a long sip of coffee. She couldn't be angry at Robin. She knew her friend was only thinking of her happiness. But it would be so much easier if she would just accept what had to be done and agree to follow along. “You can say whatever you like. But please, please, help me the way I've asked.”
“Ah, yes. Shall we go over it again?” At least Robin seemed to be resigned to the plan. “When letters arrive in the mail I'm to write 'refused' and send them back. When he calls on the phone, I'm to tell him you won't speak to him. When he arrives at the door, as he will”—she shook a warning finger at Shelley— “I'm to tell him you won't see him, that you aren't home, that you don't ever want to see him again, that you've taken a seat on the next flight to the Russian Space Station and won't be back until 2030, that you've changed your name and dyed your hair .. .”
“Thank you, Robin.” Shelley stemmed the flow of words and gave her a plastic smile. “I'm so glad you're getting into the spirit of this.”
“We aim to please.” Robin bounced up out of her seat and took her own mug to the sink. “I'm going to run down and check the mail right now.” She waved as she swung out the door. “And don't worry. If there's anything from Michael, I won't let it get anywhere near this apartment.”
Shelley sighed, listening to the door slam shut. She knew that what she was doing was for the best. If only she could explain it so that others would understand.
But Robin wasn't in much of a mood to understand anything right now. She'd finally come to a decision and sent a letter to Jim two days before, asking if she could please join him in Peru.
“It isn't as if I had a career here, or anything like that,” she'd said convincing herself as she was writing it. The two of them had been in the living room. Shelley was working on a case report and Robin was pacing back and forth in front of the stereo, changing cds as her mercurial mood switched gears. And every now and then she stopped at the table to add another sentence to the letter she was writing.
“I'm a legal assistant, but I can do office work anywhere,” she declared, stopping in front of the chair where Shelley was sitting. “Why didn't I look at it that way when he first told me about the job in South America?” She shook her head, bewildered. “I was so caught up in what was fair and what wasn't. I didn't look at it from his point of view. And so I threw him away to stand on a principle.”
“You'll make it up to him when you get there,” Shelley had comforted her confidently.
“If he still wants me,” Robin answered softly. She'd sunk to the floor and closed her eyes. “Oh, please, make him still want me.”
And so she'd sent off the message, and now she was racing to the mailbox every half hour to see if there was a reply, even though her outgoing letter had hardly had time to clear the runway at Los Angeles International Airport yet.
Despite her misgivings, Robin would be true to her word and help Shelley persuade Michael to give up on their romance. And at first the plan seemed to work. Michael called only once, and when Robin told him that Shelley wouldn't speak to him, he sounded almost cheerful.
“I'd watch out if I were you,” Robin crowed, enjoying it immensely. “He's going to come into your room like a cat burglar or drop off the side of a building on you. Just you wait. He won't
take this lying down.”
Shelley spent a nervous night with her window locked and an uneasy day glancing up at lampposts and rooftops, but there was no sign of Michael. She'd almost forgotten about Robin's warning by the time she left work for the library the next day. She had some research to do for her lecture series, and she was absorbed in thinking about her topic when she drove up to the tree-shaded public library. She didn't notice the car that drove up and parked behind her.
She did see Michael once she was inside, however. He kept showing up at the other side of the stacks she was browsing through. He didn't say anything—just winked, then sauntered away. And she dropped a book every time, or knocked over a whole row of them. Her nerves were jumping at every turn.
Then he disappeared. She caught sight of him a little later, leaning against the circulation desk, flirting with the young librarian. She walked right by him to check out her books. The clerk chatted amiably as she went about the stamping and checking, but Shelley's attention was all on the couple standing a few feet away.
It was revolting to listen to other people flirt. She felt her nails digging into her palms, and she was furious with herself for caring, furious with him for showing her that she did. She marched out with her head held high, then had to go back for the books she'd forgotten on the counter. He never made a move toward her and she hated him for that too.
Maybe he was just there through coincidence, she told herself. Maybe he was showing her that he no longer cared about dating her. But she knew that couldn't be true. And an hour later, he proved it.
She'd stopped at the local supermarket to pick up a few things for dinner. It never occurred to her that he would corner her there. She'd just reached out and picked up a long loaf of crusty French bread when the voice behind her made her jump into the air.
