“I’ve managed before.”
“Elena says you need to rest, regain your strength for a few more days.”
“I can do that alone.”
“You can’t get up without falling down.”
“I was ready to make love to you and I wasn’t going to fall down!”
His words, his anger, cut through Blair’s reserve. “You’re sitting down, Michael.”
“Damn it, Blair!” He pushed away from the table and stood. “This isn’t a game.” Grasping the back of the chair, his mouth a thin line, he continued. “There are people willing to kill me without a second thought.”
“You—”
But it wasn’t necessary for her to argue back. Michael sat back down, heavily, his eyes closed. Quick seconds later he looked up at her. Blair could see the effort he was making to look strong.
“You need me. Let me stay.”
“Why?”
“Because I didn’t before.”
***
An uneasy peace settled between them and held for the rest of the day. Michael cursed the weakness of his own body, consoling himself with the knowledge that if he hadn’t been shot a month ago, he probably wouldn’t feel so bad.
He’d never thought in terms of getting hurt, only in terms of what he had to do. Hell, he never thought beyond the job at hand. He’d done exactly the same thing with Blair. Sleepy from making love, he’d wanted more. Blair wasn’t the type of girl who would simply go away with him. Blair was the kind of girl you married. So he’d asked.
And she’d turned him down.
The thought of her with another man made his head hurt.
And now she wanted to make up for saying no. She didn’t know that her refusal was the best decision she’d ever made, that her high-society boyfriend could have given her what she needed.
Safety, security, life in her world, and 2.2 kids.
Not his kids.
***
“Bacon for breakfast again?”
“I bought a pound. We might as well eat it,” Blair said, putting the plate down. Outside, clouds played at hiding the morning sun.
“Part of Elena’s instructions?”
“She says you need protein.”
“I need to get up and out of here.”
Blair had been expecting this since they’d agreed, two days earlier, that she would stay. Michael had been in worse shape than she’d imagined because he hadn’t done much more than sleep, occasionally walking around the house and stretching. Normally, he wouldn’t have stayed put for a minute.
“There’s a pool. It might feel good to get some sun.”
“Which vitamin does Elena think that will give me?”
“D.”
He laughed. After their awkward silences of the days before, the sound of it made her smile.
“Eat your breakfast. I’ll bring you the swim trunks I found in the pool house.”
“Eat some with me,” he said. “You might as well have some protein, too.”
An hour later, Michael came out of his bedroom wearing black trunks, the bandage he’d changed himself startlingly white against his skin. Blair resisted the impulse to stand and help him into the lounger. But he didn’t sit; he walked around the pool, proving he was stronger and didn’t need her any more. She had to get used to the idea that within a day, two at the most, he’d leave her behind.
The blue water of the pool glistened in the morning sun. Away, to the west, storm clouds gathered. Around them, the lush, sculpted garden enclosed them in ever-increasing humidity.
“Has anyone come knocking?” Michael asked, sitting on the lounger next to hers.
“No, but the pool man called. I asked him to wait until next week.”
“We’ll be gone by then.”
“Where?”
“You to your house, me, away.”
Blair swallowed. She kept her eyes shut behind the sunglasses she wore. “Where?”
“Don’t ask what I can’t tell you.”
“Same as before.”
“No. Different. Before I should have told you. Should have explained how it would be. Now … well, now it’s a little more complicated.”
“Why didn’t you tell me before? Why did you want me to come with you if you didn’t trust me?”
She thought he wasn’t going to answer and opened her eyes.
He looked at her, his expression shuttered. “I wanted blind faith.”
And she’d wanted a utopian dream no one, not even he, could give her.
***
Michael ate the roast beef sandwich Blair made him for lunch. He’d spent the morning between the bedroom and the pool, walking, stretching, and resting. He was stronger. Blair busied herself with something, Michael didn’t know what. The silence between them grew as oppressive as the building afternoon humidity, yet he thanked God for it.
Because in that silence he turned over the bits and pieces of what he hoped would clear him.
Bank employees Hector Ramos and Victoria Hart were in charge of bank-to-bank transfers at the Miami bank that had been Michael’s last assignment. Michael had proof positive of Hector’s involvement in the theft of hundreds of thousands of dollars. Hector’s weakness was gambling. A friendly man with a wife and children, he did not have the salary to cover the losses he took in a single night of gambling. That had triggered the extra push Michael had made to look at Hector’s transfer figures. That’s where he’d found discrepancies. Not big ones—little ones, as least for a while, over a long period of time. A year and a half ago, Hector only skimmed a thousand every few months. The take from the last week Michael had figures on was close to fifty thousand. The grand total had been close to a million dollars. Either Hector found it so easy that he increased his withdrawals, or something changed in his life.
Michael had downloaded Hector’s transactions onto a flash drive, which he’d hidden in his apartment until he could give it to Bill, his contact officer. Based on that evidence, he’d reported that Hector was his prime suspect. Bill and Drew, who’d worked a similar fraud case, had agreed that someone would follow Hector.
Then Michael had been shot and the flash drive had vanished. He’d been sure that Hector had shot him and taken the evidence. Now he wasn’t so sure. If Hector had the evidence, what was the guy in the motel after? There had to be someone else.
Drew wanted Michael, there was no doubt there. But could he really be the other player in the game?
Michael caught sight of Blair through the glass door that led from the living room to the pool. Sleek and perfect, she’d donned a simple green tank suit and was pulling her hair back into a ponytail. Drawn outside, he watched the graceful movements of her arms, the curves of her body. With a final tug at the band that held her hair, she dove into the pool and began a steady crawl across. On the other side, she made a racer’s turn and came back.
He wished he could burn some excess energy that way. Wished he could join her in the pool. Wished he could give her a house like this: one she belonged in, where she fit and he didn’t. Angry reflex had made him say things he shouldn’t have said when she’d refused his proposal. He’d gone off to his undercover assignment—his opportunity to get the men who’d killed David—full of indignation at being used by a rich socialite. He held on to the anger that she’d been playing with him for about a week. That quickly burned away in the reality of what his life became: a deadly game to avenge his brother. Blair Davenport didn’t belong in a world like that, didn’t need it.
Which led him right back to Drew. Drew’s name had been in one of the files he’d seen, but not copied. There had been a ten-thousand-dollar withdrawal wired in from Mexico. The name triggered a second look. And he found Drew’s name again. Twice, for the same amount. Drew didn’t need money. He was a Davenport. He didn’t live ostentatiously. He didn’t flaunt what he had. As a matter of fact, if Michael had to guess, he’d say Drew lived within his Bureau paycheck. But it didn’t change what he saw.
Then Michael made a mista
ke. Misguided loyalty to a friend made him keep quiet. He didn’t tell Bill Pride, he didn’t follow procedure. He was in the process of double checking figures, names, when he’d been shot.
But with the flash drive gone, when he woke up in the hospital, he had absolutely nothing to show for over six months of undercover work. Nothing except a bank account in his real name with an extra ten thousand transferred in from a Mexican bank.
To give Bill his due, he hadn’t accused him outright of thievery, but Michael knew he was under surveillance, if not under arrest. After the shooting in the hospital, when he knew he couldn’t trust Drew, he’d had no choice but to run.
Blair climbed out of the pool, drops of water gilded by mid-afternoon sun beaded on her face, her legs. She caught a finger beneath the right strap of the suit, adjusting it. Michael’s eyes centered on her breasts. The thin material of the suit did nothing to hide them. He could picture them bare, the tips a dusky pink. Desire pooled in his body.
Caught in the movement of pulling the band from her hair, she looked through the sliding glass door at him.
She’d read his need correctly.
***
Blair grabbed her purse from the foyer table. “Be back in a while!”
She didn’t wait for Michael’s reply. She couldn’t face him. She’d seen desire in his eyes when she’d stepped out of the pool and knew he’d seen it in hers. He knew how she felt. So when he turned away, she’d wanted to run to him and beg. Pride and self-preservation made her walk into her room, shower and dress.
Inside the rental car she’d gotten with Elena’s help at the airport, Blair turned the air conditioner blower to high in order to fight the heat and humidity. It would storm soon. The beautiful greenery of the quiet neighborhood stirred in the increasing breeze. The vegetation and architecture might be different, but the atmosphere was that of her own home. Affluent.
She thought about Jim Andrews. Everyone had said they were perfect for each other. Both with the same background, the same friends. Sameness was what Blair had always longed for, what she thought would give them a stable, easy future, so unlike her parents’ marriage.
Beth Davenport, until her marriage to Andrew Davenport, Sr., was nothing more than the hired help. And not really that. She was Grandfather Davenport’s secretary’s daughter. Her own mother had opposed the marriage. The only one who’d approved had been Grandma Alice, her father’s mother. And God knew why she had, because she’d never explained herself.
Blair had grown up watching a man and woman who obviously adored each other, try to fit in the other’s life, with their differing families.
She remembered the morning Michael asked her to marry him. She’d been shocked. Surprised beyond belief. Michael Alvarez wanted to marry her, wanted her to come with him? Her mind raced through the possibilities. She’d go with him. They’d continue as they had that week.
Then Michael told her he’d be undercover for six months, maybe a year. And he told her nothing more. She’d wanted answers. When would she see him? How dangerous was it? What was it? He said nothing except that he’d do his best.
His best to do what? To stay alive? To come back? To make a marriage work? After six months, he might decide that a fling with an inexperienced college coed wasn’t for him. She couldn’t hope to keep up with him. She couldn’t hope to be as exciting as his job, as their week had been. If he lived—and the thought that he might not choked her—they’d spend their lives like her parents. She simply didn’t have the courage for that.
But if she said no, she wouldn’t have to wonder when he’d leave her to go to that life he loved. The life that filled a need in him she could never hope to fill.
She’d been a fool. She should have said yes. She should have risked because Michael Alvarez was worth it. She’d buried herself behind platitudes of what she thought she wanted and could handle.
But she had now. She wouldn’t spend another six years full of regrets, missing him with every fiber of her being.
***
Wind blew against the window. Michael hoped Blair got back before the storm hit. According to the Weather Channel, they were in for severe thunderstorms.
He’d exercised, careful of his stomach and his side. The cold shower he’d taken had not brought the peace he craved. Neither had the nap he’d taken. Even in sleep he could see Blair standing, provocatively wet, by the pool.
Sweet Blair. She’d ruined any other woman for him. He’d tried to bury the wonder of that week, tried to burn her out of his system, with a woman who wanted to play at life.
Michael couldn’t blame Blair for turning to that fiancé in order to get on with her life. She owed him nothing, yet here she was, risking so much to help.
Thunder rumbled in the distance. Michael heard the front door close, the car keys drop on the marble-topped table in the tiled foyer, and her footsteps.
***
Blair’s heart hammered in her chest. Making a decision in the confines of the car had been one thing. Acting on that decision was another.
Michael had charmed her, overwhelmed her, before. This time she was going in with her eyes wide open, knowing what she was risking, making a decision based on what she’d learned in their time apart. No matter what happened after today, she’d know she made the right decision.
None the less, opening Michael’s bedroom door was the most difficult thing she’d ever done.
Because he could refuse her. As she had him.
The knob turned, cold and stiff in her hand. Once she’d pushed the door open, she saw Michael lying on the bed, wearing nothing but a pair of khaki shorts, his legs crossed at the ankles.
She took a deep breath, yet her words came out as a whisper. “You were right. I want the feelings, the emotion.” She inhaled a quick breath. “Do you feel anything for me?”
Long moments passed before she heard his rough answer. “That is the most fabulously stupid question I’ve ever heard, corazón.”
If he hadn’t used the endearment, if he’d said the words coldly, she would have shriveled and died. But Michael’s words were hot with promise.
“The reason you stopped … um, wouldn’t, ah … make love at the beach.” Her voice wobbled. “I took care of that.” Somehow she made her way across the room, dropped her purse on the fancy glass table beside the window, and fumbled inside. Finding what she’d bought at the drug store, she spread five of the ten small gilded packets from the box out on the table.
He smiled. “You have overrated expectations of my current physical condition.”
Her purse fell off the table, scattering its contents on the carpeted floor. A flash of lightning lit the room. She peeled her eyes away from the window and risked looking at Michael.
What she saw lightened her spirit. Strong and sleek, his eyes alight with fire, he said, “If you plan to use any of those, you’d better come to me.”
Ignoring the purse, grabbing the packages, she took the few steps necessary to stand beside the bed. Eyes locked to his, she dropped the condoms on the bedside table and kicked off her sandals.
In the charged light of the afternoon, Michael’s words washed over her. “Undress for me, Blair. Let me see you.”
Shivers ran up Blair’s back. Indecision crowded her thoughts, despite her certainty of moments before. Six years ago, she’d welcomed Michael’s love making, reveled in it. But she’d never initiated it. Couldn’t remember that they’d ever taken the time to tease each other because the heat of their hunger always pushed them to hurry.
The sensual promise she read in Michael’s eyes decided for her. Standing barefoot beside the bed, she unbuttoned the navy blue shorts and pulled down the zipper. They dropped to the floor and she stepped clear.
Michael watched Blair with a sense of unreality. She lifted her shorts off the floor and placed them on a chair. The high cut of her panties showed off the beautiful length of her legs. She turned toward him again, her eyes a sea green in the muted, stormy light of late afternoo
n. Her right hand began working the buttons at her throat, the collar of her white cotton blouse high. He saw her tremble as she moved down past her breasts. The blouse parted and the silky skin of her stomach appeared.
Desire, heavy and thick, surged through his body.
Blair shrugged out of the blouse and stood before him in her white panties and lacy white bra. Michael swallowed the lump in his throat.
But he reined in his passion when he saw her shift uncomfortably under his gaze. Swinging his legs over the side of the bed, his eyes steady on hers, he stood and walked toward her.
He could guess how much undressing for him had cost her. That single week had remained in his mind as an erotic feast, but he knew that Blair was basically shy. The heat of their union had broken down her normal barriers, but they hadn’t seen each other in six years. He, himself, was a little worried about her expectations.
“You’re beautiful, Blair,” he said, placing one hand on her cheek. “Even more beautiful than before.”
She closed her eyes and leaned in to his palm. He bent and kissed her shoulder, so warm. Then he could resist no longer. He pulled her in to his arms, loving the feel of her, so right, so womanly, against him. God, how he’d missed this. Her.
Pulling back marginally, he took her mouth with his. She opened immediately, her mouth welcoming. He plundered, feasted. She tasted of mint, of freshness, seething with wildness.
Breaking the kiss to look at her, he nearly fell to his knees. Her mouth, wet from his kiss, beckoned him. Her breasts, hidden by the bra, tempted him.
“Where does this thing fasten?” he asked, sure his voice had come out as a croak.
Her slim fingers touched her cleavage. With trembling hands, he fumbled with the fastener until it came free. The white lace parted and her breasts were bared for him. Plump, perfect, the tips already puckered. He bent and took one in his mouth, tonguing the delicious flesh, pulling at her. Her hands tangled in his hair, urging him closer as he moved to the other breast.
He buried his face against her, smelling her sweetness, feeling her fire. Straightening, he pushed the straps off her shoulders and watched the bra fall to the floor. He pulled her close again.
Against the Wind Page 11
