If You Could Read My Mind

by Jeanie London

  “An affair, Jilly. You don’t have to do a thing but let me sweep you off your feet.”

  Oh, I hope he hasn’t lost his mind. So what do I do now—get on that chopper? Or should I call Jimmy Dooley and ask him to send a cruiser?

  Michael didn’t have any trouble visualizing the burly sheriff who’d been a friend since the seventh grade. He hurried to explain. “I just want to relax and have fun. We used to squeeze in our life around our relationship. Nowadays, we’re squeezing our relationship into our life. Or trying to. Between work and the camp, we don’t have enough time for each other. I miss my wife.”

  Jillian’s frown began to fade.

  Oh, how do I know he’s all right? I mean, really all right? What if he’s having a nervous breakdown? What if I pushed him over the edge with all the stress about the camp?

  Michael thumbed her hand, enjoying the feel of her silky skin, a simple touch, and a potent one. Surely she felt it, too. That chemistry was still between them, still alive after all these years.

  “For a long time, we’ve been talking about making more time for us,” he explained. “I’m tired of talking. I’ve been getting back into shape, so I won’t be so tired all the time. I want to look good for you.”

  His admission hung in the air for a suspended instant, and he waited, feeling raw and exposed, an unfamiliar feeling that he wasn’t crazy about.

  “I think you’re the most handsome man in the world. I always have.” The words tumbled out in a breathless rush that did a lot to assuage his pride.

  “Then let’s have an affair.”

  He caught her gaze and held it, willing her to see that he felt the same about her.

  She looked so beautiful in that moment with her reddish-gold hair tumbling around her shoulders, her smooth skin glowing with a faint hint of a blush, her expression all indecision and wary excitement.

  He recognized the moment when she decided. Her chest rose and fell on a sharp breath. She finally met his gaze with a promise in her eyes.

  “All right, Michael. Shall I change or am I dressed okay for whatever you have planned?”

  “You’re perfect. Just grab a jacket.”

  With a quick nod that sent waves tumbling around her face, she spun on her heel and disappeared down the hall toward their bedroom, everything about her tentative and excited.

  He watched as she reappeared in the hall, shrugging on a jacket, still blushing and breathless. He armed the security system. She locked the door behind them. He helped secure her helmet then pulled on his own.

  “Climb on behind me and wrap your arms around my waist,” he told her, and Jillian slid into the saddle then nestled up close, her cheek pressed to his back, her parted thighs tucked neatly around his.

  “You ready?” he asked.

  She tightened her arms around him, and Michael wheeled the bike out of the drive, pulled back on the throttle and took off for their night of fantasy.

  JILLIAN snuggled against Michael’s back as the bike roared down the street. With her arms tight around his waist, she hung on, her cheek against soft leather, imagining rather than smelling the familiar scent of his skin.

  She couldn’t help but smile. The only thing that felt important right now was knowing her marriage wasn’t in pieces.

  Michael hadn’t forgotten about his promise to deal with the camp. He hadn’t been ignoring the problem, but coming up with a way to handle it. While there were obstacles ahead they’d still need to overcome, he loved her enough to make lifestyle changes and begin addressing the problems.

  To surprise her with a fantasy night because he missed her.

  Her worries about Brandi appeared to be groundless, just as Charlotte had said. Had he been surfing the Web for information about fantasies? Is that how the porno pop-up had gotten onto their hard drive?

  The explanation seemed likely. But Jillian wouldn’t ask. Not tonight. Michael obviously thought fantasy was the place to begin addressing their issues.

  And it was a start.

  She’d place her concerns and resentments aside for the night and follow where he led.

  The wind snatched hair from beneath the edges of the helmet as she caught sight of Mrs. Vineson peering through a sidelight from her house at the corner of the cul-de-sac. Was the stately matron, who currently served as president of the subdivision homeowners’ association, trying to make out who’d had the nerve to ride a motorcycle through their neighborhood? With any luck she wouldn’t recognize Dr. and Mrs. Landry as the culprits responsible for making such a racket on this tranquil spring evening.

  But Jillian decided she didn’t really care what Mrs. Vineson thought. Michael had obviously gone through a great deal of effort to arrange tonight. Not to mention the effort of his daily swims and turning down all the food he loved.

  I wanted to look good for you.

  Snuggling closer, she was amazed at how quickly that giddy awareness rushed her, a recognizable feeling from years of giddiness about this man, affection so real it had substance.

  She’d missed Michael, too, and couldn’t help but wonder what had made him decide to take her on a motorcycle ride. He looked so much like her fantasy bad boy that if she hadn’t known better, she might have thought he could read her mind. The very idea made her body temperature rise with a heat that didn’t cool until he drove over the bridge.

  Her sense of anticipation grew as the wind stung her cheeks. The state line between Mississippi and Louisiana ran smack in the middle of the river, and it looked as though whatever fantasy he’d planned for tonight would take place in a different state. A sense of freedom claimed her, as if crossing the state line magically placed their daily life and everyday routine behind them.

  They were on an adventure that took them to the Astaire, an historic theater that featured an odd mix of vintage film runs and blockbuster sneak previews. During their school years, the Astaire Theater had hosted acting companies that toured the country with a variety of educational performances. Fairy tales. Classics. Myths. Legends. Fables. All had come to life on the grand old stage.

  While Jillian wasn’t sure if the tradition still continued, she did know the theater had been upgraded with modern conveniences to keep the interest of a movie-going crowd used to surround-sound and stadium seating.

  Michael turned over the motorcycle to a valet and helped Jillian remove her helmet. Then, with a smile that made her pulse race, he tucked her arm through his and pulled her close enough so she could feel the hard lines of his body all warm and familiar, feel the promise of being together in a way she hadn’t in so long.

  “Ready?” he asked.

  “We’re seeing a movie?”

  “Think of tonight as a first date of sorts. If memory serves, we missed an opportunity at this theater once.”

  It took a minute to pinpoint what he was talking about. “Michael, are you talking about that high-school field trip when we first started dating?”

  “You wrote me a letter about what might have happened in this theater if I’d been with you. Do you remember?”

  She remembered the note, but was surprised that he did. “I resented missing our lunch period together for a field trip for a stupid play.”

  “So you wrote.”

  “I would much rather have been flirting with you in the lunch room.”

  So much rather, in fact, that she’d spent the entire bus trip—when she could have been chatting with her girlfriends—writing that impassioned note about all the things she could have been doing with him. Sexy things. Or so they’d seemed at the time.

  “You do realize that we’ve done everything I wrote in that letter and then some.”

  Catching her chin between a thumb and forefinger, he tipped her face to his. Was it a trick of the setting sun or the leather that made Michael look like a sexy stranger?

  “We’ve never done it inside a theater.”

  Jillian’s heart began a dull thud in her chest. Surely he wasn’t suggesting—

  �
�You ready?” He released her and swept an arm toward the ticket booth.

  She stared up at him, poised on the edge of a place she hadn’t been for years.

  Excitement.

  It was a feeling she remembered from the past, a feeling she remembered from every sexy first they’d ever shared…the first time they’d kissed…the first time he’d touched her…the first time they’d gotten naked together…the first time they’d made love.

  She wasn’t sure what Michael expected tonight and squelched the naggy voice inside reminding her that she and Michael were no longer kids who could tempt fate and survive with their reputations intact. The very thought of having to call Jimmy Dooley to pull strings and spring them from jail…

  His smile dared her, sparked a rebellion inside. And Jillian knew she wouldn’t respect herself if she didn’t rise to his challenge, and counter with a few of her own.

  “I’m ready.” She looped her arm through his.

  His gaze assured her that that response was exactly what he’d hoped for. And as he fished out a credit card from his wallet to pay for tickets, Jillian combed her memory for what she’d written in that long-ago letter.

  Making out. Melodramatic vows of eternal devotion. She’d been so young, only a sophomore in high school, and it was long before they’d first made love. The passion and innocence of that time made her smile as he collected their tickets and led her inside.

  “Popcorn?” Michael asked.

  “No, thanks.” Junk food was about the last thing her stomach needed after the emotionally unsettling past few days, and she didn’t want to tempt Michael.

  He was looking so good.

  They settled on a diet drink to share, made their purchase and headed inside the theater.

  This weekend wrapped up Vintage Movie Month, and from the quiet of the place, Jillian guessed that anyone who’d wanted to see a vintage movie had already seen one. Save for a handful of couples and a group of teens with primary-colored hair and facial piercings that glinted in the low light, the theater was dismally empty.

  Michael led her all the way up to the last row into seats directly beneath the projector room. “You okay sitting up here?”

  “Depends on how well you want me to see the screen.”

  “I’m only interested in how well you can see me.”

  His voice was all throaty innuendo, all promises in the dark. A shiver coursed through her.

  “Up here will be fine.”

  The shadows sliced across his features until he didn’t look like her husband at all. His grip was firm as he led her to a seat. He removed his jacket and settled in beside her, and she wasn’t surprised when he flipped up the armrest and pulled her close. “Come here.”

  Jillian nestled against him, amazed by how a simple costume had changed everything about this man. Even the feel of his body was different tonight, a combination of his newly honed physique and the suggestion of sexy games in the shadows.

  Needing to hear something familiar to anchor her to the moment, she asked, “I didn’t notice the feature. What’s playing?”

  “A vintage chick flick.”

  Tipping her head back, she gazed into his face. “But it’s not my turn. You’re supposed to see one of your Neanderthal action adventures next.”

  “Forget the rules tonight. We don’t have to make compromises. We’re both going to enjoy ourselves.”

  And his tone promised that the enjoyment didn’t have a thing to do with the movie.

  “No rules and no compromises, hmm?” She liked the sound of that. “Is this a freebie, or are you planning to make me pay?”

  “Nice try, Jilly, but no freebies. Plan to pay big.”

  His low laughter filtered through the quiet, filtered through her. She could practically feel the sound winding through her, arousing every nerve along the way. His deep-throated admission spiked the awareness of the moment, a physical sensation that awoke places inside she hadn’t even realized had been asleep.

  What was it about this man that touched her so deeply?

  Jillian had come up with lots of answers through the years, some involving his various qualities, others about the way he looked or made her respond to him.

  Tonight Michael’s appeal was all about a motorcycle ride across the river, about a diet and daily swims to make himself more attractive.

  Tonight was all about his efforts to create a fantasy.

  He missed her.

  She missed him, too.

  And as the trailers ended and the lights dimmed in preparation for the feature to begin, Jillian found her tension ebbing away, tension that had become such a natural part of her lately that she hadn’t even realized she felt tense.

  The pressure of the thousand things that constantly warred for attention in her mind quieted until she could focus only on the characters on the screen. On the feel of Michael’s arms around her, and the way she fit perfectly into the curve of his body.

  A hush had fallen over the theater and the only sounds were the voices on screen—the dialogue of real voices as opposed to the roar of sound effects—and the whisper of his breathing.

  When Michael ran his hands down the length of her arms, strong, soothing strokes, she relaxed against him, willing to follow where he led.

  An affair.

  Jillian smiled into the darkness, wondering just how far he would go to create a fantasy night—how far she would let him go.

  He obviously had a plan, and the languid warmth stealing through her chased away reality. The antics on screen suddenly couldn’t compete with his familiar male scent layered with the hint of leather.

  Especially when Michael maneuvered them around until she could sink back against him for better access, feel his swelling crotch against her bottom. She let her eyes drift shut to narrow her focus to the feel of his touch, the simple strokes that somehow felt as intimate, purposeful caresses.

  Michael was clearly in no rush. Easing his hands down her arms then back again, he lulled her into a daze that made her feel better than she did during her massages at the Under-the-Hill spa she visited with her old cheerleading buddies on their girls’ weekends out.

  There was an intimacy that only a lover could bring to his touch, a familiarity that somehow hinted at all the pleasures they’d shared together, a reminder of how he could so easily arouse her, tempt her.

  His caresses carried a promise of greater pleasures to come. Just the firm strokes of his palms down her arms mounted her awareness…drew her attention to the silky fabric of her clothing that shielded bare skin.

  Somehow he knew that she wanted to feel skin against skin because he extended his reach to her hands, curling warm fingers over hers, pressing the tips between hers in such a simple but erotic move.

  Jillian had always loved his hands, long-fingered and strong. Whether he reined in his strength to do the delicate work of dentistry or aroused her with skilled touches, Michael used his hands to incredible effect. And she’d always loved the way his hands looked when he touched her.

  Opening her eyes, she fixed her gaze on the sight of his hands slowly caressing hers. His skin tanned. Hers pale. A sight that managed to make her feel so in tune with him.

  The movie droned on, a blur of voices and laughter. Someone in the audience whispered to a companion. Another shifted around restlessly until the chair squeaked out a reminder that Jillian and Michael weren’t alone in the monochromatic darkness.

  To her surprise, the reminder only spiked her daring. There was something exciting about Michael’s touch, about how he could make her forget everything but the feel of his hands on her.

  This, too, was a feeling she recalled from the distant past. Once she’d been a young girl obsessed with him. Her days had been no more than minutes strung together spent imagining the ways he might touch her, the ways she might touch him back.

  A memory flooded her mind, striking and cherished…They were tearing down the stairs between classes, unable to walk arm in arm or hold hands b
ecause they were juggling too many books. Jillian wanted to hold Michael’s hand, resented that she was denied a perfect opportunity to touch him because of logistics. Who needed AP chem, anyway?

  Michael must have been thinking similar thoughts because he gazed down at her with an expression that thrilled her straight down to her toes, a hunger in his eyes that assured her if he didn’t touch her soon he’d never make it through the rest of the day.

  Jillian smiled an invitation, and that was all the invitation Michael needed. He nudged her out of the crush of students. He dropped his books onto the floor with a noisy clatter. He crowded her against the wall until she had no choice but to drop hers, too.

  Laughing at the sheer wildness of the moment, she wound her arms around his neck…. His lips came down on hers, a greedy exploration. The moment was fleeting and he intended to savor the contact before she was stolen away.

  Jillian dissolved in his arms, swayed against him, wanted to feel every hard inch of him to satisfy the longing she felt burning inside. And Michael knew…oh, he knew because he didn’t care that they were drawing attention. He didn’t care that a teacher could walk by and bust them at any second.

  He only cared about touching her.

  Maneuvering a hand between them, he molded his fingers around her breast, felt the warm weight of her in his palm. A tiny moan slipped from her lips, burst against his, and Jillian could only melt against him when he squeezed lightly, so undone by his touch that she forgot they were in public….

  Suddenly, Michael dragged his fingers down the curve of her throat. She couldn’t remember how his hand had gotten there, but she wasn’t surprised his touch mirrored her thoughts.

  Michael had always known how to satisfy her, even before she’d known herself. Splaying his palm on her chest, he dipped his fingertips beneath her neckline, a suggestive touch that hinted of all the places he might go if Jillian dared.

  Did she dare?

  A movie-goer chose that moment to stand and maneuver through the seating toward the aisle. Another concession run or a restroom break. Jillian watched him descend the stairs and disappear, attention drawn to the dozen-odd folks scattered around the theater, any of whom could simply turn their heads and catch her and Michael in the act.