"No," she said. He could see defensiveness creep into her body language.
"Why don't you date?"
"I don't think that's any of your business."
"It is if it affects your performance at Graves Enterprises."
Erika's eyes opened wide. "My dating or not dating has no effect on the company."
"I disagree. If you get out and socialize it makes you a more informed person, someone who understands what is going on in the marketplace, how real people feel. You can't get everything from a report." He spread his hands at the array of papers on her desk. Erika followed his lead.
"Are you trying to get me to go out with you again?"
It hadn't been his intention when he walked into the room, but the thought of her on his arm as he squired her about town—dinner, a show, conversation in a small jazz club—was tantalizing.
"All right." Erika stood up. "If you think the health of Graves Enterprises hinges on whether or not I date, then I'll find myself a date."
She moved to push past him. Michael caught her by both arms and turned her to face him. "That's not what I meant, and you know it." Then he did something he'd promised himself he wouldn't do. He pulled her into his arms and clamped his mouth to hers. She resisted for the merest second but he wouldn't let her go. He couldn't even if he'd wanted to. He'd wanted to taste her again since that first kiss, dreamed of her, pliant in his arms, and now that he'd maneuvered her into them he wasn't going to let go so easily.
Oh God! Michael thought, feeling her hands on his waist and then reaching around him as she pressed her body close. Her breasts, small and firm, pushed against his chest, sending a jolt of need straight to his knees, which threatened to buckle with the onslaught. He shouldn't have done this. He should have let her walk away. He should release her now, let her go and apologize, but he couldn't. He needed more. He wanted more. He couldn't settle for this one kiss alone. He needed massive doses of her, and preferably several times a day. He didn't know that he could survive without her now that the floodgates were open and the wave had swept them away.
Erika stopped her struggle and her arms climbed up his back. She refused to think. If she thought, she'd push herself away, and the way he made her feel she didn't want to be logical. She wanted to rip the thin barrier of clothing between them away and feel his hard nakedness against her soft skin. She wanted to remain in his arms, with his mouth sealed to hers, with his tongue deep in her mouth and the sensations rioting through her body like lightning fissuring through the unresisting sky.
Erika gave as much as she took. She went up on her toes to get closer to him. His hands raked her body, combed through her hair, cupped her face and hips, pressing her into him as if he could merge the two of them into a single being. No one had ever made her feel like this before.
Then Michael's hold changed. The passion in his mouth slowed, teased, and turned to reverence. He held her lightly, gently, as if his hands were too big, too rough for her delicate features. Erika had never been held like this. His mouth slipped from hers, and his hands cradled her head. He pushed back to look at her face. His eyes were darker and filled with a passion that spoke volumes. Her breath caught and she couldn't speak. Then she was free. Michael stepped back and the moment was gone—gone but not lost. Erika didn't think she'd ever be the same again. When Michael looked at her for that half second she'd felt as if their souls had linked and she would never again be complete without him. No one had ever made her feel as if she were the single most important thing in the world.
But the man who had held her in his arms was gone. In his place was another Michael. He looked like the same man, but he was different. She felt as if she'd suddenly lost something, something important, and she'd never have it again.
"I came in to tell you my brother called this morning. He's invited himself to lunch. He wants to meet you."
He was stiff and formal, as if the interlude in his arms had never taken place, as if the need she knew dwelled inside him had been arrested and placed in solitary confinement. A chill ran through her. She felt cold, like a sudden wind had passed through her or someone had walked over her grave.
***
Peter couldn't have been more charming, and Michael had never wanted to strangle his brother as much as he did right now. Erika delighted in talking to him during their meal. She laughed at his jokes and asked questions about his job.
Could this be the same woman he'd held in his arms only an hour ago? The woman he'd seen dressed in only a bathrobe, without makeup, and dripping wet as she came out of the pool? She was confident, in control and an excellent hostess.
Michael felt left out. Peter dominated the conversation—but then, he always had. A ready smile and the right words were Peter’s stock in trade. And Erika was eating it up.
"Nut brown?" Erika's laughter tinkled when Michael brought his mind back to the conversation. "Really?"
"It's my color," Peter was saying. “Gives me that healthy just-off-the-beach look.”
"And you really let them put it on you?"
"The lights are very hot and the makeup artist is very good."
Erika looked at Michael. "Can you imagine Michael doing the news?"
Peter turned his attention to his brother. He shook his head. "Michael's much too serious. He'd want to fix all the problems he reported."
Michael tried to join the conversation. "Maybe not all of them."
Peter continued to talk about the methods of broadcasting the news and Erika looked genuinely interested in everything he had to say. Finally the conversation wound down and Erika pushed her chair back and stood. Peter stood up, too. She walked to where he was and offered him her hand. He took it in both of his. Michael noticed he did not release it.
"It's been nice talking to you, Peter, but you probably want to talk to Michael." She glanced at Michael. "I hope to see you before you go."
"I'm sure Peter didn't come all this way to see me," Michael said, hoping he could keep the jealousy out of his voice.
"Actually, there is something I'd like to talk to you about," Peter contradicted him, finally dropping Erika's hand.
Michael stared at his brother. A beautiful woman was about to leave the room and he wasn't pursuing her. Whatever Peter had to say must be serious.
"I'll leave you then."
Erika turned to go, but Peter stopped her.
"I've had a wonderful lunch, and mostly because of you." Michael couldn't believe these lines worked, but the expression on Peter's face was genuine and Erika looked as if he were telling the truth. "I hope to see you again on Thanksgiving," he finished.
"Thanksgiving?"
"Didn't Michael tell you?"
They both turned to look at him. Michael felt as if their questioning stares were tangible. He'd forgotten about Thanksgiving. So much was happening to him—the office, Frank Mason's escape, the dreams, Malick. He'd completely forgotten about the invitation. In light of his previous invitation, he doubted she would have accepted even if he had remembered.
"Michael was supposed to invite you to the family dinner."
"I suppose it slipped his mind," Erika said. "It was nice meeting you. I'll have your coffee and dessert sent in."
Quickly she left the room. Michael tried to catch her eye, but she purposely didn't look at him. She couldn't be hurt. She'd told him they should only have a business relationship. A forgotten invitation from him couldn't mean anything to her. Could it? She'd refused his previous offer of a date. He had to be wrong. She was just leaving the room as she'd planned. He wanted to go to her, but the maid came in with the coffee and poured it into their cups. When she left, Peter started to talk.
"People say this all the time and I never thought I'd find myself saying it, but she's much better looking in person."
"Back off, Peter," Michael said. There was no mistaking the warning note in his voice.
"So it's like that, is it?" Peter asked. "I've been trying to figure that out."
"I
t's like that."
"Then why haven't you invited her to Thanksgiving dinner?"
"I've had a lot on my mind," he answered weakly. "I forgot."
"You could forget a woman like that?"
"Peter, can we drop it?" His tone was harsher than he intended, but Erika had completely thrown his senses out of kilter this afternoon and he hadn't completely recovered them yet. "I apologize. I didn't mean to sound so—"
"Jealous." Peter cut in finishing his brothers’ sentence.
When Michael started to protest his brother stopped him. "Don't worry about it. Jealousy is healthy." Peter added sugar to his coffee and drank. Setting the cup back in the saucer, he said, "I came to talk to you about something that looks rather odd to me."
"What's that?" Michael sat forward in the chair. His brother's expression changed from happy-go-lucky to serious.
"How much have you heard about Frank Mason since he escaped from the mental hospital?"
"Only that the police are still looking for him."
"Do you remember what he said at his sentencing?"
Michael didn't think he'd ever forget the words, or the expression on Frank Mason's face as he turned in the crowded courtroom and stared him directly in the eye.
"Peter, where is this going?"
"Frank Mason swore he'd make you pay for what you'd done to him," Peter said. "He swore he'd make everyone pay. And now he's on the streets."
"What are you saying?" Michael was intrigued, but he didn't have time for a feature-length story.
"Let me get my laptop. I have something I want you to see."
They both stood. Michael took his coffee cup and started for the door.
"I think you'll want to leave the coffee," Peter stopped him.
"What do you have, dirty movies?"
"Absolutely," he said. "The gruesome kind."
There was none of the usual playfulness in Peter's face. He looked like the serious newsman who sat at the anchor desk five nights a week and read the evening news.
Michael ran his hand over his eyes half an hour later, when the laptop screen went blank. Leaning forward he hid the emotion that gathered in his eyes and made him want to cry. Except for the Mason children and Abby, he hadn't cried since he was a small boy, but seeing the pictures on the video tape—Judge Baldwin, Abby's attorney and her husband, the blood, the sadistic method of killing—he hadn't thought anyone could be that crazy.
"Where did you get these?" Michael asked. The emotion wasn't fully out of his voice. "These are police tapes."
"I have a friend on the force. I reported the mystery of the lawyer's death, but didn't put him together with the Frank Mason case until the judge's story broke."
"What are you thinking?" Michael stared at his brother, the bloody pictures still in his mind.
"I think Frank Mason is making good his threat, and you're in his direct line."
"Why should I be there? I was his lawyer. . .much as I regret it," he added.
"Michael, I don't think he's going to remember that. I think he's crazy. How could a man do what he did and be sane?"
Michael stood up, feeling the need to walk. He went to the windows and looked out on the brown grass. The rain hadn't let up. The weight of Frank's crime sat heavily on his shoulders.
"Peter, I'm safe here. This place has its own security force, and Frank Mason doesn't even know where I am."
"You've been well publicized. It wouldn't be hard to find you, especially for a person who wants to, and remember how persistent he could be."
Michael remembered. Many times he had suggested that Frank accept other terms to full custody of his children, but he'd been relentless and Michael had been his puppet, getting him what he wanted, only to have him betray the innocent children.
"There's also Erika."
Michael turned abruptly at the mention of Erika's name.
"Notice who he's killing," Peter began. "The wives, husbands, families of the victims."
"You think—"
"If he comes looking for you, she's in danger, too."
Michael's stomach knotted. He hadn't considered Erika. Frank was his problem, not hers. He stared at the wall in the direction of the library. He pictured Erika writing there, unaware that some one who wanted to harm her may be close by. He needed to protect her.
"Michael, I think you should leave here. Go someplace else until Frank is caught."
He could hear the concern in his brother's voice. Peter was afraid for him. "I can't leave," he told him. "Erika and I are bound by the terms of Carlton Lipton-Graves's will."
"Your life is in danger. I'm sure if you went to court and explained to the judge, he'd grant you special dispensation."
"He might, but I doubt it."
"Why?"
"Frank hasn't been caught, and according to you only circumstantial evidence connects him with the crimes. They could be coincidences. The perpetrator could be another of the judge's enemies. He need not be Frank Mason."
"It's still worth a try." Peter's face was drawn and Michael knew his brother was concerned about his safety.
"Even if I did go before a judge, there's still Erika. If Frank is looking for me and comes here, he'll find Erika. He could hurt her in order to find me. I can't leave her here alone."
"Don't you think she'd be willing to come with you?"
This was a huge house. Michael could see the two of them confined to a small apartment or hotel room. After what had happened this morning he knew being confined with Erika would be like throwing a match in a vat of nitroglycerin.
"I'll have security doubled, alert them to be on the lookout for Frank, and make sure Erika is protected at all times."
Peter was quiet for a moment. Michael knew he was processing information like a human computer, trying to find a more acceptable alternative.
"You're in love with her," Peter stated softly and truthfully.
Michael nodded.
***
Erika prowled in the library. She remembered thinking how big this room was when she first ran into it. Carlton had caught her arms and stopped her. He was big, too. Now the room was smaller. She felt caged in, and wanted to throw open the French doors at the end of the room and make the space larger.
The rain stopped her. It beat against the panes like steady smacks. Yet the smacks didn't blot out what had happened earlier, when Michael had touched her, kissed her.
Could he be the one? she asked herself. The man who would want her, love her? Was there any man who could fall in love with her? She'd asked herself that question for years, ever since her mother told her she'd never find anyone who'd really love her. Each time Erika had been asked on a date or met a new man, she'd ask herself if he was the one.
Then she'd met Bill Castle. He was the closest she'd come to believing he was the one. Look where that had led her. At first she'd been blinded by his lifestyle; parties every night, mingling with the rich and famous. For a while she thought she could survive in that world, but she knew better now. She didn't like the limelight. She found it too hard to let reporters print lies about her and not respond. The world of pop music was a world in which no one was real. Each person had a mask, and was trying to climb over someone else to get what he wanted. Isn't that what had happened to her? Hadn't Jennifer Ahrends climbed over her to get to her fiancé?
Erika sat down at the desk and stared at the rain. So far, every man she'd ever met had left her, beginning with her father. Michael would be no different. He might have kissed her until she couldn't think straight, until she couldn't distinguish between reality and fantasy, but she knew now, in the cold light of day, that he would be gone in less than a year.
Why should he want her? She wasn't beautiful. She wished she was, but she knew better. Michael was the best-looking man she'd ever seen. Women trailed him with their eyes, made overt advances to his attention. They probably fell all over him. The ones at her office certainly would, given the chance. So far she hadn't seen him give anyone a cha
nce—except her. But she was merely convenient. They occupied the same house, met for meals, and found it necessary to talk constantly during the workday.
He didn't really want her, not for the long-term. No one had in the past, and Michael was no different from Bill Castle or any of the other men she'd ever met. When their year was over Michael would go. He'd be a rich man, a very rich man. He could have any woman he wanted.
Erika knew she wouldn't be the one he chose.
***
"Erika."
She whirled around, startled, standing up like a child caught doing something she'd been expressly forbidden to do. Michael walked into the room. He was alone. She'd been thinking of him, and his sudden presence made her pulses beat.
"Where's Peter?" she asked, covering her discomfort.
"He asked me to say good-bye for him. He had to get back."
Erika was dismayed. She liked Peter and would have liked talking to him again. He'd also provided a buffer between Michael and her. Since this morning she had felt as if electricity flowed around her whenever Michael was near. Her heart fluttered out of control when Michael whispered her name. With Peter, she'd be on safer ground.
"I want you to promise me something," Michael began.
"What?" Erika asked.
Michael took the seat in front of the desk. His face was serious, more than when she'd first seen him at the cabin. Erika was suddenly afraid. What had his brother told him after she left? She moved to her chair and took a seat.
"Before I ask for the promise, I need to tell you something."
Erika's heart beat fast. Michael was scaring her.
"I was Frank Mason's lawyer. His wife's name was Abigail Mason. She sued him for divorce and I represented Frank in the custody battle over their three young children." He spoke succinctly, without emotion, just a statement of facts.
Erika knew this. Carlton's lawyer had given her the overall details, but she didn't tell Michael. She wanted to hear what had happened from him. He'd called Abby's name in his nightmares. She wanted to know how well he knew her and if they had been lovers. It was masochistic, she knew, but she wanted to know, anyway.
Legacy (Capitol Chronicles Book 5) Page 18
