License to Love

by Barbara Boswell

  Steve dumped her onto the bed. Swift as a cat pouncing on its hapless prey, he had her under the quilt and pinned with his arms and legs. “I’ll let you go if you promise to stay put, Michelle.”

  Michelle blinked. It was so dark in the room that it didn’t matter if her eyes were open or shut. The bed was very warm and her head sank into the softness of the pillows.

  “Michelle, I swear you have nothing to fear from me,” Steve murmured softly, coaxingly. “Think about it. Logist-ically, even if I were in the throes of flaming lust, I couldn’t do much about it. Neither of us are exactly dressed for a passionate hop in the sack—or undressed as the case may be.”

  He did have a point. And as she lay quietly, Michelle was suddenly, wearily aware of how tired she was. She had no energy left to keep fighting Steve, and the thought of the cold living room was appalling.

  “All right,” she whispered. “I’ll stay. But let go of me.” He was holding her tight and the hard male strength of him was wreaking havoc with her senses. If he didn’t release her soon, she feared she might end up begging him not to.

  Steve slowly unwound his arms and legs from around her and stretched out beside her, flat on his back. Michelle rolled onto her side, as close to the edge of the bed as she could get without falling out. They lay in silence for several long dark moments.

  “Michelle, would you mind if I asked you a personal question?” Steve’s voice was deep and low and unexpectedly urgent.

  “You can ask, but I might not answer it,” she replied warily.

  “Have you ever been raped?”

  “What?” She gasped. “No!” Michelle rolled to her other side to face him but she couldn’t see him or anything else, only the enveloping intimacy of darkness. “Why did you ask me that?”

  “Your reaction to having me spend the night with you was—extreme, to say the least. I thought maybe it wasn’t me personally you objected to, but the idea of having a man, any man, here. If you’d been badly traumatized by one, well, that would explain a lot.”

  “It’s inconceivable to you that I prefer my privacy?” she flared. “You find it easier to assume that I’m a victim of a violent crime than to accept the fact that I don’t eagerly welcome a man into my bed on our first date? A man, I might add, who has made it quite clear that he’s allergic to commitment, a man who has spent too many nights in too many different beds with—”

  “Touche,” Steve interrupted dryly. “But we’ve already covered all that, Michelle. Let’s not repeat ourselves.”

  She rolled over to her other side again, making no reply. “Michelle?”

  She heaved an impatient sigh. “Yes?”

  “I’m glad you weren’t raped,” he said huskily. “I can’t stand the thought of you being hurt that way. Believe it or not, I’d rather you have a relentless aversion to me than to have suffered through—that.”

  The warmth that stole through her had nothing to do with the arctic-proof quilt. “I don’t have an aversion to you,” she confessed quietly. “It’s just—I—I guess I’m not used to sharing a bed. Not for the past several years, anyway. When I was a kid visiting my dad, I used to share my stepsister Courtney’s bed and when my stepfather’s daughter Lisa visited him, she slept in my bed with me. But since I’ve grown up and been on my own, I—”

  “Haven’t you ever, uh, shared a bed with anyone else?” Steve interrupted curiously. “I’m not talking stepsisters here, I mean, well—” He paused, took a breath and plunged ahead. “Guys. You know, boyfriends, lovers.” It was, he realized, the first time he’d ever quizzed a woman on her past. He’d never been interested enough to even speculate about any other woman’s past.

  “Guys, boyfriends, lovers?” Michelle repeated in tones as frozen as the current temperature outdoors. “You’re asking me if I’ve slept around with a lot of men?”

  “No, no, of course not!” Steve interjected quickly. He was aghast. It was unlike him to commit such a blatant faux pas. “I, uh, was just—” There was no way to salvage this, he acknowledged. It was time to divert the issue entirely. “How many people are in your family anyway?” he asked abruptly. “You’ve mentioned sisters, brothers, parents and steps—I can’t keep track of them all.”

  Had there been any light, he would’ve seen Michelle roll her eyes heavenward. But she was more than willing to drop the subject of all those guys, boyfriends and lovers he assumed she’d entertained in her bed. Telling a bedroom Olympian like Steve Saraceni that her experiences in bed-sharing included only her stepsisters and her cat would be extremely humiliating. And far too revealing.

  Michelle accepted his conversational olive branch. “My family is a tangle of wholes, steps and halves,” she murmured. “I have pictures of everybody in the living room I could show you if the lights weren’t out. It’s much easier to put names with faces.”

  “I have a fantastic memory for names and titles and who-fits-in-where-with-whom. It’s a must in my profession. Test me. Tell me the names of the Careys and their assorted connections and I’ll repeat them back to you, one hundred percent correct.”

  “You’ve taken on a real challenge,” Michelle warned. The unnerving awkwardness was dissipating and she was beginning to relax. Surprisingly, it wasn’t so terribly threatening to be lying there talking with him. It was rather cozy.

  “We’ll start with Cathy, Warren and Hayden, riiy full sister and brothers,” she said. “They’re in their thirties and married with children now. They were all in school by the time I came along.”

  “You were a surprise, huh?”

  “No, I was an unforeseen, unplanned for, unwanted accident,” Michelle replied matter-of-factly. “Mom and Dad were planning to separate. They’d been to the lawyers and had the papers drawn up and then my mother—” “—Found out she was pregnant with you,” Steve concluded. “Whew! Talk about being caught in a trap!” Then he realized he was talking to the full-grown version of that “trap.” He cleared his throat. “I mean, I’m sure they were delighted. You offered them a second chance at happiness.”

  “My appearance prolonged their marriage for two more miserable years,” Michelle amended. “But they were finally divorced and two years later Daddy married Kate, who was a widow with three children, Mark, Ashlinn and Courtney. I liked them from the very beginning. Sometimes Courtney and I would pretend we were twins since we were the same age.”

  “Imagine marrying a woman with three children/” marveled Steve. He couldn’t.

  “You can’t imagine marrying, period,” Michelle said dryly.

  “We’re not talking about me. You’re supposed to be giving me a sweeping overview of the Carey much-extended family, remember?”

  “If you insist. My mother married Tim Lowell, who was divorced with two kids of his own, Lonnie and Lisa. They lived with their mother but visited their dad twice a month and two weeks in the summer. When I was eight, Mom and Tim had the twins, Debbie and Donna, my half sisters.”

  “A real ‘yours, mine and ours’ family,” Steve remarked. He proceeded to correctly recite all the names and tangled relationships back to her. “Why didn’t your dad and the widow Kate have a baby together? Seems like having children is the thing to do in your family.”

  “They tried. Kate had a couple miscarriages. It just wasn’t meant to be.”

  “Bet you were glad,” Steve said bluntly. “Seems to me there were way too many kids floating around Carey and Company.”

  “You just hit on my most shameful childhood secret,” Michelle said wryly. As he seemed inherently unshockable, she found it surprisingly easy to confide in him. “I desperately did not want Dad and Kate to have a baby. I suppose I was threatened by the thought of yet another child. I always felt lost in the shuffle while I was growing up. I knew I wasn’t particularly special in either home. I was one among many and I didn’t stand out in any way.”

  Fungible. Interchangeable. Not unique or special. The words echoed in Steve’s head. They were Michelle’s own words, describ
ing his attitude toward women. He abruptly sat up in bed. She’d felt that way as a little girl, as a child among too many other kids. No wonder viewing herself as a woman among too many other women rankled her so. He remembered what she’d said about preferring to be his worst date instead of just another indistinguishable one. Suddenly her previously incomprehensible statement made sense to him.

  Steve was both astonished and a bit proud of the connection he’d made. He was actually beginning to understand Michelle! It was a first for him. If he’d had a dime for every time the charge of “you just don’t understand” had been hurled at him, he could retire as a wealthy man tomorrow.

  “What’s the matter?” Michelle asked worriedly, sitting up in bed.

  Steve realized that he’d bolted upright and remained that way. “Uh, nothing. Just a cramp.” He laid back down. “Leg cramp,” he improvised. “I get them sometimes.” “Do you want some aspirin?’ ’ she asked concernedly. “No, no, I’m fine now. Lie down, it’s okay.”

  Michelle laid back down and snuggled into the goose-down thickness. “I almost forgot to compliment you on your excellent memory,” she said softly. “It takes my friends a long time to get everybody in my family straight and some never do.” She chuckled. “Ed gets so confused he-”

  “Ed?” Steve interrupted. He tried and failed to identify the peculiar searing sensation tearing through him.

  “Ed Dineen. You know, the state senator. My boss.”

  He could hear the smile in her voice as she talked on and on about Ed Dineen. Ed was brilliant, honorable, and conscientious. Scrupulously honest and loyal. Witty, perceptive and sensitive. A wonderful public speaker.

  Steve shifted restlessly in the bed. He’d never been jealous of anyone or anything in his entire life. There was no need, not with his towering self-confidence and unbroken chain of successes. But lying here listening to Michelle rave on about another man, he identified the choking, bitter feeling ripping through him as jealousy.

  “Dineen’s married, isn’t he?” Steve asked sourly.

  “Oh, yes,” Michelle said, still bubbling with enthusiasm. “His wife, Valerie, is just wonderful. And they have two adorable children, Teddy and Danielle. Valerie and Ed both went to Penn State, you know. That’s where they met. Ed was on the basketball team there. He’s still a rabid college basketball fan.”

  Her enthusiastic endorsement of Valerie and the children helped a little. But Steve had known too many women in the political arena who devoted their lives to their bosses, living vicariously through them, viewing them through worshipful eyes. Even if those relationships weren’t sexual, the attachment was just as powerful. Maybe more so. As he well knew, sex could be conveniently distancing, but adoration was definitely personal.

  “Sounds like your—job—is very important to you,” he said stiffly.

  “Oh, yes, I love my work. It’s the most important thing in my life,” Michelle affirmed earnestly. “I’m fascinated with the way government works, the legislative process, the inner workings of the political system. Aren’t you?”

  “Well, yes,” Steve admitted grudgingly.

  “Being part of it means being able to make a difference. Every day is interesting, every day I learn something new and meet new people.”

  “That’s certainly true.” Steve forgot his fit of pique as they talked politics, trading views and opinions late into the night.

  It was a night of firsts for them both. The first time that Steve had ever spent a platonic night in a woman’s bed, the first time that Michelle had ever allowed a man to share her bed. When they finally fell asleep, it was nearly dawn.

  They awakened late in the morning, with the cat snuggled under the covers between them. The power was still off and the apartment was bone-jarringly cold. Unlike a blizzard-proof dogsled, Steve’s car remained mired in the snowy terrains of the parking lot.

  There was nothing for Michelle and Steve to do but to climb back into bed with the sandwiches they’d made and talk some more. They spent the entire day there, snacking and talking. It was amazing how much they had to say to each other and how easily it was to say it. Nothing seemed too trivial to reveal.

  “Everybody claims to love those old movies from the thirties, those screwball comedies and dark melodramas. So I pretend that I do, too,” Steve confided. “But to be perfectly honest, I don’t get their appeal. I like the movies of today—with lots of action and car chases and special effects.”

  “I have an equally shameful confession,” Michelle offered. “Remember the outrage when those old black and white movie classics were colorized for TV? Well, I like them better in color.”

  “So do I.” Steve grinned. “I guess it’s a good thing we chose careers based in Harrisburg, not Hollywood, hmm?”

  “For our own sakes as well as the sake of the film industry,” added Michelle.

  They exchanged congenial, confidential smiles.

  It was almost nine o’clock that night when the power was finally restored. At the same moment that a rush of heat came blasting through the vents, every light in the living room flashed on. Michelle and Steve were huddled under the quilt in the bedroom.

  “The power’s back on!” she exclaimed. Part of her was relieved. It was extremely difficult to do without electricity in an all-electric apartment. But another part of her felt a twinge of regret. The power outage had given her the opportunity to spend time with Steve, to get to know him in a way she otherwise never would have. And that was over now.

  “Three cheers for Med Ed.” But despite his endorsement of the electric company, Steve made no move to leave the bed.

  Michelle switched on the bedside lamp before slipping out of the bed. She caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror and was horrified at the sight of her rumpled sweat suit, her tousled hair and flushed face, totally devoid of makeup. It didn’t matter that she’d spent the entire day with Steve without an ounce of concern about her appearance. Now a self-conscious wave swept over her and she felt like turning off the lights before he could get a good look at her.

  The return of civilization, it seemed, changed everything.

  Steve sensed her withdrawal. He wondered if he could persuade her to let him spend another night here, in bed with her. This time with heat. And minus three layers of clothes. Tonight, no clothes would be required.

  Michelle turned at that moment to see his unmistakably predatory smile. He reminded her of Burton stalking the new parakeet she’d brought home one day from the mall pet shop. Watching, assessing, planning. Waiting for the chance to make his move. She’d taken the little bird back to the store, knowing it was unsafe here. Now it appeared that she was in the same predicament.

  “We should see if your car is still stuck in the lot,” she said with sudden brisk efficiency. She was pulling on her outdoor gear before Steve sat up in bed.

  He finally did so with a resigned sigh. “You don’t have to go outside, Michelle. I’ll check on it.” Naturally he would discover his car still hopelessly stuck, he promised himself.

  Michelle met his eyes. And correctly interpreted the gleam she saw there. “I’ll be glad to go with you,” she insisted firmly.

  They trudged out together to find that the building superintendent had already arranged for the lot to be plowed and salted. With the reliability of a dogsled in the Arctic, Steve’s car glided smoothly out of its space. He was free. There was no excuse not to collect his things and go home.

  Michelle walked him to the door. They lingered there for a few moments, he as reluctant to leave as she was to see him go..

  "I could stay tonight,” Steve said, gazing intently at her. He made no effort to hide the desire and determination in his eyes.

  “On the sofa, in the living room, with the cotton spread?” Michelle asked lightly. It couldn’t be any other way. If she let him make love to her, he would add her name to his scorecard and forget her. And as much as she’d enjoyed being with him, she was too much of a realist to believe that a romantic
night in bed with her would alter his views on freedom and commitment. He’d said it himself— he wasn’t looking for love, he just wanted to have a good time.

  Steve shook his head, still smiling that smooth unfathomable smile of his. * ‘Sorry, honey. I’m too old for pajama parties,” he said, a bit regretfully. “With me, it’s all the way or nothing.”

  Michelle nodded. “I know.”

  “Hey, we did have fun though, didn’t we?” He took both her hands in his. “You’re a good sport, Michelle.” She really was, he acknowledged thoughtfully. She hadn’t whined or complained or sulked about the discomfort and inconvenience. “If I’m ever in another power outage, I hope it’ll be with you.”

  Her eyes suddenly, unexpectedly welled with tears. “Me, too,” she said huskily, lowering her head to avert her gaze.

  Steve dropped a quick kiss on the top of her head, murmured goodbye, and was gone. It really couldn’t be any other way, he told himself as he drove home. He liked Michelle; she was a great girl, but she really wasn’t his type. She was too bright, sweet, funny, warm, loyal, sexy and interesting. ...

  He shook his head. He was becoming depressed. It was definitely time to put another spin on the situation. So he started over. Michelle really wasn’t his type. She was too clever, driven, rigid, uptight, bossy, intractable. And she was too family centered, despite her dedication to her career. He didn’t doubt for a minute that she wanted far more than he was prepared to give—like a ring, a baby, a house in the suburbs.

  Images of growing up in Merlton with his ever-loving smothering family tumbled through his head, along with the voices of his parents and sisters and grandmother. Stevie, don’t go, you could get hurt. Stevie, don’t do that, it could be dangerous. Stevie, play with me, come with me, take me with you. Stevie, that’s too expensive, save your money. Stevie, when are you going to settle down with a nice girl? Your life doesn’t really begin until you ’re married.