It Should Happen to You

by Kathleen O'Reilly

  "Oh, wow. That sounds like fun."

  "Tonight?"

  So would she lie, or wouldn't she?

  She twirled with the phone cord, and looked the other way. "No, I'm not feeling good."

  And she would.

  She shot a quick look over her shoulder. Another apologetic smile. "Bad headache. I'm going to take some aspirin and lie down."

  "It's probably nothing."

  "Y'all have fun. Can't wait to hear all about it."

  And, of course, her friends would know nothing about tonight.

  Michelle grabbed her sweater, and he recognized the guilt in her eyes.

  Don't worry. It gets easier after a while.

  "Ready?" she asked.

  "Yeah, we better hit the road," he answered.

  Before someone else calls.

  Dominic knew the evening was doomed when they first reached the ship. A cruise on the hauntings of Chicago. Mayhem, murder, shipwrecks, I see dead people. Yeah, right up his alley. All they needed was Halloween music, and they could have a party.

  The "ghost hunter"a likely storywas seated near the bow, and most of his audience was listening with rapt attention. He was talking about the capsizing of the Eastland in 1915, and Dom immediately began to wonder if their own ship was seaworthy. Hell, they hadn't even left the dock.

  Not that he was superstitious or anything, but still he rubbed his medal for luck. A couple of extra Our Fathers wouldn't be too far out of line, either.

  Frankie was waving from the top deck, so Dominic steered Michelle up the stairs to the open air. Dominic was relieved that Amber had yet to show. If he had his way, Amber would stay home and be sick or something.

  After introductions were made, Frankie made nice and went to fetch a couple of beers and a soda for Dominic. It was the least Frankie could do.

  "Nice night," he said, even as the ghost hunter began droning about the Edmund Fitzgerald. So how many ships had sunk in the Great Lakes?

  "Perfect night for sailing," answered Michelle with a confident smile, obviously not superstitious about shipwrecks, only stars.

  She tossed her hair in the cool night air, and then leaned against the railing, bracing her elbows on the polished brass. For a moment Dominic forgot all about the ghosts.

  What was it about her? Maybe because he felt like he was starting over. Like somebody had sealed his record.

  Sometimes when she looked at him, it just felt like everything was going to turn out okay. He lifted his shoulders and then leaned against the railing next to her.

  "Thanks for doing this," he said.

  She turned, peering at him over her glasses. "Changed your mind, huh? It's a good thing now?"

  "It was always a good thing, just never was a smart thing," he said, and then noticed Frankie approaching, with Amber in tow. "Remember what I told you," Dominic whispered.

  "Look who I ran into?" Frankie said loudly, just so the people in Wisconsin could hear, as well. Frankie handed out the beers with all the elegance of a wine stewardan amazing transformation.

  Amber talked, chatting about her new hair stylist, and Frankie listened, taking in every word with the absolute goofiest expression on his face. The guy was in love. Definitely. Amber shivered when the guide talked about the monster in the lake, and Dominic poked Frankie in the ribs. That was the general cue for Frankie to play he-man.

  Michelle caught his arm. "She's married. You really shouldn't encourage that."

  Like he didn't know that, either. "I'm not gunning for him to jump her on board. I just want her to leave Vinny in such a manner that Vinny don't get pissed off."

  When Amber turned to talk to some other soldier types, Frankie turned and shot them both a dirty look. "You're not helping here. Look lovey-dovey. Some of that eyeball gazing and shit."

  "You want to tell me what to do?" Dominic shot back. "I don't think so." At least Frankie left them alone after that.

  Michelle rolled her eyes. "Mr. Romantic, aren't you?"

  "No. Not by any stretch of the imagination," he said, defending his right to be whatever he wanted.

  "I don't know what my problem is," she said sadly. "I should be all for this. She needs to leave the jerk."

  Unfortunately, Dominic knew exactly what her problem was. She was used to a world that was evenly divided into right and wrong. Dominic's line of vision had never been that clear.

  For the past ten years he'd stayed out of trouble, but things still felt wrong. He still felt responsible, still felt the guilt, and it didn't matter how much he prayed or how many good things he did, it just didn't go away.

  He put an arm around her, fitted her under his shoulder, and for a while they stayed there like that, two lovers looking up at the stars.

  Frankie pulled him aside and slipped him an address for the cigarettes. One step at a time. The guys at the precinct were going to be proud.

  "You want me to put up some cash?" asked Dominic.

  "Nah. I trust you. Wait until you unload the stuff, then come see me."

  Dominic held out his hand. "I appreciate this, Frankie."

  "No problem," he replied, shaking his hand, sealing the deal. "Amber's great, isn't she?"

  "Yeah." Dominic glanced around and saw Michelle pointing up at the sky looking scholarly. Time to get back before Michelle was the one they pegged for a cop.

  Mickey had spent the time pointing out Canes Venatici and Coma Berenices to Amber, showing how to find them in relation to the Big Dipper. Amber was a natural for astronomy, and when Dominic returned, Mickey just kept talking.

  She launched into the controversy of the positioning of the constellation, the Black-eye galaxy, and explained how if you looked at it with a four-inch aperture lens or better, it would wink.

  Amber seemed completely fascinated, and even Frankie looked a little intrigued.

  Suddenly, Dominic grabbed her arm. "Excuse us for a moment," he said, talking to Frankie. "We're going to have a little private time."

  Michelle raised her eyebrows at such high-handed treatment, but was willing to give him the benefit of the doubt. He dragged her down to a dark corner on the lower deck, and her insides started fluttering in anticipation. Unfortunately, he didn't touch her, just started pacing back and forth like an electromagnetic wave.

  Her insides stopped the flutter.

  "You doing okay?" he asked.

  She rubbed her arm, which really didn't hurt, but she wanted him to experience guilt since they were not down there for an illicit rendezvous, which is what she had secretly hoped. "I was doing fine, until you contracted an extreme case of leavus alonus ."

  Dominic winced. "Sorry about that. Just being careful."

  It was a very nice thing to say, and she appreciated his concern, but she'd really been looking forward to that illicit business. As he was used to crossing over lines, she'd kind of expected it from him. "You know, there is such a thing as too careful."

  "No, there's not."

  Mickey elected not to argue a subjective point. "Frankie's nice. He really likes her."

  "Good," said Dominic, looking completely distracted.

  "I thought you wanted him to be happy."

  "I do. I just got the willies tonight."

  "It's all that ghost talk, huh? Too many dead people?"

  "Yeah, that's what it is. Too many dead people."

  Mickey had her own suspicions. She'd seen him talking to the skinny kid, who looked like he wasn't old enough to drink, much less hook up with the mob. Still, this was none of her business, and the only way a relationship with Dominic would survive was strategic avoidance.

  Is that what they had? A relationship?

  No, she cautioned her brain. Two dates and a long night of unforgettable sex did not a relationship make.

  Hot, steamy, thigh-quivering sex

  The fluttering started all over again.

  He rubbed the spot on her arm. "I'm sorry. I wish I was better company tonight. Is Frankie bothering you, or anything?"


  "No."

  "Any of the other guys?"

  "No, they've all been very nice. I did get one death threat"

  "What?"

  "That was a joke."

  He held up a warning finger. "No joking."

  Mickey looked suitably chastised. "Right. Rule number threeNo joking."

  He stopped rubbing her arm and started pacing again. "Want another drink? Something to eat?"

  "Dominic, relax."

  "Yeah, so" he started to speak and then leaned back against the railing. His fingers began to drum, and she could just make out the beat to the William Tell Overture .

  This couldn't be a good sign. "Are you always this nervous? I mean, isn't this just a day in the life here?" she asked, not wanting to pry, but just wanting him to calm down.

  "I don't like you seeing this," he stated flatly.

  Oh. They were back to the career-choice issues. Mickey didn't want to talk about it anymore. If they ignored it, it might go away. She didn't want to talk at all. She wanted to erase the lines of worry that marred his forehead. She wanted to put the devil's persuasion back into his eyes.

  Now was the time to be bold. She locked her arms around his back and planted a good one on him.

  At first she felt the tension in him, the muscles bunched tightly under her hands, but this was one battle she could win.

  That's what happened when you had one, extraordinarily long night of great sex with a nonrelationship guyyou knew what he liked.

  Using her mouth, she pulled on his lower lip, sucking until she felt the muscles begin to relax.

  There you go.

  His hands curled around her, cupping her butt and locking her against him.

  Yep, he was thrilled. That was no roll of quarters against her thigh.

  She shivered, and his hands stole under her shirt, clenching and unclenching against her bare skin.

  Then his mouth caressed the side of her neck, and she could feel the strong line of his jaw. He had shaved for her.

  "You interested in ghost stories?" he asked, whispering in her ear.

  "Nah, they're just dead people," she whispered back, letting her hands skim beneath his shirt.

  "We should really go upstairs," he whispered, his lips tickling her neck.

  "We don't have to," she whispered, thinking naughty thoughts.

  He laughed, low and wicked, and she knew he was right on her wavelength. "We're stuck on a boat for two hours, there's seventy-five people milling around. It's impossible."

  Mickey walked her fingers up and down his spine. "Nothing is impossible."

  His eyes fired to a smoldering black and his grin faded. This was Dominic at his most dangerous.

  "Follow me," he said, and she would have willingly followed him anywhere.

  They walked down the narrow deck until he found a locked doorway.

  "Damn," she said, getting into the true spirit of illicit rendezvous.

  "What's a lock?" he asked, and in less than sixty seconds, they were inside.

  It was a storage area, stuffed with life preservers and crates of supplies. Not the most romantic of spots, but they could be alone. The deck lights filtered into the room, giving it a nice glow.

  When the door clicked shut, the room turned black.

  Her eyes couldn't adjust to the dark because there was no light at all, but her other senses took over.

  Under her feet, the ship listed back and forth, the sound of the engine a rhythmic constant. Just above the tangy lake air, she could smell the sharp scent of his cologne.

  And somewhere he was nearby, because she could feel him. Her skin felt hot and too tight for her body, and the soft cotton became unbearable against her nipples.

  Suddenly his hands were tugging at the knot in her shirt and she realized that there was a certain freedom in loving blind. He could be her dream loverthe man who could make her whimper with merely a touch. The man who could possess her soul, as well as her heart!

  Unerringly he slid the material off her shoulders. He had memorized her body just as she had memorized his. Then his mouth was on her breast, strong and insistent, and she found herself gasping for air.

  Waves of heat pulsed over her, her hands pulled at his hair, needing something to anchor her. He bent her back across one of the crates and used his teeth to nip at her belly.

  The room began to spin. Sensation after sensation washed over her, and she could feel her climax approaching.

  She said his name, focused on his name, because she was going insane. It was like someone else had stepped into her dream and taken over.

  His hands fumbled at her zipper, and he shoved her pants down to her ankles. Carelessly she kicked them aside. There were more important things to worry about. She needed him inside her, and she told him so, over and over again.

  As he stood over her, he pressed her back farther against the crate until her back was resting against the hard wood. Then he grasped her ankles and roughly parted her legs. And finally he was inside her.

  There was a desperate moment when she adjusted to his size and his muttered "sorry" indicated he knew about her discomfort. But then he was lifting her legs higher and higher until they rested on his shoulders, and she felt like she was being torn apart.

  This wasn't going to work. She was a physicist; she knew it wasn't going to work.

  He pulled out and slowly thrust in, and she began to reconsider.

  Then he did it again.

  Yes, it definitely would work.

  They moved together, finding the right rhythm, starting slow until her body had opened to him, and then he began to thrust faster.

  This was the Dominic Corlucci that she was afraid of. The man who cut deeply to her core and took what he wanted.

  If tonight was simply about pleasure, she would take hers, as well.

  Her legs locked around his shoulders and she closed off her mind, drifting into the warm waters to simply feel.

  Then his hand slipped between their bodies and touched her. At first, it was a light touch. Nothing more than a butterfly. Instinctively her hips curled up against his hand.

  "There?" he asked.

  "That's good," she said, her teeth clenched, trying to stifle her moan.

  "More?" he asked, his finger still flicking lightly against her.

  She closed her eyes. She really couldn't keep this inside her. It was like being trapped inside the accelerator, watching the particles spin around and around, flying through the air.

  Their moist skin slapped together, the sound echoing inside her head. The hard wood was cutting into her back, dear God, she'd never been so completely pulled inside out, but all she could feel was him. It was rough and sweaty and so completely alive. With each stroke, he was pushing farther inside her, higher and higher

  In the dark, she could hear his strained breathing, the backs of her thighs rising and falling against his chest.

  Her hands pulled at the air, trying to find anything to hold on to, anything to keep her sane, but there was nothing. She was completely at his mercy, and Mickey had never been completely at any man's mercy.

  Oh, no.

  The pressure grew, and he showed no signs of slowing, tilting her legs higher still, until their bodies joined at her heart.

  She was going to scream, she was going to scream, she was going to scream.

  "You can't scream, Michelle. Here, bite," he said, and he cupped his hand against her mouth. The acceleration was killing her, fourteen Gs pulling her apart and she couldn't survive anymore. She bit, and bit hard, and he pounded inside her again and again.

  Finally, he lifted her legs, his cock deep inside her, and he froze. She heard his deep growl, felt his muscles shake with his release, and gently, ever so gently, he let her legs fall back to earth.

  She lay there, pretty well dead, and knew that never, ever, would she feel this completely exposed again. Was it just sex? Was this the extraordinary two-night stand? Was it because they were in a boat, with people milling above,
doing the impossible?

  Sure, she told herself. You've just never been with a man so skilled in the sensual arts. You're just being naive.

  He collapsed next to her, not close enough to touch her, but close enough that she felt his warmth calling to her.

  It was just sex, she kept reminding herself.

  She heard his movements, heard his labored breathing, but he wasn't saying a word.

  Then she felt his mouth softly kiss her shoulder.

  She grew still, all her nerve endings converging on that one small spot.

  A warm shiver danced down her spine, and she wanted to believe it was because of the ghost stories. One small problemMickey had never believed in ghosts.

  * * *

  Chapter Ten

  The voices in his head were getting louder, and Dominic realized that there were people outside the hallway. They were safe here, though; the door was locked, and barring a marine emergency, nobody else was barging in, but they did need to be getting back.

  He felt around for clothes, found Michelle's breast, explored for a moment, and then berated himself for getting distracted again. That's what the problem wasshe was a first-class distracter, and just when he really couldn't afford to be distracted.

  He found her shirt and handed it in her general direction, not really knowing what to say.

  He was smart enough to know that he wasn't supposed to tell her he'd just had the best sex of his life. He was smart enough to keep his mouth shut during that critical postcoital phase when either you declared your love or you talked about the next time you were going to see herwhether you meant it or not. With Michelle, he couldn't do either.

  The truth was, he wasn't about to analyze his feelings for her, and he wasn't about to ask her out again. She wasn't a cop, she wasn't a criminal, she didn't belong. Period. End of story.

  "I think I'm presentable, but I'm not sure my shirt's on right."

  Grateful for casual conversation, he latched onto the new issue. "Hold on, I'll crack the door, and let some light in here," he answered, and lifted the handle, prepared to sneak out.

  "I don't know what to do, Frankie."

  And close.

  Quietly he leaned back against the door until it clicked shut. Wonderful. They were stuck. And he could have really used a glass of water or anything, because he wanted to avoid conversation right now. And he really needed to be un-alone with her, because every time they were alone, they ended up having sex. And sex with Michelle Cushing Coleman was bad.