Fair Play (43 page)

Watching him roughhouse, Theresa was unexpectedly hit with the same sense of deep, primal longing she had that day in her brother's backyard, playing baseball with her niece and nephew.
I want a family,
she thought,
and I want it with Michael Dante.
Almost as if the mild breeze filtering through the huge maple trees had borne her silent thoughts to his ear, Michael looked up, finally aware of her presence.

In his slow smile, Theresa saw the beckoning of love she had dreamed of her entire life.

“Okay, kids, time for a break, the King of Commack is tired.”

Gently removing one little girl from where she hung around his neck, Michael rose to his feet, brushing the dirt and grass from his knees and his hands. The kids hopped around him, frantically protesting the end of play, but Michael was adamant. “We'll play again after we eat, I promise. Right now, Uncle Michael needs a rest.”

Disappointed, the children scattered. Michael walked over to where his cousin Paul stood at the grill and cracked open a cooler from which he extracted two Heinekens. Popping the lids, he took a sip, then sauntered over to the stoop to join Theresa, his face mildly sweaty but his expression delighted.

“This is a surprise,” he said, handing her a bottle.

“It was supposed to be.”

“Where are your glasses?” he asked.

“I don't need them anymore,” Theresa replied shakily.

“I see.”

Sitting on the bottom step, he patted the maroon-painted concrete next to him. Theresa walked down the four steps to the bottom and joined him.

“Let me guess,” said Michael. “Gemma called you.”

“Even better: She came to my office.”

Michael's head whipped around in disbelief. “Jesus. I'm sorry.”

“I'm not,” Theresa declared. “If she hadn't, who knows how long I would have had to wait before you finally told me she wasn't your girlfriend.”

Michael ducked his head, embarrassed. “She spilled it all, huh?”

“No stone was left unturned.” She took a sip of her beer, wondering how long it would take him to realize he was sitting here talking to her with a head full of barrettes. Apparently forever.

“I don't want to alarm you,” she whispered, “but your power is still intact.”

Michael looked momentarily baffled before it dawned on him what she was referring to. Grinning, he raised his hand to his hair, but Theresa stopped him.

“Allow me.”

Tenderly, she removed the clips one by one, secretly enjoying the feel of his thick, dark hair against her fingertips.

“Tell any of the Blades you saw me like this and you're doomed,” Michael threatened.

“Why?” Theresa asked softly, removing the final barrette. “I think it's wonderful. You were great with them.”

“Yeah?” Michael looked pleased as he quickly ran a hand through his hair in an attempt to smooth it. “Well, sometimes being with the kids is more fun than being with the adults. At least the kids don't ask you when you're going to win another Cup or find a nice girl and settle down.”

That reminded Theresa. “Unfortunately, all your relatives think Gemma
has.
”

“Has what?”

“Found a nice girl she's settled down with. They think I'm her girlfriend, Michael.”

Michael stared at Theresa a moment, then burst into uproarious laughter. “That is
great!
I love it!”

“It's not funny,” Theresa admonished, playfully slapping his bare knee. Unlike Reese, the sight of Michael Dante in shorts was pleasing. His legs were sculpted and muscular, the hair dark but not too thick. An image of what she imagined his bare torso must look like flashed in her mind but she blocked it with a long pull at her beer. “I'm going to have to set them straight at some point.”

“Don't worry,” Michael assured her. “Things will take care of themselves.”

Knowing what he referred to, or at least hoping she did, Theresa blushed. Silence descended, peaceful yet not awkward. Together they sat watching cousin Paul as he stacked the burgers high on two huge platters, whistling to himself.

“So,” Michael ventured, rolling his beer bottle between his palms, “how come you dumped Fleece?”

“Reese. Because he was an asshole.”

“I could have told you that.”

“I wouldn't have listened.”

Michael looked impressed. “That's quite an admission.”

“There's a lot I'm willing to admit,” Theresa said quietly.

Michael cocked his head sympathetically. “Like what?”

“Like—” Sighing heavily, Theresa put down her beer, pressing the heel of her palms into her closed eyes. “I've been such an idiot, Michael.”

Michael pulled away the hand closest to him, and held it in his own. “We've both been stupid, okay? I'm sorry I yelled at you that day and called you a lunatic. You didn't deserve it.”

“Yes, I did,” Theresa replied, looking at him now. “Because I
was
sending you mixed messages and I
was
jerking you around.” Her gaze flitted from his. “I was scared. I was feeling things for you I didn't know how to handle. The thought of being vulnerable terrified me.”

“And now?”

Theresa swallowed hard as she met his eyes. “Now I want to handle them. I want to cultivate them and watch them grow. That is, if you—”

He silenced her with a quick kiss. Theresa drew back, pleased. Never before in her life had she so enjoyed being told, in essence, to shut up. Breathless, she squeezed his hand tightly, and in a move that for her was both bold and terrifying, she leaned in to him, covering his mouth with hers.

Pleasure shot through her, heated and sure.

How could something experienced before feel so wondrous and new?
Michael's free hand reached up to gently cup the back of her head, drawing her even closer. Theresa was beginning to understand why religious converts yearned to shout their good news from the rooftops. Kissing Michael, she felt reborn, the sensation of his mouth against hers both holy and sweet. Emboldened by the intoxicating sense of warmth snaking through her, Theresa let the tip of her tongue slide between his lips, her heartbeat quickening as he did the same, his tongue on a quest all its own, teasing and twining. All the fear she carried within her evaporated, replaced by an overwhelming yearning.

This
was what she'd wanted all along but had fought so hard against.

This
was what all the great poets and writers down the ages rhapsodized about.

For the first time, Theresa felt she understood what it was to be
in
love. To be immersed in it, body and soul, to feel it was at the very core of your reason for being. The kiss deepened. Theresa sighed contentedly, thoroughly drunk on contact with him.

Somewhere in the far recesses of her mind, she thought she heard the sound of someone clearing their throat. Forcing open one eye, Theresa was greeted by the sight of cousin Paul standing in front of her, burger platter in his hand.

He was politely waiting for them to finish kissing so he could go up the back steps.

Blushing furiously, Theresa gently broke apart from Michael, her eyes darting instructively in the direction of his cousin.

Embarrassed, Michael apologized. “Sorry, Paulie.”

“No problem,” Paul assured them as they moved apart to let him pass. “I remember what that was like,” he joked. The screen door slammed shut behind him as he disappeared into the kitchen.

“I don't think you need to worry about my family thinking you're with Gemma anymore.”

Theresa giggled, then reached for her beer, in need of some cooling. “So now what?”

“Now we go inside with the rest of the family and eat, and when the day is done, you come home with me,” Michael quietly suggested, his hand reaching up to tenderly stroke her cheek. “But no pressure. I want you to be sure about this.”

Theresa let her eyes drift shut as she held his hand fast against her face. “I'm sure,” she murmured.

After their kiss
,
taying for the rest of the barbecue had been torture. Touching as discreetly as possible through dinner and dessert, they were like two overheated teenagers. Michael's relatives were still confused, but Theresa placed faith in Michael's belief that everything would take care of itself in the end as she joined him in bidding everyone a hasty good-bye.

Adding to their agony, they hit bumper-to-bumper traffic.

The only thing that made the ride from Commack to Park Slope bearable for Theresa was that she was with Michael. Every time she looked at his profile, her stomach fluttered in anticipation and disbelief. He was so handsome, so wonderful, and he was
hers.
She could scarcely believe it. Michael's eyes met hers dozens of times during the course of the ride, followed always by that slow, easy smile of his that made her want to melt. Twining the fingers of her left hand through his, Theresa talked: about work, about her family, about her sessions with Dr. Gardner.

The time for hiding was over.

Arriving at his place, standing in front of his open apartment door, she was nervous. Michael must have sensed it; his grip on her hand tightened in a way she found infinitely reassuring.
He wants me to know I'm safe with him,
she realized.
And I want him to know I'm aware of that.
She showed him by squeezing his hand in return.

In the car, time had felt endless, like a distant horizon she would never reach. But now time began unfolding itself in a more serene, inviting way. It was as if the universe itself was holding its breath, waiting to see what would happen next.

Locking the door behind them, Michael moved to her, his hands gently rubbing her shoulders before reaching up to cup her face in his strong, warm hands. “If you're afraid, or have any doubts at all, I'd be happy just to hold you.”

The unabashed tenderness in his eyes brought a lump to Theresa's throat. “I'm not afraid,” she whispered as her hand grazed the bruise still shadowing his left cheek.

Michael touched his forehead to hers. “You sure?”

“I'm sure,” she said as he drew her into an embrace, the feel of her body against his the most natural thing in the world. Here was safety. Here was true harbor. Theresa felt like a clenched fist whose fingers were slowly unfurling to reveal a long hidden, precious jewel. The jewel was her authentic self. Cradled in Michael's arms, she felt radiant.

They walked slowly up the staircase leading to Michael's bedroom, arms linked around each other's waists. Crossing the threshold, Theresa wondered if he would turn on the light. But he didn't. Instead, he walked over to the window and pulled back the curtains. Pale moonlight washed the room, bathing its contents in a hushed, peaceful glow. Michael turned Theresa to him. Then he skimmed his lips over hers, gentle and soft.

“Do you know how long I've dreamed of this?” he asked, voice thick with emotion.

Theresa nodded, too overwhelmed to speak as tears of happiness welled up behind her closed eyes. The longer he held her, the more alive she felt. A slow fire was beginning to smolder deep within her, her own longing for him the kindling. As if the warmth steadily beating through her body weren't enough, Michael again pressed his lips to hers teasingly before turning his attention to her jawline, gracing it with small, hot kisses. His breath on her cheek was thrilling, inflammatory. “Tell me you want me, Theresa,” he murmured against the pulse quivering madly at her throat. But before she could answer, he was hungrily nipping his way back to the edges of her mouth.

There was no time for hesitation, and no need. “I want you,” Theresa replied as fervently as repeating a vow. Sweet heat jolted through her at the sound of her own confession. Until now, she hadn't realized what it was to literally ache with desire. Now she knew and bore the exquisite suffering willingly.

“Lie down with me,” Michael coaxed.

Trembling not with fear but with need, she followed Michael's lead as they moved toward his bed. Theresa watched as he lovingly folded back the crisp white sheets that would soon be receiving them. Far off on the edge of her consciousness, a dark shadow loomed, but Theresa ignored it. Love had reduced its power over her. Trust would see it banished forever.

“Here.” Michael sat on the edge of the bed, bidding Theresa to join him. His gaze was quietly seductive as he reached up to stroke the long, curling tresses of her hair, silent appreciation informing his handsome face. Theresa closed her eyes, reveling in the soothing repetition of his touch. He laid her back upon the pillow as if she were the most precious object in the world. She could feel her hair spilling around her like a halo.

Touching his lips to hers with a lightness that belied his desire, Michael lay down beside her; his movements were careful, designed not to startle or scare. Gratitude swam up from deep within her, followed by a greed she hadn't known she possessed. Moaning softly, she reached up for him, her hands bunching in his hair as she dragged his mouth down to hers. She would show him the torments of the past were gone. She was free to love him as he deserved to be loved.

As she
wanted
to love.

The kiss was long, deep, soporific. Desire warm as heated honey languidly pumped through her. Tentative, Theresa moved her hands beneath his shirt to explore the solid terrain of his back. Michael's skin was hot and smooth, the muscles tensing as she continued her explorations farther down, lightly caressing his hips. Hearing his breath catch, she knew instinctively he was doing battle with himself, fighting the urge to swiftly take what he had waited for for so long. If going slow was important to him, then that's what she would do. But not before she kissed him once again. Not before she memorized his taste. Dizzy with need, she again crushed her mouth to his.