Friday's Child (10 page)

But his mind didn't seem to have any control over his body. Instead of moving toward the door, he closed the distance between them and allowed himself to breathe in deeply of the scent at her delicate jawline. The pulse that beat below it was an overwhelming temptation, and he wasn't doing too well avoiding temptations right now. The tip of his tongue touched that delicate pulse, and at her shudder, his lips pressed there, lingered.

Her breath came more rapidly, in short, staccato gasps. Her hands pushed against his chest. “Michael.”

If that word was meant as a warning, her voice shouldn't have been so soft. So full of longing.

“Kate,” he murmured. He waited for her gaze to meet his, waited for the last remnant of determination to fade from her expression, to be replaced by a fraction of the desire he knew was reflected in his own, before his mouth covered hers.

The first touch of his mouth against hers was whisper-light, a mere brushing of lips. He returned again and again, taking
slow, sipping tastes. Her lips were soft and full. He could feel the bottom one tremble slightly against his mouth, and he soothed it gently with his tongue. He changed the angle of the kiss to draw that fuller bottom lip into his mouth, and his teeth closed on it tenderly.

She shuddered against him and he held her closer, tighter. His mouth left hers and went to the delicate place behind her earlobe. Thoughts of carefully plotted strategy faded as he drank in the scent of her, greedily filling his senses with the pleasure of her smell. It was a fragrance that owed less to the light perfume she wore and more to the uniquely feminine essence that was Kate.

A necklace of kisses was strewn with deliberate care from one end of her collarbone to the other. He paused in his ministrations to give equal attention to the exquisitely soft skin at the base of her throat. He took immediate advantage of the way her neck arched beneath his mouth and closed his teeth gently on the sensitive cord exposed there.

The sound she made was one of mingled shock and acceptance. And then she was moving closer, her hands at his nape, tangling in his hair as she coaxed his mouth back to hers. His lips crushed hers and found them open, the trembling gone, and just as hungry as his own. Where before she'd accepted his kiss, now she was returning it, demanding in her own right.

He could feel reality edging away. He'd thought of this moment often enough, from the first second he'd laid eyes on her. Fantasized about it. Planned for it. But he hadn't foreseen the intoxicating effect her taste would have on him. Hadn't planned on this fire licking through his veins, fueled by the liquid pool of heat in his groin. He was wallowing in the sensation of her slim, taut body close to his, so close that he could feel her breasts, high and firm, flattened against him.

Her pointed tongue made a timid foray into his mouth, engaging in a shy duel with his own. A groan was torn from him and his fingers delved into her hair, cupping her face as their mouths twisted together with savage intensity.

He moved forward, trapping her between the wall and his
body. And still he couldn't get close enough. The beckoning warmth that was so much a part of her nature was liquid fire now, trailing over his skin everywhere they touched. He'd never dreamed she'd be this hot, this soft, this silky. And he wouldn't have let himself imagine the pleasure he would get being this close to her, feeling her use that sweet little tongue to incite his own.

His hand went to her shoulder, slipping inside her dress to caress the smooth skin there. His fingers lingered for a moment, then delved lower to cup her breast. Drinking her moan, he teased her nipple into a tight, hard knot. It wasn't until he bent his mouth to replace his hand that she stopped him.

“No, Michael, don't.”

He stilled immediately, wishing he could deny her breathless whisper. His face was level with her breast, his breath against it keeping the nipple drawn. Taking a deep, torturous breath, he rose slowly, dragging her dress back into place with one long finger.

Kate's beautiful blue eyes were still smoked with passion, but that soft mouth was determined. “We have to stop,” she whispered.

He wondered if he was only imagining the regret in her voice.

“This wouldn't work.”

His hard, pulsing length was still pressed against her stomach. “At the risk of sounding crude,” he corrected dryly, “everything appears to be working just fine.”

Her eyes flickered, then followed the direction of his gaze to where it rested between their bodies. Her eyes widened in fascination. Her palms pressed against his shoulders firmly. “We need to talk, Michael.”

His forehead dropped to lean against hers. “We were already communicating,” he murmured. His lips pressed against her temple. “Very nicely, I thought.” The shiver that skated down her body filled him with a sheerly masculine pleasure. But her voice was no less firm when she spoke again.

“Please let me go.”

He sighed this time and moved carefully, painfully away from her. She took advantage of the space to smooth her dress, fingers fidgeting with the neckline, the shoulders, the sleeves. It took him all of two seconds to realize that she was focusing on anything except him.

She turned away and appeared appalled at her reflection in the mirror. He didn't know what she found so objectionable. He much preferred the wildness in her hair, hanging as it was around her shoulders, across her breasts. He watched as she snatched out the comb that had come loose and restored it. Bending down, he scooped up the other comb from the floor, the one that had been sent flying by his eager hand, and she took an inordinate amount of time replacing it.

He watched her reflection from over her shoulder. “It's no use, you know.”

Their gazes met in the mirror.

“You can't wipe away what happened here as easily as smoothing the wrinkles from your dress. It still shows where I kissed you. Here.” His finger touched the side of her jaw, where his rougher chin had left an abrasion. “And here.” His touch whispered over her lips, still swollen from his.

She pulled away jerkily, making sure to keep a careful distance between them. “This was a mistake. Mine,” she hastened to add when his eyes narrowed. “I'm sorry I let it go this far. I appreciate the news you shared with me about your decision for Chloe. And the meal,” she added, almost as an afterthought. “But I'm your daughter's teacher. Surely you understand how unprofessional it would be for me to get involved with…”

“Get involved with…?” he asked helpfully when she hesitated.

She made a helpless gesture with her hand. “With…this. With you. With…anything.”

“Am I to assume from that explanation that your only objection to what happened here stems from the fact that you're Chloe's teacher?”

A frown worried her brows. “No…not exactly.”

Frustrated desire shortened his temper. “Well then, what…exactly?”

“It wouldn't be right to have this sort of relationship with a parent, that's true. But you and I…we're not compatible at all.”

“No?” he asked softly, moving toward her.

Her eyes tracked his movements warily. “No. Our life-styles. Our values. We have nothing in common.”

“Did you like the seafood at the restaurant tonight?”

She tried, and visibly failed, to make the connection. “Yes, but…”

“So did I. Do you like my car?”

“What?” He was very close now, and he could read the effort it took for her not to retreat. “Your car? I…yes, I guess.”

“Me, too. And I like your condo. We both like kids. I'm kind to dogs. We've got more in common than you're letting on. How about this?” he dared her, pressing his lips against the rapid pulse in her throat. “Do you like this?”

She took a deep breath. “Michael.”

He raised his head slowly.

“This can't happen again.”

“Let's negotiate.”

“No.”

He clenched his jaw and threw her one last fierce look. She returned it steadily, her breathing a little rapid but her expression determined. He opened his mouth one more time to make one last attempt to get her to see reason. She gave a slight, imperceptible shake of her head, her answer devastatingly apparent. Turning jerkily, he yanked at the door to let himself out. The brisk night air held no previews of the coming summer weather, but its chill came much too late to cool unquenched fires.

“Lock the door after me,” he commanded, his voice low and harsh. It gave him a reason to linger there on her steps, when common sense and raging hormones would have dictated otherwise. It was an excuse to wait to hear the unmistakable click of the dead bolt, the jangle of the chain.

His ears strained, and he could almost convince himself that he heard more, as well. That he might have heard a tiny sound against the door that could have been her body relaxing against it. An almost imperceptible sigh that might have been a released pent-up breath.

A tight smile twisted his lips, at odds with the ache in his loins. If he tried hard enough, he might just convince himself that he heard his name whispered.

On the other side of the door.

K
ate released the breath that was strangling her lungs. Shakily, she pushed away from the door and headed to her bedroom.
A close call.
She shivered. For a moment she hadn't thought he'd leave, had been afraid that he might reach for her again. And if he had, she was all too aware that the evening would have ended much differently. Another minute with his mouth on hers, hot and hungry, and she wouldn't have been able to formulate a coherent sentence, much less an argument for sending him away.

She pressed a hand to her jittery stomach and climbed the stairs, wondering why she'd ever considered that she could have a calm, uneventful evening with Michael Friday. She'd rationalized her decision by focusing on the dinner as an opportunity to further discuss her very real concerns about Chloe. Underlying her relief that he had decided to take Chloe to a doctor was dismayed shock at her own weakness. Her mistake had been in thinking that she and Michael could have such a discussion free of emotional entanglements. But the last several minutes had made a mockery of that belief.

She entered her bedroom and crossed to the mirror. Her
reflection was somber, face flushed, her breathing still uneven. She released the combs in her hair, replacing them in the carved wooden box on the dresser. Her hair tumbled forward, its disarray an uncomfortable reminder of the way it had looked after Michael's hands had been in it. Kate stared at herself wide-eyed, barely recognizing the woman in the mirror. This was the woman Michael had seen. Hair wild, lips swollen and the marks of passion still very much apparent. One finger went to the slightly reddened spot on her neck, and for an instant she could imagine the drag of his lips over her skin, the slight abrasion of his beard.

Turning jerkily away, she released the zipper on her dress and stepped out of it. She'd known that he packed a powerful, sexual charge, but she hadn't been prepared for its impact. Hadn't been prepared for the tidal wave of her answering need.

She puttered around the room, using time and the mundane tasks of hanging up clothes and getting ready for bed to calm herself. She slipped into bed suspecting that sleep would be a long time coming, and contemplated the shadows that danced across her ceiling. It wasn't as though she should be surprised. Michael burned with the sort of fierce masculinity that would be a magnet to most women. She'd been aware of the force of his appeal from the instant she'd met him.

But she hadn't been prepared for the intensity of her reaction to him. Kate rolled to her side, bunching her pillow beneath her head. She'd been aware of him from the first, but even in her inexperience she'd known better than to let him get a hint of her response to him. He was much too aggressive not to press his advantage. The high voltage of his sexual energy would have been difficult to withstand, but under other circumstances she thought she could have resisted easily enough…if only he wasn't so darn likable.

She squeezed her eyes shut and then, when an image of Michael Friday swam beneath her lids, popped them open again. She had always been cautious in her relationships. She would never willingly relinquish control to a man the way
her mother had, bowing to her father's every wish and command. She savored her own independence.

But Kate could remember too well a childhood spent yearning for even a fraction of the unconditional love and acceptance that Michael showered on Chloe. A man who loved his daughter as fiercely and completely as Michael did had his own appeal.

She shifted restlessly, the sound of her skin against the sheets a whisper in the night. The darkness of the room was relieved only by the red glow from her clock radio. As she stared sightlessly into the shadows, she thought that the appeal of such a man would, by itself, represent a powerful tug to her emotions. Coupled as it was with Michael's megawatt sexuality, he was nearly irresistible.

 

The computer blinked with automatic staggered reminders, waiting patiently for Michael to attend to it. His attention was sadly lacking, however, and had been since he'd left Kate at her condo two days ago, her long hair tangled from his fingers, her lips swollen and wet from his.

That particular memory sparked an all-too-familiar physical response. He shifted uncomfortably. He'd moved too fast. He'd known it at the time, but his brain had had no direct influence over the rest of his body. Even now his lack of control was baffling. Damned if he knew just what it was about Chloe's straitlaced teacher that sent his libido into overdrive. He'd met women more beautiful, less inhibited and much less obstinate. But there was no denying it; there was something about Kate Rose that had drawn him from the first, something he found endlessly fascinating. Not to mention something that got him hotter than a randy sixteen-year-old under the bleachers with the head cheerleader.

Maybe it was that slim white neck, he mused. It had seemed to beg to be teased, tasted. Or maybe it was the feel of her hair tangled in his fingers and the mental image of it spread across his bare chest. Or it could be those steady blue eyes, which reflected every emotion she was experiencing. The memory of how they'd mirrored her passion before she'd
stopped him didn't do anything for the rapidly tightening fit of his pants.

He stretched his long legs out in front of him and gazed at the screen unseeingly. He'd made a strategical error that night. He'd never been one to tip his hand, not when preparing a takeover bid or going after a new slice of the market. He'd known he needed to approach her cautiously, to give her time to get used to the idea of a relationship between them. And yet he'd risked all his careful planning when he'd given in to the temptation to taste her. Just once.

A grimace crossed his face, and his fingers drummed against the side of the keyboard. Although he was a born risk taker in his career, the risks were always calculated, the percentage for success carefully formulated. There had been no such logic governing his actions with Kate. One taste might have been forgiven. It might have made her think, gotten her used to the idea of his wanting her. But he hadn't been able to stop at one taste.

He crossed his arms and slouched down in his chair. If he hadn't felt the shudders that had racked her body, hadn't caught her little gasps in his mouth, he'd think the reaction was all on his part, the aching, the wanting. But it hadn't been. He was sure of it. So all wasn't lost. He just needed to fine-tune his strategy a little.

Of course, he admitted morosely, scowling at the keyboard, all the fine-tuning in the world would be for nothing if he didn't manage to keep his emotions under control. Passion, he mentally corrected himself. Emotion had never been a problem, had never been allowed to circumvent his objectives. Emotion clouded judgment and fit him as uncomfortably as an ill-fitting suit.

He'd probably scared her. He frowned consideringly. And maybe her own responses had alarmed her as much as his actions had. She'd lobbed excuses at him like grenades, hoping that one of them would convince him to back away. Sorting through them mentally, he decided the one that had the most validity was when she said they were nothing alike. She could have been talking about their life-styles, but he thought
it was more complex than that. It didn't take a rocket scientist to figure out that Kate didn't have a great deal of experience. She had an innate caution that was a tantalizing contrast to the warmth that was just as much a part of her. And if the truth be known, he didn't have a lot of experience, either, not with women like her. She wasn't a woman to be taken casually.

A thoughtful look settled on his face. That was fine with him, since he wasn't feeling very casual himself. Perhaps it was time to show her that he could be serious.

A slow smile curved his mouth. He could be very serious, indeed.

 

“Am I bothering you?”

Always,
he wanted to answer Kate's diffident question.
Completely. Achingly.

“Not at all,” he answered politely, turning away from his computer. As if his earlier thoughts had summoned her, she hesitated in the doorway of his den. His mouth quirked. She looked about as eager to enter as Daniel had been to join the lions.

He watched her approach. She was wearing her teacher face, serious, professional. It would have been too much to ask that she was here to make his life easier by admitting to an overwhelming urge to have him there, now, on the floor, naked and sweating. For the first time he noticed the manila envelope she carried in her hand and gave a mental sigh as his fantasy sprouted wings and flew away. Yes, that had definitely been too much to ask.

“Did you get the wallpapering done?”

“Chloe is finishing up.”

His eyebrows shot up in mock panic.

“Trask is with her. They're really just cleaning.”

“You two make a heck of a racket wallpapering.”

She surveyed him patiently. “Chloe decided it would go faster if we whistled while we worked. Or rather, she whistled.”

“And you worked,” he guessed.

“She was a very willing helper.”

“Oh, I can tell. You have wallpaper paste here.” He rubbed a spot on his own jaw, not trusting himself to touch her. Her hand flew to her face, finding the substance dried there. “And I wouldn't be a bit surprised if you find some in your hair.”

Kate shrugged. “I'll wash. The important thing is, Chloe's room is completely finished. There are no talking clown heads in the vicinity, and if you're very lucky, she may forget the idea.”

He snorted. “From your lips to God's ears.” Sobering, he added, “I want to thank you, Kate.”

“You already have.”

He let the silence stretch a few moments between them, long enough for awareness to flare into her eyes. “It wasn't enough,” he murmured.

“Yes.” She cleared her throat. “Yes, it was more than enough.”

“It didn't feel like it to me.”

She didn't look away from him, her gaze helplessly entrapped in his. He watched her soft pink mouth part, the lips trembling slightly. The sight tantalized, beckoned, reminding him of the way she had looked two nights ago before he'd kissed her. And then afterward, her mouth had been wet and swollen into a delicious pout.

Her chin came up, her mouth firmed, and another of his mental images took a flying leap.

“The dinner was all the thanks I need,” she said clearly.

“But I do have something to discuss with you.” Coming forward, she took some papers out of the envelope and handed them to him.

“What are these?”

“We need your signed permission for the school to be able to share information about Chloe with Dr. Sachar. And the doctor will need written permission to share the results of the appointment with us. The bottom sheets are your copies.”

Michael took the papers, each bound in triplicate, and scanned them quickly. Taking a pen out of his desk, he
scrawled his name on each, then removed his copies before handing them back to her.

It seemed to take extraordinary concentration on her part to replace the papers in the envelope. “I'll take care of getting these copies to the doctor, as well as the behavioral scales I completed, her grade reports and a complete description of my concerns. When you go to the appointment, the doctor will want to see the behavioral scales you completed, as well.”

“Yeah, that's what she said.” He wondered how much longer she could avoid looking at him. “She also said that she likes to speak to someone from the school as well as the parents, once the examination is completed.”

Kate nodded. “That's the way it's usually done.”

Michael sat silent and patient, waiting for her nervous tension to peak. Finally, she slid a glance at him. “Well, that should be everything. You can let me know once you get a specific date and time for the appointment.” As she was talking, she inched toward the open door. “I'm sure Chloe would love to have you look at her room. I have a meeting this evening, so I really need to go.”

He let her get within a foot of the door before saying gently, “Oh…Kate?”

Her head jerked around. “Yes?”

He rose languidly and approached her. Her eyes widened as he drew closer, then passed her and pressed his hand flat against the door, closing it. Turning, he propped his shoulders against the door, folded his arms in front of his chest and deliberately crossed one sneaker-shod foot over the other.

“You said the other night that we couldn't see each other again.”

“Not in a social sense, no.”

“Because I'm Chloe's father.”

“That was part of the reason,” she said, watching him warily.

“You don't feel it would be…professional at this point.”

“It wouldn't.”

He nodded, as if in thoughtful agreement, and then said, “I can be a very patient man.”

She blinked at him, puzzlement plain on her face. “I'm sure you can be.”

“School will be out in a few days.” Her silence told him that she had made the connection. “Chloe won't be your student after that.” He pushed away from the door and closed the distance between them.

She wanted to back away. He could see it in her eyes. He was deliberately invading her space, forcing that awareness of him to spark.

“I never said your relationship to Chloe was my only concern,” she reminded him shakily.

“It shouldn't be any secret that I'm attracted to you,” he murmured, watching the delicate pink wash her cheeks at his words. “And you're too honest to deny that you're attracted to me.”

“I don't feel the need to act on every passing attraction I feel.”

“You don't know me very well, I realize that,” he said, ignoring her words. He was a savvy enough strategist to smell fear, and what he needed to do now was calm hers. Partly. He circled her slowly, his head dipping to inhale deeply of the scent from her hair. His thigh grazed the back of hers and she shivered. “Deanna and I had our problems, but I never ran around on her. I was committed to my family. Things didn't work out.”