Read Between the Lines Page 4

  His thoughts came to an abrupt halt as he entered the living room. Katherine was in front of the television, stretching and bending in time with a workout tape.

  Michael swallowed hard. She was wearing yoga pants, sports bra and loose tank top. The pants hugged her rear end as she slowly bent until her palms rested on the floor. He released a long breath when she straightened, only to catch it again when she arched her back and reached for the ceiling.

  Michael told himself to be a gentleman and look away. Instead, he watched her every movement as if in a trance. Her exposed back was wet with sweat and looked silky-smooth. He imagined his hands sliding over the glistening flesh, absorbing her heat, molding her to him, and his mouth went dry. He would press his lips to the curve between her neck and shoulder and taste—

  Michael shook his head and jerked his gaze away. This was Katherine, for God’s sake. This was his Katie, the woman who’d stood by him even when he acted like a class-A jerk. Dammit, she was his friend. They’d even shared a sleeping bag...

  And he hadn’t slept all night, he recalled, almost groaning out loud as the memory filled his head.

  “I—I’m... fr-freezing,” she’d whispered, her teeth chattering.

  Michael remembered looking over at her. She was huddled inside the sleeping bag, with only her nose and eyes visible. A surge of protectiveness had gone through him as he thought what a ridiculously small form she made, even with the added bulk of the bag. “Me, too,” he’d whispered back. “I’m sorry I got you into this.”

  “It’s not y-your fault.” Her blue eyes filled with tears. “If only we could have a fire.”

  “It’s too windy.” Even as he spoke, the wind screamed through the trees.

  “I kn-know. But m-maybe we could hike back to the car?” Her voice lifted hopefully.

  “No way, Katie. It’s too far, and I’m not even sure I could find the way in the dark.” When a single tear rolled down her cheek, a lump formed in his throat. She was so small and sweet, and he’d subjected her to this. “Why don’t you come over here and share my bag? Our combined body heat will keep us warm.”

  He didn’t have to ask twice. She scrambled up and within moments, was snuggled against him. At first it was still bitterly cold, but then slowly, heat began to creep over them. Her back was pressed against him and his chin rested on the top of her head. She smelled like baby powder and lilacs. He breathed deeply and the scent, at once innocent and alluring, raced over his senses.

  “Feel better, Katie?” he asked, his voice soft and thick.

  “Yes,” she murmured sleepily. “Thank you, Michael.”

  She yawned and shifted. As she did, her hips first brushed, then settled against his manhood. Arousal was instantaneous and overpowering. Before he realized what he was doing, he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her even closer. Michael immediately knew he’d made a mistake. Now, instead of just her hips, her whole, perfect body was pressed against his. God, she felt as if she’d been made for him.

  Breathing deeply through his nose, Michael reminded himself that this was Katie, his friend. He told himself she trusted him, and tried to picture the way she’d looked last month when she had the flu. Nothing lessened the ache of arousal, and he squeezed his eyes shut. How was he going to get to sleep now?

  He hadn’t gotten any sleep, Michael remembered. In fact he’d remained hot, restless and awake the whole night. The next morning, frustrated and exhausted, he’d snapped at her so many times she’d gotten hurt and refused to speak to him for the rest of the day.

  Michael groaned as he looked back at Katherine—she was doing something with her hips that was proving lethal to his sanity. Eight years ago he must have had a lot more control than he did today, he thought, a knot of desire tightening in his belly. If she crawled into a sleeping bag with him now, he didn’t think he could let her go until she’d been thoroughly loved.

  “So, that’s how you keep your fanny so pert,” he said, forcing lightness into his tone.

  Katherine whirled around, color flooding her cheeks. “What are you doing here?”

  “I live here.” He unzipped his down vest and shrugged out of it. “You haven’t forgotten, have you?” He shot her a quick, lopsided grin.

  “Yes... no, I mean, I didn’t expect to... I haven’t seen you all week,” she finished, then silently swore. Could she have any less grace? “Besides, you should know better than to sneak up on people.”

  Michael laughed softly. “And you should think about turning the music down.”

  He had her there. The truth was, she hadn’t expected to see him. Their paths hadn’t crossed since the day he’d moved in. When she was getting ready to leave for work, he was sleeping; when he got in at night, she was sleeping. Except for the evidence of his presence—traces of his morning shave in the sink, his shampoo in the shower, fast-food wrappers in the trash—Katherine could almost believe she still lived alone. Crossing to the blue ray player, she ejected the disk.

  “Don’t let me interrupt your workout,” Michael said, smiling wickedly and tossing the ski vest on a chair. “I’ll just watch.”

  A tart reply sprang to her lips; she choked it back. She wouldn’t take the bait, Katherine told herself. She would remain cool and unaffected. Feigning nonchalance, she glanced over her shoulder at him. “Sorry, Michael, the show’s over.” She snapped the disc into its case, then headed toward the back of the house. “Oh, in case you’re gone when I get out of the shower, have a nice time tonight.”

  She smiled to herself as she closed the bathroom door behind her. Well, that hadn’t been so bad after all. All week she’d been dreading the moment when she and Michael would come face to face again. She turned on the water to warm it up and began peeling off her damp garments. Even though he’d surprised her in such an embarrassing position, she’d kept her cool. This living-together thing might not be so bad after all. Humming to herself, she stepped under the hot, stinging spray.

  Twenty minutes later, Katherine was still smiling as she headed for the kitchen. Her stomach rumbled. On Friday nights she had a favorite ritual—first an aerobic workout, then cooking something complicated and fattening. Tonight she was trying a seafood frittata; it would be either interesting—or poisonous.

  “Have a nice shower?”

  Katherine spun around, her smile fading. Michael was sprawled comfortably on her white sofa. He’d kicked off his shoes and tossed all the throw pillows but the one under his head to the floor. The magazines on the coffee table, which had been arranged in a neat fan, were now in a jumble. And he looked comfortable—too comfortable. Surely he didn’t plan to stay?

  “Why haven’t you left?” she asked, not caring that she sounded ungracious.

  Michael didn’t answer, but instead let his eyes trail slowly over her. She wore a fresh pair of yoga pants, a soft-looking pullover and hot pink sweat socks. Her hair was piled on top of her head and held with a big silver clip. Strands, still damp from her shower, clung to her flushed cheeks and the elegant line of her neck. As she reached up to brush them away from her face, he pictured her in the shower, water sluicing over too-touchable, wet skin.

  He met her eyes. “I’m not going out.”

  Katherine’s breath caught. “Pardon?” Maybe she’d misunderstood him. Maybe—

  “I decided to hang around.” The truth was, he’d had plans—and changed them.

  Her heart sank. “Oh... well, fine. After all, you live here, too.”

  He grinned up at her. “Thanks for the concession, Katie. I was beginning to feel unwanted.”

  “It’s not that. I just, I mean, aren’t Fridays one of your busiest nights at the bar?”

  “I’ve got my A-crew in tonight and cell phone at the ready.”

  He looked like a naughty little boy, and a smile tugged at her mouth. She shook her head. “Do whatever you want, Michael. I’ll be in the kitchen.” Without another word, she turned and headed that way.

  He jumped up and followed her. �
��What are we making?”

  “We?” she asked, arching an eyebrow.

  He laughed. “Yeah, we.”

  She opened the refrigerator and took out the butter, eggs and cream, then shot him an amused glance. “I thought your taste ran more to meals packed in Styrofoam.”

  “So I have a thing for Styrofoam. Sue me.”

  “Tempting,” she murmured, taking a container of seafood from the freezer.

  Tempting was right, he thought, eyeing the patch of creamy skin that was exposed at her midriff as she stood on tiptoe to reach a high shelf. If he were a gentleman, he’d offer to help. His lips curved as he acknowledged that he wasn’t. “What’s in the container?”

  “Scallops, shrimp and crab.” Katherine set several jars of spices on the counter. “I’m making a seafood frittata.” She turned on the hot water, dumped the seafood into a colander and set it under the stream of water.

  He leaned against the counter. “Which is—?”

  “A fancy omelet,” she answered, smiling. “How are you at making salads. There’s some romaine in the fridge.”

  “Does this mean I’m invited to stay?” he asked, already rummaging in the vegetable bin. He didn’t expect an answer and she didn’t give him one. While she worked on the frittata, he made himself at home, searching through cupboards and drawers until he found the salad bowl and utensils.

  After many minutes of companionable silence, he heard a muffled oath and glanced at Katherine from the corner of his eye. She’d spilled flour and the saucepan was smoking. He smiled as she simultaneously reached for the smoking pan with one hand, burning herself, and pushed the hair away from her face with the other, leaving a long white streak on her cheek. Saying she wasn’t comfortable in the kitchen would be an understatement. Saying this whole frittata thing might be a bust would be closer to the truth.

  He shook his head and crumbled blue cheese on top of the salad. She wouldn’t take kindly to an offer of help. Not that his offer would be much good—she’d been right, his mealtime experience ran more to Styrofoam and drive-through windows.

  “This isn’t working,” she muttered, frustrated. “The shrimp is supposed to turn pink. Is this pink?”

  Michael looked over her shoulder. It wasn’t. “That’s shrimp?”

  “And these eggs are supposed to rise.” She pushed at the flat, rubbery mass with a spatula and groaned. “The recipe said this was an easy dish. I hate gourmet magazines. They always lie.”

  Michael bit back a laugh as she swiped at her other cheek and left another flour mark. “How about a glass of wine?”

  “God, yes.”

  There was a bottle of Sauvignon Blanc in the refrigerator. He poured a glass for her and opened a beer for himself. He set the wine on the counter next to her.

  “Thanks,” she said, not looking up.

  Her head was bent as she concentrated on turning the eggs. His eyes lowered to, then lingered on, the nape of her neck. The skin looked soft, vulnerable and all too inviting. He reached out to touch her, then realized what he was doing and dropped his hand. “You know,” he murmured, “in all the years we’ve been friends, we’ve never cooked a meal together. Unless you count about a hundred peanut-butter-and-banana sandwiches.”

  “And do you wonder why?” she asked, motioning toward the saucepan and its unappetizing contents. “I don’t know what I did wrong. I followed the directions...I’m sure I did.” She glanced up at him, totally exasperated.

  “Have you tasted it?” At the look on her face, he laughed. “Okay, I’ll be the guinea pig. After all, how bad could it be?” He cautiously dipped a spoon in the sauce, then held it to his lips. The taste was a cross between hell and gruel, and his eyes began to water. He grabbed his beer and took a long, palate-cleansing gulp.

  “It’s awful, isn’t it?” Katherine clasped her hands in front of her.

  “I wouldn’t say ‘awful.’“ He took another swallow of the beer, this time sloshing it around his mouth before swallowing.

  “What would you say?”

  “Well...” Michael gave her a sympathetic glance. “Mama Riggio’s delivers. Best pizza in town.”

  “Oh.” Katherine sighed and sagged against the counter.

  “We could go out,” he suggested.

  “I’m too hungry.”

  “Mama Riggio’s?”

  “Takes too long.” Her stomach growled. “It’s already eight-thirty.”

  The last had bordered on a whine and Michael grinned. She looked adorable... and was feeling sorry for herself. She’d had always gotten grumpy when she was hungry. Grumpy, then mean. He had better get her food, fast. A smile lit his face as he thought of just the thing.

  Minutes later, they carried their drinks and peanut-butter-and-banana sandwiches into the living room. He’d made them on thick slices of white bakery bread and garnished each plate with a handful of corn chips.

  “This is a disgusting combination,” Katherine murmured, taking a huge bite of her sandwich.

  “No—” Michael popped a corn chip into his mouth “—what’s disgusting is still in the kitchen.”

  It was an effort to keep from laughing out loud while her mouth was full. After she’d managed to swallow, she said, “I haven’t had one of these in years.”

  “You used to love them.”

  She wiped her mouth with a napkin. “I think I still do.”

  They ate in silence and in no time at all had polished off the sandwiches and chips. Katherine curled her legs under her and sighed in contentment. “Delicious. I was starving.”

  “I could tell.” He refilled her glass, then leaned back against the couch. He stared at the delicately colored liquid for a moment, then back at her. “I used to wonder about you... where you were, what you were doing.”

  A lump formed in her throat, and Katherine looked away. “Oh.”

  He rolled the wineglass between his palms. “I even wrote you a couple of times.”

  Her eyes snapped back to his in surprise. “You did?”

  “You never got them.” Michael laughed without humor. “I didn’t know how to reach you, so I sent them to your parents’ house.”

  All these years she’d thought Michael had forgotten her. All these years she’d believed their friendship had meant nothing to him. And her parents had known differently. Anger was upon her so quickly, her voice shook with it. “I’m sorry, I didn’t—”

  “You didn’t know,” he finished for her, shrugging. “I figured. They never liked me, and I knew I was taking my chances when I wrote you in care of them.”

  “They had no right to screen my mail,” she said tightly. “No right to decide who I should and shouldn’t talk to.”

  He reached over and lightly touched her hair. It was as soft as mink under his fingers. He enjoyed the sensation for a moment, then regretfully dropped his hand. “Don’t be angry with them. They had every reason to dislike me... I wasn’t the type of guy a girl brought home to meet her parents. Not a nice girl, anyway.”

  Hot denial jumped to her lips; she swallowed it as she realized what she was doing. Eight years ago she’d passionately defended Michael to everyone, including her parents and Michael himself. Love had blinded her to his faults; it seemed nothing had changed.

  Katherine glanced at him from the corner of her eyes. He was staring straight ahead; a muscle worked in his jaw. She knew what he was thinking, and her heart went out to him—no one had ever been as hard on Michael as he’d been on himself. To hell with pride, she couldn’t not comfort him.

  Katherine placed her hand over his. “You were a good friend to me, Michael,” she said, wishing she could steady her voice. “You were always there, and you always cared.” It was true. He hadn’t been to blame for her pain. She was the one who’d complicated things, the one who’d asked for something that he couldn’t give.

  “Thank you,” Michael murmured. “It’s important for me to know you were able to count on me.” He looked away, then back. “After my father.
..ran out on me and Mom, I promised myself I’d never let anyone down like that.”

  Poor Michael, Katherine thought, eyeing his tight expression. He’d made himself an impossible promise. There were people who would be disappointed no matter how hard he tried.

  “He died about a year ago. I went to the funeral, but—” Michael paused. “I didn’t feel...anything really. It just was.”

  “Oh, Michael...”

  “It’s okay.” He lifted her hand to his lips and placed a light kiss on her knuckles. “I like to think I’ve come to terms with what my father was...what he did. I didn’t feel any grief, but I didn’t feel any anger, either.”

  “I’m glad,” she said, her voice husky.

  “Me, too.” He laced his fingers with hers. Her hand was small and soft in his, and he smiled. Being with Katie had always felt good—comforting and somehow right. He suddenly realized how he’d missed that feeling. “You know, this is the first time we’ve talked in eight years.”

  Katherine stared at their joined hands, her mouth dry. She couldn’t seem to form a coherent thought, so she remained silent.

  “We used to talk so much. Remember the times we talked all night?”

  “Mmm.” Her pulse fluttered as he began softly stroking the back of her hand with his thumb.

  “What have you been doing the past eight years, Katie?”

  What could she say? Reliving every moment they’d spent together and futilely wishing they’d never met or that things had worked out? When she thought back over those years, that was all that came to mind.

  “Graduate school,” she answered. “My doctorate, the teaching position.”

  “That’s not what I mean.” He trailed his thumb over the back of her wrist and imagined the translucent flesh throbbing under his touch. He pushed the image away. “I envisioned you married to some nice guy. A guy as smart and serious as you are. I thought you’d have a kid, maybe two.” He released her hand but not her gaze. “Why haven’t you?”