Read Between the Lines Page 6

  As if he sensed her scrutiny, he straightened and looked over his shoulder at her. He didn’t say a word, just stared at her in a fixed and unblinking way. He looked tired and tense, and she clasped her hands in front of her.

  “You’re up early,” he finally said, his voice thick.

  She glanced away, then back. “You, too.”

  “Yeah.” He shut the refrigerator door, then leaned against it. “I guess I wasn’t tired.”

  “Me, either.” She shifted her weight from one foot to the other. “Not tired at all.”

  “I slept like a rock.”

  When he shoved his hands into his pockets, his jeans sloped even lower on his hips. It took all her self-control not to stare at the line of dark hair that disappeared under his waistband. “Oh... me, too.”

  “I’m glad,” he murmured, dropping his gaze.

  Katherine followed the direction of his gaze and blushed. “I should change.”

  Michael cleared his throat and tried to push away the image of soft pink-and-white fabric draped over womanly swells. “You’re fine. I can’t see... it’s not like—” he coughed “—I mean, it’s hardly transparent.”

  Katherine felt her blush deepen and cursed practical nightgowns and her own feelings of inadequacy. “Right. But still...” She began backing out of the doorway.

  “Oh, sure.” He shrugged, feigning disinterest. “If you’ll feel more comforta—”

  “I will, really.” She turned and fled from the kitchen.

  When she was gone Michael blew out a long, relieved breath and slumped against the refrigerator. For a moment he’d thought he was the one who would have to leave the room. That or turn his back on her. It had taken all his concentration to keep his eyes on her face. Even then, he hadn’t been totally successful.

  He dragged a hand through his hair and stared at the ceiling. God, she’d looked impossibly sexy in that concealing gown. All lacy and pink and pure. Like sugar and sunshine. He pictured her sweat socks peeking out from beneath the gown’s hem and silently groaned. He would have been less affected if she’d had on a sheer teddy and nothing else.

  He rubbed his forehead and realized he was sweating. There had to be a name for his illness, he thought with a shake of his head. He’d never read about anyone with a flannel fetish before. Boy, just admitting it made him feel like a pervert.

  It had all started back in college. One morning he’d awakened with a huge hangover, a nonexistent memory and the most unbelievably erotic dream playing in his head. Starring in the dream had been himself, Katherine and a flannel nightgown. Even now, just thinking of it brought an ache of arousal and a picture that did nothing but intensify the ache.

  He remembered waking up moaning her name, thinking she was with him. He’d looked around the room in confusion, then propped himself on an elbow and reached across the empty bed, only to find the sheets were cold.

  A dream, he’d thought, falling back to the mattress, trying to piece together the previous evening. He’d gone to a party with his girlfriend. There she’d dropped him for a guy with a red Jag, but not before publicly throwing what he’d confided about his father back in his face. He’d set out to get mind-numbingly drunk. He remembered stumbling up the six flights of stairs to Katherine’s dorm room, then pounding on her door. After that he’d drawn a complete blank—except for the impossible fantasy.

  Michael shut his eyes again and the image that had haunted him for years, the image of him and Katherine in bed together filled his head. He caught his breath as the reel played on the back of his eyelids, an arousal as intense as the one that morning twelve years ago tightening in his belly. He could almost feel her flannel gown brush against his flesh, soft and inviting. And under the fabric, her warm, silky skin.

  In his head, they rolled together, a tangle of arms and legs and sheets. Then she was beneath him, urging him with her hands and hips, and he slipped inside her. She was warm and tight and felt as if she were made for him. His mouth caught her cry of pleasure and they rocked—

  “Michael, are you all right?”

  Michael’s head snapped up at the sound of Katherine’s voice. She stood in the doorway, wearing the yoga pants from the night before. “Fine,” he choked out, spinning around to face the counter. He breathed deeply through his nose and prayed she hadn’t looked at the front of his jeans. “I was just making coffee.”

  “Good. I could really use a...” Her words trailed off. His back was stiff and he hadn’t made a move toward the coffeepot. She took an uncertain step into the kitchen. “Are you sure you’re all right? You looked, well, like you were in pain.”

  He was in pain all right—painfully aroused. “I was just thinking,” he answered shortly, then almost laughed out loud. Wouldn’t she be shocked if she knew what he’d been thinking? He reached for the coffeepot. His hands shook slightly, and he cursed his imagination and all manufacturers of flannel everywhere.

  His curt tone was like a slap in the face, and Katherine squared her shoulders. He didn’t want to talk—that was fine with her. It would make it that much easier to distance herself from him. Besides, he’d no doubt been thinking about some woman who owned a closet full of sheer black nighties.

  She folded her arms across her chest, “I just wanted to remind you that our first interview is today at ten-thirty.”

  “I haven’t forgotten.” Michael kept his eyes trained on the coffee dripping into the pot. “We might as well go together.”

  Katherine bit back a tart reply and tilted her chin up. “Fine,” she said coolly. “I’ll meet you at the front door at ten-fifteen.”

  * * *

  Marilyn and Ron Fuss looked like scientists, Michael decided as he and Katherine stepped into the office where their interview would be conducted. Ron had nondescript brown hair that was thinning and slightly frizzy, Marilyn’s was bright red and cut in a short boyish style. Both wore wire-rimmed glasses and serious expressions.

  Michael shifted his gaze from the two behind the desk to Katie. She seemed calm and absolutely at ease. He scowled. His own heart felt like a sledgehammer in his chest, which was ridiculous. This interview was no big deal... and last night had been just one of those things. A fluke. He was a man, she was a woman, one thing had led to... He scowled again as a knot of desire tightened in his abdomen.

  “Hi, Dr. Reed, Michael.” Ron came around the desk, hand outstretched. “I’m going to leave you in Marilyn’s capable hands. Roger and Jean are waiting for me next door.”

  After they’d murmured the appropriate greetings and Ron had left the room, they took a seat. Marilyn smiled. “How are you?”

  Katherine folded her hands in her lap to hide their trembling. How was she going to handle this interview? She had only two choices—reveal herself to Michael or act unprofessionally by lying to Marilyn—and both made her stomach churn. “Fine,” she finally answered, her voice sounding shaky to her own ears.

  “How about you, Michael?” the woman asked.

  Michael slouched in his chair, thought of his sleepless night and the reason for it, and promptly lied. “No problems here.”

  “Good.” Marilyn smiled again. “Did you two see much of each other this week?”

  “Not really,” Katherine answered quickly. Too quickly, she realized, and silently swore.

  “Yeah,” Michael repeated, an image of Katie bending and stretching filling his head. He pushed the image away. “Hardly at all.”

  Marilyn jotted something on the paper in front of her. “Could you be more specific?”

  Katherine felt her cheeks warm and hoped Marilyn didn’t notice their color. She crossed her legs. “Once. Last night.”

  “Twice,” Michael corrected, shifting in his seat. “If you count this morning.”

  “Mmm-hmm.” Marilyn slid her glasses back up to the bridge of her nose. “How about food?”

  “Food?” Katherine echoed, realizing in dismay that her palms were damp.

  “Yes. Did you share a meal togethe
r?”

  “No.”

  “Yes.”

  They answered oppositely in unison, and Katherine cleared her throat. “I wasn’t counting peanut-butter sandwiches and... um—” She remembered in perfect sensory detail Michael handing her her plate, remembered the way his fingers had brushed hers and the shock that had gone through her at the accidental touch. She cleared her throat again, “—and corn chips.”

  “I see.” Marilyn jotted down another note. “Mr. Tardo... Michael, have you noticed any changes?”

  Michael jerked his gaze from the small window behind the desk back to Marilyn Fuss. He blinked, confused. He’d been picturing a time when he’d been in a lot of pain and Katie had held and comforted him. But the strange part was, it was an event he couldn’t remember ever having occurred. “I’m sorry,” he repeated. “What?”

  “Have you noticed any changes in your daily routine—eating, sleeping, recreational patterns?”

  Michael tried to shelve the memory but it continued to pluck at him. Distracted, he shook his head. “Nope, none.”

  “Dr. Reed? How about you?”

  Katherine opened her mouth to answer, then shut it. She darted a quick, furtive glance at Michael. No, he hadn’t had any trouble sleeping, she thought, suddenly angry. Nor was he the one who’d been maneuvered into an uncomfortable position. In eight years nothing had changed.

  “Dr. Reed?”

  “I’m sorry,” Katherine said tightly, feeling like a hypocrite, “no changes.”

  “You’re both sure? Think carefully, something that might seem insignificant to you could be exactly what we’re looking for. You’d be surprised how often minor behavior changes become predictable patterns.” Marilyn’s brow wrinkled as she scanned the paper in front of her. “Michael? Anything?”

  Michael folded his arms across his chest, thinking again of the previous evening. “Sorry, I can’t help you.”

  “Dr. Reed?”

  Katherine had difficulty meeting her student’s eyes. “Maybe next time.”

  “Well, that was easy,” Marilyn said, tossing down her pencil and grinning. “If neither of you have any questions, you’re finished. See you next week.”

  Katherine swallowed past the lump in her throat and stood. “Thanks, Marilyn. You did fine.”

  “You really think so?” Marilyn brightened. “I was more tense about interviewing you than any of the others. I hope you weren’t offended that I asked you about changes twice. I know that you, of all people, know how import—”

  “Don’t give it a second thought,” Katherine interrupted, wanting to crawl under the desk. “You were the picture of professionalism.” It was true—the student had been more professional than the teacher. All Katherine could think about was getting away from Marilyn’s trusting expression, and she started to edge toward the door. “I’ll see you in class on Monday.”

  With a final wan smile, Katherine slipped out of the office and into the frigid hallway. It seemed twice as cold after the closeness of the office, and she shivered and pulled on her coat.

  “It’s like a tomb in here,” Michael muttered, irritated. He yanked up his jacket zipper.

  “You can say that again.” Not looking at him, Katherine made a beeline for the double glass doors at the end of the hall.

  “Hey.” Michael grabbed her elbow to slow her down. “Where’s the fire?”

  “Let go of my arm,” she said through clenched teeth.

  “Pardon me.” Michael dropped his hand. “I thought it was boring, too, but at least I can be civil.”

  “It?” she repeated, glaring at him, spoiling for a fight. “Surely you don’t mean the interview?”

  “Surely I do,” Michael said, just as frustrated, just as ready to argue. “Any ideas what we should do for an encore? Go to the mall and watch the shoppers? Or maybe to a drive-in and take notes of what people eat? We could spend the whole day keeping tab on who orders cheeseburgers versus plain, diet soda versus sugared. Now that would be scientifically significant.”

  Her face burning, Katherine turned on him. “You have no idea how important this experiment is! But then your highest priority has always been having a good time.” She pushed through the glass doors at the end of the hall and stepped outside.

  She sounded prim and self-righteous, and he was reminded of an eighteen-year-old boy, out of control and running as fast as he could. And until a week ago he’d thought he’d put away that part of his past. Now he thought about little else, and the memories ate at him.

  As soon as he’d cleared the doors, he lashed out at her. “Do I hear one of your famous lectures coming on?”

  She didn’t look at him. “Which lecture are you referring to? The one about taking responsibility for your life or the one about acting like an adult?”

  Michael had parked in an illegal spot right in front of the building. He plucked the ticket from the windshield, stuffed it in his pocket, then turned to glare at her. “I’m sure either of those would do,” he said tightly. “Do you remember how they go, or should I start one for you?”

  She fisted her fingers. “Start one? Does that mean you actually listened to me? Surprise, surprise.”

  Michael unlocked the car and yanked open her door. Without waiting for her to get in, he went around to the other side. He slid behind the wheel, started the car, and once her door snapped shut, backed out of the parking space so fast the tires squealed. When they’d pulled into traffic moments later, he looked at her. “Did you ever give me a choice?”

  She narrowed her eyes at his tone. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “You’re the one with the Ph.D. Figure it out.” He gunned the engine to pass a delivery truck.

  “If you have something to say, Michael, say it.”

  He tightened his grip on the steering wheel. “I see you haven’t changed. Still the conscientious little brow-beater.” He accelerated and slid through a yellow light.

  The last threads of her control snapped, and all the frustration and vulnerability she’d felt since the study began bubbled to the surface. “At least I try.”

  “Mind deciphering that, Professor?”

  Katherine gripped the dashboard as he took a corner too fast. “Well, you haven’t strayed far from wine, women and song, have you?”

  Michael muttered a short, blunt word. She thought he was the same irresponsible boy he’d been eight years ago. The only difference was, then she’d believed in him. That she didn’t anymore was like a fist to his chest. “What’s wrong, Princess?” Michael roared into her driveway and screeched to a halt. “The profession of barkeeper not good enough for you?”

  Princess! She wanted to throttle him. “Why are you so sensitive? Guilty conscience?”

  “And when did you become your parents?”

  Katherine’s breath caught at the comment. Her parents were critical of everyone and everything outside their social and economic sphere. Michael knew how much she hated their elitism, but he had thrown them in her face anyway. Shooting him a furious glance, she grabbed the door handle and tumbled from the car.

  Michael was out and around to her side before she’d even managed to regain her footing. He pinned her between himself and the door. “Oh no, we’re going to finish this.”

  There was nowhere to look but his eyes; the expression in them was murderous. Katherine lifted her chin and glared at him. “Finish what? Name-calling? Repeating history?” As soon as she said the last, she regretted it. How many times had she wished she could repeat history to change it? And here she was, eight years later, repeating history and making all the same mistakes. “Let me go,” she said fiercely, feeling tears welling behind her eyes but vowing not to cry.

  Michael stared down at her, his jaw clenched so tightly it hurt. Her lips were full and slightly parted; he knew she would taste sweet, like overripe strawberries. His gut tightened as the need to take her mouth raced over him.

  He dropped his hands to her shoulders and gave in to the need. He ca
ught her mouth, not gently, not tentatively, but with force born of need too long denied. Her lips were cold, but only at first. They warmed, then parted. Her small sound of surprise became a strangled sigh; her hands flattened against his chest, then clutched at his lapels. He hadn’t known how she would react, hadn’t paused to worry. He’d only known that he wanted to kiss her—had wanted to for what seemed like forever.

  Michael moved his hands lower, using the leverage to press her more fully to him. Maybe he’d wanted to taste her mouth since that morning twelve years ago when he’d awakened alone and aching for her. And twelve years was a long time to wait. Too long. The need ripped through him, and he deepened the kiss.

  Katherine didn’t question, didn’t think of resisting or refusing. Instead, she sagged against him, offering him her tongue, taking his. He tasted of passion and fury and something else. Something dangerous that swamped her senses and made her forget yesterdays and tomorrows—made her forget everything but his lips against hers.

  With a shudder, she slid her hands up to his shoulders and held on. Michael was taking her to a place she’d never been before—not in her most potent dreams, nor even her most cherished memory. The place was sweet, dark, mindless. She gave herself over to it, and to him. She only asked that she never have to leave.

  Without breaking the kiss, Michael turned them around so that his back was against the car. He leaned against the cold metal and took her full weight, slight as she was. He needed the car’s support because he was shaken to the core. Tiny, fragile, five-foot-nothing Katie packed the punch of a heavyweight champ—he’d been leveled with the first touch of her lips to his. He wondered if he would ever be steady again.

  He yanked at the satin ribbon at her nape and her hair tumbled about them, a shiny, black cape. He wrapped his fingers in the thick, dark mass and the herbal scent of her shampoo tickled his nose. Dragging his mouth from hers, he found the sensitive curve of her ear, then the place where her pulse beat wildly in her throat. His progress was stopped by a barrier of wool, and he groaned. They were wearing too many clothes.