Read Between the Lines Read online

  “Nothing’s bothering me,” he interrupted, looking at her then, pinning her with furious eyes. “Is something bothering you?”

  She stopped and clasped her hands together. “No, but I—”

  “Good night, then.”

  His dismissal was like a slap in the face. She glared at him. “Aren’t you home a little early? I thought you had a date with Bridget.” She yanked off her gloves. “Or didn’t it get off the ground?”

  The corners of his mouth lifted derisively. “Aren’t you home a little late? Your lecturer must have been long-winded.”

  He looked so smug she wanted to hit him. She tossed her gloves on the counter instead. “Not at all. We went out to dinner.”

  “Dinner, too? My, my, all that excitement in one evening.” He turned back to the window and the view of the dark river. “Thai food or German?”

  At his mocking tone, Katherine lifted her chin. “Russian, if you must know. And delicious.” Michael didn’t reply, didn’t turn from the window. She stared at his back, seconds ticking past, her temperature rising. She narrowed her eyes. “Dean’s an exciting companion, vital and witty. We had a wonderful time.”

  Michael turned then, his eyes dark and unreadable, his mouth set. He took two steps toward her. “Really? You should have invited him up for more witty, exciting conversation.”

  “If I’d invited him up,” she flung back, “it wouldn’t have been for conversation.”

  Michael took another step; he looked as if he could do murder. “Funny,” he said softly, “I would have guessed him a man more interested in himself than in—” he paused, his eyes skimming over her “—pleasing a lover. Be glad you didn’t, Katie. He wouldn’t have made you happy.”

  “How would you know?” she demanded, wanting to sound furious and sounding breathless instead. She tried again. “You are so conceited—”

  “Maybe so,” Michael murmured, his voice caressing. “But a good lover has eyes only for his woman. He doesn’t care about definitive texts, or unnecessary lectures or the right choice of restaurant. Only cares about making his woman... sigh. He can only think of the feel of her skin, the invitation of her perfume, the blue of her eyes.”

  Dammit, he was right. About the lecture, the restaurant, Dean. She threw her head back angrily. “And you think you’re a good lover?”

  “I don’t think... I know.”

  Prove it. The words jumped to her lips, she swallowed them, shocked. One of them had to stop this—now. Without another word, Katherine turned away from him and started out of the kitchen.

  “Nothing to say, Katie?” he mocked. “No comeback? No glowing defense of your new boyfriend?”

  She whirled around then, eyes flashing. “Okay.” She squared her shoulders in challenge. “I think you’re just intimidated by his intellectual capabilities.”

  For a full ten seconds Michael didn’t move a muscle. Then he closed the distance between them, his eyes locked with hers, his expression deadly. When he reached her, he grasped her upper arms and jerked her against his chest. “Repeat that,” he said, his voice low, too soft, no longer a caress but a challenge.

  She should apologize; she should back down. She tilted her face so their eyes met and clung. The blood thrummed crazily in her head. “You heard me.”

  The silence crackled between them. Silence and something else. Something primitive, dangerous and out of control. The fine hairs at the back of her neck stood up; every nerve ending throbbed with anticipation. She drew a breath, and the sound was ragged in the otherwise quiet room.

  Michael moved his hands up until his fingers splayed in her hair, gripped the back of her head. “Capability this,” he muttered a second before his mouth crashed down on hers.

  Katherine’s head would have fallen back under the force of his kiss, but his hands held her. She dug her fingers into his shoulders, answering his fury with her own. His tongue invaded her mouth, she did battle with it. Teeth scraped, breaths caught, tongues urged.

  Michael’s hands raced down her back, he cupped her, lifted her, ground himself against her. She twisted her fingers in his hair, the breath rushing past her parted lips, her hips responding with equal force.

  When her feet once again touched the ground, Katherine broke the contact, panting, frightened by what she’d done and by the emotions raging through her. Although she hadn’t said the words aloud, in every other way she’d challenged Michael—his masculinity, his prowess. She’d wanted to provoke him, had known he wouldn’t back down. She had gotten what she’d hoped for.

  It wasn’t pretty, it wasn’t nice. And she wasn’t proud. And this wasn’t the way she wanted him, tonight, ever. Katherine met his eyes. They were dark and wild and somehow young. She took a step back, then another. “Michael, I don’t want this... it isn’t—”

  “Isn’t what?” he rasped, pulling her back against the hard wall of his chest. “Nice like with your professor? Or civilized enough for a girl from the right side of the tracks?”

  Blood rushed to her cheeks. That he could suggest she would go from one man’s arms to another’s was like a knife in her heart, that he’d brought up their social differences hurt even more. She flattened her hands against his chest and shoved. When she was free, she lifted her chin haughtily. “What’s wrong? Didn’t you have fun tonight?”

  Michael was absolutely still for what seemed like minutes but was in actuality only the space of a heartbeat. When he finally spoke, his voice was even but too soft. “Did you?”

  “What do you think?”

  Michael flinched. He’d wanted to hear that she’d had a terrible night, instead she’d all but confirmed what he feared. Something snapped inside him, something essential, something that made him whole. And it hurt.

  He crossed to her in two steps and cupped her face in his palms. “Tell me,” he said roughly. “I want to hear you say it.”

  His fingers were gentle; there was the capacity for violence in his eyes. “I don’t know what you’re asking,” she said coolly, jerking against his grasp. “Now let me go.”

  “Not until you tell me.” He tightened his hold on her. “Did you say yes?”

  The question hovered between them. At first Katherine wasn’t sure what he meant, then she knew. The flowers, the card. Her pulse fluttered as she met his gaze. “I said no.”

  She saw the relief flicker over his face, thought for one wild moment that it mattered to him, that he cared. Then he dropped his hands and walked away from her.

  Frustration welled in her chest until she thought she might choke on it. He didn’t want another man to touch her, but he didn’t want her himself.

  Anger replaced frustration, and she raced after him. She caught him as he reached the couch. Grabbing his elbow, she swung him back around. “Would it have mattered to you if I had?”

  The question twisted in his gut. In a strange way, it seemed nothing had ever mattered more. “Yes,” he said, his voice harsh. “Satisfied?”

  He made a move to leave again, and she tightened her fingers on his arm. “Not good enough, Michael. I want to know why.”

  He stared at her for a long moment. Her eyes were dangerously blue and determined, her cheeks wild with angry color. She was breathtakingly beautiful. There was a quiet but steady ache in his chest, an ache he knew it was best to ignore. Finally, wearily, he said, “We’re both tired. Go to bed, Katie.”

  He was doing it again—dismissing her! She wouldn’t allow it, just as she wouldn’t let him play big brother or guardian. Not this time. She met his eyes. “Why would it matter, Michael? Why would it matter if I had slept with Dean?”

  “Shut up, Ka—”

  “Or those guys next to me at the bar?”

  He hauled her against his chest, his breath ragged. “Katie...”

  “Or if I slept with a different guy every night?”

  Michael caught the words with his mouth. Each had been like a blow to his stomach, and it was the only way he could think of to make her stop. As h
is lips met hers, as she pressed against him, opening to him, pain and desperation were replaced by heat. White-hot and stinging, raging out of control.

  Michael gave in to the heat, welcomed it. He didn’t think of the “why” she’d demanded to know, didn’t consider the past that had scarred or the future he feared more, he just let the flames engulf him. It seemed like forever since he’d been able to think of anything but Katherine in his arms, burning for him as he did for her.

  He felt the anger, the hurt begin to wash out of him, to be replaced by a need so great he thought he might drown in it. Her words had wounded him, cut him in a way no one or nothing else had in years. For a split second he’d been a terrified boy again. And in that second he’d reacted. He hadn’t wanted to hurt her; he hadn’t wanted to dominate or possess her. He’d wanted her to make him whole again. The way only she could.

  Now he just wanted her. All of her. Everything.

  Somewhere in the recesses of his mind, Michael acknowledged that this was wrong. He couldn’t commit to any woman...especially Katie. Touching her now was chancing hurting her more than she could know.

  Even as the thoughts tumbled crazily through his head, he deepened the kiss. He couldn’t take the chance, but he couldn’t let her go, either. Michael drew her tongue inside him, becoming intoxicated by her taste.

  His mouth still locked with hers, he trailed his hands over her neck, shoulders and finally, her breasts. He traced the full curves with the tips of his fingers, then moved on, only to come back again. And again.

  Through the thin, soft weave of her sweater, he felt the peaks of her breasts harden with excitement. With a moan, he let his mouth follow his hands until he buried his face in her breasts. She smelled as innocent, as girlish as she had at eighteen. But now she felt like a woman. Round, lush, totally female.

  As he bit one tip, then the other, Katherine made a sound of pleasure and arched her back. A wave of desire gripped him, so strong, so sweeping, that for a moment it was all he could do not to drag her to the floor with him, push aside their clothes and enter her. He took a deep breath and tried to garner a modicum of control. He needed to slow down and savor; he was rushing things, he wasn’t being fair to Katie. Taking another breath, he loosened his hold on her.

  Katherine sensed Michael pulling away and stood on tiptoe, clutched at his shoulders and deepened the kiss. Through his sweater she could feel the tightness of his muscles; she was unsure whether they were rigid with control or the lack of it.

  Her calves began to cramp, forcing her to return her heels to the floor. She used the opportunity to explore other rigid places—places that made her dizzy with need, light-headed with awareness. Without thinking, she moved her hand between them until she found him. Even through the denim she felt his heat, his power, and she squeezed.

  “God, Katie—” he ground out the words and caught her hand “—you’re—”

  She pulled her fingers from his. “Don’t stop.” She arched and moved against. “Not now...if you stop—”

  “I won’t.” He tangled his fingers in her hair, then lowered his mouth to hers once again. The meeting was long, deep, breathtaking. When he lifted his head, he met her eyes. “I couldn’t... don’t you know that?”

  “Then why...” she sighed as he trailed his lips across her cheek to her ear, then nipped the sensitive lobe. “Why did you...”

  “I don’t want to rush this.” Michael drew in a deep, harsh breath, willing away the ache, tamping down the flames. He let the breath out in a shaky sigh and took a step away from her, catching her hands as she reached out to him. “I want to make love with you, not to you. Slowly, baby.” He brought her hands to his mouth and placed a lingering kiss in each palm. “I want to love every part of your body even if it takes three weeks—” he paused, pulling one finger into his mouth until she whimpered, releasing it when she did “—or longer. I want to hold you and taste you and feel you tremble with need.” He laced his fingers with hers. “What do you want, Katie?”

  Katherine’s knees were weak, and she swayed toward him. “I don’t want this night to end.”

  Michael smiled and drew her closer. He feathered kisses over her face—the corner of her lips, the arch of an eyebrow, the tip of her nose. When he was satisfied he’d cherished every feature, he moved lower to the curve of her jaw, the secret places where her pulse hammered, the silky column of her throat.

  She tasted like cream; she felt like heaven. Somehow he’d known she would. Somehow, he felt as if he’d tasted her before, felt the silk of her skin and the sweetness of her response another time. But Michael knew he hadn’t. Because if he had, he would never have been able to let her go.

  Katherine sighed as his hands followed his mouth, searching, savoring, exploring. How could anything so soft be so potent? Each brush of his lips was cataclysmic, each stroke of his hand dizzying. She felt as if her knees might buckle under the force of nothing stronger than the lightest stroke of flesh against flesh.

  He knelt in front of her then, and for once Katherine knew how it felt to be taller than him, and she liked it. She wrapped her fingers in his hair, enjoying its texture, then moved her hands from the top of his head over his strong, broad shoulders.

  “Turn around, Katherine,” he murmured, looking up at her.

  With a small shudder, she did as he asked. She trusted him completely; she had known and loved him too long not to. There was a freedom in that, she realized. To trust without reservation, to know a person so well that she could surrender her body with the certainty that it would be touched with absolute respect, to know that he would never willingly hurt her. It wasn’t the love she’d wished—even prayed—for, but it was enough.

  Michael lifted her hair off her nape, intending to taste her smooth, white skin. He got lost on the way. Her hair slid through and between his fingers, silky and black, and he remembered watching it slide through hers at the bar. Desire curled through him until he thought he might once again lose his tenuous hold on control.

  Breathing deeply, he let the oxygen steady him. When he felt he could touch her without charging like a rutting stallion, he placed a series of tiny, openmouthed kisses on the tender skin of her nape and along the curve of her exposed shoulders. Her scent was most potent there, sweet and womanly, and he was reminded of their shared past, of what she meant to him and—absurdly—of the dream he’d had so many years ago.

  He smiled. Her sweater buttoned up the back; the buttons were tiny, pearl and offered infinite opportunities. He released the first, then nuzzled the flesh he’d uncovered. Delighting in her quivering response, he released another and another, tasting each time, nudging aside the fuzzy fabric, whispering provocative promises against her back.

  Katherine’s breath caught as he unfastened the last one, parted the sweater and slid his hands underneath. Even against her own fevered skin his hands were hot.

  “At the bar—” he slid his hands around to the front of her and cupped her breasts “—when I realized you weren’t wearing a bra—” he moved his hands in slow, maddening strokes “—I went crazy.” He trailed his lips over her spine for one last taste, then turned her around to face him. “Crazy with the need to touch you... And with jealousy.”

  Katherine smiled in satisfaction. That he’d been jealous made her light-headed, that he could admit it made her love him all the more. She wished she could tell him. Instead she curled her fingers into his thick, dark hair and whispered, “Love me, Michael. I need you.”

  With a groan, he buried his face in her breasts. Her skin was milky white, but warm and soft like the petals of sunshine-soaked flowers. Her scent, with its subtle contradictions, enveloped him once again and he acknowledged the truth—he’d never known a woman who moved him more. Or a woman who was more perfect.

  How could she have forgotten? Katherine wondered dizzily as Michael slid his hands up the back of her legs. Incredible sensations swirled through her, and her eyes fluttered shut. How could she have forgotten th
e sweetness with which he made love? It had been the same last time—sweet and poignant and earth-shattering. The last time, she thought again, feeling a trace of regret. If only he would remember.

  All thoughts vanished and her eyes flew back open as he slid his hands beneath her skirt. She arched and gripped his shoulders as her knees threatened to buckle. His caress made her shudder and then her knees did give.

  “Michael... I need you... inside me.”

  Her words were no more than a whimper but they unleashed a tidal wave of passion. It rolled over and engulfed him until savoring became an impossible wish and control vanished like cool water on a hot sidewalk. And with control went their clothes. Michael yanked off his sweater as Katherine worked at her boots, then tights. He stepped out of his jeans and tossed them aside; she unzipped her skirt and let it slither to the floor. But when she went for the scrap of lace that hid the last of her from him, he stopped her.

  “Let me, Katie.” Michael met her eyes and, reading the acquiescence there, trailed his index fingers over the delicate fabric, then hooked his fingers around the top. With infinite care, as if he were opening the present he’d waited for all his life, he slid the panties over her hips and down her legs. His breath lodged in his throat as he looked at her and, without a word, swept her into his arms and carried her to the sofa.

  Moments later, his weight pressed her into the cushions and his mouth crashed down on hers. Their tongues met even as their hands urged. His body felt wonderful against hers, hot, strong, demanding. She ran her hands along the corded plane of his back, rubbed her feet against his furred calves, rocked her pelvis against his.

  Michael groaned against her lips. He’d wanted to please her more; he’d wanted to make love with her forever. He had no more control.

  She curled her legs around him at the same moment she tore her mouth from his. She had to ask again; it wouldn’t change a thing, but she had to try. “Why, Michael?” she rasped, clutching at his shoulders, her breasts heaving with the effort it took to stop. His arousal was against her, hot, insistent and exciting. “Why would it matter?”