More than she dared to feel in return.
“Hey you. Having fun?” He slid his arm around her waist, tucking her into his side as if she weren’t almost as tall as he was and probably not all that far from his weight. She had a lot of curves. A lot of mileage. And the kind dark eyes that peered down into hers barely had any laugh lines.
“I’m not girlfriend material,” she insisted.
Instead of calling her out for being crazy—because let’s face it, she sounded a bit too panicked—he pulled her toward the dance floor. Saying nothing, he tugged her into his arms.
“This isn’t really my kind of dancing,” she began. Before she could finish, the song changed from hip hop to Frank Sinatra’s “Witchcraft” and she couldn’t hold back a laugh. Most of the younger couples around them groaned but after a minute or two, the grinders gave in and started slow dancing.
“Better?” He spun her out and back, catching her arms around her back while his mouth came down, feather soft, on hers. Taking away her answer and her reservations and replacing them with warmth.
Rather than Jay-Z or Pitbull, the song changed to Patsy Cline. That same laughter bubbled up, trapping in her throat as he started to sing in her ear about being crazy. His voice was surprisingly rich, skating over the words with a heat that didn’t fully explain the acceleration of her heart. She couldn’t stop staring up into the dark eyes that held her captive. He whirled her out and back, over and over again, making her dizzy, and she still couldn’t drag her gaze from his. He mouthed the words when their bodies separated, breathed them over the damp skin of her neck when they connected again. His hips slid against hers, his hard chest teased her nipples to sensitive points. Even his hand on the small of her back coaxed her need higher.
Every place they touched, sparks flew. From the way the color rose on his cheeks and his eyes turned bright, focusing on her as if she were the only one in the room, she knew she wasn’t alone in her feelings.
They danced for another half hour then clapped appreciatively as the graduation gifts were unveiled. Michael bought Tanya a fancy desk set with a monogrammed pen and other stationery items as well as a gift certificate to her favorite store. A generous gift certificate from all the chiding protests. Kim handed over her own hastily chosen present, a fancy business card holder she’d purchased that afternoon with Michael. She wasn’t sure if it was even the right thing for Tanya’s field but Tanya hugged her and squealed as if she’d given her a brick of gold.
Then Tanya’s boyfriend showed off his gift—an engagement ring. Tanya cried and laughed and everyone squealed, giving Kim and Michael a chance to make a graceful exit. That took a while, since Michael’s family was the size of a squadron and they all wanted to kiss Kim too. She couldn’t help being as enchanted by the Montgomerys as she was by Michael himself. It wasn’t hard to see where he’d gotten his amazing personality.
The ride home from Queens took a couple of hours. Once they arrived at Kim’s, she turned to him, prepared to thank him for a surprisingly wonderful night. Him heading home on his own made sense. He had work early in the morning. O’Halloran’s stayed open seven days a week.
But when he asked if she minded him staying over, she couldn’t say no. Couldn’t say anything at all as they wound their way up the stairs to her bedroom, passing the closed door of the master suite where she heard Brad and Sara’s quiet laughter.
In a few weeks she wouldn’t hear that sound anymore. There would be no more sounds at all she didn’t make herself.
She kept it together until they reached her bedroom and he quietly shut the door behind them. Then the tears came, hot and inexplicable, flowing over her cheeks. When he wrapped her in his arms, saying nothing, giving everything in his silence, she didn’t hold back. She slipped her arms under his jacket, encircling his waist, and pressed her face to his throat. He smelled of his mother’s cigarette smoke and the biting winter air and something richer, like a fire set to kindling in a hearth.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered, though she wasn’t sure if she was sorry for what she’d already done or what she would do.
“Shh. It’s okay. I’m here.”
Yes. He was there. She reveled in that, even knowing it couldn’t last.
She couldn’t let it.
Chapter Ten
She woke in the dark to an empty bed. At first that was simply routine, and she didn’t think twice. It took a few minutes for her sleep-muzzy brain to realize she’d gone to bed with someone. No, not someone. Michael.
Rolling over, she peered at the alarm clock. Three-fifteen. He wasn’t due to leave for work for another couple of hours. Sunday the shop opened later. So where had he gone? Sneaking off in the middle of the night was her MO.
Maybe she’d snored. Or drooled. Or clung.
She made a face and shoved her hair out of her eyes. The clinging was practically a certainty after the way they’d gone to bed. In her case, all sloppy-faced and weepy, wrapped around him like a vine. Not her best showing. If he’d split, she couldn’t blame him.
At least she’d left him with a memory of how good weepy sex could be.
After a quick detour to freshen up in the bathroom, she pulled a sheer robe over her just-as-sheer nightie and slipped her feet into her Tweety Bird slippers. It wasn’t the sexiest presentation but since she was mostly ascertaining that her lover had absconded into the darkness, she wasn’t too worried.
A check of the first floor yielded no Michael. Shocker. She stepped onto the front porch to verify his truck was gone only to see both his truck in the drive and a light on in the garage. The door was partially up, letting out the soft strains of something classical with lots of sax.
What was he doing in there?
Tightening her robe, she tucked her toes in her slippers and thanked God that the snow had mostly melted to slush from that day’s sunshine. She padded up the driveway, teeth chattering. It was a wee bit chilly out. Once at the garage, she yanked on the door handle, rolling it upward with a clatter that could’ve roused the dead. Maybe they should’ve sprung for the electric door opener Brad had wanted forever after all.
“Whoops,” she said under her breath, momentarily distracted from her worry over waking the neighbors by the visual banquet awaiting her. The hood of her car was up and Michael was leaning under it, his big hands moving with precision.
But that wasn’t the banquet part. He’d taken off his shirt and had the small space heater going at his side, which was evidently enough to cause little beads of sweat to gather along the base of his spine above the waist of his trousers. His ropey back muscles rippled with every movement, his golden skin unmarked except for the freckles scattered over his broad shoulders. On his feet he wore that night’s dress shoes and his fingers were smeared with oil and black gunk. His hair poked up in all directions, either from his own hands or hers when she’d thanked him earlier for being so sweet by being absolutely filthy.