Friday's Child (17 page)

She flinched at the not-quite-gentle nip behind her ear, then shivered when his tongue soothed the spot.

“So you've said.”

“We can't complicate this.”

“Too late.”

“It can't be.” The licks of panic dancing in her stomach sounded in her voice, and his touch changed, growing impossibly gentle.

“There's nothing simple about this,” he murmured, once again dropping a necklace of kisses across her throat. Because she was desperate to, she let herself believe that he was referring to their desire. “Or this.” His lips captured hers in a slow, devastating kiss that lingered until every muscle in her body went weak. He deepened the kiss by degrees, each instant just a whisper warmer. By the time he lifted his mouth, she would have slid down the wall without his support.

“Michael.” Her voice was thready, and she tangled her fingers in his hair. Only moments ago the passion had been a cauldron of churning emotion, threatening to overflow. It had changed to an aching tenderness so exquisite that she could weep.

His lips brushed over hers, once, twice and again. “Negotiations are over. This deal is closed.”

“I don't see how both of us are going to get—” She fisted
her hands on his shirt to hold his mouth steady on hers, but after the soul-satisfying kiss, she broke away “—what we want.”

It was gratifying to note that his breathing wasn't quite steady. “Who's the expert deal maker here?”

Her neck arched beneath his mouth, thought fading in the face of the slow, lovely drift into sweetness. “You are.”

“Then you'll just have to trust me.”

She was dimly aware that the issue remained unresolved. His lips sipped the hollow at the base of her throat and attempts at logic shattered. Her fingers tightened in his hair, urging his mouth back to hers. The heated pressure of his lips had thoughts fading, priorities shifting. Her last conscious thought was that he was right about one thing. There was certainly nothing simple about this.

T
wo days. Michael could feel the headache throb at his temples as if to mark the passing of each slow second. It had been two days since he'd left Kate sleeping, still tangled in the pool of bedcovers. Sleep hadn't been as accommodating for him that night. He'd lain next to her, cradling her close, but his mind had refused to succumb to slumber. The passion had been sated for the moment, freeing him to deal with the more troubling emotions that had persisted in colliding beneath the surface. He wasn't an expert at self-analysis, but there had been one feeling that had been pretty easy to identify. Sheer, unadulterated panic.

He sent his gaze across the table and nodded soberly as Jake Winslow talked leverage buyouts and stock options with Hummels and his attorney, but his mind was occupied with far more serious matters. He could still feel the cold fist of fear that had gripped his insides when she'd made her little speech, laid out her terms.
Keep it simple.
Her phrase had slapped him neatly across the face, making a mockery of his carefully laid plans. He could never before remember being so far off base when estimating a woman.

He'd had entire business deals go sour and never come close to the helpless terror that her words had inspired. He'd made love to her over and over that night, as if his touch could wipe away her words. Even as he'd held her close, he'd been unable to shake the feeling that she was slipping away from him. With each passing moment it seemed the distance between them grew, until he'd freed himself from the intimate hold and left the bed at dawn, sweating and shaking.

Derek was talking now. Michael tuned in to the conversation long enough to ascertain that his vice president was pointing out Hummels's lack of options. Derek loved this part of the job, loved going in for the kill. Michael wished vaguely that he could whip up even a portion of the other man's enthusiasm. It wasn't like him to display such a lack of interest in a deal he'd worked so hard putting together. But, he thought gloomily, he'd never before had anything this important vying for his attention.

It was bitterly ironic that his conversation with Kate had reduced their relationship to a deal, complete with conditions to be met. She'd had only one term, really.
Keep it simple.
He rubbed an absent hand over his throbbing temple and contemplated the phrase again with baffled amazement. He, of all people, should be comfortable negotiating terms. He'd planned her seduction and wooing with all the corporate stealth of which he'd been capable. But to hear her refer to it that way had washed his vision with waves of red.

There was more between them than sex, and she was deliberately blinding herself to it. Voices around him rose as Hummels argued a point vehemently with Derek. Michael didn't even make an attempt to focus on the words. He'd come up smack against a truth and was still reeling from the impact.

There was more here than sex. He'd never denied that himself. But identifying just exactly what that “more” encompassed was a bit like opening a door without knowing what stood on the other side. He thought hard, then gave that mental door a cautious push. He liked Kate, had from the first. All right, her looks had caught his eye at the start, and then
he'd reacted strongly to her concerns about Chloe, but he respected her, too. She was smart and funny, and she loved kids. That wall of reserve came down when she was around Chloe, and something about watching the two of them together made his throat go tight.

Deciding the process hadn't been too painful, he gave that mental door another shove. He knew her well enough to know that they wanted the same things…warmth, intimacy, family. They could find it together, if she'd just let him get close enough. He worried about her. That car she drove was a death trap, although he'd known better than to give her his opinion. The thought of her on the freeways in it, with its list of ailments, made his blood go cold. And she didn't have enough security at her condo to suit him. He frowned fiercely. Dammit, he cared about her. He wasn't a cold-blooded idiot. He wouldn't have decided to marry her if he was. Maybe it was even more than caring. Maybe it was…

The thought remained unfinished, and he backed away from it with a speed that, had it been physical, would have sent him stumbling. Cautiously, he skirted the idea, mentally examining it from the edges. Caring. That was a safe emotion he could admit to comfortably, and he felt that for Kate, in abundance. She cared about him, too, no matter what she'd said the last time they'd been together. She was simply too fastidious to have slept with him otherwise.

Feeling a little cheered, he scrutinized the realization, vaguely aware that the voices around him had calmed once again. So she cared about him, she had to, but she wasn't at ease with the feeling. Maybe she hadn't even yet admitted it to herself. She had a neat, tidy little mind and liked to keep things orderly. Admitting him into her life, into her trust, would upset that order, and she would naturally fight that.

The only way to get her to admit her true feelings for him was to make her trust him, which she didn't yet. She wouldn't let herself. He pondered the problem. Before Kate would trust him, he'd have to convince her of how much he cared. But how to do that? He'd been relying on his background in the corporate world to plan the relationship thus far, and trust
simply wasn't a quality he'd ever needed to generate in the businesses he was taking over.

Suddenly he snapped his fingers, delighted with the idea that came to him. The men at the table stopped talking and looked at him expectantly.

“Gentlemen,” he said, rising. “Let's take a break. I've got some arrangements to make.”

 

The sunglasses shielded her eyes from the worst of the sun's glare, but it was the perfection of the day that threatened to blind her. Temperatures hovered in the low eighties, the sky was cloudless, and the warm blue water of the pool sparkled against white tiles. Kate sighed contentedly.

“Miss Rose, Miss Rose, watch this! Watch me, Miss Rose!”

Chloe did a somersault off the low diving board, and a tiny tidal wave threatened to capsize Kate's water mattress. She didn't release her breath until she saw the little imp's head break the surface again and Chloe began to dog-paddle toward her.

She clapped dutifully. “Very good, Chloe. You're getting better all the time.”

The little girl reached the mattress and took hold of the edge. “I'm getting hot. Can I take this off?”

“No,” Kate said quickly. “The life jacket stays on or we have to leave the pool area.”

“That's what my dad always says,” Chloe sighed. She slanted a glance up to Kate. “Did he tell you to make me wear it?”

“Yes, he did, and he's right. It's not safe for you to be around the water without one.”

But Chloe's mind had already fixed on another topic. “This was a good idea Daddy had, wasn't it? For you to come swimming with me at our house.”

Kate slid her sunglasses to the top of her head and turned to smile at the child. “It was an excellent idea.”

“I'm a good swimmer, aren't I? Daddy's been teaching me.”

“You're a very good swimmer, but even good swimmers need life jackets until they're bigger.”

Chloe appeared lost in thought. Cocking her head, she asked, “Am I going to see you more this summer, Miss Rose?”

Suddenly feeling on shakier ground, Kate said cautiously, “Yes…you'll see me sometimes.”

The little girl beamed. “Good. I already knew I would.”

Kate arched a brow. “You did, did you?”

Nodding enthusiastically, Chloe said, “Uh-huh. 'Cuz Daddy promised me I would, but it had to be a secret. Oh!” She clapped one hand over her mouth, then giggled. Her eyes twinkled with amusement. “I wasn't supposed to tell anyone.”

Kate couldn't prevent a wry smile. “You want me to tell you a secret? Sometimes your daddy isn't as sneaky as he thinks he is.”

Chloe beamed. “I knew he would keep his promise. He says daddies always keep their promises, especially to their little girls.”

The words, simply spoken, threatened to shatter Kate's heart. Whatever Michael's accomplishments in the business world, she reflected, emotion clogging her throat, whatever pinnacles he achieved, nothing would equal what he had accomplished with his daughter. He'd managed to raise her in an atmosphere that assured her of his love and acceptance. Surely that was a feat to be proud of.

“All daddies don't keep their promises, though, Miss Rose.”

Shock held Kate silent for a moment as she stared at the child. Seven-year-old wisdom shone in Chloe's eyes.

“That's what Amy Wiltsie says, 'cuz her daddy always says he'll come and get her on Saturdays, but he never does. He always gets too busy. People shouldn't make promises if they're not going to keep them, right, Miss Rose?”

Kate blinked and said slowly, “No. People shouldn't make promises they can't keep.”

Chloe chattered on. “Daddy says a promise is like a pres
ent, and you can't give it to a person and then take it back. That would be mean. Do you think that's why Amy's daddy breaks his promises, Miss Rose? Because he's mean?”

Kate took a deep breath and released it unsteadily. She wouldn't be nervous at the thought of facing four of her professors for her oral graduate exams, she thought. The experience couldn't possibly be as emotionally draining as a conversation with a first-grader. “No,” she said finally. “He probably doesn't do it to be mean. He's probably just…” She glanced at the little girl, who appeared to be hanging on to her every word. She didn't think she was equipped to explain adult selfishness to a seven-year-old, and there was no reason to do so. Chloe would never have to deal with it, not from her father. “He probably just isn't as smart about some things as your daddy is.”

Chloe released the side of the mattress and paddled around it, sending up steady splashes. “I'm going to have two daddies now.”

Used to the child's penchant for bouncing from subject to subject, Kate followed her train of thought seamlessly. “You mean when your mother gets married.”

The little girl nodded. “He won't be my real daddy, though. Mommy says I can call him Jeffrey.” She wrinkled her nose. “That's a funny name.”

Feeling on uncertain ground, Kate asked, “So you met Jeffrey at your mother's house the other day?”

Chloe took a huge breath, plunged her face in the water and came up sputtering a few seconds later. She was nodding her head even as she struggled to wipe the water from her eyes. “Uh-huh. He has white hair, but Mommy says he's not old, he's premature.”

Kate battled to withhold a laugh. “You mean he's prematurely gray?”

Shrugging, Chloe said, “I guess. He had a ring on his little finger that was sparkly red, and he was wearing a monkey suit.”

Even applying all her powers of translation, Kate still
couldn't grasp Chloe's meaning. Suspiciously, she asked, “Chloe, did you…I mean, are you sure?”

The little girl nodded. “It had a black coat and a little black tie and tiny black buttons. His shirt had folds in it.”

This time Kate did laugh. “That's called a tuxedo, honey.”

“A tucks—what?”

“A tuxedo. Men wear them when they get really dressed up.”

“That's not what Daddy calls them,” Chloe said stubbornly. “He said they're monkey suits and that he has to wear one when he's going to a zoo with other men.”

Torn between exasperation and amusement, Kate muttered, “Sometimes your daddy is too funny for his own good.” Because Chloe looked unconvinced, she changed the subject. “Your mother and her…Jeffrey…must have been going somewhere very fancy.”

Chloe bobbed her head in agreement. “They went to a 'gagement party, 'cuz they're gonna get married. They musta got in love, right, Miss Rose? Amy Wiltsie says you gotta get in love and then you get married.”

Amy Wiltsie, it appeared, was an authority on any number of subjects. “That's the way it's usually done,” Kate replied weakly when it became clear that Chloe was waiting for a response. She couldn't tell the child that she was hardly an expert on the subject. There had been no love to observe between her parents, only a worn sense of obligation.

A memory sliced across her mind as clear as the summer day. She'd been just as curious about the concept of love and marriage as Chloe, but she hadn't been a little girl. She'd been fourteen or so, and it had been during her Romeo-and-Juliet stage. She'd been caught up in the sheer romance of the story and had startled her mother by asking her if she had been hopelessly in love with Papa when they'd gotten married. The dull astonishment on her mother's face had made more of an impression than her answer.

Wherever do you get such nonsense, girl? You better forget your silly ideas. Marriage is lots of hard work.

Something had made the teenage Kate persist, a notion,
however vain, that her father must once have had some heroic qualities for her mother to have married him. Her mother had looked discomfited at her tenacity before answering her dismissively.
Your papa ain't a bad man. He works steady, don't drink much, and he's never laid a hand to me.

The memory left her with the same mingled regret and shock she'd felt that day. Even at fourteen she'd known that there had to be more to marriage than anything her mother had experienced. With the brash certainty of youth she'd vowed to herself never to settle for less than love. Only with the onset of adulthood did she begin to have doubts about being able to recognize it if it was offered to her.

Blessedly, Chloe interrupted her depressing thoughts. She heaved herself up onto the mattress, nearly toppling Kate off in the process. “I'm never gonna get in love.”

A small smile crossed Kate's lips. “You're not, huh?”