It's In His Kiss (11 page)

 "You're not being entirely fair. Slick Janssen is an excellent studio musician, and the 'vending machine guy' was actually quite an entrepreneur."

 "Well, don't forget Paul."

 "So you've got something against independently wealthy men?"

 "When all they're interested in are sybaritic pleasures, yes. Janice doesn't need a spoiled playboy, or a flaky musician or a guy who spends all his time traveling around the country selling vending machines. She needs someone steady and trustworthy, like my stepdad was. She needs security and love, not excitement. Not that she'll ever figure that out."

 Michael reflected that Janice's daughter would do well to figure out the same thing.

 "Have you ever talked to your mother about this?"

 "No."

 "Why not?"

 "Oh come on, Michael. She's never going to listen to me. She hardly even talks to me."

 "Well she invited you out. That must mean something."

 Cat shuddered, half in jest. "I know, and I'm scared to find out just what it means."

 "Go and have dinner with them, try to keep an open mind, and see what happens."

 "Why thank you, oh great sage." Cat sat up. "Wait. I know. Go with me. You can mediate for me. Janice always liked you."

 "Oh no. Leave me out of it. This is between you and your mother. I'd just be in the way." He stood and peered into the freezer. "Want to split a Dove bar?"

 "Ugh, I don't know. It looks pretty bad. How long has it been in there?"

 "Hmm, probably longer than your mother was married to Slick Janssen."

 Cat laughed, and Michael smiled, happy to have pulled her out of her depression, at least for the moment.

 As she carefully peeled the chocolate coating off her half of the bar and ate it, a small frown appeared and she glanced up at him.

 "What?" he asked.

 "Have you ever thought about what kind of tree you'd be?

 He raised his brows and shook his head slightly. "Um, what?"

 "Tree. Have you ever thought about being a tree?" She sounded as if he were being dense.

 "No," he said slowly. "I don't believe I've ever thought about that."

 She licked chocolate off her fingers, and he found himself wanting to hold his fingers up for licking too.

 "A willow."

 "What?" He tore his eyes away from her small pink tongue.

 "I'd be a willow. You know," she swayed and waved her arms, as if she were dancing.

 He found it hard to concentrate on what she was saying. Her arms were shapely and slim, graceful as they undulated through the air.

 "I'd be graceful and pretty, and unbreakable."

 "Unbreakable," he repeated stupidly.

 Her eyes met his, and he saw that sadness in them. "Bendable. Able to take wind and storms and abuse, and not break."

 
Oh, Cat
. He nodded. "What kind of tree do you think I'd be?" 

 "Oh an oak, for sure. Strong, steady. Tall and sturdy. Dependable. Safe." She wrapped her arms around herself and smiled at him.

 "Good old Michael, always the same," he said wryly.

 "Yeah. That's it."

 He stood. "I'm going to bed." And he left her there.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Cat swallowed nervously, took one last look in the mirror, and stepped into the living room where Michael was watching television. He spoke without looking up. "Hey, take a look at this. Did you know Christopher Walken could tap dance?"

 "Nope. Me and Chris haven't been on speaking terms for years. Michael?"

 He glanced up quickly, then did a double take. "Wow." With a flick of his wrist, he clicked the remote control. Christopher Walken’s voice died.

 "Wow? Is that a good wow or a bad wow? Do you think I'm overdressed?"

 Cat stood nervously while Michael's sharp blue eyes roamed from her slicked-back hair, over her face and down to the black slip dress with its tiny straps. She suppressed the urge to cross her arms over her breasts. The dress was not designed to wear with a bra. She saw a glint in his eye, and watched his throat work as he swallowed.

 "Well?" She whirled in place and almost lost her balance. "I'm going to kill myself walking in these shoes." She peered at his face again.

His brow was furrowed and his eyes had turned dark.

 "You think I look awful. I never should have put all this mousse on my hair. Oh, hell." She turned around and headed back for her bedroom, but Michael's hand on her arm stopped her. She looked up at him in surprise. How had he moved halfway across the room that fast?

 "You look marvelous," he said, in a fair imitation of Billy Crystal imitating Fernando Lamas. The darkness in his eyes had changed to a sparkle, but his jaw was clenched tight. She could see the muscle bulging against his skin.

 "What's the matter, then? There's something you don't like. It's the hair, right? Is it sticking up?" She reached up but he caught her hand.

 "Trust me, Cat. It's perfect. You're perfect. I'd forgotten how good you can look when you work at it."

 Her heart fluttered ridiculously and she couldn't stop her mouth from curving into a smile. "Thanks, I think. So the dress is not too much?" 

 "There's definitely not too much of the dress," he teased, his eyes flickering down to her low cut bodice. She felt her breasts tighten under the heat of his gaze.

 "Oh, ha hah. That was--let's see, a joke, right?"

 "Not really." He took her hand. "May I have this dance, lovely lady?"

 Cat laughed a little nervously. "Come on, Michael."

 But he didn't relinquish her hand.

"Really?" She lifted her chin. "Of course, sir," she responded, and offered him her other hand.

 He sketched a bow, swept her into his arms and whirled her a couple of times, then dipped her. For a moment, Cat hung there, draped over Michael's strong arm, his face no more than two inches from hers. She felt his warm breath on her cheek, felt his heart beating, rapid but steady. Suddenly, she wasn't comfortable being so close to him. His eyes burned into hers with the strength of a phaser set on stun.

 "Enough," she gasped.

 Her head spun as he set her upright. Before he released her, he planted a quick kiss on her mouth. It seemed to last about a fifth of a second longer than necessary. "Thank you, milady. You have made my evening."

 Cat blinked. Michael had kissed her, on the mouth. In all the time they'd known each other, he'd never done that. She would have remembered.

The kiss was brief. It could even be called perfunctory, but for some reason, it had her as fidgety as an adolescent girl who'd been kissed by the football star.

 Taking a long breath, she smoothed her dress. "I still think you should come with me. You're horrible, abandoning me in my hour of need."

 Michael pushed past her and went into the kitchen. He opened the refrigerator and stood looking into it.

 Cat watched him, frowning. What was the matter with him tonight? Despite their quick whirl around the dance floor and his compliments, he seemed to be in a bad mood. He cocked a hip and draped an arm over the open refrigerator door. Cat touched her lips with her fingertips as she admired the curve of his spine. When had his bare back and jeans clad bottom become so darn sexy?

 
I'm going to kill you, Deb, for putting these ideas into my head.
Straightening her back, she pushed the idea of Michael as hunk out of her head, and concentrated on mundane matters. 

 "Is that just a man thing?" she asked.

 "What? Dancing with a beautiful woman?" He turned around, his hands full of bread and plastic packages and a jar of pickles. His voice sounded distant.

 
Beautiful?
Cat tilted her head and frowned at him. His face was shuttered. "N-no. But thanks for the compliment. I was referring to standing for hours in front of an open refrigerator door." 

 He didn't look at her as he dumped the packages on the counter. "Yep. It's a man thing. Aren't you going to be late?"

 She glanced at her watch. "Oh, no. You're right. I've got to go." She smoothed her dress one more time, darted back into her bedroom to get her evening bag, and checked the mirror. Her cheeks were flushed, and her eyes sparkled. She smiled at her reflection. All of Deb's ridiculous notions aside, Michael was good for her. He always made her feel special, when he wasn't teasing her. She headed for the front door. Sometimes even when he was teasing her, he still made her feel special.  

 "Bye, Michael. I hope you know you're missing a very interesting evening."

 "Remember, keep an open mind."

 "I'll do my best." She opened the door. "Michael?"

 "Yeah?"

 "Thanks."

 "For what?"

 "For saying--that."

 He glanced up, but didn't pretend he didn't know what she was talking about. "Hey, no problem. It was the least I could do."

 "Well, that’s true. You could be doing a lot more. You
could
be going with me." 

 "Cat? For what it's worth, you are the most beautiful woman in Nashville tonight."

 She met his gaze. "Did I ever tell you how good it is to have you back?"

"You’d better get going."

Michael watched Cat leave, her shapely bottom swinging the black skirt as she hurried out the door. As soon as the door closed, he cursed, long and colorfully. The sandwich stuff he'd dug out of the refrigerator didn't interest him in the least. In fact, nothing interested him. He pushed his fingers through his hair, then wiped his face. Well, something did, but she'd just walked out the door. God, she looked good. Good enough to--. He growled, trying to regain control of his lust. She'd felt so good in his arms, so right. It was truly ironic that he'd be just as happy dancing with her as making love to her. Okay,
almost
as happy. 

And then there was that kiss. It had surprised her, but if he knew her at all, and he did, it had also intrigued her.

If only she'd drop the tough act, and let him close, like they used to be. No, more than they used to be. He did not just want to be friends. He wanted the whole package. He wanted love, sex, friendship, maybe even marriage.

* * *

Fifteen minutes after leaving the apartment, Cat paused in the doorway of the restaurant, peering into the dimness. She didn't see her mother. Suddenly she realized Janice hadn't told her Hank's last name. One part of her mind screamed
turn and run
, but she remembered Michael's caution.  

 
Keep an open mind
.  

 "Just don't let him be a slob," she muttered. Her mother deserved better than that.

 "I beg your pardon?" A small man in a tuxedo eyed her with one brow raised.

 "Oh, nothing, sorry." Had she spoken aloud? Cat clutched her evening bag more tightly.

 "Your reservation?"

 "My--oh, my reservation. Yes." She was blithering. It was the restaurant's fault, or Hank's. Such a fancy place didn't jibe with Cat's picture of a construction worker.

 "And?"

 She frowned at the little maitre d'. "Oh. I'm--supposed to meet my mother and her boyfriend. She's around um, forty, with short blonde hair and--"

 A well-practiced superior glance stopped her. "I believe I know the table. Please, follow me."

 Cat followed him to a secluded corner, where she had to look twice to recognize her mother.

 "Mo--Janice?"

 Janice looked up from the menu and smiled. "Hello dear. You look beautiful tonight. Have you cut your hair again?"

 Cat groaned inwardly at her mother's question as the maitre d' sat her, asked if she needed anything, then left. "No, I just slicked it back."

 "I wasn't criticizing, dear. It looks nice."

 
Oh, I'm sure you weren't criticizing
.  

Be nice
. She almost glanced around when that thought entered her head. It sounded so much like Michael. 

Admonishing herself to stop talking to herself, she turned her attention back to her mother, and stared. "You look so different. What have you done to your hair?"

 Janice touched her hair self-consciously. "It's a rinse. I'm letting it go back to its natural color."

 Cat laughed nervously. "Do you even remember its natural color?" She winced when her mother's hand faltered. "I'm sorry. That was rude."

 "Don't worry about it. I've been a blonde for a long time."

 "As long as I can remember," Cat said. "I think the light brown actually makes you look younger."

 "Do you think so?"

 "Yes, I really do."

 Janice smiled self-consciously. "That's what Hank said."

 "So where is your construction worker friend?"

 "My--you mean Hank? His meeting with the governor ran late. He'll be here in a few minutes."

 "His meeting with the who?"

 "The governor."

 "Uh--what kind of construction worker is this guy? Is he doing renovations on the governor's bathroom or something?"

 "Construction worker? Where did you get the idea he's a construction worker?"

 "You said he was in construction."

 "Oh. I suppose I did. It's just so awkward if I tell people what he really does. He doesn't like all the attention, and neither do I."

"Awkward?" What had her mother gotten herself into now? "Awkward as in embarrassing? Awkward as in illegal?"

"No, of course not. You see, dear--oh, there he is now."

 Cat turned her head, but the only person she saw coming toward them was a handsome, self-assured young man who looked familiar. She glanced past him, but there was no one else near. Then he smiled--at her mother. She looked at Janice, who was smiling back at him.

 Looking back at the man, she was struck again by how familiar he looked. His hair was medium brown and short. His features were sharply defined, from his high, broad forehead to his straight mouth and chiseled chin. Green eyes were fringed by pale lashes. Khaki trousers and a long-sleeved white shirt with the sleeves rolled up to the elbow didn't detract from the palpable aura of elegance that surrounded him. He walked as if he owned the place.