Just Like a Man (18 page)

But again, Hannah shook her head. "I can't, Michael."

"Then I'll go home with you. I'll call the sitter. Have her stay late."

Hannah replied with another one-word answer: "No."

He clenched his jaw tight. "Why not?"

"I'm the director of your son's school. It would be inappropriate."

He nodded, but she didn't think it was because he was agreeing with her.

For one long moment, they only stood there in silence, their gazes bound, their hands settled on each other's bodies, their thoughts tangled. Hannah was the first to move away, but she did so reluctantly.

"I should find Adrian," she said. "And Tiffannee will be looking for you." And then, because she honestly didn't know what else to say—and because the look on Michael's face was just too much for her to bear—Hannah turned and fled.

It was nearly two a.m. when the phone rang, but Hannah was still lying wide awake in the darkness when it did. She switched on her bedside lamp and glanced at the caller ID.

The number was blocked, something that would have normally caused her to let the machine pick up. But she answered this time, because somehow she knew who she would hear on the other end of the line.

And before she even said hello, he confirmed it by saying, "I told you I'd be going home with you tonight."

She had to smile at that. In spite of what she had told him earlier, he had indeed come home with her. He had ridden in the car with her and Adrian, and he had been there on the front porch as she turned her cheek when Adrian went to kiss her good night. He had come into her house with her, had undressed with her, had showered with her, had even eased into bed with her. And hearing his voice now, so silky and sexy and sweet, she almost felt as if he'd just reached over and traced a finger along the curve of her shoulder and down between her breasts. Because her heart rate quickened, her blood began to race, and her body grew hot all over. Just from hearing him utter one short sentence. She could only imagine what would be going on if he had
really
come home with her tonight.

Oh, wait. She already had imagined that. It was why she was still lying in bed awake at two in the morning.

"You came home with me, too," he said. "I can't stop thinking about you, Hannah. About what happened tonight."

"Michael, we can't do this," she said. "It's completely inappropriate, and there's no future in it."

"How do you think it's inappropriate?" he asked. "Why do you say there's no future in it?"

She noticed he didn't disagree with her, only questioned why she felt that way. So she told him what she had told him earlier. "I'm the director of your son's school. I can't get involved with one of the fathers."

"Not one of the married ones, no," he agreed. "That, I'll grant you, could lead to trouble. But I'm not one of the married ones, Hannah. I haven't been married for a long time."

Something about the way he said the word
long
made her think it had been a long time for other things, as well. She tried not to think about that, tried not to think about how long it had been for her, too. But remembering the way they'd responded to each other, with such fire and such an utter lack of restraint, how he'd touched her so intimately, in ways that should have offended her, but had instead inflamed her…

"But you are the father of one of my students," she reminded him. "And I just don't think it would be wise for us to continue with this… this…" She expelled a soft sigh of exasperation.

"Yeah, I know," he said when he heard it. "I'm having trouble figuring out what it is, too."

She waited for him to say something more and, when he didn't, told herself to say good-bye. Instead, she heard herself saying, "What happened tonight, Michael, should never have happened. And it won't happen again." And in a way, she thought, that was saying good-bye. So why didn't it feel quite right?

She heard what sounded like a sigh of resolution from the other end of the line. "So then it probably wouldn't be a good idea for me to tell you what I'm thinking about right now, would it?"

"If you're thinking what I think you're thinking, then, no, it probably wouldn't be a good idea."

"Why?" he asked. "Because you're thinking the same thing?"

Deny it,
she told herself.
Say good-bye. Hang up.
But she hesitated before doing any of those things.

"What happened tonight, Hannah," Michael said, "was inescapable. And I guarantee you, it
will
happen again."

That, of course, was precisely what Hannah was afraid of. And that, if nothing else, was what finally made her tell him good night.

If there was one thing Adrian Padgett hated, it was discovering an unforeseen wrin-kle in his schemes. Because his schemes normally played out as smooth as silk. And wrinkles in silk were a bitch to get out without doing irreparable damage to the fabric. And his fabric—that which made him what he was, he meant—was already damaged enough, thank you very much.

Why had he not anticipated Michael's arrival in Indianapolis? he asked himself as he sipped a very fine cognac on the terrace of his high-rise condo in downtown Indianapolis. The city was quiet in the wee hours of the morning, but it sprawled prostrate before Adrian like a dutiful vassal, just waiting to be plundered and robbed. Its taller buildings—he hesitated to call them skyscrapers since this was, after all, Indiana—sparkled like diamond-encrusted towers, and its outlying suburbs slept beneath a streetlight-studded blanket of night. The wind nudged open his white tuxedo shirt, but he scarcely noticed the cold breeze dancing over his bare flesh. He was too busy making plans.

His hometown, he thought as he sipped his cognac again, such as it was. Ironic that he should return to his past to engender his future. But sometimes that was the best thing to do. Start over anew. Except that he was actually much better than new these days. Because new, Adrian Padgett had been poor, plagued, hated, and unhappy. These days, he was rich, carefree, hated and unhappy. All in all, a much better way to live.

Or at least he'd been carefree until a couple of weeks ago. But now that Michael was here…

Why had he not seen Michael coming? he asked himself again. He, who knew Michael better than anyone else—or at least who
had
known Michael better than anyone else, once upon a time—should have realized he would come running back to OPUS the minute they crooked their little finger. And Adrian had known for months that OPUS was watching him. He supposed he had just assumed that Michael meant it when he said he was finished with OPUS. Michael, after all, was a man of his word. But no one, Adrian knew, ever left the organization. Not really. Even he himself still used the knowledge he had gained while working for them to his advantage. With Michael thrown into the mix, though, Adrian was going to have to rethink a few ideas, rearrange a few strategies, rework a few details. And he loathed redoing anything. Especially when his original plan had been so perfect.

He remembered how Michael had laughingly referred to his wanting to rule the world. As if ruling the world would be some great gig. As if this world were worth ruling. Adrian didn't want to rule the world. He wanted to be master of time, space, and dimension. And if everything worked out the way it was supposed to, that was what he would be. Because what Adrian would soon control—once he ironed out the wrinkle that was Michael Sawyer—would have him back on track to getting what he wanted.

Everything.

Oh, he did so love being an evildoer.

Michael thought Adrian was in Indianapolis right now because of the upcoming presidential debates. He probably thought Adrian was planning to assassinate someone. How quaint. How old-fashioned. How technologically backward. That was the problem with OPUS. They kept thinking in terms of traditional mayhem, and couldn't be forward-thinking at all. For all their technology, they still didn't grasp just how much damage one person could do sitting in one room pushing one button. Or if they did think about such a thing, it was in terms of conventional warfare. A nuclear warhead carrying enough explosive power to leave a hole in the earth where once stood Liechtenstein. How quaint. How old-fashioned. How technologically backward.

But Michael, if given enough time, could figure out what Adrian intended to do. Right now he was still working under whatever guidelines and information OPUS had given him, which would be in no way helpful with regard to what Adrian was planning. But Michael, being Michael—and also being a pro when it came to assimilating, evaluating, and articulating—if he amassed enough intelligence, would know what was what. He could be a problem. He could be a major problem. And Adrian couldn't have that. So he was going to have to distract Michael somehow, make sure he didn't get the information he needed to assimilate, evaluate, and articulate. Or if he did get the information, he needed to be so frazzled he could make neither heads nor tails of it. And luckily for Adrian, he knew exactly what kind of distraction to levy. He knew what would frazzle Michael the most.

Hannah Frost.

It didn't take a genius to see that Michael had a thing for the lovely school director. Adrian had a thing for her, too, but his thing was considerably less noble and considerably more ribald than Michael's thing. Because Michael's thing for women was always noble. The moron. But beautiful women had always been Adrian's weakness, too—his only weakness. He'd been ruled by his libido since he was thirteen, and it had only been the realization that he could potentially become master of time, space, and dimension that had turned his head even a little bit. But beautiful women were everywhere, and they were frightfully easy to possess. Mastery of time, space, and dimension, however, that was a bit trickier. And therefore a bit more interesting.

And also a bit more worth having.

So Adrian could sacrifice Hannah Frost to Michael. He could sacrifice her to more than that, if that was what it took to make sure Michael stayed off his back. And if Hannah Frost proved to be uncooperative in that regard, well… Adrian had other avenues he could travel. He just hoped he wouldn't have to resort to those. Not just because they were inconvenient and made more wrinkles, but because there was just something about screwing Michael over with a woman again that appealed to him. But then, Adrian had always enjoyed screwing Michael's women. It was what friends like him did.

Adrian enjoyed another mouthful of savory brandy and let the soft strains of mellow jazz flow over him. He remembered a time, years ago, when he and Michael hadn't been rivals, when they'd been friends. And he smiled. Not because the memories were so warm, and not because he felt any sort of fondness for them. He was, after all, emotionally damaged. He didn't feel things like warmth or fondness. Had Michael, and others, realized that a long time ago, things might have been easier for all of them. But he and Michael had had some good times when they were kids. And they'd had even better times when they were young men.

It was just too bad Michael had insisted on being one of the good guys. They could have had even more fun if he'd followed the path Adrian had taken himself.