Mountain Laurel (7 page)

"You're not as rusty as you thought," he whispered.

"Mmm," she agreed, her smile widening.

She switched positions, sliding her arms up and clasping her hands behind his neck. His gaze took on a velvety warmth even in this dim light, and she knew he was going to kiss her.

Slowly he lowered his head and covered her lips with his. The firm but gentle pressure was deliciously warm and moist. A familiar ache filled her breasts. Shuddering, she pressed against him as the ache traveled down, deep into her soul, expanding into a blazing flame that surged through her body.

A low, breathless moan escaped from the back of her throat as Michael ended the kiss. Her eyelids were heavy, and she opened them slowly, as if waking from a dreamy sleep. She sighed and looked into his passion-filled eyes.

Dimly, she became aware of the couples moving from the dance floor. The music had stopped and the lights overhead glared. She dropped her arms and stepped away from him, wondering how long they'd been standing there.

"Sorry...I don't—I—"

"Laurel." Michael cocked his head and looked at her quizzically.

Her knees were shaking and she hoped she could get back to the table without making more of a spectacle of herself. She felt him take hold of her elbow and was grateful for the support. All the way back to the table her mind was bombarded with conflicting feelings.

How could a simple dance turn into something so much more? She had become so aroused by his kiss. Had he felt the same excitement as she? Laurel had been so caught up in her own emotions she hadn't even noticed his reaction. What did he think of her for allowing such intimacy when they barely knew each other? But hadn't it been wonderful?

Michael left her at the table and went to the bar to refill their drinks. Laurel looked across to Ginny's wickedly grinning face and knew her sister hadn't missed the scene on the dance floor. Laurel grinned back stupidly. Nothing Ginny could say to her could lessen her pleasure.

"I thought you said he was already branded," Ginny said with wry amusement.

Laurel's hazy bliss slowly dissolved. Blinking twice, she stared at Ginny. What had she done? How could she have let that happen? She had completely forgotten that he was engaged. Her teeth clenched tightly. How could he do such a thing?

Nervous anger shot through her, making her feel hot and faint. Her sister reached over and, in a comforting gesture, patted her hand.

"Hey, what's a little premarital fling?" She sat back, laughing, and added with a shrug, "Who's it going to hurt? Enjoy yourself!"

"Yes, enjoy yourself!" Michael, who had returned in time to hear Ginny's last statement, set down a cold soda in front of Laurel.

She couldn't bring herself to even touch it, let alone drink it. Disappointment and guilt tangled in her gut. She glanced around the room, wondering if Michael's fiancée was there.

No, she didn't think so. Otherwise, he wouldn't have kissed her. No one could be that cold and insensitive.

"Laurel," Ginny said, leaning over the table, "the four of us want to go for pizza. Could I take the car?"

"But, um, how would I—no!" She frantically shook her head. She absolutely, positively, did not want to be left alone with Michael.

"I won't be late."

Ginny stared directly at her with a plaintive please-don't-embarrass-me look. Laurel sighed and put one hand up to her temple.

"Ginny, I'm tired," she lied. "I have a headache and I want to go home."

"Let them go." Michael's quiet voice made her turn in his direction. He placed his hand on hers. "I'll take you home."

Her steady gaze rested on his face. Who was he to tell her what to do? This wasn't
his
sister telling them she wanted to go off gallivanting with strangers in the middle of the night. And hadn't he shown her exactly how irresponsible he was by kissing her when he was engaged to someone else?

"Please?"

Her sister's tone held a plaintive appeal. Michael offered her a what's-the-big-deal shrug. And the other teens hovered with eager expressions. Laurel felt ganged-up on, that much was sure.

Withdrawing her hand from Michael's grasp, she reached into her purse for the keys. She was
not
happy. She'd let Ginny go, and she would let Michael take her home. But he'd regret ever offering, because she planned to tell him exactly what she thought of him. Him and his 'premarital' flirting!

"Sure, go have a good time." Sliding the keys across the table to Ginny, Laurel hoped the statement didn't sound as forced as it felt. "Ginny." All four of the teens turned to hear her say, "Please don't be too late."

"I won't, I promise!" Ginny called over her shoulder as she and her newfound friends headed toward the door.

Laurel clutched her purse tightly in both fists. The tight smile she had given to Ginny vanished, replaced by a grim line. She turned severe eyes on Michael.

"I'm ready to go." Pushing her chair out, she stood up.

He also stood, placing a hand on the back of her chair.

"Sure," he said, stacking the empty cups and cans they had used. "Let me get rid of these. And I need to find Darlene. Let her know I'm leaving and see if she has a ride home."

"The bride-to-be? She's here?" she asked through a strained, unnatural smile. Her nails dug deeper into the soft leather of her handbag.

"Yeah. She's a great girl." The laugh lines on his face deepened with his smile.

Laurel cringed inside when she saw his eyes soften as he spoke of the woman.

"I'm sure she's in the kitchen. Her father's a volunteer fireman, so she helps out the ladies' auxiliary when they're shorthanded. You want to come meet her?"

"Michael—"

"I'm sure she'd love to meet you."

The whole situation was more than a little odd. He didn't seem the least bit guilty, the least bit ashamed of his behavior. Maybe they had some strange backwoods customs here regarding marriage. Whatever was going on, it was making Laurel nervous.

"Look, I'm really not in the mood to meet anyone."
Least of all your girlfriend
, she silently added. "I'm really tired. My head hurts. I want to go home. I'll meet you outside." She turned and strode toward the exit.

Michael stood, bewildered, watching her walk away from him. What was wrong with her? Jim and Darlene were going to be married soon, and they'd be moving to Ocean City. Jim had been working for Laurel's father for quite a while. Michael would have thought she'd at least want to meet Jim's fiancée. Instead she'd used some lame excuse about a headache to beg off. She'd certainly felt fine ten minutes ago while they were dancing.

He'd never met a woman more willing to be kissed. He could still feel the pressure of her quivering body as she arched against him and the warmth of her silky lips lingering on his. She hadn't noticed when the music had stopped or the lights had been turned up. He could have gone on kissing her all night, he thought, grinning.

He'd reluctantly ended the kiss, not wanting to put on a show for the town's busybodies who were most assuredly on alert for the next bit of juicy gossip. Information traveled fast in a town the size of Oakland, and he didn't want his private life to be the topic of discussion. Michael was certain Laurel wouldn't appreciate it, either. She might even end up with hurt feelings. Lord knew how those gossip-mongers had dragged Darlene through the verbal dirt in the past eight months. Sure, she and Jim had made a mistake, but they were working hard to put it right.

With Darlene once again on his mind, Michael turned toward the kitchen.

Laurel made her way across the room, her ire building with each step. How could he? What kind of sick-minded clod was he, offering to introduce her to his fiancée? The thought literally made her stomach turn.

Then again, maybe she should have let him go ahead and make the introduction, she thought wickedly. Maybe she should have met the poor woman, talked to her, told her exactly what kind of man she was marrying.

Her anger turned to flames of burning fury, and Laurel found herself wondering what type of woman would marry a man like Michael. Darlene either loved him to distraction, or was terribly desperate for some reason, or had not a shred of self-esteem.

Curiosity made her pause, and then turn around. She scanned the back of the room, hoping to get a glimpse of Michael's girlfriend. An image flashed through Laurel's mind of a mousy girl with a severe overbite and thick glasses, her hair in a severe bun. Pushing away the notion, Laurel silently admitted the girl could just as likely be a tall, statuesque blonde. But then why would she put up with...

"Oh my God!" The words tumbled out of her mouth before she could stop them.

"Beg pardon?" An elderly gentleman on his way in the door stopped beside her. "You okay, sweetie?" he asked. When she didn't answer, he touched her sleeve.

"What?" She glanced up at the old man, startled.

"You okay?" he repeated.

"Yes. I'm sorry. Yes, I'm fine. Fine," she stammered. "Thank you."

She rushed out the door, her heart beat frantically, and she gulped the cold night air into her burning lungs. Slinging the strap of her purse over her arm, she covered her mouth with the fingers of both hands and leaned her weight against the rough brick wall of the building.

Laurel closed her eyes and tried to breathe slowly and deeply, but she couldn't erase the picture of Michael and Darlene. Darlene wasn't mousy at all. She was blond. She was a beautiful blonde. A young, beautiful blonde. A
pregnant
beautiful blonde.

She swore softly. The poor girl looked twelve months pregnant! Why hadn't Michael married her already? What was he waiting for?

Opening her eyes wide, she pressed her hands to her temples. And before the events of this evening she'd decided he was so wonderful! Just then, Michael burst through the doorway and jogged several steps past her. He stopped and looked the parking lot over. Laurel walked up behind him.

"You—" she whispered.

He turned around, startled.

"—callous, cold, heartless beast."

"What?"

"You twisted, demented, coldhearted monster." Her voice rose in volume with each word. "You— you—jerk!" She poked him in the chest with the last word, then lost control. Her words tumbled out in a jumble of meaningless babble.

"You kissed me! She's pregnant!
Real
pregnant! How
could
you? Playing around. And her right there. Maybe watching! You—you. You
kissed
me!"

She was surprised and infuriated to feel tears sliding down her cheeks. She swiped them away and realized he was looking over her shoulder.

The crud! He wasn't even paying attention!

Michael casually smiled at several people who had come to the open doorway, lifting a hand to wave and nodding to let them know he had everything under control. Then he smoothly took Laurel by the elbow and propelled her toward his truck.

"I don't know what your problem is," he hissed. "But I'll thank you to remember that I live and work in this town. You, on the other hand, get to go home in two weeks."

What was wrong with her? Michael wondered. She had acted a little awkward after they had danced, but he'd thought she'd been embarrassed by the kiss they had shared. Taking her home and maybe sharing another kiss had been a pleasant thought, but now she was blubbering about kissing and playing around and pregnancy. He'd only kissed her, for God's sake!

Laurel got into the truck and let him close the door. She fumbled in her handbag for a tissue and loudly blew her nose. He got into the driver's side and turned to face her.

"Now that you've calmed down, you want to tell me what this is all about?" he asked.

"You kissed me," she said.

"You kissed me, too," he countered.

"But she's pregnant!"

He raised his eyebrows. "You're talking about Darlene?"

She nodded her head.