Some Girls Do (36 page)
Michael smiled at her obvious joy. Damn, he wished he'd been there when she'd picked it out. “You did?”
“You don't quite approve?” she asked.
“I just wish I'd been there too.”
“Can I drive you to my apartment?”
“Yeah, let me give Ivan my keys.” Michael gave Ivan the keys and joined Katie in her little compact. He barely refrained from running his hands all over her lithe little body as she drove to her apartment.
“It's small,” Katie said apologetically as they entered her front door.
“That's okay.”
“Are you sure?”
“I'm not looking at the apartment. I'm looking at you.”
“Oh,” she said, her gaze growing dark and unbearably sexy. He'd seen that look before when she was aroused.
Unable to wait a moment longer, he picked her up and carried her to the back of the small set of rooms. He thanked his stars that his radar was working. He found the bed with no problem and immediately began to remove her dress. His impatient mouth took hers. Her impatient hands tugged at his shirt buttons. One flew onto the floor. Michael felt as if he'd been hard for two weeks with no relief.
“I want to go slower,” he muttered, kissing her with carnal pleasure as he rubbed his hands over her breasts and rib cage.
“Another time,” she said in a breathy voice that affected him like an intimate stroke. He pushed her dress and panties to the floor. She felt like silk. She was his most secret dream. He slid his fingers between her thighs. She was already wet.
The knowledge nearly sent him over the edge. He swore. “Too fast. I'm warning you,” he said, stripping off his briefs and slacks.
He pushed her down on the bed and stared into her eyes.
She looked aroused and vulnerable. “Promise me that you'll never make a promise you can't keep.”
That was easy. “I promise I'll never make a promise I can't keep.”
She licked her lips and her lids lowered. “Promise this won't be the only time.”
Michael thrust inside her. “I promise this will not be the only time.” She moved beneath him and he began to pump. She was so tight and so wet that it didn't take him long. He had wanted her for so long. If not forever.
Afterward, he pulled her against him. “I will not rush next time.”
She laid her head against his chest. “Remember not to make promises you can't keep.”
“Well you could help a little.”
She looked up at him. “How?”
“If you were less sexy, less beautiful inside and out, less of everything I could ever want.”
She sucked in a quick breath. “Careful. You'll turn my head,” she said, as if she were trying to keep it light.
“I keep trying,” he said, dead serious. He lifted her chin so she would look at him. “I wished you were pregnant.”
Her eyes popped wider. “Why?”
“Then I could get you to stay with me.”
“You probably could get me to stay with you without getting me pregnant.”
“Probably?”
She nodded.
“How would I do that?” he asked, lacing his fingers through hers.
“If you loved me.”
He put it all on the line. “I love you, Katie Priss. I want to make promises to you and keep them. I want to be yours and I want you to be mine.”
She closed her eyes. “Could you say that again?”
“Which part?”
“The
I love you
part.”
“I love you.”
She opened her eyes. “And I love you.”
And Michael knew everything in his life would be just fine as long as he had Katie.
“
Laugh hard enough to make your stomach hurt. Sing loud enough to wake the neighbors. Love as if the whole world's survival depends on it, and you will have a wonderful life.
”
—S
UNNY
C
OLLINS'S WISDOM
O
ne month later, Katie and Michael embraced a few friends and Katie's sisters and brother after they said their vows to each other. Delilah had come a few days before the wedding and insisted on helping Katie prepare. In a strange and wonderful way, that time together of doing girly things like manicures and fittings had been healing. Katie knew Delilah still had a ways to go before she would be able to trust again, but she knew they'd both made a start, and she felt hopeful. But it was impossible not to feel hopeful with Michael around.
Michael kidnapped Katie at the reception and drove-all the way down to Myrtle Beach, South Carolina. They stayed in a villa on the far north end, a little off the beaten path.
Katie stood on the beach in the circle of her husband's arms and watched the moon on the water. “Why here?”
“You know,” he said, rubbing his lips over her throat.
Her heart flip-flopped every time he touched her that way. He knew it and enjoyed it. She smiled, unable to believe her good fortune.
“Because this is where my mother got knocked up.”
He frowned at her. “Because this is where Katie Priss started. A very important place.”
Her heart tightened at his fiercely loving expression. She smelled the yellow rose she carried, her mother's favorite. She began to pluck the petals from the rose.
“What are you doing?”
“It's a memorial.”
“Huh?”
She tossed the petals over the edge of the waves and let the ocean breeze carry them away. “Thanks, Mom. For everything.” She turned into Michael's arms again. “Did I ever tell you that my mother always approved of you?”
“I got that impression.”
“Really? When?”
“On that first flight when you took Valium and you told me she thought I needed a blow job.”
“I don't remember telling you that.”
“I-uh-think that's one of the side effects of mind-altering medication.”
“When did you know I would be important to you?”
He chuckled. “When we were in that closet together and you were pissed that you had to stand so close to me. Ivan said that terrible stuff about my family and instead of being nasty to me, you called him a prick. I kept seeing you do nice things for other people. I wanted you to be nice to me.”
His longing made her heart ache. The only thing that helped was that she knew that for him, she was like a cool glass of water that he never tired of drinking. She cradled his strong, precious, face in her hands. “I never dreamed you were possible. You've been so wonderful to me, to Jeremy.” Michael had already kept his word and taken Jeremy to a baseball game. He'd also insisted that Jeremy spend as much time as possible with them.
Taking a deep breath at the emotion that had welled up inside her repeatedly over the last couple of days, she tugged at his collar and buried her face in his throat. I think you should prove that you're real.”
“How do I do that?” She felt his smile against her forehead.
“You start with your clothes.”
“And?”
“You take them off.”
“Why?”
He was being ornery. “I told you so I can make sure you're real.”
“How do you plan to do that?”
“I plan to use all my senses, sight, hearing, touching, tasting—”
Not giving her a chance to finish her plans, he hauled her over his shoulder toward their villa. He would start warning her any minute. She loved that. She wanted Michael Wingate to spend the rest of his life loving her and warning her.
She slid her hand under his jeans to his bare backside.
“I'm warning you, Katie Priss…”
Leanne Banks is a USA Today best-selling author with over thirty novels and novellas to her credit. She holds a bachelor's degree in Psychology, which she says qualifies her to treat only fictional characters. Winner of multiple writing awards, she never fails to be delighted when readers write her praising her books as fun, feel-good reads. Leanne's debut single title, SOME GIRLS DO, is her response to readers’ repeated requests for a longer book. Leanne lives in Virginia with her husband and two children, but can usually be persuaded to take a trip to the beach at the drop of a hat. You can visit Leanne at
www.leannebanks.com
LEANNE BANKS
Her stories are smart, sassy, and irresistible!
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WHEN SHE'S BAD
available
November 2003.
S
he wished she could turn the other way.
In the underground garage of her high-rise condo, Dee Montague heard the sound of fist pounding flesh and winced. The unsettling noise echoed from just two car rows away from her and reminded her of a different time in her life, when she'd lived in a different, less safe neighborhood. Muggings weren't supposed to happen here. This garage had video security surveillance. She glanced toward a camera and shook her fist, wondering who was sleeping in front of the monitor at the moment.
She heard a groan of pain, and overwhelming helplessness shot through her. Despite the cool outer image she took pains to maintain, she was one step away from becoming a basket case. After watching the most important person in her life die just months before, she couldn't bear the idea of watching anyone else die. She glanced heavenward in dismay, and whispered, “Don't you know I'm not a good choice for this duty?”
If only she wasn't plagued with this damned belief in fate. Fate put a person in a place for a reason, so in theory, there was a reason she was here at this minute, and she'd better not screw it up, or she would be paying for it forever.
Her stomach turned as she felt the unwelcome noose of responsibility tighten around her neck. Her mind whirled with crazy possibilities. She wasn't packing a pistol, and she wasn't Superwoman. She glanced down at herself in a futile desperate search for a weapon. In her short designer skirt and high heels, she was dressed to slay men—metaphorically speaking—and inspire women, not kill thugs. What was she supposed to do? Stab the bad guys with one of her heels? Her mind wandered. There had actually been that time when she'd had to stomp the instep of an overly amorous client. She thought about her thong underwear-Thongs were usually a very effective distraction for men, but—
She heard another punch and couldn't stand it. Time for a lie. Ducking behind a car, she covered her eyes, and at the top of her lungs screamed, “Fire! Fire! Thank God, there's the police! Fire! Fire! Officer, over here! Help!”
When she took a breath, she inhaled, her pulse pounding in her ears. Her peripheral vision caught sight of three hoodlums scurrying out the far exit of the parking garage. She tentatively stepped forward and peeked around the corner, spotting a man slumped on the ground.
She scrambled toward him, praying no thugs remained and swearing under her breath. “Are you okay?” she asked, poking gingerly at his shoulder. “Please be alive. Are you conscious?”
He gazed up at her and grimaced. “I think,” he said in a slurred voice. “Who—”
“We've got to get out of here. Be quiet and get in the elevator,” she said, dragging his tall frame to his feet and trying to support him as she urged him to the elevator. She felt muscles bunch beneath the tweed wool jacket he wore and wondered if he had tried to defend himself.
She clumsily shoved him against the side of the elevator and punched the button for the floor to her condo. She would figure out what to do with him later. At that instant, she just needed to get them away.
She stepped closer to peer at his wounds, touching his face, half of which was unmarked Strong jaw, chiseled bones, he looked about thirty, with dark hair, and the one eye that was open seemed to look right through her. A good soul, she instantly concluded with the confidence of a woman who'd graduated with a Ph.D. from the school of hard knocks. Her ability to read a man through his eyes had saved her butt more times than she could count. Her heart still hammering a mile a minute, she bit her lip as she took inventory. She started to chatter and couldn't make herself stop. “Your left eye looks terrible. Swollen shut and red already. What's your name?”
“Benjamin.”
She made a tsking sound. “Oh, Benjamin, your mouth is bleeding. And your cheek—”
Benjamin didn't know which was making his head spin more—the throbbing in his brain or the woman's nervous talk. Just after his assailants had fled, he'd wondered if he was going to die. The next thing he remembered was looking at the most shapely pair of legs he'd ever seen in his life, quickly followed by a wild-eyed woman who'd dragged him into the elevator. He had the impression of being blown away by a hot Texas wind.
“Did they punch you in the stomach?” She touched his chest, then her hand fell to his belly, and he instinctively sucked in a sharp breath.
“What if you're bleeding internally? You should go to the emergency room. Are you feeling dizzy or nauseated? You could have a concussion.”
“I-jus-got-back-from—” He swallowed and closed both his eyes.
“Omigod. Your voice is slurred. You could have a concussion. Your brain may be swelling. We have to—”
“Dentist,” he said, and pulled gauze from his mouth. “I just got a root canal.”
“Oh.” She grimaced in sympathy. “Helluva day.”
He stared at his rescuer…with his good eye. He watched her brush a dark lock of her hair away from her eyes. She gnawed on her full bottom lip, and his gaze traveled downward over curves he suspected had caused many masculine meltdowns. Her top fit her shapely breasts like air, and her skirt was too short, too tight. She was the antithesis of every conservative well-bred New England woman he'd dated since he'd entered Harvard Law School.
The woman looked like sin. With heart.
The elevator dinged, signaling the end of their ride. His floor, he thought How convenient. He could collapse on a clear spot in his condo if he could find one. His do-it-yourself renovations were supposed to provide him some sorely needed do-it-yourself therapy. After he collapsed, he'd like to knock out a wall.
“Come with me,” she said. “I can at least get some ice on your eye while we figure out what to do next.”
“But I'm right down the—”
“Don't argue with me. We need to figure out whether to call the police first or take you to the emergency room,” she continued, nudging him down the hallway and unlocking, the door to her condominium. “Take the sofa. I'll get the ice.”
