“Often enough. Why?”
Michael pulled out a photograph of Wilhemina. “I'm looking for this woman. She's missing. Have you seen her?”
The man pinched his chin and scrutinized the photograph while the man beside him elbowed in. “Whatdoeshewant?” he asked, slurring his words.
Even from three feet away, the man's breath was so strong, Michael thought the place would start on fire if someone struck a match too close to his mouth.
“He asked me if I come here often and if I've seen this woman,” the first man said.
The drunk man frowned. “Well, it's none of his business whether you come here often or not.”
Great, Michael thought. A reasonable man with a drunk friend. He knew better than to argue. He pulled out his card and gave it to the reasonable man. “If you recall seeing her—”
“Now just hold on a minute,” the drunken man said. “Where're you from, anyway? You don't sound like you're from around here.”
“I'm not from around here,” Michael said without answering the man's question.
“Snooty too, huh?”
“Frank, he's just looking for a woman,” the reasonable man said.
“Well, he can find one somewhere else,” Frank said.
Michael turned around to walk away and shook his head to himself. Suddenly he felt a hard push at his back and he pitched forward, barely stopping himself from falling. “What the—” He turned halfway and a man's fist came out of nowhere, smashing into his jaw. Pain vibrated through his face and head.
Reeling, Michael stumbled backward, running into another man.
“Hey, watch where, you're going,” the man said and shoved him hard.
“Nobody turns his back on me,” Frank said. “Especially some damn northerner.”
“Haven't you heard? The Civil War was over a long time ago,” Michael muttered, feeling a twinge in the back of his neck as two men joined Frank. They all looked like they were itching for a fight. If he wasn't careful, the whole bar would turn on him.
“You didn't turn your back on Frank when he was talking to you, did you?” one of the men standing beside Frank said.
“Hey, boys,” a familiar feminine voice drawled from behind Michael. He whipped his head around and saw Katie standing on top of a table. Damn, he had to get her out of here. She tossed him a let-me-handle-this look and gave a slight jerk of her head.
“I see y'all hold a wet T-shirt contest every Wednesday night. I was wondering if you think I might qualify.”
Michael watched, stupefied, as she lifted her shirt and flashed her breasts. A chorus of wolf whistles ripped through the bar. His first instinct was to jump in front of her, but she gave him another hard glance with a jerk of her head.
Michael finally grasped her message. She was distracting these men so he could get out of the bar alive. Pushing back the impulse to snatch her off the table, he sighed, in disgust at how the situation had gotten out of hand and slipped out the door.
The rain fell in sheets. Michael walked toward the car, then stopped. There was no way he was leaving without Katie. He barely turned back, and she flew out of the bar door like a bat out of a cave.
“Hurry up!” she called, running toward him. “I think I distracted them long enough that we can get away.”
“Can't imagine why you would think that,” he said, still boggled by the fact that she had flashed half a restaurant full of men. “How did you get out of there?”
“I tossed them my bra. They were fighting over it when I ran out.”
“You tossed them your bra?” he yelled, fighting the oddest urge to return to the bar and retrieve her undergarment. “You tossed your bra to that pack of wolves!”
“It was a cheap underwire and very uncomfortable. If fate is kind one of them will put it on and get struck by lightning.”
He shook his head. “I can't believe you—”
Her hair plastered to her head, she tightened her mouth. “I had to distract them.”
“Distract is putting it mildly,” Michael said, pulling her toward the car. Unlocking the door, he tucked her into the car, rounded the front of the vehicle, got in, and looked at her. She was wound tighter than an overstretched string on a violin getting ready to snap. He hated the hollow vulnerability he saw in her gaze.
“If you make one comment about my breasts, I will hurt you,” she said, not meeting his gaze.
Michael started the car and peeled out of the parking lot. “That wasn't the first thing on my mind. Why in hell did you do that?”
She crossed her arms over her chest. “They were going to pulverize you.”
“I appreciate your confidence in my ability to protect myself, but—”
She shook her head. “You don't understand. They were going to gang up on you because you're an outsider and they were going to beat you up.”
“So why didn't you leave my sorry ass there and let them?” he asked in a low voice as he turned down the road that led to their motel.
She bit her lip and looked away. “If you get beat up, there's no way we'll find Wilhemina.”
He suspected she would sooner cut out her tongue than admit that she cared about him. The knowledge that she would go to such lengths for his safety boggled his mind and tugged at other parts of him. “So it wasn't personal,” he said, unable to keep from baiting her.
“Of course not,” she said with a sniff.
“So, except for the Wilhemina issue, you couldn't care less whether I live or die,” Michael said, impatient with whatever had been popping and buzzing between them since the first time they'd met. He turned the car into the motel parking lot, which was riddled with potholes full of water.
She opened her mouth as if she were going to agree that she didn't care about him at all, but she looked at him and something in her eyes sparked, then softened. She sighed. “I didn't say that.”
“So it is personal,” he continued, not totally certain what drove him to push her. He'd watched her dole out smiles and kindness to strangers, and all that watching had made him feel deprived. And greedy.
“You're not quite as much of a jerk as I thought you were.”
“And you care about me.”
“Well, I care about Chantal,” she said with a testy smile. He leaned closer. “But Chantal doesn't turn you on.” Her eyes widened.
“You don't want to kiss Chantal.”
She opened her mouth, but when he brushed her lips with his, he could practically hear the protest stick in her throat. “I think we've danced with denial just about long enough, Priss,” he muttered and took her mouth. He tasted her surprise and arousal and something sweet that made him think of violins. He tested vulnerability and strength, and everything he tasted made him hungry for more.
The rain beat a pounding rhythm on the car as the kiss went on and on. She lifted her hand to his arm, clinging to him, never taking her mouth from his, stoking the fire that burned inside him. He felt her breasts brush against his chest and despised the wet clothes between them. He had never wanted to feel every inch of a woman's flesh more than now. His desire for her felt like the rain, forceful, inevitable, and unstoppable. Her wild, heroic gesture at the bar had put him over the edge. No one had ever rescued him. “
But Katie tried to stop, pulling back and drawing in deep, shuddering breaths. Her eyes were dark with the same wanting that permeated him. She shook her head ever so slightly.
“Tell me you don't want me,” he said.
A long moment passed where the electricity zinged inside the car like a wayward bullet looking for a place to lodge.
Katie tried to form the words that would save her from him. Michael was like a tornado, powerful and fascinating, but she feared what would happen to her if she allowed herself to slide into him. But she felt as if she was scrambling up a rocky ledge and the rocks were breaking beneath her. She had nowhere to go, but to him.
“I can't,” she said, her voice low and unsteady to her own ears. “I can't tell you I don't want you.”
In a flash, he tugged her from the car and swept her to her doorway. She somehow produced her key and he took it from her to unlock the door and push it open. No sooner had the door closed than he pushed her against the wall and surrounded her with his body and kiss.
She felt the insistent hum of needs she'd buried her entire life. His mouth was full of passion and that same need. She could feel his drive to take and give. She wanted to sink all the way into his passion. She wanted to forget everything she shouldn't do and do what she needed to do. What she needed was Michael. He knew at least some of her secrets. He knew her as more than Katie Collins, personal assistant, and he knew she was more than Sunny Collins's daughter destined for no good. He knew some of her secrets and she wanted him to teach her a few more. Her heart pounded with anticipation. She leaned against the wall and slid her fingertips through his rain-wet hair.
Pushing his knee between her thighs, he skimmed his hand down to adjust her pelvis so that she cradled his hardness while he rolled against her. The erotic motion rolled through her like thunder. He gave a deep moan and pushed her skirt down to her ankles. His hand dipped beneath her panties and he found her wet and swollen.
Katie's breath left her at the riot of sensations that raced through her. He stripped her panties, off and she felt a second of self-consciousness, but then he slid his finger inside her. Her inhibitions burning like tissue paper, she pushed her hands beneath his shirt and reveled in the sensation of muscle, heat, and the beating of his heart.
He groaned, pulling his mouth from hers, and swore under his breath. “Oh, God, you feel like silk in my hands.”
Katie felt herself melting under his touch, under his words.
He took her hand in his and kissed it. The gesture was so sweet it made her stomach dance. Then he drew her hand down his body to where he was hard and wanting. Her heart stopped at the power of his need. It was almost as strong as hers, she thought. Almost. She hesitated a half beat while he held her with a gaze that searched hers so deeply she felt as if she might drown.
Feeling a hard nudge from inside her to take another step, she unfastened his jeans and slid her hand inside. When she wrapped her palm around him, he let out a hiss of arousal.
Katie stroked his length and he closed his eyes. “You feel so good.” His nostrils flared and she saw a fine sheen of perspiration bead on his forehead. “You just feel so—” He broke off as if something inside him were-cracking. “Can't wait,” he muttered and pulled her shirt up over her head. In one swift motion, he clasped her bottom and lifted her against the wall. “Wrap your legs around me,” he told her.
Dizzy with excitement and arousal, she obeyed, and Michael pressed his face to her breasts. Her nipples were already hard pinpoints of sensitivity. He slowly rubbed his cheek from side to side. The rough texture of his whiskers didn't hurt, but instead made her even more sensitive: Her nipples tightened unbearably. He moved his head and took one deep into his mouth.
Katie gasped at the electric sensation that traveled from breast to between her thighs. Shifting her slightly, he stroked her where she grew wet and even more swollen. The restless frenzied feeling inside her spun to fever pitch. A sound of need and frustration bubbled from her throat.
One. Two. Three seconds later, Michael eased her onto him and thrust inside. Her eyes flew open at the invasion. He felt huge inside her. It hurt. And didn't. She saw the surprise in his eyes, felt the slightest pull back and couldn't bear it.
“Don't say anything,” she whispered, unable to do anything about the huskiness in her voice. “Just don't…”
“Don't what?” he asked through gritted teeth.
“Don't stop,” she managed, feeling her body adjust to his, feeling her close around him like an intimate hug.
His lids lowered to half-mast, he began to slowly pump and stretch inside her, filling her with sensation after sensation. She felt the coil of frustration and need inside her tighten with each stroke. The closeness of their, bodies, did something to her, touched her in a place she'd always kept guarded.
“Give me your mouth,” he told her.
She stretched to press her lips to his and he gave her a French kiss that made the room spin. His mouth mated with her in the same way that his body joined hers. She wanted to be as close to him as possible. She never wanted this feeling to stop. The combination of erotic sensation and emotions sent her one step closer to the vague goal she was reaching for.
“’Too much,” Michael said against her mouth. He stiffened and swore as he thrust inside her once more, his body shuddering with pleasure. The sight and sensation of his climax was so fascinating that it distracted her from her own climb. In that one moment, he was utterly powerful, utterly vulnerable, and utterly hers. Her heart swelled and for the first time in her life, she didn't feel alone.
Michael swore again. “You didn't come.”
Trembling, she clung to him. “Well, I didn't go away.”
He gave a rough chuckle and drank in a deep breath of air. Their bodies still connected, he lifted his gaze to hers and Katie's lungs stopped at the sensual expression in his dark eyes. He shook his head. “That's not what I was talking about,” he chided and shifted her to carry her to the bathroom. He let her slide down the length of his body to her not-so-steady feet, then took a deep kiss.
Katie's knees felt like hot wax.
Michael turned on the shower.
“What are you—”
Without a word, he pulled her under the warm spray with him. She wondered when her brain was going to stop feeling like sludge. She felt as if her body and emotions were flying while her mind was moving in ultra-slow motion. She tried to shake it off, but Michael kissed her again like he couldn't stay away from her and she allowed herself to sink into the sensation of the warm water and his strong body and his kiss. He moved her around so that the water streamed down her scalp and hair. When he pulled back to reach for shampoo, her surprise must have shown on her face.
“I like your hair,” he said, lathering her hair and massaging her scalp.
The care he took made her stomach feel funny. “I didn't know that.”
“I like you to wear it down,” he said, pushing her under the spray to rinse the soap away. He drew her against him again and before she opened her eyes, he was lathering her breasts with soap.