“I’m really too full for dessert,” Laura said, pushing the chocolate mousse away. “Everything was wonderful.”
Jackie beamed.
Laura was right. They needed to talk, and this was not the place. Michael stood and took Laura’s hand as she unfolded herself gracefully from her chair. When he reached for his wallet, Jackie stopped him with a raised hand.
“As I said earlier, this is on the house. It’s always my pleasure to feed a talented, albeit starving, artist like yourself.”
The big man was going to pay for this. “I was just fishing for your tip,” Michael said, withdrawing a single dollar bill and slipping it into Jackie’s shirt pocket. “The service was adequate, after all.”
“You’re most generous,” the big man said softly.
When they were on the street, Michael took Laura’s arm and headed in the direction of Forever Blue.
“You have to play tonight?” she asked as they walked slowly past lingering tourists.
“No. I took the night off.” He didn’t take many nights off, so he figured he was entitled. Besides, it was his place. He could do whatever he wanted. “But my apartment is above the bar and I thought, if you don’t mind, we could go there and talk.”
She shivered. The cold wind? Fear? Anticipation? It was impossible to tell.
***
The apartment was Michael, through and through. It was one big room, with a huge bed in one corner and a kitchenette in the other. There was a small bathroom off the side where the bed was located, and half a wall of closets.
It was big and neat and dark, and the most expensive items in the room were a massive stereo system, a computer that looked pretty new, and a very large, soft-looking gray chair.
Laura draped her coat over a hard-backed chair at a desk near the door and tossed her purse onto the desktop, while Michael turned on the lights. She had to tell him—tonight—about Megan. Hard as it would be, it was the only reason she was here. Ah, but it was so easy to forget that when they were alone.
Michael came back to her, unsmiling, unnaturally tense. “We do need to talk,” he said as he reached her.
“Yeah.” Her voice wasn’t much more than a whisper.
He wrapped his arms around her. “Stay,” he commanded softly.
“I can’t. Jennifer and Megan—”
“Not just for tonight,” he interrupted.
“Michael—”
He silenced her with a soft kiss. Maybe he heard the protest in her voice, the uncertainty. It was a great kiss, the kind of kiss that could make her forget everything. She’d missed this. She’d missed him. When he pulled his lips from hers he whispered, “Believe in me this time. Have faith that what we have is enough.”
Eyes closed, held tight in his arms, she wanted to say yes. Love should be enough, shouldn’t it? She couldn’t answer, so she kissed him again. She’d kissed other men in the past five years: friendly kisses, cold kisses, awkward kisses. But no one else had the power to make her feel this way. When Michael kissed her she felt as if she were glowing inside, and with every gentle move of his mouth over hers she wanted more.
He took his mouth from hers. “Stay,” he whispered. “Forget how different we are and remember how good we are together.” He ran a lazy finger slowly down her neck. “We are good together, you know. Surely you didn’t forget.”
“Michael...” she began, the protest clear in her voice.
“You’re worried about where we’ll be ten years from now, and I’m just wondering how I’m going to make it through another day without you.” He laid his lips softly on hers. “Believe in me. Believe in us.”
“I do,” she whispered, and she meant it with all her heart.
They inched toward the big bed that was in the far corner of the room—a hundred miles away—shedding articles of unnecessary clothing as they slowly progressed.
She stepped out of her heels somewhere near the big gray chair, and they stopped their progress for a long, slow kiss.
They took a few steps toward the bed, and Michael reached around her to ease the zipper at her spine down. That done, he pushed the fabric aside so he could lay his mouth on her shoulder. Blindly, she unbuttoned his shirt so she could slip her fingers beneath the fabric and feel the heat of his skin in her hands.
The little black dress dropped to the floor about the same time his shirt did, and her bra followed soon after.
She had forgotten what a wonderful sensation this was, Michael’s hands on her breasts, his mouth dancing on hers, her blood racing until she forgot everything but the mingled feelings of longing and love. She’d denied this part of herself since she’d left him, shutting down her need for love and touch, denying it as surely as she’d denied her love for Michael.
He brought it all back to life with his stirring kisses and exploring hands. His mouth on her breast almost made her cry out, the sensation was so powerful, and when he suckled gently her knees went weak.
They fell onto the bed, and with Michael’s assistance she shed the only articles of clothing that came between her and him—her black silk underwear and panty hose. This was like the first time they’d made love—desperate and greedy and out of control. That was why, when Michael tossed what was left of his clothing to the floor, she opened her arms to him, ready for the joining she craved so much. He covered her, kissed her again, and made her wait, brushing newly patient fingers over her body as if he were touching her for the first time.
“I missed you so much,” he whispered, sheltering her with his body, stroking her flesh with fingers that so easily brought to life a part of herself she’d denied for five years.
They came together with the ease of familiarity, and with the impatience of lovers who had been separated for too long. She needed this, the feel of Michael inside her, his body around and over and within hers. They found the rhythm that was theirs and theirs alone, the perfect harmony that they’d always had together.
The climax hit her with unexpected force, and she felt Michael give over to his completion as she did. It was too fast, over too soon, and she was left breathless.
“I missed you, too,” she said belatedly, and Michael laughed lightly as he brushed his lips against her neck.
She lay there with her head on his shoulder, wondering why she’d left him all those years ago. He was a musician. It was in his blood, so much a part of him she was ashamed of herself for ever having asked him to give it up. If he’d given in to her all those years ago, if he’d given up this unstable business for something staid and respectable, he’d be miserable right now. And so would she.
“Stay,” he said drowsily a few minutes later. They hadn’t moved, and Laura was very sure she wouldn’t be moving for quite some time. She was too happy, too drained... too scared of what came next. She still had to tell him about Megan.
“I want to,” she whispered. “But we still have to talk.”
But not now, not yet
, she pleaded silently.
Michael held her close. “We’re terrible at talking. We’re much better at this.” He rolled her onto her back and kissed her, and the energy she’d thought gone came creeping back.
He held himself above her and gave her the most satisfied smile she’d ever seen on a man. “Have faith in us. Stay.”
She was overwhelmed by the knowledge that he was right. She did believe in him, and in what they had. At this moment, love was more than enough. Together they could withstand anything... even the truth.
“Michael,” she whispered, ready to confess all.
A pounding knock interrupted her, and it was all she could do to keep from screaming at the door.
Michael screamed for her. “Go away!”
An insistent female voice answered. “Sorry, boss, but Jimmy’s on the phone. Chuck figured you’d want to take it.”
“I know half a dozen Jimmys,” Michael snapped. “And not one of them could roust me now.”
“It’s Jimmy Blue,” the woman said. “What do you want me to tell him?”
Michael grumbled, but he left the bed and started grabbing his clothes. “I’ll be right there,” he shouted at the door, and then he turned his attention to Laura, watching her as he dressed.
“You don’t move,” he ordered softly. “I’ll be right back to pick up where we left off.”
Laura was so wonderfully satisfied, so marvelously happy, that she didn’t say a word as Michael quickly dressed and left to take his phone call. It wasn’t until she was alone and growing cold in his bed that her senses returned to her.
Boss?
Jimmy Blue?
Chapter Five
Michael leaned against the bar, the receiver to his ear and his back to the Forever Blue patrons. The jukebox was playing, so he pressed a finger to his uncovered ear. Elvis! Chuck had been playing with the selections again.
Jimmy Blue had recorded one of Michael’s first songs and made it a hit. The country singer was a nice guy and a great guitar player, and he and Michael had hit it off from their first meeting. He’d seen Jimmy and his wife, Jess, several times in the past year.
Michael hadn’t purposely set out to write country songs. He was more into jazz, blues, a little rock and roll. But country was where the money was these days, and he’d discovered that what made a particular song work, country or rock, was all in the delivery.
“We’re coming through Memphis in a couple of weeks,” Jimmy said after their initial hellos and how-are-yous. “You’ll be around?”
“Sure.’’
They made tentative plans to meet, have dinner, and get together with a few friends to have a jam session in Forever Blue after closing, before Jimmy changed the subject.
“Don’t shoot me.” His familiar Texas drawl became more prominent with this request. “But Jess has met this real nice woman who lives near Memphis, probably not an hour out of town, and she wants me to fix you two up while we’re in Memphis. You know how Jess worries about your love life, and you know I’ll do anything to keep her happy....”
“Stop right there,” Michael said into the receiver with a widening smile he couldn’t stop. “In two weeks I’ll be married, if I’m lucky. Engaged, at the very least.” Maybe he was jumping the gun. He hadn’t really asked her, not yet. “Involved, anyway.”
“Sounds serious.”
“It is.”
“I’ll have Jess put that girl on hold—”
“Have your matchmaking wife find her friend someone else,” Michael interrupted, and then he lowered his voice. The jukebox had gone silent at last. “I’m not screwing up, not this time.”
Jimmy wished Michael luck and got to the business at hand, a request for a song to be recorded in the spring for his next CD.
“I’d love to write another song for you.”
The voice that came over the telephone was smooth and friendly with just a trace of that good-ol’-boy accent. “Glad to hear it. Jess says make ‘em cry.”
“Make ‘em cry,” Michael said. “That I can do.” He shifted into a more comfortable position, turning to rest his back against the bar, and that was when he saw her.
Laura stood on the stairway that led to his apartment, watching, listening, her face pale. He didn’t know how much of his conversation she’d heard, but it had obviously been more than enough.
“Jimmy, I’ll call you next week,” he said, dropping the receiver to its cradle with his eyes on Laura’s face.
When she broke for the door, he went after her. He was slowed down because he had to get around the bar, around Chuck, around Susan and half a dozen small tables that got in his way. By the time he reached the door Laura was gone, and even though she’d only stepped through the door a few seconds earlier, his heart damn near stopped.
It started beating regularly again when he saw her. She was stalking down Beale Street, and anyone who was in her path had sense enough to make way. It only took him a few seconds to catch up with her.
“You forgot your coat,” he said as he reached out to grab her arm. It was a stupid thing to say, given the circumstances, but that was what came out of his mouth when he opened it.
Laura didn’t jerk away but turned to face him defiantly. She did, however, shrug off his hand. “I’m not feeling particularly cold right now.” Of course she wasn’t. She was so angry she was practically steaming. “Did you think I wouldn’t find out,
boss
?”
“Let’s go back to my place and—”
“No,” she snapped. “It really is your place, isn’t it? Of course it is,
boss
. I should’ve known from the beginning. Who else but a piano player would have a grand piano in a juke joint?’’
I was going to tell you
would sound incredibly lame, wouldn’t it? In the end it was all he could come up with. She all but snorted.
“And you wrote a song for Jimmy Blue. Not bad for a piano player who ‘doesn’t have two nickels to rub together.’”
She spun away, and he followed. “Okay, so I didn’t tell you everything. It’s not like I actually lied...”
That stopped her dead in her tracks, and then she spun on him. “Didn’t lie? What do you call that... that performance in the restaurant tonight? Dinner theater?”
“Jackie went a little further than I intended...”
She snorted at him again and spun away in the middle of his inadequate explanation. He followed, of course. How could he have forgotten about her temper? He’d seen a hint of that temper earlier tonight at Jackie’s Place, but she’d been able to keep it in check. Most of the time she was a sensible, levelheaded woman, but she had a volatile temper when it was roused. And it was definitely roused now.
She was at the corner of Blues Street and Beale, and she actually had a foot off the curb before she spun on him again. “Five years ago I left you because you were an impractical dreamer who refused to even think about settling down. Like a child, you always lived for the moment.” She was seething, but he didn’t back down when she poked him forcefully in the chest. “I didn’t know you were going to turn into an insensitive jerk.”
When she stepped into the street he was right behind her. “I wanted to know that we still had—”
“Wanted to make sure I wasn’t after your money?” she snapped without turning her head to look at him.
It did look bad; he had to give her that. “No,” he said, his voice softer than hers. She had to be able to hear him, he was so close. “I just wanted things to be the way they were, for a little while.”