A Matter of Trust (16 page)

I don’t deserve that trust. Hell, I don’t even want it.

“We’ll both regret this in the morning,” Sloan said as lightly as she could manage through a throat tight with need. Michael stiffened in her arms.

“Do you think so?” Michael asked softly, a cold ache beginning in her chest. “Would you?”

Sloan released her hold, took a step back, and steeled herself. “Yes. And so would you when you had a chance to think about it. I apologize for putting you in an awkward position. I’m sorry, I wasn’t thinking.”

“Well, I know
I
certainly wasn’t.” Michael laughed thinly. “I should thank you for maintaining some sense.” She pulled her robe tightly around herself, shivering suddenly. “Will you excuse me, please? It’s late, and I’m more than a little embarrassed.”

Sloan wanted so badly to comfort her. She had hurt her, but it was a small hurt compared to the disaster it might have been. She forced her hands into her trouser pockets, afraid she would touch her again otherwise. “I’ll let myself out. I’m sorry, Michael.”

Michael watched her cross the room, watched the door close soundlessly behind her. She listened for her footsteps in the hall, but heard only silence. The room was very still as she moved about turning off the lights. In the darkness, she made her way to the bedroom, where once under the covers, alone, she allowed herself to cry.

The phone rang in Michael’s office at 6:45 Monday morning. She glanced at it distractedly, a prospectus in one hand, her eyes barely moving from the columns of figures. Ordinarily, she wouldn’t have answered her own phone, but it was too early yet for Angela to be in.

“Lassiter,” she said abruptly.

“Michael, it’s Sloan,” the now-familiar smoky voice announced.

Michael drew a sharp breath, laid down the folder, and stared across the room at her office door, almost expecting it to open and Sloan to step through. Her heart quickened with anticipation even as she chided herself for the reaction. It had been over forty-eight hours since Sloan had walked out of her hotel room, and she had spent most of that time trying to avoid thinking about what had happened between them.

Usually, her work was something that could distract her from everything else in her life. She had only to pick up a sketchpad, or doodle on the corner of an envelope, or lean back with her eyes closed, and she would be instantly absorbed in constructing something or other out of her imagination. That was the beauty of design—it could result in a tangible product or merely a concept that someone else brought to fruition. Her mind was fluid yet enormously disciplined; she lived by her thoughts, and they had always been her greatest panacea for worry, uncertainty, and fear.

For some reason, this cherished routine hadn’t worked during the past weekend. Her thoughts had been elusive, streaking through her mind like fast-forwarded images on an old-time movie reel. She hadn’t been able to concentrate, primarily because she couldn’t stop thinking about the way Sloan’s lips had felt against hers. It was true that she had very little sexual experience with anyone other than Nicholas, but she certainly had not been isolated from the realities of physical relationships. What she had experienced with Sloan went far beyond anything she had previously known or even imagined.

That such a simple kiss could set every cell in her body tingling defied her understanding. She had no frame of reference for the way she’d felt in Sloan’s embrace, recalling that slight inner trembling that seemed to magnify as it approached the surface of her skin until she feared she might literally shake apart. Being in Sloan’s arms was like watching the sun break through the clouds after a week of gray skies and cold rain.
Like when that first brief flash of golden heat suddenly makes you feel alive...and then you realize that until that moment, you had merely existed.

She thought she understood the difference now between going through the motions and truly living, but she dared not contemplate whether that sensation was borne only on this one woman’s kiss.

“Michael?” Sloan said into the silence.

“Yes?” Michael replied, more sharply than she intended. “I’m sorry, I was working.”

“Then
I’m
sorry to disturb you,” Sloan said somewhat stiffly. “I actually intended just to leave a message. I didn’t expect you to be there.”

She hadn’t wanted to speak with her, let alone see her, which was why she had taken the rather cowardly route of phoning early in the morning to leave a message. She didn’t trust herself not to betray how affected she had been by her slip the other night. She hadn’t lost control of herself like that in years, and it shook her. Even worse, she kept thinking about the way Michael had looked, had felt, had moved against her...

Don’t go there.
She cleared her throat, which was suddenly dry, and continued, “I wanted to let you know that I’ve decided to drive up to your New York City office today to look things over. I think we’ve got the network in fair shape here, and you should be secure within reason. I can’t do much more to tighten things up until I check out the other facilities. Then I should be able to make the changeovers pretty quickly if I don’t run into any surprises.”

Michael was silent. She hadn’t really been listening after Sloan announced that she was leaving for New York. There was nothing she could say, short of asking Sloan if she was going because of what had happened between them. That certainly didn’t seem like a very appropriate question. Sloan had made it quite clear that their very brief interlude had been a mistake and that she had no desire for it to happen again. If Sloan wanted distance between them, it was entirely understandable. Michael saw no point in embarrassing herself further or pursuing what could only make them both more uncomfortable.

“That sounds very reasonable. I’ll call up there around 9:00 and let them know you’re coming. Shall I have Angela make hotel reservations for you somewhere nearby?”

“No. Thanks. Jason will take care of that for me. An introduction to your administrative manager would be helpful, though. Just don’t tell them too much about what I’ll be doing. I would rather inform people on a need-to-know basis, especially given the possibility that some of them may end up being loyal to Nicholas if a split should come about.”

“You’re right, of course,” Michael said, ignoring the slight twist of anxiety caused by the mention of Nicholas’s name. “I’m not actually personally familiar with many of the people up there, other than in the design arm. They were pretty much hand-picked by me. Nevertheless, it’s probably prudent for you to keep a low profile. Will you call me to keep me informed?”

“Absolutely. In the meantime, if you have any problems or need anything, just call Jason.”

Jason. Not you.
Michael tried to deflect the swift stab of disappointment. “Certainly.”

There was silence on the line as both of them listened for the other’s breathing, as if loath to break the connection and not knowing what else to say. Eventually, they murmured meaningless goodbyes and hung up.

Michael went back to work, desperately hoping to occupy her wandering mind, silently hoping that Sloan’s image would not continue to intrude on her thoughts.

Across town, Sloan set about packing the single suitcase for her trip. She looked around the loft, edgy and restless. The solitude that usually gave her such comfort now seemed merely empty and lonely. Just the sound of Michael’s voice on the phone had awakened her senses, and now her body sang with desire. The kiss they had shared was a tangible memory on her lips, and her palms ached with the imprint of Michael’s body pressed to their surface. She was hungry for more of her, and she feared it was for much more than just her body. If it had been only that, she might not have hesitated. Michael was an adult, after all, and more than capable of deciding with whom she might sleep. But it wasn’t her unrelenting desire for Michael that troubled her so much; it was her deep longing to lie down beside her and simply rest. She was weary, and the promise of succor was far too dangerous. She hadn’t sought comfort in a woman’s embrace in a very long time, and she wasn’t ready to start now.

She finished packing a light bag, locked the heavy metal clasp on the sliding double doors to the loft, and prayed for a clear highway all the way to New York. Maybe a fast drive would erase the images of Michael’s softly welcoming smile from her mind. She would just have to live with the constant pulse of need in her depths. That might be uncomfortable, but it wasn’t nearly as frightening.

*

After two hours of struggling to get the images of Sloan driving out of town—convertible top down, dark hair windblown and wild—from her mind, Michael made the call to her New York office. Only then was she finally able to really work, and she forgot about Sloan’s voice, and the electricity of her touch, and her hauntingly attractive profile. She was startled as the intercom on her desk crackled once and a voice filled the room.

“Michael, I’m sorry—”

The sentence was lost in a commotion as the office door banged open, and Nicholas strode in with Angela close behind. Michael swiveled on her high drafting stool and stared, a pencil still held in her left hand.

“I’m sorry, he didn’t give me a chance to call you,” Angela stated, clearly distraught.

“That’s all right, Angela,” Michael said calmly. “Just close the door and hold my calls.”

Angela looked uneasily from Nicholas’s stony countenance to Michael’s perfectly smooth, expressionless face and slowly backed out the door. She didn’t like it, but she had no choice. She briefly wondered if she should call security. Were it not for the possibility of embarrassing Michael, she would have. There had been something about the look in Nicholas Burke’s eyes that frightened her.

Michael remained seated, silent. Nicholas strode forward another few steps, his hands clenched at his sides. A muscle bunched along the edge of his jaw. When he spoke, his voice was tight with the effort to control his anger.

“I met with my attorneys this morning and reviewed your
offer,”
he said harshly. The way he said
offer
suggested that she had highly insulted him. “I assume that was some kind of joke.”

“Actually, Nicholas, I spent a great deal of time reviewing the situation with
my
attorneys and several business consultants.” Michael stepped down from the stool and stood by the side of her drafting table, one hand resting along the edge of the slanted drawing surface. She managed to keep her face still, although there was a very fine tremor in her hand. “The package we offered you contained a generous buyout as well as future stock options. It will provide you with ongoing security as long as the company continues to thrive. In addition, there are considerable monetary incentives up front.”

Her attorneys had assured her that the future options were a reasonable method for providing long-term recompense for Nicholas’s loss of potential income from the company. They had actually argued with her that the cash package was too generous, but she had insisted, hoping to present him with something that he would readily accept.

However, she certainly wasn’t surprised he hadn’t. It wasn’t like Nicholas to agree to something that he himself had not orchestrated. Her attorneys had warned that he was likely to reject her initial overtures, however generous, and that negotiations could drag on for a while. Nevertheless, she had no intention of engaging him in a personal dialogue over the details. That was why she had legal counsel.

He grimaced, moving closer still, crowding her back against the drafting table. “On the surface, your proposal may appear generous to others, but I know very well that the potential of this company resides in future design plans. And those will be
your
exclusive property under the current stipulations.”

“The design plans have always been mine, Nicholas. You know that.”

“Yes, but
I
have been the one to promote them.”

She nodded again, wondering at his point. “Of course, and my attorneys have taken that into account.”

“I’m not going to let you do this,” he said, his voice low and hard.

He stretched an arm out on either side of her, gripping the metal lip that rimmed the desktop, trapping her. The front of his body pressed close, almost touching her. His physical size alone was intimidating enough, but it was more the shimmering rage in his face that made her flinch.

“Without
me,
you never would have been able to accomplish what you have. You were a naïve, unsophisticated, emotional
misfit
when we met.” He threw each word at her like a weapon. “You had no idea how to get along in the world, let alone make a success of business. If I hadn’t indulged your
sensitivities
and supported your fragile ego, none of this would have been possible.” His face was very near hers now. Anyone looking would have thought he meant to kiss her. His voice was low, dangerous. “You owe me, Michael. You owe me
everything.”

Michael refused to recoil from his physical intimidation, but she was shocked at the depth of his rancor and stunned at his clear and open disdain of her. His vitriol left her momentarily speechless.

He continued as if he expected her to accept his criticism without response. “I can accept that you want to divorce me, and believe me, it will present no hardship for me. Our marriage was convenient from a professional point of view, but it certainly wasn’t anything exceptional in the physical department. I’m well aware that you were simply going through the motions in bed, and if you had been the slightest bit physically challenging or even interesting, I might not have looked elsewhere to satisfy my needs.”