Behind the Facade (18 page)

She took a deep breath and
looked down at her hands. “I don’t intend to leave this car until you tell me what’s
wrong,” she said.

He stubbornly refused to
say anything. Equally stubborn, Kate remained fixed in her seat. There were
several seconds of tense silence. Then he suddenly thumped the steering wheel
and burst out with, “Don’t think I won’t manhandle you from this car if I have
to!”

Her eyes flared and,
deliberately staring him down, she retorted, “Do it! You think you can lay a
finger on me, think again!”

Kate maybe knowingly,
maybe not, had happened upon the one reply that was a dare too far. He grabbed
her face with one hand, clenching her hair with the other, and wrenched her
mouth towards his. He did this with
a possessiveness
so fierce and so sudden that Kate only had time to gasp. This was inopportune,
as the opening of her lips led inevitably to a deeper onslaught. His mouth
found hers unimpeded and he simply took until she could not breathe, asserting
his mastery of her. She tried to fight back but, by the time she’d recovered
from the unexpectedness of his assault, she’d been seduced by the taste of him
and the cleverness of his tongue.

As soon as he felt her
resistance fall away, he abruptly broke off the kiss. He did not pull away
completely, keeping his hand in her hair. “Don’t tell me I can’t touch you. You
know that’s a damn lie.” His hand then dropped and he fell back into his seat,
breathing hard.

Kate felt shamed but at
the same time exhilarated. He couldn’t pretend he felt nothing for her. That
was a lie too. She was tempted to launch herself out of the car, slamming the
door like some histrionic heroine in a soap opera, but this would be giving him
what he wanted –which was to be rid of her.

Instead, she turned to him
and said, “You’re right. I….” He looked at her then when she paused daring her
to carry on. “I want you,” she admitted. “But you want me too.”

He grunted at this,
surprised at her boldness. He then closed his eyes as if adjusting his
thoughts. When he turned back to her he said, “Look, there’s something you
should know.”

“Yes?”

“I use women. I use them
terribly. I have done, ever since…..” his voice trailed away.

Kate, rather than being
upset by this remark, was encouraged. He was letting her in again.
Being honest with her.
“And what’s that got to do with us?”
she asked.

“Everything!” he
exclaimed. “You should have nothing to do with me. I can’t give you what you
want.”

“How do you know what I
want?” she countered.

“Goddamn it!” he shouted.
“I’m trying to break things off. Can’t you see that!?
Before
you want more than I can give.”

“I want you, I think that
bears repeating, and whatever you can give is enough for me.”

Michael sighed. “I’ll only
damage you. That’s all I’m good for.”

“I’m already damaged. We
both are. Don’t you think there’s a chance we might heal each other?” At this,
he didn’t respond, only shook his head in repudiation.

She touched his face.
“Stop fighting this, Michael. Please. I’m a big girl. Respect me enough to let
me make my own decisions.”

Kissing him lightly on the
cheek, she left him then.

Michael laid his head on the
steering wheel. How had he mismanaged everything so badly? It was her. She
didn’t react the way he predicted she should. She simply didn’t know what was
good for her. He sat back and drew in a deep breath but this only served to
accentuate her lingering scent. Maybe he was a vampire, he thought; even her
scent tempted him beyond reason, but she would probably be the death of him
rather than the reverse.

Kate anticipated
difficulty getting off to sleep, after all that had occurred, but her physical
and mental exertions served to put her under as soon as her head met the much
needed comfort of her pillow. Nevertheless, her unconscious mind continued to
grapple with the emotions and memories that had been roused, translating into a
restless sleep.

In the early hours of the
morning, Kate sat bolt upright in her bed, staring into the semi-gloom but
still seeing the blinding sunlight of her dream. She blinked but despite having
woken was unable to dispel the image of a dark figure against the pale
landscape of a desert. She shook her head but this failed to dislodge the echo
of the nightmare.

Raising her hands to rub
at her face she felt wetness there, as if she had been crying. She shivered,
drawing her cover to her chin. She had not experienced nightmares like this for
some years, and even then, none quite like this. It had left her filled with
dread, as always, but also vexation, as if there was something she knew her
subconscious was trying to show her but she was unable to see it. Vague
fragments of the dream were still floating about in her head. She focused on
bringing them to the fore to try and make some sense of it.

Something had been closing
in behind her. She had been terrified, crying and running for her life- this
was a common theme in the nightmares after her accident- but her run had not
been the usual mindless rush. She had been striving towards some disremembered
goal. She recalled stumbling through a forest of malevolent black trees that
increased in density the further she ran impeding her progress. Then, without
warning, the environment had shifted, the trees melting away into a very
different setting. She was in a desert. She’d no longer felt afraid, as if her
pursuer could not reach her here, but had still felt agitated.

A human silhouette stood
on the edge of the horizon, like a beckoning beacon. Convinced the figure was
Michael she’d started running towards him, calling his name, but he was too far
away to notice. She’d been impelled by a sense of urgency, as if he was about
to disappear. Fumbling her phone from her pocket she’d attempted to call him
but all her efforts to key in the numbers failed. The digits stubbornly refused
to register correctly. Ditching the phone, she’d struggled onwards through the
obstructive sand.

Finally, she’d been close
enough to know he must hear her. She’d called to him again. His back was turned
to her. He didn’t respond. Then at her approach he’d half-turned but his face
had remained in shadow. She’d woken from the dream at that point, left with the
uneasy feeling twisting her insides that she’d been mistaken. It wasn’t
Michael. And the threat to her was much greater than it had ever been in the
forest.

The details of the dream
had come back to her surprisingly quickly when she’d concentrated enough but
she struggled to decipher its message. Puzzling over it, she eventually sighed
and threw her covers aside. She put it down to having Michael on her mind and
seeing Robert. Last night had raised some ghosts, that
was
all. She refused to give it any further thought.

As was her habit on a
Saturday morning, she stepped into her slippers and pulled her satin dressing
gown around her.  No point getting dressed yet, she thought, coffee
called.

She was about to indulge
in her first sip of the dark velvet liquid, when the door buzzer rang. She
groaned. It was 8.30am on a Saturday! Who was interrupting her first caffeine
fix so early in the morning?  She was inclined to just ignore whoever it
was.

However, the caller was
not to be put off. The buzzer sounded again. Damn it! She put her cup down.
Coffee sloshed over the rim, meandering its way to the edge of the table to
drip insolently onto the floor. She’d failed to place it down carefully, which
riled her even more. This better not be kids messing about again or she’d give
them an earful.

She left her kitchen and
strode over to the console. Pressing the return button she enquired tartly,
“Who is it?”

The answer she received
surprised her. “Delivery for Miss Pearson,” announced a gruff voice on the
other end. 

Maybe this was worth the
interruption after all. She turned on the video, safety always uppermost in her
mind. A huge bunch of flowers obscured the visitor but were sufficient to reassure
her. “I’ll buzz you through,” she said, a bounce in her voice. Could the
flowers be from Michael?

Tightly cinching her robe
more securely around her waist, conscious of the fact she was wearing very
little underneath, she made her way to the door of her apartment. When the
knock came she opened the door but was careful to leave the chain engaged.

Squinting through the gap
the first thing she saw were the flowers again. It was a beautiful bouquet,
bright with sunflowers and blue irises. She sighed in delight but was still a
little wary, asking “Can you show me some ID please?” In answer the delivery
man simply lowered the bouquet and grinned. It was then she understood. 
They were from Michael, yes, but he had chosen to deliver them in person.

She gaped at him.

“Well, aren’t you going to
let me in?” he enquired.

Flushing, she quickly
collected herself. “Yes!
Of course.
One
sec!”

Hastily shutting the door
she was about to release the chain when the image of him standing there, very
urbane and handsome in an immaculately tailored suit, struck her forcibly. It
left her horribly conscious of her own state of undress. She couldn’t let him
see her like this! God knows what she looked like. She’d not even consulted her
mirror yet this morning.  Leaving the chain in situ, she opened the door a
fraction and asked, “Do you mind waiting while I make myself more presentable?”

“I’m afraid I can’t wait,
no,”
he responded unexpectedly. “I’ve got a plane to catch. One of
the reasons I came to deliver these personally was to let you know I’m not
going to be in the country for a while.” His words were rushed, as though he
was anxious to get them said and make his escape.

She made a small
exclamation of concerned surprise and, no longer worried by her
appearance,
she grappled again with the security mechanisms
and flung the door wide.

 “You’re leaving?”
she challenged.

“Only for a short while,”
he qualified. “I have to return to America. I have business there to take care
of.”

She frowned, trying to
adjust herself to this news.

“Can’t you at least stay
for coffee? I’ve just made some.” She gestured towards the kitchen.

He shook his head. She
dropped hers in disappointment and drew in an aggrieved sigh. He offered her
the flowers, which she hadn’t yet taken. “I didn’t want to leave without
apologising for my behaviour last night, hence the flowers.”

Kate pushed them back at
him, no longer enchanted by them. “Are these really an apology Michael or just
another attempt at goodbye?” she asked, her tone both irritated and sad.

He lifted her chin with
his free hand, “You terrify me, but I promise you I’m not running away.”

“Terrify you?” she
queried, puzzled by this turn of phrase.

He smiled. “I’ve never been
more terrified in my life,” he admitted. “Why do you think I reacted the way I
did last night? You make me feel like a reckless teenager again and that scares
me.”

He placed her hand against
his chest. “Feel my heart. Even now it’s pounding.” She could sense the strong,
sonorous rhythm of his heart but it didn't sound fearful. It assuaged
her own
fear while conversely arousing a different kind of
unrest. She had been worried that he was going to disappear from her life, like
a fevered dream, a fleeting, wishful invention of her own imagination but the
solidity and warmth of him under her fingers assured her of his reality. But it
also made the heat rise to her face, the feel of him even through the cotton of
his shirt causing pulses of nervous electricity to jitter through her in time
with the beat of his heart.

She looked up at him, her
eyes dusky with emotion and amazement. “I’m just as scared,” she whispered. She
adopted his manoeuvre, turning his hand and inserting it through the opening of
her robe and against her own chest.  “See?”

Feeling not only her heart
but the soft undulation of her breast as she breathed, Michael shivered. He
withdrew his hand carefully. “I really must be going now,” he muttered
hoarsely.

Kate stepped back in
despondent resignation, tying the loosened silk robe more tightly around her.
However, this act served to accentuate the slimness of her waist and to
delineate her small nipples. Michael inhaled sharply. The heat of his gaze
seemed to flicker like flames over her skin.
Her own
eyes met his and the tension between them increased like a flammable liquid
building to flashpoint.

She swayed towards him, as
though hypnotised. “Leave me with something to remember you by, then,” she
whispered, her gaze dropping to his mouth, inviting a kiss.

He backed up. “The flowers
aren’t enough?” he offered, endeavouring to use humour as a shield against her
advance.

“Not nearly,” she
responded, grabbing his tie and pulling him to her, planting her mouth firmly on
his. He dropped the flowers.

Kissing her would be
fatal. He’d known it and tried to avoid it. As their lips met, the mere taste
of her injected him like a potent elixir. She released his tie to link her
hands around his neck and take the kiss even deeper. He shuddered beneath the
intoxicating pleasure of her tongue melding greedily with his.

Kate was equally overcome
and shocked at the longing that ignited in her with so little contact. She
wanted more from this man; she wanted to join as one with him in the most
intimate way possible. She had denied herself for too long, had lived in desert
and could not be expected to turn away from the water of their mutual desire,
the water that gave new life to her scorched heart. 

The press of her body only
served to apprise him that she was naked beneath her robe. In a valiant effort
to stem the flow of fever firing in his blood, he broke off the kiss. Didn't
she know that he could not give her the emotional investment she needed,
couldn't give her anything but a temporary release from the physical hunger
they aroused in each other?

Unintentionally his
withdrawal simply allowed her hands the freedom to tug at his shirt and her
mouth the ability to assault the sensitive skin of his throat and ear. He
groaned as she explored the contours of his stomach with her fingertips and her
questing hand ventured lower. He grabbed her wrist to try and stop her. “I
can't give you what you want,” he insisted.

Kate glared at him, the
heat of passion in her eyes shot through with lighter sparks of fury. She shook
her hand free of his in frustration and pulled back a little.

“This
is
what I
want,” she countered.

He lowered his head but
not before she’d seen the same thwarted desire in his eyes. She edged
tentatively back towards him. At her approach his golden eyes narrowed and then
flashed with dangerous fire and he cursed savagely. Instead of the further
rejection she’d feared she was unexpectedly thrust against him, the raging
evidence of his ardour throbbing against her. He re-captured her mouth with an
energy born of furiously unleashed need and simply took. The explanation came
to her as she felt her robe voluntarily leave her shoulders and slip to the
floor. It must have fallen open when they’d separated.

The animal lust that had
been restrained for too long within him shrieked its victorious release and his
last coherent thought was one of cynical self- justification: he would do this
and get her out of his system, once and for all.

He pushed her inside and
slammed the door behind him with the heel of his foot.  She matched his
appetite, tearing at his clothes and revelling in the feel of him, as her hands
found steely muscle under silken skin. His hands deftly shrugged off her
briefs, found her pert bottom and gripped it possessively. His hot mouth raced
frenziedly over her skin, sucking and devouring as it landed upon each inviting
nipple. She moaned with a pleasure deeper than she’d ever known, the rasp of
his beard against her sensitive skin stimulating a flood of sensation. 

As she raced to divest him
of his belt and trousers, he lifted her and carried her through to the kitchen.
Laying her on the table, he scattered anything that had the audacity to get in
their way. Aroused to the point of insanity by her shaking, naked splendour, he
penetrated her quickly and without warning. She gasped with the shock and the
satisfaction of it. Unrepentant, he withdrew only to fully thrust himself into
her again, glorying in the surrender and exaltation exploding in her eyes.

She met each plunge with a
cry of fulfilment, grinding her fingers into his skin and propelling her body
upwards in urgent rhythm with his, stoking the incinerating flames higher and
catapulting them both into a state of delirium. As the razor teeth of pleasure
sharpened to a degree that was almost unbearable
, she wrapped
her legs around him, urging him to finish it. He took her then with a savagery
that consumed them both, reaching climax at almost the same moment, Michael
shouting out as he erupted inside her with a release so violent it was almost
painful.

As he lay spent, the
gravity of what he’d done started to steal though his fogged brain. He’d never
meant this to happen. He should have had more restraint. It had been so
barbaric, so furious. She deserved more. He’d had no regard for her, simply
indulging his own disgraceful desires.