Breeze off the Ocean (21 page)

“Scotch and water,” Wolf laughed softly. “You did say whatever I was drinking.”

“Yes,” she exhaled deeply. “But if you don’t mind, I don’t think I can finish this.” She handed the now-half-empty glass back to him and turning, added jerkily, “I—I think I’ll have a shower.”

Forty-five minutes later, clothed only in the filmy nightgown and matching robe that had been a bridal gift from her father and Regina, Micki stood in her bare feet, staring out the huge square bedroom window that looked out over the beach and ocean. The bedroom was decorated in the same earth tones as the living room, the furniture modern with straight, clean lines.

Hearing the shower shut off, she shivered and curled her toes into the soft fiber of the carpet. Wolf had come into the room while she was brushing her hair and, with hardly a glance at her, had gone directly into the bathroom. When the bathroom door opened, she closed her eyes. The thick carpet muffled Wolfs light tread and when his finger touched her shoulders she jumped, startled.

“Relax, honey.” Wolfs warm breath ruffled the hair at her temple. This isn’t going to hurt a bit.”

His hands moving slowly, he slid the robe over her shoulders and down her arms to her hands, where the garment dropped soundlessly to the floor. She shivered as his fingers trailed back up her arms to the ribbon bows on her shoulders that kept the gown in place. His lips teasing the sensitive skin behind her ear, his fingers tugged open the bows and the sheer gown slithered sensuously down her body.

For tormenting moments his hands caressed her shoulders, her throat, before he turned her slowly to face him. Raw desire shimmered darkly in his silvery eyes. As he bent his head to hers, Micki, torn between apprehension and anticipation, breathed.

“Oh, Wolf.”

Expecting the searing brand of his mouth, Micki closed her eyes. His lips barely touched hers. Light as down, he brushed her mouth with his, again and again, slowly building in her a need for his kiss. Adding to the tantalizing touch of his lips, his fingertips drew maddeningly fine lines down the side of her neck. When the tip of his tongue danced along her lower lip, she moaned with the urgency only this man could arouse in her.

With a small sob she coiled her arms around his neck and at that moment his mouth crushed hers, while his arms, encircling her body, drew her close to him. His kiss was hard, demanding and giving at the same time, and Micki gave herself up to the sheer joy of it.

Without breaking the kiss, Wolf straightened. His arms, holding her tightly, drew her up with him, then, her toes dangling inches above the floor, he carried her to the side of the bed. Sliding her body against his, he set her back on her feet. Wordlessly he lowered her to the bed and stretched his long length beside her.

All thought ceased for Micki. All she wanted was the feel of his mouth, his hands, his body. It had been so very, very long, and she loved him so very, very much.

Wolf’s mouth played with hers, teasing her, delighting her. His tongue pierced and explored while his hands caressed and grew bold, exciting her to the edge of endurance. When his lips left hers she threw back her head to give him access to her throat. Making a moist path, his lips moved down the arched column to the hollow at its base where he paused to explore with his tongue, then, moving on, his lips climbed the soft mound of her breast to its summit, closed around its hard peak.

Micki was unaware of the soft moaning sounds she was making deep in her throat until Wolf, returning to kiss and tongue-tease her neck near her ear, whispered, “That’s right, honey, purr for me. Purr like the amoral little cat you—”

It took ten full seconds for his words to sink in and when they did Micki froze.

“What did you say?” Her voice sounded loud after the murmurings of lovemaking.

“I think you heard me.” Lifting his head, Wolf looked at her coolly.

“You think I’m immoral?”

“Not immoral, honey, amoral,” he corrected. “Like a cat that doesn’t know any better.”

“Let me go,” Micki whispered around the pain in her throat. “I said let me go,” she snapped when he made no move to obey. “I don’t want you.”

“Oh, but you do, and I know it,” Wolf whispered. “I’m a male and that’s all that’s required, isn’t it?”

Micki didn’t think; she reacted. Curling her hand into a small fist she lifted her arm and punched him right in the mouth. Wolf’s head jerked back and then he laughed.

“I really am going to enjoy making you eat your words and anything else that comes to mind.”

Moving swiftly he caught her mouth with his, kissing her sensually, erotically until she was breathless and had stopped struggling against him. Then with slow deliberation, using all the expertise he possessed—and that was considerable—he set a blaze burning inside her that only one thing would quench. His own breathing ragged, he growled, “I’ll make you forget Tony, and Baxter and God knows how many others. By the time I’m through with you, no other man will ever satisfy you.
You
may hate me everywhere else, but you’ll beg for me in bed.”

“No.” Micki’s head moved from side to side. What did he mean Tony and Baxter and the many others? Surely he didn’t think ...

“Wolf, no, I—”

“Yes,” Wolf rasped against her mouth, silencing her.

* * * *

It was past noon when Micki woke up. She was alone in the bed, and, if the still quiet was any indication, in the apartment. Turning her head wearily on the pillow, she gazed out the huge window at yet another blatantly blue sky. Now, in early September, after a long summer filled with blatantly blue skies, Micki wished for chill, cloudy days to match her mood.

Stirring restlessly, she closed her eyes. Where the hell were all the cold, rainy days people were always singing about? Spreading her fingers, she smoothed her palm over the sheet where Wolf had lain, humiliating heat warming her body. He had made good his threat—several times over. She had not only welcomed him she had urged him to join with her; she had literally begged.

With a groan she rolled over, her body replacing her hand on the now-cool sheet, her face burrowing into the indentation Wolf’s head had made in the pillow.

Curling into a tight ball, she wept the tears of the damned. He had stripped her of all pride, all pretense. Inside her head she could hear the echo of her own damnation.

“Wolf, please—please,” she had pleaded.

‘You’ll have to do better than that,” Wolf had taunted.

“What do you want of me?” she’d wept.

“Everything,” he’d growled harshly. “Your body, your soul, your mind. I’d ask for your heart, but I know you don’t possess one.”

That, more than anything that followed, had hurt her the most. He thought her amoral. A hedonistic little alley cat incapable of deep affection or love. A hard shudder shook her body. She had made one attempt to tell him how she felt. Nearly incoherent, sobbing into his shoulder, she’d pleaded, “Wolf, please, don’t do this to me. I love you.”

Wolf had become still for a moment, and then his harsh laughter struck her with more force than if he’d used his fist on her.

“Oh, sure,” he’d taunted coldly. “Me and Tony and Baxter and probably every other male you’ve ever met in between. Save your love song for the naive ones. I don’t need or want it. But I do want everything else. So coax me, honey. Change your love song to a lust song and I just might hear you.”

And all the time he’d been inflicting those hurtful words on her he’d also been inflicting an exquisite brand of torture. With his hands, with his mouth, with his entire body, he had pushed her up one side of the mountain called desire and chased her down the other side.

Mindless, lost, and groping in the world of the senses he’d created around her, she had clutched at him, pleading, sobbing, begging him to find her, save her.

And when, finally, he had, not once, but over and over again, she had completed her own damnation by humbly thanking him.

Now, alone, eaten alive by love, Micki wept into the pillow that still held his spicy, masculine scent.

By the time Wolf returned to the apartment, most of the day was gone—as were all traces of the tears she’d shed.

Barefoot, dressed in jeans and a cotton sweater, Micki sat curled up in a chair, an unlooked-at magazine on her lap.

Coming to a stop three feet in front of her chair, Wolf, looking drawn and bone tired in an obviously hand-tailored business suit, studied her makeup-free face brooding.

“How young you look,” he said softly. “Young and innocent and untouched.”

“Wolf.”

Her anguished cry seemed to snap something inside of him. Flinging himself into the chair opposite hers, he closed his eyes and massaged his forehead with his fingertips. As his hand moved, he raked his fingers through his hair and looked up at her.

“I’m sorry, baby.” His voice was raw and soft. “I’ve had one hell of a day reliving all I said to you, did to you last night. And the damning thing is I meant to do it. Planned to do it.”

“Why, Wolf?” Micki whispered brokenly.

“Because I couldn’t stand the thought of all those other men,” he replied harshly. “Or that you had rejected my child.” His eyes, glinting with resentment and anger, pierced hers. “You didn’t have to get rid of it, Micki. All you had to do was call me.” His voice went raw with emotion. “I’d have taken care of you. I wanted to take care of you.”

“But, Wolf, I—”

“You had no right, damn you.” Wolf’s stinging words cut across hers as if he hadn’t heard her. “You had no right to have it scraped from your body like a detested growth.”

“Wolf, stop,” Micki commanded in sudden anger. “I— oh!” With a gasp she cringed back against the chair, for Wolf had jumped to his feet, crossed the space between them, and stood looming over her.

“Stop, hell,” he snarled. “Let’s have it out in the open. It’s been festering in my guts long enough. I’d have kept it, Micki. I thought that weekend was beautiful and to have a child from it would have made it perfect.”

Really afraid of him now, yet unwilling to admit it even to herself, Micki glared up at Wolf and challenged him. “Are you going to beat me, Wolf?”

“Beat you?” Wolf frowned following her eyes as they dropped to his tightly clenched fists. Sighing deeply, he backed up, his fingers slowly uncurling. “No, Micki.” He smiled ruefully as he lowered his body wearily into the chair. “I did enough damage to you last night without taking my fists to you.” His eyes flashed briefly. “But I felt I had to obliterate in my mind as well as yours the memory of all those other men.”

Hot, swift anger seared through Micki’s mind. He had said those words one too many times.

“Goddamn you, Wolf, there were no other men!” Micki cried. “There has never been any other man.” With a sudden violence that startled him, she flung the magazine across the room and said bitterly, “And I didn’t kill or get rid of or chase your baby.” The spurt of fire died as quickly as it had flared, leaving her pale face with a haunted look. “I wanted your baby, Wolf.” Her voice was husky with remembered pain. “I wanted it desperately. I lost it.”

“But you said abortion.” Wolfs tone revealed his mental torment. “Your exact words were, ‘I haven’t felt this bad since the abortion, don’t lie to me, Micki, not now.”

“Yes, I said abortion, because that is the correct term.” Wolf winced and she added strongly, “That is the correct medical term, Wolf. I did not reject your baby, my body did.”

The eyes that stared into hers lost their silver clarity and grew uncertain with doubt. Her eyes filled with tears.

“I don’t have to lie to you, Wolf. Go to the hospital. Check the records,” she urged. “If the doctor that took care of me is still there, I’ll give my permission for you to talk to him.” Her voice caught on a sob, and brushing the tears from her cheek, she whispered, “I held the thought of your baby very closely, Wolf. Losing it was like losing part of myself.”

Wolf was quiet a long time and Micki watched, her bottom lip caught between her teeth, as the clouds of doubt left his eyes.

“Oh my God!”

The whispered words were more a plea than a curse. Dropping his head back onto the chair, he stared through the window at the sky. When his eyes came back to hers, the silver had changed to a bleak gray.

“Why did you run away from me six years ago, Micki?” he asked wearily. “Was I too old for you? Had I frightened you?”

“No!” Micki exclaimed.

‘Then why?” he demanded. “For six years I’ve asked myself that question. Why, after that fantastic weekend, had you run? When I came for you that night I wanted to give you”—his hand waved in an encompassing circle—”everything. Damn it, Micki, I was prepared to do anything to keep you with me. I wanted to marry you.” His tone went ragged. “Why did you run?”

Tears stinging her eyes, Micki swallowed against the tightness in her throat and whispered, “I thought you were having an affair with Regina.”

“WHAT!”

The word seemed to bounce off the walls.

“I know, now, that it wasn’t true,” Micki said quickly. “But for six years I thought it was. And I couldn’t stay with you thinking you and she had—” Micki shuddered.

“God,” Wolf groaned, then, Tony?” Before she could reply he added harshly, “How I hated that name. It seemed every time I called you all I heard was that name. Tony. Tony. Tony. Even when I mentioned your name in the shop I heard, ‘She’s in Albany with Tony.’ Were you?”

“I went to Albany to attend Tony’s wedding,” Micki said quietly. “He’s a friend. A very good friend. Nothing more.”

“And Baxter?”

“Darrel asked me to marry him,” she explained. “I said no. And as for any others over the years, casual dates, all of them.”

“Come here to me, babe,” Wolf coaxed, holding out his arms to her. “You can do whatever you like when you get here. Kiss me, punch me in the mouth again, anything. But come let me hold you.”

Jumping out of her chair, Micki ran to him, snuggled into his arms.

“We make a pair,” he murmured into her hair. “Me, going out of my mind thinking you’re jumping in and out of bed with every guy you meet. And you, eating your heart out because you believed I was sleeping with your stepmother, and God knows how many others. Oh, yes, we make a fine pair. We deserve each other.”