Friday's Child (15 page)

“You're a mess,” she said breathlessly when he lifted his lips from hers. “You're covered with hair.” She brushed the little clippings from his shoulders in vain.

“I know.” He rubbed his chest against hers. “Now you are, too. I guess we'll have to take a shower.” He got to his feet, still holding her in his arms, and headed for the stairs, inordinately pleased with himself.

“Most of my customers just leave a tip,” Kate said with mock seriousness.

He set her on her feet in the small bathroom and turned on the water. “Honey, this is the tip.”

They were still laughing when they stepped under the spray. Michael was solicitous about soaping her thoroughly, and she enjoyed the opportunity to touch him freely, as well. Hands slick with soap roamed over wet, slippery skin, heating as they cleansed. Minutes later the soap was forgotten and Michael crowded her against the wall of the shower. After preparing himself he lifted her, and she clasped her legs around his hips while he slid into her with a firm, deep stroke.

The water was growing cool by the time their breathing had calmed. He helped her from the shower and toweled her dry, handing her another towel for her hair. He dried off carelessly, then dropped the towel to the floor, modesty not an issue. As if he'd done it countless times before, he walked with her to her bedroom and crawled into the old brass bed with her.

Long after he had fallen asleep, his chest rising and falling evenly with his breathing, she lay awake, her mind refusing to rest. The events of the evening were totally unlike her, and
she felt like a giddy stranger. All her life she'd been staid, sensible Kate, the envy of all her mother's friends.
You must be so proud of Kate. She's such a help with the little ones, isn't she?

If her mother had ever shown that pride, Kate would have felt proud, too. But because she hadn't, Kate had felt used, trapped and resentful. No one would have suspected how many times as a child she'd longed to do something wild and impetuous, something to shock people into seeing her as a person. Something that wasn't sensible in the least.

Sleeping with Michael just might qualify. He called to every romantic instinct she'd buried so long ago. He'd become a part of her life almost before she'd realized it, and tonight he'd become something more.

All her life she'd wished for something more meaningful than being needed. Right now, lying in the arms of this man, she found herself wishing with all her heart that need would be enough.

T
he hardest thing he'd ever done, reflected Michael as he went through the mail and memos that had piled up in his office during his absence, was to get up and leave Kate that morning. As big as he was, her double bed had felt cramped to him, but the close quarters had enabled him to keep her near all night. That had more than made up for the slight discomfort. He'd roused early, at first light, and just lay there watching her. She was even more beautiful in repose, with her long hair tangled around her bare shoulders. He'd wanted to touch her but had been unwilling to chance waking her. It hadn't been necessary. She'd opened those heart-stopping blue eyes sleepily and smiled at him, slow and welcoming. Their early morning kiss had started out sweet and quickly turned serious. So serious, in fact, that he'd had to rush to get home and changed before driving to the office.

Waking up in Kate's bed had been immensely satisfying. Sleeping next to her all night had been even more so. He could have slipped away and gone home earlier, avoiding the downtown traffic he detested, but he would never have left her like that. He hadn't wanted her to wake up and feel regret
for what had happened between them. In his business, he was used to anticipating and planning for every possible outcome. He'd be willing to bet that her first response after making love with him would be to withdraw, to strive to rebuild her defenses. He wasn't going to allow her the opportunity to do so. He hadn't left until they'd finalized plans to see each other that evening.

He sorted the pieces of mail into haphazard piles, throwing a good portion of them into the trash without more than a cursory glance. It was a task that required no more than a fraction of his attention, leaving his mind free to linger over the woman who filled it. Every time he remembered the little she'd revealed about her childhood, a knot formed in his gut. All children needed to feel secure in their parents' love. His father had never provided that kind of support in his life, but he'd never had reason to doubt his mother's feelings for him. Kate had an instinctive warmth that demanded a corresponding emotion, but she hadn't received any such reassurance. She'd damned her parents with the little she'd said and with what she'd left unsaid.

He'd wondered about the cause of her wariness, and now he thought he understood. Because he did, he was more certain than ever that he could offer her exactly what she needed—the warmth of a real family, with the occasional craziness that went with it. They'd have the whole thing together. A family, pets, jobs—he figured she'd want to continue working after they got married—and more children. A surge of heat filled him at the thought. She would want children, and God knew he'd welcome them, as well. Chloe would be thrilled to have some brothers or sisters. It was almost uncanny how perfectly Kate suited him, when only a few weeks ago he'd have sworn he would never meet a woman who really interested him, much less one he'd want to marry.

Hands behind his head, he leaned back in his chair pensively. He wondered just how quickly he could convince her to marry him. He tempered his impatience with logic. It would be a mistake to push Kate too far, too fast. Maybe Christmastime. He examined the idea from all angles with
fierce concentration and decided it was possible. It was far enough in the future to give her the time she'd need to get used to the idea. His contract with NASA dictated that he have FORAY ready to deliver by October, so the project would be out of the way. He rocked in the chair a little as he considered. The honeymoon would need to be somewhere tropical, but that shouldn't be a problem. The thought of spending a few weeks in the sun with Kate in a bikini had the blood pooling hotly in his loins.

It would work, he thought, satisfied. He always felt better when he had exact goals in mind, with timelines for their accomplishment. Their relationship was progressing smoothly, and as long as he remained patient, there was no reason to expect any obstacles. Restraint would be difficult when he wanted nothing more than to provide her with the kind of family life she'd missed out on as a child. The kind they'd both missed out on. But goals as important as this one were well worth the planning.

There was a knock on his door, but his secretary didn't wait for his invitation before she entered. Stomping over to his desk, she slammed his schedule book down in front of him and surveyed him with her hands on her hips.

Michael watched her blandly. “Is that a new dress, Bernie?”

She made a sound between a snort and a growl. “I don't know how long you're planning to be here, but your day is already filling up.” She glared at him accusingly. “I thought you were supposed to be working at home.”

“I was and I am. But I knew you'd miss me if I didn't show up occasionally.” He gave her his most charming smile. It had no noticeable effect.

“That lawyer, Mr. Winslow, will be here at nine, but Miss Patrie from marketing needs to talk to you, as well. When should I tell her you'll see her?”

He considered for a moment. The meeting with his lawyer would be time-consuming. At the end of the day they'd make their move on that company he was intent on acquiring, and they needed to plot last-minute strategy. “Not until three,”
he finally responded. “And tell her she's only got an hour. I'm leaving early today.” Ignoring Bernie's sniff of disdain, he continued, “Let Derek and Trask know what time Winslow will be here. And we'll need lunch sent in.”

Without another word Bernie turned and marched silently for the door.

Ordinarily a day such as this one would fill him with anticipation. He enjoyed the adrenaline rush that resulted from matching wits with his competitors, the endless planning before making a move designed to take the market by surprise. But he was unable to drum up his usual enthusiasm. Glancing at his watch, he mentally calculated the hours until he'd see Kate. Too damn long. He wondered what she was doing right now, what she was thinking. He shifted restlessly in his chair before reaching for the telephone. His hand hovered above the receiver, then dropped. She needed some space, he lectured himself, though not too much. He forced down the impatience welling inside him. Business first. He'd savor the thought of his upcoming evening with Kate as the reward at the end of the day that stretched before him. She would be worth the wait.

 

Michael looked at home in the pizza and pool parlor, Kate thought, although his large frame dwarfed the ladder-back chair he was sitting in. That mouthwatering muscular build was tucked snugly into denim and cotton. Looking at him made her breath go short and her pulse ping-pong crazily. She knew from experience that he could wear an Armani suit with the same ease and look every bit as provocative.

He reached over and picked up her hand, measuring her palm against his. “What did you do today?”

Her thoughts splintered as heat transferred from his touch. “Studied for my exam. Did a little work on some lessons for next fall.”

He looked surprised. “Getting kind of a head start, aren't you?”

“There are a couple of new units I'd like to prepare. Since I'm not taking classes this summer, I hope to get quite a bit
of schoolwork done.” She welcomed the simple conversation. She'd also spent a lot of the day thinking. But her attempt to balance the events of last night with a dose of realism had been frustrated by the intimate memories that had insisted on seeping into her consciousness.

“How was the office?”

The corner of his mouth pulled down. “Tedious. Things pile up when I'm gone, even when I stay in contact daily.” He paused when the waitress came up to take their order.

Kate observed the way the girl lingered near Michael's chair. He had a sheerly masculine presence that any female couldn't help but react to. Certainly, she had done so last night. The memory washed her cheeks with color. The novelty of waking up with a man in her bed, with
Michael
in her bed, had filled her with giddy pleasure. And then he'd kissed her, and the pleasure had changed to the deep froths of passion he could evoke from her so easily.

He hadn't released her hand, and when the waitress left, the beam of his gaze was directed solely at her once again, bathing her with heat. He sent a thumb skimming over her knuckles. “You don't know how many times I reached for the phone today.”

“You wanted to call?” The admission pleased her, made it easier to meet his intent hazel eyes.

He gave a slow nod. “Only about a hundred times. But I figured you needed the break, so I had to settle for counting the hours until I could see you again.”

His words sent hot licks of pleasure flickering in her stomach. To distract him, and herself, she said, “You must have been busy today.”

“Swamped,” he agreed cheerfully. “We're moving on another company tomorrow and needed to get some final details ironed out.”

Her fingers stiffened a little in his hand. “What does that mean? Moving on?”

“I'm hoping to acquire it.”

Kate surveyed him carefully.
The Beltway Raider.
The term
whispered across her mind, leaving traces of uneasiness. “You mean a hostile takeover.”

His fingers closed around hers, trapping them neatly. “We'll be offering a buyout, yes. Hummels, the owner, over-extended his company, put too much stock public. Since I now own a good portion of that stock, I'm in a position to make an offer.”

Something inside her refused to leave the topic alone. “Will the owner be able to refuse your offer?”

“I doubt it. Not unless he has some reserve that can be easily liquidated for cash. And I don't think he has. Otherwise he never would have chanced putting that much stock on the market.”

She dropped her gaze, strangely shaken. “You must have been planning this for a very long time.”

“About a year.” When her shocked gaze bounced back to his, he gave her a wry grin. “I told you once I could be patient, didn't I?”

“Yes,” she murmured. “You did.” That patience of his was a curious contradiction, since he struck her as a man who reached out and took what he wanted. She decided that corporate moves such as the one he was alluding to weren't about patience at all. They were all about planning and control.

A shiver trickled down her spine, stiffening her resolve. She liked knowing where she was going before starting out. Getting involved with Michael was more like jumping off the edge of a cliff than taking a journey, she acknowledged, but the analogy remained valid. If she was intent on taking the first step, she'd do so with a map in hand.
Her
map.
Her
route.
Her
destination.

Michael released her hand so the waitress could place the steaming pizza on the table between them. “When does Chloe come back?” she asked as she placed a slice of pizza on a plate and handed it to him.

“Not until tomorrow night. Mrs. Martin will go and fetch her. I've got a meeting that will last until late, and I want Trask there. He's also investigating teachers for dance and
gymnastics. If Chloe is agreeable, he'll get her signed up at one of the centers.”

“She's going to love it.”

His mouth quirked. “Yeah, I think so, too.”

“You might also consider art lessons. She has natural ability, and it is the one area she can attend to for longer amounts of time.” She eyed Michael thoughtfully. “But I suppose all these activities for Chloe could get to be a scheduling nightmare.”

“No, I think it would be great. I just can't believe I haven't thought of any of this on my own. I'm going to be spending most of the summer working at home, and either Trask or I would be available to take her wherever she needs to go.”

“Just how did you acquire Trask, anyway?” She asked the question that she'd often wondered about. “He seems an unusual nanny.”

Michael almost choked on his second slice of pizza. “I wish he could hear you call him that.” He shook his head. “Trask doesn't really have a job title. He just takes care of things for me. When I was trying to convince him to come and work for me, I told him he'd be head of security. He's become much more than that.”

She'd observed as much for herself. Both Chloe and Michael obviously cared for the huge, taciturn man, and she'd seen for herself how good he was with the little girl.

His eyes darkened, but his voice remained calm. “I met him about a month after I'd taken over my father's company, after I'd dismantled it piece by piece. I'd wanted to destroy my father for what he'd done to me and my mother, and I did it.

“Trask had worked for Jonathan, had been head of security for the old man's company. He just showed up at my office one day, demanded to see me. I was curious, so I met with him.” Michael's gaze was still on her, but his sight had turned inward. “He said he just wanted to meet the son of a bitch who was a chip off the old man's block. I was furious when he implied I was anything like my father. I'd spent too many years hating Jonathan. I'm not proud to admit that until
Trask pointed it out to me, I'd never given a thought to the hundreds of employees I'd put out of work with my actions. I didn't think about the lives disrupted, the possible homes lost…” His mouth tightened. “Put in that light, I had to admit that I was more like my father than I'd ever dreamed possible. I wouldn't face it, of course. Not for a while. But eventually I found Trask again and convinced him to come and work for me.”

“How did you do that?”

Michael contemplated her question for a moment. “I honestly don't know,” he said finally. “I'm determined when I want something, but Trask is an immovable wall. I guess I finally managed to convince him that he was the only one who could help me.”

“To head up security?”

He shook his head. “No. To keep me from becoming my father.” His voice was wry, but no less sincere, when he added, “You could say it's become my life's work.”