Hard to Hold (True Romance) (23 page)

“Is that why you’re so sweet?” he asked, kissing her.

She slapped him on the arm, but with all the padding of their clothes, he didn’t feel anything but the iciness of her lips and then the comforting warmth of her tongue.

“Not the most original compliment that’s ever come out of your mouth, Mike Davoli.”

“Sometimes, the old standbys can’t be beat. Like, I can’t help but wonder what I ever did to deserve you.”

Cliché or not, he delivered the line straight from the soul. He stared into Anne’s eyes, brushing away the feathery snowflakes that had fluttered across her lashes.

“Right back at you,” she said.

“I’m serious,” he insisted.

The wattage of her smile dimmed, but not the power. He’d somehow tethered her happiness to the innermost chamber of his heart and knew he’d move heaven and earth to keep that smile shining for the rest of his life.

“You are, aren’t you?” she asked. “And you’re rarely this serious. What’s up?”

“Anne, I love you.”

The words exploded as if shot from a cannon embedded in his chest. For the first time in a month, he’d done nothing to stop them and the result was both terrifying and liberating.“Michael?” she questioned.

“I love you, Anne. I truly, deeply, and desperately love you.”

“Oh my God,” she said with a gasp. “I love you, too.”

He thought he heard relief in her voice, but he didn’t have time to sort out anything more than the feel of her mouth, her arms around his shoulders, and her body pressed against his. A long moment elapsed before he understood that he was not only making out with Anne in the driveway of his parent’s home, but he was kissing the woman he loved in the same spot where he’d once played one-on-one with his dad, where he’d scraped his knees riding his skateboard, and where he’d first learned to park a car.

In the cradle of his childhood, he held Anne close and kissed her even deeper.

“I can’t believe I waited this long to say it,” he said once they finally broke apart.

“I can’t either,” she said, and this time, he couldn’t miss a hint of impatience, as if she’d been waiting for him to break this barrier for quite some time. “How long have you known?”

“If I said the minute you agreed to watch Sirus for me while I moved into my new apartment, would you believe me?” he asked.

“No,” she said.

“How about the night you broke into my apartment with my credit card?”

“Try again.”

“Okay.” He slid his arms around her waist and tugging her so close that their down jackets squeaked together. “How about when you threw me out of your apartment because you weren’t going to settle for anything less than a full, committed relationship?”

“That’s believable,” she said, kissing the frozen tip of his nose. “I knew I was falling in love with you then, too. I just didn’t want to be the only one.”

“You’ll never be the only one ever again.”

After falling asleep in Peru while listening to her breathe and then dealing with their separate apartments the moment they returned to New York, he wondered how he’d survive staying in different rooms in his father’s house. He didn’t want to spend another night without her. Not ever.

He swallowed deeply, clutched her just above her down-padded elbows, and said, “Move in with me.”

Twenty

H
ER MIND ALREADY REELING
from his unexpected declaration of love, Anne had trouble comprehending what he’d just suggested.

Move in together? Mix her predilection for messy comfort with his insistence on precise order? Share the rare quiet moments with not only her man, but his dog? Was she ready for such a huge step?

“Look, I’ve been thinking about this,” he said. “With your hours, we hardly see each other. If we lived in the same apartment, we’d be together more often. It seems silly for us to be running up and down between apartments and paying rent twice. If the only time I get to sleep with you is between one and six o’clock in the morning when I get up for work, then so be it. I’ll take what I can get.”

Even blindsided by this suggestion, Anne couldn’t deny his logic. Lying side by side in the tiny tent on the side of a mountain in the Andes had been preferable to what they were doing now. One floor away—or one room away, like here at his dad’s—felt like the whole of the South American continent.

But she loved her apartment. She’d lovingly picked out every mismatched piece of furniture and she adored being able to drop her clothes in a trail from her front door to her bathroom on her way to the shower without worrying about it annoying anyone.

And it would annoy Michael. He hadn’t said anything out loud, but as he’d picked up after her in their hotel room in Lima on the last night before they’d left, he’d huffed and puffed a little louder than was necessary. On the high of finding out that the deep feelings she held for him were not one-sided, she didn’t want to ruin it with talk of their Felix and Oscar tendencies.

“I don’t know, Michael. My job is so weird right now. Can we talk about it again after I get back on a regular schedule? I’m not saying no—”

In typical Michael fashion, he waylaid any conflict by kissing her soundly. Only after Sirus pushed her way through Michael’s legs to alert them both that she’d had enough of the cold white stuff did they break apart.

His father had brewed a pot of decaf before going to bed. She poured a mug for each of them while he dried off the dogs with towels from the laundry room. They drank, quietly holding hands across the kitchen table, and chatted about Christmas Eve, reviewing the string of relatives she’d met and matching them to their respective offspring.

Thankfully, Mike dropped the subject of them living together. She needed time to mull the idea over at her own pace, and as usual, he seemed to know this without her saying a word. He filled the quiet kitchen with reminders about the fabulous gourmet breakfast his mother and sisters would prepare, after which they’d retire to the Christmas tree for a gift exchange and then work off their meal with a long walk and a marathon viewing of all three
Godfather
movies.

While he ran down the list of activities, her mind snapped back to that moment in the driveway. Michael loved her. And not only had he confessed his deepest feelings, but he also wanted to live with her. He wanted her perennial mess in his pin-neat space. He wanted to share a bed with her each and every night, even though she knew how much he worried about how his Tourette’s might cause him to hurt her while they slept. On the nights she stayed at his place or he at hers, she’d sensed his reluctance to hold her as they fell asleep.

And now, he was willing to face that anxiety every night?

Why?

Because he loved her, that’s why.

“Then around five o’clock,” he explained, holding out his hand and bringing her back into the present. “The cousins will descend again for another seafood feast, this time courtesy of my mother. She may be Jewish, but she’s embraced the whole Italian experience.”

Anne laughed. She’d worry about living arrangements later. Right now, she just wanted to revel in the happiness of the holiday. Every last bit. Even the calories.

“I’m going to need serious gym time to work off this weekend,” she said.

He pulled her close. “Or, we could work it off at home, if you know what I mean.”

If she hadn’t caught his innuendo in the kitchen, she understood it completely when he walked her upstairs and kissed her good night. His lips and tongue made promises that set her body on fire. He slid his hands into her hair, bracing her cheeks in that intimate way that always made her mad with wanting. She couldn’t resist smoothing her hands over his backside and pressing him close so she could feel him harden against her.

“You’re killing me,” he said with a groan.

“It’s murder-suicide, trust me,” she replied. “I love you, Michael, but if you don’t get out of here soon, I may tug you into your sister’s room and force you to make love to me.”

“Don’t tempt me,” he chided.

After one last long, languorous kiss in the hallway and another “I love you,” Michael disappeared into his childhood bedroom with Sirus. Somewhat in a daze, Anne closed the door in his sister’s old room. She changed into her pajamas and climbed under the flowered bedspread and turned out the lights. In the combination of moonlight and streetlamp through the lacy curtains, she could see the vintage teddy bears and dolls staring down at her with their button eyes and painted lips, so incongruous next to the MTV poster of some teen heartthrob Anne only vaguely recognized.

Then she couldn’t help giggling like she was ten again. Of all the places she’d expected to spend the night after the man she loved finally admitted his feelings for her, this certainly wasn’t it. Her entire body yearned to share his bed all night long, putting into action the words they’d just exchanged.

Instead, the space she wanted to occupy was being filled by a dog.

She laughed even harder. During the nights she slept over at Mike’s place, she and Sirus already fought for the space closest to him. If she moved in, the territorial showdowns were going to make things interesting. And yet, no matter how things worked out with the dog, Anne knew that living with Mike—and loving him—made her the winner.

Six months later, Anne told the management that her Albany apartment would soon be available for rental.

“I can’t believe you’re moving in with him,” Shane said.

After nearly a year of knitting, she’d become fairly adept at the craft. She stuck to scarves and blankets, as more complicated projects would have been inhibited by the wine they drank during their outings. Still preferring bright colors, this night’s afghan featured bright summer pinks and oranges that evoked memories of the blazing sun that had turned June hotter than normal. Anne, on the other hand, was working with a delicate blue and silver angora yarn that was soft and fluffy and reminded her of icy cold snowflakes.

Thanks to a pitcher of iced sangria made with the bar’s house red and a generous dose of brandy, they were enjoying a cool, relaxing minimeeting of their knitting club. Adele was out of town and Kate, who’d started joining them last week, had to attend a piano recital for her teenage daughter.

“Don’t you think I should move in with him?” Anne asked, surprised at Shane’s reaction. None of her friends had voiced any trepidation over her and Mike’s plan to cohabitate. Even her parents admitted that this was a good move.

“Of course I do,” Shane said, waving her hand dismissively. “I just thought you’d cling to your independence until the day you died.”

“Where I live has nothing to do with who I am,” Anne insisted. “Besides, Mike gives me my space. I’ve never met anyone who is so open-minded and nonjudgmental. Except for my messiness. It already drives him crazy and I’m not even living with him yet.”

“You going to try and straighten up?” Shane asked, wiggling her eyebrows at her incredibly bad pun.

Anne sighed. “I’m not wired to be neat. Ask my mother. Ask my college roommate! It really makes no sense. I’m so organized in every other aspect of my life. I suppose I use up all my left brain on work.”

“And speaking of work—” Shane started, but Anne’s groan cut her off.

“Please, let’s not. Tomorrow will be my day of reckoning.”

She’d managed to maneuver herself off of the night shift for a week, but only because she’d been covering a murder trial that had started as an arson investigation. On the midnight shift, she’d been the first reporter on the scene. She’d filed the first articles linking the suspicious blaze to the domestic problems of the couple who owned the charred house.

Since the situation had now turned into a trial, she’d insisted on being moved to the day shift so she could cover the court proceedings.

Unfortunately, the case was turning out to be a snoozefest of filings and objections and procedural issues. Pamela had hinted more than once that she wanted Anne back on nights.

Only Anne wasn’t willing to go back.

Ever.

Shane refilled their glasses and they were toasting her showdown with her boss when Mike tapped on the window. The wine bar and bistro had seating outdoors, but in the sultry summer, they’d stayed inside. Mike had Sirus on her leash, so Anne darted to the side exit door.

“What’s up?”

“Sorry to interrupt your knitting,” he said, waving at Shane over her shoulder.

Sirus wriggled and whined until Anne bent and gave the dog a hearty scratch behind her ears. “Grab some needles and join us.”

“I’d probably stick my eye,” he said. “I just came by to bring you your cell phone. You forgot it at the apartment.”

The apartment.

Not
my
apartment. Their apartment. Anne reeled, but in an excited way.

He tucked the phone into her back pocket, his hand lingering on her backside longer than was strictly necessary. She didn’t mind one bit. Her entire body tingled at the knowledge that no matter what time she wandered home tonight, at some point, she was going to end up in Michael’s bed.

“Sure you didn’t stop by just to cop a feel?”

“I plead the fifth,” he said, holding his hand to his heart.