Heartbreaker (The Warriors) (16 page)

Bliss managed to relax enough to answer several questions put to her by her father about her upcoming New York show. She wondered if he was trying to distract her from worrying about Micah. Without appearing to break stride as she listened to her father, she noted in quiet asides to Micah the arrangement of the food on his plate with each course served by the wait–staff.

Mellow–sounding music by a popular Saint Thomas dance band drifted around them. Bliss had always considered the bands’ sound uniquely sensual and very appropriate for the lovers who frequented the Lagoon. As her gaze strayed to Micah when he responded to a remark from Cyrus, she didn’t know that her love for him glowed in the brilliant blue of her almond–shaped eyes.

Cyrus filled the few conversational lapses that occurred as they dined. He responded with unusual animation whenever Bliss asked a question. She felt a growing gratitude for his obvious willingness to make the evening a positive experience for Micah, even though she couldn’t completely conceal her amazement that he managed the task with such ease.

This, she realized, was a side of her father that she’d rarely seen during his infrequent visits since her parents’ divorce. She decided, without any resentment, that his fondness for Micah now allowed him to display the amiable personality normally hidden beneath layers of professional preoccupation.

Micah concentrated on his meal, although he tasted little of what he consumed. After finishing his food and placing his silverware on the outside rim of his plate, he stiffened. His head tilted to one side when he heard unfamiliar footsteps on the hardwood floor at least three or four yards from their table.

Instincts too ingrained to ignore alerted him to the presence of an individual other than a member of the restaurant staff or the protection detail. "Cyrus, behind you." Micah spoke tersely, startling Bliss with his abrupt comment and drawing a smile from his former boss.

"It’s Hamilton, son, the new Secret Service fellow I told you about this afternoon." Cyrus glanced at Bliss, a satisfied, pride–filled smile on his face. "Hamilton has heavy feet."

Confused, she repeated, "Heavy feet?"

Cyrus chuckled. "Micah always notices things that everyone else seems to miss. He kept me out of harm’s way once when he realized that a man disguised in a U.S. Army uniform was actually a Middle East terrorist on a suicide mission meant to take out our entire diplomatic team. All because the fellow had an uneven gait and his shoes made the wrong sound when he walked across a corridor in the embassy."

Micah shrugged, clearly uncomfortable with Cyrus’s praise. He knew that if a life–threatening situation occurred now, he’d be virtually useless to the man. In order to keep Cyrus from speaking at length about abilities now eclipsed by probable blindness, he said, "The leather soles of American–made shoes have a distinctive sound. I imagine it has something to do with the density of the leather. Military men tend to walk in a certain way, and there’s rarely any hesitation in their stride when they’re on familiar terrain."

Hamilton, a pale young man with a damp upper lip, a nervous manner, and darting eyes, leaned down next to Cyrus. "Excuse me, sir. You have a call from the White House. I have a secure satellite phone ready for your use in the manager’s office."

Cyrus excused himself from the table with obvious reluctance. "This may take some time. Why don’t you two go ahead and order dessert?"

"I’m impressed," Bliss admitted once Cyrus and Hamilton departed the dining room.

"Don’t be. It was my job for over fifteen years." He fell silent as their waiter served coffee and snifters of cognac.

"You still do it very well," she observed, her voice subdued but firm.

He flinched. Then, he carefully located his coffee cup and saucer. He said nothing in response to her remark. Instead, he placed his palm about an inch above the rim of the cup, as Bliss had taught him to do order to test the degree of heat in a hot beverage.

"Wait on the coffee," he suggested, not even aware of the proprietary tone of his voice as he spoke to Bliss. "It won’t be drinkable for a few minutes."

"You’re doing fine this evening," she said.

"You’re not," Micah returned bluntly. "You sound like a rubber band that’s been stretched too tight. I expect you to snap any time now."

She glared at him. "Don’t hold your breath."

He half–smiled. "Who’s doing the best job of making you uncomfortable, me or Cyrus?"

"I am not uncomfortable."

He gripped his coffee cup with both hands. "Don’t lie to me, Bliss."

"My father has been remarkably relaxed and charming this evening, so I haven’t any complaints about his behavior. You, on the other hand, are a pride–filled ass with an ego the size of Manhattan."

He knew he should have been accustomed to her directness by now, but it still startled him. "I did what needed to be done. Someday, you’ll thank me."

"You’re the one who’s lying to himself. And you might eventually believe what you’re saying, but I never will. I told you once before… cowardice does not suit you… not one damn bit."

"God damn it, Bliss."

"Let me know when you’re ready to talk about what’s happened between us. Until then, change the subject or I’m leaving."

A full minute passed in silence.

Micah finally observed, "The band’s pretty good. Is there a dance floor?"

"Of course."

"Is it crowded?"

Bliss stared at him, unable to believe her ears. "What did you just say?"

"You heard me."

"No."

"No, what?"

Micah, however, was thinking that, if they were going to dance, he didn’t want to risk crashing into people, especially people he did not know. Although he doubted the wisdom of trying to navigate a dance floor without being able to see his surroundings, he realized that he would risk almost any humiliation in order to hold Bliss in his arms again.

No matter what he’d said to her earlier, he still wanted her.

She said, "No, it’s not crowded. There are only two couples out there. There’s plenty of space, but it isn’t necessary. You don’t need to prove anything to me."

Micah frowned, but he pushed up to his feet and extended his hand in her direction. "Let’s try it then, if you don’t mind a mashed toe or two."

Her fragrance, which he inhaled as she slowly stood and moved closer to him, stimulated every sense he owned. He clamped down on his response to her, but the muscles in his body tremored with suppressed tension.

The feel of her slender fingers as she slid her hand into his eased his anxiety about making a fool of himself under the gaze of strangers, but only fractionally. He remembered too well what her evocative touch had done to him the previous night.

Micah adapted his long–legged stride to Bliss’s shorter one, and they made it to the dance floor without incident. When she turned and slipped into his arms, she unknowingly reminded him of a conclusion he’d reached about her the night before.

They fit together, despite the disparity in their sizes. Had Fate chosen to be less harsh, he would have claimed Bliss as his own for the rest of his life.

"I can think of only one other thing I’d enjoy more than dancing," she said in a hushed voice a few minutes later.

"What’s that?"

She edged closer to him, her breasts brushing, then nestling against his broad chest, and a riot of sensations spilled into her bloodstream.

"Both of us naked and making love." She laughed, the soft sound too sultry to ignore. "But without an audience." 

He nearly stumbled. Since he already felt like an ass for the way he’d treated her, he attempted to excuse her deliberately provocative remark. He’d fallen in love with her, but he refused to consider saddling her with his problems, no matter how willing she seemed to take them on.

Micah registered with his senses the proximity of the other couples on the dance floor. He knew everyone could see the bandages that covered his eyes despite the shaded lenses of the glasses he wore. As a result, they were obviously willing to give him a wide berth.

Although he resented the need, his confidence strengthened, in large part, he realized, because of Bliss’s ability to follow his lead. They danced for a long time, the music a sensual counterpoint to the seductive sensations stirring Micah’s blood and threatening to blister his veins.

"I love being in your arms," Bliss murmured.

He inhaled sharply, his arms tightening around her. "Don’t."

"You’re not under any obligation, Micah."

Her remark did nothing to lessen the arousal storming his senses and coiling his muscles into snug knots. If anything, he felt the need to take her right where they stood.

"This isn’t quite as good as making love, is it? I want the intimacy back, Micah, at least until you leave."

He recognized the courage it took for her to make such a statement. "We can’t, so drop the subject right now."

She ignored his order, her lips brushing the underside of his chin as they moved around the dance floor. In a voice reminiscent of heated silk, she said, "You wouldn’t be using me, if that what’s troubling you. I’d accept you on your terms."

"If you don’t call it using, then what the hell would it be?" he demanded.

"Sharing? Trusting our emotions? Stealing a little more happiness?" She hesitated, and then she taunted him with the seductive shifting of her hips against his hard sex. "I know you want me. I can feel exactly how much you want me. At least your body is honest about what it needs."

He flinched at the contact. "Damn it, Bliss." Still, he couldn’t pull away from her. Their bodies felt forged together. He smothered a groan even as he hungered to fit himself into the welcoming cradle of her thighs and take all that she offered.

"Your body does not lie, Micah. Neither does mine. I’m simmering inside, and you’re the cause." She sighed, the sound reminiscent of a gentle caress. "Good thing the lights are low in here. Otherwise, everyone in the place would see that I’m trying to seduce you, however ineptly."

"This situation is tough enough. Don’t make it worse." He sucked in air. "And you’re not inept. Far from it."

"I want to make our situation better, but I can’t do it alone," she whispered. "Help me, Micah. Meet me halfway."

His fingers dug into her narrow waist before he stepped back and seized her hand. "Let’s go back to our table. Cyrus is probably ready to leave by now."

"So much for my powers of seduction," she muttered as they returned to their table and rejoined her father.

As Micah had predicted, Cyrus had already settled the bill in anticipation of their departure. Bliss collected her clutch and silk shawl, thanked the restaurant owner for his hospitality and the fine meal, and preceded Micah and Cyrus to the waiting limo.

The five minute return drive to Rowland House was conducted in silence. A preoccupied Cyrus studied the contents of a file, while Bliss and Micah sat knee to knee.

"I’m sorry we had to cut our evening short, but I need to review some material from the White House before I fly back to Washington in the morning," Cyrus said as they walked into the spacious foyer of Rowland House.

"I’ll be flying back to Washington with you, sir."

Bliss gripped her evening bag with both hands, quelling her dismay. She felt the press of her father’s questioning gaze, but she feared revealing the emotions threatening to choke her if she risked speaking, so she remained silent.

Cyrus frowned, but he nodded. "There’ll be a helicopter on the front lawn at zero six hundred hours, son."

"I’ll be ready. Thank you for supper, sir. Good night, Bliss." Micah crossed the foyer, his footsteps fading as he made his way down the long hallway to his suite.

Bliss felt as though she’d taken a fierce blow to the body. Raising her chin a notch and fighting tears, she looked at her father. The compassion and concern she saw in his eyes almost pushed her over the emotional cliff on which she now stood.

"Do you have a moment, Bliss?"

"Certainly."

She followed him into the library, watching as he sank into a chair and withdrew one of his trademark cigars from the inside pocket of his suit jacket.

"He’s worth your effort," Cyrus finally said.

"I don’t know what you mean."

"Of course you do."

She felt the dam that contained her fragile emotions collapse inside her. "Only a fool would try to force another person to love them," she said.

"You aren’t a fool, and I don’t think I’ve ever known a more honorable man than Micah Holbrook. Unfortunately, he has a bad habit of letting his pride get in his way when he shouldn’t."

"Why did you send him to
me
?" She didn’t try to conceal her confusion.

"He needed you. I think you need him, too, don’t you?"

"Matchmaking, Dad?"

"Perhaps, but only subconsciously."

"I love him, but he doesn’t want me."

"Do you really think he knows what he wants right now?"

She swiped at the tears that spilled from her eyes. "He believes he does."

"I thought I knew what I wanted a long time ago, too, but I didn’t. I let my pride and my ambition destroy my marriage to your mother. I didn’t make allowances for her needs, and I failed her even when I knew she was dying."

She saw his regret and realized with a start just how genuine it was. "You were divorced. Your lives had gone in different directions."

"My mistake, Bliss, and I will regret it until I draw my last breath."

"Why
did
you divorce? I never really understood, and mother wouldn’t tell me when I asked."

"I loved her too much when I was a young man. I wanted her, but I felt inadequate in her sophisticated world, so I decided to carve out my own place in the world of foreign affairs. I’ve achieved most all of my goals, but I did it at her expense. I also hurt her deeply with behavior that was… inappropriate for a married man, and she left me."

"Mother always loved you, even at the end," Bliss assured him. "Your name was on her lips when she died."

Clearly stunned, Cyrus left his chair and walked to the marble fireplace. Bliss watched him stare at the empty grate for several minutes as he grappled with old memories.