It's In His Kiss (14 page)

 He couldn't tell. If there was one thing he knew about Cat, it was that once she decided to retreat behind her tough-as-nails mask, it was almost impossible to penetrate it. He'd managed to in the past, when she needed his famous shoulder to cry on, but this time he was working at a disadvantage.

 This time he was the one she was hiding her feelings from. He watched her, using every ounce of willpower he possessed to resist pulling her into his arms. He strained the limits of that willpower to stop himself from satisfying the longing he'd lived with ever since he discovered the difference between men and women, the longing to make tough, brave, vulnerable Cat his own, and to give himself to her just as completely.

 Cat finished filling the washing machines, adding soap and inserting quarters. She dawdled over the last few coins, turning them over and over in her hand. What was she going to do when she finally had to turn and face Michael? Would he see in her eyes how much she wanted him to take her in his arms and continue what he'd started there in the kitchen?

 From the moment his lips touched hers, she'd felt a rush of sensation as exciting as it was terrifying. Michael, good old Michael, was the best kisser she'd ever known. His firm, wide mouth had sent hot, liquid desire pulsing through her. Kissing him was literally like nothing she'd ever experienced.  

 She was attracted to Michael. She lusted after her best friend. As soon as the thought flitted through her brain, she knew it was wrong. She wasn't lusting after him. At least not
just
lusting. It was more than that. She was terribly, petrifyingly afraid that she was falling in love with him. And if she fell in love with Michael, she'd be sunk, because every time she thought she was in love, she ended up blowing it. She was that much like her mother. She couldn't sustain a relationship if her life depended on it. 

 
Oh, yeah? Well your mother seems to be doing quite well right now.
 

 
Shut up. What do you know?
 

 She grabbed her head.
Stop it!
 

 "Cat? You okay?"

Cat blinked.
Michael.
"Oh, sure. Nothing. It's nothing. The left side of my brain was having an argument with the right side, that's all." She tried to laugh it off, but the laugh came out a little hiccuppy, like a half-sob or something. She winced. 

"Are you sure you're all right?"

"Sure. I'm fine." She straightened her shoulders and put on a smile.

She put her hands on her hips and surveyed the washers, all busily humming away. Desperate to think of something to talk about, she remembered the dating service questionnaire. She took a long breath. "Isn't it funny how different men and women are?"

"Hilarious," Michael answered drily.

"No, really. For instance, what are your three favorite parts of your body?"

Michael stared at her. "What? Where'd that come from?"

"Just humor me. It's from a--magazine article. Yeah."

He shook his head in wonder.

"Just answer the question."

"Okay. Breasts." He looked her over. "Buttocks, and feet."

Her body felt like he'd touched her everywhere his gaze had fallen. She laughed nervously. "Not my body, you dope.
Yours
." 

"I don't have three favorites."

She slapped at him. "Come on."

"Contrary to what women think, men don't think about their bodies that much."

Cat grinned. "Right. So are you saying men only have
one
favorite body part?" 

He laughed and his cheeks turned pink. "No. I'm saying that men don't think that way."

"Oh, I get it now. Men spend their time thinking about
women's
bodies." 

"Forget your magazine article. I'm not answering any more questions."

"Oh come on."

"You just want me to embarrass myself."

"No I don't." She looked at him quizzically. "How would you embarrass yourself?"

"Forget it. I'm not answering."

"Fine then. What do you want to do?"

A glimpse of the hungry look came back into Michael's eyes, but he looked away, toward the washing machines, and shrugged. "I don't know. Go back upstairs and eat double chocolate fudge ice cream?"

Remembering his finger against her mouth and what that had led to, Cat shook her head vehemently. 

"No? I don't know then," Michael said. "What did we used to do when we couldn't find anything to do?"

Cat smiled. "We never had trouble finding things to do, remember? There was always somebody to talk about, or a book we wanted to share, or a boyfriend or a girlfriend--" she stopped. For some reason a lump grew in her throat.

She'd missed him. There had never been anyone in her life she could talk to like she could to him. Not even her grandmother. Gram had been wonderful, but Cat had never been able to tell her everything, not like she could Michael.

And now, she was so scared. About everything. She'd failed at three relationships.
Strike three for Cat
. At the same time, her mother seemed to be getting her life together at long last. Cat wasn't sure how she'd cope if her mom straightened out her life. 

"Cat?" Michael was watching her keenly.

She blinked again, pulling herself out of her funk and back into the present, with Michael. "Yeah?" she said, as casually as she could.

"I've decided watching clothes wash is even more boring than watching paint dry. What do you say we go back upstairs and watch Pawn Stars or something."

Cat searched his face. Somehow she needed to get her best friend back. He was creeping over too far to the side of potential love interest, and with her track record, she didn't even want to contemplate what would happen if she actually did fall in love with him. So she needed to do something to remind both of them that they were best friends.

"You know what I wish?" she said brightly.

He shook his head.

"I wish we could go out to the lake and talk, like we used to. It's been six years. I want to hear all about Japan, how many girlfriends you had, every exciting, weird, fun thing you did over there." Cat took a deep breath. "And I want to tell you all about my love life. I
really
need to talk about David." It was a lie, but she couldn't tell him that all she really wanted was to feel safe and comfortable with him, to rediscover her best friend. 

At her words, something changed in Michael's demeanor. He sent her a sharp glance, a familiar glance that told Cat he was unhappy about something. Maybe he was as eager to get past that kiss as she was. Somehow, their closeness these last couple of weeks had led them to that point. He probably regretted it too. He'd probably just been caught up in the moment. He was a man, after all. And she'd had on that teeny-weeny dress.

Yep. All she needed to do was nudge them back over to the friend side. Then she could work on talking herself out of her attraction for him. That was all. It was just physical, brought on by living in the same apartment.

 "Is that what you want to do? Go out to the lake and talk about our respective love lives?"

 "Yeah," she said uncertainly. "Like we used to. It'll be fun."

 Michael tossed the pillow case he was holding onto the table with more than a little force. "I don't think so. Not tonight." He walked to the door. "I've got some stuff to do upstairs. I'll come down and put the clothes in the dryer later."

 Cat frowned at him, but he just shrugged.

 "They'll be done in four minutes," she said. "Leave me some change and I'll put them in the dryer," she said. She had no idea what had made him angry, but she recognized the signs. His jaw worked, his brows lowered, and he hunched his shoulders in that way she knew so well. Oh he was angry all right. 

 "Fine," he bit out, slinging a handful of change and dollar bills onto the table.

 "Michael--" she started, but he was gone and the door slammed behind him.

 She caught a quarter before it rolled off the table and sat there, turning it over in her hand and frowning at it.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

The next morning Cat stared at the questionnaire.

 Deb poked her head in the door as she walked by. "How goes the battle?"

 Cat shook her head. "You know," she said. "Terrible."

 Deb pivoted and stepped into Cat's cubicle. "Okay, spill."

 Cat shrugged. "Oh I don't know. What would you do if your mother were acting like a teenager with one of the most successful men in the entire nation?"

 "One of the most--wow. Listening to you talk about your life is better than watching The Real Housewives."

 "Is that supposed to make me feel better?"

 "Tell me about your mother. Who is this 'most successful man?'"

 Shaking her head, Cat clicked on the link to the next screen. "You won't believe it."

 Deb grabbed Cat's hand, stopping her. "Try me."

 Cat let go of the mouse and turned in her chair. "You'd better sit down."

 "This better be worth it."

 "Don't worry." She looked at her friend. "You remember her new boyfriend? Ole butt-crack Hank, whom I've been making fun of?"

"Sure."

"You'll never guess who he really is. Wait for it. Williams Blair."

 "The architect?" Deb's voice was a high-pitched squeal.

 Cat nodded disgustedly.

 "Oh, my God. What a catch! Do you realize he's one of the most eligible young bachelors in the entire nation?"

 "'Young' being the operative word."

 "Wow, and he's so handsome too."

 "Yeah, well, he's not dating
your
over the hill mother." 

 "I'm not sure I understand what the problem is here." Deb looked searchingly at Cat, and Cat averted her gaze.

 "I mean, what have I heard from you ever since you started working here.
My mother's life is such a mess. I wish she could find somebody good for her and settle down. Why does my mother pick such losers--yada, yada, yada."
 

 Hunching her shoulders, Cat stared at the computer screen.

 "Cat? You certainly can't call Williams Blair a loser."

 She winced. Nope. Loser was definitely not a word to be associated with him. "I'm supposed to believe that he is interested in
my
mother?" 

 "Don’t see why not. Your mother's a lovely woman."

 Cat didn't reply. Why was everybody taking her mother's side in this? Didn't anybody see that nothing good could come of a relationship between Janice and Williams Blair.

"What am I going to do, Deb?"

 "Um, be happy for her?"

 Cat sighed and clicked the mouse, opening another page, which she stared at without seeing. "My mother is forty-six, and Williams Blair is thirty-seven, as he was so quick to point out to me. Not to even mention the fact that he’s--Williams Blair."

 Deb twirled her hair. "Well I think it’s incredibly romantic."

 Cat thought if she knew how to harrumph, she would. "Is there anything you
don’t
think is romantic?" 

 "Lots of things, including your attitude. You say you want to see your mother happy. Is she happy?"

Cat shrugged.

"Answer me, Catherine Mary Morris."

"She seems to be. But Deb, he's changing her. She's letting her hair go back to its real color, which, I must say,
I've
never seen. She's quit wearing those lethal talons on her fingernails.
And
, as if that weren't enough, she had on linen, a natural fabric, which she hasn't worn since her blue jean phase, when she was married to the bass player. Ugh." She shuddered. 

"So far I haven't heard anything worth a shudder."

Cat glared at her friend. "Didn't you hear what I said? He's
changing
her." 

Deb nodded, and chewed on the end of a strand of hair. "I heard. I've heard some other things too. Wasn't it you who said you wished your mother would dress more her age? Wasn't it you, her
daughter
, who said you wished she would find somebody normal, somebody who could give her what she needs?" 

"Well, yes, but--"

"And so what's wrong with Williams Blair, other than he's rich as Croesus and handsome as Apollo?"

"How about he's younger than Cupid?"

"As I recall, Cupid was quite a grown young man, with all the requisite parts."

Cat groaned.

Laughing, Deb patted her shoulder. "This is not a bad thing, Cat. I'm really having trouble understanding what the problem is here. You should be happy for your mother. Support her. It would probably be good for both of you if you could show her you approve of her."

 
Approve of her
? Cat's head jerked up and she eyed her friend suspiciously. "I’m not sure I do." 

 Deb nodded sagely. "Think about why, Cat. You need to sit down and seriously evaluate why it bothers you so much that your mother is happy."

 "I don't
know
that she is happy. I've only met this guy once, and Janice is so giddy you'd think she was a debutante on the eve of her coming out. And besides, if Williams Blair is so
The One
, why hasn't she mentioned him to me before now?" 

 "Well, you've been a little preoccupied."

 "Me! What about her! She never even calls me."

 "Do you call her?"

 Cat averted her gaze. "I did the other night, after David moved out, but she was all full of herself and her new boyfriend. She wasn't exactly overflowing with motherly concern."

 "And when's the last time you acted like you needed motherly concern from her?"

 "Hey! Whose side are you on here?"

 "Yours, of course. I'm always on your side."

 That was the same thing Michael had said to her.
I've always been on your side, Cat.
Her throat clogged. Then why didn't it ever feel like it? Why did she always feel like she was climbing uphill in quicksand?