License to Love (7 page)

Michelle gasped. Steve muttered a few more words, which sounded nothing like the “mush” a sledmaster called to his dog team.

“Your place is closer, mine is across town,” he gritted as he slowly, carefully pulled the car onto a highway whose lanes were obliterated by the snow. It looked like a vast arctic tundra rather than a four-lane road.

Michelle nodded, picturing her apartment, warm, safe— and stationary. “I wish we could teleport ourselves there,” she said softly.

“Scared?”

“Completely rattled,” she admitted.

“We’ll make it.” He reached over and patted her hand for a second before resuming his grip on the wheel.

The rest of the drive, which normally took twenty minutes, was filled with two hours of close calls and near misses. They watched a succession of hapless motorists spin, skid, and slide off the road as they proceeded at a snail’s pace— and sometimes even slower. As the storm worsened, the number of abandoned cars alongside the road—and in one case, in the middle of it—increased, creating additional obstacles to be avoided.

They played the radio for a while, but the incessant weather bulletins, proclaiming the impassability of the roads and the admonitions to stay off them, irritated Steve and unnerved Michelle.

“Staying inside isn’t an option,” Steve finally snapped back at the hypermanic voice of the radio announcer who / had once again cautioned motorists not to drive in the blizzard. “We’re already out on the roads.” He switched off the radio. “What’s the point in listening to secondhand reports of how treacherous the roads are? We’re experiencing them firsthand.”

They rode in tense silence then, Steve concentrating his attention on keeping the car on the road, Michelle mentally willing him success in doing so. By the time he pulled the car into the snow-filled parking lot adjacent to her apartment building, both were exhausted from the dual strains of anxiety and tension.

Steve shifted gears in an attempt to pull the car closer to the building. The tires went around and around, but the Jag didn’t move. He tried again, pressing the gas pedal harder. Again, nothing. The odor of friction-burning rubber assailed their nostrils as the wheels kept spinning. They were stuck on the ice, blocked in by the snow.

Steve cut the engine and leaned against the steering wheel. “Looks like our luck’s run out,” he said glumly.

“It doesn’t matter, we made it!” Michelle exclaimed. “We’re home!” A smile lit her face. “I don’t mind admitting it now, but there were times, a lot of them in fact, when I didn’t think we would ever get here. I thought we’d end up spending the night trapped in a ditch or wrapped around a pole. You drove—” she paused, searching for a superlative “—brilliantly,” she finished exuberantly.

“So how do you feel about having this brilliant driver spend the night in your apartment?”

Michelle gaped at him, shocked.

Steve laughed slightly.
“You’re
home, honey, not me. I’ve managed to get stuck in this stupid lot and it looks like I won’t be going anywhere else tonight.”

Michelle swallowed and said nothing.
He was going to have to spend the night in her apartment?
She’d been so profoundly relieved to be safely home, she hadn’t had time to consider Steve’s predicament. And her own!

“Guess I’m not so brilliant, after all, huh? Although there are those who might argue that getting myself marooned so I have to sleep over at your place is a brilliant strategy.”

His attempted joke fell flat. Michelle glanced at him. He looked so tired, as drained as she felt. And no wonder—he’d just put in two hours of perilous driving.

“I know you didn’t do it deliberately,” Michelle said quietly, staring sightlessly at the snow whipping around the car. The heat inside was rapidly dissipating since he’d turned off the engine. She shivered.

“I certainly didn’t. I’m not the kind of guy who hangs around where I’m not wanted. And you made it clear tonight that you don’t want to be around me.”

Maybe it was the flatness in his voice or the absence of expression in his usually expressive face. Or perhaps it was the bond that forms between those who have faced an exhausting, difficult trial together. Whatever it was, Michelle felt guilt streak through her. “I didn’t mean to give you that impression,” she said softly. “I’m sorry if I was rude. I was trying to be polite this evening. I thought I’d succeeded.” “Oh, you were polite, all right. You smiled at all the right times, you nodded and came up with correct responses the conversation required. Except that you were on automatic pilot while you were doing it.” Steve frowned. “I can tell the difference between what’s real and what’s faked, Michelle. Both in and out of bed.”

“How can you tell if a woman is faking in bed?” Michelle blurted out, completely bewildered by his unexpected candor. “Every magazine article I’ve ever read on the subject says a man can never tell.” She wanted to recall the words the moment she said them. Blushing, she felt hot all over, despite the windchill factor.

He arched his dark brows. “Do you believe everything you read, Michelle? If you do, then you believe that Elvis is still alive, that Hitler was really a woman—”

“What?”

“According to a tabloid headline I read in a supermarket line, Hitler was really a woman. It’s World War II’s best-kept secret.”

Michelle couldn’t help but laugh at that outlandish tale. “The lesson here is don’t believe everything you read,” Steve said silkily. “And I can always tell when a woman is faking in bed, no matter what the magazines say.”

Her smile abruptly vanished. Any prior sympathy she’d had for him dissolved just as rapidly. “Well, if any man can, I’m sure you’re the one. You’ve certainly had enough experience, haven’t you? All those women, in all those cities?”

“Not that again!” Steve groaned. “That’s when our evening started going off the track, isn’t it? When I mentioned that I had a life outside Harrisburg?”

“A life outside Harrisburg? That’s a shamefully bland understatement! But you’re very good at shading the truth—or sidestepping it altogether.
Putting a new slant on it
is the lobbyist term for that particular talent, I believe.” Steve heaved an exasperated sigh. “Michelle, I—”

“But I have a bit of advice for you that you might want to keep in mind,” Michelle cut in. She wasn’t going to stop now, she was on a roll. “It could prove useful for all those future dates of yours.”

Steve was well aware that advice was inevitably scathing criticism when it came from a disapproving woman. He braced himself for it.

Michelle did not disappoint him. “These days, boasting about an active, non-monogamous
social
life is analogous to walking around with a sign saying Warning—Research

Lab Volunteer for the Communicable Disease Center. Thinking, discerning women will
not
be enchanted.”

“I’ve always been careful!” Steve protested. “Before safe sex became a catchword, I practiced it. From the time I was in high school, my idea of hell was a knocked-up girl at my door telling me that I was officially eligible for a card and a pair of socks on Father’s Day. Bam—end freedom, begin family life. I’ve always taken care to make sure that doesn’t happen.”

“I commend you on your self-protective efforts,” Michelle inserted with a saccharine smile. “But—”

“But you have more
advice?
”
Steve interrupted, sounding aggrieved. “Why do women always feel free to take potshots at single men? It’s perennially open season on us.” “Maybe it’s because women don’t like to feel that we’re merely one among many. Fungible. As interchangeable as pennies in a jar. And men like you make us feel that way. Not unique, not special. Just a body and from your point of view, preferably an accommodating one.”

“I guess it would be in poor taste to tell you that your body is definitely special? TThat I could make you feel things you’ve never felt before—unique could apply—if you’d care to be, uh, accommodating?”

He flashed a charming, coaxing smile. Michelle was neither charmed nor coaxed out of her increasing irritation. It didn’t help that she knew he was teasing. For some inexplicable reason his refusal to take her seriously angered her. Far more than it should.

She knew that, too, and it made her even angrier. “I can see we’ve used up the sixty seconds you allot for any kind of serious conversation. Now it’s back to the innuendoes and, the flirting and the smooth little jokes. If you don’t mind— and even if you do—I’m opting out of this round.”

She flung open the car door. A strong gust of wind blew an icy blast of snow into the car, half blinding her. Michelle pushed herself out of the car, gasping as her feet plunged into several inches of cold, wet snow. A moment later, Steve was beside her.

He hooked one arm around her waist and together the two of them trudged toward the building. It was too cold and too windy to try to talk. All their energy was directed to battling the ferocious wind. By the time Steve pulled open the thick glass door and they entered the vestibule of the building, Michelle was gasping for breath. She’d been leaning on Steve to keep her balance along the icy walk. His strength had kept her upright and afoot during the hazardous trek.

“So much for your shoes,” Steve said, staring at her soaked velvet pumps. Not that he could’ve carried her from the car; the force of the wind and depth of the snow would have prevented him from repeating his earlier chivalrous deed. And in the mood Michelle was in, she might’ve slugged him if he’d tried.

Michelle stamped her feet to shake the excess snow from them and Steve stared, riveted by the long, sleek length of her legs, so shapely and seductive in the sheer, smoky hose. He had to forcibly drag his gaze away.

“It’s so much worse since we left the restaurant,” Michelle murmured as she looked out the glass door at the awesome fury of the blizzard.

Steve followed her gaze. The storm showed no signs of abating. The winds were increasing to gale force and the snowfall was thicker and heavier than any he’d ever seen. “Damn, I really am stuck here for the night.” It would be a first for him—spending the night with a sexy, desirable woman who found him as appealing as infectious waste. He stifled a groan.

“Did you think you’d be able to charm Mother Nature into winding down the storm for you?” It was supposed to be a joke, but Michelle’s tone was more acerbic than she’d intended. The reality of the situation had just fully impacted on her.
Steve Saraceni was going to spend the night in her apartment.

Steve frowned. “Can we call a truce in the hostilities?” He watched Michelle brush the snow from her coat. Her cheeks were cherry red, which had the effect of making her eyes an even deeper, brighter blue. Snowflakes glistened on her silky thick blond tresses. She was lovely, so fresh and classy. So elegantly sexy. Desire pierced him, and his body tightened. Impulsively he reached out and caught one golden lock between his fingers.

Michelle shot him a look and quickly moved away, out of his reach.

“There’s snow in your hair,” he said lamely. “I was only trying to brush it off.”

“It will melt, thank you,” Michelle said coolly. She started up the stairs.

Steve followed her. Why did she have to be so attractive? he silently lamented. Worse, why did he have to be so attracted to her? Her personality was certainly off-putting enough. She was prickly, cool, guarded and disapproving. Certainly nothing like the bouncy, cheerful,
g
i
ggling
girls he normally enjoyed in his leisure hours.
They
wouldn’t even know what the Communicable Disease Center was!

Michelle and Steve climbed to the second floor and walked past an elevator on the way to her door. “You prefer cold, drafty stairwells with steep steps to the convenience of an elevator?” he asked. “It figures!”

“That elevator is notoriously slow and it’s unreliable, too,” Michelle explained crisply. “Everybody who lives in the building avoids it whenever possible.”

She removed her key from her small purse.

“May I?” Steve askal smoothly, reaching for the key. He had long ago choreographed a sexy routine of unlocking the door with one hand while caressing his date with the other. The symbolism of the act heightened the anticipation and...

“I can do it,” Michelle said dampeningly. She opened the door, no assistance required.

The apartment was dark and chilly, and Michelle scurried about the living room, turning up the heat and switching on every lamp. “You can sleep on the sofa,” she told him, indicating the well-worn, rust-colored, U-shaped sofa. The cat was sprawled full-length in the middle of it.

“Terrific. A sectional sofa. Should be comfortable, particularly when the sections slide apart—which they invariably do when anyone lies down on them. But, hey, I’m not complaining. I’ll have the cat to keep me warm.”

Michelle fought to suppress a grin. Instinct warned her that laughing with him could be dangerous. Laughter dissolved barriers. It was far safer for her defenses to remain intact around him. “As you can see, I’m not really set up for overnight guests.” Her voice was as rigid as her stance. “Well, believe me, honey, I never intended on being one.” “Should I be insulted or flattered by that radical departure from your usual
modus operandi?”

“Neither. I was, uh, shading the truth a bit.” Smiling, Steve caught both her hands in his. “In all honesty, my
modus operandi
was right on track. From the moment I saw you in that dress, I had high hopes of being invited to stay over—but not on the sofa. In your bedroom.” He lifted her palm to his mouth and pressed his lips against the warm center. “Care to rethink the sleeping arrangements, sweetie?”

Sweetie!
Grimacing, Michelle pulled her hand away. “No.”

Steve shrugged and flopped down next to the cat. “Oh well, it was worth a try. And admit it, you really would’ve been insulted if I’d hadn’t made a single play for you.” Michelle stared at him, off balance once more. “That’s all? You’re giving up?” Could it possibly be this easy? She’d been feeling increasingly anxious and vulnerable since they’d entered the apartment... and rightfully so. A woman alone in her apartment with a man she really didn’t know at all that well, and with date rape on the rise...