Friday's Child (22 page)

There was sheer animal pleasure in the scrape of her nails on his shoulders, the twist of her fingers in his hair as she sought to bring him closer, as her body strained and shuddered against his greedy mouth. Kaleidoscopic colors burst behind his eyelids, and her hands dropped to the waistband of his jeans.

Gritting his teeth, he warred with her fingers to release the button. He could feel every tooth of the zipper as it raked down his aching length. Covering her hand with his, he dis
pensed of the task quickly. Kate helped him push the jeans over his hips, her hands staying to cup and caress while he extracted a foil packet from the pocket and kicked the jeans away.

He moved to protect her, fiercely resenting the need to do so. Lowering her back to the desktop, he arranged her legs around his hips, opening her to him. Then he levered himself on top of her and ruthlessly drove up inside her, burying himself to the hilt.
Not yet,
the craving whispered inside the chambers of his mind.
More. Much more.

He stopped, hauling in great breaths to relieve his strangled lungs. But Kate wasn't willing to wait. Her body surged up beneath him, agile and quick, taking him deeper, harder, faster. Her hands found his, and their fingers interlaced as she rocked them both to madness. He could feel the tightening at the base of his shaft, recognize the mist that swam before his eyes as he raced with her to the culmination. He had one final thought right before he followed her to climax.

It wasn't enough. It would never be enough.

 

Awareness returned in slow increments. Her soft breathing against his cheek was still not quite steady. His greater weight was holding her pinned beneath him against the unyielding surface of the desk. He propped more of his weight on his elbows, unwilling even yet to leave her. Her nipples were still hard, stabbing lightly at his chest, and incredibly, he could feel his sex stir within her again. Reluctantly, aware of the inadequacy of the protection with each passing moment, he withdrew from her. He caught her by the elbows and helped her up so that she stood between his parted thighs.

He loved that look on her face. Languorous and dreamy, she didn't appear quite ready to rejoin the world. He bent and nuzzled her neck, then kissed her, a sweet, warm kiss that tasted uniquely of Kate. She rubbed her cheek against his chest and kept him close with her arms looped around his waist.

“Honestly, Michael.” Her voice wanted to be scandalized but still sounded drugged. “On your desk?”

All that creamy, smooth skin was too much temptation to pass up. “I wouldn't consider desecrating it by using it as a desk again,” he assured her, worshiping the lines and curves of her shoulders with his mouth. “After what just happened here, I'm going to turn it into a shrine.”

T
hey'd pulled it off, Kate thought, looking around Michael's house with pride. There had been times during the last three weeks when she would have given up, but no obstacle had been insurmountable when faced with Michael's determination.

And money, she added wryly, because it had been money, incredible amounts of it, that had convinced salesclerks to arrange speedy delivery and tempted custom upholsterers to work quickly. It had been a frenzied time. She'd shopped during the day and studied at night. Now, with her exams finally behind her, and the visible signs of this success before her, she had every right to feel smug.

They'd made a good team. Because he'd said he liked what she'd done with her condo, she'd haunted antique stores, bringing him pictures of pieces and ideas for their placement in his house. Then he'd accompanied her to the stores to buy the pieces he'd decided on. He hadn't been picky, almost always deferring to her judgment. Then there had been reproduction furniture stores to haunt for furniture with similar styles that would be sturdy enough for someone of Michael's
size. The end result had been rooms where old and new mingled harmoniously. It looked, finally, like a home.

Longing welled up at the thought. It was Michael's home, and Chloe's. The fact that it could be hers, as well, sent her heart into a fast skitter. She'd been too busy to think about their relationship over the last few weeks, or so she told herself. But the temptation had been there, curling through her consciousness like smoke under a door.

She could marry Michael Friday. Sometimes the idea sent giddy streamers of pleasure cascading inside her. Everything she'd ever wanted was right here; all she had to do was reach out and take it. A home, a family, Michael and Chloe. Almost everything she'd ever hoped for.

And then the doubts would crowd in, layered with paralyzing fear. She'd promised herself that she wouldn't settle, as her mother had, for anything less than love. That word had been glaringly absent from Michael's vocabulary, and she knew the omission wasn't accidental. He was too honest to promise something he couldn't deliver. Strange how that knowledge could be so shattering, even when her own feelings were a hopeless tangle.

Kate walked with a quiet whisper of movement to one of the marble-topped walnut tables she and Michael had picked out. With one finger she made a minuscule adjustment to the frivolous snuffbox sitting there. Michael had spotted it on the way out of one of the antique shops and bought it on impulse. When he'd tried to present it to her, she'd laughed him off, declining.

She didn't want to take anything from him, not with his proposal between them, still unanswered. Somehow, accepting gifts from him would romanticize his offer, which could only lead to disillusionment. She wouldn't allow herself to mistake what he was proposing merely to fill a void inside herself that she'd carried all her life. If she decided to marry Michael Friday, it would be with her eyes wide open. It was the condition of her heart that was still undetermined.

The noise filtering from the kitchen was a quiet, well-ordered bustle. She'd been told politely but firmly the one
time she'd inquired that her help wasn't needed. That left her with way too much time on her hands, and after the frantic pace of the last three weeks, the time weighed heavily. It was much too easy to think, to feel. And because she was afraid to examine her feelings, she did a coward's turn. Intending to look for Chloe, she plowed straight into Michael's chest.

“Absolutely fantastic,” he murmured, sliding his hands up her arms to cup her shoulders.

“The house looks great, doesn't it?”

He bent down to press his mouth against the exquisitely sensitive skin behind her ear. “I wasn't talking about the house.”

Pleasure shimmied down her spine, turning into a shudder when he brushed his lips along her jawline, pausing a fraction above her mouth to whisper, “What do you say we blow off this upcoming exercise in boredom and go upstairs to try out that walnut four-poster with the feather ticking you talked me into buying?”

Her head jerked back and she stared at him. “You mean the Victorian bedroom set? You bought it?”

He nodded slowly, a heated gleam in his eye.

“I didn't know you were interested in it!” she exclaimed. “I thought you wanted to concentrate your purchases for the downstairs, where the party would be.” In her excitement, the words began to tumble over themselves. “Did the pieces survive the shipping all right? How do they look? Do you remember the shop where we saw all the antique lace? The bed would be perfect draped in—”

He covered her mouth with his, and the rest of the words slid down her throat. After a thorough kiss, he lifted his lips to mutter aggrievedly, “It's a major blow to my ego to suspect that the bed tempts you more than I do.”

“Oh, I don't know, Friday,” she purred, stroking a hand down his tie, then shooting him a glance from beneath her lashes. “I'm beginning to think the only adornment that piece needs is you, stretched out on top of it.”

“And the only adornment I need is
you,
stretched out on top of
me.
”

She straightened his tie and brushed a tiny piece of lint off his lapel. “You have a dirty, predictable mind. I'm beginning to admire that about you.”

“Oh, yeah?” His eyes lit up and he took a step closer, ignoring the waiters who were setting up tables around them.

“Tell me more. What else do you like about me?”

His question had emotion clogging inexplicably in her chest. Everything, she could have answered. Every little thing. The way he moved. The way he smiled, quick and teasing, or with a slow, wicked curve of his lips. His gentleness with his daughter. The way he could make Kate's skin heat without even a touch. The way he looked at her as though she were the only woman in the world, making her wish…dangerous things.

He traced a fingertip down the line of her throat. “Go ahead. Don't be afraid to stroke my ego. You'll find I have a high tolerance for sweet nothings.”

She released a shaky laugh and stepped back. “I better not. I don't want you to go into insulin shock.”

There was a satisfied quirk to his lips when he vowed, “Later.” And watched the pulse in her throat throb at his promise. “Where's Chloe? Is she ready?”

“I haven't seen her since I left her with you,” she said. The little girl had literally been dancing with anticipation earlier while Kate had patiently worked with her hair and helped her into the frilly blue dress they'd bought for the occasion.

“I brought her downstairs with me,” Michael said, his gaze scanning the room. “She said she wanted to find Trask to show him her dress.”

A huge clatter sounded from the kitchen then, and their eyes met. “Chloe,” they said simultaneously. They reached the kitchen door as a very annoyed caterer pushed it open and ushered her out of the room. Chloe's eyes were suspiciously bright, and her bottom lip quivered.

“I didn't mean to get in the way,” she told them in a small voice. “I couldn't find Trask and I thought he might be in there.”

Michael scooped her up and hugged her tight. “Don't
worry about it, bug. We have plenty of food. And wait until Trask gets a load of your new dress.” He waggled his eyebrows, making her giggle. “It's going to knock him out.”

“There he is!” she exclaimed, spotting him as he entered the house with a group of men. “Let me down, Daddy.”

Michael set her on her feet and she took off across the room. He watched her indulgently, then looked at Kate. “Think she'll ever learn to get somewhere by walking?”

She smiled, following the direction of his gaze, and watched Chloe pirouette for Trask and the men he had in tow like a princess before her court. Something about that group of men hanging so close to Trask had the smile fading from Kate's lips. “Michael, who are those people with Trask?”

“Security.”

She looked at him sharply, but his face was as bland as his voice. “You hired them for tonight?”

“I hired them before school was out,” he informed her.

“The bidding for the NASA contract was competitive, and I didn't see any reason to take chances.”

She looked at the men again, more carefully this time. All were dressed unobtrusively in dark suits. If Michael hadn't told her differently, she might have guessed that the first guests had arrived. “You did take a chance, though, didn't you?” she asked slowly. “All this…” She waved a hand around the room. “Why would you agree to have the open house here if you're worried about keeping FORAY secure?”

He took her hand and squeezed it comfortingly. “I minimized the risks,” he said, then brought her hand to his lips and nipped at her knuckles. “Took a few precautions.” His grin was broad and a little wolfish. “Don't worry. I always plan for every contingency.”

 

Although she didn't have a great deal of experience with business parties, Kate thought this one appeared to be a success. Guests had started trickling in a few hours ago, and right now the house was full, with people spilling out onto the terrace. The French doors were left open, letting in the balmy
summer air. She had the fanciful idea that even the weather hadn't dared not cooperate with Michael.

She'd stayed by his side for a time, enjoying the possessive arm he'd kept around her waist as much as she'd enjoyed watching him work the groups he was talking to. He was a master of subtlety. When talking to a woman with closely shorn hair and a sleek white dress, he'd paused as if to ponder her question about the exploding boundaries of computers.

“It's an exhilarating time, with technology developing so fast, but it does make it more difficult to protect sensitive or private information. Good security is going to become even more necessary.”

In other words, Kate had thought as they'd joined another cluster of guests, you're going to need the programs designed by Michael's company.

He'd introduced her to so many people that her head was spinning with names after only a few minutes. When his attention had been demanded by some magazine reporters, Kate had taken the chance to slip away. She preferred being an observer, moving through the crowds unnoticed, letting the snippets of conversation fragment into a verbal collage.

“The man's a bloody genius.” This was said admiringly from a fortyish man watching a computer display of the software Michael was marketing.

“A shrewd businessman can pay the finest minds to do his thinking for him.” Kate looked curiously at the woman with improbably gold hair, wondering what she was talking about. The balding man next to her snorted. “A shrewd businessman better
be
the finest mind, otherwise—”

“Try this mushroom crepe. Isn't it to die for? Who do you think—”

“He's ruthless but honorable. A damn near lethal combination.”

Kate caught sight of Chloe in the crowd, which had grown considerably since the open house had begun. She made her way toward her. The little girl seemed to be in her element, skipping from one group to the next. As Kate watched, she sidled up to a waitress with a tray and took a wrapped arti
choke heart and bit into it. Her mouth screwed up comically, and the next moment she had her napkin to her mouth getting rid of it. Kate almost laughed out loud.

When Chloe wandered into the next room, Kate was jolted to see a man dressed in a dark suit move surreptitiously in the same direction. She stopped, staring hard at him. Though she couldn't be certain, she suspected that it was one of the nondescript gentlemen she had asked Michael about earlier. He moved nonchalantly through the crowd, never approaching Chloe, but always keeping her in his sight. Michael might be convinced that having the open house here presented no risks, but as he'd said, he'd taken precautions.

“Do I note your fine hand in all this?”

Kate was so accustomed to moving silently through the mass of people unnoticed that at first she didn't respond. Then, when the hand touched her arm, her eyes jerked to meet Derek's.

He gestured toward the room. “Michael's creativity runs to leveraged buyouts and software design. And I know how he feels about decorating firms. So, unless Trask suddenly developed a real knack for furnishings, you're the brains behind his home's face-lift.”

She gave a slight shrug. “I just made some suggestions.”

He took a sip of his drink, his glittering, pale blue eyes fixed on her above the rim of the glass. “Well, you've got a gift for it. If you ever want a career change, you certainly have another area of talent.”

She shook her head. “I can't imagine tiring of teaching.”

He cocked his head, surveying her with such concentration that she grew uneasy.

“Do I have all my teeth?” she asked somewhat tartly.

“What?” His gaze jerked up to meet hers. At her expression, he grinned. “Sorry. I was just thinking.” In the stubborn silence that followed, he inquired, “Don't you want to know what about?”

Kate clutched the stem of her wineglass more tightly in her hand and shook her head. “I don't think so.”

Unabashed, Derek offered, “If you made most of the sug
gestions for this place, you'd be pretty comfortable here. Surrounded by things you liked, things you picked out with Michael.” His grin widened when her eyes narrowed. “Hey.” He gestured with his glass. “It only occurred to me that maybe things between you two were getting serious. Most couples pick out china patterns before furniture, but Michael has always been a little unconventional.”

Shock straightened her spine. “I never—I haven't—” Impatiently she shook her head. “Go away,” she said clearly.

“So that's how it is,” he murmured, and then began to chortle. “Oh, this is rich. Don't tell me Michael managed to choose the one woman in the world not anxious to wrestle him down and pin him to the marital mat.” He shook with silent laughter.