Storm Front (Reunited Hearts) (15 page)

“Ingrate,”
Michael said curtly, “Stay down.”

The
dog had made a move as if he would jump up on her, but he obediently wriggled
on the floor instead.

“Why
didn’t you leave him at home?” Allison asked, laughter still evident in her
voice.

“He
howls. Endlessly. I can’t tell you how grateful I am that you saddled me with
him.”

This
time, there was no doubt about the dryness of his tone, but Allison wasn’t
fooled for a moment. Obviously, Michael didn’t dislike the animal as much as he
liked to pretend. The dog was beautifully groomed and obviously well-fed. He
had a very expensive leather collar on, complete with tags and the name “Ingrate”
engraved on a silver plaque.

And
Michael hadn’t left the dog alone in a big penthouse apartment to howl himself
sick.

With
a surge of tenderness, Allison hugged the dog again, overwhelmed with
affection—for the dog and for its owner.

He
might be an arrogant, stubborn, paranoid bastard.

But
at least he loved their dog.

After
a minute, she realized Michael was gazing at her, but she didn’t know what his
expression meant. She looked up, feeling self-conscious again.

“Anyway,”
she began. Then realized she had no idea what to say.

Michael
didn’t seem to know either. “Anyway.” He cleared his throat. “I should go back.
I’ll be missed.”

She
nodded. Of course he would be missed. He was the center of attention wherever
he went. “I’ll…I’ll go.”

He
opened his mouth as if he’d object, but then he shut it again.

Allison
started to stand up and felt an unexpected rush of blood to her head, causing
her vision to blur for a moment. She swayed.

She
wouldn’t have fallen, but Michael was next to her in less than a moment,
offering her a supportive arm around her waist.

“I’m
fine,” she said. “Just a head rush.”

“You
can stay here, if you need to—”

“I’m
fine,” she repeated, breaking off his offer. She was a little embarrassed about
acting like such a wimp. “Really. But thanks.”

She
gazed up at him, momentarily mesmerized by the soft, questioning expression in
the blue-gray eyes.

He
must have noticed the change in her expression because his brows drew together
slightly. He leaned toward her slightly.

Instinctively,
Allison swayed toward him. And, before she knew what was happening, the
distance between them was closed.

Michael
was kissing her, and she was responding—passionately.

It
wasn’t sexy, playful, or hungry like their embraces during the storm, and it wasn’t
hard and angry like the day before.

His
lips on hers, his hands on her face, were intense and almost questioning.

She
had no idea what was happening or why it was happening, but her body responded eagerly,
naturally, and a wave of pleasure and excitement washed over her.

She’d
reached up to wrap her arms around his neck and to press her body more tightly
against his when a noise from the door behind them startled them apart.

“Michael?”
The soft, feminine voice spoke from the now opened doorway. “Is everything—”

Both
Allison and Michael turned to stare at the newcomer, flushed and still half in
the embrace.

Gina
Lane’s pretty mouth dropped opened as she discovered them.

Allison
jerked out of Michael’s arms and felt, for the second time that evening, like
she’d just been slugged in the gut.

“What’s going on in
here?” Gina demanded, looking baffled and horrified as she stood in the office
doorway in her pink dress and shiny shoes.

Michael
opened his mouth, but no words came out. He was startled and disoriented from
being so abruptly interrupted from the kiss, and he still felt like he was
drowning in Allison’s intoxicating scent and warmth. His hands had dropped
instinctively from her face to her waist, but hers were still gripping his
lapels. Their bodies were so close they brushed against each other.

After
clearing his throat, he managed to ask in a somewhat natural tone, “What did
you need, Gina?”

Gina’s
round eyes took on an almost pitiful look that used to tug at his heart. It
didn't anymore. She was focused now on Allison, and recognition finally
registered on her face. “Allison?”

“Hi,
Gina.” Allison’s voice was slightly ironic, but her expression was sheepish and
almost relieved as she stepped away from Michael.

He
could understand what prompted her response. A small part of him was relieved
at the interruption too—although the rest of him was screaming in frustrated
outrage. He wasn’t sure what had possessed him to kiss Allison the way he had
tonight. It had felt inevitable, instinctive, but it wasn’t particularly
rational, and it was just as well they were stopped before he’d gone any
farther without thinking things through.

“What
are you doing here?” Gina demanded of Allison, her skin clear and pale and her gray
eyes enormous in her pretty face.

The
corner of Allison’s mouth quirked up. “Working on a story.”

Michael
almost chuckled at the quick succession of expressions on Gina’s
face—confusion, indignation, and bewildered disapproval. Her final look was one
of outraged self-righteousness, a look she’d mastered well.

She
turned to him. “Michael! What's going on here? I don’t understand!”

He
sighed at the helpless plea in her voice. At one point, it would have triggered
an instinctive urge to protect, but now it was more annoying than anything
else. “I’m not surprised,” he said blandly. Then, to pull the situation back
into some semblance of sanity and order, he added, “Did you need something, Gina?”

“I’d
heard there was a problem or something, and then you disappeared.” She
fluttered her eyelashes with a convincing expression of concern. “I was worried
about you.”

Michael
had no idea what had motivated this outburst of concern, but he was convinced
it wasn’t genuine. His best guess was that Gina was prompted by curiosity and a
desire to be on the “inside” of whatever was happening. “Everything is fine,”
he told her, not about to provide her with any details.

“But
what’s going on?” Obviously, Gina was getting frustrated by his reticence
because her voice was pitched an octave higher than normal.

The
shrillness must have alerted Ingrate to the importance of the situation. He’d
been hanging back behind Michael’s legs, but now he loped over toward Gina,
wagging his tale with wary interest and sniffing inquisitively around the hem
of her evening gown.

“Oh,”
Gina exclaimed in surprise, taking a step back. “Why is there a dog in here?”

Since
she had never been afraid of animals, Michael assumed her reluctance was
because she didn’t want Ingrate to mess up her clothes.

“He’s
just saying hi,” Allison put in, looking a little impatient as Gina ignored
Ingrate’s friendly advances.

“Michael!”
Gina said in almost a whine. She lifted the hem of her dress as Ingrate
continued snuffling around her shoes.

Michael
noticed the more obvious sneer on Allison’s face, and he couldn’t help but
remember that—although her dress was just as attractive as Gina’s—Allison had
knelt down a few minutes ago to give Ingrate a hug instead of shrinking back
from the innocent dog.

“Ingrate,”
Michael said curtly, gesturing down toward his heel. Although he hadn’t spent
much time training the animal, the dog was naturally responsive and obedient.
As expected, Ingrate came reluctantly over to sit on the floor next to Michael’s
feet. “Gina, why don’t you go back to the ballroom?”

“But…”
Gina trailed off, looking dumbfounded at this abrupt dismissal.

Michael
couldn’t imagine how Gina would assume that he would want her around—after
everything that had happened between them. Maybe she actually wanted him back.

He
wasn’t going to waste his time wondering.

“I
was speaking to Allison,” he added, raising his eyebrows with obvious intent.
“In private.”

Gina’s
eyes flickered back and forth between Michael and Allison, obviously offended
by this turn of events. Then she pulled herself to her full height—never very
significant—and stormed off in a huff.

When
the door fell shut behind her, Michael and Allison just stared at each other.

Allison
looked slightly awkward, and Michael felt the same way. He wasn’t sure why he
had kissed her—he wasn’t sure he even trusted her. But he knew he no longer
felt the rage and bitterness he’d experienced toward her before.

Allison
reached down and scratched Ingrate behind the ear. “Well,” she said, obviously
at a loss for words. “You better get back.”

“Yeah.”
Michael didn’t know what to say either. “Do you feel all right?”

She
blinked, as if she’d momentarily forgotten being socked in the gut by an elbow.
“Yeah. Thanks.” She walked slowly to the door and looked at him over her
shoulder. “I’ll talk to you later.”

Part
of Michael wanted to stop her before she disappeared out of his life for good,
but then he remembered Ray and the other demonstrators.

Allison
was on a story here, and it wasn’t finished yet.

She
wasn’t going anywhere tonight.

*
* *

After leaving Michael, Allison
wandered around, pretending to take notes for her story but mostly just trying
to sort through the chaos in her mind.

She
couldn’t figure out her feelings—toward Michael, toward anything—so she put
them on hold. It would be too hard to draw any real conclusions tonight, and
she had other things to do anyway.

She
went across the street to the diner to talk to Ray and get more information for
her story. Shortly after midnight, a couple of members of Michael’s security
team came in to the diner to escort the protestors over to their interview.

The
gala must be over.

Allison
wondered what would happen at that interview, and she really did hope that Michael
would be receptive to their concerns for the lighthouse. It wasn’t only because
of the lighthouse that Allison hoped for a good outcome—it was for Michael’s
sake as well.

A
half-hour later, Ray returned, his wrinkled face positively beaming. He told
her that Michael had agreed to give the issue some consideration and to find
out more information about the lighthouse. It wasn’t a definite decision but it
was better than Ray—and Allison—could have expected.

When
Ray left to go home, saying it was way past his bedtime, Allison was beaming
too.

She
stayed in her booth at the diner, sipping coffee and waiting without any
conscious intent.

But
she knew what she’d been waiting for when she saw Michael through the window.
He was looking in at her, standing outside on the sidewalk with Ingrate on a
leash.

Without
thinking through the significance, Allison got up and went out to join him.

“So
you think it’s a worthwhile cause?” she asked, without any greeting except a
pat on Ingrate’s head.

“Maybe.”
Michael’s face was thoughtful, which Allison knew to be a promising sign. He
didn’t look slick and charming. If he had, she would know he wasn’t serious
about the issue. He only used that superficial charm to blow people off.

Without
discussing it, both of them started to stroll down the sidewalk, letting
Ingrate lead the way. The night was mild and the downtown blocks well-lit by
the streetlights. Allison felt tired but comfortable, and she didn’t really
want to talk.

Obviously,
Michael didn’t either.

They
walked in silence, and they must have looked rather incongruous walking a dog
in their evening clothes at one-thirty in the morning.

After
several minutes, Michael stopped in front of a building. When the liveried
doorman greeted him by name, Allison realized why.

This
was Michael’s building—his apartment was on the top floor. He was home.

And
Allison had no idea what she was doing here too.

She
stood and stared silently at his tired, handsome face, perspiration dampening
his forehead and his bow tie loosened at his collar. She felt a surge of hunger
rush through her. The same hunger she’d felt on the way back to the city after
the storm.

She
wanted him. Not just his body.
Him
. Michael. All of him. Even with
everything that would always come with him.

“Allison,”
Michael said, his voice slightly thick. Something new now smoldered in his
eyes.

She
wondered if he’d read her expression or if he was responding to some other
stimulus. “Yes?” she breathed.

“Come
upstairs with me.”

She
faced a moment’s hesitation. This would probably be a mistake. They had no
future, and going any further with Michael now would risk far more than a
random one-night-stand.