Storm Front (Reunited Hearts) (5 page)

Once
again, he felt a surge of desire, and he recognized that it was more than her
beauty that was turning him on.

Seven
years later, and she was still Allison. She’d given him her virginity all those
years ago, but he could still sense something beneath her stimulating wit and
vibrant intelligence—something small and trembling—that felt almost untouched.

It
was something he wanted, once again, to touch.

*
* *

Allison could almost
believe that Michael felt bad about her parents’ deaths.

She’d
surprised a look of grief and understanding on his face before he’d masked it
in his characteristic way.

She
was a little uncomfortable with that recognition. It was much easier to see Michael
as a smooth, heartless player. Thinking of him the way the papers painted him
meant she wouldn’t be troubled by haunting memories of the young man she’d
known, the young man she’d given her heart and her body to seven years ago.

He’d
changed. She saw plenty of evidence of the way he’d grown more jaded, more
guarded and cold over the years.

But
he hadn’t changed completely, and the humanity in him was what she was most
afraid of.

It
was always what she couldn’t resist.

Allison
made herself ignore it. While the weather wasn’t as destructive as it could
have been, they certainly weren’t in an ideal situation to indulge in a
one-night stand. Plus, she hadn’t been honest with Michael about her real
profession, which she was starting to feel guilty about. He’d also recently
broken up with Gina Lane—and who knew what sort of baggage he was carrying from
that break-up.

This
just wasn’t the time or place to give into the temptation to fall into Michael Martin’s
arms—no matter how irresistible those arms happened to be.

To
distract herself from any physical urges, she put up a valiant defense at
Monopoly. It was a hopeless one, of course. Michael was a master of capitalism,
and—after two hours—he’d soundly trounced her, leaving her completely bankrupt.

By
that time, she’d drunk about four cups of tea, and they’d finished the package
of cookies. She was getting tired, and Michael was looking more and more
attractive in the flickering shadows of the room.

“Well,
that’s it for me,” Allison said at last, starting to pick up the game pieces.
“I think I’ll go to bed.”

She
felt Michael’s eyes on her, and she forced away the thought of how incredible
it had felt to kiss him earlier that evening.

She
wasn’t a naïve girl anymore. She wouldn’t be swayed by a pair of haunted
blue-gray eyes and or a force of masculine charisma.

She
was far too smart to fall for Michael Martin again.

“Where
are you planning to sleep?” he asked, sorting out his money and putting it back
into the appropriate slots.

“I
guess I’ll take one of the bedrooms.” She stood up and stretched. Then noticed
how the move had caused her shirt to stretch across her breasts, diverting Michael’s
gaze. Quickly lowering her arms, she picked up a large candle. “I’ll take the
one on the ground floor, if that’s all right.”

“Sure.”
Michael smiled at her and made no move to try to change her mind. “I’ll take
care of the fire here and then find a bedroom for myself.”

Surprised
that he wasn’t trying to convince her to join him in bed, Allison started
toward the door. Then she paused and glanced back at him over her shoulder.

Michael
slanted her a hot smile. “Was there something you wanted?” His eyes glinted,
and he exuded so much primal heat that she suddenly felt naked.

Allison
actually blushed, despite her determination to remain cool and aloof. “No. Have
a good night.”

Then
she fled, before she gave into the temptation to rip off Michael’s clothes and
have her wicked way with him.

The
bedroom she chose was cold and dark, but she put the candle on the nightstand
and quickly changed into a pair of pajamas from her overnight bag. Then she
crawled under the covers and stared wide-eyed up at the ceiling, on which the
candlelight was dancing. The storm outside was louder and more violent than
ever, making her occasionally shiver in anxiety.

She
tried to convince herself she’d made the right decision, the wise decision, the
mature and reasonable decision.

Michael
wasn’t an easy man to get over, so it was best not to risk her feelings—even
for one night.

It
didn’t matter how much warmer and more secure she would feel if Michael was
sharing her bed.

*
* *

A loud crash startled Allison
out of a surprisingly sound sleep.

She
sat up abruptly in bed, panting and trying to orient herself. She’d blown her
candle out before she went to sleep, so the unfamiliar room was pitch black.
The air against her bare arms and face was cold, and the roar of the wind
outside was frightening.

Her
heart pounded as she tried to adjust to the darkness and catch her breath.

Something
loud had woken her up, and it had sounded like it came from down the hall.

Although
she’d broken out in a cold sweat of anxiety, she steeled her courage and rolled
out of the bed, shivering as she lost the warmth of the covers. She slid on her
shoes and then opened the door to her bedroom, peeking out at the dark hallway.

She
could hear sounds from the direction of the living room—some muffled bumps and
then a shattering of some kind. Suddenly afraid that Michael might be in
danger, Allison sprinted down the hall toward the noises.

She
burst through the open entrance of the living room and confronted chaos there.

The
first thing she saw was a broken window and a tree branch extending partway
into the room. Wind and rain from outside blew violently into the house, and Allison
was faced with the rush of weather as she stepped further into the living room.

Michael
was in the room, shirtless and kneeling in front of the fire. He appeared to be
leaning into the fireplace.

“Are
you all right?” she screamed over the howl of wind.

“Yeah,”
he replied, glancing back over his shoulder at her. He sounded calm, although
he must have been just as shocked as she was. “Just trying to put the fire
out.”

Stray
pieces of paper flew around the room, and the floor was littered with broken
glass and wet leaves. Allison was so startled she could only stare at the
turmoil. A tree must have been blown over, one of its large branches breaking
through the living room window.

“What
should we do?” she called, as Michael stood up, having successfully put out the
blaze in the fireplace. She gestured toward the tree. “About this?”

“I
don’t know. If there was a door to this room, we could shut up the room and
just leave it. But it’s a main part of the house, and there’s no way to block
it off.” As he spoke, Michael put a hand on her back and urged her out of the
living room and back into the hallway, where it was slightly quieter and less
wet.

Allison
was trembling, but she stared back toward the wrecked living room. “I guess we
could try to find something to board up the window.”

Michael
nodded, rubbing his damp face with both hands. “I think I saw some tools and
plywood in the basement.”

The
next hour wasn’t any fun. They found the requisite materials in the basement,
and they returned to remove the large branch and then try to board up over the
broken window. Fortunately, Michael appeared to be proficient with tools, and Allison
had helped her father with some carpentry projects when she was a child. So
they were able to put together a makeshift barrier against the weather.

They
didn’t talk much as they worked—the mood was too urgent for random comments or
idle complaints. But Allison couldn’t help but admire the strength and
competence with which Michael went about such physical labor. His actions were
powerful and efficient—a compelling incongruity in such a sophisticated man.

By
the time they finished, they were both soaking wet and breathless. But at least
wind and rain weren't blowing into the house anymore.

They
stumbled into the kitchen, where Allison lit the burner again and put on hot
water for more tea. Michael found a towel and wiped off his face, chest, and
arms.

Allison
took the second towel he offered her, but she put it down after wiping her face
and hands. “You’re bleeding.”

He
shrugged, highlighting the sleekly defined muscle development of his arms and
abdomen. “Just a cut.”

She
found the first aid supplies she’d used on his head earlier, and then she
pushed him down into a chair at the kitchen table. He had a long cut on the
back of his shoulder, perhaps from the broken glass of the window. It had bled
a lot, but fortunately it wasn’t deep.

Carefully,
Allison wiped the blood away, applied antiseptic wash, and then bandaged the
cut with tape and gauze. She worked over him delicately, not wanting to hurt
him and feeling oddly intimate about tending him this way.

Michael
submitted to her care in silence, but he stood up as soon as she finished.
Scanning her with observant eyes, he asked, “Did you get hurt?”

“No.
I think I pulled a muscle in my arm trying to get that damned plywood in place,
but otherwise I’m fine.”

“Then
maybe you should get into some dry clothes.”

Allison
glanced down at herself, suddenly realizing why Michael’s eyes smoldered the
way they did without warning. Her little knit top and cotton pajama bottoms
were clinging and transparent from being so thoroughly soaked. She might as
well be completely naked, since every detail of her body must be visible to his
gaze.

Refusing
to indulge in the flood of shyness that overtook her, she met his eyes evenly.
“So should you. I think there were some more clothes that might fit you in that
closet upstairs.”

Michael
nodded. He appeared rather tense but he gave her a half-smile as he picked up a
lit candle and started to leave the kitchen. “Probably a good idea.”

As
he left, Allison realized she didn't think it was a good idea. She didn't want
him to put on clothes.

She
wanted to take them off.

*
* *

It would have been
easier to walk upstairs and find dry clothes if Michael hadn't been quite so
aroused.

Boarding
up a window in the midst of a tropical storm shouldn’t have been an erotic
activity. It wouldn’t have been, had Allison not been so wet afterwards and had
she not been so gentle and tender as she bandaged his injury.

But
Michael could see every curve and dip of her figure through the wet fabric of
her pajamas. I had been all he could do to hold himself back as she worked over
him, brushing against him occasionally and eyeing him with such concern.

It
had been a long time since Michael had felt so intimate with another person, and
his body reacted.

He
made it upstairs, giving his overly stimulated body a lecture in control. He
dug in the closet without enthusiasm until he found a gray t-shirt and a pair
of trousers that might fit. They smelled musty, but at least they were dry,
which was more than he could say about the jeans he was presently wearing.

Michael
was about to unzip and try to peel off the denim when a tap on the door caused
him to freeze.

“The
tea was ready,” Allison called out from the other side of the door. “I brought
you some if you want.”

“Thanks.”

Michael
frowned as she entered, his body immediately tightening with interest once more
as he saw that she was still wearing her wet clothes.

She
smiled at him. “Did you find something to wear?”

His
blood throbbed in his veins as he tried to tear his eyes away from the lush
contours of her breasts beneath the wet fabric, the rosy, erect nipples clearly
visible. “Yes,” he managed to say.

She
must know how he was reacting to the sight of her body. He’d told her to put on
dry clothes, but she hadn’t done so. Instead, she’d come to find him.

When
he noticed that her eyes lingered on his bare chest, darting up occasionally to
his face, Michael realized that she might be experiencing the same rush of
desire and need that he was.

He
was willing to back off if that was what she wanted, but she must know her
presence here—in a bedroom, wearing practically nothing—would be an unspoken
invitation.

She
must
know.

It
had been years since Michael had hesitated to take what he wanted—particularly
when it was offered so delectably—so he stepped over and took the mug of hot
tea out of her hand. He set it down, and then he set the candle she held in her
other hand next to the mug on the dresser.

He
noticed her fingers were trembling a little.

Michael
took one of her hands in both of his, and rubbed the cold, little hand between
his to warm it up. “You’re shivering,” he murmured, “I told you to change into
dry clothes.”