Читать книгу Love Becomes Her - Donna Hill - Страница 16

Barbara hadn’t felt this good about something in a very long time, she thought as she waited for Elizabeth to return. She felt energized and it was just the thing to get each of them out of the slump they’d fallen into. They’d be so busy they wouldn’t have the time to dwell on what ailed them. And it would give her the time and space she needed to think clearly about her and Michael and the invisible line they’d crossed.

Michael had called earlier in the day. He’d wanted to see her. Against her better judgment she’d told him he could stop by for a little while and she’d prepare brunch.

When she opened the door for him and saw him smile at her as if he’d gotten the greatest gift of his life, she kicked her inhibitions to the side. If only for one night, as dearly departed Luther would say. But in her case, if only for one afternoon.

“Come on in. I was just finishing up in the kitchen. Have a seat in the living room and make yourself comfortable.” How she was able to speak as calmly as she did was a mystery to her, especially with her heart pounding at an alarming rate, her stomach in an uproar and her knees about as weak as a newborn’s.

“Let me help. After all, I did kind of bully my way over here.” He chuckled. “It’s the least I can do.”

She shrugged. “Sure. Come on.”

He followed her into the kitchen. “Wow, what a spread.”

She’d prepared honey wings, grilled chicken strips, a tossed salad, yellow rice and peas, codfish patties and a side of potato salad.

She offered up a nervous grin. “I wasn’t sure what you liked.” She twisted her hands together.

“Well, if you wanted to impress me with your cooking skills, it’s a wrap.” He walked over to the counter where the food was laid out. “Definitely impressive and it smells delicious.” He turned to her. “Thanks.” He ran his tongue across his lips, slid his hands into his jeans pocket and leaned against the fridge.

She nodded, sure that if she spoke, her voice would be a squeaky version of Minnie Mouse.

His body took up so much space, she observed absently. At six foot six, two hundred and sixty pounds of sinewy muscle covered in toffee-toned skin, he was all man, even as the slight gleam in his dark eyes and the curve of his wide mouth evoked images of the mischievous boy he once was.

“You want to stay in here or move to the dining room?” he asked with a toss of his head over his shoulder toward the adjoining room.

Barbara swallowed over the dryness in her throat, snapping back from her evaluation. The living room was a little too close to her bedroom. “Um, in here is fine. Then we don’t have to shuffle everything around.”

“Great. So, what can I help you with? Point me in the right direction.”

“The, uh, dishes and glasses are in the cabinet behind you.”

Michael took out plates and glasses and set them on the table near the window in the eat-in kitchen.

Barbara fumbled in the silverware drawer and dropped several forks and knives before finally getting it together.

“There’s a pitcher of iced tea in the refrigerator, unless you want something else,” she said, setting the silverware on the table.

“Iced tea is fine.”

“I usually do things buffet style, so help yourself to whatever and how much you want.”

Michael loaded his plate with some of everything and ate heartily. Barbara, on the other hand, was playing a game of chess with her food, strategically moving it around on the plate from one position to another.

Michael held his glass of iced tea to his lips. “Not hungry?” His brow rose with his question.

“Guess my eyes were bigger than my stomach.” She started to reach for her glass but changed her mind midway, certain that with her hands going through a bout of nervous palsy, the liquid would slosh all over her yellow linen tablecloth.

“I really like your hair out,” he said.

She patted her hair while looking away. She’d spent forty-five minutes in the mirror with her electric curling iron, trying to put a little bounce in her usual straight, pulled-back style. It must have paid off.

“Thanks.”

“I hope it was for my benefit.” He slowly put down his glass and folded his hands on the table.

“Oh, this. I…wanted to do something different. The other look thing is for work,” she babbled. Geez, where had her conversation skills run off to? They must have ducked under the table, where she wanted to go at the moment.

“I like it. You should wear your hair that way more often.” He took his napkin and wiped his mouth. “The food was delicious. This could become addictive.” He smiled slowly. “If you let it.”

Barbara didn’t know where to look, so she stared at her full plate.

“Maybe next time I can do the honors.”

Her gaze shot in his direction. Next time!

“I fix a mean pot of chili.” He winked.

Chili gave her gas. That would be her way out. “Good to know.” She stood abruptly. “Let me clean up the table.” She reached for his plate. He grabbed her hand. She stopped breathing. Damn, he was fine.

“When are you going to stop running from me?”

“I’m…running. I mean, not running.”

“Of course you are.” He held on to her hand as he came around the table and stood in front of her. “I swear I won’t hurt you. Just give me a chance. That’s all I ask, Barbara, a chance to make you happy.”

“Michael.” Her expression was one filled with doubt. “We come from two different worlds. And—”

“That’s what will make it all the more explosive when those two worlds collide.”

Before she could protest further, he kissed her. Kissed her the way she’d read about, seen on the big screen and daytime soap operas. Kissed her with a tender passion that dampened her panties and had her good sense taking a leave of absence.

She gave in. Gave in to the kiss and gave of herself. She could feel all the knots of doubt begin to loosen as he held her close, his long, hard fingers playing a concerto up and down her spine. She gave in to his warmth, letting it seep into all the places inside her that had been cold for far too long. She gave in to the feel of his erection that pushed with urgency against her pelvis, and she pushed back in the way that she remembered, that sensual before-sex dance that forced you to toss caution to the wind.

His lips moved back from hers and he looked into her eyes.

“I won’t lie to you. I want you. Bad. I can’t break it down any simpler than that. But I want you to feel the same way.” He waited a beat. “Do you?”

“Yes,” she said, surprised and relieved by her own admission. She took his hand. “Come on. If we stay in here, we might hurt ourselves with the knives and forks on the table.”

Barbara felt the heat of his body as he walked behind her. She was shaking so badly she was certain she would crumble in a heap and this fantasy would come to a grinding halt.

She stopped in front of the door, hesitated for a moment. There’s still time to change your mind, an inner voice whispered.

Michael’s lips brushed the side of her neck. She moaned and grabbed the doorknob for support. Some outside force must have turned the knob because she was frozen in place. The door opened and they stepped inside.

It was like a dream the way he undressed her, piece by piece, tossing each item on the chaise longue.

Barbara wished it was dark in her bedroom. Dim enough to hide her body’s imperfections from his exploring eyes.

As she stood before him, she saw the no longer perky breasts, airtight-stomach and track runner thighs. Instead, she saw the body of a forty-nine-year old woman who had lived life, and life, as it was wont to do, took its toll.

She didn’t want to believe him when he said that she was exquisite, a woman in every sense of the word. It couldn’t be true, her mind said, even as the tenderness of his touch worked to shatter her misconceptions.

“Let me look at all of you.”

No! her body screamed, but she couldn’t move, couldn’t run and hide while his gaze held her in place.

Barbara felt like tender meat on the holiday grill, his eyes the hot coals that cooked her from the inside out until she was ready to be devoured by the hunger that his expression cried for.

She would think about food at a time like this, and giggled nervously at the image dancing in her head.

Michael reached out and touched her right breast and she felt faint. Her eyes drifted shut for an instant then shot open when his fingers began to play with her clit.

Oh…my…God. He’s not going to do that, is he? Oh…yes…he…is!

He was on his knees and his mouth replaced his fingers.

Barbara’s inner thighs trembled and even her firm behind vibrated. She grabbed his shoulders in a death grip to keep from falling on the floor.

Michael languidly rose, nipping her skin as he did.

Somehow Barbara found herself supine on her bed with every nerve ending jumping for joy.

When Michael entered that dark space that had been empty for so long she wanted to shout hallelujah. Instead, she cried out, “Michael.”

Barbara lay curled next to the warmth of Michael’s body. The wonder of what had transpired between them had her thoughts and head swimming upstream. Ann Marie was right. It was like riding a bike. She hadn’t forgotten a thing and learned some new tricks along the way. And when Michael told her again that she was beautiful—she felt it and she believed.

She’d wanted to spend the rest of the day jumping for joy, spinning around naked in her room, reveling in her newfound sexuality. But the practicality of life took root. She’d just made love to a man-child. It felt damn good, there was no doubt about it, and she wanted more and more. That was her fear. So when Michael asked to stay with her for the rest of the day and night, she said no. And then told him on his way out the line that most men give women, “I’ll call you.”

So here she was, still tingling from the afterglow, sitting in her best girlfriend’s house, whose life was in a shambles and she didn’t have the heart to spill her own tale all over Elizabeth’s perfectly polished kitchen table.