BABY & THE BEAST Page 8

  The door closed on Thomas's query, and for moment Michael stared at the door that had shut him off from everything human until Bella had traipsed back into his life.

  A low growl escaped his throat as he turned back to his work. This, work—that's what he was thankful for. He didn't need a holiday to bring on that bit of self-awareness.

  *

  "You have to peel them, Michael." Isabella laughed as she dipped into a kitchen drawer and came out with an apple peeler. It was strange, but she knew the workings of Michael's kitchen better than he did. The intimacy of it all still surprised her.

  Michael grumbled as he stripped the apple of its protection. "I don't know why I'm helping with a dessert I'm not even going to eat."

  "Neither do I," she replied cheerfully. "Why don't you go back upstairs and work?"

  "I'm working out an idea in my head." He kept peeling. "I needed some air."

  It was how they were. One grumpy and one excessively merry. They seemed to balance each other out, Isabella thought. During the day they each worked, while sharing chores and sharing Emily. At night Michael read Emily a story until she fell asleep and Isabella made dinner. Then, when it was time to go to bed, they lay together while Emily had her late-night snack. They tried not touch, but inevitably each night they'd lose that battle and by morning they would be cuddled together with Emily between them.

  Isabella rolled out the pie crust with a fervor that erupted inside her whenever she thought about Michael in her bed. But although she couldn't smother the heated workings inside, she tried to remain cool in demeanor on the outside and opted for idle conversation. "Why aren't you going to Thanksgiving dinner tonight? And don't tell me it's work."

  "It is work."

  "This is a holiday, Michael."

  "I don't believe in holidays."

  With steady hands, she placed the crust in the glass pie plate. "What do you mean you don't believe in holidays? You had Christmas with me and Dad."

  "I have two weeks to deliver my software to Micronics." He started cutting up the apples. "I can't afford any more nights off."

  He wasn't fooling anyone with that grouchy declaration. All those nights with Emily and dinners with her hadn't really cut into his work schedule at all.

  "Maybe I can help you," she offered.

  "Help me what?"

  Oh, Lord. That was a loaded question. But one step at a time. "If I can help you solve this problem you're working on, will you go to the Pintas with me?"

  His eyebrows rose a fraction.

  "C'mon, give me a chance," she said. "I have some great ideas."

  The skepticism shadowing his gaze was no surprise, but as she poured the apples into the waiting pie crust, he explained, "The software I've created is for a Web-to-home connection. My original proposal included the ability to turn the thermostat up and down over the Internet, arming or disarming the home-security system, watering the plants and the yard."

  "That sounds wonderful." Fragrant cinnamon and nutmeg wafted through the air as Isabella sprinkled the spices and sugar over the apples, then dotted the whole thing with butter.

  "I don't feel it's enough. I want to add a feature for parents that will allow them to spend more time with their children. Everyone's so busy, especially mothers. I thought that speeding up the small things like having the bathwater already drawn would leave more time for the actual bath."

  "It would."

  "But I need a few more ideas."

  "Okay." Her mind worked as she rolled out the top crust. "I can certainly give you a mother's perspective. How about being able to use a Palm Pilot to start a bottle warming while Mom's still on the drive home? Or an automatic inventory system that keeps track of how many diapers and wipes are used and reorders through an online shopping list?" She turned to face him. "Or you could design a car-pool program where the mom who's driving can send instant messages to the other children's mothers letting them know their kids have safely arrived at their destination."

  Michael didn't say anything for a moment, just stared at her, and Isabella wondered if her suggestions sounded ridiculous. But then he moved toward her, backing her against the counter, his hands bracketing her hips, and she couldn't think at all.

  His hooded gaze level with hers, he whispered, "Has anyone ever told you how smart you are?"

  Caught, pinned, trapped by the sexiest man she'd ever laid eyes on. "I've heard that once or twice."

  His eyes moved to her mouth. "How about how beautiful you are?"

  She swallowed, but her voice remained caught in her throat. She wanted to kiss him. Just one, then she could go back to town happy. Oh, who was she kidding? A kiss would never be enough. But it was a start.

  Her silence seemed to make Michael draw back. "Sorry about that."

  Dammit. "About what?" She fought to keep her voice light, playful. "Giving me a compliment?"

  But Michael's eyes were shuttered, his mouth drawn into a firm line. "No. It just sounded like a come-on and…" He trailed off.

  "And you would never come on to me, right?" she finished for him.

  "Bella, listen, you deserve more than—"

  She put a hand up. "I have a lot of work to finish, Michael." She had no interest in listening to his excuses for not touching her, no matter how noble and rational they sounded. After such a crummy marriage, she wanted the real thing. She wanted a man who wanted her and wasn't afraid to admit it.

  "If you'll excuse me," she said tightly.

  "Fine. I'll go." His eyes darkened. "But I'll see you later."

  She watched him walk out of the kitchen, all too clear about what he meant. He'd see her in bed later. He'd lie beside her in the spirit of protectiveness, while her hormones raged and her body craved what it couldn't have.

  She needed to leave, go to her own home. Because what had started as a fantasy was slowly becoming torture.

  *

  Michael stood on the Pintas' doorstep with a poinsettia and a bottle of that sparkling cider Bella liked so much. Sara had thoughtfully made him a small turkey with all the fixings before she'd left for her own family celebration, but he'd packed it up, put it in the fridge and left the house.

  He told himself that he was here because he owed Bella. Those ideas she'd spouted off like tennis balls from an automatic feeder were pure genius and would no doubt make Micronics do backflips. But that nagging voice that resided too close to his heart relayed an altogether different story: he couldn't eat alone anymore. Or maybe it was that he couldn't eat without her. Either way, he was in trouble.

  The door opened and Thomas presented him with a grand smile. "You came."

  "Don't rub it in," Michael grumbled.

  Thomas laughed as he escorted Michael inside. The scents of turkey and apples were heavy in the air. First stop was the kitchen where he presented Ruth with the poinsettia and shook the hand of her younger son, Kyle, who was sampling his mother's stuffing and mashed potatoes with a fork. Michael thanked them for inviting him and went into the living room.

  Looking extraordinarily beautiful with her long blond hair loose, a little makeup and that killer smile, Bella sat on the floral couch beside Thomas's oldest son, Derek, talking animatedly. The Pinta sons had been athletes in high school and had had no taste for teasing a young Michael as their schoolmates had. They were pretty decent guys … well, as much as Michael had gotten to know them in the four years he'd been back in Fielding.

  Derek had been living in Minneapolis for a few years practicing law, and he looked the part. Casual but expensive suit, slicked-back hair and manicured hands. And, Michael noticed with a trace of annoyance, those hands were holding a crying Emily.

  The threesome looked way too comfortable. He knew that someday Bella might have a new husband and Emily would have a father. But that day wasn't today. They still lived with him. And until they moved out, they belonged to him.

  "This is a surprise," Bella said as both she and Derek stood up and walked over to greet him.

&nbs
p; "We had a deal, right?" Michael said, glancing at her form-fitting blue skirt and blouse. One month and already her figure was all breath-catching curves. Where was the mercy?

  She shrugged, her smile tentative. "I wasn't exactly sure."

  Emily continued to cry, and Bella took her from Derek, but soon that cry turned into a wail.

  "Let me take her," Michael said, easing the little girl into his arms.

  Bella smiled at Derek. "He's something of a baby-whisperer."

  A very content Emily remained in his arms all through dinner. From time to time, Bella would offer to take her. His excuse was always the same: Emily was fine where she was.

  No one made a big deal out of Michael's surprising interest in joining a social event. The awkwardness he'd expected to feel never came. He hated to admit it, but they were a nice group of people, no apparent hidden agendas. Over turkey and dressing and corn pudding, they discussed current events and told jokes. But when dessert time came, so did Michael's waiting cynicism.

  "Before anyone takes a bite of either of Bella's delicious pies," Thomas began, "we each have to say what we're thankful for." He glanced at Michael and gave him a one-word explanation, "Tradition."

  "My health," Ruth exclaimed.

  "I'm incredibly thankful for my daughter," Bella said with a soft smile.

  "Mom's sage and onion stuffing," Thomas's younger son offered. "Just the best."

  Thomas looked around the table. "For all of you being here."

  "Class-action lawsuits," Derek said, deadpan.

  Everyone broke out into laughter and Michael hoped to hell that they'd forgotten him. To help that plan along, he picked up his fork and focused on his slice of apple pie. But soon he felt all their eyes on him and he glanced up.

  "Come now, son," Thomas said with a hearty chuckle. "Hurry up. I'm dying to take a bite of this pie."

  In the past fifteen years, right answers had flowed from his lips more smoothly than Bella's hot caramel sauce. But these people looked at him as though they could spot brightly packaged bull a mile away. "If it's all right, I'd prefer to keep it to myself."

  Silence met his answer, and he glanced over at Bella. She smiled and nodded her head. "I think that's fair. But next year we'll expect an answer."

  The room settled into approving laughter and enthusiastic pie eating. Michael, however couldn't take his eyes off his beautiful, and highly addictive guardian angel. She'd done it again. Saved him from the torturous crowd. And right now, if she asked him again if that debt he owed her would ever be paid, he knew the only honest answer would be…

  No.

  *

  After she'd fed Emily and put her to bed, Isabella grabbed the baby monitor and headed down the hallway to the elevator—the same direction Michael had taken when they'd arrived home a few hours ago. It had been plenty surprising to see him at the Pintas', but gratifying to watch him take another step into life.

  It made what she had to tell him easier. Almost.

  She heard the rock music before the elevator stopped and the doors parted. Garbed in just sweatpants, Michael was stretched out on a workout bench, pressing a metal bar with a tremendous amount of weight on it over his head.

  "Need a spotter?" she asked, crossing to stand over him.

  "No," he grunted. "That's not what I need."

  Her skin warmed at his words and their obvious meaning. Her gaze moved over him as he brought the bar to his chin and back up again. Taut stomach, powerful arms roped with muscle. A fine sheen of sweat glistened on his skin under the lights. Longing surged into her blood. Yes, she understood that hunger, that need.

  But she couldn't tell him that. So she did the only thing she could. She plunged headfirst into why she'd actually come up here. "Well, you're missing out, Wulf. It's my last night to spot you."

  He brought the bar down and secured it to the rack before he said, "Your last night?"

  The smile she gave him was bright. "Emily and I are going to move into town tomorrow."

  "Your place is ready?" His voice had an edge.

  "It's actually been ready for a few days, but…"

  He stood up, wiped his face and chest with a towel. "But what?"

  Isabella watched the white cotton with envious eyes as it moved over his chest. Never again would she be able to stare at him so openly. No. She'd have to pine and long in the privacy of her new place. There was no point in telling him that she'd stayed here longer than necessary because being with him was as addictive as chocolate. She had to give herself a chance at a real life, a real love.

  "I think I'm going to go downstairs," she said swiftly. "Get ready for bed. I'm pretty tired."

  "So am I, Bella. You know that? I'm real tired." His gaze demanded she not look away.

  "Well, it's probably all the bench-pressing," she said, gesturing at the weights.

  He shook his head. "No, that's not it."

  "Tryptophan in the turkey can really mess with—"

  "I'm tired of pretending that I don't want you," he said as he caught her arm and gently pulled her to him. "Bella…"

  "What?" Her voice shook with want and need and anxiety. This was so unfair. She was weak with him, didn't he know that? Didn't he understand how easily he could hurt her?

  His mouth was too close, his eyes were growing too dark. "Would you like to know what I'm thankful for?"

  She held her breath as the heat from his sweating body surged into her chest and shot straight downward.

  "I'm thankful for that strange October day when the snow turned into a blizzard." He leaned in and kissed her mouth softly. "And I'm thankful that it wouldn't stop." His eyes never left hers, but his fingers moved to her blouse, opening the buttons one at a time.

  She shivered, her legs like jelly.

  "I'm thankful you let me bring Emily into this world," he whispered, his tone husky.

  Isabella's breathing turned into short rhythmic pants as her mind and all good sense fell away.

  He eased off her shirt, let it fall to the floor. "I'm thankful that you came back to stay with me a second time."

  Cool air warred with the heat blazing on her skin.

  "And I'm so thankful," he said, "that you came up here tonight and didn't pull away from me."

  Was he serious? "I would never pull away from you, Michael," she said. "Never."

  His gaze held hers as he reached behind her. Two little clicks and her bra fell to the floor. "You've driven me insane, Bella."

  "Finally." The words came out in a rush as she buried her hands in his hair and drew his mouth to her breast.

  It was the sweetest feeling in the world. So far removed from what she'd imagined or dreamed of. His mouth was gentle as he suckled, flicking the hardened bud with his tongue. If he could just let himself go, allow himself to feel for longer than a moment—longer than a kiss—she'd know in her heart that he was taking one more step toward life. And toward her.

  "Bella," he whispered, "tell me this is all right."

  It was more than all right. It was everything.

  Abandoning her aching breast, he looked up at her, eyes dark as the night sky but overflowing with stars of desire. Maybe this was fantasy, maybe she was crazy for falling into the arms of a man who could never love her. But at this moment she didn't care. "It's perfect, Michael."

  His eyes flooded with heat as he unzipped her skirt and told the lights to dim.

  * * *

  Chapter 8

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  Michael knew he'd gone mad with a desire and a yearning he didn't dare stop to examine. If he did, he'd remember how wrong this was. He was Bella's protector and her friend. But right now, friendship was the last thing on his mind. Pleasing her the way she deserved to be pleased was his one and only mission, and he'd suffer the consequences of this foolish decision later.

  Bella's mouth called to him and he brushed his lips over hers until she opened. The lower half of him contracted, hard as steel as her hot, urgent tongue slid into his mouth. A
moment ago he wouldn't have believed it possible, this level of need. So unfamiliar, so forbidding. But this was Bella. She'd shocked him with more than his staggering desire for her. Everything he'd experienced in the past month had been different with her near.

  With an animal growl, he eased down her skirt, then her sheer stockings, grazing her supple hips with his hands, until she stood before him in just a mere wisp of pale-blue lace. A hint of a smile touched her lips, and her eyes were bright and filled with hunger. The look fisted around his heart.

  A muscle tensing in his cheek, Michael turned away for a moment. No one had ever ripped a pathway to his soul the way she did.

  "I've thought about this too many times." He could hear the frustration in his voice.

  He glanced up to see disbelief warring with that killer need in her eyes. "You have?"

  "Every night, all night. And then there are the days…"

  "Tell me what you imagined," she whispered as she slowly slipped off her panties.

  Every ounce of control he possessed snapped like a twig in a tornado. Another growl escaped his throat as he picked her up, walked over to his desk and thrust aside all the papers. In a chaotic wave, they floated in the air a second before fluttering to the floor. But Michael hardly noticed as he sat her down on the smooth surface of his desk.

  Bella's mouth fell open in surprise at the bold move, but her eyes burned with a fever his body recognized.

  "You wanted to know what I imagined, right?" he asked as he dropped into the leather chair directly in front of her.

  She nodded, and he noticed that her pulse pounded violently at the base of her throat.

  His eyes locked on hers, he moved his chair forward until the arms hit the metal desk. "I thought about filling my hands with you," he said as he reached behind her and cupped her buttocks.

  Her breath rushed out. "Then what?"

  He slid her toward him. "I thought about you spreading your legs for me."

  She licked her lips. Slowly, she eased her knees apart. "And then…?"