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My gaze searches his. He looks completely unruffled, as if being here is nothing out of the ordinary. “You could have let me know.”
“And ruin the surprise?”
“I hate surprises.”
He laughs and wraps me in a hug, then drops a kiss on top of my head. “You’re feisty.”
“I don’t understand you,” I answer stiffly, not wanting to get excited, not wanting my heart to get banged up, not again. Not by him.
“What don’t you understand?”
“You.”
“Oh, I’m easy enough to understand. I’m crazy about you. Very much in love with you and here to take you home and make you mine.”
“Is that so?”
“That is so.” And then he reaches for me, his arms sliding around my waist, pulling me close. I can feel his hard, warm body against the length of me. His head dips, his face blocking the bright lights, and then he kisses me. And this kiss, so hot, so fierce, so consuming, feels like home, too.
When he finally lifts his head, his eyes are darkly blue as they look down at me. “Convinced?”
“No,” I say. “Can we do that again?”
And he does, and this kiss is even longer and hotter than the last. My knees buckle and I have to grab on to him.
“Ready to go?” he asks long moments later.
“Yes. If you’ll fly home with me.”
“I was hoping you’d ask.”
On board the small, sleek jet, Michael and I sit next to each other in our leather seats, our fingers linked. It feels very glamorous and more than a little surreal with Michael in his suit and me in my gown. All we need is champagne and caviar and we could be posing for Town & Country magazine.
We’re quiet during takeoff, but once we’ve reached cruising altitude, Michael covers my hand with both of us. “Can we get this right?” he asks.
“I hope so,” I answer. For weeks I’ve craved this, wanting this, wanting him to love me, choose me, to say it’s me he’s always wanted, that it’s me he can’t live without.
Just as they do in romantic movies. Except I want it for real. I want love that’s huge and fierce and strong. I want a man who will love me and be with me and not disappear on me.
I want a man who will grow old with me. Who will be there as the creases deepen and the wrinkles lengthen and my hair goes from brown to gray to white.
I want a man who will hold my hand even when it trembles with age.
I want a man who will wait for me even if I walk slowly from the chair to the door.
I want a man who will sit with me on the winter days and we will face the pale sun together, faces lifted, pleased to still be alive, to still be together, to still just be.
That is my dream. And then he hands me my dream. “Do you remember asking me about my relationships, especially Alexis?” His eyes find mine and hold. “I couldn’t commit to her, couldn’t love her. I was already in love with you.”
Goose bumps pepper my skin, and I shiver. “You’re really in love with me?”
“Madly, ridiculously, although I didn’t want to be.”
“Why not?”
He reaches out, strokes my hair back from my face. “I don’t know. I was certainly attracted to you, and have been from the first time I met you.”
“Where did we first meet?”
“Max’s house. Four years ago. He and Irene threw a huge party just before Christmas. You wore an emerald green dress and were unbelievably hot.”
I wrinkle my nose but on the inside I’m beaming. Hot, huh? “You make it sound like a bad thing.”
“Well, it was. Here’s this gorgeous, sexy, very smart woman with the most ridiculous guy.”
I’m giggling now but Michael ignores me, adding, “He was a painter. From Laguna. And he couldn’t keep his hands off you. Even though I’d just met you I wanted to rip his head off. I wanted to be the one touching you.”
“Matthew Breese,” I say, remembering. We’d dated for five months, but it never felt right. “He was awfully touchy-feely, wasn’t he?”
“Excessively.”
“So if I was hot, and you were attracted to me, why didn’t you ever ask me out? Why always give me such a hard time?”
The edge of his mouth curves and he smiles this slow, rueful smile that has to be the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen. “I just knew you deserved more than what I could give you. I’m married to my work. It’s been a problem in all my relationships and I hoped that if I stayed away from you, someone else, someone better, would snatch you up.”
My chest suddenly feels too tender and my happiness slips a notch. “But no one did.”
“Thank God.” He looks into my eyes and there’s so much warmth and emotion there that it takes my breath away. “I was being stupid, and it took the trip to Zambia to make me realize that I didn’t just want your body, but I wanted you, Tiana Tomlinson, forever.”
“But in Katete, you knew I liked you. That last night I invited you to my room…”
“I know. I wanted to go. I wanted to rip your clothes off and devour you, but it didn’t seem like the right time, or place.”
“I can’t believe you turned sex down.”
“But I didn’t want sex.” Michael hesitates, struggling for words. “I wanted you. And I wanted more than one night, and God help me, I didn’t want to screw it up. I’d been attracted to you for so many years and finally, here’s this opportunity, but was it the right one?”
“I had no idea you were so old-fashioned.”
“Not old-fashioned, just protective when it comes to you. I hated it when other jerks hurt you. I didn’t want to become one of those jerks. So I gave us time.”
“How nice of you,” I drawl. “But what was the time for? Time to forget you? Get over you? Meet someone new?”
He grimaces. “There is that. And it did cross my mind. But then the accident happened, and before we had a chance to figure anything out, I was your doctor and I couldn’t act on my feelings even if I wanted to.”
“Your damn ethics!”
He laughs huskily and reaches for me, tugging me from my seat belt and onto his lap. “Don’t think it was easy. Once you were at UCLA’s Medical Center, I couldn’t stay away. I’d go by twice a day just to see you.”
Michael gently sweeps his thumb across my scar, soothing it. “This little thing complicated everything.”
“How’s that?”
“I worried that I’d scar you. Worried that you’d blame me. Worried that it’d change you. I needn’t have worried so much. You’re such a fighter. You’ve come through like a champ. You came out swinging, and I couldn’t be prouder.”
I slide an arm around his neck and press a kiss to his lips. “You should have just called,” I whisper against his mouth. “I wanted you to call. I missed you so much.”
His hand reaches up into my hair, letting the thick mass slide over and through his fingers. “Can we make this work?”
“Yes.”
“How can you be sure?”
I touch my lips against his, close my eyes, and just breathe him in. He smells of soap and cologne, and his skin feels warm, and on his breath there’s a hint of mint. This is what a man should feel like and smell like. This is what my man feels and smells like. “Because I’ve waited a long time to feel this way.”
My eyes sting and I look up at him. “I love you. I’ve only said that to one other man, and I married him.”
“You love me.”
“Yes.”
The corner of his mouth lifts. “This is working out pretty nicely, if I do say so myself.”
I just shake my head. He’s so impossible and awful and wonderful, and I don’t think I could love any man more. “You make me a little crazy,” I confess, “but I think that’s part of your charm.”
He kisses me with hunger, and desire explodes inside me, fierce and raw. Just when I think I have to tear his clothes from his back, he draws away, and he looks down at me with dark, intense eyes. “I don?
?t want to screw this up, baby.”
“How would you?”
He shakes his head. “I don’t always communicate well. I work too hard. I can be preoccupied— ”
“I know. That’s part of you, part of what makes you the brilliant and gorgeous and maddening Michael O’Sullivan. The only man I want in my life.”
He cups my face between his hands. “Say it again.”
“The only man I want.”
And then he’s kissing me again, and things get a little hotter— well, a lot hotter— and clothes shift, and bodies move, and it’s me who thinks this is absolutely the right time to make love. “We have to seize the day,” I say, unbuttoning his shirt and then his belt buckle.
“I’m afraid in a moment you’ll be seizing a lot more,” he answers gravely, and he’s right. Unzipping his trousers, I discover there’s a lot of Michael, far, far more than I expected. It’s an exciting surprise, even a little daunting.
Michael lifts my evening gown and makes quick work of my stockings, and I don’t know if it’s the altitude or the turbulence, but making love is beyond orgasmic. If it weren’t for Michael’s mouth on mine, even the pilot would have heard me scream.
After, he holds me on his lap, my face on his chest, and I sigh with pleasure and peace. That was so good. And so fun. I don’t suppose we’d have time to try it again….
We do.
And I am not disappointed.
We’re on our final descent into Burbank, and I’m back in my seat, clothes adjusted as best as they can be. My beautiful silver gown will never be the same, but isn’t this what beautiful gowns are for? Falling in love? Making love?
