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She’d brought protection, too, just in case Michael hadn’t replaced the box they’d finished off the last time she was in town. There was no place in her plan for an unexpected pregnancy, no place for manipulation or dishonesty. If she was going to have Michael’s baby, it was going to be with his permission.
An evening sales associate tossed her a welcoming smile as Susan sailed regally past her and into the night, shaking back her hair. Gold with streaks of light chocolate—that was how Michael had always described her hair. Gold and chocolate. Of course, he’d also said it almost exactly matched the oak of her desk, but that was when he’d had her lying on top of it.
Her desk would have been a little cumbersome to bring, so she’d settled for his favorite whiskey—a rich golden Scotch—and a box of his favorite chocolates—all lights. While he’d understand the significance of her offering, he might think her a little odd for bringing him presents on her birthday, but she wasn’t leaving anything to chance. She wanted his senses overflowing. She wanted distraction.
She wanted to ask a favor and she was scared to death he’d think she was crazy. Of course, his immediate answer would probably be no. She’d wait until he was stone-cold sober before she’d accept that decision.
MICHAEL WAS ELATED and instantly hard when he opened the door of his condo to see Susan standing there, coat gaping, his own personal paramour. But he wasn’t really surprised. He’d been thinking of her all day. Needing her. And she was here.
That was just the way it was with them.
“Lady, you read my mind.” He gathered her close, his hands sliding inside the open overcoat, as he kicked the door closed.
“Hello, Michael,” she laughed when he let her up for air.
He kissed her again, tasting her, turned on as much by the familiarity of her as the luscious breasts he felt against him. “Happy birthday, sweetheart.” He nuzzled her neck, her collarbone.
“Thank you.” Her voice wasn’t quite steady. She was on fire, too. Even after all these years, it was still instantaneous combustion. For both of them.
“Mind if I put these things down?”
Michael took her bag and the gifts she held without removing his lips from her body. He set her things on the high-backed wicker chair in the foyer and then, turning, forced her backward toward the stairs that led to his bedroom.
He was damn glad she was here.
“WHERE WERE YOU TODAY?” Susan’s words were soft, sleepy, her finger toying with his nipple as he lay facing her, still inside her.
“Atlanta.”
Her eyes were closed, but her face was taut, her body tense as she continued to play with him. “On business?”
“Later.” At the moment, Michael couldn’t even remember why he’d thought the day’s meeting so important.
“Mmm-hmm.” Susan’s tongue darted out to his lips and then was gone. “Later.”
“MICHAEL?”
“Mmm-hmm?” He’d just been thinking he should rouse himself enough to tell her his good news. As soon as he was strong enough for another celebration.
“We can always talk to each other about everything, can’t we?”
Although he didn’t shift from his position propped on the pillows with Susan cradled against his chest, Michael was instantly alert. Lethargy evaporated to be replaced with caution. And maybe something else. Maybe fear.
“I’ve always thought so.”
“Yeah, me, too.”
Her breathing became more regular as she lay there silently, more relaxed, as though she were going to sleep. Was that it, then? Just a reaffirmation of what they were to each other?
Granted, their relationship was far from traditional, an open-ended friendship with no strings attached. But it worked for him. And for her, too,
he thought. Had she just needed reassurance? He was loath to move, to disturb her. Loath to find out there was more.
“So, if...something...changed for me, I could tell you?”
What had changed? “Of course you could.”
Had she found someone else? Someone in Cincinnati? God forbid, someone she wanted to marry?
