Dangerous Passions Page 15

He’d asked what she wanted. The answer was simple: she wanted to spend the next week locked in this room with him, just the two of them—together because they wanted to be and not because circumstances had forced them into proximity.

  But it was crazy to even dream of something like that. Even on the island she’d accepted that their time together was limited—and that was before she’d known he was a Courtland.

  She shook her head, still reeling from that little bit of information. She felt like such an idiot for not making the connection, for not even suspecting.

  Now she’d somehow found herself involved, irrationally and impulsively, and with a man who lived in the same world as her ex-husband. A world she’d never managed to fit into.

  Even if she wasn’t already in love with Michael—and she was sure she wasn’t—she knew it would be easy to fall. And if she fell in love with him, she’d be opening herself up to the same heartbreak all over again.

  She wished Natalie was here. Not that she necessarily wanted to talk to her sister about these chaotic emotions, but she did want to talk to her. To know that she and Jack were safe, that any problems she’d encountered in her dealings with Zane Conroy had died along with Conroy.

  The need to hear her sister’s voice was suddenly more pressing than anything else. She forgot about the bath for a few more minutes and dialed.

  “Shannon—I’ve been going out of my mind with worry. Where are you? Are you all right?”

  The welcome sound of Natalie’s voice brought tears to her eyes. The obvious concern in her tone helped Shannon hold them in check. “I told you I’d call when I got a chance.”

  “I know. But Dylan expected to hear from Mike yesterday and when he didn’t, we started to worry that something might have happened. Dylan was even thinking about flying down to Florida to track you down.”

  “That’s not necessary,” Shannon assured her. “Everything’s fine here.”

  “Are you still with Michael?”

  “Yes,” she admitted, then quickly changed the subject before her sister could pursue that avenue of inquiry. “Have you heard from Mom?”

  “The new Mrs. Sutherland called me from Vegas last night,” Natalie said. “And she sounded very happy.”

  Shannon couldn’t hold back the sigh. “Doesn’t she always?”

  “I really think it’s different this time.”

  “That’s because you’re an eternal optimist.”

  “Maybe I do want it to be different,” Natalie admitted. “I want her to be happy. I want you to be happy.”

  “Marriage isn’t the answer for everyone.” But she realized that she sounded more wistful than disdainful and only hoped her sister wouldn’t pick up on it.

  She should have known it was a futile hope.

  “Just because Doug didn’t love you doesn’t mean the right man won’t,” Natalie said gently.

  “I’m not sure I believe there is a ‘right man’ for everyone,” Shannon told her. “And I have too much going on in my life to even think about things like that right now.”

  This time it was Natalie who sighed. “Does that mean there weren’t any sparks between you and Michael?”

  There were so many sparks she sometimes felt as though she might spontaneously combust when she was with him. But she decided it was best to keep those details to herself rather than fuel her sister’s overactive imagination.

  “How’s my nephew’s baseball team doing?” she asked instead, hoping to make her sister forget about Michael.

  “Terrific,” Natalie said, launching into the subject with enthusiasm. “They’re on a three-game winning streak, and Jack hit a home run last game.”

  “I can’t wait to see him play.”

  “He’d love it if you came out to a game.”

  Shannon promised herself she’d make it to the ballpark before the end of the season—because next year she’d be on the other side of the Atlantic Ocean. “Be sure to give him a big hug and a kiss for me.”

  “I will,” Natalie said.

  Her doubts and confusion about moving to France aside, Shannon felt marginally better after talking to her sister. If nothing else, saying the words out loud to Natalie reinforced her belief that she had neither the time nor the inclination for romantic entanglements.

  A mutually satisfying physical relationship was one thing—falling in love was something else entirely. Something she wasn’t prepared to do—not after only a few days, and definitely not with someone like Michael. Not again.

  Forcing those thoughts out of her mind, she finally headed into the bathroom.

  Andrew Peart had survived surgery.

  He’d suffered significant internal bleeding as a result of his wounds and what was likely permanent damage to his shoulder. Despite this, the doctors told his wife they were optimistic about his recovery. He was young and healthy and obviously had a strong will to live. For now, however, he remained in intensive care and under police guard in the hospital.

  Alysia was allowed to visit her husband, but she wasn’t permitted to be alone with him. The cop who was posted outside the room followed her inside, and she had to endure his silent but undisguised scrutiny while she held Andrew’s motionless hand between her own.

  She was concerned about the fact that he hadn’t yet regained consciousness, but the doctors assured her that was normal. His body had suffered significant trauma and undergone major surgery, but there was no reason to think he wouldn’t come around in a day or two.

  She brushed a lock of hair away from his forehead.

  Truth was, she was glad he wasn’t awake. Because she knew that, as soon as his eyes opened, the room would be filled with cops interrogating and harassing him. He didn’t need to deal with that right now, not after everything he’d already been through.

  She squeezed his hand as a lone tear trickled down her cheek. She couldn’t believe how close she’d come to losing him. And so soon after her brother’s tragic death.

  It was so unfair. How much was one woman supposed to endure? How many losses could she bear?

  She brushed these questions away along with her tear. She wasn’t going to lose Andrew. He was her husband, her partner.

  Till death do us part.

  Shannon decided to take a shower before her bath. When she realized how much dirt and grime was stuck to her body, she decided the last thing she wanted to do was soak in it. After wrapping her foot in a laundry bag to keep the stitches dry, she turned on the spray. She scrubbed her body thoroughly with a puff and scented shower gel. And she washed her hair—three times. Then, when she was sure that she was clean, she filled the tub with hot water, added a generous amount of foaming bubbles and finally relaxed.

  She felt as though she’d been on the island for weeks instead of only days. Her body ached with fatigue and tension, but both slowly drained away into the soothing warmth of the water, the fragrant froth of the bubbles.

  She only wished she could empty her mind so easily. But no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t stop thinking about Michael.

  Dammit—she didn’t need the complication of these unexpected feelings. And she couldn’t afford the heartbreak that would inevitably follow if she succumbed to them.

  Just because Doug didn’t love you doesn’t mean the right man won’t. Her sister’s words haunted her, tempted her.

  Except that there was no way Michael could ever be the right man for her.

  Men like him didn’t fall in love with women like her. Men like him had sex with women like her, but they fell in love with and married women of their own social class and tax bracket. Doug, of course, had been an exception—but only because she had something he wanted.

  She couldn’t imagine there was anything she had that Michael would want for the long term. She wouldn’t delude herself into thinking she was anything more to him than a temporary diversion. And that was a role she couldn’t continue to play—not if she wanted to keep her heart intact.

  She pulled the plug and sto
od up, grabbing a thick terry towel and vigorously scrubbing it over her body as she contemplated the night ahead of her.

  Michael was in his room. Maybe he was even waiting for her to knock on the adjoining door. He’d made it clear that the next move was hers. But she wasn’t strong enough to take that step. She wasn’t brave enough to risk her heart again.

  She shoved one arm into the oversize robe, then the other, then belted it securely around her waist. She was going to stay in her own room, order up a hot meal from room service, then climb between the fresh crisp sheets of a real bed and sleep for at least twelve hours without interruption—without dreaming about Michael.

  Except that when she opened the bathroom door, he was there. Beside a small round table set for two with pressed linen, sparkling crystal and gleaming silver. There was music—soft and sultry jazz playing in the background. And flowers. A vase overflowing with creamy white roses, the scent of their fragrant blooms filling the air with a sweet, heady perfume.

  But it was the man who caught and held her attention.

  He was dressed in clean khakis and a yellow polo shirt that stretched across his broad shoulders, the color emphasizing the bronze tan of his skin.

  Her mouth actually watered looking at him.

  “Michael.”

  It was all she could manage, but it must have been enough because he smiled in response and stepped toward her. She felt herself tremble as he reached for her, taking each of her hands in one of his own.

  “I know I said it was up to you,” he said. “But I couldn’t resist a little persuasion.”

  “It’s…incredible.”

  “I wanted to take you out,” he said. “Somewhere romantic for dinner and dancing. But under the circumstances—and considering the fact that you have nine stitches in your foot—I thought it best if we stayed in.”

  She smiled. “It was a nice thought.”

  “Are you hungry?”

  “Starved,” she admitted, remembering her decision to order up room service, her determination not to think about Michael. Both of those resolutions had been undermined by his actions, but she wasn’t the least bit sorry.

  “I took the liberty of ordering for both of us.” He lifted the domed lids to reveal their dinner. “Peanut butter and jelly.”

  Then he pulled a bottle out of the wine bucket, popped the cork and poured into the two crystal flutes on the table.

  She smiled. “Champagne?”

  “You chose the meal, I chose the wine.” He set the bottle back into the bucket, picked up the glasses, handed one to her.

  She stared at the bubbles rising in her glass. Skippy and Cristal—they were as different, and as incompatible, as she and Michael were.

  “American peanut butter and French champagne don’t go together,” she said softly.

  “Says who?”

  Was he making a point—or was she reading too much into a simple gesture?

  She took a sip of the wine and moved closer to the table, smiling at the neatly cut triangles of bread on the elegant china platter. “I can’t imagine this is a staple of Courtland clientele.”

  “The Courtland organization prides itself on responding to the needs and desires of its guests. Although somebody needs to remind our current chef of that fact—apparently he threatened to quit over my request.”

  She smiled. “You’re kidding?”

  He shook his head. “There might have been a mutiny in the kitchen if Rachel hadn’t managed to soothe his temper—or maybe it was his ego.”

  “I would have been more than happy with anything off of the regular menu,” she told him.

  “That’s because you’re starving,” he reminded her, then pulled back a chair for her to be seated. “Let’s eat.”

  She watched as he chewed a corner of his own sandwich, slowly, hesitantly. Finally he swallowed.

  “Well?”

  He took a long sip of champagne. “It’s different.”

  “It’s a classic,” she corrected, popping another bite into her mouth. “And delicious.”

  They ate in silence until the platter of sandwiches was empty. Michael may not have been thrilled with the menu choice, but he’d obviously been as hungry as she was.

  He topped up her glass with more champagne. “Feel better now that you’ve eaten?”

  She nodded and reached for her wine. “I can’t remember when I’ve enjoyed a meal more.”

  “I’m sure anything would have been an improvement over charred fish and overripe bananas.”

  “It was more than just the sandwiches,” she said. “You didn’t have to do any of this, Michael.”

  “I wanted to.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I wanted to give you a memory that might help erase some of the horror of the past couple of days.”

  “It wasn’t all bad,” she said. “Aside from the bullets and the bad guys, the snakes and sleeping on the ground.”

  “You won’t have to sleep on the ground tonight,” he assured her.

  She glanced over at the wide bed on the other side of the room and couldn’t help but wonder if he would be sharing it with her. Michael followed the direction of her gaze, his own darkening with promise in response to her unspoken question.

  Which was why Shannon was completely taken by surprise when he said, “There are some great movies on TV tonight.”

  She traced the base of her glass with the tip of a fingernail, puzzling over his statement. “You want to watch a movie?”

  He reached across the table to take her hand. “What I want is to make love with you, Shannon. Slowly, thoroughly and endlessly.”

  His thumb stroked over her wrist, and she knew he was aware of how fast her pulse was racing.

  “But I also want to spend time with you. Time just being with you, without worrying about any danger that lurks around the corner or any complications that tomorrow might bring.”

  Whatever plans she’d had to keep an emotional distance melted into a soggy puddle at his feet—along with her heart.

  “Now I’ll ask you again,” he continued. “What do you want?”

  “I think…I’d like to watch a movie with you.” Then she smiled. “Later.”

  Chapter 13

  Mike sat at the little table with a cup of coffee in front of him and wondered how it was possible that he could feel such a sense of peace and contentment.

  It wasn’t just sexual satisfaction—although there was certainly that—but a deeper intimacy and emotional connection he’d never experienced with any other woman. In fact, nothing had ever seemed as right as just being with Shannon.

  Was this love?

  The question would ordinarily have sent him into a tailspin. He wasn’t looking for love. He wasn’t looking for anything more complicated than what they’d already shared: mind-boggling, body-numbing sex. Mutually satisfying and definitely temporary.

  Except that the thought of Shannon walking out of his life when this situation with A.J. was finally resolved made something inside him ache.

  He wasn’t ready to let her go.

  Not yet.

  Maybe not ever.

  Okay—that thought gave him pause.

  He’d known Shannon less than a week, it was ridiculous to think about spending the rest of his life with her.

  The last thing he needed or wanted was to be tied to any one woman forever. He had no intention of signing himself up for the kind of misery that permeated both of his parents’ lives. Not after the close call he’d had with Tiffany.

  He’d started dating her about a year after he’d come back from Righaria. He’d been looking for something or someone to fill the gaping void of having lost Brent and Lisa and his career, and Tiffany had seemed…suitable.

  He winced at the word but couldn’t deny it was appropriate.

  She’d been attractive, sophisticated and intelligent. And if there was no real passion between them, they’d at least been friends. Most important, being with Tiffany meant that he
wasn’t alone. Because when he was alone, he was haunted by the nightmares of Righaria and the uncertainty of what he was going to do with the rest of his life.

  He’d known he wasn’t in love with her, but he’d thought they could make their relationship work. She’d been supportive and sympathetic, encouraging him to take his time to figure out what he wanted to do with his life.

  And then he’d overheard a conversation between Tiffany and his mother, in which Tiffany had promised she would convince Michael to take a position at Courtland Enterprises. He might not be thrilled with the idea at first, she’d admitted, but as soon as she got pregnant with their child, she’d make him see that it was the best way to provide for his family.

  It was the wake-up call Mike had needed, and he’d walked away from Tiffany without a backward glance.

  After that, he’d been determined to keep his relationships simple. No expectations, no promises, no disappointments. And he’d done so—until Shannon. Until this morning, when he’d awoken with her in his arms, their naked bodies tangled together, and he’d realized he didn’t want to let her go.

  He looked up as she stepped into the room. She was just out of the shower again, wearing only a hotel robe, her hair still damp, her skin glowing.

  He’d never seen Tiffany so completely without artifice. But even dressed to the nines in her designer clothes and flashy jewels, she’d never looked as perfect as Shannon did right now.

  She inhaled deeply, smiled. “Please tell me that’s coffee I smell.”

  “Genuine Columbian,” he told her.

  He poured another cup as she sat down across from him.

  She didn’t seem to notice that the lapels of her robe gaped open, exposing the creamy curve of one breast—but he certainly did.

  She sipped, then sighed blissfully. “I can’t believe it’s been three days since I’ve had a cup of coffee,” she admitted. “I really missed this.”

  It was the expression on her face—the pure and simple pleasure—that erased the last of his doubts.

  This was the woman he wanted to be with forever.

  Maybe it was fast, maybe it was crazy to make the decision over morning coffee, but there it was. He was in love with Shannon, and he wanted to spend the rest of his life with her.