A Different Kind of Forever(29)

I know,” she said. She stopped and looked at him, eyes wide and dark. “If that was all this was about, I could just sleep with you and walk away. And believe me, I am so tempted right now. But I know that you are so much more than just that. And this right now, you and I, this is more. At least,” she faltered, “at least I think it is. Unless you just want to get laid. Oh, shit.” She covered her face with her hands. “That’s it, right?” She dropped her hands and looked at him miserably. “You must think I’m a real idiot.”

“No, that’s not it. And I don’t think you’re an idiot.” He spoke quietly, his eyes boring into hers. “I think you’re one of the brightest people I’ve ever met. I love how passionate you are about things, your work, your kids, your whole life. You’re funny and kind and I think you have the most beautiful eyes I’ve ever seen. When you smile, you break my heart. I think you’re amazing.”

She looked at him, his blue eyes, the dark, straight brow, the angle of his cheekbones. She knew the taste of him now, and desire came over her, filling her chest and throat. “This is happening very fast. I have to decide what I want to do.”

He stood up. “Yeah, I know it’s happening fast. And for the record, yes, I do want you. If there was a cave nearby, I’d knock you over the head and drag you there by your hair. That’s all I’ve been thinking about.” He had been walking toward her, and she had been backing away, until her back hit the wall and she could go no further. He put his hands up, one on either side of her face, and leaned in. “I’ve been watching you all night, and every time you said something, or laughed, or smiled, or ate something, or drank something, I just wanted to touch you.”

She had flattened herself against the wall, palms open, bracing herself. Her eyes were looking into his and she felt warm and dizzy, breathless, and there was a deep, heavy ache between her legs.

He whispered, his breath warm and soft on her hair. “I just want to touch you.” His lips were on her cheek, soft and dry as he spoke. Her lips parted as she turned her head and found his mouth, and she closed her eyes and moved toward him.

A car door slammed outside in the driveway, and they heard the faint beep of a car alarm being set.

Michael straightened and backed away from Diane. Her hands flew to her cheeks and she drew a deep breath.

The front door banged open. Diane whirled, and her daughter Rachel came into the house.

“Hey, Mom.” Rachel was tall, very slender, wearing a mini-skirt and a tight shirt with long flowing sleeves. She looked past her mother to Michael.

“Gee, Mom, I would have been happy with just an autograph, but this is good too.” She held out her hand. “I’m Rachel. My sisters have been singing your praises all night.”

Michael seemed very calm as he shook her hand. “Michael. Hello. I heard all about you as well. My sister is Angela Bellini.”

“You’re kidding? Dr. Bellini? She is such a nice woman. How is she?”

“Good.” Michael answered easily.

“You had dinner with your dad?” Diane asked. Her voice sounded hoarse, and she cleared her throat.

“Yeah. I’ve been calling you all afternoon, but no answer.” Rachel looked at her mother, then back at Michael.

“My fault,” Michael said. “I roped her into helping my sister paint.”

“Oh, Mom is so good at that,” Rachel exclaimed. “She did a mural on my wall,when I was really little, in our old house, remember Mom? Winnie-the-Pooh. I just loved that room. She could make lots of extra money doing that kind of stuff.”

“Well,” Diane said, giving her daughter a hug, “now that you have a job that pays a living wage, I don’t need to make extra money.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Rachel headed for the kitchen, dropping a handful of belongings in a heap on the coffee table. “Can I get a drink of something?”

“Sure, honey, go ahead.” Diane watched her daughter leave the room, and then looked at Michael.

“I have to go,” he said. “I’ve got to fly to Toronto tomorrow.”

Diane nodded. “Rach,” she called, “I’m walking Michael out, okay?”

They walked out to his truck, and he got in silently, slamming the door. He started the truck and sat, staring ahead. Diane leaned in through the open window.

“Your daughter is a knockout,” Michael said.

“Yes, she is. Want me to fix you up?”