Things we never said, p.23
Things We Never Said, page 23
“Community spirit,” Michael offered. “It’s not that bad. I think people will love seeing their officers do it. Just not me. And it’s not like you’re doing it.”
“It’s not that I don’t enjoy town events.” Jeff shrugged. “But there’s no way I’m putting on a fucking costume and parading around town like an idiot. As for you, I’ll tell Kell to back off. Dahlia will find another Mr. Incredible to suit up.”
The mere mention of her caused Michael’s heart to speed up. “Dahlia?”
“She owns the gift store on the boardwalk. A talented artist, makes her own jewelry. She also does the costumes for the Winter Carnival.” He wore a small smile as he stared into his mug. “Everyone always looks great.”
Something about Jeff’s expression stirred an uneasy feeling in Michael. “Sounds like you know her quite well.”
Jeff’s smile wilted a little. “I used to know her quite well.”
What the hell did that mean? “How well?”
Hearing the hint of accusation Michael couldn’t hide, Jeff’s gaze jerked to him and his eyes narrowed. “We dated.”
Jealousy seized Michael. Vicious and ugly, twisting his gut. Was this the guy? Was this the guy who managed to make Dahlia forget about him? Yeah, he hadn’t forgotten her admitting that there had been one guy who pushed Michael out of her thoughts for a while. She also admitted she broke up with him. “Dated? Past tense? Who broke up with who?”
Jeff sat up, his expression carefully blank. “She broke it off. Woman has commitment issues.”
“You didn’t want it to end?”
“This is feeling like an interrogation.” Jeff scratched his stubbled jaw. “No, I didn’t want it to end. Dahlia’s pretty special.”
Jesus fuck.
Michael looked away, his jaw clenched tight. He liked Jeff. Respected him. He did not want to fuckin’ resent him.
“How did I not put two and two together?” Jeff sighed heavily. “You’re both from Boston. Dahlia’s your mystery woman. You two are a thing?”
Clearing his throat of the thick ball of emotion, Michael shook his head. “We were. I’m here because I want her back … Tell me something. You over her?”
Jeff didn’t answer. Instead, they shared a look filled with a lot of unspoken things and the easy camaraderie that had sprung up between them from the moment they met was altered. Tension shifted between them. Tension Michael hated.
It had never occurred to him that he and his new boss would be interested in the same fuckin’ woman.
Michael threw back the rest of his coffee and stood up. “I better get back to work.”
“This going to be a problem between us?” Jeff asked, straightforward as ever.
Michael decided he owed Jeff to be equally up-front. “I like you, Jeff, and I respect you as a man and as my boss. But I’ve let Dahlia McGuire slip through my fingers too many fuckin’ times, and I won’t let anyone, anyone, get in our way this time.”
Jeff nodded, his blue eyes hard in a way Michael didn’t like. “Got it. But if she doesn’t want you in her way, I’ll be there to make sure you stay out of it.”
With a soft exhalation of frustration, Michael gave him an abrupt nod and strode out of his office.
24
Dahlia
When the gift store was quiet, I spent most of my time in the workshop. If the shop was closed, I blared my music and got to work. It was still open, however, so I needed to keep one ear out for the tinkle of the bell above my door. Which meant no music.
Hammering the final piece in the summer collection I was creating to put in the window display during high season, my brain didn’t switch off like it usually did. Most of the time I got lost entirely in silversmithing, but not this time. Not after Kell’s bomb about Dana and Michael over lunch. The only thing that had calmed me down was the fact that my dad called as I was letting myself into the shop.
After Michael first showed up, I called my dad to see if he knew Michael intended to come to Hartwell. He didn’t. The only person who knew Michael had left his job was Dermot, but he hadn’t known why. I was reassured that my family hadn’t let me walk into that shock without a heads-up.
Dad had been calling every day to check on me. I wasn’t sure if it was worry or if he wanted to see how Michael was progressing in his pursuit of me. My guess was it was the latter because he seemed awfully disappointed to learn that Michael had not approached me since Monday.
I was seconds off the phone with my dad when Davina gave me a quick call to ask if I’d make a bracelet for Astrid’s birthday. I had texts from Dermot and Darragh, and I’d been on the phone with Dermot for an hour last night talking about the redheaded administrative assistant he was interested in at the station. She sounded too young, and I told him so.
It was nice, though.
It was beyond nice.
My family was in contact with me all the time, and I couldn’t be more grateful for how easy they’d made it. How quickly they had welcomed me back into the fold. Darragh even let me chat with Levi and Leo the other night, but since they’re kids, talking on the phone was not one of their favorite things.
Still, it was awesome.
What wasn’t awesome was the missed call from Bailey and the following text:
You think Michael deserves better than you? What’s that about?
When I didn’t respond, she sent another:
You’re insufferable. But I love you. I’m here when you want to talk. xx
I text her back with a simple “I love you too.”
I don’t know why I said that about Michael and me. Or maybe I did know. Deep down, perhaps I did.
Rubbing my forehead, I glared at the ring I was working on. Why did Dana Kellerman have to shove her tiny ass into the equation?
“What did that ring ever do to you?”
“Ahhh!” I jumped out of my skin, dropping the mandrel and ring.
Michael stood in the doorway between the store and my workshop, grinning boyishly, mischief in his dark eyes.
As I tried to calm my racing heart, I ignored the anticipation that incited butterflies in my belly. He looked delicious. The stubble on his cheeks had turned into a short beard. In lieu of a jacket, he wore a thick, navy fisherman’s sweater. His detective badge was clipped to the black belt he wore through a pair of dark-wash jeans. Why did he have to be so goddamn rugged and masculine? “How did you get it in? I didn’t hear the bell.”
“The bell sounded,” he said, strolling farther into the room. “You seemed lost in thought.”
I watched him as he rounded the benches until he was standing opposite mine, looking down at me.
Michael’s expression was assessing and tender at the same time. “Did I tell you I like your bangs?”
My fingers automatically touched the hair above my eyes. “Oh.” I didn’t know what else to say. I forgot that when we were younger, I didn’t have bangs. Bailey said my bangs made me look like Zooey Deschanel.
“They’re cute.”
Cute was … well, it wasn’t beautiful or sexy.
As if he could read my mind his eyes dipped down what he could see of my body. I was wearing a floral tea dress that buttoned up the front. It had a low neckline. Michael seemed to more than appreciate my full cleavage. I shivered hotly even before his half-lidded gaze returned to mine. “Sexy and cute. Hard combination to beat.”
He was trying to torture me. “What are you doing here?”
“I missed you.”
“Michael—”
“I’m allowed to miss you. Plus I wanted to make sure the rumors were wrong.”
I frowned. “What rumors?”
“That you and Kell Summers are trying to dress me up like a fuckin’ cartoon and parade me through town.”
Despite myself, I couldn’t help the little smile curling the corners of my mouth. “Well, that rumor is partly true. Kell is trying to do that. Not me. I know you won’t do it.”
“Of course I won’t. Jeff and I have made that clear.”
The thought of Dana with Michael agitated the life out of me, and Michael turning up like this hadn’t given me enough time to formulate a plan to approach the subject with him. “There’s another rumor going around that Dana Kellerman is interested in you.”
He studied me thoughtfully, looking for, I imagined, any sign of my distress over this. I kept my expression neutral.
“What about it?”
“Is it true?”
Michael sighed. “Do you care if it’s true?”
“I care that Dana Kellerman is not a good person. Whatever goes on between us, Michael, I want the best for you. She is not it. She’s far from it.”
“People make mistakes, Dahlia.”
“So, you know what she did?”
“I do.”
“And you think that’s okay?”
His dark eyes flashed. “I think people make mistakes.”
I scoffed. “And the fact that she’s beautiful probably makes it easier to forgive those mistakes.”
“Well, I don’t know. You’re beautiful, and I’ve forgiven you. Is that why? Because you certainly haven’t forgiven me and I have it on your authority I’m pretty fuckin’ hot.”
Any other time, his words would have made me smile. Not now. “What the hell does that mean?”
“You’re holding shit against me, that’s what it means.” He cursed under his breath and turned away with his hands on his hips. “I didn’t come here to argue.”
“Why did you come here? To make me jealous about Dana?”
His eyes cut to me. “You brought her up. I didn’t.”
“She’s not a nice person, Michael. And not just because of what she did to Cooper. She’s selfish and hollow. You deserve better.”
His expression turned hard. “What if I want what I want, deserved or otherwise?” He rounded the bench. I tried to slip off the stool, but he was on me before I could get away. I pushed my back against the bench as he towered over me, forcing his legs between mine. Pressing my hands to his chest, I tried not to think about how good he felt beneath them.
“Michael,” I warned, but even I could hear how pitiful and lame it sounded.
His heated stare roamed my face before moving south. A muscle in his jaw flexed, and he trailed his fingertips over my left knee. My breath hitched as he pushed the hem of my dress up my thigh, his touch scattering shivers down my spine. “You need to wear warmer clothes,” he muttered, as if to himself.
I curled my fingers into his shirt. “Michael.” I wanted to tell him to stop. To go away. But I also didn’t. I craved his touch.
His gaze returned to mine. “I’m not interested in Dana Kellerman. You know I’m not. So stop starting fights to push me away.” His hand caressed upward, and my body moved of its own volition. My hips shifted so I could widen my legs. Michael’s nostrils flared.
His other hand slid through the thick waves of my hair and curled tight around my nape so he could yank me hard against him. His mouth came down over mine as I clung to his shoulders. Our kisses were fierce and thorough, a hungry dance of our tongues and mouths that was so compelling, I wasn’t aware of being lifted until I found myself atop my workbench. Michael kicked the stool out of his way and moved in between my legs.
As I lost myself in his voracious, desperate kisses, kisses so full of need, it was impossible to pull myself out of them, I felt his touch between my legs. His fingers slipped beneath my underwear. I jerked in surprise and then groaned as his thumb pressed down on my clit and started to rub.
The swelling sensation came over me so fast that my heart galloped while I struggled to breathe. Tearing my mouth from his, I looked up into his lust-hardened face, clinging to his shoulders in desperation as he pushed me toward climax.
It came for me almost as quickly as it had the last time, the tension he built inside me hitting its peak with sharp ferocity. I wanted to throw my head back and close my eyes, but Michael held me in place, forcing my eyes to stay connected to his. Something about the harsh depth of longing in his expression left me unsatisfied, despite my orgasm.
“Michael.” My eyelids fluttered but never closed against him.
He’d watched me come with dark satisfaction.
My inner muscles still pulsed as his mouth returned to mine. Impossibly, his kiss was deeper, more insistent, licking inside me, learning me, and I met him kiss for fervent kiss. It was with a jolt of awareness I felt him pull me almost all the way off the bench. I cried out as he broke the kiss and I had to grab onto him tighter for balance as he let me go to unbuckle his belt and unzip his jeans.
This was too far, that voice pounded at the back of my head.
You’ll only confuse him.
Yet the feel of his fingers pulling my underwear down my legs easily silenced that voice. Want, lust, need had overtaken me now. No guy ever made me lose my rational thought so completely as Michael Sullivan. I was a slave to my body when it came to him, and I didn’t care. I lifted my legs to aid him.
God, I wanted him.
Seconds later, he was kissing me as he pushed inside me.
“Michael,” I breathed, shuddering against him as he worked himself into me.
“Do you know how good you feel?” he panted, his fingers biting into my thighs. “Nothing feels better than this. Eternity in fuckin’ heaven would have nothing on a lifetime of being inside you.”
My eyes dampened at his beautiful words, and I lifted my fingers to trace the mouth they’d come out of. His movements inside me should have been fast, furious, but they weren’t. He took his time, he savored me.
“I love your mouth,” I gasped, focused on the way his lower lip curved inward in the middle. I could nibble on that mouth forever.
“I love you,” he panted. “So fuckin’ much.”
It was like a bucket of cold water. Frigid water.
The words cut through my rapture.
Oh my God, I was so selfish. What was I doing? I shook my head, tears filling my eyes. “Michael.”
As if sensing my retreat, he growled, the sound vibrating down my throat as he crushed his mouth over mine and kissed me back under his spell. That’s all it took. His heat surrounding me. His kisses drugging me.
Michael’s glides became hard thrusts that pushed me quickly toward climax. Everything about his lovemaking turned frantic, desperate, needy. He left my mouth to trail warm kisses down my throat, his grip biting into my hip as his other hand moved over my body. His fingers plucked at the buttons on my dress so he could push his hand down inside my bra.
I gasped, arching into his touch as he rolled his thumb over my nipple and squeezed my breast in time with a hard thrust of his hips. It was too hard, almost painful, but a pleasure-pain that made me undulate faster against him.
I was mindless.
My body wanted his. It wanted to draw out every inch of pleasure from him and take and take and take.
I came with a guttural cry that echoed around the workshop, my inner muscles clamping down hard around Michael. He swelled inside me and then throbbed, his hips shuddering against me in pulsing hot waves of wet release.
For a moment we clung to each other, quivering in the aftermath.
Then reality hit.
Cold. Hard. Reality.
What the hell had I done?
“Oh my God.” I pushed against him, and Michael lifted his head from where it had been tucked into my neck.
His expression was guarded, wary as he eased off me.
I gasped as he pulled out and his eyes flared with renewed heat. “You on the pill?”
A bit goddamn late to ask that! I nodded. Flustered was an understatement.
“I’m clean, just so you know.”
“Me too,” I muttered.
Neither of us moved to fix our clothes.
“You’re going to say that didn’t mean anything,” he said, his voice thick with unnamed emotion.
I shook my head, unbearably sad, guilty, and confused. “It will always mean something with you.”
“Then don’t push me away.”
That ugly knot I felt whenever I gave into the idea of Michael and me returned. That ugliness would always be there, stopping me.
And hurting him.
“You shouldn’t have come here, Michael.”
Indignation flared in his eyes, and I watched helplessly as he put himself to rights. Even in his frustration, he didn’t walk out. No, he found my underwear, and despite my protests, he insisted on putting them back on for me. Then he buttoned my dress.
His fingers lingered on the last button, and he looked from it to me. “What aren’t you telling me, Dahlia?”
Scared that he might see the abhorrent truth inside me, I shook my head and tried to push him away, to slip off the bench.
But he held me there with the solid strength of his body. “There’s something else here. Something I don’t get. I’m not that stupid kid, afraid of rejection anymore. I can see past my own bullshit now. And I see you.” He tapped a finger against my chest. “You’re hiding something. Luckily for me,” he leaned down to whisper across my lips, “I dig out people’s secrets for a living.” He kissed me. It was hard, irate … until it wasn’t. Until it was sweet, tender, and searching. Like he couldn’t make himself stay irritated with me.
When Michael let me up for air, his breathing was shallow too. “I’m going to give you some time, some space to think.” He retreated and exhaled. “That doesn’t mean I’m going anywhere.”
“I don’t want to hurt you, Michael.” I shook my head. “You cloud my emotions so I can’t think when you touch me, but that doesn’t mean I’ll change my mind. And you are the last person I ever want to hurt.”
My words did the opposite of what I’d intended—they didn’t push him away.
He smiled. Boyish. Hopeful. “I love clouding your emotions. I intend to do it often and well. I’ll see you around. Maybe at the Carnival.” He winked and walked out of my place with an obvious jaunt to his step. He would be jaunty. He just got himself some in the middle of his working day.
He was also the most stubborn man I’d ever met.
