By the time Rochelle and Michael finished eating, most of the other diners had left. The busboy cleared tables of all signs of the dinner crowd. New patrons quickly began filing in, taking tables and ordering drinks while the band increased the tempo of their music, changing intermittently between soft slow-dance music and rock and roll. When they played a slow number, Michael asked Rochelle to dance. She looked at him skeptically at first, and then reaching out for his hand, she rose and let him lead her to the dance floor.
Michael swept Rochelle into his arms, and with his hand on her back steering her to his steps, they danced in perfect unison to the music. He was an excellent dancer and Rochelle swayed in his arms weightlessly. She basked in a glow of warmth encompassing a sense of well being that lured long denied yearnings to the surface. The relaxed atmosphere and his pleasant company delighted her.
The music spoke the language of love like the throbbing heartbeats of lovers. The mood was romantic and sensuous, and when Rochelle raised her head to meet Michael's eyes, she suddenly felt shy and overheated beneath the warmth of his gaze. He kissed her cheek, then her ear, trailing a path of kisses to her neck and throat. The kisses, tickled. They titillated. She wanted to lose herself in the sweetness of the music, the protective warmth of Michael's arms, and the lighthearted gaiety of an unusually pleasant evening.
While she would gladly forget Tobias in exchange for the kind of normalcy she and Michael were enjoying, she could not. He was at the core of all her thoughts, haunting the long denied moments of enjoyment.
“Shall we dance again?” Michael asked when the song ended and another began.
“I think not,” she said, and felt his arm encircling her waist, making her feel so at one with him. Before he would permit her to take a seat, he pulled the table away from the wall, and put their chairs side by side so they would be facing the band. When they both sat down, his arm eased across her shoulders, and he pulled her against him, no concern at all for the constant looks darting their way.
“Comfortable?” he asked, kissing her ear.
“Michael, please don't do that,” she said breathlessly. No one had ever kissed her before except Tobias, whose kisses disgusted her. Michael's kisses, however, kindled a warm glow that spread across her like the effects of a fine vintage wine.
“Why not?” he whispered in her ear. “Don't you like it?” His voice held a tone of teasing
“Yes… no…I mean… oh, just please don't do it.”
“It's going to be kind of hard to stop,” he said, his face buried in her hair, “unless I push the table back against the wall, and put you across from me again.” He did not intend on doing that.
“Then maybe we should push the table back,” she suggested seriously, as though in deep conference over resolving a problem.
A smile touched Michael's lips, and he breathed a deep sigh, forcing himself not to kiss her. He kept his arm across her shoulder, his hand toying with her arm, his fingers gliding up and down, or making tiny circles beneath the sleeve of her shirt. Once or twice she reached up and covered his hand with hers, halting his caresses. As soon as she moved her hand away, they started again.
Michael would like nothing better than for the night not to end.
He could not recall any other woman whom he had been so attracted to in every possible way, as he was Rochelle. She was adorable, passionate, soft, tender, and so very lovable. His mind flitted to a vision of what joy it would be to have just one night with her enfolded in his arms with the texture of her creamy body glued to his, while he buried his need deep inside her.
“Would you like to dance again?” he whispered close to her ear, his face buried in her clean scented hair, wanting to dance so he would have an excuse to hold her.
“I don't know. Perhaps we should leave. It's getting late, and I do have much to do tomorrow.”
“Just one more dance, and I promise I'll escort you tomorrow wherever you need to go.”
“What about your bank? Don't you have to work?”
His breath was against her cheek, his arm steadfast about her shoulders, his fingers brushing caresses on her arm. His closeness was intoxicating, causing her heart to beat faster. His touch and closeness stimulated every nerve in her body. An aura of expectancy, so unlike anything known with Tobias, surrounded her.
Michael, unknowingly, touched a deep need inside her that was both exhilarating and frightening. She wanted to slow things down, keep Michael friendly but personally distant, but she knew the evening had gently pushed them beyond that point.
“That's the nice part about being one's own boss. I can take off when I want.” He kissed her ear, the gesture seeming as natural as breathing, her closeness a heady tonic. Her loveliness created a need that, once fulfilled, he believed, could provide the missing link to his less than happy existence.
“Let's dance,” he said, touching his tongue to her ear with arousing pleasure.
“Michael, you really mustn't,” she whispered meekly, her every resolve wrung from her by the mere touch of his lips on her flesh.
Michael's warm hand closed around hers, and Rochelle rose with unimpaired grace while holding his hand and letting him lead her to the dance floor, all the while feeling very special by his absorbed attention. Deprived of affection for such a long time, any hint of it was worthy of raising her spirits.
Michael stopped by the band and whispered something to one of the musicians. Then wrapping his arms about Rochelle, he danced her onto the floor, absorbing her body against his to the soft composition of a melody she did not recognize. When the tune ended and Michael kept dancing, the bandleader smiled toward them and said, “One more time for Michael and his lady.” They played the same song again, and Michael and Rochelle kept dancing, the music a romantic rendition with dreamy words of love.
Rochelle lifted her face to his. “Are each of your dates referred to as your lady?”
Michael touched his lips to hers, just a feather kiss, but oh, so provocative. Their eyes caught and held as the band moved into another number without a break between the two pieces. “You're the only lady I've ever brought here,” he smiled.
“Why do I feel you've just danced around my question?”
For an answer, he kissed her ear and nuzzled his face in her long hair, and asked, “Is it really important?”
“Probably not,” she replied teasingly. She sent him a badly contrived smile, wondering how many other ladies he'd held on this dance floor. Probably many, she thought. It occurred to her that Michael really enjoyed a good time with laughter and carefree living. Still, there was that element of seriousness about him, too, in well-balanced proportions.
One of the fellows groaned out the words to a love song, and all the eyes in the house trained a straight gaze toward Michael and Rochelle. Sly remarks were made, bets placed, and opinions aired.
Three women sitting at a table together shot Rochelle with imaginary arrows of envy and discussed how numerous women had tried to ensnare Michael, the most eligible bachelor in the county. If Michael knew he and Rochelle were drawing a great deal of attention, he seemed not to notice. His interest focused entirely upon her as he drew her soft body against his.
Rochelle was not immune to his sexual proclivity. When he buried his face in her hair, and his breath touched her ear like a fanning butterfly wing, it aroused longings all new and wonderful.
The surge of warmth in her blood left an exquisite ache at the core of her womanhood. If he was trying to seduce her, he was doing a much better job than Tobias had ever done.
Surrendering to the pleasure of the moment, the sudden thought of Tobias invaded her pleasant mood, bringing back an outpouring of memories so horrible they soured everything for her. She had run away from him, but she could not get away from him even with miles separating them. He was like a parasite feasting on her mind, spoiling any chance of peace or pleasure.
“Michael, I'd like to sit down,” she said, suddenly feeling ill.
He did not argue, and escorted her off the floor, sensing her changed mood.
After they sat down, she turned to him, her eyes no longer bright with humor and delight. Her face was flushed and her expression clouded with doubt, uncertainty, and confusion. “If you don't mind, I really would like to leave now,” she said, hiding the soft quiver of her chin in her cupped hand.
“Okay,” he said, gently touching his lips to her cheek, and motioning for the waiter to bring the tab. He slipped a bill to the waiter, said good night, and guided Rochelle toward the door.
“Mike, don't stay away so long next time,” Ken told him when they passed the front counter, “and bring back your lovely young lady.”
“You can count on it. Night, Ken,” Michael said, and escorted Rochelle out the door.
When he looked at his watch, it was nearly midnight. Still not wanting the night to end, he drove as slowly as he dared on the way to the motel.
Rochelle sat on the far side of the seat. When Michael touched her hand, giving a little tug to get her to slide closer to him, she shook her head, refusing. For a little while, she had allowed herself to forget everything, forget why she ran away, why she was in Montana, why she was alone. Unconsciously, she had reached out to the first person whom she met to fill up that awful void. In a matter of a few hours, she was all ready leaning upon Michael's strength.
How easy, she thought, to fall prey to someone who could make things seem so pleasant and carefree. It was not what she wanted.
She did not want to fall into another trap such as Tobias had devised for her.
“Are you okay, Rochelle?” Michael asked, a feeling of tenderness making his voice unusually gentle.
“Yes,” she answered, knowing it was a lie. Her emotions were in turmoil. She could not make sense out of her feelings. It was not normal to feel attached to Michael after one evening with him. In fact, she knew how dangerous it was. Hadn't she done the same with Tobias, and regretted ever having met him?
Tobias swept her off her feet the first time they met. He took her to the disco club as if luring her into his den. Needing his help to prevent her mother finding out about her reckless driving, she had been one-hundred percent compliable to his attentions. He made her feel beautiful and important, and in the following days, his words, his kisses, and his touches had all been her undoing.
If not for that wreck, she would not be in this predicament now.
Further, if she had been more mature, she might have made better choices rather than becoming involved with a man old enough to be her father. Oh, it had been wonderful with Tobias in the very beginning, but all things have their season, and her and Tobias's season had come and gone all too quickly.
Her mind tripped back to the time when her parents were in her life, offering love and safety, which she shunned in exchange for Tobias Chandler. Oh, mama and dad, I need you so much, an inner voice cried.
“Rochelle, you're very quiet,” Michael said, reaching across the seat to take her hand.
His fingers warmed the chill of her hand, but nothing could warm the chill of her soul. Tobias had defiled her, leaving her haunted by guilt, fear, and revulsion. “I'm sorry. I am not exactly the best company right now. I have a great deal on my mind.”
“You've been wonderful company,” he said softly, squeezing her hand. “Thank you for an excellent evening.” He was pulling up in front of her motel door. He turned off the engine, and sat for a moment, looking at her before he climbed from the car and walked around to open her door.
Rochelle dug in her purse for her key and had it ready when he reached in to help her from the car. She slid her small hand in his larger one, rising from the seat of the car and stepping aside so Michael could close the door. Briefly, he pulled her against him before they walked to her room. Her hands shook noticeably, her fingers still feeling cold even though the night was warm.
Michael took the key from her and unlocked the door. He turned the doorknob and pushed the door open.
“Your hands are like ice,” he said, warming them with his, keeping her standing outside the door.
She pulled her hands away and gazed into the room. “Did I leave the light on before I left?” Her voice took on an edge of apprehension.
“I believe you did,” he said, and knew she feared someone might be inside the room. He went in before her, looked about the room then went to the bathroom and peeked in. Only then did she step across the threshold, looking mildly relieved.
“Will you be all right?” The two of them stopped at the foot of the bed. Wrapping his arms about her, he felt her lean heavily against his chest, their thighs brushing with heated friction.
“Yes, I'll be all right,” she said, sounding as though she did not believe it. What she really wanted to say was, stay with me. Don't go. Please do not leave me. However, she knew better than give in to the temptation. She was too vulnerable, and his nearness was prompting too many contradictions, some extremely pleasant, others frightening and troublesome.
He lifted one arm from about her and touched his hand to her cheek. “Do you still have my telephone number?”
“Yes, it's in my purse.” She was clinging to Michael without even realizing it.
“You know you can call me, no matter what time it is, if you need me.” His finger traced a path down her cheek and across her lips. Then when she opened her mouth to answer, he planted his mouth on hers, his tongue gently testing her resistance by thrusting lightly into the cavern of satin smoothness. She held back at first, and then came a slow, unfurling response. Her tongue met his in a warring dance of advance and retreat until their passions turned to sultry heat infusing and consuming them.
It was too good to last. Like a strike of lightning, she pulled away, sucking in a big breath of air, her face flushed.
“No, we mustn't.” Her voice was soft, but shook with emotion, her body trembling in waves, a mixture of passion and fear totally unbalancing her.
“It's okay,” he said, still holding her. “Get a good night's sleep and I'll pick you up at seven-thirty. We'll have breakfast, and then I'll take you to Bozeman for a car.”
“I don't know,” she whispered doubtfully. “You've been so kind all ready. I don't feel right taking up so much of your time.”
“That's absurd. Don't you know how much I've enjoyed being with you?” He touched her cheek, his thumb nuzzling her cheekbone softly.
Then she said it, turning away as she did. “That's what I'm afraid of.”
“There's nothing to be afraid of, Rochelle. Nothing is going to happen that you don't want to happen.”
“There's so much you don't know, can't possibly understand,” she blurted out, turning to face him.
“And you'll tell me when the time is right.”
Her chin and lips quivered, and he put his arms around her again. Her head lay comfortably against his shoulder, her hands reaching up to lie flat on his chest. She nestled against him affectionately, prolonging the comfort his arms offered, fending away the fear that would enshroud her the minute he walked out the door.
Michael pulled away first, holding her at arms length. “I'll go now, and I'll see you in the morning,” he whispered softly, touching her lips gently with his before backing away. The frightened look on her face touched a stream of humanity in him.
When he was out the door, she closed it behind him. She put the night chain on and threw the deadbolt in place. She leaned back heavily against the painted wood door, breathing deeply, willing her trembling body to relax. She should have told him not to come back.
It was not far to the small restaurant. She could walk. She could also take a bus or a cab into Bozeman where she could buy a car and do some shopping. She had been dependent upon someone all her life.
Growing dependent upon Michael could become an addiction she dared not allow. Maybe he would call first in the morning to wake her, and then she would tell him she could manage without him.
With that thought in mind, she took off her clothes, took another shower, and dressed for bed.
Nighttime was more frightening than any other time, the darkness holding all sorts of imagined threats. She left the bathroom light burning, it spilling a stream of soft light across the room. She crawled into bed, staring a long time at the ceiling while thoughts pounded her weary brain. Tobias still refused to allow her to ignore him, as he claimed priority attention in her ruminations.
MICHAEL DROVE HOME with thoughts so intense his shoulders grew stiff and rigid. He understood Rochelle's fear; at least, he thought he did. However, he could not understand his own feelings.
His emotions were having a field day, responding too quickly to sensations aroused by a desirable woman. He was treading ground where he had never been before since he had never been emotionally attached to any other woman. Love, or being in love, was an elusive perception for him. Not ever experiencing it, outside his family, he could not identify with those who had. Now, however, a deep consciousness awakened in him, and he debated on where he might be heading.
Rochelle's life was highly unstable, as were her emotions. She might be here today, gone tomorrow. Bentley Harrison had intimated she might have to flee again. If she did run away, how would that affect his life? Any relationship with her, no matter how mild, or serious, would be at risk from now on until the threat of her husband finding her was past. Would it ever be past, or would she be running the rest of her life? She was married, and her situation prohibited her from obtaining a divorce. Was he prepared to involve himself in a difficult situation that could never contain the certainty of firm commitments?
“Damn, I've known her one day and already I'm like a lovesick teenager. What in the hell is wrong with me?” he said aloud to himself, feeling almost as confused as she probably was.
Despite his unrest with being a banker, Michael could not imagine what it might be like, not having a firm foundation or footing beneath him. He was born into a family whose stability provided an ingrained steadfastness to his life, his livelihood, and his existence. To be without that firm solidness and balance would acutely disrupt his serenity. Thus, the thought of where his present emotions might lead him was a disturbing notion. He could walk away right now and his life would go on as usual with a boring daily routine holding no surprises; or, he could continue seeing Rochelle, letting things move of their own accord, leaving everything to chance.
Hell, he thought all of a sudden, he should not even be debating such issues. Had his ordeal with the death of his parents robbed him of his risk-taking tendency? There was a time when he dared try anything that appealed to him, never thinking for one second about possible consequences. Now, it seemed he could not take a single step without looking to see where his foot would fall.
After he arrived home, he brushed his teeth, and lowered himself to the firm springs of the mattress, soon tossing and turning.
He could not get his mind off her. He had met and known her for one single day, and his emotions were racing like a disturbed bed of ants. He kept seeing her in that long white satiny gown, it hugging her slender but shapely curves. He imagined she would probably sleep on her side, have her knees pulled up. Her thick long hair would spill about her head upon the pillow, framing the soft texture of the velvety smoothness of her face.
“Damn!” he swore, flinging himself off the bed, and going into the kitchen where he poured a hearty portion of bourbon in a glass.
He downed it in one swallow, chasing its burning path with water.
He went back to his bed, tossed and turned some more, but the strength of the alcohol had a settling effect upon his nerves, and soon he drifted off to sleep after remembering to set his alarm clock.