Michael drove from the motel to his house by rote since his mental faculties were concentrated on Rochelle. He had not wanted to leave her, desiring her company so enthusiastically he might have stayed the night except for the gossip mongers who would have had a field day at seeing his car parked at the motel all night.
He was pulling into the driveway at his home when something caught his attention just before he turned the headlights out. When he trained his sight more fully, he saw someone sitting on the front door stoop. He glanced around for a car and saw it nearly hidden behind trees toward one end of the house. He looked at his watch. It was nearly two o'clock in the morning, and he swore beneath his breath. There was only one person he knew who would be waiting for him.
Caroline!
He cursed.
Reluctant to encounter her, he dreaded a confrontation he could just as well do without tonight. He slowly got out of his car and walked toward her. Pausing in front a few feet from her, she came to her feet and faced him in the dim outside lighting. Michael was unable to keep the annoyance from his expression as he observed her arms folded across her chest. The outside light next to the front door cast eerie shadows on Caroline's features, and Michael could tell she had come for battle.
“Well, it's about time you came home. I've been waiting for hours, Michael,” she thundered tersely, her voice accusing and angry.
One of Michael's dark brows lifted. “Why were you waiting, Caroline? I thought you said all there was to say in town this morning.” He walked past her and put the key in the lock. He turned the knob, pushed the door open, and walked inside after he flipped the light switch on.
Caroline followed. She could smell the bitch's perfume on him.
“I came to apologize. I'm sorry I acted the way I did.”
Michael tossed his head so he could see her over his shoulder.
He snorted, and the sound erupted into a cynical chuckle. “Caroline, you've never been sorry a day in your life for anything you did.”
“Michael, I've come all this way to offer you a sincere apology, and all you do is mock me.” She was so angry she wanted to scratch his eyes out, but it would not gain her what she wanted. Her intention was to hold onto him, if possible.
Michael picked up a stack of mail tossed on the table earlier.
“Your apology isn't necessary, Caroline. Just go home. It's late.” He sorted through the mail, not really seeing it, but using it as a diversion.
Caroline inched closer to Michael, her eyes imploring him to hear what she had to say. When she was within reach, she laid a hand upon his arm. When he made no effort to withdraw, she threw her arms up around his neck. “I love you, Michael. I was wrong to act the way I did. I know you have the right to see anyone you want.”
Michael took a deep breath. He felt completely indifferent to Caroline. He stood with his hands loosely hanging by his side, his face etched in mockery of what Caroline was saying. His whole attitude yearned to push her away, to rid himself of her arms clinging around his neck. Feeling, however, that perhaps he did owe her some measure of courtesy, he simply tried to reason with her.
“Caroline, I never intended to hurt you, but you knew from the beginning there were no strong ties between us.”
“That's not so, Michael,” she cried out, nuzzling her face against his cheek. “We've been seeing each other for a year now. I love you. What exactly did you expect to happen in that length of time?”
He raised his arms and grasped her shoulders, gently pushing her away from him. “It's no good, Caroline. Whatever was between us is over. You have to let it go and move on.”
“You wouldn't say that if you hadn't just come from her,” she shouted, anger rising in her voice even as she tried to hide it from him.
“Where I've been is none of your business, Caroline!” he replied calmly, putting a chair between them, his hands pressed tightly against the back. “Just go home. I have to get some sleep.”
“Can't we just talk, Michael?” Her voice was high-pitched and harsh.
Michael shook his head. “There's absolutely nothing for us to talk about. Look, we have enjoyed some times together, but I have never deceived you. I've made you no promises, no commitments, and now it's finished.”
Her facial features contorted into a snarl. “Finished like hell, you son of a bitch! You have been with her all evening, haven't you?
Did you sleep with her? No,” she said raising her hand, “don't tell me. I know you damn well did. Her perfume and scent is clinging to you.” She broke into a torrent of tears, and crumpled to her knees, hoping to draw some sympathy from him.
Michael looked at her dejectedly. Walking over to her, he lifted her by her arms to a standing position. She fell against him, throwing her arms about his neck again. “Michael, I know you care about me. You have made love to me, and touched and held me. How can you do that without having some feelings for me?”
“Caroline after what you told me on the phone yesterday, I don't see how you can feel anything for me except revulsion. What was the term you used, my hand pawing at you? How in the hell do you think that makes a man feel? Do you think I'd ever want to touch you again?”
“I didn't mean it. You know how I am when I am upset. I always say things I don't mean. But I love you, and I know you still care for me.”
“I care for you, Caroline, but it's not the kind of caring you want from me, and I just can't give you anything else. It is just not there. It never was.”
A cold sneer rose from her lips to her eyes. “Was she better than me, Michael? I have heard men say they all feel alike once you're inside. Was hers any better than mine?”
“Get out, Caroline,” he ordered, taking her arm and moving her toward the door. “Your words repulse me,” he added venomously.
She swirled about and began pounding his chest. “I want let you get away with this you son of a bitch. You've used me, and I'll find some way to make you pay.”
He grabbed her wrists, holding them to stop her attack.
“I hate you, Michael Matheson, for using me like you did. I hate you, you son of a bitch!”
In a calm voice, he tried to reason with her. “Caroline, if you will recall, it was you who always came over here and offered yourself to me. I never, not even once, attempted to take you to bed except when you initiated it. You need to ask yourself who used who. I thought we were mutually agreeable on the sex part, so how was I to know you didn't enjoy it. Do you think I would ever touch you again, knowing how you really feel?”
“I never said I didn't want any part of it.”
“Isn't that what you're saying now? How could I possibly have used you, if it's what you wanted?”
“Well, you know what I mean.”
“No, I don't know what you mean. I do not think I ever really have. Your feelings change as swiftly as your temper, and frankly, I have felt its brunt once too often. Go home, Caroline. There's nothing else I can say to you.”
“You'll pay for this, Michael. I swear you'll pay,” she threatened, and stomped out the door, slamming it behind her as hard as she could.
Michael locked the door, and let out a long breathy sigh. He truly hoped tonight would finish it. He just was not up to any further battles with Caroline.
Going to his kitchen, he took the bottle of bourbon from the cabinet and poured a couple of fingers into the glass. He turned it up and downed it all at once, following it with some water. The mood from earlier disintegrated with Caroline's untimely visit. The stupidity of it all, he thought now, it wasn't the first time he and Caroline had done battle. She had attacked him with verbal accusations and abuses frequently without provocation. Why he had put up with it as long as he had, he did not know. Every one of his friends encouraged him to end it, and fool that he was he simply let things go on as they were.
His thoughts flitted back to the motel room, to Rochelle, to her draped figure on the bed in one of her long gowns, her auburn-gold hair cascading about her head on the pillow, the vision easing the unrest that had raised his blood pressure.
He took a hot shower, brushed his teeth and went to bed; the tumbling thoughts in his head slow to bow to sleep. Just before he fell sleep, the clock registered less than three hours before the alarm would go off. He would feel like hell, knowing he had a busy day ahead of him.
MICHAEL STRUGGLED OUT of peaceful slumber at the sound of his alarm. With great effort, he climbed out of bed, and splashed cold water on his face, slowly coming awake.
At six-thirty, he called Rochelle.
Since she was a slow riser, she was barely out of the shower when Michael knocked on her door. With a towel wrapped about her torso, she called through the door. “Michael?”
“Yes, it's me, Chelle.”
She opened the door and let him in. “I'm sorry I'm not ready.”
His answer was to take her in his arms. “Have I told you how wonderful you were last night?” he asked, gazing deeply into her eyes.
“No, but I think I like hearing it,” she said, smiling up at him.
“Did I tell you how wonderful you were?”
“Did you ever! You made my whole world light up.”
She smiled up at him, pleased with his reply.
“Go get dressed, or I might forget there's a good reason why we need to get out of here shortly.”
“I wanted to be ready when you got here, but I've always been one of those people who try to grab another five minutes of sleep, then another, and another, until I simply forget to get up. If you are in a hurry, you can go without me. I can walk and catch up later.”
“Take your time. I'll wait, but I do have to go to the bank this morning when we finish breakfast. I also plan to take you to the realtor's office to see if Ruth or John Shipley can show you around.
When you finish, stop by the bank. Your car should be delivered by then.”
She chose a pair of dark slacks and a sleeveless blouse with delicate buttons. She left the top button undone so the opening gave the barest hint of cleavage. She brushed her hair until it was shiny and fluffy, put on a touch of foundation, mascara and lipstick, and was ready to go after sliding her feet into a pair of sandals.
“That only took you fifteen minutes,” Michael said, looking at his watch.
“But I rushed, and I feel as though I'm forgetting something.”
“You can come back if you need to,” he said, touching the point of his finger into the cleavage where the unbuttoned blouse gaped open. “Nice blouse.” He smiled, as his eyes sluiced from her head to her toe, appreciating how well she looked no matter what she wore.
Rochelle looked at him. He was dressed in a charcoal suit, his tall muscular form seeming to have an air of authority this morning.
He was incredibly handsome dressed as he was, but remembering him naked, she decided there was no comparison. Last night he had belonged to her. Today his dark suit reminded her that he did have other obligations of which she had no part.
Michael ushered Rochelle toward the door after she grabbed her purse. “Are you hungry?”
“Famished, but my habit is to breakfast at lunch time.”
“A late sleeper, huh?”
“Fashioned from a lifestyle of late nights that was a habit of my husband and his friends.”
Michael felt a stab of jealously. The very thought of her husband holding her like he had done last night brought bitter bile to his throat. Jealously had never been part of his nature, and for the first time, he had just seen the green-eyed monster. He opened the car door, smelling her perfume as she lowered herself to the seat.
“Did you sleep well last night?” he inquired when he slid under the steering wheel.
Glancing toward him, she sent him a shy, captivating smile.
“Like a baby.”
An impudent grin curved the corners of his lips.
“Don't say it!” she interrupted his thoughts before he could say whatever was lurking there.
“I was just going to say I'm glad you had a good night,” he grinned.
“Did you sleep well?”
Caroline's face jumped to his mind. If he looked as haggard as he felt, she would know he was lying if he said yes. “Wonderful,” he said.
“Good! I didn't even have my usual nightmare last night.”
His impudent grin was in place again. “We'll just have to keep administering the same dosage of sleeping potion as last night.”
She cuffed him on the sleeve with the palm of her hand. “You never take me seriously,” she chided with a chuckle.
He crushed her against him. “Oh, but you're wrong. I take you very seriously.”