almost as cold. But not quite. No one could equal Marion. “How dare you twist the things I've told you.”
“I'm not twisting, I'm asking. If I'm wrong, I'm sorry. But I'm beginning to wonder if I am wrong.” She leaned against the counter, staring at him, and then he grabbed her by the shoulders and pulled her toward him. “Michael …”
But he said not a word, he only crushed his mouth down hard on hers, and at the same time tore away the top of her bikini, and then pulled hard at the bottom and it came away instantly in his hand. The little gold clasps at the sides had broken. But by the time Wendy reached the kitchen floor in his arms, she hated herself more than she hated him because she knew in her heart that she wanted to be there. At least he was alive, at least he was making love to her, whatever it took. But it took too much, and she knew it. It was costing a piece of her soul.
As they lay there panting and damp, ten minutes later, Wendy could hear the kitchen clock ticking in the silence. Michael said nothing. He only stared out at the garden, looking strangely sad.
“Are you all right?” He should have been asking her, but she was asking him. The whole affair was crazy, and she knew it, but she couldn't seem to stop herself. Sometimes she wondered what would happen when it was over. Maybe he'd have Ben Avery fire her. She almost expected it “Mike?”
“Hm? Yeah. I … I'm sorry, Wendy. Sometimes I'm really an incomparable ass.” There were tears glistening in his eyes.
“Well, I'm not sure I can argue with you on that one.” She looked up at him with a rueful smile and then kissed the tip of his chin. “But I seem to love you anyway.”
“You could do a lot better, you know.” For the first time in months he looked down at her and really seemed to see her. “Sometimes I hate myself for what I do to you. I just …” He couldn't go on, and she put her finger over his lips.
“I know.”
He nodded silently and stood up as she lay looking up at him from the kitchen floor.
“Michael?”
“Yeah?” His face was softer now than it had been half an hour before. She had done something for him after all.
“Do you still miss her all the time?”
He waited for a long moment, and then nodded, with a look of pain in his eyes. And then, without saying anything more, he went into the bedroom to dress. Wendy got up slowly. She didn't bother with the broken bikini. It had seen a good summer's use anyway, and the little gold clips probably couldn't be fixed. She perched naked on one of the bar stools at the kitchen counter and thought about what she'd seen in his eyes. When he came back to the kitchen a few moments later, he found her still sitting there, lost in her own thoughts. She looked up in surprise, and then regret as she saw him wearing jeans and a white shirt open at the neck. He had his briefcase in one hand and a sweater in the other. The briefcase told her that he was going to the office after all, in spite of the fact that it was Sunday, and the sweater told her that he would be staying late. None of it was good news to Wendy.
“Will I see you later?” She hated herself for the question. She was asking… begging. Damn his hide. And worse yet, he was shaking his head.
“I'll probably work till two or three in the morning and then go back to my place. I have to dress there in the morning anyway.” The brief gentleness of a few moments before was gone. He was Michael again, running away. She had already lost him in the ten or fifteen minutes since they'd made love. The situation was hopeless, yet she hated to give up. That kind of rejection just made her want to try harder and give more.
“I'll see you in the office tomorrow then.” She tried not to sound miserable, even to smile as she walked him to the door, but she was glad when he left her quickly, with a vague peck on her forehead and without looking back, because when she closed the door she was already crying. Michael Hillyard was a lost cause.
Chapter 16
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