Long, Slow Surrender Page 6

Michelle’s fingers froze over her keyboard. “Connor?” she asked, trying to disguise her excitement.

  “No. It’s Theodore.” Julia lowered herself to the edge of Michelle’s desk; her temporary placement had only started two months ago and she was already at home. “Boss lady, I don’t understand why you are so enamored with Connor. Now, Theodore, he definitely should capture your attention. By the way, he sent you flowers again. They’re on my desk. Would you like for me to get them?”

  Michelle leaned back in her chair and rubbed her tired eyes. “I know you have some work to do.” She reached for the box that she kept discarded confidential paperwork in. “If not, you can start shredding this.”

  “Aw, boss lady.” The young woman clicked her tongue in admonishment, her russet ringlets flying as she shook her head. “Why is it that we as women can be so blind when emotions are involved? Because of that, you have nothing to be ashamed of. Let’s take a closer look at this. Theodore calls you routinely, at least once a week, if not two.” She paused. “And I don’t recall Connor calling you one time since I’ve started working the phone lines.”

  Hearing Julia say it aloud made the truth almost unbearable. In Connor’s eyes, she was off-limits and she might as well be invisible in a lot of ways.

  Why did she want Connor so much? Why did she want to have an affair with him so badly? Was it all about the challenge? Or did it have to do with her insistent need to succeed at everything she did? She looked at her immaculate desk with the two pens and a pencil arranged carefully in their proper places, and cried out for disorder.

  “Theodore, line four.” Julia nodded toward the blinking phone line.

  Michelle inhaled a slow, relaxing breath before giving Julia her best “get out” look. Unfortunately, it went completely ignored. Why did it matter anyway?

  She picked up the phone. “Theodore?”

  “Good morning, Michelle. I just wanted to see if you received your delivery. Not to mention how much the sound of your voice brightens my day.”

  Michelle sighed. “Theodore, I planned to call you today so I’ll get right to the point.”

  “Very well. I know your time is very valuable with the wonderful work you do, and idle chatter should be kept to a minimum.”

  “Theodore, could you come over tonight?”

  “Most certainly! Is something amiss? Did Connor do something to hurt you? I knew it. Nothing good could come of this—”

  “Actually, Theodore, I’m inviting you over because you and I need to talk. How does six sound?”

  “To be honest, seven would be better. I’ll be leaving the office late tonight.”

  Michelle smiled. Theodore loved his job. So did Connor. It seemed to be the one thing—the only thing—the Sakuma brothers had in common. What a pair the two of them made. “That’s fine, Theodore. I’ll see you this evening.”

  “I’ll bring a bottle of white wine. Oh, I must go. I’m being paged. The patient must be prepped. I’ll see you tonight.”

  Julia looked at Michelle as she hung up the phone, a wide smile splitting her face. She held up one hand, a waiting high-five gesture. Trying to muster up excitement, Michelle responded, halfheartedly, but it seemed to work.

  Julia didn’t mention anything about it. Instead, she forged ahead. “Wear the red blouse.”

  Michelle had no idea which shirt Julia referred to. She had more than one red blouse. “Which one?”

  “I think you should wear the red silk one that you wore last week. It’s nice, classy, but sexy as well. Just the sort of impression that you want to make. You know?” Julia’s leg bumped against the desk with an irritating thumping sound.

  “Thanks for the suggestion. I will take it under consideration.” Michelle sat up straighter in her chair. “Could you find me Luis Garcia’s file? Then you can return to your other duties. I have a lot of calls that I need to make.”

  “Of course, boss lady.” Julia located the file quickly, then left, exhaling heavily.

  Thank goodness.

  Michelle picked up the receiver again. The phone call was to Connor. She looked at the two pens and one pencil standing upright in the holder at a perfect ninety-degree angle. With swift determination, she picked up both pens and placed them flat on the desk. “Much better.”

  Connor answered the phone, the usual kitchen noises clanging in the background. “Sakuma.”

  Michelle reached out for one pen, rolling it around on her desk. “Hey, it’s Michelle. Theodore will be at my loft at seven. You still plan to make it?”

  “I’ll be there ten minutes before.”

  Sadness swamped through her. He couldn’t stand to be alone with her for anymore than ten minutes. Julia was right; she was a fool. “That’s fine. I’ll see you then. Bye, Connor.” But he had already hung up.

  After staring at the pens for several minutes, she exhaled deeply and placed them back in the holder, propping them upright until they were perfectly aligned with the pencil.

  Saturday night, as they had danced together, Connor had given her a long, passionate kiss as if she were the only woman alive. As if he needed her more than air. Michelle’s life was predictable and planned. She didn’t understand a need like that, but it attracted her to him. She hadn’t realized it until now, but it was everything she’d always wanted.

  * * * *

  “I’m sorry, Hilda, but I’ve been on hold for a while now. At this point, I really can’t afford to hold any longer.” Michelle glanced down at the steno pad, an entire page full of doodles, and released a pent up breath. She’d spent the last fifteen minutes on hold drawing pictures of stick figures holding hands. She really needed to get out more.

  “I’m doing the best I can, Ms… What did you say your name was, Ms.?”

  “Lewis. Michelle Lewis. Look, I’m certain you are doing the best you can, but I really need to find out the name of Mr. Groesbeck’s secretary in nineteen eighty-five.” She placed the pen back into the holder. No more idle drawing.

  “Royal Cleaning Company has thousands of records, Ms. Lewis. However, if you submit a written request—”

  “Thank you for the offer. I’m sure you have a ton of personnel files, but I’m positive that somehow, somewhere, someone can find this out for me. Perhaps they could be ready by the time I arrive at your office, or I can wait around a little if necessary.”

  “That information is located in secure storage, if it could be located, not here. However, there was a merger in nineteen eighty-eight, and I think those personnel records were lost or damaged.”

  Michelle removed the article from the file she’d started and scanned it quickly. Groesbeck was mentioned, as well as Olsen. “What about Mr. Olsen? Is he still working there?”

  “No. If I’m not mistaken, he left and went to another company, uh, let me think, should have been around nineteen ninety-one, maybe ninety-two.”

  “Great. Do you know what company he went to?”

  “Olsen? The last I heard, he was a director at Whitfield Industries.”

  Michelle’s ear perked up. “Whitfield Industries?” She’d met with them around two years ago concerning violations found. She shuffled through her Rolodex. W. Whitfield Industries.

  “Yes, ma’am. Received a very nice severance package when he left, too.”

  “Thanks, Hilda. If you ever spot any workplace violations, you let me know.”

  Michelle disconnected the call and leaned back in her chair. Finally, progress on the Garcia case. Now she just needed to find Olsen at Whitfield Industries. She took one last glimpse at the old article headline—“Cleaning Company Lawsuit Settled”—before printing out a copy and placing it in her briefcase. The sun was starting to lower in the office window and she realized it must be later than she thought. She checked her watch—almost five thirty. Crap. She planned to call Olsen and see if he was still at his office. Unfortunately, her apartment -needed a quick cleaning before Theodore came over. And Connor. Before Connor arrived.

  That thought made
her smile. She had big plans for Connor Sakuma this evening. She straightened up her desk and put the Garcia file in her briefcase. She’d take it home with her. She could also call Olsen from her cell phone on the way home.

  * * * *

  Connor found himself at Michelle’s door at six thirty. He rang the doorbell, refusing to attempt to come up with an explanation as to why he was early, denying the fact that he had a motive, not wanting to admit that maybe he did want to see her before Theodore arrived.

  She opened the door, her hair pinned up on top of her head, her body wrapped in a long, white terry cloth robe. Her smile alone made the visit worth it. “Come in. As you can see, I’m running a little behind time. Work. It never ends.”

  He followed, studying her robe-covered butt, wondering what she had on underneath it. Was she naked? His heart skipped a few beats; a few other parts of him were affected, as well. He was grateful that she didn’t say anything about him arriving early, because he didn’t know how he would explain.

  “I’m still getting ready. Would you like anything to drink?”

  He shook his head.

  “At first I thought I could stash you in the bathroom because it’s closer, but Theodore might need to use it. The bedroom would definitely be a better choice. I’ll have to leave the door open for you to hear everything that’s being said.”

  Connor’s thoughts shoved him back to the present, unpleasant situation. He wasn’t a police detective. “Actually, Michelle, I don’t think I’m going to stay. This entire set-up is insane.”

  She folded her arms over her chest. “I thought you needed proof that I have done everything I can to prove to Theodore that I’m not interested in him.”

  Point one for Michelle. “Um, yes, but I was…uh wrong. I was wrong.” She tilted her head to the side. The hair she had pinned to the top of her head didn’t move. How did women do that?

  “When did you decide you were wrong, Connor? More importantly, what are you wrong about?”

  Owning up to bring wrong wasn’t easy for Connor, and he thought, preparing a response, wanting to help, wanting to look intelligent, but not ready to get himself in too deep. “You don’t have to do this tonight. I was upset Saturday night and I should have kept my mouth shut. You don’t have to prove anything to me.” He paused for several moments. Finally, he said the words that he’d come all this way to say. “I believe you, and I trust you.”

  His words brought a smile to her face. He liked it when she smiled. Really liked it when he was the cause of that smile.

  “What brought on this change?” she asked softly.

  “Theodore called me and told me about you asking him over. He wanted to know what I’d done to you.”

  Michelle mumbled something Connor couldn’t quite make out, but he didn’t think Theodore would be flattered. “I told him you hadn’t done anything.”

  Connor laughed. “It's okay, Michelle. He’s just used to assuming the worst when it comes to me.”

  Usually, Theodore was right.

  “He’s just worried. He doesn’t want me to hurt.” Michelle sat down on her sofa, and crossed her ankles. “This is between me and you, not Theodore.”

  Connor looked at her bare skin peeking out from under her robe and wondered how it would feel. “Michelle,” he murmured in what was supposed to be a warning. Instead, it sounded like a plea.

  “Yes?” She looked up at him, all innocence. As if she didn’t know exactly what was going on in his head.

  Somehow, he had to get back to the subject at hand. “Look, Michelle. Talk to Theodore. I’ll stay hidden in your room. If he doesn’t get the point, after he leaves, we’ll get your robe off—” Connor bit his tongue. Hard.

  Michelle stood up and walked toward him, her hands at the sash on her waist. “Why wait? If you want—”

  “Wow, look at the time! You better get dressed.” He tugged her in the direction of her bedroom. “Unless you want Theodore seeing you…um…” looking like every man’s favorite fantasy. He waved a hand in her direction. “Like that.”

  Michelle smiled again, this one even more confident than the last. Just what he needed. “You’re right. Anything you want to watch while I’m getting dressed?”

  His gaze flew up to meet her eyes before he realized she was referring to the television that sat on her dresser. He was officially a pervert. “I’m okay for now.”

  She remained silent as she handed him the remote then made her way toward the closet, which seemed to rival the space of a small bedroom. He looked around the room. Bed, dresser, huge mirror over the dresser.

  She emerged five minutes later with a dress resting over her arm. Satin scraps hung from her hand and he swallowed. He really did not need to see her undergarments. She headed for the bathroom behind him and called over her shoulder, “I’ll only be a few minutes. Make yourself comfortable.”

  Comfortable? She was in the other room—bare, naked, nude—he was in her bedroom, alone with her bed. He glanced at the piece of huge furniture and chuckled.

  He should have known. It was a king-size bed with several pillows that looked as though they had been plumped. The comforter was a soft beige thing and he was able to handle everything until he noticed the sheets peeking out from the corner.

  Satin. Ivory.

  A part of him wanted to run screaming from the room. He’d never slept on satin sheets before, but suddenly, his mouth watered at the thought of doing just that. He reclined on the bed and fingered the silky material.

  Michelle slept here. Probably in some slinky lace teddy thing that he would give his right arm to see her in. That was probably the way Michelle would make love. Satin, lace, silk, flowers and candlelight. That’s the woman she was.

  He studied his reflection in the mirror, occupying her bed like he belonged there. When they made love, every image, every movement would be vividly available in front of his eyes. Damn, he was getting hard. It was so easy to imagine. She seemed so real. All that soft, creamy flesh reflected in front of him. A heart-shaped butt that was perfectly symmetrical. His hands clenched. She brushed out her hair, her arms raised, her breasts firm and uplifted. She looked more like of those great Italian sculptures than a living, breathing woman.

  Somewhere in the distance, he heard a whimper. Yep, that was him all right. Weak, Sakuma, very weak. He rubbed his eyes, willing the fantasy away. But when he opened them again, she was still there, and that’s when it clicked. This wasn’t a fantasy. Michelle was real, and he was sitting there, watching her reflection in the mirror.

  An inkling of suspicion popped into his head. Had she done this on purpose? Was it another ploy to get him into her bed? He glanced down, noticed the way his jeans were suddenly several sizes too small, and admitted her trick was working.

  Nope. He’d been watching too many conspiracy movies. Instead of playing the role of voyeur, he should be watching television. He leaned further back against the pillows, pressed the on button and tried to focus his attention on the images. It was a wasted effort.

  Television was boring. Michelle getting dressed was not. And what would it really hurt? Hell, she had probably planned the entire thing.

  His gaze cut back to the pure perfection of Michelle Lewis’ body. She started to apply lotion, her hands touching, smoothing the moisturizer over silky soft skin. In his mind, he started to mimic her movements, as if he were the one rubbing her down.

  She turned sideways, and inhaled deeply, patting her stomach. Connor struggled to hold in his laughter. No, she had no idea she was being watched.

  At that exact instant, she lifted her head, and got a good long look at him in the mirror, eyes hot, jaw tense and mouth slightly open.

  Busted.

  He couldn’t bring himself to look away, and she didn’t even try. Her head tilted, a question in her eyes. Her fingers splayed on her stomach and then they moved. First up to cover her breasts, a movement that seemed to be partly modest and seductive. Her fingertips trailed over her nipples, an
d he groaned. She smiled, slow and aware, and her hands moved down lower.

  He rose, not thinking about any of the reasons he shouldn’t be doing this, and started toward her. All he wanted to do was taste her soft skin, kiss her lush mouth, and tease the places that would make her cry out with pleasure.

  He was halfway across the bedroom and the sound of someone knocking rose above the sound of his own ragged breathing.

  Theodore.

  Connor closed his eyes and found a chair in the far corner of the room. Far away from temptation, far away from bedroom tricks with mirrors. Several seconds later, Michelle walked out of the bathroom, safely dressed in pale pink silk, her hair pulled back away from her face and twisted up on top of her head. She looked completely forbidden, elegant and untouchable.

  “Connor?”

  “Go let him in.” His voice was raspy and he had trouble forming words.

  She didn’t reply, just studied him for minute. After heartbeats, she turned away and walked out of the room.

  * * * *

  Michelle’s legs were shaky, but they carried her to the front door. She rested her head against the door. Somehow, she had turned into an exhibitionist and it was extremely stimulating. If not for Theodore’s untimely arrival, she knew exactly what would have happened.

  It excited her to know how close they had come, and a part of her body was still vibrating, waiting for release. Maybe he would stay after Theodore left; maybe he would see how useless it would be to keep fighting the sparks between them. Maybe he would now understand that Michelle Lewis could tempt and tease just as well as any female that he might have favored in the past.

  Maybe he could desire her.

  Theodore knocked at the door again, eliminating any more thoughts of a late-night seduction. First things first.

  Dealing with Theodore.

  Chapter Six

  Theodore always looked so well put together. Michelle glanced down at her own wrinkle-free dress and frowned.

  “Come on in, Theodore.”