License to Love Read Free

I’m sure you must have a meeting yourself.”
    She promptly rushed from the office.
    Her abrupt departure caught Steve off guard. She was out of the suite of offices and striding down the corridor before he caught up with her. He followed her to the elevator, amidst the busy flow of lunch-hour traffic.
    Michelle pressed the call button, then impatiently pressed it again.
    “All right, go to your meeting,” Steve said, keeping his voice low and out of earshot of the four others who’d joined them at the elevator. “We’ll talk later. I’ll come over tonight and—”
    “Save yourself the trip,” she whispered. “I won’t be home.”
    The elevator arrived and its passengers filed out. “Where will you be?” Steve demanded. Impulsively he caught her wrist and tugged her toward him.
    Michelle tugged back. Though he kept hold of her, her outstretched arm kept a distance between them. “I’m going to my stepsister’s for the Fourth of July weekend, not that it’s any concern of yours.”
    He ignored the gibe. “But it’s only Wednesday. Why are you leaving tonight? Are you taking tomorrow off? Which sister are you visiting?”
    “You sound like a prosecutor grilling a witness on the stand. A definite departure from your usual smooth way of weasling information.” Michelle glanced pointedly at his hand on her wrist. The elevator was beginning to load. She took a step toward it.
    His fingers tightened, halting her. Reflexively her eyes flew to his face. A mistake on her part, Michelle conceded as his gaze met and held hers. His velvety dark brown eyes were compelling and intense. Those soul-piercing stares of his had always had a mesmerizing effect on her. He had such power over her, Michelle acknowledged miserably. The fact that she had freely given him that power was little consolation.
    “Let me go, Steve,” she said breathlessly. “We—we’ll talk later.”
    “Tonight.” It was a statement, not a request.
    Michelle glanced at the passengers in the elevator who were beginning to stare at her. They looked impatient, ready to leave her behind if she didn’t board.
    “All right. Tonight,” she agreed quickly.
    ‘We’ll have dinner. I’ll be over shortly before six.” He released her wrist.
    Michelle rushed into the elevator, the doors snapped shut, and the car descended.
    Steve was at the door of her apartment at approximately 5:43 p.m. In one hand he clutched a bouquet of carnations, daisies and ferns, which he had purchased from a street vendor. Was it appropriate to bring flowers to the woman who claimed to be carrying his child? He usually had an instinctive feel about how to proceed in any given situation, but the etiquette for this one totally eluded him.
    He was very aware of his pounding heart and churning stomach, physical symptoms of anxiety that he found extremely unpleasant. He wasn’t used to them; he’d never been the nervous type. Not even as an adolescent had he experienced the palm-sweating, throat-clogging anxiety of his peers.
    But he was suffering it now, with a vengeance.
    He knocked at the door. There was no response. He knocked again and then pressed the buzzer. Still no sounds from within. Steve glanced at his Rolex watch, one of his most treasured possessions, a status symbol that thrilled him every time he looked at it. He’d told Michelle shortly before six. Perhaps she hadn’t returned from her office yet. She certainly wouldn’t expect him to be early.
    Eventually he tired of waiting at her door and returned to his car, a sleek black Jaguar, another treasured possession, another status symbol that thrilled him every time he drove it. He’d illegally parked it directly in front of the building and he sat behind the wheel, watching and waiting for Michelle to arrive.
    She didn’t. At six-thirty, he marched back up to her apartment and pounded on the door. Nothing. Frustrated, muttering a curse, he leaned on the buzzer. It sounded, nonstop. He pounded on the door