Read Online License to Love by Barbara Boswell - Free Book Online
Authors: Barbara Boswell
Ads: Link
to drive in the blizzard. “We’re already out on the roads.” He switched off the radio. “What’s the point in listening to secondhand reports of how treacherous the roads are? We’re experiencing them firsthand.”
They rode in tense silence then, Steve concentrating his attention on keeping the car on the road, Michelle mentally willing him success in doing so. By the time he pulled the car into the snow-filled parking lot adjacent to her apartment building, both were exhausted from the dual strains of anxiety and tension.
Steve shifted gears in an attempt to pull the car closer to the building. The tires went around and around, but the Jag didn’t move. He tried again, pressing the gas pedal harder. Again, nothing. The odor of friction-burning rubber assailed their nostrils as the wheels kept spinning. They were stuck on the ice, blocked in by the snow.
Steve cut the engine and leaned against the steering wheel. “Looks like our luck’s run out,” he said glumly.
“It doesn’t matter, we made it!” Michelle exclaimed. “We’re home!” A smile lit her face. “I don’t mind admitting it now, but there were times, a lot of them in fact, when I didn’t think we would ever get here. I thought we’d end up spending the night trapped in a ditch or wrapped around a pole. You drove—” she paused, searching for a superlative “—brilliantly,” she finished exuberantly.
“So how do you feel about having this brilliant driver spend the night in your apartment?”
Michelle gaped at him, shocked.
Steve laughed slightly. “You’re home, honey, not me. I’ve managed to get stuck in this stupid lot and it looks like I won’t be going anywhere else tonight.”
Michelle swallowed and said nothing. He was going to have to spend the night in her apartment? She’d been so profoundly relieved to be safely home, she hadn’t had time to consider Steve’s predicament. And her own!
“Guess I’m not so brilliant, after all, huh? Although there are those who might argue that getting myself marooned so I have to sleep over at your place is a brilliant strategy.”
His attempted joke fell flat. Michelle glanced at him. He looked so tired, as drained as she felt. And no wonder—he’d just put in two hours of perilous driving.
“I know you didn’t do it deliberately,” Michelle said quietly, staring sightlessly at the snow whipping around the car. The heat inside was rapidly dissipating since he’d turned off the engine. She shivered.
“I certainly didn’t. I’m not the kind of guy who hangs around where I’m not wanted. And you made it clear tonight that you don’t want to be around me.”
Maybe it was the flatness in his voice or the absence of expression in his usually expressive face. Or perhaps it was the bond that forms between those who have faced an exhausting, difficult trial together. Whatever it was, Michelle felt guilt streak through her. “I didn’t mean to give you that impression,” she said softly. “I’m sorry if I was rude. I was trying to be polite this evening. I thought I’d succeeded.” “Oh, you were polite, all right. You smiled at all the right times, you nodded and came up with correct responses the conversation required. Except that you were on automatic pilot while you were doing it.” Steve frowned. “I can tell the difference between what’s real and what’s faked, Michelle. Both in and out of bed.”
“How can you tell if a woman is faking in bed?” Michelle blurted out, completely bewildered by his unexpected candor. “Every magazine article I’ve ever read on the subject says a man can never tell.” She wanted to recall the words the moment she said them. Blushing, she felt hot all over, despite the windchill factor.
He arched his dark brows. “Do you believe everything you read, Michelle? If you do, then you believe that Elvis is still alive, that Hitler was really a woman—”
“What?”
“According to a tabloid headline I read in a
They rode in tense silence then, Steve concentrating his attention on keeping the car on the road, Michelle mentally willing him success in doing so. By the time he pulled the car into the snow-filled parking lot adjacent to her apartment building, both were exhausted from the dual strains of anxiety and tension.
Steve shifted gears in an attempt to pull the car closer to the building. The tires went around and around, but the Jag didn’t move. He tried again, pressing the gas pedal harder. Again, nothing. The odor of friction-burning rubber assailed their nostrils as the wheels kept spinning. They were stuck on the ice, blocked in by the snow.
Steve cut the engine and leaned against the steering wheel. “Looks like our luck’s run out,” he said glumly.
“It doesn’t matter, we made it!” Michelle exclaimed. “We’re home!” A smile lit her face. “I don’t mind admitting it now, but there were times, a lot of them in fact, when I didn’t think we would ever get here. I thought we’d end up spending the night trapped in a ditch or wrapped around a pole. You drove—” she paused, searching for a superlative “—brilliantly,” she finished exuberantly.
“So how do you feel about having this brilliant driver spend the night in your apartment?”
Michelle gaped at him, shocked.
Steve laughed slightly. “You’re home, honey, not me. I’ve managed to get stuck in this stupid lot and it looks like I won’t be going anywhere else tonight.”
Michelle swallowed and said nothing. He was going to have to spend the night in her apartment? She’d been so profoundly relieved to be safely home, she hadn’t had time to consider Steve’s predicament. And her own!
“Guess I’m not so brilliant, after all, huh? Although there are those who might argue that getting myself marooned so I have to sleep over at your place is a brilliant strategy.”
His attempted joke fell flat. Michelle glanced at him. He looked so tired, as drained as she felt. And no wonder—he’d just put in two hours of perilous driving.
“I know you didn’t do it deliberately,” Michelle said quietly, staring sightlessly at the snow whipping around the car. The heat inside was rapidly dissipating since he’d turned off the engine. She shivered.
“I certainly didn’t. I’m not the kind of guy who hangs around where I’m not wanted. And you made it clear tonight that you don’t want to be around me.”
Maybe it was the flatness in his voice or the absence of expression in his usually expressive face. Or perhaps it was the bond that forms between those who have faced an exhausting, difficult trial together. Whatever it was, Michelle felt guilt streak through her. “I didn’t mean to give you that impression,” she said softly. “I’m sorry if I was rude. I was trying to be polite this evening. I thought I’d succeeded.” “Oh, you were polite, all right. You smiled at all the right times, you nodded and came up with correct responses the conversation required. Except that you were on automatic pilot while you were doing it.” Steve frowned. “I can tell the difference between what’s real and what’s faked, Michelle. Both in and out of bed.”
“How can you tell if a woman is faking in bed?” Michelle blurted out, completely bewildered by his unexpected candor. “Every magazine article I’ve ever read on the subject says a man can never tell.” She wanted to recall the words the moment she said them. Blushing, she felt hot all over, despite the windchill factor.
He arched his dark brows. “Do you believe everything you read, Michelle? If you do, then you believe that Elvis is still alive, that Hitler was really a woman—”
“What?”
“According to a tabloid headline I read in a
Similar Books
