Michael (Connelly Cousins #3) Read online

  He stopped pacing temporarily to glare at her again. “Love the hair, too. Looks a lot like Stacey’s, as a matter of fact. The colors are more striking, I have to admit, but the effect is quite lovely.”

  Bailey remained quiet, knowing she did not have the answers he wanted to hear. She kept a small distance between them, arms wrapped tightly around herself, her gaze on her shoes. Anger and something else – relief? - rolled off of him in waves. Exactly why he was so mad, she wasn’t sure. But whatever the reason was, it was enough of a reason for him to track her down.

  The chill of the November evening seeped into her weary bones, accelerated by the cold sweat breaking out all over her. She hugged herself tighter, but could not stop the full-body shudders that began to take hold.

  Cursing, Michael removed his leather jacket and handed it to her. If she’d been stronger, she would have shoved it back into his chest, but she wasn’t. In the haze of the bar she’d been able to keep moving; as long as she was moving she was alright. Out here in the cold in this minimal clothing, standing still, it was all catching up to her.

  Her system was all messed up due to repeated, lack of sleep and an unbalanced diet. Even her insulin injections had become irregular thanks to the strict identification requirements at the clinic. Since she couldn’t produce anything to confirm she was who she said she was, they would only give her the injections there instead of giving her a prescription to do it herself. Since she couldn’t get there twice a day during normal business hours, it was playing havoc with her system.

  Not for the first time, Bailey cursed the digital age and the recent changes in the health care industry. She was diabetic. What the hell else did they have to know? Did it really matter what name she’d been born under?

  Bailey disappeared inside his jacket, inhaling deeply. The scent of it made her head swim, but even the residual warmth of his body heat could not warm her. She pulled it tighter around her, covering as much of her body as possible, and waited.

  * * *

  Her complete lack of protest bothered Michael more than the yelling response he’d expected. The prickling on the back of his neck grew stronger. Something was wrong. He blew out a breath and took a closer look. Maybe in his jealousy-induced rage he’d made a mistake.

  Her skin was very pale, much lighter than the soft bronze he remembered. Her face was drawn, as if she hadn’t eaten or slept in days. Even the considerable amount of makeup she wore wasn’t enough to hide the dark circles beneath her eyes. Her hazel eyes.

  “It is you, isn’t it, Bailey?”

  Half of her face was tucked into the collar, forcing him to lean over to see her, but there was no mistaking the slight nod she gave him, or the subtle sniffle that suggested she was trying to hold back tears.

  Michael was nearly beside himself. “Christ, Bailey. What the fuck is going on?”

  He barely had time to catch her before she swayed and fainted.

  Michael laid her on out on the bench seat and covered her body with the thermal blanket he kept in the back. He felt her pulse. It was slow but strong. Lifting her eyelids he spotted the contact lenses, removing them ever so carefully. He sucked in a breath when he discovered that one eye was remarkably blue, while the other was a clear emerald green.

  After assuring himself that she was in no immediate danger, he strapped her in the best he could and drove her to his hotel. He used the back entrance to ensure privacy (one of the perks of staying in the VIP suite), cradling her in his arms. She never even stirred.

  Up in his suite, he swiftly removed her uniform and stuffed it into the trash. She’d never wear that again, that was for sure. He briefly considered burning it, then thought better of it when he spotted the sprinklers and smoke detectors in every room.

  Laying her out on the king-size bed, he checked her over more carefully. No bruises, a few minor scratches, but nothing that would indicate abuse or drug use, forced or otherwise. He concluded that she was suffering from exhaustion and possible dehydration.

  He used the finger stick kit he’d brought along with him and was shocked to find her sugar levels way off. Thankfully his careful preparations had included stocking up on pre-measured insulin syringes (thanks to his doctor cousin, Michael Callaghan). After ripping open one of the packages, he’d brought with him, he gave her an injection, then pulled the covers around her and held her tightly against him.

  It was going to be a long night, but the important thing was, she was here in his arms, exactly where she needed to be.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Bailey was having the most wonderful dream. She was tucked safely in Michael’s arms, spooned against his hard, strong body. It was so realistic she swore she could feel his warmth and the beat of his heart against her back.

  Something incredibly soft covered them, thick and luxurious against her bare skin. She did not want to wake up, instead holding onto the dream, reveling in the fantasy. She knew she was hallucinating, probably because she was overdue for her injection again, but this was too good, too perfect, to not enjoy for just a little while longer.

  When her hallucination started caressing her stomach, however, she knew she was on the verge of losing it completely. The granite shaft nestled snugly against her behind felt all too real. She tried to turn over, but iron arms held her in place.

  “Sssssh. Go back to sleep,” a deep, familiar voice purred. It couldn’t be. Could it?

  “Michael?”

  “Yes, I’m here. It’s okay, Bailey. Rest.”

  As if. Bailey was suddenly aware that she was only wearing a thin cotton t-shirt (probably his, given the loose comfortable fit) and a pair of panties. Her traitorous body responded to him instantly. Her breasts swelled and her nipples hardened; a rush of wet heat dampened those panties she was wearing. She forced herself to recall what happened the last time she’d felt like this, and that helped temper her lust.

  Slightly.

  “What’s going on?”

  Michael loosened his grip enough to allow her to turn toward him, but not enough to break free. He propped his head up on one hand, keeping the other protectively just above her hip.

  “You passed out in the parking lot of the bar. I brought you here. Do you remember?” His eyes searched her face.

  Her mind rewound frantically; her heartbeat quickened into a racing gallop between one thump and the next. Images of him in Rumblers, taking out those bikers with astonishing ease; the sensation of his warm, fragrant jacket surrounding her in the shadow of the parking lot. A warm, damp cloth brushed over her brow. Snippets of sipping something cool and delicious. They were dreamlike bits and pieces, disconnected and out of sequence.

  “When?”

  “About twenty-four hours ago.”

  “Twenty-four hours! “ Panic began to well in the pit of her stomach. After that long without insulin, she should be in shock or a coma, yet she felt strangely normal. “I need my purse.”

  “Relax, sweetheart. I’ve been giving you insulin injections every twelve hours. Your sugar levels have evened out.”

  She looked at him as if he’d grown two heads. “How could you possibly know...?”

  He was watching her closely. Too closely. Just what else had he been able to discover? Did he know who she was? How had he found her?

  Her eyes raked across his bare shoulders and chest, down toward what was hidden underneath the sheet.

  “I did nothing more than hold you, Bailey.” His face darkened. “You had nightmares. Bad ones. The only thing that calmed you was when I held you.” His green eyes smoldered. “I promise you, you will be wide awake when I make love to you again, and I am going to show you just how pleasurable it can truly be.”

  She stiffened at his arrogant assumption, even as her core clenched in wanton hope. “There won’t be a next time, Michael.”

  He gave this the briefest moment of thought. “Don’t you think it will be difficult to share my bed every night and not make love?”

  She gasped. “I
will not be sharing your bed, so that shouldn’t be a problem.”

  “Of course you will. Where else would my wife sleep but in my bed?”

  The man was certifiable. “You seem to be under the impression that I’m going to marry you.”

  “There is no doubt in my mind whatsoever that I’m going to marry you,” he said confidently. “And, if you recall, I did tell you, so you can’t say you weren’t forewarned.”

  Imperious, presumptuous impossible man! Yet he had said he was going to marry her, hadn’t he? That night at the diner. After he’d rescued her from Tommy’s, and before they’d gone up to the lake. But she’d thought he was joking, of course.

  “I don’t recall you asking.”

  “A mere technicality.” He waved his hand impatiently. “One we can rectify right now. “ Michael eased from the bed with a masculine grace that belied his size. She was relieved (and slightly disappointed) to see that he was not, in fact, fully naked, but wore thin sweat pants.

  Then he went down on bended knee and took her hand in his.

  “Bailey Keehan, will you marry me?”

  Her heart stuttered and stopped for several breaths before kicking in again. “No.”

  Michael grinned, not in the least bit daunted by her blatant refusal. “You love me.”

  Bailey broke eye contact. She could not deny it. Just as she could never look into his eyes and lie to him. His grin widened.

  “You do! You love me.”

  * * *

  Michael’s heart soared. She might not be happy about it, but by not denying it, she had just admitted that she loved him. Of course she did. She was his croie.

  “That’s beside the point,” she sniffed.

  Bailey managed to swing her legs off the side of the bed. He was by her side before her feet hit the floor. Her sugar levels might have evened out, but a full twenty-four hours in bed, occasionally sipping juice and broth, would make anyone weak and wobbly.

  He wrapped his arms around her until she got her balance. So what if she didn’t return the embrace? At least she wasn’t pushing him away.

  “Baby, that’s exactly the point. We were made for each other. You feel it, too.”

  “You don’t know anything about me,” she shot back.

  “I know enough,” he countered. “I know you are the only woman I would ever chase up and down the east coast. The only woman who has ever managed to reach inside me and touch my soul. The woman I love, my soul mate, my perfect match. Everything else is irrelevant.”

  * * *

  He pulled her closer until her cheek lightly rested against his collarbone, and dipped his head so that his lips brushed against her ear. She felt his warm breath against her skin, sending shudders of tingles through her core. Her inner muscles contracted in response to his breathy whisper, spoken with a lusty Irish lilt.

  “Marry me, leannán.”

  Marry me, lover. Despite her best efforts to remain steadfast, Bailey’s knees went weak and her head swam dizzily. Whether it was because of his nearness or his whispered words of love, she didn’t know but she was grateful for the strong arms that kept her from collapsing to the floor.

  “Michael...”

  Just that quickly, that fluttering feeling in her chest dropped into her stomach and became a full-blown roil. Her hand flew up to her mouth. A second later she shoved at him – hard – and sprinted toward what she hoped was the bathroom.

  Without pretense, he held her hair and rubbed her back while she retched into the commode. When the worst of it was over, he handed her a cool, damp cloth. She couldn’t help but think of how she had done exactly the same thing for his sister in what seemed like another lifetime.

  For all intents and purposes, it was another lifetime. She was not the same person. Different name. Different look. Different life.

  “Well, that’s not quite the reaction I was hoping for.”

  Bailey gave him a weary smile.

  “Thanks,” she said, reaching for the cup of mouthwash he held out to her. It was cinnamon-flavored, her favorite. She should have been more surprised than she was.

  “You had that in your back pack,” Michael said as if guessing her thoughts. “I picked up your things from your motel room.”

  Before she could fully process that, he asked, “Does this happen often?”

  His green eyes had darkened to emeralds and were filled with concern. It was hard to summon a defense when he looked so genuinely worried about her. It was hard to summon a defense against him, period. This man did things to her. Things she couldn’t explain.

  Bailey swished the red liquid around and then spat it out in the sink, sidestepping his question with one of her own. “You always seem to catch me at my best, don’t you?”

  He gave her a wry smile. “I’ll take it any way I can get it, sweetheart. How long have you been sick?”

  Bailey exhaled slowly and attempted to stand up, then decided that wasn’t happening yet and settled for putting the lid down and sitting on the toilet with her head between her knees. “I’m not sick, Michael.”

  “Then why ...?” Michael suddenly dropped to his knees and placed his hands on her shoulders. His voice was quiet, guarded. “Bailey, are you pregnant?”

  Almost imperceptibly, her head nodded.

  “You are carrying our child? We’re going to have a baby?” Another nod. Before she could take her next breath she was lifted off of her feet and crushed against his chest.

  Michael laid her on the bed, and proceeded to apply butterfly-light tender kisses across her face. She closed her eyes, welcoming the soothing darkness behind her lids. Michael disappeared for a moment, but when he came back he began tugging at her clothes.

  “What do you think you are doing?”

  “Taking care of the mother of my child.”

  “Michael.”

  “Don’t argue with me, Bailey. You’re in no shape to fight me and you know it.”

  His voice was firm, almost commanding. A tone she’d heard him use on others but never her. She hesitated. A big part of her wanted to do exactly as he said and let him take control for a little while. She was tired, so very tired of trying to handle everything on her own.

  “That’s a good girl,” he said approvingly when she did not offer resistance. His tone was softer, soothing. When she was undressed, he lifted her into his arms. Then he lowered her into the oversized Jacuzzi tub, which he had somehow managed to fill with warm water and soothing bath scents. She couldn’t help the moan of pleasure as the water surrounded her.

  Michael proceeded to wash her hair, using the pads of those strong, skilled fingers to give her a scalp massage; then he gently rinsed her hair with cups full of water, carefully avoiding her face. His touch was nothing less than magical, sending her protests into the background temporarily.

  “You could work in a salon,” she murmured dreamily. “Women would pay big bucks for this kind of treatment.”

  Michael chuckled. “I did, actually, when I was much younger. Thought it would be a great way to meet women. Plus the tips helped put me through my first year of college.”

  She couldn’t help but smile, picturing a young, very hot Michael Connelly surrounded by a roomful of women dying for him to put his hands on them. “And how did that work out for you?”

  “Not so well, actually. You would not believe what some of those women propositioned.” He shook his head, looking properly scandalized. “And me, such an impressionable, innocent young lad. It was quite tragic, really. Scarred me for life.”

  A small laugh bubbled up through her; Bailey was unable to picture him ever being that innocent. “Are you telling me that you didn’t take them up on their propositions?”

  “I’ll plead the fifth on that,” he said with a devilish grin, invoking his constitutional right not to incriminate himself.

  Bailey would have smacked him had she had the energy to do so. But that would have meant raising her arm out of the glorious bathwater and it just wasn’t worth
it.

  Hair clean and fragrant, he towel-dried it, then wrapped it expertly in a towel.

  “Now for the rest,” he crooned.

  Bailey held out her hand for the washcloth he’d just soaped up, but he pushed it away. “You will let me do this for you, Bailey.”

  “Why?” she asked softly.

  “Because I need to.”

  The quiet sincerity in his tone and the plea in his eyes stilled any further objection. He proceeded to wash her reverently, his hands working magic everywhere he touched. It made her crave more but, somewhat disappointingly, it went no further.

  When she was thoroughly cleansed, he reached into the large cylindrical white thing (which turned out to be a towel warmer) and extracted a fluffy white body towel. Helping her out of the tub, he wrapped it around her, cocooning her in soft warmth then carried her back to the bedroom.

  A girl could get used to this kind of pampering, she thought. Then realized the impossibility of such a thing.

  Bailey closed her eyes and sank back into the pillows, feeling a warmth that did not come entirely from soaking in a hot bath. No one ever said life was fair, but this just seemed overly cruel. Why did God, or Fate, or whatever was in control of this effed-up planet keep reminding her what she couldn’t have? She must have done something horrible in a previous life to screw up her karma this badly because she sure couldn’t think of anything she’d done in this lifetime to warrant it.

  The bottom of the bed dipped under Michael’s weight. The next thing she knew, he picked up one of her feet and began massaging it with both hands, heavenly little movements that nearly had her purring in satisfaction. When he finished with one, he began with the other.

  Cruel, cruel, cruel.

  “Don’t tell me you worked as a masseur as well?”

  “All right, I won’t.” The smug grin on his face, not to mention the skill and strength of his hands, told her everything she needed to know. “But med school is expensive.”

  That was unexpected. “Med school? You’re a doctor?”

  “No. I started out that way, but found out soon enough I wasn’t cut out for it.”