He shifted his attention back to Dane. “Thanks, Dr. Freud, but I’ll pass.”
“Oh, come on. I don’t need to be a psychoanalyst to solve your problem. This is an easy situation. Just ask her to stay.”
“It’s not that easy. Chloe’s not looking for a ‘stay’ situation, and, even if she was, she’s not a fan of military life. On top of that, our Grandkid Story sucks.”
“I don’t care what she said in the beginning—okay, I’ll bite…what the hell is your Grandkid Story?”
“Doesn’t matter.” But apparently it did, to Chloe. “All I’m saying is, it’s complicated, and convincing her to stay will require some finesse. This is not a simple, put-my-cards-on-the-table scenario.”
Dane dismissed the information with a wave of his hand. “All those complications will sort themselves out. In the beginning, she didn’t have any reason to stick around. Now she does. Or she would, if you’d man up and give her one.”
Michael stood and shook his head. “I realize you think you’ve got some special insight into the female mind, but you don’t know what Chloe wants.”
“Maybe not. But I know what you want, and I know something else, too. If you don’t speak up, you’re not going to get it.”
Chapter Seventeen
Michael woke to the sensation of warm hands sliding down his back. When soft lips and a nimble tongue followed, trailing a line of wet heat along his spine, he cracked an eye open and stared at the alarm clock. Eight forty-three. He’d been thinking it would be a nice change of pace to sleep in this Saturday morning, but, as the sheet around his waist was suddenly jerked away, leaving him covered by nothing but his boxer shorts, he supposed he could make an exception.
“Is this some new kind of massage?”
“Mmm-hmm.” Those lips got busy retracing their path. “Very therapeutic. Works out all the kinks.”
He closed his eyes and lowered his head to his folded arms. “Really? Because I’m feeling a definite kink.”
“Uh-oh,” she said, with mock concern. “Can’t have that. Is it here?” She kissed the spot between his shoulder blades.
“No.” He shifted his hips. “Lower.”
“Here?” She nibbled the small of his back.
“You’re warmer.”
“How about now?” She yanked his shorts down.
“Oh, shit…yeah, you’re warmer.”
Her hand sank between his legs, and up into the V of his thighs.
“Red hot,” he groaned when her fingertips grazed his balls. He flipped over and was about to show her exactly where the kink was, when his doorbell rang.
They both froze. Her gaze leaped to hi
s. “Did you have a gym date with Dane this morning?”
“No, but”—the insistent sound of knuckles on wood echoed through the apartment—“whoever it is seems pretty damn sure I’m home.” He jerked his shorts up. “Let me get rid of them. I’ll be right back.”
He swept his T-shirt off the bedroom floor and pulled it over his head on his way to the door. One look through the peephole immediately sent what was left of his hard-on into full retreat and had him uttering the only words that fit the situation. “Fuck me.” In his peripheral vision he saw Chloe wander into the kitchen, wearing her purple robe and yawning as she headed to the coffeemaker. She paused when she heard him curse and turned a curious look on him.
He squeezed his eyes shut, shook his head, and prayed for deliverance. None came. When he opened his eyes and stared through the peephole again, the same familiar, slightly distorted face stared back at him.
“Who’s at the door?”
“My parents.”
She dropped the stack of coffee filters she’d been holding. “Your parents?” A self-conscious hand rose to her hair. The other straightened the front of her robe. “Should I hide?”
Knocking came again, followed by, “Michael? What did you say? Open the door. Your father and I want to see for ourselves that you’re okay.”