Heartbreaker by Linda Howard Page A

don’t have to be back at any certain time,” she said, willing to let him decide when they would return.
    As it happened, it was after dark before they left Tampa. John’s meeting had taken up more time than he’d expected, but Michelle hadn’t been bored, because he hadn’t left her sitting in the reception area. He’d taken her into the meeting with him, and it had been so interesting that she hadn’t been aware of the hours slipping past. It was almost six when they finished, and by then John was hungry again; it was another two hours before they were actually on their way.
    Michelle sat beside him, relaxed and a little drowsy. John had stayed with coffee, because he was driving, but she’d had two glasses of wine with her meal, and her bones felt mellow. The car was dark, illuminated only by the dash lights, which gave a satanic cast to his hard-planed face, and the traffic on U.S. 19 was light. She snuggled down into the seat, making a comment only when John said something that required an answer.
    Soon they ran into a steady rain, and the rhythmic motion of the windshield wipers added to her drowsiness. The windows began to fog, so John turned the air-conditioning higher. Michelle sat up, hugging her arms as the cooler air banished her drowsiness. Her silk dress didn’t offer much warmth. He glanced at her, then pulled to the side of the road.
    â€œWhy are we stopping?”
    â€œBecause you’re cold.” He shrugged out of his suit jacket and draped it around her, enveloping her in the transferred heat and the smell of his body. “We’re almost two hours from home, so why don’t you take a nap? That wine’s getting to you, isn’t it?”
    â€œMmm.” The sound of agreement was distinctly drowsy. John touched her cheek gently, watching as her eyelids closed, as if her lashes were too heavy for her to hold them open a moment longer. Let her sleep, he thought. She’d be recovered from the wine by the time they got home. His loins tightened. He wanted her awake and responsive when he took her to bed. There was no way he was going to sleep alone tonight. All day long he’d been fighting the need to touch her, to feel her lying against him. For ten years she’d been in his mind, and he wanted her. As difficult and spoiled as she was, he wanted her. Now he understood what made men want to pamper her, probably from the day she’d been placed in her cradle. He’d just taken his place in line, and for his reward he’d have her in his bed, her slim, silky body open for his pleasure. He knew she wanted him; she was resisting him for some reason he couldn’t decipher, perhaps only a woman’s instinctive hesitance.
    Michelle usually didn’t sleep well. Her slumber was frequently disturbed by dreams, and she hadn’t been able to nap with even her father anywhere nearby. Her subconscious refused to relax if any man was in the vicinity. Roger had once attacked her in the middle of the night, when she’d been soundly asleep, and the trauma of being jerked from a deep, peaceful sleep into a nightmare of violence had in some ways been worse than the pain. Now, just before she slept, she realized with faint surprise that the old uneasiness wasn’t there tonight. Perhaps the time had come to heal that particular hurt, too, or perhaps it was that she felt so unutterably safe with John. His coat warmed her; his nearness surrounded her. He had touched her in passion and in anger, but his touch had never brought pain. He tempered his great strength to handle a woman’s softness, and she slept, secure in the instinctive knowledge that she was safe.
    His deep, dark-velvet voice woke her. “We’re home, honey. Put your arms around my neck.”
    She opened her eyes to see him leaning in the open door of the car, and she gave him a sleepy smile. “I slept all the way, didn’t I?”
    â€œLike a