It's Not About You by Olivia Reid Page A

around my shoulders. I tried to push them away but they were strong. I don't think I tried very hard, though.  
    Michael held me close to him, and cradled the back of my head with his hand. I buried my face into his shoulder…and cried.  
    I couldn't remember the last time I'd let go like that. Or the last time I'd felt comfortable enough to even try. So often during my marriage I'd bared my soul, needed words of comfort, a shoulder to cry on…but Burt had never offered. He'd never been there.  
    It wasn't a part of who he was. Or is. Caring for others was an alien emotion for him. Something he knew he was supposed to do because it was a social convention, but he couldn't work the logic out in his head as to how doing it helped him. It wasn't profitable. And it wasn't something that comforted…him.  
    To have someone hold me, really hold me…the idea was new again to me. I felt like I did when I was sixteen and my boyfriend held me. I tingled in all the right places, and I felt…
    Could I say? Or think it?  
    Should I dare?  
    "Grace," Michael's voice vibrated in his chest next to my cheek. "Can I kiss you again?"  
    I suddenly felt… wanted .  
    I pushed away from him, my hands resting on his chest as I looked up into his face. His hair fell down toward his chin but there was no mistaking what I saw in his eyes. I'd seen that look…long ago. When I was young, before I fell into Burt's trap and the promise of family and children.  
    It was the look of a man who wanted more than a kiss. The kiss was only a prelude to a possibility. "Michael," I said as I kept my hands on his front. "You do realize I'm forty-five."  
    He smiled at me. "Yes."  
    "And you're what…?"  
    "I'm thirty-three."  
    I swallowed. Over ten years. "If you know how old I am—that I have a child in college and a rather nasty tempered ex-husband—" I shook my head but I never lost eye contact with him. "Why would you want to kiss me?"  
    "Because I was fascinated with the woman in line in that coffee shop the moment she stood her ground." He reached up and tucked a strand of my hair behind my ears. "I am still fascinated with the woman who works there, the woman who can plate a scone with pride, the woman I saw tonight with Gerald. You can't stand him and his archaic beliefs. You want to protect Kyle and you resent that man, you want to be honest and tell him what you think. But I watched you restrain yourself for your best friend." The right side of his mouth pulled up in a half smirk. "I see an incredible woman. Not a flighty…hoochie mama," and he laughed. "Who wants nothing more than the physical rewards of two people having sex. I see a woman."  
    A woman.  
    "Don't toy with me, Michael. You don't realize how fragile I am."  
    "I believe I do. I hear it in your voice. And saw it when you spoke to him. I see a woman recovering from years of abuse—"  
    "No. He never did that."  
    "Abuse comes in many forms, Grace. His crime against you, and I'm only speculating, is keeping you isolated. Meek. Dependent on him as you raised your child. You're in the first stages of finding yourself again. Looking for the Choose One."  
    Again I frowned at him. How did he know that?  
    "Then, you know I don't think I can handle rejection right now."  
    "Who's rejecting you? Not me." He leaned down and pressed his lips against mine again, but this time he ran his tongue between my own, and the only thing I could think of was how incredible it would if he would run that tongue along my other lips.  
    My mouth parted to accept him and I couldn't stop. How long… Good God how long had it been since I'd been kissed like this? Or touched?  
    His hand still cradled the back of my head as he bent me back. His kiss became both demanding and gentle. He would tease with his tongue, try the waters, and then when I didn't protest, he would plunge even deeper than before. Michael moved his hands and picked me up by my waist and set me on the island,