Micah. You must learn new ways to live your life. I’ll show you how. Now, you’ve got ten minutes to find your way to the foyer. Shoes are optional around here."
She turned away from him, tears stinging her eyes. She grasped his anxiety and longed to console him, but she knew better. Blinking back her tears, Bliss lifted her chin, a stubborn look on her face as she glanced back over her shoulder at him.
Micah appeared stunned by her remarks, and Bliss felt like the cruelest thing on two feet. But she remained determined to get him out of his suite.
As he clenched his fists at his sides and breathed shallowly, Bliss goaded him with the comment, "I’d hate to think you’re a coward, Micah Holbrook."
She hurriedly exited the room, but not because she feared a violent response from him. She knew he needed a few minutes to calm down and to consider his options.
And his options were few. Cooperate, or go hungry. His choice.
4
Coward?
The word sounded and felt like a gun fired at his temple at point–blank range. It rang in his ears until he managed to clamp down on his reverberating emotions.
Coward?
He didn’t want to believe that Bliss Rowland thought him a coward, but she obviously did. Too stunned to move, Micah vibrated with a primitive inner fury that made him crave revenge. He pressed his clenched fists to his sides, breathing deeply as he struggled to calm himself and think in a clearheaded manner.
His pride finally kicked in, but it took a few minutes. Micah knew he had no choice but to pick up the gauntlet Bliss had hurled at his feet. She held all of the cards at the moment, but he silently vowed that he would beat her at her own game. He also promised himself that he would find a way to make her feel as raw–nerved and vulnerable as she’d made him feel.
With the word
coward
still ricocheting through his consciousness, he marshaled his emotions, walked to the bedroom door, and jerked it open. Micah didn’t intend to go hungry any longer. He also didn’t intend to allow a woman he barely knew to judge him or find him lacking in the guts department.
Squaring his broad shoulders, he forced himself to concentrate. He stepped out of the suite, touched the wall to his right in order to get his bearings, and slowly made his way down the hallway. And he counted every single step he took.
Micah calmed down as he walked. He felt the subtlely shifting air currents in the hallway and heard the faint hum of a motor—caused, he assumed, by the overhead fans. As he approached the foyer, he started to experience a sensation of expanded space. He slowed his steps, but he kept counting. When he ran out of wall, he paused.
"You’re doing fine, Micah."
He stepped forward, using her voice as an auditory beacon. Although still furious with Bliss, Micah allowed his pride and his senses to guide him toward her.
"I’m directly in front of you," she said. "I think you’ll like the meal I’ve arranged for us."
Micah detected her fragrance, took a final step, and paused. Extending his hands, he found her shoulders with ease. He gripped them, his fingers a conduit for the tension coursing through his entire body. He expected a reaction, even wanted one, but she failed to supply anything but a calm demeanor. Damn the woman!
Annoyed, Micah deliberately ran his fingertips down her arms, his senses alert to any telltale sign of apprehension on her part. She seemed unmoved by his nearness and his touch as he traced the inside curves of her wrists. Micah suddenly realized that she expected him to behave aggressively, and he regretted meeting that expectation.
"If you’re angry with me, Micah, say so. I don’t read minds."
"God damn it, quit trying to manipulate me. It won’t work."
"I did what I had to do."
"I don’t like your tactics, lady."
"Then don’t force me to use them again," she suggested, her tone supremely reasonable.
He slid his fingers up her inner arms, pausing finally at the hemmed sleeves of
She turned away from him, tears stinging her eyes. She grasped his anxiety and longed to console him, but she knew better. Blinking back her tears, Bliss lifted her chin, a stubborn look on her face as she glanced back over her shoulder at him.
Micah appeared stunned by her remarks, and Bliss felt like the cruelest thing on two feet. But she remained determined to get him out of his suite.
As he clenched his fists at his sides and breathed shallowly, Bliss goaded him with the comment, "I’d hate to think you’re a coward, Micah Holbrook."
She hurriedly exited the room, but not because she feared a violent response from him. She knew he needed a few minutes to calm down and to consider his options.
And his options were few. Cooperate, or go hungry. His choice.
4
Coward?
The word sounded and felt like a gun fired at his temple at point–blank range. It rang in his ears until he managed to clamp down on his reverberating emotions.
Coward?
He didn’t want to believe that Bliss Rowland thought him a coward, but she obviously did. Too stunned to move, Micah vibrated with a primitive inner fury that made him crave revenge. He pressed his clenched fists to his sides, breathing deeply as he struggled to calm himself and think in a clearheaded manner.
His pride finally kicked in, but it took a few minutes. Micah knew he had no choice but to pick up the gauntlet Bliss had hurled at his feet. She held all of the cards at the moment, but he silently vowed that he would beat her at her own game. He also promised himself that he would find a way to make her feel as raw–nerved and vulnerable as she’d made him feel.
With the word
coward
still ricocheting through his consciousness, he marshaled his emotions, walked to the bedroom door, and jerked it open. Micah didn’t intend to go hungry any longer. He also didn’t intend to allow a woman he barely knew to judge him or find him lacking in the guts department.
Squaring his broad shoulders, he forced himself to concentrate. He stepped out of the suite, touched the wall to his right in order to get his bearings, and slowly made his way down the hallway. And he counted every single step he took.
Micah calmed down as he walked. He felt the subtlely shifting air currents in the hallway and heard the faint hum of a motor—caused, he assumed, by the overhead fans. As he approached the foyer, he started to experience a sensation of expanded space. He slowed his steps, but he kept counting. When he ran out of wall, he paused.
"You’re doing fine, Micah."
He stepped forward, using her voice as an auditory beacon. Although still furious with Bliss, Micah allowed his pride and his senses to guide him toward her.
"I’m directly in front of you," she said. "I think you’ll like the meal I’ve arranged for us."
Micah detected her fragrance, took a final step, and paused. Extending his hands, he found her shoulders with ease. He gripped them, his fingers a conduit for the tension coursing through his entire body. He expected a reaction, even wanted one, but she failed to supply anything but a calm demeanor. Damn the woman!
Annoyed, Micah deliberately ran his fingertips down her arms, his senses alert to any telltale sign of apprehension on her part. She seemed unmoved by his nearness and his touch as he traced the inside curves of her wrists. Micah suddenly realized that she expected him to behave aggressively, and he regretted meeting that expectation.
"If you’re angry with me, Micah, say so. I don’t read minds."
"God damn it, quit trying to manipulate me. It won’t work."
"I did what I had to do."
"I don’t like your tactics, lady."
"Then don’t force me to use them again," she suggested, her tone supremely reasonable.
He slid his fingers up her inner arms, pausing finally at the hemmed sleeves of
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