License to Love by Barbara Boswell Page A

often hilarious stories. She had to stay constantly on guard to keep from falling under the potent spell of his charm. He was so attentive, so eager to please her. Michelle was exhausted as they rose to leave. Remaining impassive to his winning ways had required extraordinary effort.
    It was only the knowledge that countless women in four cities undoubtedly did not remain impassive or on guard, and succumbed regularly to those well-practiced winning ways of his, that strengthened her resolve.
    The snow was falling, fast and thick, as they left the restaurant. A surprising amount had accumulated during the two-and-a-half hours they’d been inside. They watched a car skid on the snow-covered street while another spun its wheels futilely, trapped on an icy patch.
    “This storm came up so fast, I guess it caught the roac crews by surprise,” observed Steve. “There’s been no snow removal at all from what I can see.”
    Michelle glanced nervously at a car fishtailing around the corner. “Do you have snow tires or chains?”
    “On my car?” He was aghast. “Not on a bet.”
    She gazed up and down the street at the cars slipping, sliding and stuck in the snow. And Mr. Macho scorned snow tires and chains. “Driving is going to be murder. We’ll be lucky to get off this street.”
    “My car drives like a dogsled in snow,” retorted Steve. He started down the front walk that the restaurant personne had cleared with calcium chloride crystals.
    Michelle followed, pulling the belt of her coat tighter. It wasn’t a very warm coat, designed more for style than colc temperatures. As an icy blast of wind swirled snow arounc her, she thought longingly of her boxy blue and gray goose-down parka hanging in her closet. It even had a hood! If she were wearing it now, her hair wouldn’t be whipping arounc her head, and her neck and earlobes would not be flash-frozen. But she had opted for this coat, to be attractive for Steve. On their first and last date. Michelle sighed gloomily.
    Unlike the private walk, the sidewalks hadn’t been cleared, and Michelle watched Steve tramp through the snow ahead of her. She glanced regretfully at her velvet shoes. They would never be the same after the block-long trek through the snow. Shivering, she prepared to step into one of Steve’s footsteps to follow the trail he was blazing.
    And then, suddenly, he was back at her side. Michelle, who’d ducked her head low against the howling wind,jerked it up in surprise. And then gasped as she felt herself being lifted off her feet. “Wha—what are you doing?”
    “What’s it look like?” growled Steve. “I’m carrying you to the car.”
    He skidded, but managed to regain his footing almost immediately. Unnerved, Michelle clutched him around the neck. “We’re going to fall! Please, put me down!”
    “We’re not going to fall and I’m not putting you down. I’m going to carry you so you can’t blame me for ruining your shoes like I ruined your evening.”
    “I’m not sure I understand,” Michelle said stiffly. The wind sent a blast of snow in her face, cooling her flushed cheeks.
    Steve trudged through the blizzard, carrying her, his breathing growing more labored but his jaw stubbornly set.
    “I know you had a lousy time tonight, Michelle. You were simply going through the motions, putting in time and waiting for the evening to be over.” It was a strong speech for a perennially cool, uninvolved, nonconfrontational kind of guy, but Steve was glad he’d said it. "Don’t bother to deny it,” he added.
    “All right, I won’t,” Michelle said quietly.
    They reached his car. Steve held her as he opened the door and deposited her inside, her shoes and feet dry and snow-free. His were soaked and cold. A less chivalrous soul might’ve dumped her in the snow—and with just cause. He brushed off the snow from the car before he stomped around to his side to get in, commending himself on his gallantry.
    She hadn’t denied that she was