For Her Eyes Only

At least this exit included life of some sort. The one she’d pulled off in the hopes of losing Jake had been completely dead. She spared a glance behind her, half expecting to see the dark Caprice bearing down on her. Hiking her backpack a little higher on her shoulders, she headed in the direction of the tollbooth. She hoped they could direct her to a bus station or even a nearby train station, any place where she could curl up on a chair out of the elements, then continue on in her trip toward Ohio.

She hadn’t counted on that flat tire. Then again, she hadn’t counted on much of what had happened to her during her trip. She’d known when she’d bought the car that it didn’t have a spare. It’s how she’d gotten the dealer to go down thirty dollars on the price. She’d figured she’d gotten the better part of the deal, since the spare had been as bad as the rest of the tires. But even that would have been better than what she had now, which was nothing.

Headbeams illuminated her from behind. She stepped farther onto the shoulder as she walked. The way her luck was running, someone would hit her from behind, and she’d be stuck in an American hospital for the next month or so. Or, worse yet, in a cast up to her neck on the next plane to Paris.

She stepped up to the tollbooth. A woman in her forties eyed her critically. “Pedestrians aren’t allowed on the turnpike.”

“My car, it broke down—”

The attendant leaned forward and frowned. “I can’t understand your accent, miss. Pass that by me again.”

Michelle grimaced. “Is there a bus or a train station nearby?”

The woman apparently understood her. She leaned back and crossed her arms. “Nope. The nearest bus station is about twenty-two miles east, at the last exit.”

Merde. She’d have to be careful, or the next thing she knew, she’d be arrested for loitering outside the tollbooth. “I don’t suppose there’s a cab service here?”

“Excuse me?”

Michelle shook her head. “Nothing. Thanks for your help.”

JAKE FLASHED his high beams, then passed another eighteen-wheeler. He glanced at the truck cab. Michelle could have been in any one of the dozen or so such vehicles he’d seen in the past five minutes. Or in one of the cars, which easily doubled that number.

“What are you doing, McCoy?” he muttered to himself.

He gripped then released the steering wheel. His reasons for following her in the first place were shaky at best. And now that she had lost him…well, there was very little point in continuing without more information or an official reason for doing so. And since he had neither, he’d be better off turning tail and starting on the long road for home.

What had he been thinking? Or, more accurately, which body part had he let do the thinking for him? He grimaced. He’d never done anything so irresponsible in his life. When he was younger, he’d opted out of stealing candy bars from Obernauer’s general store while Marc was busy stuffing his pockets full. Not because he was afraid he’d get caught, but because it was just plain wrong. Later, when Connor had surprised him with a stripper on his twentieth birthday, he’d handed her money rather than slip it in her G-string, and had kept his gaze carefully focused on a point just past her toned, undulating waist.

Why, of all times, he’d chosen now to let his hormones get the better of him, he didn’t know. Especially since Michelle was nowhere near the type of woman he was usually interested in.

It stood to reason that that’s exactly the reason he did find her so intriguing. But that didn’t help him any now.

He slowed down to exit the turnpike so he could head in the other direction when the muffled chirping of his cell phone caught his attention. He reached over and fished it from a box of Kleenex in his glove compartment. He didn’t recognize the number spotlighted in the display. Pulling onto the shoulder of the exit ramp, he clicked it on.

“Jake? It’s Michelle.”

He didn’t need to be told that. Just her saying his name made his pants a little tighter. He closed his eyes and exhaled silently. It was weird, this physical reaction to her call. More acute than the first time he’d given his number out and the girl had called him.

Michelle told him where she was, then paused before saying, “Can you come get me?”

He knew how very much it must have taken her to call him. He also knew he shouldn’t be feeling half the relief he was, either.

He glanced through the windshield at the tollbooth just ahead. He made out Michelle’s silhouette instantly. She was leaning against the side of the booth, the toe of one platform shoe on top of the other as she plugged her opposite ear.

“I’ll be right there,” he said, then flicked off the phone.

Within moments, he was pushing open the passenger’s door and paying the toll.

“That was quick,” the guard said, openly interested.

He didn’t answer her. He was more interested in Michelle as she climbed into the car and quietly closed the door. He pulled from the booth.

An air of defeat seemed to cling to her damp shoulders. Her sensual mouth was stoically unmoving, offering no babbling commentary on what the past half hour had held for her. She looked like a woman who had faced one too many disasters for one day and was ready to pack it in. He remembered who she was, who he was, and realized that the moment she’d called him, she’d done just that. She’d given in.

He fought a fierce urge to reach out and touch her. Pull her closer to his side.

“You about ready for that bite?” he asked instead.

She slowly turned to look at him. “Bite?” she repeated. “Oh, yes, food.”

“I don’t know about you, but I could eat a horse.”

Michelle smiled. “Gerald used to say that all the time. Used to drive me nuts. Especially in the beginning, when I didn’t know he didn’t mean it literally. But why would anyone want to even joke about eating a horse? I mean, yes, I get the whole size thing….” She let the words drift off, her gaze traveling the length of him, then back again. The color in her cheeks made her eyes seem to sparkle.

He smiled at the reemergence of her chattiness, then wondered why the mention of size had caused her to look him over so thoroughly. “Gerald, your…ex-boyfriend?” He caught himself before he said ex-husband.

“Lover,” she said, avoiding his gaze and crossing her arms. “And sorry, I don’t frequent restaurants that serve equine animals.”

“I’m afraid it’s not an invitation.”

Michelle closed her eyes, then looked at him. “Is it past midnight already?”

He nodded once.

“Then I’m suddenly very hungry. Ravenous, even. But I think I’ll leave any horse they might be serving for you.”

4

MICHELLE WELCOMED the vibrating hum of the hair dryer as she fluffed her freshly washed hair with her fingers. Her limbs felt rubbery. Her shoulders unbearably heavy. The long, hot shower had helped. So had dinner beforehand. At least what little she’d been able to make herself eat of the traditional American fare of meat loaf and mashed potatoes, the only selections available this late to her and Jake at the greasy spoon next to the motel. Even the tall, quiet INS agent who sat outside the bathroom door had appeared to lose his appetite as they sat across from each other. A pregnant silence had filled the air between them like so many unsaid, useless words. Unsaid and useless because Michelle knew that no matter what happened, Jake would be taking her to D.C. in the morning and putting her on the first flight to Paris.

She switched off the dryer and stared at the warm plastic in her hands. The steady drone of rain outside the slatted windows made it sound as though someone were taking a shower in the bathtub behind her.

She would be returning to France. Without Lili.

The thought that she might never see her daughter again caused a tightness in her chest that made it nearly impossible to breathe. What was she going to do without Lili crawling into her bed on rainy nights like this one, complaining about her inability to sleep, though she usually dropped right off once she’d curled her warm little body against Michelle’s? She supposed her life would come to resemble what the past eight weeks had held for her. Emptiness.

She caught a glimpse of her haunted eyes in the mirror, then reached out to wipe a small circle of steam from the surface.

A sound from the bedroom caught her attention. She realized Jake McCoy must have switched off the television. The tinny sound of voices was gone.

Jake McCoy.

Instantly, the tension in her chest unwound and snaked lower. She wasn’t sure what it was about this man that affected her so. It could be his awkward way around her. His solicitous grin. The way he blushed—actually blushed!—when he found out they would have to share the one room left at the motel and when she caught him looking at her breasts. Or when she curiously eyed certain parts of him. Whatever it was, the attraction she felt for him was strong enough to, if not fill the hole left by Lili’s absence, at least distract her from it a bit.

She cursed at herself in French. Six weeks in America and she was already beginning to overanalyze like an American. What was it with these people that made them question every feeling, every action, as if seeking a deeper meaning that wasn’t there? She was used to going with her feelings. If it felt good, she did it. And the prospect of making love with Jake McCoy felt very good indeed. It held all the promise of complete and total escape, at least for a few brief, precious hours—enough to get her through the night and on into the morning, when her situation might not look so dim.

It would also satisfy the flash of desire she felt whenever he was near. Give her an outlet for the emotional turmoil dogging her. Allow her a physical release she’d forbidden herself for far too long.