O'Brien's Lady - By Marsha Doss Page 0,1

features that blended with the softness of her creamy skin and pert nose that turned up unexpectedly at the end. There was a delicacy to her that made her alluring to Michael. And yet, she had a sharp tongue and a stubborn streak, just like her father, which he found to be infuriating and intoxicating at the same time.

"Why are you staring at me, Michael?"

"I wasn't." He lied. He was imagining what it would feel like to run his fingers through the silken strands of her hair or to nibble on her tiny earlobes.

Sonny felt an uneasiness with Michael so near and she pretended to watch the familiar scenery along the freeway. She had to break the silence that now filled the air between them and she began to make small talk.

"Did you know Paris is called the City of Lights?"

"No, didn't know that," he answered matter-of-factly.

Sonny pressed on. "You should go there sometime. It's wonderful."

"I like it here, Sonny."

"You think life begins and ends on the farm, don't you Michael?"

"Maybe it does."

He was just like her father had been.

Steadfast in his ways and unwilling to compromise or change. And that bothered Sonny.

"Well, moving away proved profitable for me. I like my life a lot better now, and my work."

"You take pictures, right?" Michael turned his head in her direction.

"Not just pictures…I photograph for a new fashion designer by the name of Pierre Dubois,"

She tilted her chin and looked at Michael with growing defiance burning in her crystal blue eyes. Enticed by her anger, Michael continued.

"And I suppose this Pierre Du..bwhat is very refined. "

"His name is Dubois. And yes, he is refined. And well-educated, profusely talented and very handsome."

"A man that draws pictures of dresses…" Michael shook his head slowly, deliberately letting the words slide off his tongue.

Sonny's high cheekbones were aflame with color and her eyes were alive with fire. The setting sun shown through the window, reflecting lights from her hair and the outer perimeter of her face seemed illuminated with a pinkish glow as she stared back at him with defiance.

Just like before, Michael teased Sonny with his eyes and words and she responded in the only way she knew how. He had considered her too young before and not taken her seriously, but now that she was a woman she could see through his flirtations and pretense at jealousy.

"Still trying to pick my friends and judge my choices, Michael?"

"No more than you did mine," he answered, his eyes becoming as expressionless as black coal.

"I never really had a chance. You were never with the same woman twice." There was a subtle challenge in Sonny's voice.

"Were you counting?"

A smile touched Michael's lips and he brushed the end of her upturned nose with his finger. It was a sensuous movement that immediately filled her with an uneasiness that began in the pit of her stomach and ended in the shortness of her breath. She turned away, before he could see how much his touch disturbed and excited her.

The twilight of early evening descended as Michael turned into the long, dirt road leading to the Mead property. Flanking the road on either side were tall pine trees that darkened the area around them. Sonny opened her window, feeling the rush of mild July air against her cheek. The smell of pine which filled her nostrils was something she had neither missed, nor remembered until now.

Michael switched on the headlights, which illuminated the iron gates that surrounded the front entrance. The lettering, which was etched in gold and sprawled over the carved figure of a horse read, "Pinebrook Farm, J.B. Mead, Owner". The sight of her father's name filled Sonny with a lump of remembrance that began around her heart and pushed its way into her throat. The wording, like her father, was bold and very impressive.

Michael pulled into the circular driveway in front of the two-story, gray colonial house with black shutters. A balcony surrounded by a wood railing stretched the length of the house and a step-up brick porch was complete with a deacon's bench and clay pots of flowers. The shuttered windows reflected light from inside and Sonny was both happy to be home and reluctant to enter.

Michael came around her side of the truck and extended his hand. As she placed her hand in his, he skillfully lifted her up from the seat and held her close to him. Easing her down, past his own face, with just a whisper between them, Michael brushed his