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“Don’t worry—I won’t get pneumonia and deprive you of an office manager.” The slight edge in her voice hinted she was still angry over their earlier “discussion.”
“I’m not worried. You’re a pal to help out.”
Callie glared at Mike, getting provoked all over again. He’d been dopey and endearing, and she’d been almost ready to forgive being called trashy—almost. And now he was calling her a pal. She wasn’t his pal. Why couldn’t he simply see her as a desirable woman?
Maybe she could throw herself at him. Kiss him senseless. But that would be rather obvious. And it might ruin things altogether.
What if she got up and slipped on her high heels…? She could fall across him and see what happened.
Yeah, it was a possibility.
Callie stretched. “It’s late. I’d better get some sleep so I can start work early. Donovan says the office is a horrible mess.”
“Uh-huh.”
Mike sounded awfully sleepy, so Callie put her hand on his leg to help herself upright. His eyes shot open.
“Yikes…” She laughed. “Sorry about that. I didn’t realize how deep the couch was.”
Trying to make her “fall” look good, Callie twisted her ankle as she tumbled over Mike, letting out a genuine yelp of pain.
That hurt, she informed herself. I hope it was worth it.
The bottle he’d been clutching clunked to the floor. “Are you okay?”
“Sure. I love bruising my dignity.”
His chest rumbled with a chuckle and waves of heat rolled through Callie. Brother, this was disgusting. She got close to the man and her body went crazy. She hated acting like a spinster stereotype, but she did feel rapacious and love starved, especially sprawled all over him.
Mike’s hands slid over her waist and Callie held her breath. He was going to push her away, do the gentlemanly thing and help her up.
Dammit.
Callie ruefully acknowledged her level of frustration with the mute curse. She didn’t often swear, but when she did, it was for a good reason…or at least a strong reason.
But she gulped when Mike’s hands closed over her bottom, hard and sensuous at the same time. She didn’t say anything. Talking might bring him to his senses, and that was the last thing she wanted at the moment.
The unmistakable outline of Mike’s arousal pressed into her abdomen, making her dizzy.
His hands seemed to be urging her up his body. She was glad to comply, especially when one of those hands reached up to stroke her face—strong fingers, combing through her hair, pulling her into a kiss.
Dear heaven…the moan from Callie’s throat was lost in his mouth, drowned in the unique flavor of Mike and Scotch. This is what she’d been craving. Even when she’d succeeded in pushing him from her mind—sometimes for months at a time—she’d craved the excitement and passion of his embrace.
She straddled Mike’s waist and stroked her tongue over his lips, an erotic invitation to deepen the kiss. It was instinctive, a knowledge born of hope and longing and feminine intuition.
He rewarded her urgency, his fingers rhythmically squeezing and releasing her bottom, intensifying the tremor spinning through her core. His tongue delved into the humid warmth inside her mouth, tracing the even edge of her teeth. Velvet on velvet, infusing their lungs with the other’s breath.
Shaking violently, Callie finally tore away and collapsed on Mike’s chest. She couldn’t think, couldn’t do anything but feel and taste him.
Taste and feel…
Callie moaned again, unable to resist exploring the muscled contours beneath her cheek. She tasted the saltiness of his skin, tracing the hard points of his flat nipples with her fingernails, and sensed a deep shudder rising from him. This wasn’t her need alone, it was the mutual desire of two people who were surely meant to be together.
And then…she heard a quiet snore in her ear.
What?
She wanted to hit him. Passion was zinging through her veins and the dope was sound asleep.
Rat.
Louse.
Cretin. How could he fall asleep on her?
When she’d finally called him every insult available, Callie slid to the ground and drew her knees against her chest. She’d be glad in the morning that nothing happened, but it wasn’t morning and she was hurting. Unrequited love was bad enough, but unrequited passion was physical torture…not that she should complain. More than one boyfriend had pointed out the discomforts of such a condition.
She wished she’d been more sympathetic.
Mike probably wouldn’t remember this kiss, either. He’d been kissed by so many women, what was one more?
Callie scowled.
The northern lights still danced across the sky, spinning pink ribbons of light that eclipsed the stars. No wonder Mike loved Alaska so much. She’d love it, too, if she got the chance.
Right. Callie nodded. She hadn’t grown up managing her family for nothing. Those skills must be good for something…like winding Mike around her little finger.
At the same time a sigh welled out of her chest. Mike wasn’t easily convinced. By tomorrow he would have shored his defenses and she’d have to tumble them down again.
Well, too bad.
The trick was not letting him affect her so easily.
The ghostly lights continued to dance as Callie repaired her resolve. She might not succeed, but Michael Fitzpatrick was about to take one heck of a ride. Maybe along the way he’d discover his heart…and the girl he’d left behind.
Chapter Three
His neck hurt.
Mike opened sandpapery eyes and gazed blearily at his world. It didn’t look right. Then he realized he was in the living room, rather than his bed.
It still didn’t look right.
Damnation. He’d fallen asleep in the middle of talking to Callie. Yet, there was something else…a vague memory of Callie falling and landing on his chest.
He’d bet it was those idiotic spike heels she’d been wearing. They weren’t safe, even if they did make her legs look a mile long. It had to be the heels doing that. Amazing what the right clothing could do for a person.
Mike raised his head and sniffed hopefully. A blanket had been solicitously tucked around him, but he smelled nothing resembling caramel pecan pancakes…or coffee, bacon or any other hint of domestic comfort coming from the kitchen.
Great, not only had he slept badly, but he’d have to make his own coffee.
“Callie?”
Silence reigned.
He climbed to his feet and stumbled to the kitchen. He needed a shower, a toothbrush and a bottle of aspirin. And coffee most of all. He’d fight one of Callie’s polar bears for a cup of coffee.
“Hey, Callie?”
The kitchen was spotless except for a square of white paper on the counter, the corner weighted down with an empty bottle. He lifted the note and squinted at the letters.
Mike,
Ross is picking me up, and he offered the loan of a truck so I’ll have my own transportation. Isn’t that great of him?
Hope you feel better.
Callie.
First Donovan, and now Ross. Mike crumpled the note and tossed it into the sink. If they had their way, he’d never see the woman.
Don’t forget Travis.
Yeah, he’d forgotten Travis. The expert in hiking, who’d follow Callie anywhere. It had to be a terrific boost to her ego, being chased by three different men…which left ol’ Mike Fitzpatrick hanging around like a sore thumb to make sure she didn’t get caught.
Damn Elaine and her schemes. He’d never interfered with her life…at least not very much. There was that louse she’d been dating in college whom he’d scared off, but she couldn’t still be holding that against him, right? Okay, so the guy had made it big with some computer circuit doohickey and was now worth seven or eight figures. Big deal.
Mike rubbed his face and made a cup of coffee in the microwave. Peanut butter on toast would suffice for breakfast—it wasn’t like he was used to anything else. Another morning of peanut butter wouldn’t kill him.
By the time he’d showered and swallowed a handful of aspirin tablets, the morning looked a lot brighter. Maybe he’d wander down to the airport and take Callie to lunch. Looking at his watch, Mike amended that to dinner. It was the polite thing to do—he hadn’t exactly been welcoming when she arrived. Besides, a few carefully directed words of warning might be all she needed to watch her step.
After all, he trusted his partners and employees…just not with Callie.
“I’ll check the flight schedules and get back to you,” Callie said into the phone, then set the receiver back in the cradle.
Her work was cut out for her—the office wasn’t just a mess, it was a certifiable disaster area.
Callie looked around and plotted her next course of action. Both Ross and Donovan had said she had carte blanche to change things to her satisfaction.
What would they say to a bulldozer?
It might be her only prayer.
Their former office manager obviously had a higher tolerance for grunge than she did. An ancient typewriter and adding machine vied with empty oil cans, engine parts, cargo orders and billing receipts. Boxes—containing everything from an unused computer to a bundle of girlie magazines—were stacked haphazardly throughout the cluttered space.
Actually, the magazines had been already removed. Hastily. To the red-faced embarrassment of both men, with a fumbling explanation that it was popular in the bush areas of Alaska.
What? Did they think she’d never heard of adult magazines? Men were so predictable.
Callie made some notations on a pad of paper. She needed to tell Mike to keep quiet about her father being a preacher. A lot of guys treated her different when they knew—as though she’d already been fitted for a halo and was headed for a nunnery.
Yuck.
The sight of a blue Dodge Dakota being parked outside lifted her spirits. It was about time Mike showed up—she’d been hard at work since 7:00 a.m.
“Callie?”
“Is that you, Mike?” She bent over the desk, scribbling furiously on her pad. It wouldn’t be smart to let him think she’d been waiting for him, wondering if he’d remember a certain sizzling kiss….
“Of course it’s me. Who were you expecting?”
You…of course. “How are you feeling?” she asked, watching him from the corner of her eye. “You were sound asleep when I left this morning.”
“Asleep? Try unconscious.” Mike grinned wryly, showing his sense of humor hadn’t been impaired by a night on the couch. “Honest, that was completely out of character. I only had two drinks…but they didn’t sit well on an empty stomach.”
“I know,” Callie said. Disappointment warred with relief in her chest. Mike was too comfortable, sliding into his joking mode. He probably didn’t remember kissing her.
“Good.” He sat on a stack of boxes and looked around. “Say, this place looks better already. I’m impressed.”
You should be, buster. Callie had no illusions. Mike saw her as an appendage of her father, better equipped to organize ice cream socials than run an office. He had no idea she’d created a small but successful business as a management consultant. As she’d told Elaine, let Mike find out the hard way. Meaning, she wanted to see how far he’d stick his foot in his mouth.
“I’m just getting started,” she murmured. “But I almost had heart failure when I got here. How can someone who’s so meticulously neat at home be such a slob at work?”
A dull red crept under Mike’s tan. “Things got out of control. It’s been a rough month without Delia.”
“Oh, yeah?” Callie found a pencil and used it to lift a greasy black something from the desk blotter. “It took longer than a month to become so disreputable. This is a long-term condition—I only hope it’s treatable.”
He snatched the whatever-it-was and threw it into the wastebasket. “Delia never minded.”
“Delia must be a saint. I, however, am not. Frankly, I think she got pregnant as an excuse to bail on you guys.”
She lifted the stained blotter and sent it sailing through the window. After a couple runs to the exterior Dumpster, she’d taken to pitching everything through this convenient opening. Ross was servicing an engine in the maintenance hanger, and he periodically appeared to collect the discarded items.
When she turned around she saw Mike frowning. “What?”
“You’re limping.”
“I know.” Callie grimaced. While her ankle wasn’t badly injured, it was a pointed reminder she should think before acting. “I…uh, fell last night.”
“Yeah, I kind of remember.”
Wonderful. Did he “kind of” remember kissing her? This could get downright humiliating—a blow to her self-esteem, and she’d only been in Alaska for a day.
“These things happen,” she mumbled.
“I should take a look,” Mike announced, and promptly lifted her to the desktop, with her legs dangling over the edge. “We can’t be too careful.”
“I’m fine.” But she wasn’t, because her breathing got all erratic when he touched her. What about her resolve not to let him affect her so much?
“No, I’m responsible for your safety.”
Mike sounded like a beleaguered great-uncle, so Callie considered kicking him in a vulnerable spot. But she sucked in her breath when he sat on the desk chair and put her sandal-clad foot in his lap. Thank goodness she’d shaved her legs. He removed the sandal and gently rotated her foot.
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