Callie, Get Your Groom

“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,