“Oh, my God.” I reached out and ran my hand down Mike's arm, ached for the boy he'd been. “It wasn't your fault. You know that, right?” I murmured.
Mike nodded. “Yeah. I think we all felt responsible though. The counselors, especially, who couldn't do anything to save him. The staff at the camp. Everyone.”
I could only imagine the guilt he had, that he'd carried around with him all this time. He been just a kid. Just a kid watching a good friend die, with no way to help him. No wonder he was so driven.
Glancing at me, he continued. “That's when I wanted to become a doctor. Right there on the side of a mountain in Idaho. I had to help people. To prevent something like that from happening to someone else I cared about.”
Mike put on the blinker and moved into a left turn lane.
“Now you're a successful podiatrist with his own practice in rural America.”
“For now.”
“For now?”
“There's this group in New York who've hinted they want me to join them.”
“New York City?” I felt like a salsa commercial. My heart squeezed uncomfortably.
Stupid. I was so stupid. How could I have thought we had any kind of future? That the kisses meant something, anything to Mike. Nothing had changed. Nothing.
He nodded. “This group is the epitome of what I trained for. They sent me an email this morning saying I made the short list.”
I didn't know what to say. I didn't really know that much about him as a man, but I was starting to. This week was, or least I had thought it was, a turning point for us. But if New York was a real possibility, none of it really mattered. He was putting medicine above everything. Again.
“Wow. That's great, Mike. I know you've worked so hard.” I meant the words, but I couldn't put much feeling behind them. It was hard to be happy for him to leave when I really wanted him to stay.
“It's not a sure thing. I'm hoping to hear something more while I'm here.”
“So you'd close your practice and move away?”
He shrugged as if it didn't matter, but I could tell this was something he really wanted. He wouldn't go through the process if it wasn't the perfect next step for him. For his career. “Maybe. We'll see.”
There wasn't really anything else to ask about it. If I poked and prodded, he'd probably get his hackles raised, and we currently weren't mad at each other, and I wanted to keep it that way. Besides, I couldn't keep him from leaving. It had happened once before, so I knew, this time with my eyes wide open, that I wasn't enough. I couldn't compete with the ghost of a dead friend. So I picked a benign question. “Why podiatry?”
We turned onto a side road, not in the direction of Anchorage. Mike shrugged again. “You've got to pick a specialty. Foot injuries fascinated me.”
I smiled. “Oh, you have a foot fetish or something?”
“Or something,” he replied, smiling back.
The tense mood broke. The unknown about the job in NewYork was put to the side. For now. His friend was still gone, Mike—and anyone else so far from a hospital—unable to save him. After years of schooling, Mike must have learned not everyone could be saved. Even I knew that and I could only apply a Band-aid to a cut. That didn't make the loss of a friend any easier to bear or the feeling of helplessness to lessen. Was he continuing to strive for more, career-wise, as atonement? Was he considering moving to New York because he really hadn't come to terms with his friend's death?
Mike had given me a glimpse into his cache of emotions, seeing more of him than I ever had before. What made him tick. What made him the man he was today. The more I learned, the more I liked who he'd become. I darted a glance at him. He was backlit by the sun that bled through a hole in the clouds, his face set in dark shadows, but his smile, his straight white teeth were unmistakable. He hadn't changed much; a few laugh lines, stronger jaw, and more facial hair than at eighteen. More.
I wanted him. Wanted a relationship that was based on more than assumptions and youthful fantasy. But was sex worth it? I couldn't have a one night stand, especially with Mike. Emotions were involved. Hell, emotions had always been involved. But any kind of casual relationship, if only for a few weeks before he left me again, was still that—casual. I was terrible at casual.
A deep rut in the road brought me out of my depressing thoughts. I grabbed the “oh, shit” bar as we went over a patch of potholes and upheaved pavement from what appeared to have been a washout. Mud and small rocks covered the road.
“I love my uncle's truck. Winters can be rough here and he likes to hunt. It's man-sized. Not like that—”
“Clown car,” I added.
“—clown car of a rental,” he finished off with angst. This Monster Truck was his kind of vehicle. In fact, he had one similarly sized at home.
The interior was decked out with leather seats, a center console with enough gadgets to coordinate a space launch, and spacious enough for three lumberjacks side-by-side, I could still pick up Mike's scent. It was as if it had been hard coded on my brain graduation night. Soap, fabric softener and pure male. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath.
In the window of time before this trip and since Mike had moved back to Bozeman, we'd run into each other occasionally, at a party or a wedding. Veronica was a close friend so we went out as a group here and there. But we hadn't been alone together since...since we were eighteen. We'd been in a truck then, too. And he'd given me a much different ride. Maybe he was hard coded other parts of my body, too, because I felt tingles in all the right places. I shouldn't want him. It would only lead to heartache, but my body seemed to think differently, or didn't care. I was in big trouble.
“I've been waiting to hear about this book of yours.”
Oh, crap.
I waved my hand in the air with fake nonchalance. “It's nothing.”
“When someone who reads the book needs new panties, it's not nothing.”
I glanced at him, felt my cheeks heat. “You remember Goldie saying that?”
“I'm a man. How could I forget?”
I stared at the scenery for a minute or two, getting up enough nerve to spill the beans. “Goldie talked me into writing a romance novel. I guess she shared it with someone on her flight. That's it.”
“And the panties?”
I rolled my eyes and mumbled, “One track mind.” I paused. “Fine. It's what some people might consider erotic.”
Mike turned to glance at me. Smiled. “Really? That's pretty hot.”
“You think everything is hot.”
He ignored my comment. “Can I read it?”
“Hell, no.”
He studied me for a second before watching the road again. “You seem...embarrassed by it.”
“Absolutely. It's personal and I feel...exposed...knowing Goldie shared it with others.”
“Will you read it to me instead?”
I just gave him the evil eye as he grinned. “We're clearly not headed back to town,” I said, changing the subject.
“I'm taking you into the wilds of Alaska to give you what you want.”
Yes, please!
My mouth fell open, a current of heated energy coursed through me as if I was zapped by a live wire. My nipples hardened and other places got damp at the very thought of Mike giving me what I wanted. “Oh?” I asked breathlessly. “And what might that be?”
I hoped he hadn't taken a mind reading class in med school.
Mike grinned wickedly. “Fishing, babe. Fishing.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
“Wake up, sleepyhead.”
A soft hand brushed over my hair. I opened my eyes, confused. Mike's voice was a husky whisper against my ear. It sounded very sexy and appealing. But as I sat up, I realized I'd drooled on myself and most likely had a crinkle in my cheek from the seatbelt and all sexiness went away.
“We're back,” Mike said as he leaned over from the driver's seat. We were parked in Jubal's circular driveway. The sky was still light, as usual, but all was q
uiet. I looked at the clock. Eleven thirty.
We'd gone to the small town of Hope and fished where a river fed into the Turnagain Arm. The mouth of this river was popular with fisherman from the news of a Silver run, and it seemed everyone had success. The salmon heading upstream to spawn were plentiful and much easier to catch than in Ship Creek. The scenery was spectacular—high peaks, water, and quaint town. Just what I'd envisioned. After catching three Silver salmon each, we cleaned them at the little metal gutting table on the water's edge and packed them into one of Jubal's coolers. Another fisherman gave us some ice to cover our catch until we got home and could pack them properly.
By nine, with the sun still high, we were both worn out from the overly full day and satisfied with our haul. The three fish were my first salmon catch and I was high from the excitement. To most women, I was crazy. But there was a certain peace in fishing, a 'one-with-nature' feeling that comes with standing in a beautiful spot in the wild and flirting with a fish, tempting it to take the bait. Catching a salmon was solely at its whim. When it knew it was time—by some fascinating olfactory sense—to travel back to the exact spot where it was born to spawn. Then die. It was an intriguing cycle of life I didn't have an opportunity to slow down and savor.
Mike knew what made me tick, what my bait was and how to tempt me to take it. Especially by taking me to the perfect little spot on the globe, the miniscule—and lovely—town of Hope. With a heated look, every curious glance, each protective action, he was flirting with me. On top of that, he knew the way to my heart was through a fishing pole, so he'd lured me to him not once, but twice.
It was working. Hook, line and sinker.
“Sorry,” I murmured, stretching. “I didn't mean to fall asleep on you.”
He smiled. “No worries.”
“You must be tired from driving.”
Shrugging, he said, “Nah, your snoring kept me awake.”
I punched him in the shoulder. “Ox.”
“Babe.” He brushed hair away from my face, his calloused fingers leaving a tingling wake.
His eyes were so blue, so clear and he had them focused solely on me.
“It was good between us,” he said, his voice husky as his gaze dipped to my lips.
I nodded, knowing he meant long ago.
“It's going to be so much better this time.”
This time. As if it was a given that we'd end up in bed together. Or the back of a truck.
“You're pretty sure of yourself, aren't you?”
His finger slid back and forth over my lower lip. I sucked in some air, surprised by the heat of such a simple gesture.
“Oh, yeah. There's chemistry between us, Vi. I know you can feel it.”
I could feel it all right.
He glanced down my body. “Your nipples are hard.”
My eyes darted to my hoodie covered chest, amazed he could see. “How can you—”
“The way your cheeks flush. Just like that. Your nipples. They're hard, aren't they? They're hard for me. Tell me.”
His voice dropped low. Dark and rough. Commanding.
“Yes,” I said on a breathless whisper. I couldn't help my reply, as if my body had no choice but to respond. My nipples—and certain girl parts a little lower—certainly had.
“Remember what I told you earlier?”
I melted a little more. What he'd whispered to me when we were at the park in Seward was his own version of word porn. Decadent, dominant and just a tiny bit dirty.
“I plan on doing every one of them with you.”
“But I'm a good girl.”
Mike arched a brow and smiled wickedly. “Not for long.”
I looked out the windows—surprised they hadn't fogged up—nervous we were being watched. It's not as if anyone could hear us in the confines of Jubal's truck, even if they were standing right outside the doors, but this was something between Mike and myself. Intimate.
“Here?”
“Someplace where it's just you and me. And that's definitely not here. Not this truck, this house, or even this state. When I get you in bed and beneath me, I don't plan on letting you out. That might conflict with the sightseeing schedule my mother has planned.”
At the mention of Mrs. O, my ardor cooled substantially. Mike too, it seemed, because we went into the house with all our clothes on, buttoned and without hickeys.
***
Knowing there were eight other people sleeping in the house, albeit on another floor, was enough to keep our hands to ourselves. Barely. By tacit agreement, we stuck to our own sides of the bed. That didn't prevent me from upgrading my sleeping wardrobe from the pajama pants and T-shirt from the past two nights to silk shorts and matching tank top. In red. The second suitcase was starting to come in handy.
I wasn't intentionally trying to mess with him...okay, I was. I wasn't going to be an idiot and wear my ugly pajamas when I was in bed with Mike, even if we were just sleeping. I wanted him to think of me as attractive. Hot, not some girl who was having a sleepover. I'd brought several options, several levels of raciness, and the silk shorts and tank were only at step two in my arsenal. They were a step up from my drab cotton pants and MSU T-shirt, a step down from the black negligee, and two steps down from the best thing to wear when trying to seduce a man in your bed—nothing.
So I chose the silky pajamas to keep his engine revved, even when he couldn't do more than stay in neutral.
It didn't matter what I wore though. It was Mike's turn to fall asleep while I took my turn in the bathroom and had no clue what I was wearing. The sheet was low on his hips, his chest bare, and the waistband of his boxers peeking out from the covers. One arm was thrown over his head, one leg bent beneath the sheet.
Wow. I wanted to jump him. Bad. Yes, he might be moving across the country but as I looked at him, I was weakening. Quickly. I was almost to the point where I didn't care about the consequences. The hurt that would follow. Almost.
Regardless, I wanted him conscious and without chaperones. I had no interest in fooling around like we were eighteen again. I wanted the adult, XXX version.
Eight hours later I woke warm and very comfortable, snuggled up against—
“Morning,” Mike said, his voice gruff from sleep.
My eyes popped open and I realized I was lying on top of him, my head cradled by his shoulder, our bodies entwined as if we were playing a game of Twister. My silky top had ridden up sometime during the night and my warm belly—oh, my God, and one breast—was being tickled by the springy hair on Mike's chest. Hot skin over solid muscle. Beneath my ear, his heartbeat, strong and steady, was comforting. His breath feathered my hair. It felt like...heaven.
How had I ended up on top of him? I'd practically held on to the edge of the mattress all night long to keep distance. But no, my body had ideas of its own. I was a shameless hussy sprawled as I was, so I took my mortification and started to move back to my side of the bed. My cold side. But Mike's hands tightened on my hips keeping me in place.
“This isn't a good idea,” I said, turning my head to look at him, all the while knowing he couldn't miss the twin hard points of my nipples pressing into him.
His red scruff had come in, darker now. Softer. His eyes were bright after a good night sleep but I could see more there. Definitely something along the lines of lust.
“A terrible idea.”
Through the wall I could hear the dryer door close, then someone walking down the hallway and back toward the main part of the house.
Mike's grip loosened and I climbed from the bed.
“We're not alone. And I've got morning breath.”
His eyes were laser focused on my chest. “I don't have to kiss your mouth.”
Holy hot, Batman.
I dashed toward the bathroom before I changed my mind, but Mike was faster. For a big guy, he could sure move with the right kind of incentive. He pulled me so my legs were against the bed, one of his arms cinched around my waist, the other pushing my silky tank u
p to expose my breasts to his mouth. Before I could even consider the sanity of his actions, he bit gently on one nipple followed by a lave of his tongue, then a deep suck. I moaned—yes, moaned—at the almost rough contact. The sensations zinged lower. Much lower.
“Hold your top up,” Mike demanded, his warm breath tickling my heated skin.
I did what he asked, wantonly and with complete abandon, my fingers gripping the lacy hem and holding it high. Exposing myself to him. I was in his thrall when he used that decisive tone, like I had no choice but to obey. I wanted to.
“Good girl.”
I craved his mouth on me. No matter how much I mentally justified the exact opposite. Regardless of whether he might move across the country. It didn't matter. Nothing mattered but his touch. I didn't want anything to get in his way. Nothing did. He moved from one hardened nipple to the other all the while pinning me in place with his big hand pressed against my curve of my back. I couldn't push him away with my hands busy.
“Food's almost ready. Get a move on, everyone!” Jubal shouted from the bowels of the house.
“Shit,” Mike whispered, resting his forehead against my belly. “It's like we're in high school again.”
I was too flustered to process much, other than my nipples were damp and tightening into hard little points from the cool air. Mike tugged down my top, frustrating us both.
“Go take your shower. Alone.” As I turned toward the bathroom, he gave me a light swat on the ass. “Lock the door so I can't change my mind about joining you.”
***
We showered—separately—and twenty minutes later, were having brunch with the entire family. Everyone had slept in, returning from Seward either by car or train and returning late. Before us were blueberry pancakes, hash brown potatoes, caribou sausage—it seemed Jubal had shot, no, taken, a very large caribou—scrambled eggs, toast, OJ and coffee. The only seat vacant was Goldie's, who'd received a phone call as we were setting the table.
For this meal Jubal left the saber behind, but wore his confederate pants with a white shirt and maroon vest, adorned with large brass buttons. Everyone else was dressed more traditionally in jeans and fleece, worn to ward off the cooler temperatures. To be polite, I once again threw the Civil War religious bling over top of my hot pink pullover. It was quite the combination.
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