My Man Michael
Page 1
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
CHAPTER 9
CHAPTER 10
CHAPTER 11
CHAPTER 12
CHAPTER 13
CHAPTER 14
CHAPTER 15
CHAPTER 16
CHAPTER 17
CHAPTER 18
CHAPTER 19
CHAPTER 20
CHAPTER 21
CHAPTER 22
CHAPTER 23
EPILOGUE
Teaser chapter
PRAISE FOR THE NOVELS OF LORI FOSTER
Hard to Handle
“Intense, edgy, and hot. Lori Foster delivers everything you’re looking for in a romance.”
—Jayne Ann Krentz, New York Times bestselling author
“Tension, temptation, hot action, and hotter romance—Lori Foster has it all! Hard to Handle is a knockout!”
—Elizabeth Lowell, New York Times bestselling author
“Another success for Lori Foster. The humorous bantering and friendship among the characters makes for an enjoyable escape into the world of hunky SBC fighters and the women they love … a sweet read.”—Fresh Fiction
“A well-written tale with lots of details … Emotional, warm, stressful, and humorous moments keep the story interesting. Reading the previous books will add some background, but this book stands well on its own. Hard to Handle is one book not to miss.”—Romance Reviews Today
“An enjoyable book with great characters and plot that flows well.”—Love Romances and More
“With many familiar faces and a delightful secondary romance, Foster’s latest is a wonderful, heartwarming story with plenty of action, a suspenseful mystery, and a glimpse into the sport of fighting. This very pleasing third addition to Foster’s series is one that even readers who don’t like sports can enjoy.”—Romantic Times
“An entertaining contemporary tale.”
—Midwest Book Review
Simon Says
“Delightful … an enjoyable, fast-paced read. Foster turns up the heat with Simon and Dakota’s relationship, which makes the story even more satisfying … A double thumbs-up!”
—Roundtable Reviews
“Exhilarating … readers will enjoy going the distance with this fine pairing of two champions.”—Midwest Book Review
“Quintessential Lori Foster … This would make a good beach book—although it’s spicy enough that you may want to read it in air-conditioned comfort rather than sitting in the sun!”—The Romance Reader
“Has delightfully familiar faces as well as intriguing new ones.”—Romantic Times
Causing Havoc
“Foster is at her best Causing Havoc with this delightful combination family drama, romance, and a bit of a mystery that all blends together into a wonderful contemporary.”
—Midwest Book Review
“She writes about real people that are easy to connect with yet flawed enough they seem true to life and lovable. The plot is intricate, interesting, and entertaining, making this yet another page-turner that you can’t put down. The sexual chemistry between couples in Causing Havoc palpates and explodes off the pages of this sizzling book … There is no doubt in my mind that you will love this book … You can’t go wrong with a Lori Foster book.”—Two Lips Reviews
“Foster supplies good sex and great humor along the way in a thoroughly enjoyable romance reminiscent of Susan Elizabeth Phillips’s novels.”—Booklist
“Convincing, heartfelt family drama.”—Publishers Weekly
MORE PRAISE FOR LORI FOSTER
“The pages sizzle.”
—Christine Feehan, New York Times bestselling author
“Fun, sexy, warmhearted … just what people want in a romance.”
—Jayne Ann Krentz, New York Times bestselling author
“Foster outwrites most of her peers.”—Library Journal
“Lori Foster delivers the goods.”—Publishers Weekly
“Known for her funny, sexy writing.”—Booklist
Titles by Lori Foster
THE WINSTON BROTHERS
WILD
CAUSING HAVOC
SIMON SAYS
HARD TO HANDLE
MY MAN, MICHAEL
Anthologies
HOT CHOCOLATE
(with Suzanne Forster, Elda Minger, and Fayrene Preston)
SINFUL
(with Maggie Shayne, Suzanne Forster, and Kimberley Randell)
WILDLY WINSTON
THE POWER OF LOVE
(with Erin McCarthy, Rosemary Laurey, Kay Stockham, Toni Blake,
Lucy Monroe, and Dianne Castell)
CHARMED
(with Jayne Castle, Julie Beard, and Eileen Wilks)
DOUBLE THE PLEASURE
(with Deirdre Martin, Jacquie D’Alessandro, and Penny McCall)
Writing as L. L. Foster
SERVANT: THE AWAKENING
SERVANT: THE ACCEPTANCE
THE BERKLEY PUBLISHING GROUP
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Penguin Books Ltd., Registered Offices: 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.
MY MAN, MICHAEL
A Berkley Book / published by arrangement with the author
PRINTING HISTORY
Berkley edition / February 2009
Copyright © 2009 by Lori Foster.
All rights reserved.
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eISBN : 978-1-440-68651-1
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To my sister, Monica Flowers, aka Moni, aka Mo.
Let me tell you, you are one tough cookie! You also happen to be a lot of fun, even when bruised and broken. The wreck, the hospital stay, and the very long recuperation were awful, but even under those circumstances, we really enjoyed having you around.
We look forward to taking the “Little Angel” RVing with us again!
Love ya bunches,
LoLo
CHAPTER 1
MORNING brought the sounds of muted footsteps, soft chatter, and the rattling of trays and machines. Life disturbed the quiet that had settled over the hospital during the long night. Unshaven, sullen, bordering on depressed—though he’d never admit it—Mallet shifted, and winced in pain.
All that had happened still seemed surreal—except for the awful pain. That was real. Very real.
Dawning sunlight flickered through the frozen layer of lacy frost that climbed the bottom of the window, blocking a dull view of the parking lot. Mallet stared at it, brooding, wishing for a change.
For uplifting news.
It was futile, and he knew it, but he wouldn’t accept it. He couldn’t.
Tomorrow they would release him from the hospital, and a few days later he’d be expected to start therapy to learn to walk with only one good leg.
Closing his bloodshot eyes and swallowing around the pain left in his throat from the resuscitation tube, he considered his destroyed future. How could everything change so drastically in such a short time?
In the last four years, he’d made a strong name for himself in the SBC. At twenty-six, he was considered a major contender in two weight classes and one of the most feared competitors in the sport. In another month, he would have fought for—and won—the title belt.
His hands fisted. His jaw flexed and tightened.
Thinking of the wreck brought an invisible weight to his chest, crushing his lungs.
Crushing his legs.
Through closed eyelids, he saw it all, felt it and smelled it and relived it again and again. Flashing lights, metal grinding against metal, the acrid stench of burnt rubber as tires squealed and brakes ground without success; the lash of the seat belt cutting across his body, trying in vain to pin him in place.
The impact of the wreck sent his brand-spanking-new, shiny black sports car tumbling like a snowball going downhill. Each flip had compressed it more, disfigured it, destroyed it.
Only when it slammed into a concrete wall did it finally stop.
With Mallet trapped inside.
“Good morning, Michael. Are you ready for your breakfast?”
Disinterested, sick at heart, Mallet looked at the nurse with dead eyes and a trampled heart. “I’m not hungry.”
“Oh, come on now.” Light fingers touched his biceps. “A big fellow like you has to eat.”
Knowing she brought the meal herself as an avenue to flirting, he looked away. What use was he to a woman with one leg shot to hell and the other a long way from healed?
What use was he to anyone, or anything?
Her sigh, subtle and filled with frustration, sounded loud in the silent room. “How about I just leave this here in case you change your mind?” Sidled up beside his narrow bed, she began the morning routine of checking his vitals. “You’re due for your pain medicine, but I’d prefer you eat first—”
“I don’t need it.” He relished the pain. It was his hair shirt, a reminder that no matter how hard he worked, everything could be stripped away in the blink of an eye.
“Do you at least want some coffee or—”
“No.”
Giving up, she started out of the room. “The doctor will be in to see you shortly.”
To do what? Mallet wondered. He’d seen the hospital staff, had every test done, talked to specialists, all without a change in his prognosis.
How many ways did they want to tell him that his mangled right leg would never again function? Should he be thrilled that with a lot of therapy and several surgeries, he might be able to keep it—useless as it’d be?
Was he just supposed to accept that no matter how hard he worked at recovery, he would never again fight?
What else did he know but fighting? All his life, he’d been a competitor. First and foremost with himself. In so many ways, he was his own worst enemy.
But he’d found a family with the SBC, the only real family he’d ever known. They’d knocked him off his high horse, then built him back up, better, stronger. Accepted and befriended, even respected.
If he no longer fit in with them, what would he do?
What would he be?
“I’ve never seen anyone sulk so much.”
Startled, because he’d thought himself alone, Mallet looked toward that deep, melodic voice and found a slight woman sitting in front of the frost-covered window. Or more like … she perched, butt and feet both on the window shelf, arms crossed over her knees. A sleeveless gray tunic covered her upper body.
At either side of her, colorful flower arrangements, sent by fighters’ wives, made a bizarre frame.
How had she gotten in without him noticing?
Palest blond hair in a deep side part hung straight and baby-fine to her shoulders. Large, heavily lashed hazel eyes studied him.
Bemused, Mallet looked her over, from her odd positioning against the window to her lithe limbs to a mouth that defied description.
Only in a fantasy, his fantasies, had he seen a mouth like that.
“How’d you get in here?”
“Ah, so you can speak in complete sentences. I was wondering if I had the wrong man.” She slipped off the ledge with grace and agility, her hard-soled ankle boots tapping the floor as she stood. Long, trim legs encased in black leggings ate up the distance until she stood close by. Her arms, as gangly as her legs, were bare, lightly muscled, and very smooth. She was tall for a woman, but slightly built.
At his bedside, she tilted her head, sending that platinum hair swinging in a silky, distracting dance, as smooth and fluid as a fall of water.
Entranced, Mallet stared up at her.
Voice soft and rich, she said, “You mope for no reason, sir. A warrior, no matter the condition of his limbs, remains a warrior for all of his life.”
Warrior? Mope? Her assurances—if that’s what they were—annoyed Mallet enough that he stopped wondering how and why she’d come in, and instead turned defensive. “What do you know of it? Of any of it?”
Perching a trim, tight derriere on the edge of his mattress, she surveyed him in unadorned sympathy. In a ballsy move that shocked him stupid, she put both hands on his right leg, the one with the most damage.
Using an impersonal butterfly touch that somehow aroused as much as it offended, she stroked the length of his thigh and along his knee and shin. Through the thin layer of the sheet and the bulky padding of bandages, her touch stirred him.
“Stop that!” Though appalled, both by her daring and his reaction to it, Mallet didn’t move to catch and restrain her hands. He couldn’t. It was as if invisible steel bands held him in place.
Her gaze lifted, warm as honey, as intoxicating as whiskey, and that killer mouth spared the smallest of intriguing smiles. “Sir, what I know is that you can be whole in body again.”
“Whole in body?”
“Yes, sir. I can take you to a place that will again make you a complete warrior, a man with two legs that serve him.” She tipped her head. “But you’d have to accept my proposition.”
Her strange appearance was made more so by her strange speech. “Your pro—”
The door swung open and the doctor, so damned jovial, stepped in. “Michael. How we are we faring today? Anxious to get out of here, I bet.”
Mallet blinked at the doc, then looked back to see … the woman gone. Just like that.
She wasn’t anywhere.
What the hell?
Now he was losing h
is mind, too? Had he imagined her, their conversation and the effect of her touch?
If so, why didn’t he drum up a sexy and willing woman instead of an impish vision of long legs, soul-sucking eyes, and a mouth made of sin, captured in a confusing package that addressed him as “sir”?
“Give me the fucking pain pill.”
The doctor hesitated at his foul mood. “Your pain has worsened?”
Yeah, in a way it had. On top of a useless leg and a shit attitude, he now had a boner.
If that didn’t call for drugs, nothing did.
Now that he slept again, Kayli Raine circled his bed, studying him from many angles. It wasn’t fear that nearly stole her breath away.
Knowing the differences of their worlds, she’d done her studies and tried to prepare herself—but she’d failed.
He was so big.
So dark and powerful.
The sheer size of him fascinated her. Even forewarned with reports of a larger people, he was more than she’d ever imagined, at least six feet five inches tall and two hundred pounds or more. In her world, men were only slightly larger than the women, who averaged a few inches over five feet.
She knew the reasoning; she’d studied her history books well. Once additives, especially steroids, were stripped from the food source, giants no longer grew.
Yet there he was, not only huge, but layered in muscles … everywhere. Her natural curiosity made her long to explore those muscles, to test their resilience, their durability.
His potency.
She didn’t dare. Not again.
She’d assessed his leg and found it not irreparable, but the strength in that damaged limb, the brawn … Kylie shivered.
He’d make a valiant warrior. He would make things right again.
Once she convinced him.
While she stared at his face, making note of the high cheekbones and chiseled jaw, the kink in his nose no doubt caused by a past contretemps, his eyes opened.
Bright, vivid blue.