My Man Michael

by Lori Foster

  As they had the first time, they took her aback, and she had to check her reaction so that he didn’t see her as vulnerable. He needed to know that they were on equal footing, both warriors, both with a higher purpose.

  “Hello, sir.”

  He blinked hard, and as Kayli watched, his brows pinched down into a ferocious frown.

  Belying the severity of his injuries, he sat up and looked around the room. “You,” he said, pointing at her, “are not real.”

  Kayli didn’t know what to think of that. “I assure you that I am.” Desperate to convince him, she moved closer, took his large, warm hand, and put it to the side of her face. “Touch me.”

  “No!” He snatched back his hand as if she’d burned him, when he was the one with the fevered skin. “Stop that.”

  “Why?” Kayli tipped her head, somewhat perplexed. “You wanted verification that I’m—”

  “I want to know what the hell you’re doing in my room!”

  Ah. Right to the point. It was a good quality for a warrior, for a savior. She liked that. She liked him—despite his current sour mood and lack of initiative.

  “I’m here to negotiate with you.” She glanced at his big body, started to look away, but her gaze returned. At the top of his thighs, the sheet lifted in a curious way. “What—”

  “Get out.” He pulled the pillow from behind him and slapped it down over his lap. “Now.”

  This wasn’t going well at all. All her life, Kayli had known her flaws as well as her assets. Diplomacy was not her strong suit. Candor was counted a flaw.

  “Please, sir, I would ask that you calm yourself.” His raised voice might bring rubber-soled nurses running, and that would only delay their talk.

  His jaw locked and the blue of his eyes burned like the hot center of a flame. “Do not call me sir.”

  “As you wish.” Wondering how she should address him, Kayli sat on the side of his bed. She couldn’t afford to exacerbate his temper, so she made every attempt at affability. “What shall I call you then?”

  “Don’t call me anything.” Already his burst of strength waned, leaving him pale as he slumped back on one arm, half sitting up, half reclining. “Just get out of my head.”

  In his time period, anything unexplainable was explained as imagined. But she couldn’t afford for him to think her a figment of fantasy. “I assure you I’m not in your head. I’m real skin and bones, just as you are.” But then, not like him at all. “You felt me, did you not?”

  “Not as I’d like, no.” Groaning, he dropped to his back and stared at the ceiling. Kayli looked, but saw nothing of interest there to hold his attention.

  Though he looked pained, she knew it wasn’t a physical ailment. “How may I prove my existence to you?”

  Outside his door, voices sounded. Michael locked his gaze on hers. “You want to prove you’re here? That you’re real?”

  “It’s necessary, yes.” If he didn’t recognize her existence, how could she convince him to accept her proposition?

  “Then don’t move.”

  The voices grew nearer. The urge to disappear coursed through her. “You have guests coming.”

  His lip curled. “A real woman wouldn’t care, now would she?”

  “You doubt I’m a woman?”

  His eyes flared. His gaze moved over, and he croaked, “No.” He cleared his throat, brought his attention back to her face, and spoke again. “No, I see that you’re female, all right. I just don’t know if I’m delusional or not.”

  “Oh.” Kayli considered the situation, and decided her presence now would cause no negative impact. “To prove that you are not delusional, I’ll stay.” She moved away from the bed. “And afterward, we must talk.”

  The door pushed open and an impressively sized man with a clean-shaven head led a parade of visitors. Behind him, a blond woman and a dark-haired woman conversed, and behind both of them, strode another large, silent man.

  They all pulled up short when they saw her.

  Knowing her garb to be out of fashion for them, and sensing their protectiveness toward their wounded friend, she held out a hand in the universal sign of peaceful intent.

  “Hello. I’m Kayli Raine.”

  They all stared. The bald man moved first, stepping forward while the others remained in mute fascination. His massive hand engulfed her own, so warm but gentle. “Simon Evans. How are you?”

  “Tired from my journey, but not as tired as our friend here. He’s just awakened from a short nap.”

  Simon lifted one brow, stared some more, and without sparing a glance for his warrior-friend in the bed, motioned the blonde forward.

  “Kayli, this is my wife, Dakota. And that’s Dean Connor, and his wife, Eve.”

  Husbands and wives.

  Life mates.

  Something kicked inside Kayli’s heart; possibly yearning. But her life was not meant for such sharing with another. She knew her duty, had long ago accepted—even relished—her fate.

  While Michael lay in the bed, disbelieving, Kayli spoke with each person, talking her way through a mild interrogation and a lot of suspicion.

  “Michael.” Kayli watched, and when the daze faded from his eyes, she smiled.

  That just made him dazed again.

  “Would you care for refreshments? Since you skipped your morning meal, I could locate a drink for you.”

  “No.” He looked at each of his friends in turn, all of whom were looking at her, then brought his gaze back to Kayli. “I’m good.”

  Simon shook himself and finally gave his attention to Michael. “Good, huh? Well that’s one hell of an improvement. Should I give credit to your lady friend?”

  “No.”

  Dakota put her hands on her hips. “She’s here, and you’re sitting up, so I’m giving her credit.”

  Dean lounged against the wall. “Where’d you two meet?”

  “Here, in this very room,” Kayli said. “Just this morn.”

  “Ah.” Dean nodded. “Now I get it. You weren’t already acquainted.”

  “No, we were not. I knew of him, of course. But he knew nothing of me.”

  The one named Eve pasted on a smile. “Are you a fight fan, Kayli?”

  Their attempts to mask curiosity with social conversation made her head swim. “Warriors are impressive, and Michael in particular is very honorable.”

  “Honorable?” Dean glanced between Michael and her. “What do you mean?”

  “You should ask the truck driver who caused the accident.” With that said, Kayli walked over to stand beside him. “Satisfied?”

  “No.”

  So surly. “What more can I do?”

  “Nothing.” He glanced up at his friends, his complexion turned ruddy, and he beckoned her down closer.

  When Kayli complied, he whispered, “Go away now, okay?”

  “If that’s your wish. But I will be back for us to have much discussion.”

  Without reply, he stared at her mouth, kept on staring until Kayli straightened.

  Confused by his attention to her lips, she headed for the door. “It was pleasant to meet you.”

  A round of farewells and more curious stares followed Kayli as she left the room. Once in the hall, she looked left and right, saw no one, and disappeared to her shuttle where she could observe him unnoticed. She’d give his friends one hour to visit him, no more, and then she’d be back to finalize her plans with Michael.

  The timing was important. He wouldn’t have the luxury of getting used to her or the new circumstances.

  She needed him—now.

  SIMON folded his arms over his chest. “Okay, give. Who was that?”

  “Is she far enough away from the door that she won’t hear us?”

  Dean poked his head out, then stepped all the way into the hall. When he stepped back in, he was shaking his head. “She’s gone.”

  Frowning, Dakota, too, walked out to the hall, but she held the door open. Looking back into the room, she said, �
��Where did she go?”

  Simon shrugged. “Elevator? Another room?”

  “There’s nothing. Just hallway. She must’ve run off in a hurry,” Dakota said, “and she must be fast.”

  Because he’d already seen her vanish once, Mallet wasn’t surprised. He was, however, glad to know she was real. But what the fuck? No really … What the fuck?

  “I think they’re giving me some really heavy-duty dope.”

  Eve sat by his side. “They’re taking good care of you, Michael.”

  “Yeah, such good care that I’m hallucinating.”

  Simon and Dean came to the other side of the bed. “What do you mean?” Simon asked.

  “Until you met that crazy chick that was just in here, I thought she was an illusion or something.”

  At the foot of his bed, Dakota laughed. “That’s your gonads talking, big boy. She’s a hottie.”

  Dean and Simon both cleared their throats.

  “Oh, come on,” Eve said to the men. “You’re married, but we don’t expect you to be blind.”

  Dean frowned a little. “She has a certain … waif-like appeal.”

  Eve snorted. “You were tongue-tied.”

  “She looked athletic,” Simon noted, “but also frail.”

  Dakota rolled her eyes. “She looked like walking sex, and you both know it.” She nodded at Mallet. “He sure knows it.”

  Putting an arm behind his head, Mallet ignored the banter of his married friends and stared at the ceiling. Would she be back? What in God’s name did she want to discuss with him?

  And … “Where did she come from?”

  “Good question.” Simon raised a brow. “She has a faint accent, but I don’t recognize it.”

  Dean stepped closer. “Maybe she’s visiting someone here in the hospital.”

  “And your charm drew her in,” Eve added with a grin.

  Charm? He had no charm. Not anymore. He had … nothing. Well, good friends, he thought as he looked around at the encouraging faces. But hell, when they accepted that he couldn’t fight, what would they have in common?

  Jack shit.

  “Michael?” Dakota seated herself at his other side on the mattress, but it didn’t have the same effect that Kayli’s nearness did. “She said you were honorable.”

  “She’s weird.”

  Dakota took his hand. “She said we should talk to the guy who ran into you. Have you seen him?”

  God, he didn’t want to talk about this.

  Simon crossed his arms. “Might as well tell her. You know she worries about you. If that bozo said something to you, or is giving you a hard time—”

  “He’s actually a nice guy.”

  Everyone went silent. And no wonder. The driver of that truck had stolen Mallet’s life. But … it hadn’t been his fault. Fate. Just unlucky fate.

  “Look, I’ll tell this once, then I don’t want to talk about it again, okay?” Mallet waited for the nods of agreement before continuing. “The guy—his name is Travis Stockham—came to see me. No, before you all start getting up in arms, he was apologetic, and worried about me, and losing sleep because of what happened.”

  “And no wonder,” Dakota said. “If he hadn’t run into you—”

  “He’s fired from his job, but he has two kids and a wife and a mortgage—the whole shebang.” Sometimes, Mallet thought, life just sucked.

  He drew a deep breath. “The accident wasn’t really his fault. There were kids playing in the street. One of them kicked a ball, and Travis saw it out of the corner of his eye. He thought it was a kid, or thought maybe a kid was following, and he swerved.”

  “Shit,” Dean said.

  “Yeah. He lost control and … he ran into me.” Mallet shrugged. “In his situation, to avoid a child, I might’ve done the same thing.”

  Eve put a hand to her throat. “You forgave him, didn’t you?”

  Well hell. If the women got weepy, he wouldn’t be able to take it.

  Going gruff, Mallet frowned. “Nothing to forgive. I saw the police reports. He told the truth.” There hadn’t been many times in his life where he could make a difference. In the face of all he’d lost, Mallet knew he wanted to do something right, something noble.

  He wanted to make a difference. He needed at least that.

  “Lawyers came to see me. They wanted to settle out of court so I wouldn’t sue the trucking company.”

  “Bloodsuckers,” Simon complained.

  “What happened?” Eve asked.

  “We settled. I told them that as long as they gave Travis back his job, all I needed are my medical bills paid.”

  “That’s pretty damned generous of you, Mallet, considering.”

  He shrugged at Dean. “Shit happens. It’s not like he was drunk or high. He wasn’t speeding. My career is over, and nothing will change that. I couldn’t see fucking up Travis’s life, too.”

  Simon moved closer. “Don’t talk stupid. One bum leg won’t keep you out of the SBC.”

  Saying it hurt, but he had to find a way to face the truth. “I can’t fight.”

  “But you can announce, train, coach… . You have a huge following.” Simon indicated the basket filled with notes and letters from Mallet’s fans. “There’s a lot you can do to stay active and contribute to the sport.”

  None of that would be enough. As a fighter, Mallet didn’t want to take part from the sidelines. Kayli understood that. She knew he was a … warrior?

  No. Not that. He had ultimate respect for soldiers, and he knew the difference between what they gave and what he did. But fighting was in his blood.

  Mallet shook his head. “I appreciate the pep talk, I really do.” To appease his friends, he added, “I’ll think about it, okay?”

  “Kayli’s right.” Dakota squeezed his hand. “You are honorable.”

  Damn it, he wanted to think so. But how had Kayli known about the deal? Until now, no one other than Travis and the lawyers had been privy to that information.

  “I’m getting tired,” Mallet lied, because he didn’t want to chat about little things while monumental problems weighed on his mind. He didn’t want to be in a position of deflecting good intentions and false encouragement, when the true outcome was so grim. “I’m sorry you came all the way down here—”

  “It’s a ten-minute drive, goofy.” Dakota ruffled his hair. “Of course we came. And we’ll be back tomorrow to drive you home.”

  Once, what seemed a lifetime ago, he’d been half in love with Dakota. Now, he was happy that she and Simon had such a good life together. “You don’t need to do that.”

  “We’ll be here,” Simon said. “No arguments. You’re like family, and family doesn’t check out of the hospital alone.”

  CHAPTER 2

  MALLET sat up in the bed, waiting for her. After an hour, he decided she probably wouldn’t return. But damn it, he had a lot of questions for her.

  Uncomfortable, he shifted, and pain screamed through his body. The worst of it radiated through his leg. One surgery had left him stitched and swollen, but he’d need more. A lot more.

  Two fractured ribs made a deep breath difficult. Bruising everywhere, combined with strained muscles and damaged ligaments, kept him sick to his stomach.

  Locking his teeth, Mallet closed his eyes a moment to regain control.

  A gentle touch startled him.

  He opened his eyes, and there she was, sitting on the edge of his bed, her hands again drifting over his right leg.

  “Is the pain extreme?”

  Some things never changed, Mallet decided, and he lied, saying, “No. It’s fine.”

  In a way that now seemed familiar, she tipped her head. “You’re being stoic. I understand. It’s not good for a warrior to show weakness.”

  Of all the … “Okay, first, not another word from you unless it’s to answer one of my questions, understood?”

  “I understand.” She studied him. “Your friends found me attractive. I thought that odd.”

&nbs
p; Forgetting the order he’d just issued, Mallet stiffened. “Did one of them say something to you? Did you see them again before they left?”

  “No, but they told you I was a hottie.” She straightened and folded her hands in her lap. “I studied your colloquialisms for this journey, and I know that referring to me as a hottie indicates that they find me attractive.”

  “How …” Mallet stopped, regained control, and took her hand. He didn’t want her poofing away—good God, she did sort of poof—before he finished with his questions.

  Holding her hand had an outrageous effect on him. Okay, so he’d been a couple of weeks without getting laid. He’d had other things on his mind, and then the wreck …

  But damn it, a hand? Just her hand? He felt sultry inside, tense outside.

  Insane.

  Squeezing her slender fingers a little, Mallet asked, “How did you know they said that?”

  “May I show you something?”

  “Will it answer my question?”

  “I think it will answer your question more easily than will my explanations.”

  He nodded, and she eased her hand away from his and stood. Lifting up her tunic, she revealed a wide, supple black belt circling low on her trim hips.

  Mallet stared. He saw her navel and her smooth skin, and his heart punched hard. She wasn’t wide in the hips, but she had curves. The way the leggings clung like a second skin, he saw the protrusion of hip bones, the soft mound between her thighs.

  “Sir?” From the belt, she withdrew a small, flat device not much bigger than a calculator. The tunic fell back into place, and she said again, “Sir?”

  “What?” He still stared at her body, distracted, hot.

  “I would show you this, to explain how I know of you and what you do and say.”

  Right. She wanted to show him something other than her body. Collecting himself—barely—Mallet looked at her face. “Shoot.”

  She tipped her head, then acknowledgment shone in her eyes. “More jargon, yes? You don’t want me to fire upon you, you want me to proceed.”

  “Yeah,” Mallet said, deadpan. “Proceed.”

  Kayli turned the device toward him, touched a circle on the front; it came on, projecting a small but crystal-clear image into the air. Not like a television or computer or projector, but like … life.