Slow Fever by Cait London Page A

stunned him.
    “Sleepyhead,” he whispered tenderly against her lips. “You’re barely keeping your eyes open. Why don’t you take a shower and go to bed? I’ll do the dishes.”
    “I couldn’t—”
    “Sure, you can. You can do anything you want.”
    “Do you really think so, Michael?” She searched his face to see if he was mocking her.
    “I do.” Michael’s tone was just as firm as if he were taking a vow. His dark eyes were soft and warm upon her, just as her father’s gaze had considered her mother.
    “Michael?” Kylie gave way to the need to smooth his hair. He held very still beneath her touch. “Why did you buy that building on the square? It’s old like the rest, and you’ve had to repair so much, the old adobe outer walls worn by weather. You’ve got a storage building at your place and you have only a few things in the back room.”
    He shrugged again and his expression closed as he looked away. “Poker parties?”
    Kylie’s hand smoothed his hair and Michael held oddly still. She considered how this powerful man needed pettingand cuddling and how his beautiful soulful eyes met hers. “Try this. You wanted to preserve the building for its history. If you hadn’t bought it, it would have been demolished for a parking lot. That’s an awful lot of money, Michael, and no one really knows all the good you do, do they? You’re uncomfortable with that—the good in you. Don’t be.”
    His mouth firmed as he looked at her. “There are women like you, who believe in good and honor that just isn’t there. Life isn’t always a fairy tale for them.”
    “Mmm. Stop trying to be such a tough guy.”
    “You never stop, do you? Believing? Dreaming?”
    “Nope. I had a rough bump in life, but I believe.” Kylie closed her eyes as Michael’s lips came closer, lightly brushing hers.
     
    The next day, Michael couldn’t force his thoughts from Kylie. He wasn’t pushing her too soon; he would be very careful with her. She was Anna’s daughter and she was basically untouched, uncertain of herself as a woman. She needed time to adjust to her life, to take it back. Michael cursed her ex-husband for that damage.
    He cursed the luring scent of oranges and the gentle music coming from the front part of his building. He wondered who was relaxing beneath Kylie’s knowing hands. There was no real reason for him to be here; he had what he needed in his truck. Yet he wanted to be close to her, to hear her voice, to hear that gurgling husky laughter suddenly burst through the shadows like sunshine. She’d laugh if she knew how much care he took to see that she had lunch, making more food than he could eat. Since she’d opened the shop, he’d hurried to Eli’s Bakery. Carrying out a sack filled with raspberry bismarks, Michael ignored thebaker’s broad knowing grin. “I got my wife with an apple pie. When you want the recipe, let me know.”
    In the shop, Michael had worried over the arrangement of the pastries, trying for an artful careless look, just to hear Kylie’s delighted morning “Yum.”
    He wasn’t a match for emotionally wide-open and trusting Kylie. Around her, his hands trembled, aching to skim over her body, to shape those round breasts, to taste her—he swallowed roughly and shook his head.
    The previous night, while her shower ran, Michael had cleaned away the dishes and leashed himself from stepping into the steamy room. Instead, he’d turned on the television and Kylie had padded out into the living room, a towel wrapped around her head. Over her blue flannel pajamas, she wore a pink chenille robe and white socks covered her feet. With damp ringlets escaping the towel on her head, she had looked deliciously fresh and sweet and sexy. The soap and flowers scent she brought into the room had delicately curled around him. Michael’s senses had reacted immediately when she’d yawned and stretched. He had forced his eyes away from the thrust of her unbound breasts beneath the heavy