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“Stop trying to redirect me.”

“Caught on, did you?”

Michael noticed a dimple appeared on her cheek when she smiled. The woman was damn near irresistible. “Okay, have it your way. We’ll stay here.”

Ever so slowly he reached across her to get to the hotel phone on the other side of the bed. The back of his hand brushed against her breasts. She didn’t think the intimacy was deliberate until he looked at her and she saw the laughter in his eyes. He was having fun, trying to rattle her. No way was she going to let him know how much his touch affected her.

“There’s another phone on the desk across the room,” she pointed out.

He was sitting so close to her she could feel the heat radiating from his body, and if she reached out, she could run her fingertips down the side of his face and feel the day’s growth of whiskers that made him look a little more dangerous than sexy.

So this was what being aroused felt like. Since she’d started dating, she had never had this kind of physical reaction to any man. She’d read about it, heard about it from her girlfriends, but she’d never experienced it. She had thought there was something wrong with her, perhaps something missing in her DNA.

Until Michael.

The discovery didn’t make her happy. In her mind there was a huge difference between being attracted to someone and being aroused by someone. She had been attracted to Noah Clayborne before he married Michael’s sister Jordan, but she hadn’t been aroused by him.

Okay, so now she knew how it felt. She also knew she didn’t like it. And the fact that it was Michael made it all the more alarming. Her hormones finally decided to kick in, but with Michael? She couldn’t catch a break. Isabel was a person who needed control, and Michael was snatching that away from her.

Trying to clear her head, she asked, “Who are you calling?”

“Bell desk.”

She listened as he requested that someone get his duffel bag out of his car and bring it up to Isabel’s room. Then he handed her the phone so she could order from room service.

“I’m sure there are rooms available, or you could take the other room Kate reserved.”

“Oh no. You want to stay here. I’m staying with you.”

She was sure he was bluffing. She ordered club sandwiches for both of them, a beer for him and a Diet Coke for her, along with large bottles of water. He added a double cheeseburger to the order before she hung up.

She had a plan. She would be patient, even if it killed her. He would eat with her, then realize his bluff wasn’t working, and he would leave. She just had to stay strong and not fold before he did.

Michael’s cell phone rang. He saw who was calling but waited until he was across the room before he answered. His voice was so low she couldn’t hear whom he was talking to or what he was saying. Probably one of a dozen women he was currently seeing, she guessed. His bag was delivered, but he left it in the alcove near the door, which she believed was an indicator that he was indeed bluffing and had no intention of staying with her.

The food arrived twenty minutes later. Isabel ate half of her sandwich. Michael ate every bit of his and the rest of hers. She went into the bathroom, brushed her teeth, and got back into bed. Doing her best to ignore him, she pulled up her emails on her laptop but found it impossible to focus on any of them. She wondered how she was ever going to calm down enough to go to sleep. The events of the day popped up like slides clicking through her mind... the man throwing himself into her arms, clawing at her, then falling, taking her with him, next—gunshots, the maniac shooting at her, watching the bullet strike him between his eyes. He seemed to fall back in slow motion. All the images appeared, one after the other, and then the slides started all over again. God help her, she couldn’t get them to stop.

Her stomach felt queasy again. She took several deep breaths and that helped, but she didn’t know what she could do about her hands. They were once again shaking almost violently. She pictured herself trying to put on lipstick and smiled. It would be all over her face.

She knew she had to stop thinking about... What had Michael called it? Oh yes. Her bad experience. What she needed was a distraction.

Michael unwittingly provided it. He held the door open while the dining cart was being removed, then locked the door, picked up his duffel, and went into the bathroom. No big deal, right? Until she heard the shower running. She had to admit that did freak her out. So maybe he wasn’t bluffing.

But then, neither was she. There was a cozy sitting area in front of the windows with a sofa, coffee table, and an overstuffed easy chair and ottoman. Michael was too tall for the sofa, but he could sleep in the chair and put his feet up on the ottoman. Problem solved.

Michael walked out of the bathroom, and her ability to concentrate went out the window. He wasn’t wearing much, just a pair of khaki shorts. He was built like a Greek god, perhaps Apollo, or maybe even Zeus. His chest and upper arms were all muscle, his stomach was flat, and his skin was bronzed.

Get hold of yourself, she inwardly scolded, looking down at the computer screen so he wouldn’t see her staring. How could she dislike a man so much and be attracted to him at the same time?

She glanced up again when he turned to reach for his navy T-shirt. She saw the three surgical scars on his back then, two near the center and one lower near the base of his spine. The scar tissue didn’t look all that old, and she was pretty sure she knew what the cause was.

“You were shot in the back.”

“Yes,” he answered, not turning around.

“Three times?”

“Yes.” His tone was curt, indicating he didn’t want to talk about it, which she completely ignored. “Were you shot in the line of duty, or was it an ex-girlfriend? I’m betting on an ex-girlfriend.”


Tags: Julie Garwood Buchanan-Renard Romance