Page 26 of Misadventures With My Fake Fiancé

He ran his knuckles down my cheek, surprising me, and eliciting a completely different reaction than when Jean-Luc or Marc had done the same thing earlier. This time I tingled inallthe right places. “Now that we're engaged, both of your parents scare me. Does your dad have a shotgun?”

I nodded. “And a rifle.”

Mike swore under his breath. “So, how did your mom react?”

“I talked to Goldie instead. She says we're big news down there, but my mom knows the real story and is fine.”

“And your dad?”

“Probably cleaning the shotgun.” I wasn't letting him off the hook that easily. If our little engagement ruse went back to Bozeman with us, I couldn't wait to see how Mike dealt with mydad. He wasn't as big as Mike, but he could be intimidating when he wanted. He loved to mess with my dates—Veronica's, too—so I had no doubt he'd give extra torture for a fiancé.

“Shit.” Mike ran a hand through his red hair, a little bit sticking up here and there. “That's it?”

“Seems that way.”

I heard the door slam on the dryer.

“So, now what?” Mike asked.

“We steal your mom's phone so she can't Facebook any more, we avoid Susan at all costs, and have some fun.”

Mike grinned, leaned in so his forearm rested against the wall by my head, crowding me in. He was just so big, so overwhelming.

I leaned in, put my forehead against his hard chest. He smelled of soap and Mike. The way we stood, it was just like with the Frenchmen earlier, but this was better. Way better. Everything about how Mike put all of his focus on me was...delicious.

“I like the fun part,” he said. “What did you have in mind?”

The door to the laundry room opened and there stood Jean-Luc. No, Marc. Oh hell, one of them. He did not look happy seeing Mike. With me. If looks could kill and all that.

Mike lifted his head in that male way of greeting. “Hey, Jean-Luc. Or Marc. How's it going?”

How could men have a confrontation only minutes before and let all the angst go? Two women would hold a grudge for years. Clearly, he was confident he'd gotten his point across and thought the men were no longer a threat.

Jean-Luc or Marc walked by us, a stream of French curses in his wake, all of which I learned the first week of ninth grade. It was a good thing Mike didn't speak the language because there would have been a fistfight in the hallway otherwise.

“That didn't sound good.” Mike commented. Nope, it didn't, but I wasn't going to translate.

This close, his blue eyes were almost gray. His five o'clock shadow was a dark ginger and I wondered if it would feel scratchy or soft beneath my fingers. For ten years, I'd been mad at this guy. Now, in less than a day, I was forgetting why I'd been so mad at him. God, he was solid muscle, hot skin, and soft touches. Thoughtful gestures. He'd taken me fishing first thing. For that alone, I should marry the man and forget about the past.

“I think he wants to have some fun, too,” I told him.

Mike arched a brow, understanding what I meant. The glint in his eye told me he wasn't too happy about it. “I don't share.” He lowered his head so his lips were just above mine. I felt his breath, warm against my skin. A hint of beer from dinner lingered.

“I thinkhedoes,” I replied.

His free hand curved around my neck, fisted in my hair and tugged gently. I gave a little gasp of surprise. My eyes met his. “Mine.”

He kissed me in a way that matched his words. All-consuming. Overpowering.Hot.

Mike was definitely not eighteen anymore. This was a man pinning me to the wall, overwhelming all of my senses, mouth practically branding me. Taking what he wanted. Giving me what I needed.

He was so in control of his life, of his practice, that I should have figured he'd be so in-charge with a woman. I liked it. Oh, I liked it a whole heck of a lot. Rationally, why would I want a man to take control? To claim me as his. He'd done it with words, and the kiss backed it with very...steamy actions. I was perfectly capable of doing that for myself, but when his hands, his mouth,were on me, I wanted to give him that same control on a silver platter. A little garnish of parsley on the side.

How did Goldie know these things? It was like she was a sex whisperer or something.

Mike held my head in place with his palm, the hard wall at my back. His equally hard chest pressed into mine, holding me right where he wanted me. My nipples hardened at the contact, the rest of my body softening, ready for more. When his tongue met mine, I knew. This was arealkiss.

There was no doubt he wanted me. I felt his...eagerness against my hip. His hand tightened against my neck reflexively, a groan escaped from his throat.

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