My Man Michael by Lori Foster Page A

designs them?”
    “These were of my preferences.”
    Shock faded under censure and his brows pinched down over burning blue eyes. “They’re all male , Kayli.”
    He appeared to want an explanation for that. “Well . . . yes, I know.” Kayli shrugged. “I prefer male company.”
    The scowl darkened. “Is that so?”
    With his intent gaze zeroed back in on her, she again tried to wiggle free. “Sir? Could you please loosen your grip?”
    He glanced down at his taut hold, and released her with a rush. “Shit, I’m sorry, honey. Are you okay?”
    At his curse, the scandalized assistants all murmured to one another. It was unheard of for anyone, human or humanoid, to speak so crudely.
    “I’m unharmed.” Kayli sent the assistants a look to quiet them before bestowing an encouraging smile on Michael. “Would you like to stand?”
    “I can’t—” The words dropped off. Going pale with shock, he gazed down at his body—and blinked. “Christ almighty, woman, I’m naked.”
    So she had noticed.
    So she had felt .
    Flustered, hot-faced, and shaky, Kayli nodded at an assistant, who hurried to retrieve a covering. “Your clothing was not designed to withstand the rearrangement of molecules during transportation, as mine is. Likely it was destroyed in transit.”
    Mallet didn’t hear her. He was too busy staring fixedly at his legs, or more to the point, the lack of scars on his legs.
    With heavy precaution, he pushed up on one straightened arm. Over his entire body, muscles flexed and bunched in an impressive display.
    Kayli did her best not to gawk, but she’d never seen, never even imagined . . .
    Again the assistants murmured.
    With a large hand flattened on the floor, Mallet bent one leg, paused with his breath held, flexed it, bent, straightened it again. At the lack of agony, he sucked in his breath and turned to Kayli with so much hope, her heart melted.
    “Yes,” she whispered, so happy to be the one to tell him. “It’s as I said—your body is healed and whole again.”
    Michael’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he audibly swallowed. Slowly, he rose to his feet. “They’re gone.”
    The assistants, all very capable, scurried back from the breadth and height of Michael as he gained his feet. Awe and alarm widened their eyes, making Kayli wish that, for this instance alone, she hadn’t given them so many emotions.
    Gently, she asked, “The scars?”
    “The pains.”
    Yes, of course. Just because he hadn’t complained didn’t mean he hadn’t suffered. Michael was a warrior, a man conditioned to take great agony without ever giving voice to the pain.
    She touched his arm and encountered tensile strength and incredible power. “I’m happy for you.”
    He took two steps and turned, watching the movement of his legs, the flexibility and strength, and a slow grin brightened his expression. “I feel . . . fine.”
    He looked fine, too. Very fine. Never had she imagined a man such as him. Yes, he was bigger, but that only covered half of it. His muscles were so delineated that each small movement sent them into an impressive display. The simplest gestures showed inspiring power. Even the way in which he held himself, with so much confidence and attitude, was in stark contrast to what she was used to.
    She’d dropped him into a totally unfamiliar time and situation, and still he looked ready to take charge of them all.
    “Hell,” he said with an ear-lifting grin, “I feel great !”
    His infectious good mood had her smothering her own grin. The time was inappropriate to excesses of glee, for her at least.
    After accepting the robe from an assistant, Kayli glued her attention north of his broad shoulders and held it out to him. “I’m glad that our exchange pleases you.” Repaired health was the least she could give him for his upcoming aid.
    “Well, yeah.” He paid no mind to the proffered covering. “I mean, I must be nuts to be buying into this, but who gives a damn?”
    His comfort at being