Slow Fever by Cait London

Kylie lay fully dressed on top of her sleeping bag, studying the flames of her campfire. A fast set of push-ups and sit-ups and running in place had left her tired, damp with sweat, and still brooding about Michael’s very knowledgeable kiss. Its tempting heat hovered around her now. She could still taste the hunger on his lips—too dark and stormy and mysterious. He’d lightly circled her lips with his parted ones and the exquisite torture frustrated and heated.
    After Michael’s kiss, her personal thermostat was simmering; she’d needed the chilly mountain night alone with her thoughts. With a supreme effort, she dragged off the sweat-dampened bandanna from her forehead. Kylie listened to the slowing beating of her heart—it had raced when Michael had kissed her and the sensual tug right there on the dance floor had shot directly low in her belly. The physical need to have him, to stop the aching, was overpowering—she wasn’t certain what would have happened if he hadn’t walked away.
    She damned him for walking away as if he hadn’t been simmering, too.
    The small clearing was where her family had camped every year, a stream tumbling nearby. After Michael’s sizzling kiss, she needed time alone, away from the haunting, tender memories of her mother. She wasn’t certain thatAnna would approve of her fantasies—how Michael’s powerful back would feel beneath her fingertips, how he would feel over her, in her and hungry.
    Kylie moved her hand from her racing heart—its tempo wasn’t only from her workout, but from the memory of how Michael had looked at her, as if nothing else mattered. With an effort, she sat up, pushed up her red sweatshirt and shimmied out of her elastic exercise bra. The firm tug required to slide it over her hips reminded her of the extra pounds she’d put on while lamenting her life. More comfortable now, she flopped the undergarment over her backpack and lay back onto her bedroll. Last night, her basic instincts had told her to run him down and have him.
    Kylie ran her hands through her hair, lifting the sweaty ringlets away from her face onto her favorite pillow. Michael was a great big smudge on her peace of mind, but then he’d always been.
    An autumn leaf swirled lazily down into the fire and ignited, just as she had when Michael’s big hand had cupped the back of her head, positioning her for his kiss. An experienced man, he’d known how to hold her firmly in place, taking what he wanted. For an instant, the primitive image of a stallion overtaking a mare in season ripped through her. But even before that, Michael’s mouth seduced; she’d been unprepared for the darker elemental storm that had followed—the seduction.
    “Exactly what do I know about being seduced? Or seducing? Leon wasn’t exactly hungry for me,” she asked the moon above the pine branches. But Michael was hungry, the tip of his tongue prowling her lips, gently invading her mouth to set off the rocketing heat within her.
    Kylie lay on her back, looking up at the clear Montana night through the stark, leafless branches of the aspens.Suddenly a noise sounded too close and a tall, hard-looking man stepped into the firelight—“Michael!”
    Dressed in a flannel lined denim jacket and jeans, he slung his sleeping bag and backpack from his shoulder to the earth. He suddenly crouched to place a hand on her chest, pinning her firmly to her sleeping bag. She caught his scent, that slightly spicy blend of aftershave and the dark nuances of his temper. “Your brother is worried about you. Notes like ‘I’m going camping. Back soon,’ don’t cut it.”
    He caught her swatting hands easily, holding them in one hand as his other tested the damp strands around her face. His gaze ran down her sweat clothing, the damp vee at her chest, locking on the rapid rise and fall of her breasts. Suddenly Michael freed her hands as if they’d just scorched him and stood scowling down at her. He looked hard, the firelight