Primal Calling Read Free

next to her and reached for his empty tumbler.
    While the bartender popped the cap off a brown bottle and set it in front of the lady, she unzipped herjacket. It was a decent enough winter coat—if she were skiing in Aspen, maybe.
    When she pulled it off, Max’s jaw went slack. He fumbled his glass. She had the figure of a swimsuit model. His body reacted, hot and pulsing. She picked up her beer and turned to him, clearing her throat.
    Returning his attention to her face, he caught her smirk.
    Busted. All he lacked was his tongue hanging out and he’d be slobbering over her like Mickey. Maybe he should roll over on his back and let her rub his belly.
    Down, boy.
    She extended her right hand. “I’m Serena.”
    â€œMax.” He shook her hand.
    â€œOoh, your hands are so warm.” She held on when he would have let go, set down her beer and cupped her other hand over his. “Brr, I don’t know how you keep your hands so warm in weather like this.”
    Her hands were like two elegant blocks of very soft ice with long, polished nails. “You’re not from Alaska, I take it.”
    She shook her head. “L.A.”
    If she didn’t stop rubbing his hand between hers he might be tempted to do something stupid like bring her fingertips to his mouth. “Oh!” She snatched her hands away. “Sorry.”
    â€œI’m not.” He gave her a pointed look, staring right into her dark blue eyes. Not a gold fleck to be found, but pure cobalt, like the Arctic Sea in the summer. Herlashes were thick, but not overly long. And she had a few freckles across the bridge of her nose.
    She licked her lips and a sharp ache hit him hard and low. He pictured himself scooping her up and carrying her to his room.
    Then she blinked and retrieved her beer, sipping it as she looked straight ahead at nothing. Amazing. She’d been staring back. There’d been something between them for a second, but his suspicious mind severed the thought. What was she doing here? Just slumming? And what was her business in Anchorage?
    â€œSo, what do you do, Max?”
    He grabbed his tumbler, knocked back the last drops of his whiskey and signaled for another. “I fly cargo.”
    â€œOh? Where to?”
    â€œBarrow.” He turned to face her. “I’m only here for tonight.”
    Her beer halted halfway to her mouth for a brief instant and then continued. “Me, too. I was here for the Iditarod.”
    Oh yeah, it was that time of year. But she sure as hell hadn’t been a contestant. “Got a man who entered?”
    â€œNo.” She started picking at the label on the beer bottle with a ringless left hand.
    â€œDon’t tell me you’re a musher.”
    She grinned and shook her head. “No.” She glanced at him and then back down to peeling her bottle label.
    â€œSo, what do you do in L.A.?”
    Deep concentration on the label peeling. “I don’t really live there, actually. I mean, I own a condo there, butI travel all over the world for business and I’m hardly ever home.”
    Interesting. She hadn’t actually answered the question. Something didn’t add up, but he let it go. Who cared what she did for a living? Or why she was slumming tonight. It wasn’t any of his business. Live and let live. For whatever reason, he had a beautiful woman sitting next to him sharing a drink.
    He cleared his throat. “Have you eaten dinner?”
    She looked surprised at the change of subject. “No, I—no.”
    â€œWell, don’t eat here, whatever you do.”
    A feminine chuckle accompanied the flash of perfect white teeth as she turned to him. “Shall we go eat somewhere else?”
    We? He scrutinized the sincerity in her eyes. Maybe she’d made a bet with a girlfriend to sleep with a native on her last night in Alaska. Would a half-breed count? Glancing around the bar, he spied his only competition: the old