Free Steal My Heart (Bachelors & Bridesmaids) by Barbara Freethy

Michael patted the small area of the couch next to him, so she slid in between him and her brother Tom.
    "Where have you been?" Michael asked.
    "Helping my mom in the kitchen. Everything okay out here?"
    Before he could answer, her brothers jumped up, giving each other a high five as their team scored a touchdown."
    "They're a little crazy," she told Michael.
    "I've seen worse. It's actually kind of fun to be sitting with the fans. This is almost better than playing in the game."
    "Almost?" she asked, raising a doubtful eyebrow.
    "Okay, not even close, but it is fun. I haven't had an afternoon like this in a long time—make that ever."
    "Really?" She wondered about the odd gleam in his eyes, but there was no opportunity to ask him to explain as her dad started peppering Michael with questions about the team's defensive line.
    For the next few hours, there was nothing but football, family, and food. By seven o'clock, Liz had had enough of all three. After helping her mom clean up after dinner and seeing the guys ensconced in yet another game, she escaped up the stairs to her old bedroom.
    The room was truly the room of her childhood. She'd moved out to go to college and except for a four-month-period right after college graduation; she hadn't lived in this house in a very long time. She smiled as she looked at the walls covered with her art. She'd certainly gone through some strange phases in her painting. At one time, she'd been obsessed with painting shadows of people. Other times, it was all about landscapes or crazy shapes.
    And then there were the bookshelves filled with the books of her youth, adventures, mysteries, romance and biographies. She'd always been fascinated with the story of people's lives. Reading about how others made something special out of nothing had always inspired her to try a little harder.
    "So this is where it all began," Michael said as he stepped into her room.
    Her pulse jumped at his sudden presence and also at his words, because this was where it had all began—especially when it came to him. She'd spent quite a few hours lying on the bed, staring up at the ceiling thinking about him. Sometimes those thoughts had been filled with hate. Other times, there had been some lust involved… Her cheeks warmed at the thought.
    "What?" he asked, his gaze narrowing.
    "What do you mean?"
    "You just thought of something that made your face red."
    "It's warm in here."
    "No, it's not."
    "Well, it is to me."
    "Okay," he said, putting up a hand. "We don't have to argue about everything."
    His words made her realize that she'd always used an argument as a way to get past her feelings about him. She just hadn't understood it at the time.
    "Look at your art," Michael said, waving his hand toward the walls. "You're really good, Liz."
    "I was good. I haven't painted in a long time."
    "You should start again."
    "I don't have time."
    "You can make time for things that are important." He paused. "You just go around once, Liz. You have to do what's in your heart."
    "You sound like Charlie Hayward."
    "I understand Charlie and his dream of creating a world where people can remember what it's like to believe in the impossible."
    She sighed, his words reminding her that he was the competition, and he was probably going to give her a run for the money. But that was a problem for tomorrow. She didn't want to think about work right now.
    Michael walked over to her desk and picked up a framed photograph taken at her college graduation. "Who are all these women?"
    "My closest friends. That's Julie next to me. And then there's Laurel, Andrea, Kate, Isabella, Maggie and Jessica. We met freshmen year and we were best friends all through college. We're still pretty close. In fact, we made a vow at graduation that no matter how far apart we drifted, we'd always make sure to come back for each other's weddings."
    "And who was it that just got married?"
    "Laurel. She's the third from the left—the one who tossed me the