“I did?”
She nodded.
“I meant it,” he told her and removed a long piece of limp grass from around her ear. “You may not believe this, but I don’t think I’ve ever seen you look more beautiful than you do right this moment.”
“I don’t believe you.”
He tucked his thumb beneath her chin and raised her face toward his. Gently he pressed his mouth to hers face toward his. Gently he pressed his mouth to hers for a tender kiss. Then he grimaced. “Unfortunately, you taste like a lizard.”
They both started laughing then, until they were forced to sit down to recover. A full fifteen minutes passed before they were back on the road.
They arrived in Dallas thirty minutes before the cocktail party was scheduled to begin. Kyle had held true to his word. They stopped in a small town on the outskirts of the city where Carrie bought a Mexican-style dress with an elastic top and new leather sandals.
A bath proved to be more of a challenge, and they ended up paying for one at a campground. Carrie didn’t care if they had to go to a laundromat, she wasn’t arriving at some fancy Dallas hotel looking like a street person.
The man at the front desk checked them in and handed them their room keys. “I’ll ring for the bellboy,” he said, with a smile thick with southern hospitality.
“That won’t be necessary,” Kyle said, accepting both keys.
“Our luggage was stolen,” Carrie added.
“Oh, my. Have you contacted the police?”
“They were already there. You see, we were kidnapped by this man I thought I’d seen on Unsolved Mysteries. Then Kyle got thrown in jail for jaywalking, which was ridiculous, of course, but they needed time to check out our story.”
“Kidnapped? Jail?”
“Carrie,” Kyle muttered under his breath. “I don’t think this man is concerned about our troubles.”
“I wanted to explain why we don’t have any luggage,” Carrie said. She’d made a fool of herself. It was just that she was so grateful they’d finally arrived. She felt as if she’d won a survival course and was waiting for someone to step forward and give her the prize.
Kyle guided her across the crowded lobby and handed her a room key. Carrie studied everything around her, awed by the fact that they were safe and sound and her life could return to normal once more.
A cocktail lounge was to the far left, in a plush atrium alive with greenery. A coffee shop was situated to the right, reminding her it had been hours since they’d last eaten.
“What floor are you on?” Kyle asked, studying his key.
Carrie had to look at her own. “Ten. What about you?”
“Fifteen.”
They stepped into the elevator, and he punched the appropriate numbers. The car went straight to the tenth floor, and the door yawned open for her. “I guess this is where I get off,” she said, checking her key one last time to be sure there wasn’t a mistake.
“I’ll see you later,” Kyle said, holding the door open.
“Later,” she repeated, loath all at once for them to separate, which was silly. Reluctantly she took a couple of steps forward. “You’re going to the party, aren’t you?”
“Yeah, what about you?”
“I’ll be there,” she said hurriedly. Although it was a crazy notion, she would have given a month’s wages if the hotel had announced they were full, except for one room with a king-size bed.
“See you at the party, then,” Kyle said, releasing the elevator door.
The door started to close and Carrie hurried to block it. “You won’t have any problem locating me,” she said. “I’ll be the one dressed like Sister Maria in The Sound of Music.”
Kyle chuckled and she stepped off and allowed the door to close.
Carrie found her room. Although she’d taken a shower just two hours previously, she took another, letting the hot water spray over her for several minutes.
Feeling relaxed, she wrapped herself in a thick terry-cloth bathrobe she found hanging in the closet and took a small bottle of wine from the tiny refrigerator in the base of the nightstand. It’d probably cost a fortune. A minute container of peanuts was nearly eight bucks. She didn’t look at the price list, knowing she probably wouldn’t drink it if she knew how much it cost.
Having been raised in a God-fearing, churchgoing family, Carrie rarely sampled spirits. This evening, however, she made an exception.
The wine was surprisingly good, and exactly what she needed to relax her. Checking the time, she moved into the bathroom, dressed, and applied her makeup. When she finished, she carefully examined herself in the mirror, wondering what Kyle saw when he looked at her. Did he still view her as a nuisance, or did he see her as enticing and beautiful? Closing her eyes, she fervently prayed it was the latter.
The cocktail party was in full swing when Carrie arrived. After registering for the conference and pinning on her badge, she stood in the doorway, peering in, searching a sea of faces for Kyle. When she didn’t immediately locate him, she sighed with regret and walked into the crowded ballroom.
Not knowing anyone, Carrie bought herself a second glass of white wine. She was eager to find Kyle. They’d spent the last three days together, hoping to find a common ground, and in that short amount of time Carrie had bonded so completely with her co-worker that she felt as if a part of herself was missing without him at her side.
Carrying the glass of wine with her, she strolled around the room, observing others. She recognized a few of the names on the badges, legends in the industry, deejays she’d listened to, studied, and admired for years.
“Carrie!”
She turned around to find Tom Atkins coming toward her. A smile lit up his face.
“Tom,” she said, brightening as well. “You’re a sight for sore eyes.”
He laughed and hugged her. “Damn but it’s good to see you. Now tell me about that newscaster who’s got you so uptight.”
“Oh, Kyle isn’t so bad,” she said, trying to remember exactly what she’d told Tom about him.
“That’s not the way I heard it. You claimed he was impossible to work with and had made your life miserable. According to what you told me, he was out to have you replaced at the station. The guy sounds like a real bastard.”
Just then Carrie caught sight of Kyle. She was so pleased it was all she could do not to walk into his arms. “Kyle,” she said, raising her hand to attract his attention.
His eyes went from her to Tom and then back again as he joined them.
“Tom Atkins, this is Kyle Harris,” she said, slipping her arm through Kyle’s.
Now it was Tom’s turn to look confused. “This is the bastard you were telling me about?”
8
Kyle was furious. He’d made an ass of himself over Carrie. Hell, he was so crazy about her he’d driven clean off the road. Yet the minute they arrived in Dallas, she was warming up to another man.
As soon as he could, Kyle made his excuses and left Carrie alone with her cowboy friend. From that point on the evening deteriorated. It might have helped if he could stop thinking about her. But he couldn’t. Three days with her, and whatever sense he’d possessed had deserted him completely.
What he should be doing was networking, making contacts with other radio stations, keeping his ear to the ground for a job. God knew there wouldn’t be one waiting for him at KUTE.
He’d forgotten how fickle women could be. Walking over to the bar, Kyle ordered a double scotch. He carried the drink around with him until the ice melted, then took his first sip. It burned its way down the back of his throat and he grimaced, wondering what had possessed him to order a drink he hated.
The answer to that was simple: Carrie.
He caught sight of her then, huddled over a table, her head close to Atkins’s. She sure as hell didn’t resemble any nun he’d ever seen, he mused darkly. True, her skirt was long and black, but it clung to her hips like plastic wrap, outlining every womanly curve.
&n
bsp; He had it bad, and it wasn’t going to get any better with him standing there ogling her like a lovesick puppy.
A lone saxophone played in the distance, the low, deep notes calling out the blues. Appropriate music for a man who felt as if he’d been hit with a brick alongside the head.
He downed the rest of his scotch, walked over to the bar, and set the glass down. The bartender was about to pour him another when Kyle’s hand stopped him.
“You don’t want another drink?” the man asked, looking surprised.
“Just give me what’s left of the bottle.”
“The bottle?” The guy’s eyebrows shot halfway to his hairline. “My guess is there’s a woman involved in this.”
“Isn’t there always?” Kyle answered with a half-hearted chuckle. He signed his name to the tab, charging it to his room number, and left the party.
Kyle had never been much of a drinker, but there were times when the only solace he could find was at the bottom of a bottle. He’d pay dearly for his weakness in the morning, but at the moment he didn’t give a damn. It wasn’t every night Kyle, who thought of himself as sane and sensible, was forced to admit he’d been a fool.
The couple on the elevator gave him an odd look, but Kyle ignored them. Let ’em think what they damn well wanted. He lifted the bottle to his lips and downed a generous sip of the scotch, then bared his front teeth and shook his head several times. If he was going to take up drinking, he’d best learn to like it.
His hotel room was dark and lonely. He flipped on the one dim lamp. Shadows moved against the opposite wall as he sank into the chair and set the bottle on the table.
He loosened his tie by wiggling it back and forth several times and freed the top button of his starched shirt. It was time to get good and drunk.
He was about to search for a glass when a knock sounded against his door.
Kyle wasn’t in the mood for company and ignored the summons. There wasn’t anyone he was interested in talking to. The knock came again, louder this time, more determined.
“Come on, Kyle, I know you’re in there.”
Carrie.
Kyle exhaled sharply, marched to the door, and jerked it open. His eyes slammed into hers and for a moment neither one of them spoke.
“What do you want?” he demanded.
“To talk to you.”
“Another time,” he said gruffly, and started to close the door.
Carrie’s foot blocked it. Damn those eyes of hers, he thought. They looked up at him wide, dark, and appealing. It was like mistreating Bambi.
“Please,” she said softly.
He shrugged and stepped aside. She walked into the room, sat down in the chair, and propped her feet against the bed, exposing her heavy black shoes.
Her gaze followed his. “Do you mind if I take these off? They’re killing my feet.”
“Feel free.”
She slipped off the shoes and flexed her nylon-covered toes.
Kyle went into the bathroom and returned with a glass.
“Bring two,” she instructed.
“Do you drink hard liquor?” he asked, surprised.
“Not generally, but it’s what the house is offering.”
Kyle grudgingly did as she asked. When he set the glasses down on the table, Carrie reached for the bottle and poured them each a generous portion.
She sampled hers first, and Kyle watched her, curious as to how well she handled her liquor. He had to give her credit. The only outward sign that the scotch had affected her was that her eyes started to water. She blinked furiously for a couple of seconds, then gasped as if she’d been holding her breath.
Kyle sat down next to her. “You wanted to talk?”
“Yeah,” she said. It sounded as if her voice came from the bottom of a tin drum. She took a second drink and then coughed so hard he had to pound her on the back.
“You all right?”
She nodded. “I…think so. What is this stuff, toxic waste?”
“Scotch.”
“Oh.” She studied the contents of the glass as if she were expecting it to spell out the future. Kyle guessed she was looking for courage. “I wanted to explain about this evening. You see, I’ve known Tom Atkins since college, and before the conference I asked him to—”
“Do you mind if we don’t discuss your college sweetheart?” he snapped, in no mood for whatever confession she intended to make.
“Kyle,” she said softly. Her eyes fairly glowed. “You’re jealous.”
His first instinct was to deny it, but she’d see through that soon enough. “Think what you want.” He took a liberal sip of liquor.
“We’re old college friends. The emphasis is on the word friends.”
“Great.” He looked at his watch, hoping to give the impression he had people to see, things to do, and her unexpected arrival was detaining him.
The room went silent. He wondered how long she intended to play her little game.
“I’d be jealous too,” she said, in a voice so low he had to strain to hear. “If I arrived at a party and saw you with another woman, that is.”
Kyle was sifting through her words, attempting to derive some meaning, when Carrie feverishly waved a hand against her face. “Is it hot in here, or is it just me?”
“It’s hot.” He stood to check the air-conditioning, and when he turned around he found Carrie standing and unfastening the buttons of her white cotton blouse.
“What the hell are you doing?” he demanded.
She glanced up at him and blinked. “Cooling down. Don’t look so shocked, you’ve seen me wearing far less.”
He opened his mouth to argue with her and realized she was right. As far as he was concerned, those baby doll pajamas of hers were designed for Playboy covers.
“How much have you had to drink?” he asked. That might explain a good deal.
She paused as if she needed to think about the answer. “A couple of glasses of wine—maybe three, all told—and now the scotch. Not that much. I’m not drunk, if that’s what you’re thinking. At least I don’t think I am.” She hesitated and ran her hand over her face. “Then again, I might be just a little bit tipsy; otherwise I’d never have had the courage to come up to your room.”
Tugging the blouse free of her waistband, she looked up at him once more. “Would you mind very much if I removed my pantyhose? I’d forgotten how much I hate these things. Generally I wear thigh highs, but they didn’t sell them in Paris.” Not waiting for a reply, she hiked up the skirt and gathered it around her waist, exposing her thighs and long, shapely legs.
Carrie was a petite thing and he’d never thought of her as long-legged, but just then they seemed to zoom all the way to her neck. Kyle swallowed uncomfortably, unable to take his eyes away.
Hooking her thumbs over the top of the nylons, Carrie was just about to shimmy out of the pantyhose when she lost her balance.
Kyle sprang into action. With her pantyhose halfway down her thighs, Carrie would have fallen head first onto the floor if he hadn’t leaped to his feet and grabbed her.
Unfortunately his own balance was precarious at best, and before he knew it they both toppled. Kyle attempted to twist around so that he took the brunt of the fall, but as it happened they landed on top of the bed.
Both were breathing deeply, unevenly. The side of her face was pressed against the mattress, scant inches from his own. They stared at each other for several silent seconds.
“I’ve made such a mess of everything,” she whispered, her eyes wide, her look crestfallen and miserable.
“No, you haven’t,” he countered, his own voice barely audible.
Her eyes drifted shut and it seemed words weren’t going to convince her, so he did what he’d been wanting to do from the moment she walked into the door. He kissed her.
Big mistake.
The moment his mouth met hers, Kyle knew there was no stopping. With a deep-seated groan, he gathered her into his arms. She came willingly, eagerly,
wrapping her arms around his neck, and with a sigh she kissed him back.
She felt so good in his arms, Kyle couldn’t make himself stop.
“Kyle?” she said, between kisses.
“Hmm?” His tongue outlined the shape of her lips before he kissed her again.
“Never mind.” She sighed. “It isn’t important.”
Kyle smiled down on her before lowering his mouth to hers once more. She tasted of scotch and woman, both equally potent, equally stimulating. His intention that night had been to get good and drunk, but he’d rather get intoxicated with Carrie.
They continued to kiss and undress each other at the same time. Kyle shucked off his shirt but had something of a problem ridding himself of his tie. Carrie tried to help him, but the silly thing got caught on his ear. It was hell to break away from her, even for those few seconds, in order to discard it himself. While he was up, he turned off the lamp.
The room went dark and still, and the intimacy of the night wrapped itself around them. Kyle’s breathing was labored. If there was ever a time for them to reclaim their sanity, it was now.
“I want to make love to you,” he whispered, lying down next to her. His arms felt empty without her, but he didn’t want his touch to influence her. If she decided she wanted out, the time to go was now, but he’d be hard-pressed to let her leave. He’d never wanted a woman this way before. His whole body seemed to throb.
“I know what you want,” she whispered. “I want you too.”
Kyle heard the desire in her voice and knew this was the reason she’d come to his room, but whether she was willing to admit it or not was another matter entirely.
“Who would have believed…” she murmured.
“Believed?” He kissed her, wondering how much longer he could hold off.
“You and me? This is the craziest, most wonderful moment of my life.”
“Carrie.”
“Hmm?”
“Be quiet.” She was moaning even before his mouth closed over her nipple. He loved the taste and feel of her and ran the tip of his tongue over the hardened bud. He sucked gently and experienced a wild sense of elation when her hips came off the mattress and her spine arched upward.
One Night Page 10
