by Laura Moore
Christ, not even his little sister’s Barbie dolls could have done that, was all his sizzled brain could come up with.
Ty’s legs were extended perpendicular to her body, her torso flat on the bare wooden floor in front of her. Feet arched, toes pointed, her nails were painted a delectable pinky coral. It looked as if she were capable of staying in that position for the foreseeable future. Steve swallowed and took a deep breath, trying to think about something other than all the interesting things one could do with a body that flexible. Then he noticed the smell. “Whew, Jesus! What did that cleaning crew use in here?”
Slowly, she shifted her arms, bending them until she was propped on her elbows, her body now raised at a slight angle. Her legs remained stationary. Steve heard her voice come from somewhere beneath her shoulder.
“It’s not the room,” she corrected, “it’s me . . . Absorbine.” Her head shifted as she lowered her torso back down to the ground, groaning slightly as she did.
Ty was far too sore to feel even remotely selfconscious. She was trying to stretch her inner thighs in a Russian split. It had taken fifteen minutes to ease herself into this position, a feat usually accomplished quite naturally. Now that she’d worked her way down to the ground, she wasn’t about to move. Anyway, she was decently covered, and she’d bet her father’s annual income she didn’t have a thing Steve hadn’t seen before.
“You okay?” he asked.
“Do I look okay?” Her tone was acidic. She flexed her feet, groaning once again. Yes, indeed. More than okay, but obviously they were coming at the issue from different points of view. Now that Ty had explained the source of the odor, Steve could identify it. While admittedly strong and astringent, for some reason Absorbine had never seemed quite so overwhelming before. Must be the superior ventilation in the barn, he thought, his eyes beginning to water. “You sure you didn’t go a little heavy on the Absorbine? It’s pretty strong stuff.”
“I only used the one bottle. Bubba assured me he has plenty more. Maybe if I rub a gallon or so into my calves and thighs, I’ll begin to feel marginally better.”
He looked at her legs and found himself volunteering.
“No thanks,” Ty replied dryly. “But if you’d be willing to walk on my back, I’d be eternally grateful.”
An outrageous suggestion, but she really hurt. Badly. Otherwise, never in a million years would she have made such a request. Muscles Ty had never bothered to worry about were so incredibly tight that she wanted to bawl like a baby at the pain, at the gross injustice of her body betraying her this way.
“My walking on your back would make you feel better?” he asked incredulously. “I weigh a hundred and sixty-eight.”
“Oh, yes.” Ty’s head rubbed up and down against the bare wooden floor. “A bit heavier than Lars, but that’s okay. Go ahead,” she encouraged. “I won’t break. Though I doubt I’d even notice if I did,” she added as an afterthought.
“You, uh, want me to step on you while you’re like that?” Steve inquired, trying to keep his voice casual, approaching her carefully, his eyes glued to the onehundredeighty-degree line her legs formed from her hip sockets. While he was learning to expect the unexpected, this was pushing the envelope on weird, wild, and never to be believed. Ty had seemed like a pretty straitlaced woman up to now.
“Oh, right. Wait a sec.” Like the arms of a corkscrew, her legs slowly came together. Steve watched, mesmerized, his mouth dry.
As though stepping into dangerous waters, Steve lifted his foot hesitantly, not knowing what to expect as he lowered it onto Ty’s slender back. He stared fixedly at the little pink lines of her ribbed tank top, holding his breath in suspense. When she didn’t scream out, he placed a little more weight on her.
“Go on, you’ve put, what, half your foot on me?”
“I’m going to crush you,” Steve warned, swallowing a huge lump lodged in his throat. It settled in his belly, spreading, one part anxiety mixed with nine parts lust.
“No way. Just don’t step on my spine, ’kay? Mmm, that’s right. Lord, that feels good.” Ty exhaled in dazed contentment as her body was gently compressed between Steve’s weight and the wooden floor boards.
Man, Steve thought, standing with both feet firmly placed on the small of Ty’s back, absorbing her little mews of contentment, his confidence growing apace. Last night’s fantasy of making out with Ty on the sofa was downright tame compared to this—not that he wasn’t a hundred percent sure he could kick up the level of erotic exotica if need be.
Ty’s body felt incredible beneath him.
Steve would never have guessed the soles of his feet could be this sensitive. The texture of her tank top, the way it slid over smooth, resilient flesh, muscles, and bones . . . each minute detail registered, becoming part of him.
Wiping sweat from his palms against the faded fabric of his jeans, Steve extended his arms for balance and took a small step up the length of her back. Her soft groan had sweat popping out all over again.
“So, you generally into kinky stuff? Whips, bondage, warm honey? And who’s Lars?”
“No, this is as kinky as I get.” She gave a muffled laugh that sounded awfully close to a purr, Steve noted, his body temperature rising a couple notches more. “But I do usually pay Lars to do . . .” She pronounced a japanese term that Steve thought sounded awfully like sushi. “Perhaps that qualifies as kinky, now that you mention it. Lars is fabulous. A Swedish demigod with an adoring clientele, every single one of them begging to lie down and be used like rugs. The names of the people that man has walked on would astound you.”
An image blossomed in Steve’s mind of a pasty-faced creep, who probably had weekly sessions reserved for him at the local tanning salon, stomping on Ty. Didn’t she know she could get diseases that way, athlete’s foot at the very least?
Ty’s voice cut into his thoughts. “By the way, for your information, this is the only time I’m going to let you walk all over me.” He’d been doing a close approximation, anyway, since the very first day at the lawyers’ office, Ty reflected, remembering his attitude toward her. “This is an emergency situation. Don’t read more into it than that.”
So Ty considered this a one-shot deal, did she? That she could use him and then throw him over for some plantar-wart-ridden moron named Lars? Time to show his partner just what he was capable of. What she was up against. “Oh, yeah? You sure about that?” His voice was mild, disinterested even, as slowly, deliberately, Steve curled each of his toes into her, pressing down firmly. Exultant when he felt her response, her muscles and bones melting beneath his soles. From her lips an involuntary moan of helpless pleasure.
A broad grin split Steve’s face. Sure as the sun rose in the east, he was gonna get—and in the very near future, too—another chance to walk all over Miss Ty Stannard.
Minutes slipped by as Steve continued his sensual path up and down Ty’s back. He was gearing up to suggest a full body massage at no extra charge when the doorbell rang, surprising him enough to jump lightly off her back, the floor a decidedly second-rate surface now.
Steve watched Ty roll gingerly to her side. Distracted, the doorbell relegated to some distant region of his brain, his eyes roamed over the length of her body, admiring the yards of silken flesh her shorts and tank top revealed. Yes, he decided, Ty could definitely benefit from a deep tissue massage. Dear Lord, her abused muscles were still aching. While her inner thighs were doing somewhat better after stretching them out in the split, her hamstring muscles felt like old rubber bands, ready to snap. Preoccupied, Ty stared balefully at her legs, racking her brains for a stretch that might relax them, only little by little becoming aware of Steve’s heated gaze. When her eyes encountered his, a brilliant, blazing blue, bright with arousal, Ty’s heart thudded madly against her ribs. The room, quiet except for the sound of Ty and Steve’s breathing, was once more disturbed by the insistent chime of the doorbell. This time the ring was even longer, a finger driving its way into the wall
“Uh, hadn’t you better answer the door?” Ty asked, her gaze trapped in his. And leave? Like hell. “Whoever it is will go away.”
But whoever it was didn’t. A third, then a fourth ring came in quick, impatient succession, and Ty rose stiffly to her feet, the spell broken. She raised an eyebrow at him.
“All right, all right, I’m going,” Steve grumbled. Sidestepping the mug of coffee he’d placed on the floor, he reached down to pick it up. “I brought you some coffee. Probably stone cold by now.” Poor kid, Steve thought, with a mixture of sympathy and amusement as Ty walked toward him with overly careful, too-precise steps. She was moving the way a quarterback did after being sacked, unsure she could trust her legs to support her. “Guess this means you don’t want to go for a bareback gallop on the beach with me.”
“Very funny. Ha ha.” Ty cast him a withering glare, not amused in the least. “Go see who’s at the door. I’ll be down in a minute.”
“You might want to open some windows before you leave. Aerate the place. You’re probably killing brain cells by the millions.”
At least I have them to kill, she nearly retorted, but didn’t, remembering the incredible way Steve could use his feet. “Go away,” said Ty, in her severest tone, taking baby steps toward her closet. Only the presence of a truly gorgeous woman could temporarily dispel from Steve’s mind the image of Ty’s body one short flight of stairs above and all the things he planned to do with it. Only a truly gorgeous woman, with Titian-red hair, cornflower-blue eyes, and mouth stretched wide in a thousand-watt smile, saying, “Surprise!” prevented Steve from immediately slamming the door in her face and running back up the stairs to Ty’s room so that he could begin working on fantasies one through a thousand.
He paused, allowing himself the pleasure of a good second look. A woman this beautiful didn’t darken a man’s doorway every morning—or any other time of the day, for that matter. A rare gift should be appreciated, he said to himself, as a smile of masculine approval lit his tanned face, set his blue eyes twinkling. As far as Steve was concerned, one couldn’t ask for a finer start to the day than he’d had so far.
“Sweetheart,” Steve drawled, “as surprises go, this is one of the nicest I’ve ever had the pleasure of receiving. Do I know you?” Not that he really cared. He was quite willing to play host to this woman, acquaintance or not. Her face, though, seemed familiar. Maybe they’d met in a bar or a restaurant in town.
Her laugh was as delightful as the rest of her. “ Actually, I’m here for Ty. I’m a friend of hers, Lizzie Osborne.” The vision extended her right hand.
Steve shook it, replying, “Steve Sheppard.” At the mention of Ty, however, a peculiar thing happened to him. Somehow, the sheer man-oh-man of this woman’s presence paled.
“Oh, I know who you are, Steve,” Lizzie replied cheerfully. A terrific voice, he couldn’t help noting, the kind that made you want to smile. Still, he preferred Ty’s, sometimes clipped and snooty, other times soft and achingly vulnerable.
“Is Ty around?”
“Upstairs. Should be down in a minute. Would you like to come in?” Steve stepped back from his position by the doorjamb.
Lizzie glanced behind her. “My daughter’s asleep in the car. We set out early to avoid the traffic around New York. I’ll try to get her out of the car seat without waking her.”
“Need a hand?” Steve asked, following her out to a dark blue Volvo station wagon.
“More like moral support.” Lizzie flashed a grin over her shoulder. “Ordinarily, Emma’s a sweetie, but she gets real cranky if she’s awakened from a nap. If you could just grab the bag from the backseat, that’d be great.”
Lizzie opened the back door quietly and bent over the form of a toddler strapped in the car seat. Steve caught sight of strawberry-blond hair curling wildly, cheeks flushed with sleep. Carefully, Lizzie unbuckled the center strap and began to lift her daughter, handling her as delicately as if she were a Faberg? egg.
A wasted effort. Whether Lizzie’s daughter sensed the slight shift in her body as she was lifted or felt the cool of the morning on her rosy cheeks was anybody’s guess. Whatever the reason, by the time they reached the front door, Emma had worked herself into a fullblown snit and was busy communicating her displeasure to anyone within a mile of the house.
Lizzie’s soft crooning of “Emma, hon, guess where we are? We’re at Ty’s house, just like I told you,”
along with the kisses she was planting on Emma’s tearstained face, had little effect. They entered the house with Emma still going full force.
It was a sign of just how thrilled Ty and Lizzie were to see each other that their cries of “Hello,”
“Surprise,” “I can’t believe this—what are you doing here?”’ were audible over the din Emma was making.
When Ty said, “Here, let me take Emma; maybe that will distract her,” Steve sent a quick prayer heavenward. His eardrums were starting to ring.
But the noise became even shriller as soon as Lizzie got within range of Ty. “My God, what’s happened to you? Those circles under your eyes, you look like death warmed over . . . and that smell! What is it?”
Ty, too chagrined to explain, began lurching toward Lizzie and Emma with all the grace of someone just recovering from two busted legs. At that point, Lizzie’s horror underwent a swift transformation. Eyes flashing, she whirled, snarling, “What have you done to her? She’s crippled!”
His head snapped back as Lizzie advanced menacingly. And he’d been dumb enough to categorize Ty’s friend as an easygoing party girl? The woman was out for blood. “If you’ve hurt Ty,” the virago continued, coming far too close for comfort, “I’ll make you rue the day you were born, you . . .”
Hands up, Steve took a hasty step backward. “Whoa, hold on there, all I did was walk on Ty’s back, and she asked me to . . .”
Ty spoke up. Loudly. Drowning out Steve’s reply and Emma’s continued squawks. “I’m okay, really, Lizzie. Lizzie,” she repeated even more loudly, finally getting her friend’s attention. “I’m okay. Just a little stiff. I went riding yesterday.”
Fortunately for Steve, Ty’s words registered. As the words sank in, Lizzie’s reaction was comical. Jaw slack with astonishment, a huge grin began spreading over her face. Then, with an ecstatic “Yes!” Lizzie pumped her closed fist in the air, boots stomping as she ran in place, Emma bouncing in her arms. Victory dance complete, she pounced, planting a loud kiss on Steve’s cheek. “You, Steve Sheppard, are a good man,” Lizzie exclaimed, beaming approval. “An excellent man. Thank you! Thank you! Thank you! Emma, honey, give Steve a big kiss. He got Ty back on a horse again!”
Emma seemed to share her mother’s quicksilver temperament. No longer put out now that the adults were providing such noisy entertainment with which to distract her, Emma happily stretched out chubby arms. A split second later, Steve received another, much wetter buss on the cheek. Then the toddler, leaning dramatically away from her mother’s body, was immediately transferred to Ty’s impatient embrace.
Steve watched Ty hug Emma fiercely, the little girl’s arms wrapped about her neck. An odd sort of contentment filled him as Ty stood there, her dark, sleek head close to Emma’s, whispering about how big she’d gotten in the past two weeks, while Emma jabbered on in a high-pitched voice about ponies, toys, books, Mommy, and food.
The mention of food was enough to send the small party ambling into the kitchen. Steve poured coffee, Ty sat at the kitchen table with Emma on her lap, Lizzie hunted through the refrigerator for juice for Emma, also pulling out eggs, butter, bread, and maple syrup. Everyone tried to talk at once.
“The reason we’re here, waking you up at the crack of dawn, Ty, is that my fax machine went down yesterday. Darned thing went on strike. But as it happened, I was heading out this way in any case. I’m checking out some ponies this morning for the parents of one of my riders.” She mentioned the name of a stable in Amagansett, located about nine miles east of Steve’s place in Bridge
hampton. “If I find one that’s suitable and in my price range—a big if—I’m hoping to buy a school pony, too. Naturally, I came up with the brilliant idea that we’d drop by, hand over the client list and Vicky’s number, look at some ponies, and satisfy my insatiable curiosity about how you’re doing.” Lizzie grinned. “In other words, I’m breaking your cardinal rule and mixing business with pleasure.”
“That right, Ty, you don’t believe in mixing business with pleasure?” Steve asked, a wicked smile playing over his lips. He was standing near the kitchen sink, a hip cocked negligently against the butcher-block counter, hands wrapped around a mug of coffee.
He was too handsome by half. “I’ve always been told that it’s an invitation to disaster to mix the two,” Ty replied, pleased that her voice sounded so steady.
Steve merely smiled, saying nothing. But she could feel his eyes on her mouth, instantly conjuring the incredible sensation of what it had been like to feel his lips moving over hers. Hurriedly she looked away, but then made the foolish mistake of glancing down at his bare feet.
Embarrassment swept through her. Now that the moment had passed, she couldn’t believe she’d been so, well, so brazen as to ask Steve to walk on her back. Then she thought of how Steve’s weight bore down upon her, the force easing all the knots inside her, making her loose with pleasure. Such incredible pleasure. And she didn’t mix business with pleasure? Hah! What a total hypocrite she was. She knew it, and so, obviously, did Steve.
Hastily, Ty redirected her thoughts. “It’s really great to see you and Emma.”
Lizzie handed Ty a cup of juice for Emma, which the two-year-old tried to grab with both hands. “Ditto for us, Ty. We’re also pleased to make Steve’s acquaintance,” she added archly. She hadn’t missed the look Ty and Steve had exchanged. Or that it positively sizzled. Lizzie was thrilled; this had been a long time coming. “You’ve got a truly beautiful place here, Steve.”
