Open Invitation

by Tiffany White

  As if to thwart her efforts at resistance, his deep, resonant voice floated out from the television and caressed her. It was difficult to stave off the seductive powers of a voice that registered somewhere around 7.8 on her own personal Richter scale. Working opposite him on camera was going to take all of her composure. Frowning, she picked up her salad and speared a bright bit of tomato.

  Kyle always opened the program with a commentary on whatever movie tidbit struck his fancy. As he introduced a series of film clips featuring Leslie Masters, Amanda wondered what he was getting at. The actress hadn’t appeared in a movie in some time.

  “Leslie Masters lights up the screen and reminds us that blondes have more fun,” Kyle began, the timbre of his voice low and suggestive, as it had been when he’d proposed dumping his date after Amanda’s hand, had blundered into his lap at the movie.

  Amanda’s thinking on the blunder had gone from initial embarrassment to a certain detached enjoyment. At odd moments she found herself delighting in having caught Kyle off guard, however unintentionally. She even found herself lingering over the feel of him….

  “Unfortunately for the movies,” Kyle went on, “Leslie Masters has moved on to the small screen of television. She put her blonde sizzle into The Big Corral several seasons ago, teaming with Jake Ross for some white-hot horsing around on the ranch.”

  “Oh, I’m sure,” Amanda said with a smirk. “Jake Ross is a blast furnace all by himself, you idiot,” she muttered to Kyle’s image on the television screen, enjoying herself immensely. Having had parents who’d barely noticed her existence, she’d long ago fallen into the habit of entertaining herself.

  But the man didn’t know when to quit. Now he was rambling on about Leslie Master’s current television series.

  “Leslie’s elbowing her way through the popular Friday-night series Baker’s Place. It’s a shame the only place you can find a sexy, feisty blonde like the ones who lit up the movie screens in the romantic comedies of the thirties and forties is on television. I only wish Miss Masters would do a movie now and then.”

  Kyle began his closing for the segment with a twinkle in his baby blues. “While there is much that is charming and entertaining on television…”

  “Cute, Kyle, cute,” Amanda sputtered, carrying on her one-sided conversation with his image. The man really had no modesty.

  “…sitting in a well-lighted living room watching television just isn’t the same as sitting in a darkened theater watching a movie—” his voice lowered to a lazy, naughty tease “—sharing the fantasy.”

  Amanda sat up and took notice.

  Why hadn’t she thought of it before? It had been right in front of her nose all along. He was a movie reviewer, like herself, so it followed that fantasy would be his weakness.

  She smiled a cat-in-the-cream smile.

  She had him.

  And the great part was, he had been the one to give her the ammunition for her to get even.

  Her mind began to plot. She could feel the adrenaline starting to pump through her system and wondered if this was how men always felt at the challenge of seduction.

  Flipping off the television, she crossed to the oak writing desk and lifted several sheets of pale pink stationery and a fountain pen from the center drawer and carried them upstairs to the bathroom.

  She turned on the taps and began filling the tub with warm water. Then, unwrapping the new bar of scented soap that smelled like fresh rain, she shed her T-shirt and slipped into the inviting, warm water for a long, decadent soak.

  She was going to boggle Kyle Fox’s mind. He was about to be turned on on purpose. Her anticipatory smile was positively wicked as she reached for the pen and paper.

  Kyle Fox didn’t stand a Yuppie’s chance in a redneck bar.

  THE TOP WAS OFF Kyle’s black Corvette, and the night air felt oddly warm for early March. It looked as if they were in for a couple of days of warm weather. As he sped along the highway, Amanda’s image teased his mind. Truth be told, she’d been on his mind more often than not since he’d met her.

  He couldn’t figure out why, because she annoyed the hell out of him. He hated prim and proper.

  It couldn’t be her personality that intrigued him. When she wasn’t being prickly, she was just too damned nice. It was the only four-letter word that offended him. As far as he was concerned, nice was short for repressed.

  He remembered Amanda’s blunder into his lap. As he drove, the wind carried his chuckle away into the night. If she’d known he’d been imagining her purposely caressing him there when it had happened, she would have been mortified. Hell, her touch had almost taken the top of his head off.

  But he was quite certain Miss Butterworth never had such lascivious thoughts. Damned shame, too. He wanted her to have the same lascivious thoughts about him he was having about her.

  He’d like to slide his hand up her long legs, which she kept encased in those virgin pastel hose, on up under her prim and proper long skirt. As he pulled into the parking space in front of his condo, he grew hard just envisioning it.

  He hadn’t wanted to like her so much. She probably thought he was a real jerk. It was just that she pushed his buttons when she got frosty on him.

  Frustrated, he fumbled with his keys and finally managed to unlock his front door. The scent of a woman’s perfume lingering in the air confronted him immediately. He wrinkled his brow in puzzlement. Where in the hell had that come from? He’d never brought a woman to his condo. The few times he’d gotten that involved, he’d preferred going to their place. That way he could leave before things got too domestic.

  Showing his true emotions was a bit of a sticky wicket for him. He hid his feelings behind a glib facade women rarely, if ever, got past. Self-disclosure wasn’t something he indulged in. His friendships tended to be more on the social side than intimate. The perfume was definitely out of place and therefore disturbing.

  Where was it coming from?

  Glancing around, his eyes finally lit on a pale pink envelope, addressed to him in a feminine slant, lying on the quarry tile floor of his entranceway. As he bent to pick it up, the source of the perfume lingering in the air became readily apparent. Studying the envelope, he jammed one hand on his hip.

  Failing to recognize the handwriting, he carried the envelope to the kitchen with him and laid it on the white Formica countertop. It took him a few minutes to remember where he’d hidden his favorite chocolate chip cookies from himself.

  After digging through his pantry, he located the Crock-Pot he’d stashed them in and tore open the package, knowing the binge was going to mean extra sit-ups. It was worth it, he decided when he bit into the rich, gooey cookie. Picking up the curious pink envelope again, he studied it pensively. There was nothing subtle about the scent of the perfume. It’s musky, sensual fragrance meant serious business…man/woman business.

  Should he open it? he wondered, rubbing the cleft in his chin with his long forefinger. He frowned. How had a fan gotten his address? His fan mail usually stacked up unopened at the station, until Noah had Toby package and deliver it to Kyle’s condo.

  Toby. Kyle grinned, realizing the answer. Toby was no match for a pleading female voice, especially in person, when it was accompanied by long, batting eyelashes. Sometimes he thought Toby worked harder than he did at maintaining his reputation as a ladies’ man.

  As he held it, trying to make up his mind, the masculinity of his tan hand contrasted with the small, pretty envelope. There was no postmark, so someone had gone to a lot of trouble to hand deliver it and slip it through the mail slot in his door.

  Aw, hell, he decided, what could it hurt? After opening the refrigerator to get a cold glass of milk to go with the chocolate chip cookies, he ripped open the envelope before he could think better of it.

  As his blue eyes scanned the first few lines, he realized it wasn’t an ordinary fan letter. Not ordinary at all….

  Kyle,

 
Your show Tuesday night made it quite clear that blondes are your preference.

  I’m not blond, Kyle. But perhaps you’d like me.

  Do you like sunny beaches? I do. I’m going for a swim. Do you like my swimsuit? I thought you might. It’s strapless, but I don’t have any trouble keeping it up, do I, Kyle?

  See how high the legs are cut on the curve of my hips… leaving only a narrow swath of hot-pink material to slide between my thighs like a man’s hand

  Maybe your hand, Kyle?

  Feel the heat of the sun’s rays beating down…. I’ll need to use suntan oil. One can’t be too careful with soft, tender skin. Don’t you want to slick the oil onto my bare skin and smooth your hands over my curves?

  That’s right. Drizzle oil on my shoulders and down my arms. Pay no attention to the drop of oil that just slithered between my breasts. Concentrate instead on my shoulders. Rub your thumbs slowly along the hollows of my neck. Run your hands leisurely down my arms. I can feel the tremble of your touch, the hot whisper of your breath on my neck. Kyle, you’ve moved in much too close.

  What’s that you said? Well, I am tempted to let you do my legs…maybe next time. But you can watch. See, I’m putting a little pool of suntan oil in the palm of my hand. Now I’m sliding my hands over my ankles. See the slender gold anklet I wear. Always. My hands are slippery as they smooth up my calves and over my knees. Did you know the backs of my knees are ticklish?

  Next my thighs….

  Kyle! Give me back the suntan oil. What do you think you’re doing…soooo well. Oh Kyle! Please….

  And Kyle, I swim naked. Do you have any idea how sensuous it feels to have water lapping over every bare inch of you, caressing your skin like a lover’s tongue…?

  Sleep well, Kyle….

  Kyle stood staring at the letter written on pink stationery. How could he be so hot and so cold at the same time? It was then he realized he was standing in front of the open refrigerator with his hand on a carton of cold milk. He’d been standing there in a trance the whole time he’d read the letter. Picking up the carton of milk, he took a large swallow, then set it back in the refrigerator. He finished the last of his chocolate chip cookies and laughed out loud.

  Whoever had written the letter had had a great time writing her outrageous fantasy…but not half as much fun as he’d had reading it.

  He opened the cabinet door beneath the sink to toss the audacious letter into the trash, then changed his mind. His curiosity, among other things, was aroused. He’d like to meet up with the lady who’d written it. If she was anything like the fantasy, she was too good to be true…or too bad to be true.

  He headed toward his living room, the letter still in his hand. His living room walls were decorated with movie posters, but not old ones. Like everything else in his condo, the posters were up-to-the-minute and on the cutting edge of what was happening. Crossing to his black-lacquered desk, he slipped the letter into the shallow center drawer, and went to take a quick shower.

  Ten minutes later, he lay naked across his futon bed, willing himself to sleep. But he didn’t.

  Instead, he tossed and turned restlessly. He kept seeing the woman described in the fantasy, walking toward him in her incredible hot-pink swimsuit.

  Smiling an invitation, she offered him a flask of suntan oil…and her very nubile body. And then she was peeling off the swimsuit, arcing into the water. She swam out, turned, then floated toward him on her back and drove him right out of the bed.

  As he grabbed his swim trunks from a bottom drawer, he muttered a colorful curse. Pulling them on, he headed for the condo’s heated outdoor pool—never mind that it was after midnight. When he got to the pool, he remembered the last line of the fantasy in the letter and discarded his swim trunks.

  His final thought before he emptied his mind and sliced through the moonlit water for some serious swimming was that whoever had written the letter was right. The water’s lap was silky and sensual against his naked body…a lover’s caress.

  AMANDA WAS DISTRAUGHT. The taping wasn’t going well.

  Directly across from her sat the person responsible. At the moment, they were waiting for a lighting technician to make an adjustment, and Kyle was giving her that “Who, me?” look of a new puppy who’d just soiled the carpet.

  And the worst of it was that he looked just as cute as a new puppy. No. The worst of it was that he knew he looked cute. Today he was wearing—along with his pretense of innocence—a navy flannel one-button suit, a blue-and-white striped cotton shirt, with the French cuffs she’d suspected, red suspenders, a polka-dot silk tie and sexy Italian shoes.

  She hadn’t known what to expect when they began taping, but Kyle had put her at ease by being polite and listening attentively. After each of her reviews, he’d followed with one of his own.

  Following the third one, she’d begun to get nervous. He’d been charming and entertaining, as usual, not letting it show that having a cohost bothered him. He’d also agreed with every one of her reviews. She should have been suspicious at Kyle’s offer to let her go first.

  It couldn’t be coincidence, she was certain. He was doing it on purpose. He knew good and well that without disagreement there would be no controversy. And without controversy, there was no reason to add her to the show. He was shrewdly undermining her debut, letting her know the show belonged to him and he didn’t have any intention of sharing it with her.

  No wonder he hadn’t written a script to consult, as she had. He was winging it. And doing a hell of a good job of shutting her out, Amanda grudgingly admitted to herself. Oh, he was good, all right. But she’d fought hard for her success, and she wasn’t going to give up without giving Kyle a battle.

  She was going to have to do something—anything—to get him going, to get him to disagree with her. It shouldn’t be hard. Think. She had to think. He disagreed with her all the time…about everything.

  The lighting technician finished his task, and the taping resumed.

  “And so we come to the last movie Miss Butterworth and I will be reviewing today,” Kyle informed the camera with a satisfied smile Amanda longed to wipe off his face. “Miss Butterworth….”

  “Why don’t you go first this time, Mr. Fox?” she said sweetly, foiling his system of sabotaging her reviews.

  Kyle was caught off balance by her maneuver, but only momentarily. His smile should have warned her he’d made a quick recovery.

  “This one is easy, isn’t it?” he began.

  Amanda frowned. The movie was one of those dreadful macho vehicles Kyle regularly recommended for their entertainment value. After seeing this one with him, she remembered recommending he not pick any more films to review that were—how had she put it?—oh yeah, “full of car chases, bullets and babes.” There was no way they could agree on this film.

  “This film is slick and fast, without a memorable plot,” he began, “perhaps without even a discernible plot.”

  Amanda’s response was stunned astonishment.

  Kyle looked over at her, his devious blue eyes twinkling with mischief. His smile was disarming, but his next line was loaded. “There is however, plenty of action, with car chases, bullets and babes galore. Don’t you agree, Miss Butterworth?”

  Damn him. He’d taken the words right out of her mouth. Except when he said them, they sounded like a recommendation.

  Kyle waited for her to gather her wits, his smug smile saying he knew she was too proper to change her review and play dirty.

  Amanda crossed her legs and the lights caught the gold chain on her slender ankle. “I must admit I’m amazed that once again we agree, Mr. Fox. It’s a situation I can’t imagine continuing.”

  Glancing at Kyle, Amanda’s mood swung from total frustration to mounting amusement. Kyle’s attention had leaped to her anklet, his gaze riveting on the slender gold chain. His eyes narrowed as he continued to stare. She knew where his mind had traveled….

  Knowing she was
grasping at straws, she nevertheless seized the opportunity and took her best available shot.

  “It’s true we do agree it was an action film on the surface, but I believe you missed the underlying point the director was trying to make about a common problem in relationships. That is that men don’t listen to women when they talk. Don’t you agree, Mr. Fox?”

  “Huh?”

  Amanda enjoyed letting him hang out to dry a moment. Trying to keep the triumph from her voice and not succeeding, she borrowed one of Kyle’s smug smiles and said, “My point, exactly.”

  The protest she’d expected wasn’t long in coming.

  ‘‘What the hell are you talking about? Wait a minute…. Cut!” Kyle yelled, remembering suddenly that they were still on camera.

  He tore at the mike on his shirt and it snagged. The worm had turned and he was no longer smugly in control. He hadn’t heard a word Amanda had said since she’d crossed her legs and the light had caught her ankle bracelet. Surely Miss Butter-wouldn’t-melt-in-her-mouth couldn’t have written him the steamy fantasy. Nah…that was just wishful thinking on his part.

  Off to one side, Noah ran his hand over his bald head and smiled. The taping had gotten off to an unexpectedly tame start, but the finish was perfect. Kyle’s faux pas ought to stimulate some lively dinner table conversations between couples.

  As Amanda left the set, she smiled her first smile since the taping had begun. No matter how much Kyle protested, Noah insisted Kyle’s dumbfounded “Huh?” be the closing for the segment.

  When it came to blunders, they were even. Still, she couldn’t help feeling ahead. Her blunder had been in the dark, unseen by anyone. His had been on tape, to be seen by everyone.

  Kyle was still on the set. Toby was helping him unsnag his microphone.

  “What kind of swimsuit do you think Miss Butterworth wears?” he asked the young intern.

  “Miss Butterworth…?”

  “Never mind,” Kyle said as he watched Amanda walk away in her caramel-colored mock-turtleneck sweater, narrow, ankle-length, tobacco-colored suede skirt and proper alligator pumps. Her brown hair was pulled back in a chignon so tight her toenails probably hurt.