Open Invitation

by Tiffany White

  Amanda nodded and smiled smugly. “I hope you didn’t bother to bring yours, as you won’t be needing it.”

  “We’ll see….” Kyle countered, feigning a lazy confidence he didn’t feel.

  The excitement of the night already had Amanda feeling very giddy. Giddy enough to have worn the sexy outfit to exact a little advantage on Kyle.

  Any advantage she had was negated by how smashing he looked in his tuxedo. He was a perfect example of a man wearing the clothes instead of the clothes wearing the man. No matter what he wore, Kyle was blatantly sexy and appealing. She glared at him in annoyance as the weatherman stopped to rub in last week’s practical joke.

  Kyle caught Amanda’s look and knew he’d better win. He was half-afraid that when it came to him, her fantasy involved something unpleasant having to do with hot tar and feathers.

  When the weatherman left, Kyle turned to Amanda. To lessen the tension between them, he nudged her playfully and nodded to the deserted hallway. “Come with me,” he invited.

  “No way,” she answered, remembering all too well why he liked deserted hallways.

  “I’ll be good—promise,” he said, stilling her objection by making a small cross over his heart.

  She followed him into the hallway. “I don’t really believe you brought your envelope,” he teased.

  “Well, I did.”

  “I’ll show you mine if you’ll show me yours,” he said with a suggestive wink.

  Deciding to humor him, she opened her small clutch and extracted a slim envelope, pale pink and a match to the three others she’d sent the fantasies to him in.

  Kyle’s eyes darkened and he swallowed the lump rising in his throat. Any doubts he might have harbored about her being his phantom correspondent vanished. She had definitely sent him the sexy fantasies.

  When he recovered his composure, he turned playful again.

  “I’m disappointed in you, Amanda.”

  “‘Disappointed’?” she repeated, looking puzzled.

  “Yeah, I’ve obviously worked much harder on my fantasy than you have on yours.” Flashing her a drop dead sexy grin, he slowly withdrew his envelope from his jacket pocket, comically removing the plain brown paper he’d wrapped around it for effect.

  Amanda tried unsuccessfully to smother a smile at his antics, but her smile slid from her lips and her eyes widened when the envelope containing the fantasy he’d written came into view.

  It was at least an inch thick!

  “I was wondering where you’d gotten off to,” Noah said, joining them in the hallway. “Well, are you two beautiful people ready to do the show?”

  “Ye-yes,” Amanda stammered, watching Kyle slip his thick envelope back into his tuxedo jacket with a pat.

  “Well, then let’s get the show in the can. Good luck to both of you.”

  “Thank the man,” Kyle instructed Amanda.

  “You’re going to need all the luck you can get, because I feel real lucky myself.”

  After a quick visit to makeup, they began taping.

  Kyle’s voice cracked halfway through his introduction to the show, when Amanda purposely crossed her legs and he caught a glimpse of the seams running up the backs of her black silk stockings.

  They had to stop and restart the tape.

  “Will you please behave yourself,” Kyle whispered a bit desperately while the lighting director was making an adjustment to the lighting.

  “But I’m at my best when I’m misbehaving,” Amanda answered glibly, tossing his own words back to haunt him.

  When they began retaping, Amanda almost missed her cue. She’d been so busy noticing how wonderful Kyle looked. He was all polish and shine from his black patent shoes to his gleaming baby blues. All the time he’d spent viewing movies had given him a flair for dressing up, or down, to any occasion. Not many men knew how to dress, and his effortless style was something Amanda really appreciated.

  They had decided early on to concentrate on the top awards: best picture, song, director, actor, actress and supporting actor and actress.

  The show got off to a slow start as they viewed and discussed film clips of the supporting players nominated. They had agreed on the same choices. An elderly actor was a sure win as a sentimental favorite, and a young English actress had made a smashing debut in a period piece the British were so fond of and excellent at producing.

  It wasn’t until they got around to the songs nominated for an Oscar that the fireworks started between them.

  Kyle’s choice was a song written and performed by a rock star who had scored the entire movie. The song had made it to the top of the pop charts, as had the sound track from the film.

  “A rock star?” Amanda mocked upon hearing his voice. “Really, Kyle.”

  “Sure, why not?”

  “You can’t be serious,” Amanda questioned, enjoying putting him on the defensive, although she was pleased with his choice. A rock star winning an Oscar was a long shot at best.

  “Ah, but not just any rock star,” Kyle said by way of defending his choice. “This one went to Juilliard.”

  Amanda shot him a pained expression. “That doesn’t mean anything, except that his parents had the money to send him.”

  “He went on scholarship,” Kyle answered smugly.

  “Ah, but did he stay?” Amanda quipped, hurrying on to her choice for best song. She picked the popular instrumental by a brilliant composer. It was from a film that had been a critical success but had done poorly at the box office.

  “You chose that drivel? I should have known you’d be a sucker for romantic pap after you picked Doctor Zhivago on the other show. Sorry, but you lose on this one.”

  “I hardly think so,” Amanda said in her best snooty tone. “It’s the sign of a good song when it stays in your head, playing over and over.”

  Kyle snorted. “If you ask me, that’s the sign of an annoying commercial.”

  Amanda sighed. “Since you obviously have no taste in music, I think we should move on to the next nomination.” She nodded to signal the next film clip.

  “Now wait just a minute,” Kyle said, waving off the film clip. “What do you mean I have no taste in music? I suppose you’re an expert?”

  “At least I listen to something besides rock and roll. Do you have any albums from before the sixties?”

  “No, but—”

  “I rest my case.”

  The film clips came up for best director.

  “I’d like to arrest your case, handcuffs and all,” Kyle whispered in frustration off camera.

  “Handcuffs?” Amanda repeated, raising an eyebrow beneath the netted veil covering one side of her forehead. “Anything else?”

  Kyle shot her a dark look. “A gag would be nice….”

  Back on camera, Amanda picked a foreign director for an epic film.

  “This is a close call,” Kyle ventured, hating to have to agree with her choice. “It could go with the action/ adventure picture, but I respect what the director of the epic tried to do, so I’m going with him, too,” he confirmed grudgingly.

  Noah, watching, was delighted with the way the show was playing. Amanda and Kyle struck sparks off each other professionally as well as physically. Where Amanda was analytical, Kyle was a seat-of-the-pants performer. Where Amanda was substance, Kyle was charm. They complemented each other, and both were very good.

  The film clips for best actor ran, and Kyle went first with his choice.

  “This is another close call, but I’m going to go against type. James Warson isn’t typical leading-man material, but he takes chances. He has a good body of work behind him, and I think the academy will recognize that this year.”

  “I agree,” Amanda said.

  “You agree? Just like that? No argument for Mr. Heartthrob?”

  “No,” Amanda answered, pursing her lips with sweet innocence.

  Kyle’s eyes narrowed at the provocative red lipstick sh
e wore. He wasn’t sure which made him crazier—the aloof Amanda or the seductive Amanda. His hands were measuring her throat again, and he knew where thoughts of his hands on her body led…. His eyes strayed to the silky camisole.

  “Okay.” He took a deep, calming breath. “Let’s proceed to the best actress category, then,” he said, nodding for the film clips.

  This time they hardly agreed.

  “Well,” Amanda began, “there’s no question but that Mareia Adams will win another Oscar for her outstanding performance.”

  “Give me a break.” Kyle sighed. “Mareia Adams’s mantel won’t hold another Oscar. Anyway, this time she’s not even in the running with Traci Marselli. Her twisted hooker roll in the psychological thriller steamed right off the screen.”

  “Hookers are easy to play,” Amanda said, rejecting his assessment “All you need is a good body, lingerie and a voyeur cinematographer.”

  “Sounds like Venus envy to me,” Kyle said, looking at his fingernails.

  Amanda’s mouth dropped open.

  Kyle nodded for the clips for the award for best picture.

  “‘Venus envy’?” Amanda repeated off camera.

  Kyle made an attempt to look ashamed but broke up with laughter, instead.

  Amanda eyed him without indulgence.

  “Okay, I’m sorry,” he said, throwing up his palms in surrender. “I can’t resist a bad pun. Actually, it’s my evil twin who can’t. Did I ever tell you about him?”

  He didn’t get a chance to. They were back on camera.

  It was a foregone conclusion by both the public and the press that a popular movie would win.

  Predictably, Amanda chose that picture.

  Kyle, on the other hand, amazed Amanda by picking another movie out of left field.

  “What?” she asked in openmouthed amazement. The cameraman zoomed in for a close-up of her reaction. “If that movie wins, I’ll…I’ll…”

  “Want me to tell them what you’ll do?” Kyle covered his mike as he whispered off camera, patting the envelope in his tuxedo jacket with a wicked wink.

  “I’ll … I’ll,” she stammered. “I’ll iron your shirts for a week,” she said hastily into the camera.

  “Cut,” Noah called. “That’s a wrap. Good show, you two.”

  “Iron my shirts for a week?” Kyle repeated incredulously as he took off his microphone. “I’ll have to check,” he said, pulling the envelope from his tuxedo jacket, “but I don’t think I have anything in here about your ironing my shirts.”

  “I had to say something,” Amanda replied as Kyle slipped the envelope back into his jacket pocket.

  “That’s okay,” he assured her, standing up. “We’ll consider it an added bonus I get when I win tonight.”

  She glared at him and stood, too.

  He chuckled. “And you can’t renege. I’ve got you on tape.”

  “That’s the only place you’ve got me,” she retorted, taking off her microphone. “With that last choice, you assured I’d win the bet.”

  “No way. You’re gonna lose your sweet little behind … baby,” he said, swatting her playfully.

  “Fine,” Amanda said, giving as good as she got. “If I should lose, I’ll iron your shirts…with you in them.”

  “Whoa…the lady is into S and M,” Kyle said, making a vampire cross in front of him and backing away, his eyes wide with pretended alarm. “Maybe I ought to reconsider this fantasy business.”

  “Maybe you ought,” she answered, striking a provocative pose.

  “Nah…you’re just toying with me,” he decided. “And that’s all right.” He wriggled his eyebrows lasciviously. “I’ve always wanted to be a boy toy.”

  Amanda gave an exaggerated sigh.

  She had a feeling it was going to be a long night.

  Her only consoling thought was of winning. She’d made safe choices against Kyle’s wild card picks. Sure, there would be a fluke award or two—there always was. But safety was the sure bet.

  And when she won, there was no way Kyle would do the fantasy she’d perversely written on the pale pink stationery in the envelope in her purse.

  She’d be off the hook…and cured of taking dares forever.

  She hoped.

  “GOT ANY POPCORN?” Kyle asked, loosening his tuxedo tie with his long fingers while Amanda unlocked the door to the carriage house.

  “Microwave,” she answered, nodding to the galley kitchen when they were inside.

  While he went in search of the popcorn, she set her purse on the desk and walked over to switch on the television in the armoire. The final credits of The Barbara Walters Special were crawling up the screen, which meant the Academy Awards were due to start. It would be at least another hour until they got around to handing out the top awards. Knowing that did nothing for her case of increasingly jittery nerves.

  She lifted off her tiny black hat, her shaking hands snagging the veil on a loose hairpin. After working the veil free, she smoothed the loose tendrils back into her sleek chignon, her eyes lingering on the poof of hat in her hand.

  She was pleased the provocative outfit had the unsettling effect on Kyle she’d intended. Unfortunately, it was now having an unsettling effect on her. The sexy trappings of femininity reminded her of something she knew all too well. The attraction between them was man/woman and purely physical.

  At least it was on Kyle’s part. It was her bad luck to have fallen in love with a man who wasn’t the sort to spend the rest of his life with any one woman.

  She set her hat down with a sigh. Behind her, the cabinet doors stopped banging open and closed. Kyle had found the cabinet where she stored the popcorn.

  “I’ll cook if you do drinks,” he called, setting the timer on the microwave for three minutes.

  “Sounds fair,” Amanda said, joining him. Opening the refrigerator, she withdrew two cans of cola and popped the tabs.

  “What, no wine?” Kyle teased in genial banter.

  “I’m out of wine. Besides,” she said, shooting him a knowing look, “wine is what got me into this impossible position to begin with.”

  An impish grin tugged the comers of Kyle’s lips as he rubbed the cleft in his squared chin. There was laughter in the eyes that roved over her in delicious sexual speculation. He couldn’t resist. “Wine gets you into impossible positions…. Really? Excuse me. I’ll just be a minute while I run up to the liquor store.”

  A pained expression crossed Amanda’s pretty features.

  Kyle tried an unsuccessful look of repentance, then threw up his palms in surrender. “It wasn’t me. Truly. It was my evil twin…. Have I mentioned him?”

  A furious round of popping ended with the pinging sound of the microwave timer, and he turned to retrieve the popcorn.

  “Wait a minute,” he said, turning back to Amanda, and handing her the bag of popcorn. He rested his fingertips on his lean hips, the stance as provocative in tuxedo pants as in frayed, faded jeans. “Are you claiming I got you drunk at lunch last week and then took unfair advantage, getting you to agree to this dare?” he demanded, his eyes narrowed.

  Amanda shook the warm, buttery popcorn into a bowl. The aroma mingled with his mossy after-shave, triggering Amanda’s erotic memories of sharing popcorn with him the first time they’d reviewed a film together.

  She nibbled her bottom lip hesitantly.

  “Amanda…”

  “Okay, so I’ve got this bad habit of being unable to turn down a dare, wine or no wine. Are you happy now?” she huffed, crossing her arms in front of her.

  Kyle picked up a fistful of popcorn and scrunched it into his mouth as he considered her. “Suppose I dare you to take off all your clothes?”

  She looked at him as though he were a specimen under a microscope.

  “Okay, okay. So how come you can’t turn down a dare, anyway?”

  She shrugged. “I don’t know. I guess it’s my stubborn nature.”


  “So you do admit you’re stubborn.”

  “Sure. The same as you.”

  “I’m not stubborn,” he objected.

  “Right, you’re not stubborn,” she mocked, rolling her eyes ceilingward.

  “I’m not.”

  “You refused to even give me the benefit of the doubt when Noah hired me to be your cohost,” she pointed out by way of example.

  “That’s not stubborn,” he said, holding his ground with tenacity.

  “Oh, it’s not? What do you call it, then?” she asked, taking a swallow of cola.

  “Smart,” he said, pitching a kernel of popcorn up in the air and catching it with his mouth. His twinkling blue eyes made an obvious journey over her body, slowing at the appropriate curves. “One look at you and I couldn’t remember my name. How could I expect anyone else to?”

  She shook her head at his ploy of flattery, not believing for a moment that he was sincere. “Okay, I give in. You’re right. You’re not stubborn. You’re a prince.” With that, she picked up the bowl of popcorn and headed for the love seat in front of the television.

  Kyle’s lusty laugh followed her all the way. He grabbed the two cans of cola and trailed after her. “I’m no prince any more than you’re the ice princess you pretend.” Setting down the cans of cola on the glass coffee table, he dropped beside her onto the love seat and made himself comfortable. He regarded her through eyes lowered to a sexy half-mast, his thumb rubbing back and forth across his lower lip. “You really are bad, you know, sending me those anonymous fantasies….”

  For the first time, Amanda was sorry she’d bought the soft, cushy love seat. It was much too inviting.

  He was much too inviting. He was much too close. And she was much too vulnerable to his cocky charm and the love words that fell so easily from his lips.

  Reaching for her feet, he unnerved her even further, pulling them up to rest on his hard thighs.

  She watched him warily as he slipped off her high heels and tossed them back over the love seat carelessly.

  “Why did you do it?” he asked huskily, his talented hands beginning to stroke and squeeze her stockinged feet by turn.

  “Why do you think?” she snapped, avoiding his eyes and trying to wriggle free from hands that were massaging her into sensual Nirvana.