Open Invitation

by Tiffany White

  You look over at me cautiously, at the man you are sure will break any rule. My wicked smile of acknowledgment and frank appraisal is aggressively male. You close your eyes against its sensual suggestion

  While you’re thrilled by the fact that I’m dangerous and unpredictable, you feel safe. You know I’m unable to make a move without alerting the man holding me prisoner. So you allow yourself your own provocative thoughts….

  In your fantasy, you feel the cushioned seat beside you give as I sit down to join you. Keeping your eyes closed, you pretend not to notice, but your silky eyelashes flutter briefly when I run my leather-gloved thumb along your jaw.

  My lips soon follow, finding your own to acknowledge with experienced certainty that I am indeed a terrific kisser….

  Your hands seem to have a mind of their own as they begin their exploration. Quickly, you undo the buttons of my shirt, opening it wide so you can access my sleek, muscled chest. Your fingertip flicks my nipple teasingly and then travels downward, caressing the hard indentations of my belly.

  There is a quick intake of breath when you discover the scar left by a knife. You lower your head, your lips bestowing a kiss to make it all better. Alas, the heel of your hand discovers your kiss has made it all worse as the evidence of my arousal strains behind my belt buckle.

  You start to pull away, but my strong grip holds you as my other hand unfastens my belt and tucks your hand inside my pants to feel my warm, hard, satiny desire.

  The train suddenly begins to slow, and the sound of metal grinding on metal signals we are making a stop. I push your hand away and get up quickly. When the train comes to a full stop, you open your eyes and look over. The man beside me is still asleep.

  My eyes are on you…all over you. You blush. Surely, you think, the prisoner can’t know what you’ve been daydreaming.

  Daydreaming? It had seemed so real…. But, no, you are being foolish, believing the knowledge I pretend with my knowing eyes.

  Blue eyes that suddenly wink as I slip my hand from the handcuff and rub my wrist before slipping it back.

  No!

  Yes!

  You know somewhere along the line I’m going to escape. And you also know I’m not going to forget you. I’ll be back to finish what we started….

  Lyle

  Amanda refolded the fantasy letter and took a deep, shaky breath. Kyle didn’t play fair, not fair at all. How was she going to leave him and go to New York?

  By the time she arrived at the market, she’d managed to remember what she was shopping for and headed for the produce aisle, selecting crisp, fresh makings for a salad. But when she got to the bakery section to pick up French bread and dessert, she saw Kyle peering into the glass bakery case, the backs of his hands resting casually on his narrow hips. She hung back, watching him.

  Her lazy green eyes slid covetously down his body, enjoying the taut, lean muscles. A slim, expensive belt at his narrow waist anchored a pair of snug jeans. Faded and threadbare, the jeans looked more in danger of disintegrating than of falling from his lean hips.

  She continued to savor him, silently approving his good taste in cookies as he indicated her favorite chocolate chips to the bakery clerk. When the clerk had mounded the last of the chocolate chip cookies on the scale, Amanda edged forward.

  “A gentleman wouldn’t take the very last cookie,” she whispered, her voice playful and inviting.

  He turned. His eyes registered his pleasure at seeing her, and the beginnings of a smile emboldened her to carry on.

  “It’s ridiculous, I know, but I can’t seem to go to bed without them.” She smiled sheepishly. “I’m a bit obsessive about having my warm chocolate chip cookies every night.”

  The promised smile dawned. “‘Warm’?”

  “Uh-huh. I pop them into the microwave, and they get all warm and gooey. I…ah…could show you, if you’re gentleman enough to share the last of the cookies.”

  Kyle crooked his elbow around her neck and pulled her toward him affectionately. “You just wait till I get you home.”

  The bakery clerk had piled the cookies on a Styrofoam tray, wrapped them in cellophane and was sliding them toward him. Kyle picked them up and released her.

  “I’ll meet you at your place,” he said, heading for the checkout counter with the cookies and a bottle of wine.

  Amanda watched his bare feet nestled in a pair of lived-in topsiders as he walked away. Her eyes traveled back up to his jeans and lingered. He had a wonderful walk. He was endearingly pigeon-toed, and it did something incredibly sexy to his gait.

  With a sigh, she gathered her confused thoughts and stepped up to the counter to place her order for a loaf of French bread. The young girl behind the counter slid the crusty, still-warm bread into a paper sleeve. As Amanda took it from the clerk, she inhaled its yeasty warmth and began to feel a little better. Few things in life were more comforting than the aroma of fresh baked bread. She added it to her cart, then started for the jam of shoppers at the checkout lanes.

  There were only two shoppers ahead of Kyle in the quick line. She got in line behind him. Her vantage point afforded her an intimate view of the man. She averted her eyes to his hands, cradling his tray of chocolate chip cookies possessively. She wished his hands were holding her with the same degree of possession. She closed her eyes and could almost feel his long, sensitive fingers touching her skin, smell the clean, just-showered scent of him, even feel his warm breath on her cheek—

  “Timmy! Look out!”

  Amanda turned at the woman’s shriek. But not in time. A little towheaded boy rammed her cart, knocking her off balance. Clutching wildly for anything to break her fall, she gripped something at last. A hard thigh. And then she heard a loud rip as her fingers caught on a hole in the soft, frayed denim.

  There was a flash of tanned, hairy thigh before her eyes as she slid slowly toward the floor, hoping against hope a large hole would be waiting to swallow her up. Alas, before she reached the floor, strong hands were rescuing her, pulling her up against his chest. She looked down in an attempt to avoid his incredulous blue eyes, only to see the smashed tray of what were now chocolate chip crumbs by her feet. There was a lull, quiet and pregnant as she glanced up at him.

  “Are you all right?” he asked, coughing to smother the laughter that was threatening to erupt at the outraged mortification reflected in her sweet green eyes.

  And then it dawned on her that he wasn’t the least bit embarrassed. Not the least bit. Why, he looked…he looked amused.

  She realized then that she was clinging to him like a sacrificial virgin confronted with the mouth of a volcano.

  “Yes…yes. I’m fine,” she answered in a hoarse whisper, straightening in his arms. “But I’m afraid I’ve ripped your thigh…er…pants,” she corrected hastily, cursing the imagery in her mind. “And I’ve crumbled your cookies,” she blurted without thinking.

  That did it. He doubled over with boisterous laughter.

  When he got his merriment under control, he bent and whispered, “That seals it. Guess you’re going to have to marry me now.”

  But there was no more talk of marriage during the evening that ensued. At the carriage house, Amanda loaned Kyle one of her oversize robes and had begun mending his ancient jeans as best she could when he returned from the bathroom dressed in the navy terry cloth. The living room suddenly grew smaller. She yelped when she stuck herself with the needle while staring absently at his hands knotting the robe’s sash.

  Quickly finishing the mending, she shoved the jeans at Kyle and went to make the salad for dinner.

  He didn’t change for dinner, but remained in the robe. Any other man would have changed into his jeans immediately, but Kyle seemed comfortable dressed in next to nothing.

  After dinner he helped her with the dishes, and then they sat down to watch a movie she had on tape.

  When the opening credits for the televised version of The Long Hot Summer appea
red, Kyle voiced his approval. “Good choice. The actress who played Varner’s son’s wife was terrific in this.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “You don’t agree?”

  “Are you kidding? The male lead stole that movie away from everyone.”

  “Admit it, Amanda, you went for his sex appeal.”

  “Exactly,” Amanda agreed with a wicked smile.

  “Why, Amanda Butterworth, I’m surprised at you! I’da thought you were too smart to be tempted by a bare-chested man in a pair of unsnapped jeans on a veranda,” he teased, referring to the fantasy he’d written her, as well as the movie.

  Amanda laughed. “Honey, ain’t no woman alive that smart,” she drawled in her best southern belle accent

  She was joking, but she was also wondering if it was true. Would she be copping out if she didn’t take the job the New York television syndicate had offered her?

  Was she kidding herself, believing the reasons she kept making up to stay and pursue their relationship over taking the promotion? She had always promised herself an independent life. Promised herself she wouldn’t take a back seat to a man.

  But any relationship called for some compromises, didn’t it? It was foolish to draw hard-and-fast lines in a society where rapid change was the only constant. If she made a decision not to take the job at this time in her life, it didn’t mean she wouldn’t take another offer. If she believed in herself, then she had to believe there would be another offer.

  She had her answer. She would pass up the promotion this time, allowing her personal life precedence now. Her relationship with Kyle was important and too new to survive the separation. And she still had room to learn and grow in her current position.

  Having made the decision, she couldn’t wait until the movie was over to tell Kyle, so she began tickling him to distract him.

  “Amanda! Come on, quit. I can’t see the movie.” He laughed as she ran her fingertips over the soles of his feet, knowing how ticklish his feet were.

  She didn’t quit while she was ahead.

  The next thing she knew, Kyle had her pinned to the floor, a devilish gleam flickering in his eyes.

  “So you want to play games with me, do you?” he teased, clamping her hands over her head with one hand while he wriggled the fingers of his free hand teasingly.

  “No, don’t,” she pleaded unsuccessfully as Kyle began tickling her ribs.

  Alternately squirming and giggling, she begged him to stop.

  Pausing in his torment, he asked, “If I stop tickling, what will you promise me?”

  “That I won’t take the job offer,” she blurted.

  “What?” Kyle asked, taken completely by surprise.

  “If you promise to stop tickling me, I won’t take the job offer Westec made me,” she answered.

  “You’re kidding.”

  She shook her head.

  “Really?”

  She nodded.

  “When did you decide?” he asked, knowing tickling had nothing to do with her decision.

  “A little while ago,” she answered, taking his offered hand.

  He helped her up from the floor and continued to worry her decision to turn down the job in New York.

  “So how come you decided not to take Westec’s offer?” he asked.

  “I don’t know,” she answered. “Maybe because I’d miss your handsome face.”

  “Yeah, right, and there really is a Santa Claus. Tell me the real reason.”

  She shrugged. It was the real reason, or at least part of it. “I’d feel bad about leaving Noah so soon,” she said finally.

  KYLE HAD APPEARED pleased with her decision, but no further discussion ensued, as the following week was hectic. She and Kyle had to tape both a Theater Talk and a theme show. Unable to reach an agreement on foreign films or horror flicks, they’d compromised with comedies.

  The week was filled with everything from amused smiles to raucous laughter as they previewed films for the theme show, attended a rock concert KCNX had sponsored and made fierce and tender love.

  That Friday night after the tapings, Kyle had shown up on her doorstep with a wide smile and a duffel bag full of clean shirts, reminding her of her on-air promise to iron his shirts for a week.

  Then he’d told her he thought it would be best if they spent the weekend apart, as he had something personal he needed to think about.

  Amanda worried that she had misjudged Kyle’s response to her not taking the job offer. Perhaps he’d only wanted a temporary fling, and now he was beginning to feel hemmed in. Was he spending the weekend trying to figure a way to break off their relationship?

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  SATURDAY MORNING DAWNED glorious with the promise of a warm spring day. Amanda threw open all the windows and set up her ironing board before the television so she could watch MTV as she ironed the shirts Kyle had dropped off. She’d do it this once to honor her words, she’d decided, but if they were married, he’d be taking them to the cleaner’s, just as she did with her own.

  She had to admit that it wasn’t so bad doing his shirts. Each one she ironed reminded her of Kyle and the special times they’d spent together. As she hung up the last shirt, she brought it to her cheek. One night apart and already she missed him.

  After she put away the iron and ironing board and hung his shirts in the entry closet for him to pick up, she turned off the television and sat down to read the morning newspaper with a cold glass of milk and a chocolate chip cookie warm from the microwave.

  After skimming the first page, Amanda turned to the entertainment section to check on the new movie releases in theaters for the upcoming week. Picking up a pencil and pad, she made a note of the times of the movies she and Kyle would be reviewing for Theater Talk.

  As she was refolding the entertainment section, her eye was caught by a small publicity photo of Kyle in the “About Town” gossip column. She made a mental note to have Toby send the newspaper one of the new publicity photos of her and Kyle together as she began to scan the column to see what the columnist was saying about Theater Talk.

  As she read the piece, she nearly choked on her milk. She couldn’t believe her eyes and began rereading it.

  The latest scuttlebutt about KCNX’s hot movie-review show, Theater Talk, is that one of it’s co-hosts, Kyle Fox, is in the Big Apple this weekend being wooed by the Westec Syndicate. Wonder what his cohost, Amanda Butterworth, will have to say about that? Our bet is plenty.

  Amanda threw down the newspaper as if it had suddenly caught fire in her hands.

  Springing up from the love seat, she marched determinedly to the entry closet and yanked open the door. With great control, she removed every one of Kyle’s carefully ironed shirts from its hanger, wadding each into a crumpled ball before throwing it to the floor. She slammed her closet door shut and jumped up and down on the pile of shirts in a fury. Then she shoved the lot into his duffel bag and threw it next to the front door.

  She unclasped the diamond chip ankle bracelet Kyle had sweet-talked her into keeping, realizing now that it was the only kind of diamond he’d ever intended giving her. She had only been a pleasant and handy diversion. Wiping the tears from her damp cheeks, she reopened the duffel bag and tossed the glittering anklet inside. Stupid, stupid, stupid. She’d been a little fool.

  Her hands were shaking as she dialed KCNX, using the number for Noah’s private line.

  Toby came on the line on the third ring.

  “Is Noah in?” she asked, just managing to keep a sob from her voice.

  “Yeah, he’s around here someplace, Amanda. I’ll tell him it’s you on the line.”

  “No…uh, Toby? Just tell him I’m coming in to see him, okay?”

  “Sure thing, Amanda,” he answered, then heard the click as she hung up.

  He hadn’t had to ask any questions. He, too, had seen the morning newspaper. It was spread open on Noah’s desk.

 
; “HE’S GOING TO TAKE IT, isn’t he?” Amanda said with resignation when she faced Noah across his desk a half hour later.

  “I wouldn’t be surprised,” Noah answered, lifting the dish of candy mints in offering.

  Amanda shook her head.

  “Aren’t you angry with him?” she cried as Noah slipped one of the mints into his mouth.

  “Why?” Noah asked, leaning back in his chair.

  “Why? Well, because he’d be leaving us—you—in the lurch. Doesn’t he have a contract or something he has to honor—or doesn’t he honor those, either?” she muttered, pacing back and forth nervously.

  Noah smoothed his hand over his bald head, hating to see Amanda so distressed.

  “Actually, he’s been working without a contract for the past three months.”

  “What?”

  Noah shrugged. “He’s been restless lately and didn’t want to make any long-term commitments. Since the ratings were falling on Theater Talk, I let it ride.”

  Noah’s mention of Kyle’s reluctance with long-term commitments made her quiet. She went over to look out the window at Noah’s beloved view of the river.

  Suddenly she turned and strode back to his desk. “What about now that the ratings have picked up?” she asked.

  “Sure, I’d like to keep him,” Noah agreed. “But when Kyle came to me and told me about Westec’s offer, I told him to go for it, if that’s what he wanted. I care about the boy, and there’s no way I can match what they’re offering, you know that.”

  “You knew about Westec’s offer to Kyle and you didn’t tell me?” she demanded, spreading her palms flat on Noah’s desk and leaning forward in dismay.

  “Did you tell me about your offer from Westec?” Noah countered quietly.

  “You knew?”

  Noah leaned forward in his chair and smiled. “There isn’t much that goes on in the industry that’s secret when you’ve been around as long as I have. You get to know a lot of people, have a lot of sources.”