by Julie Kenner
Once her feet were firmly on the ground, she smiled, almost formally, as if she, too, was trying to shake off a queer sense of connection. “Well. I, uh, should introduce myself.” She stuck her hand out. “I’m Kyra. Kyra Cartwright.”
He hesitated, knowing that if he took her hand he’d feel it again. That surge of power, that shock to the senses. Maybe women weren’t on his current agenda, but if he shook her hand, he knew—somehow, he just knew—that, woman or no, Kyra Cartwright would end up penciled in.
What the hell. He closed his fingers around hers, satisfying some deep, primal need to simply touch her.
She licked her lips, her eyes drifting to their interlocked hands. With a gentle tug, she pulled her hand free, the brush of her skin against his like the softest silk. Instead of meeting his eyes, she looked up into the tree. “Guess I risked my neck for nothing.”
He followed her gaze and realized that the cat had disappeared.
“I’m sure the kitten appreciated your efforts.”
“Maybe. But I hope it doesn’t expect a bowl of cream if it shows up at my door after getting me stuck like that.”
He took a step toward her, noting with pleasure that she didn’t move back. “I bet you’d give it some anyway.”
“Yeah. I probably would.” She met his gaze head on, this time smiling. “I guess I’m just a sucker.”
“Not at all.”
He saw a thousand questions dance across her face, but she asked none of them. Instead, she simply stood on her tiptoes, kissed his cheek and whispered, “Thank you.”
Even after she’d stepped away, the feathery touch of her lips lingered on his skin, as if he’d been softly branded. She was smiling, almost shyly, and his stomach twisted as he wondered if she’d be so quick to kiss him if she knew the truth about him. If she’d seen the real Tony under the mask.
He stifled a sigh. The bottom line was that he’d helped her, and she’d looked at him like a hero, not like a pariah.
She saw him as the man he used to be, not the broken man he’d become. Everything he wanted, everything he needed, was right there in her eyes.
But not one bit of it was real.
No wonder he still felt so hollow.
CHAPTER 3
MORTIFIED.
Kyra was one hundred percent, fully loaded, no-holds-barred, mortified.
Over the course of twenty-six years, she’d had plenty of opportunities to do embarrassing things. But hanging upside down with her underwear fluttering in the breeze pretty much took first prize. Especially when she was baring it all in front of a gorgeous man whose whiskey-smooth voice made her blood race and her toes curl. A man who could well be the walking, talking embodiment of her fantasy.
She’d kissed his cheek without thinking—isn’t that what girls who needed rescuing did?—and that had been a big mistake. He smelled like the ocean breeze that had been teasing her all day. And the sandpaperish touch of his cheek against her mouth left her lips tingling, left her wanting more—and the realization unnerved her.
He was dark and mysterious and intriguing, and she felt like a high-school girl thrust into close quarters with the varsity quarterback.
Stop it! She’d come here wanting a fantasy, and here it was—here he was. She needed to pull herself together. Needed to remember how to act sexy and sophisticated—just the way all those articles in Cosmo laid it out. That’s what she needed to do.
So why the heck was she so terrified? Why hadn’t she realized this would be so hard?
And what if she made an advance and he wasn’t the least bit interested in her? That would certainly ratchet her mortification level up to monumental proportions. And why would he be interested? After all, since she was acting like a teenager, that’s probably just how he thought of her—a flighty airhead who needed a man around to keep her out of trouble. Of course, considering he’d just rescued her from a tree, maybe that wasn’t too absurd an assumption.
Absently, she smoothed her skirt. “I…I don’t usually do such stupid things.” She wanted him to realize she wasn’t a space cadet.
“Trying to help a cat out of a bind?”
She glanced up and saw his grin despite the darkness and shadows hiding his face. “No. Getting stuck like that. I’m usually more self-reliant. Really.”
“Nothing wrong with needing a little help every once in a while.”
“No, there’s not.” Heck, she was planning to marry Harold because she needed a little help. So she certainly wasn’t going to argue with his philosophy. “I just wasn’t really expecting—”
She clamped her mouth shut, remembering Merrilee’s words. It may be when you least expect it… Her knees went weak as she tried to get her mind around what was going on. He was her rescuer, her hero, her fantasy…and that scared her to death.
He moved closer, and his arm closed around her, warm and possessive. “Are you okay?”
She nodded, realizing only then that she was shivering.
“Hmmm.” He didn’t sound convinced. “After hanging upside down like that, I shouldn’t have let you stand up.”
The deep timbre of his voice shot straight through her, pooling somewhere between her thighs. Oh, Lord, she needed to get a grip. No matter how enticing he might be, no matter how much she wanted this fantasy, it was all happening too fast. Just five minutes ago, she’d been upside down, for crying out loud.
She needed to let her head clear. Her fingers practically itched for her notebook and pen. She wanted to step back, to analyze, to weigh the pros and the cons. To figure out what she should do next.
She never moved this quickly, and for the first time she feared that she’d made a huge mistake coming to Fantasies, Inc. She’d lived her whole life a certain way. Calm and ordered, she’d been the rock. The one everyone could trust, the one they relied on not to jump in without thinking. What demon had possessed her body when she’d filled out that application?
The same demon who was now whispering in her ear, urging her to jump into his arms, to press her lips against his, to—
She shook her head, hoping to order her thoughts.
“I’m fine. Really.” She moved against his arm, trying to get free, but he held fast, his hold both unnerving and enticing.
“Let me walk you to your cabana.”
She surprised herself by not resisting, and he steered them forward along the path, moving as if they’d walked that way together a thousand times.
He seemed so right. The way they fit together, the way they moved, and with each step, a layer of fears and hesitations slipped away.
She’d left the lights on, and in the distance her cabana looked warm and inviting against the dark, damp night. Kyra sped up, drawn to the light, hoping against hope that moving away from the magical illumination of the lightning storm and into the harsh reality of incandescent bulbs would somehow bring her back to her senses.
Was she really thinking about inviting him inside?
Oh, yeah. She really was. And the realization was terrifying.
“Wait,” he said behind her.
She stopped, turning around to face him. “What is it?” She tried to read his face, but the night hid his expression.
“Not into the light.” He moved back, under the cover of a palm tree.
Curious, she followed him into the shadows, sharing the concealing darkness with him like lovers might share a blanket.
“You take my breath away,” he whispered. His voice was low, barely audible under the rush of wind through the palm fronds. “I don’t know if this is such a good idea.”
“If what’s a good idea?” she asked. It was a stupid question. She knew with absolute certainty exactly what he meant.
“This.” He reached out, then stroked her cheek with the edge of his thumb. She trembled as he traced the contour of her face. Slowly, sensually, the movement of flesh against flesh ignited her blood, sending it to pool in her belly, her thighs.
“Oh.” Her voice shook. “That. Right.
Of course.” She seemed to have lost control of her thoughts and voice. Never in her life had she experienced such a swell of longing for another person. Never before had she wanted to throw herself into a man’s arms and abandon rational thought to the sweet sensations generated by the press of his body against hers.
The swell of desire terrified as much as it excited Kyra. Her logical mind knew it was just chemistry. His pheromones calling to her pheromones. But that didn’t change the fact that she seemed to be teetering on the edge of a precipice, and if she lost her balance, she’d surely fall.
“Probably not a good idea at all,” she agreed, but didn’t move away.
“Probably not.” The deep rumble of his voice touched her in secret places, warming her soul. He didn’t stop touching her, and she closed her eyes, savoring the moment, afraid it would end and yet more afraid it would continue.
Almost unconsciously, she moved closer, seeking more of his heat. His finger traced the curve of her neck, then skimmed the edge of her collarbone. His free arm circled her waist, pulling her closer. She shivered, not from cold or fear, but from the flurry of uncontrollable sensations racing through her.
Her pulse beat against her throat, and she focused on slowing her racing heart, suddenly unsure and more than a little uncomfortable.
She didn’t know the woman standing under a tree with this mysterious stranger. Certainly that woman wasn’t the Kyra Cartwright she knew. Kyra Cartwright never did anything so…so…spontaneous.
But maybe this was the woman who needed a fantasy. Who needed an escape. Who needed to see what else life had to offer. Maybe this was the woman who’d gathered her courage and bought a vacation from Fantasies, Inc.
He leaned forward, his proximity dizzying. “Kyra?” His voice caressed her, his breath hot against her ear. “Tell me what you want.”
Lord help her, she wanted him. And the feeling whipped through her like a hurricane—wild, untamed and terribly frightening.
She’d purchased a fantasy vacation that she’d assumed she could walk away from. A week of hedonism—or near hedonism, anyway—and then she’d be back to normal. This longing in her gut would be out of her system. And she’d go back to Harold and the rest of her life.
Was she an idiot? Had she been a fool to think she could just walk away?
She gnawed on her lip, her insides twisting, not at all sure that hedonism was her thing after all.
The wind lashed out as she broke free from his embrace, determined to batten down the hatches and ride out the storm raging inside her.
Gathering her courage, she drew in a fortifying breath, then reached up to capture his hand in hers. “I should go.”
He nodded, his sadness almost palpable, but his relief unmistakable. “Yes.” His lips curved in an ironic smile. “You should.”
She nodded, then started to back away. But before she could put any distance between them, he stepped forward. In one bold, possessive movement, he gripped the sides of her arms, gently, yet firmly. Her breath quickened as he closed the distance between them, every atom in her being telling her to put a stop to this right now, that he would lead her someplace dangerous. Dangerous for her heart, confusing for her head.
She needed to walk away but, heaven help her, she couldn’t.
She wanted it, and when his mouth closed over hers, she could only moan as her body melted into his.
* * *
HE WAS A JERK.
So much for respect, so much for chivalry, so much for all those social niceties his mother had tried so hard to drill into his head. Every single one of them had flown straight out the window. He’d kissed her, and damn it all, he didn’t regret it for a minute.
Her mouth moved under his, soft and sweet and delicious. She moaned, a sexy little noise in the back of her throat, and the sound just about undid him.
His body hummed under the press of her curves against him. They fit together perfectly, her hips tucked against his, her breasts, round and firm against his chest.
He wanted her. Despite everything he’d told himself in his cabana only hours earlier, he wanted her. This woman. This moment.
A primitive urge raced through him with so much force it left him breathless. His erection strained against his jeans and he knew that she could feel him, could tell exactly how much he craved her.
He moved, just slightly, brushing against her and forcing himself not to groan from the sheer, decadent agony. Her mouth tasted richer than wine, and he urged her lips apart, wanting to taste her, wanting to know everything about her.
She opened her mouth to his, taking what he offered, sharing herself with him. She was passionate and sweet and perfect—and she was there in his arms. He felt dizzy from the wonder of it. She was with him. She wanted him just as much as he wanted her.
She shifted against him, her little noises driving him nuts, and then her hands were in his back pockets, urging him closer. He wanted to lose himself, to be as close to her as possible, and then even closer still. He wanted to wrap her around him like a blanket. To forget everything except the exquisite pleasure of this woman in his arms.
Except it was all a lie. Every bit of it.
The truth weighed down on him, and he broke the kiss. Pulling her close, he buried his face in her hair, seeking the strength to move away. This was wrong. He was weak, foolish.
For months he’d been living alone, telling himself it didn’t matter that Amy left, that women didn’t even look in his direction anymore. But it did matter. God help him, it did.
A wave of sadness crashed over him. It was all an illusion. She wasn’t there with Tony Moretti. Hell, she didn’t even know Tony Moretti. If she knew the truth, she’d run far and fast.
With a massive effort, he summoned his strength. “Kyra, I—”
“Please. No.” She backed away, gently freeing herself from the bonds of his arms. Her gaze flicked up to his face, then down to the path. “We shouldn’t… This isn’t… I want to, but…” She looked up, her eyes brimming with tears. “I’m sorry,” she said. Then she turned and ran into her cabana without looking back.
He watched her go, waiting on the path until the door closed behind her. Then he waited even longer for the lights to fade and for darkness to envelop her cabana. The drizzle grew into rain, the wind lashing around him as the inevitable storm approached.
Still he stood there watching, the sadness in his gut almost nauseating.
Disgusted, he ripped off his cap and the cursed eye patch. Damn Merrilee. She’d given him everything he’d ever wanted. But she’d only given him a taste. Just enough to whet his appetite. Just enough for him to remember how much he’d lost.
* * *
KYRA WOKE UP to sunshine, a melted candy bar stuck to her face and tangled in her hair, and a pounding headache.
She felt disoriented and vaguely sad. It took her a moment to remember why, and then it hit her—him. Michael.
After she’d raced away—conjuring every ounce of self-control to keep from turning back and begging him to follow—she’d satisfied her raging hormones with wine, chocolate and a few pages from a favorite romance novel. Apparently, she hadn’t quite finished the candy.
Sitting up, she wiped chocolate off her cheek and tucked the tangled, gooey hair mess behind her ear. Sadness didn’t even begin to cover it. She felt empty. All because she’d walked away from him. But it had been the right choice.
Hadn’t it?
Nibbling on her lower lip, she padded into the bathroom and stared herself down in the mirror. She looked a sight. Hair hanging in chocolate clumps, pillow creases on her face, and a candy smear all up her cheek.
Michael certainly wouldn’t want her now. She didn’t look a thing like the romantic damsel in distress. And that’s all it had been—just a moment of passion brought on by an intense situation, nothing real at all. She should forget about it—about him—and get on with the business of her fantasy.
She turned the tap on the bathtub, letting it run as sh
e took a washcloth and scrubbed at her face.
Her reflection stared back at her, and she scowled. “It’s good you ran away.”
Her reflection didn’t look convinced.
“Really.” She closed her eyes, trying to convince herself she’d done the right thing. No matter how much she’d anticipated this trip, no matter how much she’d craved him, no matter how much her skin had burned under his touch, no matter how much she’d longed to feel his hands on her bare skin…
She shivered under the onslaught of memories, cursing herself for running away, even while congratulating herself for doing the right thing. Opening her eyes, she frowned at her reflection. No question about it, she’d done the right thing. Right? Right.
Maybe.
Sighing, she planted her hands on either side of the sink and leaned in toward the mirror. She needed to talk this one out. She’d have to go see Merrilee.
After a bath to loosen the chocolate and a shower to get rid of it, she dried her hair, then pulled it back into a sloppy ponytail. She climbed back into her sundress—dry, but still a bit wrinkled from her adventure—then grabbed a sweatshirt from behind the bathroom door and pulled it on.
Not exactly haute couture, but why did she need to dress up just to run to the administration office?
Besides, dressing like a slob was a bit of its own adventure. In Dallas, she wouldn’t be seen dead without her perfectly tailored clothes. So this little bit of fashion rebellion was empowering. So would a fling with Michael. She scowled, trying to ignore that opinionated little voice.
Determined, she shoved her feet into a pair of Keds, threw her cabana key and notebook into a tote bag, and headed out into the humid island air. By the time she’d trekked to the office, her hair had slipped free from her ponytail and little strands had plastered themselves to her face. She remembered her plan to buy barrettes, and made a quick note to stop by the gift store on her way back.
Merrilee’s office was tucked away in a small building behind the restaurant, facing east—very modest, but with a view of the ocean that would make real estate developers drool. As Kyra rounded the corner, she saw the silhouette of a man against the morning sun. He was walking away, a lone figure on the beach. Something about him was familiar, but she couldn’t place it. He definitely wasn’t Michael.
