by Julie Kenner
He pulled the patch out of the back pocket of his jeans and slipped it on. C.J. was right—it was hard to know when to share a secret. Usually. In Tony’s case, though, the answer was clear—never.
Kyra had a friend in Tony, a lover in Michael, and a fiancé waiting in Texas. And although he was impressed as hell at her commitment to her dad, he wanted to tell her—beg her—to live her life for herself. Maybe he couldn’t be part of that life, but he still wanted her to be happy. And sacrificing herself to a man she didn’t really love out of some sense of familial obligation was a recipe for unhappiness.
But he stayed quiet. He was her friend, not her lover. Not really. And if he kept his mouth shut, after this week, maybe they could stay friends. But if he told her the truth, if he risked her marriage and her future simply to satisfy his own ego… Well, what the hell could he do? He couldn’t help her. Couldn’t save her business, couldn’t cure her father, couldn’t do any damn thing for anybody.
In the end, he’d lose everything. And even more importantly, he’d destroy her fantasy. And Tony wasn’t about to do anything to hurt Kyra. No matter how much doing nothing ripped at his gut.
* * *
HE WASN’T COMING. She should pack it in and head back to her cabana. Hanging around the party was foolish. Fantasy or not, Kyra had no intention of hooking up with any man other than Michael. And if Michael had no interest in her…well, she’d packed a few good romance novels. She’d take a long, hot bath and lose herself in someone else’s fantasy.
“Buy you a drink?”
She turned, ending up face-to-face with Joe from the scuba class.
“Kyra, right?”
She nodded, her feet itching to move her far, far away, but the rest of her succumbing to good, old-fashioned Southern manners. Damn Texas upbringing.
He glanced at her now empty drink. “Hitting the good stuff early, huh? Kevin makes a great Razz.” He lifted two fingers. “Another Razzmatazz for the lady and a shot of tequila with a beer chaser for me.”
She cringed, wondering if she’d taken a wrong turn and ended up at a frat party. “No thanks, really. I’ve had plenty. Just water.”
He sidled closer and slid an arm around her shoulder. “Come on, baby. You spent the entire day with that reject from the sci-fi channel. Spend a little time with me.”
“Get your hands off me,” she said through gritted teeth. She tried to shrug out of his embrace, but he just pulled her closer, leaning down so that she caught the unmistakable stench of far too many tequila shots.
“What’s the matter, baby? Don’t you want to play doctor?”
“Not with you.” She jammed her knee up, catching him where it counts. His arm flew from her shoulder, and his hands flew to his fly, cupping everything he held dear. “Now get the hell away from me.”
Bent at the waist and cursing, he still managed to shoot her a withering look. She held his stare until he finally turned and left. “Jerk,” she whispered under her breath.
“You’re going to put me out of a job.”
The low, smooth voice teased her senses, bringing her back to life. She hadn’t even realized the sadness she’d felt until his voice washed it away, and she whirled around, sure she was smiling broader than a kid at Christmas.
“How am I supposed to keep up my rep as a chivalrous knight if the damsels rescue themselves?”
“Michael.” He was right there, right in front of her. Tall and dark and she wanted nothing more than to throw herself into his arms and erase the memory of Joe. “I didn’t think you were going to come.” She pressed her lips together, fighting back a ridiculous flood of tears.
The corner of his mouth twitched up, and he brushed the pad of his thumb under her eye. “I wasn’t going to.”
Frowning, she wiped her eyes. “I’m not really crying. It’s just an optical illusion. Stress. That guy. Hormones.” She shrugged. “I don’t know. But I’m not really crying. Not really.”
Laughing, he slid an arm around her waist. “I didn’t think you were.”
She leaned in, immediately at home in his arms. She sniffled again. “Why weren’t you going to come?”
He kissed her neck, leading her away from the main pool. “A guy could get attached to a woman like you. And getting attached is the last thing a guy like me needs,” he said. “But then I asked myself what was worse—leaving you at the end of a fantastic week together, or not seeing you again.”
“An attachment is the last thing either of us needs,” she said, trying to drill the truth into her head. She didn’t want or need attachments, strings or emotional involvement. Still, that little voice in her head told her it was too late.
In the end, she’d walk away because she had to—but it was going to hurt like hell.
* * *
“TAKE OFF your clothes.” He kept his voice low, enticing, and very persuasive.
Her eyes widened, and he fought a smile. “We’re in the great outdoors,” she said.
“I noticed that.” He’d steered them away from the party to the smaller pool area on the far side of the main building. “But there’s no one around.”
He suppressed a twinge of guilt. She wanted Michael, and she wouldn’t want him if she knew the truth. Even if she didn’t turn away from his scars, she wanted anonymous. She’d made that very clear their first night.
As Michael, he had the power to make her fantasies come true, and he didn’t intend for Krya to miss out on anything. He might not be the most athletic of lovers, but he could be damn creative. If she wanted sexual adventures, then dammit, that’s exactly what he’d give her. Wild, wicked, erotic adventures. And he intended to have a damn good time doing it.
“Someone might come.”
With a finger hooked under her chin, he tilted her head back, then brushed his lips over hers, supremely satisfied with the way she opened her mouth, inviting his kiss. “That’s certainly my plan,” he said when they broke the kiss.
Her breath hitched. “No… I…uh, meant someone might see us.”
“I know what you meant. But everyone’s at the party. And since this pool’s locked at ten, no one has a reason to come back here.”
She grazed her teeth on her lower lip, and he knew she was intrigued. Good. He wanted her intrigued.
Letting his fingertips graze the top of her ear, he brushed her hair back, then leaned in closer to whisper. “Say yes, sweetheart. Let me make love to you under the stars.”
“There are stars over my cabana, too.” The words were a protest, but the way her eyes darted to the gleaming pool told a different story.
Slowly, he grazed his hand down her hip, over the sexy little skirt she wore. His fingers touched her skin, and he let his hand roam to the inside of her thigh, the hem of her skirt teasing the back of his hand.
“Nice skirt. Very sexy.”
Her breath hitched as she gasped. She tilted her head back, and he trailed kisses down her neck as he slid his hand higher. What he found ripped away his last shred of self-control.
“Oh, man, sweetheart. You’re not wearing panties.”
She swallowed, and he felt the faint movement in her neck against his lips. “I told you I was hoping you’d come.”
“I don’t think you have to worry about that.” He stroked her center, thrilled by her slick heat. She moaned, crying out his name until he captured her mouth in a kiss. “You realize you’ve done it now,” he whispered when he pulled his lips away. “Now there’s no way in hell you’re going anywhere else but into that water with me.”
Her hands stroked his back. “That far?”
“Temptress.”
She kissed the tip of his nose, then twirled out of his arms, her skirt flaring and giving him an enticing view. When he caught her eye, she was smiling, her finger crooked.
“Follow me.”
No argument there. He went willingly, a puppy, a slave. The gate was only a few feet tall and easy enough to climb over. On the other side, he eyed the pool, thinking that
the cold water was the last thing on earth he needed.
She urged him toward the hot tub, then slipped out of her sandals and stuck her toes in. “It feels wonderful.”
“Get in.”
Without breaking eye contact, she unzipped her skirt and let it fall to the ground, then peeled off her T-shirt until she was standing naked before him in the moonlight. “Whatever you want.” Her smile was seductive and confident, and he wondered just who was seducing whom.
As he watched, she slipped into the water. “What about you?”
“I’m going to find the controls.” He found the control box mounted on the side of the changing rooms, and he turned the jets on, smiling at her delighted squeal when the calm water began to bubble around her.
He shed his clothes in a hurry, desperate to feel her against him, then joined her in the water, sitting on the built-in bench as his body adjusted to the temperature change. Without invitation, she came to him, and he found her easy comfort with him thrilling. She planted her knees on either side of his hips, straddling him, and his body immediately reacted.
He fought the urge to bury himself deep inside her, to lose himself in her heat. Instead, he lifted her up, swinging her around until she faced the side of the tub and he was behind her. The water bubbled around her waist, and he drew his hand up her delicate back.
She moaned, and he grazed his hands down to cup her waist.
“Move over here for me.” With gentle hands, he moved her in front of the pulsing jet, smiling as she squealed softly when what he had in mind became apparent.
“But I want you to touch me.”
He slid his hands around, cupping her breasts, as he pressed her back up against him, his hardness nestled against the soft curve of her thigh. “I am touching you.” Silently, he slid his hands down to her hips, urging her forward, knowing the jet of water would soon make her crazy.
“Oh, Michael, I—”
“Shhh. Just let go. Let the water touch you. Let me touch you.”
With the tip of his finger, he traced a path up her body, finding her erect nipple and teasing it between his thumb and forefinger. She gasped, then moaned, her hips swaying in a rhythm he’d come to know well.
They stayed like that, the water stroking her, his hands caressing her, as her breath came faster and faster, her excitement pulling him closer and closer. Then finally, she cried out and rocked backward into his arms.
He eased her down onto the bench seat, and she lolled against him, her fingers idly drawing a pattern on his thigh. “Nice,” she murmured.
“Sleepy?”
“Mmm-hmmm.”
“Maybe I should take you to your cabana and put you to bed.”
She turned her face up to look at him, then shook her head just slightly. “Bed? Yes. Sleep? No.” She stroked his cheek. “I’m not through with you quite yet.”
He chuckled. “Whatever you want. I’m here to make your fantasies come true.”
CHAPTER 9
AGAIN, morning came without Michael.
This time, she’d known it would. But until she actually woke up alone, she’d been able to hold on to the spurious fantasy that he’d be there next to her. That he’d gather her in his arms and tell her he loved her, that she didn’t have to marry Harold and that everything would be okay—her father, her life, everything. That he loved her.
She snorted. Now that really was a fantasy, and not one she needed to be entertaining.
Frustrated, she threw off the sheet and grappled for her robe, then started stalking around the cabana looking for the stupid cell phone. She’d made a big, fat, hairy mistake coming to Fantasies, Inc. Huge. Massive.
How on earth could she go back to a calm, staid life with Harold after sharing such intense intimacy with Michael? After finding Tony, a man she could really talk with? The future loomed before her, and where before it had seemed full of possibility for her career and her family, now it just seemed empty.
Frustrated, she yanked open drawer after drawer, desperately needing a shoulder to cry on.
She found the phone right where she’d left it, of course, and she punched in Mona’s number. No answer, not even the machine, which meant either the machine was full or Mona had her computer plugged into the phone line. Either way, Kyra was out of luck.
She considered throwing the cell phone across the room out of spite, but decided that would be even more stupid than falling for her fantasy man. Instead, she put it back in the drawer, took her notebook from the top of her dresser, sat cross-legged on top of the bed, and started tapping her pen against the paper.
The familiar rhythm calmed her, and she tried to focus, remembering why she’d come to Fantasies, Inc. in the first place. A good time. An experience. The experience of a lifetime.
So far, she’d gotten everything she asked for. And despite her whirling, swirling emotions, she’d gotten no more or less than that. There was no intimacy. Sex, yes, but nothing more.
She didn’t even know him. Just like Mona had said—she couldn’t really be intimate with a man she didn’t really know, no matter how wonderful he made her feel between dusk and dawn.
This was just a fantasy—a fantasy designed to give her a memory powerful enough to get her through the life that was waiting for her off the island. In the end, she could walk away. She had to.
And in the meantime, she needed to keep the difference between island fantasies and Texas realities firmly in mind.
Determined to pull herself together, she slammed the notebook shut. She considered calling Mona one more time, but ruled it out. After all, there wasn’t anything to talk about. She’d have her fling, she’d leave the island, she’d marry Harold. End of story.
Besides, if she wanted to talk there was always Tony. Except…
Frowning, she pulled her knees up and hugged them to her chest. For some reason, the idea of talking about Michael to Tony again just didn’t feel right.
She ran a hand through her hair. Yesterday, she’d talked with him about everything. Why on earth would she be feeling shy about running the Michael-problem by him?
Because there is no Michael-problem.
Right. Exactly. That had to be it. She’d already solved the problem, already decided Michael was just her fantasy interlude, so of course she’d feel weird about the prospect of dredging it all out for psychoanalysis by Tony. Besides, there were a heck of a lot more interesting things to talk with him about.
If she was lucky, she could even catch him at breakfast. The thought of spending the day together cheered her, and she hurried to take a quick shower, wondering what kind of adventure they’d share that afternoon.
* * *
“HOW ABOUT SAILING?” Kyra asked. Her feet were propped up on an empty chair, a half-empty glass of orange juice in front of her. She took another swig. “It’s going to be a gorgeous day. Let’s take out one of the boats.”
He bit back a frown. His sailing days were over, at least on a small boat where his back would have to take the brunt of the work. “I thought we were diving today.”
“We’re signed up to go. But we can’t talk if we’re underwater.”
His chest tightened. “What do you want to talk about?” Surely she hadn’t discovered his secret, had she?
She shrugged and laughed. “Not a thing. I just like hanging out with you.”
He swallowed, the invisible band even tighter now. Trying for casual, he reached across the table and squeezed her hand. “I like hanging out with you, too.” Depressing as hell, but he knew the one woman he could talk with, the one woman he could really open up to, could never truly be his. She belonged to another man. Forever, this Harold guy. For now, Michael.
He cleared his throat, knowing he shouldn’t bring it up, but morbid curiosity getting the better of him. “So, did your mystery man show last night?” he asked, fighting the urge to tell her everything. He knew he should, that he wasn’t playing fair. But he couldn’t risk the consequences. She’d be angry, sure, but tha
t he could handle. What he couldn’t handle was the pain when she walked away. And that was enough to convince him to keep his mouth shut.
“Kyra,” he prodded, “did he come?”
Her cheeks were a delightful shade of pink, and she’d become fascinated with the dew on the outside of her juice glass.
“I’ll take that as a yes,” he said.
She looked up, her eyes sparkling. “Yeah, he showed.”
“And?” God, he was pathetic, but he needed to hear it from her, needed to know.
“And it was wonderful. He’s wonderful.” A shadow crossed her face, and she took another quick sip. “For a temporary fantasy, I mean.”
Tony signaled to the waiter, not actually needing anything except an excuse to look away. Damn it all, he was actually jealous. You’re losing it, Moretti. Kyra had the hots for Michael, and Tony was jealous of his own damned alter ego.
Maybe he should have said yes when the city shrink had suggested he go in for counseling. He sure as hell needed someone to pound some sense into his head.
She cleared her throat. “So how about sailing?”
He shook his head, willing to concede the change in subjects, but not the activity. “Wouldn’t you rather relax?”
“What’s a little work for adventure-gal?” She cocked her head, then wrinkled her nose. “Oh, Tony, I’m sorry. I just realized. I bet sailing is hell on your back.”
He bristled, then forced himself to relax. “Not at all,” he lied.
“Really?”
“Really,” he said firmly. “It’s all levers and pulleys. Nothing straining at all.” Another lie.
“Sounds like work. Kevin said the big boat’s going out this afternoon,” she said. “All we’d have to do is hang out on the deck and drink daiquiris.”
“That doesn’t sound very adventurous.”
