Angel's Touch

by Caldwell, Siri

  But it was hard not to let herself get disoriented again, because that touch…there was nothing casual about that touch. Gentle, yes, but wholly deliberate. Megan slid her hands up Kira’s exhausted legs with efficient but gentle strokes, flushing the soreness out of first her calves, then her thighs, without any faltering shyness that might have turned her hand on Kira’s bare thigh into something intimate. She showed no hesitation as she teased out her sore spots, pushing into them over and over again with a no-nonsense attitude that had Kira closing her eyes and surrendering her body to her. Megan pushed into one particularly sore spot in her hamstrings yet again and Kira almost shivered from the pleasant agony.

  She was going to be a wreck by the end of her ten minutes.

  “Time’s up,” Megan said at last, close to Kira’s ear. “You can get up when you’re ready.”

  Kira swung her legs off the table and sat up abruptly, relieved to be back in control of her body and anxious to put some distance between her ear and Megan’s mouth. She lowered herself onto her feet and immediately noticed how much lighter she felt. Her legs weren’t worn-out dead weight anymore. She rose on her toes experimentally, clenching her calves and quadriceps to see if they would cramp. They didn’t.

  She was impressed. She should definitely try to hire this woman for her spa. Either that or start getting regular massages from her.

  Sure. Dream or no dream, that was so not what she wanted from her.

  “Hope that helped.” Megan rummaged in a tote bag under her table. “I forgot to bring my business cards, but if you’re interested in massage I could write my name and number on a piece of paper for you.”

  She really should tell her she already had her phone number. It was sitting on her desk in her office where, despite Mrs. Jacoby’s warning that Megan would never leave her own successful business to go work for someone else, Kira had placed her at the top of her list of people to contact.

  Megan emerged from under the table with a pen. “No paper, but I could write it on your hand.”

  Writing on her hand—how high school. How…sweet. Instead of ending this charade and telling her she didn’t need her number, Kira held out her hand.

  She bit her lip at the warmth of Megan’s small hand on hers and again at the tickle of her pen across her palm. Pitiful. She was an adult, for God’s sake, and had been for quite some time. The touch of a pen shouldn’t affect her like this.

  And to make it worse, something in her stomach was jumping and cheering and waving a banner, because if the rumors were true and there was no chance of hiring her, then there was no reason not to ask her out on a date. Not that that would really have stopped her. If she had to choose one, hiring Megan was not going to win.

  She cleared her throat, feeling a little motion sick from all that gastrointestinal celebration. “I’ve heard of you.”

  “Good things, I hope.”

  “Great things. Well-deserved.”

  “Thank you.”

  Kira cleared her throat again. Why did Megan have to look so much like the girl from her dream? Would’ve made it so much easier. Asking women out didn’t usually make her ill. “I know this is probably way out of line, but would you be interested in going out to dinner with me sometime?”

  The male massage therapist at the next table turned to look at Kira in surprise, then raised his eyebrows at Megan, no doubt eager to hear her shoot her down.

  “I’m sorry.” Megan’s brusque, businesslike tone made it clear this was how she responded to all wayward clients’ requests for dinner, no emotion required.

  The flush that appeared in her cheeks betrayed her, though.

  Kira felt like a jerk for embarrassing her in front of her colleagues. She glanced at the man at the next table to see what his reaction was, but instead of providing Megan with backup, he had looked away and was pretending to mind his own business. Was that all the effort he was willing to make? Not even a dirty look in Kira’s direction? With talent like Megan’s—not to mention that sexy, tousled hair—she ought to have someone around who was a bit more on the ball to ward off her admirers.

  To be fair, maybe he didn’t think Kira was a threat—what with her being a woman and all. Was Megan even gay? Maybe. She hadn’t responded with a “What the hell?” but all that meant was that she wasn’t shocked by Kira’s proposition, and how surprising was that in a place like Piper Beach?

  She had to apologize. “Please forget I said anything.”

  “It’s forgotten.”

  Now that was a nice thing to say. Kira had been about to bend down to retrieve her shoes from underneath the table, but Megan’s reply made her look up. What a mistake. She had the most amazing eyes, so full of light they made you wonder if maybe magic fairies were real. She didn’t look angry at all. Flustered had given way to apologetic and then to curious.

  And so luminous. If Kira were a deer, she’d have been hit by a car by now. Straight women didn’t let their feminine power blaze through when they made eye contact. Straight women didn’t make her forget where she was, or make her say stupid things like “Really?”

  Shit. Did it have to come out high-pitched and breathless like that? Of all the stupid, useless, girly…

  Megan didn’t drop her gaze. Kira felt behind her for the support of the massage table. It was quite possible that oxygen was no longer reaching her brain.

  “Really,” Megan said, finally.

  No word about changing her mind about dinner. So, okay. She would leave before she made things any worse.

  As soon as Megan stopped staring into her eyes and giving her hope.

  “Really,” Megan whispered, and looked away. Kira thought she saw regret flitter across her face. But when Megan met her gaze again, her eyes had lost that otherworldly look and become cool and distant, the way you glanced at a stranger before gazing past them.

  Now it was easy to look away. Kira felt numb. She was being dismissed. People were waiting outside the tent for her to leave so they could have their turn.

  “Don’t forget your shoes,” said the man working at the next table.

  She obediently bent to pick up her shoes and socks and caught Megan glaring at him. Kira straightened. Was Megan defending her?

  Maybe…

  Hope jumped in her chest. “My name’s Kira Wagner. I bought the old Starfish Hotel. You can find me there if—”

  Megan’s eyes remained glacial.

  Kira backpedaled. “Ignore me. Thank you for the wonderful massage. It was a pleasure meeting you.” She turned and left before she made things any more awkward.

  Maybe Megan would track her down.

  She seriously doubted it.

  Chapter Three

  Megan relaxed on her massage table in the massage space that had once been her townhouse’s second-floor bedroom as Svetlana Tretyakova Durbridge tapped her fingertips rhythmically up and down one arm, then the other, easing the strain that had built up over a full day of massaging runner after runner at the race the day before.

  Svetlana broke the silence. “Volunteer work is great way to meet new people, no?”

  Uh-oh. Her friend’s Russian accent always became more pronounced when she got excited about something. She should have known Svetlana’s husband would fill her in. What did Patrick tell her, anyway? Nothing, that’s what. Because nothing happened. When that brave, unforgettable woman asked her out, Megan had said no on autopilot, and that had absolutely been the right thing to do. It was totally unethical to date clients.

  “It’s all a blur,” Megan said, which wasn’t technically a lie—because it was all a blur. All except for one tiny span of ten minutes that for some annoying reason she could recall by the nanosecond. “One set of legs looks pretty much like any other after a while.”

  “That’s not what I heard.”

  “You were there. Nothing happened.”

  “Next time I take table next to you.”

  “You were close enough.”

  “I did not think to be
two tables away was so very far, and yet, Patrick knows details that I do not.”

  “That’s because your husband is even nosier than you are.” He must have blown the incident totally out of proportion.

  Svetlana drummed on her body more vigorously with the sides of her hands. “What did I miss?”

  “Nothing exciting.” Nothing except a fit, tanned brunette backing up against her massage table, gripping the edge of the table behind her for support instead of crossing her arms defensively in front of her chest once she realized that asking her out had been a mistake. She waited for Megan to shoot her down and never looked away.

  Megan’s heart was the one that had pounded.

  “It is not necessary to tell me,” Svetlana said, knowing full well that Megan would eventually cave.

  And this massage had started out so soothing.

  Megan sighed. “If you must know, someone hit on me. It was no big deal.”

  “Did you reply with good insult?”

  “Come on, Svetlana, you know I would never do that.”

  “I know. Always the professional. But wouldn’t it be fun?”

  “I’d feel bad about it afterward. Besides, she was very respectful. She backed down right away.”

  Svetlana kneaded the tight muscles in Megan’s forearms. “So, this respectful woman who hit on you, was she cute?”

  “I didn’t notice,” Megan lied.

  “Of course you didn’t. It is necessary to be professional.” Svetlana slid her hands down to Megan’s fingers and worked the kinks out. “As you say, it’s all blur. All…” She dragged the word out, matching the slow rhythm of her massage as her pitch fell mournfully. “All…forgotten blur.”

  Megan relented. “She was kind of cute. Very intense.”

  Svetlana broke into an I-told-you-so smile.

  “Don’t get too excited,” Megan warned.

  “Never.”

  “Have you heard anything about the Starfish Hotel being sold?”

  “Starfish? Yeah, some woman is to turn it into spa. Women-only. Kira something. She’s asking around, trying to hire idiot to run massage part.” Svetlana’s hands paused. “This is woman who hit on you?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Unfortunate, as you have sworn off tourists.”

  “Being new in town doesn’t make her a tourist.”

  “You call the evil Amelia a tourist, and she owns condo here.”

  “I think I’ll be the judge of who my rule applies to.”

  Svetlana put Megan’s hand down and grinned. “That cute, yes?”

  “Oh, God,” Megan said, remembering how Kira’s eyes had drawn her in like a magnet. Well, let’s be honest. Much as it pained her to admit it, the first thing she noticed was not her eyes.

  Normally she didn’t care one way or another what her clients’ bodies looked like. Large, thin, splotchy, whatever, she really didn’t notice. Besides, clients picked up on that sort of thing subconsciously, and the last thing she wanted to do was make someone uncomfortable. She had been massaging runners all day in that tent, and it was true what she’d said to Svetlana—they did all blur together, just one set of sore legs after another.

  Kira’s she remembered. In a sea of great legs, Kira’s were lean and strong and painfully beautiful. She loved the way you could see the muscles clearly defined, like an anatomy textbook brought to life, and feel their shape under your hands.

  Safer to forget she’d noticed.

  Safer, but not easy—not with the way her baser instincts kept kicking in every time she thought of her. In all the time she’d been practicing massage, she’d never felt this unprofessional.

  “It would be wrong,” Megan said. Maybe saying it out loud would help her convince herself.

  “Probably,” Svetlana agreed.

  Megan blew out a deep breath. “God.”

  “You didn’t want to date tourist, anyway.”

  “Yeah, thanks, that helps.”

  “Then why you don’t trust yourself and go for it?”

  Because her instincts weren’t trustworthy, that was why. Svetlana had no idea what it had felt like that day she’d passed what she thought was her destiny on the crowded boardwalk and walked right through the woman’s aura.

  And recognized it.

  She had turned back to see who it was. The source of that electricity had stopped to look in the window of a souvenir shop. It was the strangest feeling. She knew this stranger had meant something to her once.

  Meant a lot.

  The woman—Amelia—must have sensed Megan was staring at her, because she looked over her shoulder and straight at her.

  And wasted no time getting her into bed.

  “I thought I knew what I was doing when I picked Amelia,” Megan said. “I thought it was fate when I met her.”

  “If you say so.” Svetlana stepped back from the table and stretched. “Time to trade. My turn for a massage.”

  “So much for fate, huh?”

  Svetlana shrugged her bafflement.

  If fate ever brought her another familiar face, she’d run the other way.

  ***

  “What do you think?” Kira asked her dad as she showed him around the dilapidated Starfish Hotel—her new baby.

  He’d called earlier that morning to say he was driving out to Wilmington and planned to detour past Piper Beach to see how her latest project was coming along. Kind of like he used to do when she worked for him, except now, when he told her what she was doing wrong, she could ignore him.

  Kira led him to the empty roof. It was only four stories up, but they were right at the edge of town, so that was high enough that you could look out over a protected stretch of wild dunes and see the ocean. She couldn’t wait to build a rooftop patio up here. “Isn’t this a great view?”

  He took a few token steps toward the edge of the roof and stopped to mop the sweat from his forehead with a limp linen handkerchief. That’s what bandanas were for, in her opinion, but unlike her, he believed in executive attire—including a real handkerchief in his pocket—on the jobsite. Business suits only. He tried, anyway. Catch him first thing in the morning and his pinstripe suit was crisp and his tie tightly knotted, but by afternoon his collar was unbuttoned, his tie was loose, and his assistant was scampering in her three-inch do-me heels to locate where he’d misplaced his jacket.

  “No view from the ground floor,” he complained. “You’re going to lose your shirt on this one.”

  “You always say that.” Ever since she’d quit working for him and struck out on her own, starting businesses and selling them just like he’d taught her to, he’d been full of gloomy predictions of her financial ruin, none of which had come true.

  “I was right about that restaurant,” he reminded her.

  “I didn’t lose everything,” Kira protested, even though she almost had. She’d helped an aspiring chef open a restaurant in nearby Rehoboth, and ended up taking a big financial hit when the inexperienced chef’s cooking turned out to be less than popular. That was the last time she was messing around with a restaurant. Fortunately she’d managed to bail with enough money left to buy this bankrupt hotel and its not-quite-beachfront-yet-still-super-expensive land. Her second chance. She’d fallen in love with the property at first sight.

  “You came close,” he countered. “How many times do I have to tell you not to use your own money on these projects? Put someone else’s money at risk. Find an investor.”

  “And let that investor tell me what to do? No thanks.”

  “They won’t force you to do anything that’s not in your best interests.”

  “They won’t force me to do anything at all, because I’m not taking their money.” She knew her father sincerely believed he had her own best interests at heart. He just didn’t understand what her best interests were.

  “You always were stubborn,” he said.

  “I don’t need their money.”

  “Too stubborn for your own good.”

  Ki
ra narrowed her eyes at him. “Because women should be meek and do what you tell them to do?”

  He raised his hands defensively. “Where do you come up with this stuff?” He shook his head. “I’m just telling you to get a backer.”

  “I’m my own backer on this one, Dad.”

  “This one and every one,” he grumbled.

  Damn right. Kira admired the ocean view that was going to turn her financial future around. This project, unlike her last one, wouldn’t let her down.

  The restaurant had been a mistake from the beginning, starting with her decision to join forces with the woman she was dating. At the very least, she should have noticed that her girlfriend knew nothing about running a business. Or that she saw Kira as a shortcut to becoming chef of her own restaurant so she could skip the part where she learned how to be a good one.

  This project was different. No business partners, not this time. Someone to help her design the spa and later manage it, yes, but no one with a financial stake who would convince her to make decisions she wasn’t happy about.

  “How much is this costing you?”

  “It won’t be too expensive.” Kira refused to give him numbers, which would only serve as more ammunition. “Some of the rooms are in bad shape—the previous owners closed them off when something broke instead of fixing the problem—but a lot of it’s fine the way it is. I won’t need to gut the place.”

  “So you get the retro vibe for free.” He looked the roof up and down, his gaze noticeably pausing to dwell on the boxy hulk of the rooftop air-conditioning units, no doubt estimating how many years they had left in them before they had to be replaced. With him, it was all about the condition of your assets, all about the numbers.

  “Isn’t it great?” Kira said extra enthusiastically, hoping he’d get the hint that he should say something positive.

  He eyed her in the same assessing way he’d looked at her rooftop machinery. “You put yourself and your money on the line, you can’t afford another loser.”

  “No, I have a good feeling about this place. This one’s going to work out.” Let him be grumpy if he wanted to, but with the right renovations and a new business model, this hotel was going to be a success. “You’ll see.”