Kira glanced back at Megan, who raised an eyebrow at her. Was she staring? She hadn’t meant to. Megan shook her head but made no move to look away.
What the hell happened at the club the other night, anyway? She’d thought that kiss was the last one she was ever going to get from Megan. Now she wasn’t so sure, because Megan might be trying to look mad, but her eyes gave her away. Her eyes were like sunlight. It was amazing how good that felt, to just look into her eyes and be dazzled by the magic shining from her soul. Kira’s grin stretched out of control. She was sure she looked lovestruck, but she didn’t care. Patrick would either have to look away or get over it.
But, oh, my, God, those eyes were going to get her into trouble. How was she supposed to keep things professional if mere eye contact was enough to make her forget why she’d ever agreed to keep her distance?
Chapter Eleven
When they left the restaurant, the gray skies that had threatened rain all day were unleashing a downpour. Megan paused under the awning outside to give Svetlana a hug goodbye, awkwardly trying not to bump her with the folded umbrella looped over her wrist.
Svetlana wasn’t the touchy-feely type—despite what she did for a living—so Megan was surprised when she turned to give Kira a hug, too. “Thanks again for helping me yesterday,” Svetlana told Kira. “You called the right person.”
“Glad I could help. I had no idea Megan knew how to banish evil spirits.”
The strain on Kira’s face belied her light, joking tone. She wished Kira was more comfortable with what she’d witnessed, but at least she wasn’t trying to pretend the whole thing had never happened, the way Megan’s mother had always done, somehow managing to convince herself her child’s embarrassing behavior was all the product of an overactive imagination.
“It was a surprise to me, too,” Patrick said, his eyes on Svetlana. “Let’s hope this never comes up again.” He pulled his keys out of his pocket, took Svetlana’s hand, and together they dashed through the rain to their car.
Kira shrugged into her rain jacket and zipped it all the way up. Her shorts disappeared under the bottom of the jacket, emphasizing the bareness of her tanned, muscular legs. “It looked like you and Gwynne were old pros at handling Svetlana’s problem. You must work together a lot.”
“No, not really.” Megan glanced away from Kira’s legs. Did they have to talk about Gwynne right now? “It’s been a long time since we’ve done any work together.”
“I wouldn’t have guessed. You had that finishing-each-other’s-sentences thing going on.”
So those two were keeping an eye on each other, were they? Interesting. It made her forget that Kira thought she was crazy. No, wait…what was it she called her? Different.
Megan opened her umbrella and held it over Kira’s head. “I’ll walk you to your car.” Kira’s raincoat had a hood, so there was no real need for her to offer. She wanted to, though. She could walk her to her car, and maybe on the way they’d get chilled from the rain and decide to stop somewhere for coffee.
Except sitting across from Kira at a cozy little table after dinner might feel like a date. Sipping coffee and gazing at her over the rim of her cup might feel like a date. Being alone with her might feel like a date. And she needed to make sure this didn’t turn into a date.
“Where did you park?” Megan asked.
“I didn’t bring my car.”
“Let me drive you home, then.”
Kira adjusted her hood and stepped out onto the sidewalk, away from the shelter of Megan’s umbrella. “I can walk.”
Megan jerked her umbrella back, hurt. Again. Five minutes ago inside the restaurant Kira was staring into her eyes like she wanted to pull her into her arms, and now she refused to accept a ride when it was pouring down rain?
“I’ll drive you,” Megan insisted. I’ll behave myself, she added silently. She’d keep both hands on the steering wheel and not even look at Kira’s gorgeous bare thighs, no matter how close she was in the passenger seat. They’d talk business and she’d try not to enjoy it too much when Kira pretended to be a ruthless businesswoman who’d never be nice to a competitor.
“Thanks, but no.”
There was something in Kira’s eyes she couldn’t identify. She wished she could touch her—hold her hand, even—so she could use her weird abilities, which worked best through physical contact, to sense what Kira was feeling and understand what was going on.
And that was no way to think about a client and a friend. Because hand-holding would lead to running her hands up her arms and cupping her face and stepping into her personal space and kissing the explanation out of her.
Which would be out of line.
Which was exactly why Kira didn’t want to accept a ride from her, wasn’t it? Kira was holding the line. The line that Megan had drawn. She felt like a jerk.
“At least take my umbrella.” Megan held it out but Kira refused to take it.
“You’ll get wet,” Kira said.
“And you won’t?”
“I’m a runner. I’m used to being out in the rain. Sometimes I even do it on purpose.”
The air smelled tangy with ozone, which meant the storm was about to get worse. Kira didn’t have to be a selfless idiot. Megan was the one who had drawn the line and she was going to re-draw it. “It’s storming and it’s dark out. Come on, my car’s not far.”
Kira looked away, into the darkness, her hands shoved in her pockets.
Megan pursed her lips as the hollow feeling in her stomach turned into a knot. So she’d get rained on. She hoped Kira wasn’t refusing a ride for her sake, but really, if Kira didn’t mind getting wet, why should she argue? She didn’t have to force her to accept her help. She wasn’t a client on her table asking her to solve her problems.
Megan gave up. “I’ll go,” she said.
Kira didn’t turn around. “I’ll go with you.”
***
With her windshield wipers smacking furiously, Megan pulled into the parking lot of the complex of squat three-story garden-style apartments where Kira lived. Each unit was clustered around an open stairwell and had its own miniature balcony.
“Svetlana lived in one of these apartments her first summer here,” she told Kira.
“How did she like it?”
“She liked that it was affordable.” Svetlana had been one of the hundreds of Eastern European teens who were lured to the Delaware shore each summer to fill unglamorous jobs like waitressing, lifeguarding at hotel pools, selling chocolate-covered frozen bananas, and taking tickets at putt-putt courses because there weren’t enough locals to fill the demand. She was already in the hole from airfare just to get here, so she did what everyone did—squeezed in with as many of her new acquaintances as possible in short-term rentals that they furnished with plastic lawn chairs. “She shared the apartment with five other women.”
“They fit six people in here? These apartments are all one-bedrooms.”
“She slept on the floor. She said she was used to living in a small apartment in Moscow and the close quarters didn’t bother her.”
“Did she at least have a mattress?”
Megan’s heart warmed at Kira’s concern. She wanted her friends to like each other. “You sound like Patrick. When he found out, he couldn’t wait to get her out of there.”
Kira looked at her like she was clueless. “Patrick just wanted to sleep with her without an audience.”
Okay, so maybe Kira wasn’t a complete angel of concern.
“Do you like it here?”
“I don’t spend much time here,” Kira said. “As soon as we’re done working on the plumbing and the electrical at the hotel, I’m moving into a room over there.”
Megan braked in front of Kira’s building. “I guess you don’t worry too much about separating work and home.”
“I move around a lot. Usually it doesn’t seem worth the trouble.” Kira unbuckled her seat belt. “But if my job involved questionable men coming to my home and
getting naked, I’d make the effort. You should think about getting a real office.”
“I think about it,” Megan protested. “But I don’t have any problems working at home. Besides, everything is so expensive around here. I can’t afford to rent office space on top of what I already pay for my townhouse, not unless I raise my fees—and I don’t want to do that to my clients.” She slid the gearshift into Park and draped her left hand over the top of the steering wheel. “So I’ll see you later?”
Kira paused with her hand on the door handle. “Want to come in for coffee?”
Megan’s fingers clenched spasmodically around the steering wheel. Not a date, she reminded herself. Driving her home was not supposed to turn into a date. She pressed her foot harder, unnecessarily, on the brake. Coffee and dessert near the boardwalk—whether in a dimly lit restaurant or in the bright glare of an ice cream shop—would have been dangerous enough. Coffee in Kira’s apartment, just a few feet away from her bedroom, was…was not something she wanted to dwell on right now. She wished she could tell whether the tension buzzing in the enclosed space was mutual or whether it was all one-sided, but Kira’s face was unreadable in the darkness inside the car.
“Okay.” Megan shifted back into gear, wondering how worried she should be. “Do you have decaf?”
Right. As if staying awake was what she was worried about.
They found a parking space in the visitors’ lot and Megan shared her umbrella for the dash to the entrance. A futile gesture, now that the rain was coming down in violent gusts and her umbrella was in serious danger of flipping inside out, but Kira didn’t rebuff her, and that made her happier than it should have. Kira also didn’t hold her arm or touch her hand to steady the umbrella, but that was probably for the best. There was enough electricity in the air from the lightning storm without her huddling any closer.
When they got inside and up the stairs to her second-floor apartment, Kira stripped off her raincoat and relieved Megan of her umbrella. She gestured vaguely toward the living room couch and headed for the tiny kitchen. “I have some herbal tea in here somewhere if you want that instead of coffee.”
“What kind?”
“I don’t know, herbal? It comes in a red box.”
While Kira disappeared into the kitchen, Megan looked around. The main living area held a couch, an ancient television, a dining table with two plain wooden chairs, and not much else. No personal knickknacks, no art, no clutter, no dust. Did she always live like this, or was most of her stuff in storage? She hadn’t been exaggerating when she said she didn’t spend much time here. She couldn’t sense Kira’s imprint at all in the emotional debris left behind by the apartment’s many previous occupants. She closed her eyes and, with a whoosh of an exhale, swept her arms in a breaststroke-like motion through the emotionally clogged air, clearing it out until the apartment felt as psychically clean and unburdened as Kira had tried to make it look.
“You okay out there?” Kira called out from the kitchen.
“Yup.”
Megan nodded with approval at the smoke detector and sprinkler. Scanning the ceiling for smoke detectors was a bad habit, but no one could accuse her of being neurotic if they didn’t see her do it. She moved one of the chairs and climbed onto it so she could take a closer look.
She was still standing on the chair, holding the smoke detector’s lid open and examining its inner workings, when Kira walked in with two mugs of tea. Megan blushed with embarrassment. Not that this was a date, but no relationship guru would recommend invading your host’s privacy as a way to make a good first impression. Butt at eye-level, no less.
Kira stopped outside the kitchen doorway and stared up at her, unsmiling—at her face. Steam rose from the mugs she held in either hand. “What are you doing?”
“Checking your smoke detector.” Megan snapped the lid shut, careful not to dislodge any wires. “You have the dual-action kind that detects smoldering fires as well as open flame. That’s great.”
“I know what kind of smoke detectors I have. You do know what I do for a living, right?”
“Sorry. Guess that was kind of nosy of me.” Megan should have left it at that. Instead, she listened to herself in horror as her mouth continued. “When was the last time you changed those backup batteries, anyway?”
“I replaced them when I moved in. They’re new.” Kira put the mugs down and stared at her strangely.
“Good. Great. That’s great.” God, her mother had been right, warning her that people would think it odd if they ever noticed how many smoke detectors the McLarens had in the house. Her mother had threatened to take them all down the day a fourteen-year-old Megan blew weeks of her allowance on an eight-unit value-pack of smoke detectors, taught herself to use a drill while her parents were at work, and went wild. You’d think they’d appreciate being safe.
But she’d always known she was the only one in the family who took the threat of fire seriously. When she was five years old, she packed her stuffed animals in a backpack and kept it by her bed because her mother said if there was a fire she was supposed to run outside right away and not get her animals and not look for Mommy or Daddy, just run outside, so she wanted to be prepared. She wanted to save her kitty, too, but Tiger wouldn’t stay in the bag. “Leave the door open for Tiger if you have to run out,” her mother said. “The cat will find her own way out.”
Kira reached up to help Megan down from the chair. Megan didn’t need help but she took Kira’s hand anyway, probably because she was still flustered over being caught nosing around. When she stepped down and Kira didn’t immediately let go, she looked up at Kira’s face, then down at their hands, remembering how good this had felt when they were dancing. She hated limp handshakes that shrank from her touch, or elderly socialites who frowned at her as if a firm handshake was unladylike. Kira’s grip was wonderfully strong, as strong as her own, and the joining of one forceful grip with another was solid and electrifying. Like they were meant to hold on to each other like this.
Before things could get awkward, Megan consciously relaxed her hand and tried to pull away, but Kira wouldn’t let her. O…kay. Kira rubbed her thumb against her hand. She hadn’t done that at Avalanche. Megan bit her lip. Damn it, she needed to free her hand. Either that or give in to the heat that was bubbling up in her chest and making her break out in a sweat. And kiss her to make it stop.
To make it stop—yeah, there was a logical plan. Kira continued with her slow stroking, loosening her grip so she could slide across Megan’s palm and between her fingers. Megan swayed on her feet.
It was Kira who finally put a stop to it and broke contact. Megan sank onto the couch, afraid she might pass out.
Kira retrieved one of the mugs from the table and passed it to her. “Hope you like Cinnamon Sensation.”
“That’s the tea you couldn’t remember the name of?” Megan commented weakly. “What’s the sensation part?”
Kira’s smile made her sorry she’d asked. “Licorice, I think.”
There was no coffee table in front of the couch, so she placed the hot mug on the floor by her feet to wait for it to cool. Now her hands had nothing to do.
“Personally, I have my doubts about the name.” A sexy drawl crept into Kira’s voice. “I think that’s why I can never remember it.”
Megan’s fingers tightened, aching to mesh with Kira’s. How could she miss that feeling so acutely after mere seconds? She dug her fingers into her thighs, then realized Kira was watching. She sat on her hands.
“I got this spa supply catalog in the mail today,” Kira said, her voice back to normal and her teasing smile suddenly gone. She pulled the catalog from a basket by the front door and came back and sat next to Megan on the couch. “Would you mind going over it with me?”
“Sure.” Megan grabbed Kira’s pen and notepad from her, relieved that Kira had taken mercy on her and returned to business mode.
“Kelp body mud,” Kira read. “That sounds good, don’t you think?”
An inch away from her neck, she came to her senses. She pulled back slightly—maybe an inch—and sucked on her bottom lip to keep from touching her. Her lips ached from the deprivation, but this was not the time to be investigating whether Kira’s skin tasted as good as it smelled.
“I like the seaweed angle. Kelp, sea rocket—it all fits in with a beach theme. We could put out bowls of potpourri made of dried seaweed and chunks of sea salt.” Kira flipped to the next page of the catalog, seemingly unfazed by Megan’s proximity.
Megan couldn’t quite bring herself to sit back and put a respectable distance between them. “If you’re doing a beach theme, you have to offer seashell massage.”
“You’re kidding. What is that?”
“Have you heard of hot stone massage? You heat up smooth, polished stones and lay them on the client’s body? It’s the same thing, except with seashells. The shells are supposed to have a more uplifting energy than the stones.”
Kira leaned back and Megan should have gotten out of the way, but didn’t, and narrowly avoided a collision with her shoulder.
Kira didn’t seem to notice. “Have you tried it?”
“No.”
“You should try it.”
“Me?” Megan loaded the word with a heavy dose of put-upon employee, even though she had nothing against seashells.
Kira grinned and turned back to the catalog. “Do they have shells in here?” She flipped through and abruptly stopped. “Ooh! Mango salt scrub!” She showed her a photo of a flawlessly manicured woman rubbing salt crystals on her bare thigh. “She looks like a salt-encrusted salmon. I always wanted to put that on the menu at my restaurant, but Lizzy…yeah, forget Lizzy. Mm, mm, mm.” She sounded like she couldn’t decide whether having someone rub salt on her would feel great or make her feel like she’d made an embarrassing mistake. “What’s a salt scrub good for, anyway?”
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