Remember the Dreams

by Christine Flynn

  "Not at the office," he interrupted, taking the goblet she was clutching a little too tightly and handing her two pottery plates. "Put these on the table. I meant other than that. I can imagine what your days are like."

  She sat the plates on the oak and glass table on the far side of the kitchen. "Unfortunately, the nights are about the same." Returning to the silverware drawer, she handed him the knives and forks. "Put these on the table," she smiled sweetly, handing him the utensils. "But I did go to a show Wednesday night."

  She started to tell him what movie she'd seen, but he cut in too quickly.

  "Who with?"

  "One of our investors."

  His thick eyebrows arched slightly. "I've never taken a client to a show to get business before, but whatever tactic works ..." His sentence was completed with an absent shrug.

  "It wasn't business."

  Kyle seemed to be taking more time than was necessary positioning the silverware around the plates. "Someone you've been seeing much of?"

  "That was the first time I went out with him," she returned, realizing how silly the fears that had plagued her all afternoon had been. There was no reason to be nervous with Kyle. She actually felt more comfortable with him now than she had five years ago. "But he's taking me to dinner tomorrow night," she added, watching Kyle reposition the forks.

  The fork hit the floor and Kyle returned to get another.

  "Sounds like you're interested in the guy." Kyle's tone was bland, but he wasn't looking at her. And the muscle in his jaw looked like it was going to start twitching again. "Think it could be anything serious?"

  Hardly, she thought to herself. Dr. Greg Nichols was certainly nice enough, but he was more interested in free investment advice than anything else. She had thought his good-night kiss awfully . . . clinical. "After only one movie . . ." She glanced over at the oven. There was a fair amount of smoke curling over the door. "... It's way too soon to tell. I think your steaks are burning."

  Kyle reached the oven in four long strides. The sound of its door crashing down muffled his terse "Damn!"

  "I like mine rare," she taunted, careful to keep the smile from her face.

  Casting her a quelling glare, he flipped the meat over with his fingers. The way he jerked his hand back after turning each steak was a pretty good indication of how hot they were. "You'll take it the way you get it," he grumbled.

  Toni wasn't all that convinced that something hadn't gone wrong in Chicago, or that his "little situation" wasn't getting to be something more than he could handle. That had to be the reason he still seemed so irritable. Though she felt some sympathy for him—quite a bit actually— there was something about seeing Kyle in less than total control that was a little amusing. It made him seem so much more human, and less the idol he had once been.

  Her facial muscles were flinching with a smile that didn't want to be suppressed. Putting her hand to her forehead, she looked down at the floor and tried to keep the. laughter from her voice. "You know, Kyle, if you'd use a fork ..."

  "I wouldn't get burned." He completed the sentence sharply. He barely glanced at her as he pushed the pan back under the broiler. "Just because a person knows how to prevent something doesn't necessarily mean that he has the good sense to do it."

  "My," she teased, ignoring the urge to push back the lock of hair that had fallen over his forehead, "that's an awfully profound statement for something as inconsequential as how to turn a steak."

  It occurred to her then, as she watched the strong cords in his neck tense in agitation, that maybe he was talking about something else entirely.

  "There's nothing particularly profound about stating the obvious." He didn't sound nearly as curt as he had a moment before, and the tiny lines etched around his eyes deepened with his smile. "And it's also obvious that we can't cook and talk at the same time. Why don't you put the wine on the table and I'll bring these in a minute."

  Their conversation resumed as soon as dinner was on their plates in relative safety.

  "What kept you so late tonight?" Kyle asked, absently reaching for the pepper.

  It wouldn't do to say "nerves," so she just mumbled, "Work," and took another bite of her salad.

  "Aren't things slacking up yet?"

  "You said you didn't want to hear about it," she reminded him mockingly.

  "Maybe I changed my mind."

  "Well," she drawled, returning his grin, "if that's the case . . ."

  It took no further prodding for Toni to begin an animated replay of everything that had happened during the week. The office had been in near chaos when she'd taken over, but things were finally taking shape. Though she'd had a few problems with one of the account managers who was refusing to pull his weight, matters were now moving quite smoothly. She loved her work and the pleasure she took in it was quite evident. More than that was apparent to Kyle though. Kyle never approached a situation without weighing all the possible consequences. At least he hadn't until now. This morning he'd temporarily abandoned that philosophy.

  Without allowing himself to question his reasons, he'd cut out on his last meeting and caught the earliest flight he could get back to Seattle. All he knew was that he wanted to see Toni, and when she hadn't shown up until almost eight o'clock, he'd been furious. Not with her. With himself. Toni had always represented the type of woman he never got involved with, but his compulsion to see her, to be with her, had obscured all rationality.

  Sitting on the front steps for over two hours had helped restore the logic that had eluded him earlier. They were just friends. Nothing more.

  And he'd make darn sure things stayed that way.

  Thank God she'd thought that he was upset over the seminar. If she'd had any idea of the crazy thoughts that had been tormenting him all week, she'd probably tip that proud little chin up and call him a pervert. It was obvious enough that she still thought of him as something of an older brother.

  For the life of him he wished he could feel that same nonthreatening attachment to her. But the woman sitting across from him now seemed so different from the one he'd remembered. She still teased him like she used to, but all resemblance to that malleable young woman stopped there.

  He'd never really noticed her voice before, how sultry it sounded. Enjoying the sound of it, enjoying watching her, he didn't even realize how intense his gaze had become.

  He could have been eating filet mignon or sauteed cardboard for all the attention he was paying to his food. He was too busy savoring the grace of her hands as they punctuated a thought, the tilt of her head when she appeared thoughtful, the way her captivating blue eyes narrowed when she homed in on some obscure nuance of a transaction. Her eyes weren't really blue at all. They were aquamarine. Had he ever really noticed the jewellike flecks of green in them before?

  His eyes moved slowly over her face and up to the silken coil of her hair. He tried to remember how she used to wear it, but couldn't. All he recalled was that it had been short. Collar length maybe? Now he wondered if those long tresses, caught up so chastely in that thick roll, were as soft as they looked. What would she do if he asked her to take it down?

  He smiled to himself, imagining her reaction to such a request, and tried to concentrate on what she was saying.

  But all Kyle could think about was that Antoinette Collins had turned into one very intelligent, incredibly sexy woman.

  He'd never even met the guy she was going out with tomorrow night, but he was dead certain that he wasn't going to like him.

  ". . . and I think you would have done the same thing," Toni concluded, tossing her napkin onto her empty plate.

  "I'm sure I would have," Kyle said, not even knowing what he was agreeing with. God, but she's got a beautiful mouth, he thought, knowing that if he didn't stop staring at it, he'd only succeed in resurrecting everything he was trying so hard not to think about. But the thought of those soft lips moving beneath his, caressing him the way he wanted to caress her, was causing problems with more than
his concentration. "Let's go for a swim."

  He'd found swimming a very effective way to cool off.

  Toni's dark lashes narrowed. "But we just ate."

  Kyle's napkin fell over his half-eaten dinner. "You won't sink."

  "That's not what I meant," she returned, eyeing him dully. "You get cramps if you swim too soon after..."

  "Then let's get into the spa."

  "I told you that I don't have a bathing suit."

  She would have to remind him of that. He was trying not to think about her, and now all he could picture was her naked body glistening. . . . "Then let's. . ."

  "What's the matter with you, Kyle?" Toni's brow lowered as she looked across the table at him. He'd been acting so strangely during dinner. She wasn't even sure he'd been listening to anything she'd said, though he hadn't seemed to take his eyes off her for more than a few seconds. Maybe he was still preoccupied with the seminar. "Why are you so antsy? Am I that boring?"

  "Boring?" he repeated dryly, scraping back his chair. With an exaggerated stretch, he cleared his throat. "No, it's ah . . . I just need to do something physical." Deliberately he avoided her eyes. "Sitting on the plane for three hours finally got to me, I guess."

  "Well," she suggested, following him with her plate to the sink, "why don't we go for a walk then?"

  Her hand was snatched up the second she put her dishes down.

  "Let's go," he said, practically hauling her across the floor.

  "Kyle!" Toni had hardly expected the sharp jerk he gave her arm, and she slammed right into the middle of his back. It was only by bracing herself against those rigid muscles that she kept from landing in a heap at his feet. "A walk! Not a . . ."

  At the same time she had balanced herself, Kyle had turned to catch her. Finding herself smashed up against his chest now, her eyes only inches from his throat, the rest of her words suddenly forgot to come out.

  Kyle's arms were around her, and she was so close that she could feel the heat of his body radiating against her. A sharp intake of breath did nothing to stabilize her already rubbery legs. His scent, that warm blend of musk and something that was unmistakably Kyle, filled her nostrils and set up a chain reaction of tremors that started at the top of her head and ended somewhere at the tip of her toes.

  "Sorry," he mumbled, pulling his arms away to jam his hands into his pockets. "I take it that you weren't ready to go?"

  "You never were very patient," she managed, determined to sound as casual as he looked. "And, yes, I am ready. Just as soon as we get the dishes done."

  "Leave them." His instruction was tossed over his shoulder as he headed through the living room. "Madeline can take care of them in the morning."

  Taking a deep breath and telling herself quite firmly that she had felt nothing, nothing, just a moment ago, she followed Kyle out the front door.

  ❧

  When Toni awoke the next morning, she swore that she'd never go for another walk with Kyle. She had expected a nice quiet little stroll down the street. Not a four-mile marathon down the hill and back up again.

  One thing was painfully clear to her as she stumbled into the shower—other than the fact that her legs ached like crazy, that is. She was definitely getting out of shape? It had only been a month since she'd abandoned her twice-weekly visits to the health club back in New York, but she had to get started on some kind of exercise program soon. Kyle had quite unnecessarily pointed out as much last night, politely suggesting that she might want to use his pool to swim laps. She didn't know which had been worse, the fact that he had suggested the very thing she had just been thinking about, or his infuriating grin as he watched her struggle up the hill after him.

  A half an hour later, her hair smoothed in its usual neat knot and a pale blue turtleneck tucked into her beige wool slacks, Toni followed the smell of freshly brewed coffee into the kitchen.

  Madeline—the pear-shaped little woman Toni, in a rush because she'd overslept, had literally run into on her way out the door Wednesday morning—stood at the stove stirring a pot of something that looked delicious.

  "Morning." Toni smiled, tossing her wool jacket over one of the chairs at the table. She stopped and gingerly rubbed the back of her leg.

  "Morning," the matronly woman returned. Her warm brown eyes crinkled in a smile as she handed Toni a steaming cup of coffee. "You look like you could use this."

  Toni gratefully accepted the proffered cup. "It shows, huh?"

  Madeline arched her graying eyebrows and, with an empathetic nod, turned back to the

  stove.

  Toni figured that Kyle was already at his office. When she had worked for him, he'd always spent his Saturdays there. So it was more for the sake of conversation that she asked, "Where's Kyle?" Then, not waiting for the expected response, she added, "And what are you making? It smells wonderful."

  The creases in Madeline's round face deepened with her beaming smile. "Kyle's having a party in a couple of weeks, so I thought I'd freeze up a couple batches of Swedish meatballs now and make more canapes next Saturday. I don't like having to do it all at once." She frowned at the pot, and with a shrug of her ample shoulders she dropped in a couple of cloves of garlic. "And," she continued, "Kyle's downstairs working out in the weightroom. He said I wasn't to disturb you. Guess he thought you'd want to sleep in this morning. But now that you're up, I'll go get your sheets and towels and throw 'em in the laundry."

  Madeline had seemed to accept Toni's presence without question, something that had puzzled Toni until Kyle had remarked the night before that he'd told Madeline "all about her"— whatever that was supposed to mean. Toni had been too busy conserving her labored breath to ask many questions. During their little "walk" she'd let Kyle do most of the talking.

  Now a perverse little smile tugged at Toni's mouth as she sipped her coffee. So Kyle wasn't at his office. That could only mean that he must be sore this morning, too, and needed to work out the cramps in his muscles. Serves him right, she thought, all too aware of the knots in her legs. Even her knees had cramps in them.

  "Does Kyle know that you're headed out somewhere this morning?" The gray curls around Madeline's face bounced over her brow as she nodded toward Toni's jacket on the chair-back. Toni shook her head, wondering why Madeline had even asked. It wasn't like she had to check in with Kyle before she went about her business.

  Madeline had a funny look on her face as she wrung her hands on her calico apron.

  "What are you doing up so early?" At the sound of Kyle's voice, Toni glanced up. She was just about to take another sip of coffee, but the cup hung suspended in midair for one heart-stopping second before she carefully lowered it.

  His large frame filled the arching doorway. A pair of gray sweatshorts clung to his lean hips, and he had a thick white towel slung around his neck. His chest and shoulders were covered with a fine sheen of perspiration, and as he raked his fingers through his tousled hair she couldn't help but notice the hard line of his muscled biceps.

  Oh, come on! she chided herself as she mumbled, "Good morning," into her cup. Just because he's half-naked and looks so ... so male isn't any reason to get nervous. This is Kyle! Remember?

  Kyle's eyes slid carelessly over her slender form, starting at the toes of her calfskin pumps. When his inspection reached the coil of her hair, he frowned. "You going somewhere?"

  Madeline cleared her throat and dropped a metal lid into the sink.

  He hadn't waited for Toni's response and was heading toward the refrigerator. The ease with which he moved, lithe sinew and muscle rippling smoothly as he covered the distance of the kitchen, told Toni that he was suffering no effect from their little jaunt last night.

  "To the office," she returned, a little jealous of his effortless movements. "I'm surprised you're not at yours already."

  He reached into the refrigerator and pulled out a carton of milk. "It's Saturday."

  Toni stared at his broad back, wondering if she'd just missed something somewhere. "I
had a friend who once told me that you can accomplish more on the weekend when the phone isn't ringing than you can otherwise all week. Don't you subscribe to that philosophy anymore?"

  Over the rim of her cup, she watched him drain the tumbler of milk, then put the empty glass down on the counter.

  Madeline handed him a wooden spoon. "Give the meatballs a stir in a minute," she instructed. "I'm going to put the rest of the laundry in."

  "Yes, ma'am." Kyle saluted, then turned to lean against the counter. He eyed Toni levelly. "I never work on weekends. At least, not unless I have to."

  That didn't sound like Kyle at all, and Toni's expression was doubtful. "You're not serious."

  "Oh, yes, I am," he returned flatly. "And don't you think you deserve to take a day off?"

  "What I deserve"—her mind was already on the stack of work she'd left on her desk, a deliberate effort to avoid thinking about the terribly masculine form only four feet away from her—"and what I get, are two different things."

  "Want some friendly advice?"

  His tone was making her a little skeptical. "That depends."

  "On what?"

  Her smile lacked its usual brightness. Something didn't feel quite right. "The advice."

  "You're not going to like it."

  She already had that feeling. But why? "Knowing you," she said, "I'm probably going to hear it anyway."

  He didn't even bother acknowledging her attempt at lightness, and she was surprised at the sharpness in his tone. "You've had that office for a month, and if you'd managed your time properly, you wouldn't have to spend so much of it working now. Learn to delegate. Being a manager and a broker are two full-time jobs."

  In the past Toni would have expected his criticisms, welcomed his observations. But now his reproach irritated her.

  Maybe it was just because she felt so stiff and achy that the little irritation loomed so much larger. Or maybe it was because there was something about his presence that was so infuriating-ly disturbing. Whatever the reason, she could feel her body growing more rigid by the second.