Too Close to Touch

by Georgia Beers

  Gretchen pushed her tongue into the warmth of Kylie’s mouth and very nearly succeeded in submerging herself purely in the physical.

  It was a talent she’d honed carefully over the years, one that allowed her to enjoy her sexual encounters entirely on a visceral level, her emotions unengaged. As she and Pete had discussed often, her ability to compartmentalize was what enabled her to have casual sex with no strings attached.

  But she was certainly feeling strings now. Why?

  Her hands itched to unbutton the row of fastenings down the front of Kylie’s dress. It would be so easy. And so satisfying, she was sure. She could feel the ripple of toned muscle beneath the fabric, a testament to Kylie’s athletic build. She could also feel the feminine curve of Kylie’s hips, the press of Kylie’s surprisingly ample breasts pushing against her. God, she wanted to see them, feel them, taste them.

  Why couldn’t she? What was holding her back? It wouldn’t be the first time she’d had sex in an office setting. And the way Kylie was kissing her—with reckless abandon and obvious desire—she certainly wasn’t going to stop things any time soon.

  The way Kylie was kissing her…

  Gretchen wrenched herself free, leaning her forehead against Kylie’s. Both women breathed heavily.

  “What?” Kylie asked, touching her fingertips to Gretchen’s swollen lips. “What is it? Are you okay?” God, don’t look at me like that. The deep blue of Kylie’s eyes bored into hers, kind, searching, waiting.

  “Kylie, we can’t do this.” The words were out before she could stop them, before she had a chance to chicken out.

  “What?” Kylie blinked in confusion, her chest still heaving.

  “We can’t do this.”

  “Why?”

  “We can’t. I’m your boss. It’s not right.”

  Slowly Kylie nodded, comprehension dawning in her eyes even as her body visibly deflated. “Yeah.” The look of hurt on her face was unmistakable. “Yeah, you’re probably right.” Gretchen rushed to try and make that pained expression dissipate.

  “It’s not that I don’t want to. Believe me. It’s just…”

  “No, no.” Kylie began to pull herself together and Gretchen was amazed by how quickly the wall went up…and how much it stung to see it. “No, it’s okay. You’re absolutely right. I’m…this was silly.” Kylie extricated her hand from its nestling spot in Gretchen’s hair and gently pushed her back several inches so she could slide off the desk. Clearly embarrassed, she smoothed her trembling hands over her dress and began to search for her shoes.

  Silly? Ouch. Gretchen closed her eyes and scratched at her forehead, feeling like complete and utter shit. “Kylie…”

  “No.” Kylie held up a hand, cutting Gretchen off. “Really. It’s okay. I had a little too much to drink and I’m sure we’ll laugh about this in the morning, so just…let me get out of here without making any more of a fool of myself than I already have. All right?” She slipped her feet into her shoes, her face flushed. She wouldn’t meet Gretchen’s eyes.

  “You didn’t…” Gretchen began, unsure how to proceed. Kylie was flustered and moving quickly. Gretchen didn’t want her to leave this way. She reached out to touch Kylie’s shoulder, but Kylie flinched away. “Kylie, you’re not a fool.”

  “Gretchen. Please. ” Kylie’s voice was imploring and Gretchen thought she saw tears brimming in her eyes, though Kylie wouldn’t look at her directly enough for her to be sure. “Please.” Gretchen nodded once and kept her mouth shut as Kylie gathered her things and disappeared briskly down the darkened hallway. There was so much she wanted to say, things she wished she could explain to Kylie. God, there were things she wished she could explain to herself.

  What the hell had just happened? What is wrong with me?

  She flopped down into her leather desk chair with the sigh of somebody who hadn’t sat in years. Reaching for her abandoned cup, she downed the rest of the champagne in one large slug.

  “Son of a bitch,” she muttered into the stillness of the night.

  * * *

  “Son of a bitch!” Kylie slammed her hand against the steering wheel over and over again as she drove. “Stupid! I’m so stupid. How can I be so fucking stupid?”

  She doesn’t want me.

  Kylie was torn between raging anger at everybody she could think of—at herself, at Gretchen, at Rip for not being home to comfort her, at Angie for not being right for her in the first place—and devastating pain. She was sure she’d been reading Gretchen’s signals correctly, sure of it. Kylie was thirty-seven years old; she’d been around the block a few times and could usually tell when a woman was interested in her.

  How had she misinterpreted things so very badly? And why did it hurt so much to realize that Gretchen wasn’t really interested?

  She doesn’t want me.

  Oh, sure, she’d used a perfectly legitimate excuse: their working relationship. It was hardly something Kylie could argue. It was unethical, plain and simple, for them to be physically involved. Or any other kind of involved. End of story. But still…

  Once home and undressed half an hour later, Kylie still couldn’t get her brain to shut off and leave her alone. It kept asking the same question as she washed her face and brushed her teeth. Why? Why all the—for lack of a better phrase—foreplay? Why the flirting and the dinner and the intense eye contact? Why that moment in the car after dinner when they could have so easily kissed…and both of them had wanted to? It had been glaringly obvious. Why the closeness in the office that night? Why the hand on the knee? Why all that?

  Why kiss me at all?

  She slipped into bed naked, covering herself with the navy blue sheet. It was after one in the morning, but she still felt wide awake and completely wired, despite the champagne. She hadn’t had that much; she was such a lightweight that she was always careful about how much she consumed if she was driving herself. It had been a convenient excuse for what she’d been feeling, how she’d acted and responded. Let her think I was drunk.

  She closed her eyes and exhaled slowly, willing her mind to ease and her body to relax. She needed to try to get at least a couple hours of sleep.

  Thank God tomorrow’s Friday.

  At the prospect of returning to work in the morning, her eyes popped back open. Damn it. She’d have to face Gretchen and try to do so with her head held high in order to whitewash the humiliation she was sure she was going to feel. She briefly entertained the idea of calling in sick, but her pride won out. No, she made her bed, now she’d have to lie in it.

  She rolled her eyes immediately, groaning at the unfortunate choice of words.

  Tomorrow was going to suck.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  "Gretchen Kaiser’s office, this is Kylie. May I help you?”

  “Hi, Kylie. It’s Liz down at the front desk. I have a Pete Bromwell here for Gretchen. He says he’s a little early.” Kylie’s clock read 4:45. Oh, thank freakin’ God, she thought. This day can’t end soon enough. “I’ll be right down.” She glanced over her shoulder into Gretchen’s office where she was still holed up with Sarah, just as she’d been since first thing that morning. There’d been no chance for Kylie to get a minute alone with her, and she really wanted to apologize for her behavior the previous evening. She needed to get that behind her before she felt they could work together without things being weird.

  Gretchen had waved to her when she arrived; Sarah was already there. Kylie had waved back, trying not to notice how good Gretchen looked in the beige pantsuit and trying to convince herself that it was not worry and concern she saw etched on her beautiful face.

  Pushing the intercom button, she said, “Gretchen? Sorry to interrupt. Somebody named Pete Bromwell is here for you.” Gretchen swore under her breath. “Is it five already?”

  “He’s a little early. I’ll go down and get him.”

  “That would be great. He’s not business, he’s personal, but I’d really appreciate it.”

  “No problem.”
>
  Kylie strolled to the bank of elevators, lost in her own thoughts, just as she had been all day long. She didn’t think it was possible to be more thankful than she was for the upcoming two days off. She planned to bury herself up to her elbows in dirt and flowers, spiffing up the front of her house, hoping to take her mind off the disaster of the past week.

  A nice, relaxing weekend of gardening was just what she needed. It was therapy for her, something cathartic and healing for her soul that might also help take her mind off the confusion it was filled with lately.

  As the elevator doors opened at the lobby level and Kylie stepped out, Mick walked briskly by, her arms filled with UPS boxes. She turned and walked backward alongside Kylie. “Hey there, hot stuff. You look luscious, as always. Happy Friday.”

  “Same to you.” Kylie grinned, cheered as always by Mick’s smiling face and ego boosts.

  “Tomorrow night, babe.”

  Kylie shook her head and blinked, waiting for elaboration.

  “You. Me. The Black Widow. We haven’t been out together in over a month. Let’s get a drink or two and do a little dancing.”

  “Maybe…”

  “No maybes. I need my dance partner. I’ll call you tomorrow afternoon.” Mick backed into a door, pushed her way through, and disappeared.

  Kylie stared after her, uncertain whether the outing was a good idea. She knew she’d be dragged out to the Widow tomorrow night whether she wanted to go or not. And she’d probably end up having a good time. Maybe it’s just what I need.

  She reached the lobby and scanned the waiting area, her eyes falling on the only occupant. She did a double take as she realized he was the sombrero man from the picture on Gretchen’s desk…her ex-husband.

  “Mr. Bromwell?”

  He stood and held out his hand. His blue eyes were soft and kind.

  “Pete. Please.”

  Kylie put her hand in his and shook, liking that his grip was firm but not overly so, trying to make a point as many men did. “I’m Kylie O’Brien, Gretchen’s assistant. She’s still in a meeting, but she’s wrapping it up, so why don’t you come with me and I’ll take you to her?”

  He took the pass offered by Liz at the front desk and clipped it to the lapel of his navy blue sport jacket, then fell into step beside Kylie.

  “It’s really nice to finally meet you, Kylie. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

  “You have?” His comment surprised her.

  “Gretchen says you’re irreplaceable. And believe me, it takes a lot for her to feel that way about members of her staff. You must be damn good at your job.”

  “Well…” Kylie was annoyed to feel herself flush with pride as she punched the button for the elevator. “She’s pretty easy to work for.”

  “She’s a great lady. I’ve known her for over twenty years—it freaks me out when I realize that.” He laughed, a deep, warm sound that made Kylie smile. “I’m so glad she moved up here. We’re having her over for dinner tonight. My wife and I live in Penfield and since Gretchen doesn’t know her way around the suburbs yet, I thought it would be easier for her if she just followed me home.”

  “Sounds like a smart idea,” Kylie said as the elevator slid upward.

  The ride was short and the bell announced their arrival on the fourth floor.

  “Have you been at Emerson long?” Pete asked, wanting to get her talking more. He studied Kylie as they walked and she answered, thinking she was absolutely beautiful and completely understanding what he’d read in Gretchen’s face when she’d spoken about her. How easy it would be to fall for this one, he thought. Her kind eyes and warm aura alone were enough to pull somebody in. Add to the list the unbelievable color of those eyes, the smooth, creamy complexion, the dazzling smile, and the killer figure, and Kylie O’Brien presented one hell of a package. Wait until he got a hold of Gretchen.

  He was disappointed when they stopped outside Gretchen’s door so soon. It opened immediately and a stunning blonde smiled as she slipped past him. She called a good-bye to Kylie over her shoulder.

  “Have a good weekend, Sarah,” Kylie called back. “I’ll leave you two alone,” she said, her eyes darting past Gretchen. “It was nice to meet you, Pete.”

  “You, too, Kylie. I hope we see each other again.” His gaze lingered on Kylie as she returned to her desk, then he followed Gretchen into her office, eyeing her suspiciously.

  She caught the look and held up a warning finger. “Not one word,” she snapped at him.

  * * *

  Kylie pulled off the blouse with an annoyed grunt and tossed it onto the bed where it joined the seven other tops that had been nixed.

  Sighing, she dug through the pile and pulled out the black, button-up tank top that she’d tried on first. Her shoulders had gotten quite a bit of sun during her several hours of gardening, so they looked good, prominently freckled—infinitely suckable, as Mick would say. The tank was short and showed a bit of midriff…something she wasn’t used to and didn’t necessarily approve of, but she had to admit looked sort of sexy.

  She added a wide black belt to her low-rise jeans and strapped on a pair of black sandals that looked pretty but were comfortable enough for an evening of dancing. Topping off the outfit with some small silver hoop earrings, a matching silver necklace, and a couple of silver bangle bracelets, she was as pleased as she knew she was going to get. She scooted into the small bathroom and finger-combed her hair one last time, giving it a final spritz with the hair spray.

  She was dabbing some Liz Claiborne behind each ear when she heard a quick knock and the side door open. Mick’s voice called out to her.

  “I’ll be right down,” she hollered back, giving herself the once-over in the full-length mirror on the back of the door.

  I’m nearly forty years old. Why does it matter what I look like when I’m going out to a bar anymore? Who cares? She sighed and slid one more button undone before giving up, and heading down the stairs.

  The look on Mick’s face made all the fuss worthwhile. “Holy shit.”

  Kylie smothered a smile. “What?”

  “You look like a million bucks, that’s what. You’re sexy as hell.” She reached out and poked playfully at Kylie’s belly button.

  “Be honest,” Kylie said, her face serious as she held out her arms.

  “Do I look like a forty-year-old who’s trying to appear twenty-five? Because I hate that.”

  Mick’s smile was warm and genuine. “Absolutely not. You look mature and…fucking hot. Is it necessary to show that much cleavage? Jesus, I’m going to have to beat them off you with a stick tonight, Ky.”

  Kylie was relieved. She knew Mick would tell her the truth and not hesitate to send her marching back up the stairs to change. “Well, do me a favor. Don’t beat them all away, okay?” She pulled her driver’s license out of her wallet and slid it into her pocket. “By the way, you’re looking pretty damn sexy yourself, cowboy. Maybe I’m the one who needs to use the stick.”

  Mick wore black, tight-fitting jeans that hugged her muscled ass lovingly. Her red T-shirt was also snug, each article of clothing chosen to show off her sculpted body, the result of regular workouts with free weights. She’d gotten a haircut within the last week and it was neat and stylish, a few short strands of gray visible around her ears. Her eyes, as always, were the focal point of her face, the green seemingly more intense this evening.

  Scratching the back of her neck, she mumbled a thank-you and asked, “Ready for a night of dancing?”

  Pleasantly surprised to see Mick was blushing, Kylie answered, “You bet,” and tucked her money in her pocket.

  They headed out. As Kylie locked her door behind her, she felt good. She was looking forward to spending time with her best friend, dancing her heart out, having a few drinks, and getting her mind off a certain petite brunette with a voice she could feel in the pit of her stomach and a mouth that could kiss her in a way she hadn’t been kissed in years.

  Anything else. Please let me
think of anything else tonight. That’s all I ask…

  * * *

  Jori’s studio/apartment was a piece of art in itself, a dichotomy of home and work blended into one interesting space. Nestled above a popular restaurant on East Avenue, it was large and open, divided only by the folding Japanese-style screens placed strategically around the room, separating the two halves. Floor-to-ceiling windows on both the front and the back let in copious amounts of natural light and the high ceilings made the area seem even larger than it was.

  Gretchen’s gaze drifted to the large, unmade bed in one corner. It was covered with expensive sheets of deep green satin and a matching down comforter. Off that corner was the only door in the place, leading to the surprisingly large bathroom. The kitchen area lay opposite and consisted of a simple conglomeration of refrigerator, stove, sink and a handful of white cupboards all lined up like a chain gang. Jori had placed a small table and four chairs nearby for meals; the table was piled with books and mail.

  The other half of the open rectangle consisted of workspace.

  One corner had a small stage-like block covered with black fabric and accented by a matching black fabric backdrop. Lights were mounted on various stands, all pointing at the stage. Shelves lined one wall and held books, cameras, lenses, more lights. The opposite wall was the most interesting, and it wasn’t the desk that caught Gretchen’s eye. She had never had a chance to look at the dozens of pictures Jori had mounted on the wall; the two or three times they’d been there, they’d always moved straight to the bed.