Second Time Around

by Nancy Herkness

  As Emily and Farr started up the stairs, Will moved to Kyra’s side and skimmed a quick kiss over her cheek. “I just needed to touch you,” he murmured beside her ear.

  His lips had barely brushed her skin, but her knees went shaky and she wanted to collapse against the heat and strength of his body.

  This was bad.

  She allowed herself a quick graze of her fingertips over the back of his hand. “Pay attention. There will be a quiz later,” she murmured back.

  He had the nerve to pat her on the behind . . . and she couldn’t even get mad because she enjoyed it.

  In his role as the Thalia Foundation’s founder, Will had toured many facilities that helped others but he’d never been so impressed. The Carver Center offered computers, homework help, basic medical care, and nutritious food, but the K-9 Angelz program added a whole new dimension of both responsibility and love. He noted that the space was now packed to the gills with kids and dogs. Kyra explained in a murmur that Emily couldn’t turn away a child in need. Will found that admirable but it also strained their resources. They needed to expand.

  Part of his pleasure in walking through the center, though, was in having Kyra at his side in the daylight with other people around. Watching her interact with Farr, Emily, the kids, and the dogs gave him an odd sense of pride. Her trademark combination of caring and resilience fit right into the center’s spirit. He understood why she chose to work there. What he didn’t understand was why he felt some ownership of her accomplishments.

  “Hey, Will, you might be able to help with this.” Kyra’s voice scattered his reflections. “Isaiah needs to name his K-9 Angel and he’s looking for a classical reference.” She smiled a challenge at him.

  Will looked at the couch beside them to find three boys staring up at him with skeptical curiosity. He judged them to be about ten or eleven years old, although he was far from expert on children’s ages.

  “I say Anubis. It be savage,” one boy said.

  “And appropriate since Anubis was the jackal-headed god,” Will said.

  “You deadass?” another boy asked. “I mean, is that facts?”

  Will nodded and added, “Anubis is the Egyptian god of the dead, so maybe not the most uplifting name.”

  “That be poppin’,” the first boy said, bouncing on the sofa with excitement. “You gotta use that, yo.”

  “I don’t gotta use nothin’,” the boy who was evidently Isaiah scoffed. “He be my dog. He just gotta get his shots and sh . . . stuff.” He turned to Will. “You know any other gods?”

  “Greek, Roman, Norse, or Egyptian?” Will asked.

  “Show-off,” Kyra muttered.

  “Any of them god of dogs?” the boy asked, unimpressed.

  Will considered this. “Not that I can think of, although some of them hunted with hounds. Maybe if you showed me a picture of your dog, it might prompt a name to suit him.”

  “Dope,” Isaiah said, tapping at his cell phone before holding it up.

  Will took the phone and tilted it so Kyra could also see the photo of a medium-sized black dog. The dog’s ancestry was so mixed that Will couldn’t have hazarded a guess as to the combination of breeds, but his large, upright, pointed ears made him resemble a bat.

  “That crescent-shaped white mark on his forehead kind of looks like a moon,” Kyra said, a lock of her silky hair brushing the back of Will’s hand as she leaned in to look. “Got anything for that?”

  He reined in his desire to wind his fingers into her hair and focused on the task at hand. “You could name him after the Egyptian god of the moon, Khonsu. His name means ‘traveler.’”

  “That be more dope than some death god,” Isaiah said, throwing a glance at the Anubis proponent. “How you spell that?”

  Will spelled it. “If you’d like, I’ll send you a book on the Egyptian gods, so you can learn more about Khonsu. He was a big name in Egypt.”

  “That’d be lit,” Isaiah said. “Who are you anyway?”

  “Will Chase.” Will offered his hand to Isaiah and then to the other two boys who were Jayden and Zion.

  “You the reason we got to be clean and quiet today?” Jayden asked.

  Will heard Kyra choke on a laugh.

  “You mean you aren’t always?” Will lifted an eyebrow.

  Zion grinned. “We got to be extra clean and quiet.”

  Isaiah waved that topic aside. “How you know so much about gods?”

  Kyra jumped in. “He was a classics major in college, so he studied ancient history.”

  “Like Julius Caesar and those homies?” Jayden asked. “What good is that? You gotta know tech stuff now.”

  Will sat on the arm of the sofa. “There’s a saying that those who cannot remember the past are condemned to repeat it. You want to avoid the mistakes your ancestors made, don’t you?”

  “I guess,” Jayden said.

  “Besides the stories are great. Lots of blood and guts.” Will smiled.

  “Like video games,” Zion said, making explosive sound effects that were surprisingly realistic.

  “Except with spears and swords,” Kyra said, slashing through the air as though she held a blade.

  Jayden looked skeptical. “Spears and swords are lame.”

  “Have you heard of the Spartans?” Will asked.

  “Ain’t that a movie? Three Hundred Fighters or something?” Isaiah said.

  “Something like that.” Will looked at Kyra. “Do we have a minute?”

  “You’re here to help us, so you have all the minutes you want,” she said. “Although I may have to duck out to put the snack in the oven.”

  Will settled more comfortably and began to describe Spartan society in which the boys trained as soldiers from the time they were seven. His audience soon stopped interrupting as he went on to the legend of the three hundred at the battle of Thermopylae.

  Kyra slipped away without stopping the flow of his narration. He started to rise as he saw her begin to leave, but she waved him back onto the sofa arm.

  Just as he got to the exchange of messages when Xerxes demands that the Greeks hand over their arms and the Spartan king Leonidas fires back with, “Come and take them,” Farr and Emily walked up.

  “Are you terrifying these young men with tales of ancient violence?” Farr drawled.

  Will looked at the three young faces, eyes fixed on him, bodies leaning in, enthralled by the story of men who had died thousands of years ago. He wanted to stay, to share his passion for the glorious past with them, but he smiled and stood. “I think today’s video games surpass anything I can describe.”

  “Hey!” Jayden said. “You didn’t finish the story.”

  “How about if I come back next week and tell you the rest?” As he turned to Emily, Will caught a look of surprise on Farr’s face. “If that’s all right with Ms. Emily.”

  “We’d love to have you any time,” the director said, her smile like the sun.

  He could hang out in the kitchen, too, drinking in the sight of Kyra in her element.

  A feeling flowed through him like a clear, buoyant Caribbean Sea tide. He wasn’t sure if it was happiness or peace.

  Tearing herself away from Will had been hard, and not just because she enjoyed the chance to let her eyes rove over his long, suit-clad body. She’d been as spellbound by his stories about the Spartans as the three boys were. She’d known that he could play with words in brilliant ways but this was the first time she’d seen him share his knowledge with an audience. A very appreciative one, too.

  But she’d had to get the casseroles in the oven and now she was finishing up the fresh salad to accompany them. As she scattered halved cherry tomatoes over the freshly washed lettuce, she heard footsteps behind her.

  She knew it was Will before she turned. The air around her felt different when he was in the room.

  As soon as she pivoted, he took her face between both of his hands and kissed her with a strange tenderness that spoke of gratitude. When he lifted his he
ad, the angles of his face seemed less sharp somehow. “May I watch you cook?” he asked.

  “Do you have a fetish I don’t know about?” She rested her palms on his chest, savoring the steady beat of his heart under the smooth cotton of his dress shirt and wondering what the strange kiss meant. “Doesn’t matter because you have no choice. I have to finish the snack. In fact”—she eyed his expensive suit—“I could use some help. The tour messed up my schedule.”

  He shucked off his jacket and tossed it over a stool. “Put me to work.”

  “How do you feel about wearing a chef’s apron? I don’t want to get spots on those million-dollar duds.”

  “I could take them all off.” His eyes danced.

  “Keep it in your pants. There are forty kids upstairs.” But she loved his playful mood, so she snapped his butt with a dish towel.

  “You shall pay for that later, woman,” he said. “In the most sinful of ways.”

  “You promise?” She grinned as she grabbed a clean white apron and handed it to him. “I wish I had one with ruffles.”

  He wrapped it around himself with an expertise that surprised her. He noticed her reaction. “You forget that I make my living selling food,” he said. “I used to spend a lot of time in the test kitchen.”

  “I thought all you did was taste.” She handed him a pair of heat-resistant gloves. “Would you pull the casseroles out of the ovens and put them on the counter, please?”

  “Tasting can be messy work.” He opened an oven door and reached in for the first dish. Kyra gave herself a few seconds to enjoy the way his shirt pulled over the flex of his shoulder muscles and his gray trousers hugged his tight butt.

  Then she grabbed a giant serving spoon and began to transfer the chicken, spinach, and pasta bake to capacious serving bowls. She never put hot cooking pans on the dining table because the kids weren’t that careful when reaching for food.

  Will set out the heavy casseroles with such efficiency that Kyra wished she always had his assistance. “If you ever want to quit your day job, let me know,” she said. “You’re a pretty decent sous-chef.”

  He went still in a way that made her look up from her task. He was gazing out the kitchen door, his oven-mitt–covered hands still wrapped around the last casserole dish.

  He shook his head and went back to dishing out food. “I understand why you like working with the kids so much. They’re like sponges, absorbing everything you can give them.”

  She’d been surprised by how comfortable he was with the three boys. He’d been entirely himself, yet they weren’t at all intimidated. He’d established an easy rapport with them. And he hadn’t talked down to them. Maybe that was his secret.

  Just then the thunder of forty sets of feet pounding down the stairs rumbled through the kitchen. The first kids began pouring into the dining room with a screech of chairs being moved and the clamor of young voices anticipating food.

  She shoved a bowl into his hands. “If you think they absorbed the Spartans like sponges, wait until you see how they absorb chicken penne.”

  The meal passed in its usual mad swirl of serving and cleaning up. The kids had to load their own dishes into the industrial dishwasher, but their technique required a lot of repositioning of plates. Will put his hands on Kyra’s waist and set her aside, saying, “I was a busboy once so I know how this works.”

  Which freed up Kyra to tackle other tasks, resulting in a spotless kitchen in less than half the usual time.

  “The limo’s outside,” Will said, untying his soiled apron. Some water had soaked through to his shirt, making it cling to the washboard of his abs. He saw the direction of her glance and lifted an eyebrow. “Maybe you have a little free time before you have to get to your next job?”

  Kyra felt heat flush through her. She considered for a long moment before saying, “Want to come and see my etchings?”

  Will gave her a narrow-eyed look of pure lust. “I thought you’d never ask.”

  They hustled out the door like two teenagers and practically fell onto the limousine’s back seat. Will had her laid out under him, his mouth open on hers, his hands kneading her breasts, so that she moaned and writhed with pleasure . . . as much as she could with his hips pressing her into the leather of the seat.

  He lifted his mouth an inch from hers. “When we were working in the kitchen, I couldn’t decide if I wanted to bend you over the counter and take you from behind, or sit you on top of the counter with your thighs spread so I could taste you before I drove myself into you.”

  His words sank deep, sliding through her hot and fast to burn low in her belly. Two could play this game, though. “When you were at the dishwasher, I wanted to slip my arms under your apron from behind you so I could stroke your cock through your trousers and feel it grow hard. I wanted to make you groan out loud.”

  She laughed low in her throat as she felt his cock do exactly that against the V of her legs. And he groaned exactly the way she had imagined.

  Then he sat up, pulling her with him. “I want to see your etchings first.”

  “You started it,” she pointed out, rubbing her palm over his erection.

  He groaned again and grabbed her wrist to pull her hand away. “Only because I was desperate to cop a feel.”

  Her nipples were tight with arousal and ached against her bra. “That was more than a feel.”

  “You didn’t seem to mind,” he murmured against her neck.

  She turned her head, threading her fingers into his hair and holding him so she could slant her mouth against his.

  Thank God the ride to her apartment wasn’t long because the yearning between her legs was almost unbearable by the time they arrived. She unlocked the purple door, painted that color because it was her landlady’s favorite. She was about to take Will’s hand to lead him up the narrow wooden stairs when she noticed that Gloria’s apartment door was open.

  Her landlady stood in her favorite place by the front window, her feather duster waving gently over the silk plant. Kyra swallowed a groan of frustration, but she knew Gloria was there to meet Will. She veered away from the stairs and into her landlady’s living room, towing Will with her. “Gloria, this is my old college friend Will Chase. Will, my wonderful landlady, Gloria Woods.”

  Her landlady tucked the feather duster under her arm before she held out her hand. “Good to meet you, Will.”

  “A pleasure.” Will shook her hand and gave her one of his charming smiles, even though Kyra knew he was as eager to get upstairs as she was. “You have a beautiful home, a perfect turn-of-the-century Victorian.”

  That was exactly the right thing to say. Gloria loved her house with its polished oak woodwork, floral wallpaper, and solid brass sconces.

  Pride shone in the landlady’s eyes. “They built them right back then.” She gestured toward the window. “That’s quite a car you drive.”

  Will shook his head with a glint of humor in his eyes. “Jason would never allow me to drive it. He believes only a trained professional like himself can handle it.”

  “Gotta be tough to park,” Gloria observed before fixing her gaze on him. “I hear you’re taking a look at the Carver Center. Maybe I’m a little biased as a board member, but there’s no place your Thalia Foundation’s money would be put to better use.”

  “It’s an impressive place. The K-9 Angelz program is truly innovative,” Will said.

  “But dog food costs money,” Gloria said.

  “Especially if it’s made with limited, fresh ingredients.” Will’s voice held an undertone of amusement.

  “Whoever heard of a pit bull who can’t eat regular old dog food?” Gloria shook her head. “But leave it to Kyra to figure out how to keep him happy. Not to mention the meals she gives the kids, food they eat with pleasure but that’s healthy for them and doesn’t break the budget. Not so easy to find that balance.”

  Kyra felt a flush of gratification. “The kids make it fun.”

  Will surprised her by putting his
hand on the small of her back in an almost possessive gesture. “I saw her in action today, so I understand what an asset she is to the center.”

  He sounded almost as though he was proud of her. A weird thrill ran through her at the thought.

  Gloria gave Kyra a sly look. “I need to get back to my dusting, so you two go on along now.”

  Kyra grinned before she leaned in to give Gloria a peck on the cheek. “You dusted that plant the last time Will came here,” she whispered by her landlady’s ear.

  “With all the pollution in this city, you can’t dust too often,” Gloria said, unabashed. “Now take your young man and scoot.”

  Kyra nearly burst out laughing at the idea of the tall, patrician CEO in his custom-tailored clothes being called her young man. Although his shirt still had a damp spot on it from washing the dishes.

  “I hope to see you again soon,” Will said to Gloria, his tone warm and sincere.

  “You bring him by for the Sunday monthly,” Gloria said to Kyra as they started toward the stairs.

  “The Sunday monthly?” Will asked when they reached the second-floor landing.

  The landing’s stained glass window threw brilliant blues, greens, and reds across his hair and shirt. The effect made Kyra think of a Picasso painting.

  “She fixes a massive and delicious Sunday dinner once a month and invites a select group of guests to join her,” Kyra said. “You have been given the Gloria Woods seal of approval with that invitation.”

  “Happy to know that I passed muster.” Will’s lips quirked in a crooked smile. “I can’t remember the last time I was called someone’s young man.”

  “Gloria’s old-school in some ways and really modern in others.”

  “I like her,” Will said. He put his finger under Kyra’s chin to tilt it up as he smiled. “And I like being your young man.” He dipped his head to drop a quick kiss on her lips.

  The kiss unleashed all the pent-up desire she’d tamped down for the meeting with Gloria. But his words lit a softer glow somewhere in her chest. She’d been afraid that he’d find Gloria’s reference absurd or overreaching. “I’m glad.” Emotion made it impossible to say more, so she continued up the stairs.