JUST A LITTLE FLING

by Julie Kistler

  "Good lord." She sat up far enough to glare at him. "Ian, this is me you're talking to, not some Feather person. I am so not misty nights in Paris or champagne and sex until people pass out."

  "You are to me," he said simply.

  "Well, I'm not to me."

  How long ago was it that she'd wished for a man to take her to Paris in the rain and the moonlight? And when had she decided that Ian was not at all that man? It made it seem worse that he had somehow accidentally tapped into—and cheapened—her fantasy. She wanted to smack him.

  She shoved her hair out of her face and scrambled off the side of the bed. "Listen to me, Ian. We're not doing this. This bed or this room, I mean."

  He started to protest, but she wasn't waiting for that. "I'm not budging on this one," she told him sternly. "I mean, look at us! How long were we in here before we were rolling around on the bed? A minute? Two?"

  "Lucie," he tried, "why not?"

  "Oh, no. We agreed—no fooling around. And I don't care what you tell your mother, but one of us is moving to another room." She began to pick up his shirts and pants from the floor, purposefully tossing them back near his duffel bag. "Probably you, because I really like this one."

  His blue eyes were hooded as his gaze raked her. "Okay, okay. You can stay here. My old room is actually next door, and it's empty, so I can probably sneak back in there as long as we don't tell her."

  "Good." She didn't want to be so mean or inflexible, but a person had to protect herself, didn't she? All this good-natured romping around was nothing to him, but to her…

  Well, it was all quite earth-shattering. She raised a weak hand to her forehead. She'd never felt like this before, like if she didn't have her hands and her mouth on him in the next three seconds, she'd die. Like she wanted to strip him naked, tie him to the four-poster, and play naughty games all day and all night. Like she really wanted to nun off to Paris and start guzzling champagne on the balconies of luxury hotels.

  "I am losing my mind," she said slowly.

  "I said I'd move next door." He grabbed a pair of pants and a dress shirt off the pile on the floor. "But be discreet, will you? We still want them all to think we're sharing."

  "I won't tell anyone if you won't."

  Ian shook his head, sending Lucie a cynical glare. "I can't believe I'm sneaking out of my girlfriend's room instead of into it."

  "I'm not your girlfriend," she called after him as he checked the hallway and then slipped out like some sort of cat burglar.

  With him gone—thank goodness—Lucie stalked into the expansive private bath opening off the bedroom, closed the door quietly behind her, and then slumped against the back of it.

  "Aieee!" she screamed, hoping the bathroom was well sound-proofed.

  And to think, she'd actually predicted his parents' house would be an improvement over her too-small, too-intimate cottage.

  * * *

  Chapter 8

  «^»

  What with everyone spending so much time at the hospital and on the road back and forth to the hospital, Lucie's first day at the Mackintosh mansion was actually very uneventful. She almost ran into Steffi in the breakfast room, but her half sister stuck her nose in the air and left in a huff, so there weren't any fistfights or anything.

  Lucie and Ian stopped by to play cards with Kyle later in the day, and they all had fun, even if she did cheat shamelessly so that Kyle could win. What else could she do? He had two broken legs and he was still married to Steffi. It wasn't like he hadn't been punished enough already.

  Other than that, with the members of the household in and out and far too occupied to pry, Lucie found it a major relief to have one day where she wasn't involved in pretense, intrigue or any kind of intimate game with Ian. And as for him…

  He'd apparently decided to play the Boy Scout for the time being. Thank goodness. With him ruffling her nerves and rousing her senses, she simply couldn't think. But all he did was send her these enigmatic glances and slip quietly away if there was any danger of them being left alone together. It was a bit disconcerting, but better than the alternative.

  She actually caught his gaze once or twice and did not think about him in or out of skimpy underwear, and that was a major improvement.

  In fact, things were perfectly calm until Thursday evening, when the "special dinner" loomed on the horizon. Lucie was a little anxious, since she didn't know exactly what to wear, but Ian told her she could put on a pair of Pandora's Boxers PJs for all he cared and she would still be just fine. While she appreciated the sentiment, that still didn't tell her what to wear.

  She finally settled on the most sedate thing she had—a pale pink sweater and a floaty silk skirt with swirls of pink and rose dappled across it. She threw on about six small beaded bracelets and a pair of antique pearl drop earrings, and decided that was as good as it got.

  "You look lovely," Mr. Mackintosh commented, kissing her on the cheek as she entered the dining room.

  "Thank you so much."

  He seemed genuinely happy to see her. And yet she felt awful. A simple compliment from Ian's father and she was consumed with guilt. They are so kind and gracious, and yet it's all a lie. Ian, how can we do this?

  But he wasn't there to ask.

  Surveying the long room, she saw that the table was set beautifully with gleaming china, silver candle-sticks, and crystal goblets. Mrs. Mackintosh and Jessica stood stiffly near the windows on the opposite side, while Steffi, elegant in a severe, sleeveless red linen dress and major diamond earrings, held court at the end of the table. She looked seriously cranky.

  "Where's Ian?" Lucie asked with concern. "He came down ages ago."

  "He went to break Kyle out of the slammer," George Mackintosh teased.

  "Seriously, dear, Kyle's been released, so Ian went to pick him up." Mrs. Mackintosh smiled. "Ian insisted. It's the way it's always been with those two—Kyle gets into a scrape and Ian gets him out. We're holding back dinner until they arrive. I hope you don't mind."

  "Mind? I'm thrilled. I'm so glad Kyle gets to come home." She glanced at Steffi, who still had a sour, unpleasant expression on her face. "Steffi? Isn't that terrific?"

  "Hmph." Slugging back a big swallow of wine, Steffi muttered, "I don't see why we can't go ahead and eat I thought this dinner was in my honor, after all."

  "It's a celebration for Kyle, to be out of the hospital, and to say welcome to both you and Lucie," Myra Mackintosh said with a definite edge of reprimand.

  Lucie held her breath. Steffi wasn't going to like that. At home, she'd have knocked over her wineglass, sworn at the maid, and demanded to be brought food immediately on a silver platter while Lucie was sent to the kitchen. But apparently she had the good sense to contain the worst of her bad habits now that she was in someone else's house.

  "I'm waiting, aren't I?" she asked petulantly, scraping lines in the heavy tablecloth with the tines of her fork.

  Mrs. Mackintosh frowned and made a point of looking in the other direction. Unable to miss the chill in the room, Lucie hovered near the doorway, not ready to sit if Steffi was going to keep sulking down there and annoying everyone.

  "So, Lucie, Ian tells us that you design lingerie," George Mackintosh said briskly. "Sounds fascinating."

  "He did?"

  There was a huge, aggrieved sigh from Steffi's end of the table, but the others all smiled encouragingly.

  "It sounds really cool, Lucie," Jessica said shyly. All of sixteen, she couldn't be interested in lingerie yet, could she? Well, maybe.

  "Ian really told you about this?" All three Mackintoshes nodded, so Lucie continued. "My mother started a company, Pandora's Boxers, that was quite successful in the late '70s. Perhaps you remember it?"

  Myra nodded. "Oh, yes. They had beautiful things. I wondered whatever happened to that label."

  "I'm trying to relaunch it," Lucie explained, gaining enthusiasm, "branching out from just ladies' lingerie to men's undergarments as well."

  "Yes
," Ian's mother said quickly. "Ian told us about some of your designs." There was a twinkle of mischief in her eyes, making them look very much like her son's.

  "He did?" She couldn't believe he would've spilled any details on that score.

  "Mmm-hmm." The older woman moved closer. "I understand he wants to help with your relaunch. Ian said you'll be selling your lingerie on the Internet but need more focus on marketing. Have I got that right, dear?"

  That was the first Lucie'd heard of any of this. So Ian was serious about being part of the Pandora's Boxers team?

  "I thought that was so generous of you, dear, to share your business plans with Ian. Since he and Kyle decided to sell that…" She frowned. "What is it called, George? Dot-something? Anyway, with that off their plates, I know they'll need new projects. Though goodness knows they won't need any more money. But Kyle now has Steffi, and Ian has you and your boxers, and I think that's just delightful. Like a hobby for him."

  "Thank you. I'm grateful he wants to help." Astonished was more like it. Lucie ventured a glance Steffi's way, to see if she'd picked up the clue about the dotcom that yielded so much money, but Steffi seemed too interested in emptying her wineglass to care. "I know how successful Ian has been. To have someone like him willing to help me, well, I'm amazingly lucky," Lucie said with all honesty.

  "Lucie?" Jessica asked, slipping around to her other side. "Have you ever designed any clothes for kids? Like, my age?"

  "Um, no. No, I haven't."

  "Because that would be awesome. Camis and boxer shorts, I mean. Or tiny tanks and matching lounge pants." The teenager smiled eagerly. "It might be something to consider."

  "You're absolutely right, Jessica. Why not?" Lucie tipped her head to the side. "I mean, all my stuff so far has been for fuller figures. But why not go for smaller ones, too?"

  "Exactly."

  "I have some things up in my room that I'm working on," Lucie noted. "I could bring some down and show you later, if you're interested. In the women's area, I've been moving away from bras and panties and working more into lounging clothes. Like things you can wear for yoga. I'm sort of itching to design my own."

  "Cool!" Jessica enthused. "I take yoga three times a week. I love yoga!"

  "Now I'll have to show you what I came up with and see what you think. You can be my consultant. Because I think the fabric that you use is so important—"

  She was interrupted by a rather hearty call from out in the front hall. "Hey, we're here," Ian shouted. "Anyone waiting for us?"

  There was poor Kyle on crutches, with Ian helping, and the rest of the family beaming as they ran out to greet them and pull them into the dining room. They were all so happy, exuding such warmth and joy, that the scene resembled something out of Dickens. Of course, in this version, Tiny Tim was six feet tall, with casts up to the knee on both legs, and the Cratchits lived in a mansion. Still, the sentiment was there.

  Meanwhile, Steffi was conspicuously uninvolved. She managed to wave from the end of the table and murmur, "Hello, Kyle," but no one really noticed.

  "How can you be on crutches with casts on both legs?" Mrs. Mackintosh asked with a gasp.

  "It's a walking cast on my right leg. The fracture was small enough I can put some weight on it." Kyle winced, pushing out his crutches as he fell into a chair. "I am so happy to be home."

  "And we are so happy to have you here, dear." His mother kissed him and fussed over him until her husband told her she had to go sit down or they would never get dinner.

  And then, finally, the soup was served. Dishes came and went—a cucumber salad and poached salmon and new peas and potatoes—and everyone seemed to be talking at once, with lots more questions about Lucie's lingerie and Kyle's prognosis. Jessica started flipping peas across the table at Ian, which started gales of laughter as he retaliated with rolls.

  And Steffi pouted through it all, all the way to the scrumptious watermelon-mango sorbet.

  Raising her voice, she demanded, "Are you going to be ignoring me all night? I'm your guest. This is so rude I can't stand it!"

  The silence was deafening.

  As Lucie considered apologizing on behalf of the Webster family, Mrs. Mackintosh said politely, "I'm sorry you're not enjoying yourself, Steffi. Perhaps we do seem boisterous to outsiders. I hope you'll forgive our high spirits just this once."

  But Ian muttered, "I think we know who the rude one is."

  No one said anything at first, until Jessica giggled and neatly pitched a mint leaf garnish from the sorbet into her brother's water glass. Then the ruckus began again, Kyle entered the fray, and Lucie passed her own mint leaves to Jessica for ammunition.

  At that point, Steffi shoved herself away from the table and stomped out of the dining room.

  When Steffi was well out of earshot, Myra Mackintosh leaned over to speak to her younger son. "Kyle," she said plainly, "I don't know what we did wrong when we raised you. But whatever it was, I don't think it was bad enough to justify you marrying that girl."

  "I think we can get him out of it, Mom." Ian smiled with satisfaction. "Who knows? After this, maybe she'll leave on her own."

  "I tried to be nice to her for your sake, Kyle. Really I did." The Mackintosh matron shook her head. "But it was a losing battle." Her husband and daughter murmured their agreement.

  As Lucie watched, surprised that they were so open about their disdain for Steffi. Then the Mackintoshes raised their glasses.

  "To Kyle. Welcome home!" Jessica toasted.

  "Here's to Steffi's speedy departure," Kyle declared. "I was temporarily insane, but I've regained my sanity, and I want to thank you all for bearing with me during the duration."

  "And to Lucie," Myra offered, "a charming and lovely girl who couldn't be less like her sister."

  "Half sister," Ian and Lucie chorused.

  With a sense of wistful awe, Lucie watched them laugh and smile and poke fun at each other. In her life, the concept of family, at its best, had meant a marvelously eccentric mother who often forgot dinner but let her eat popcorn and watch The Three Stooges instead of going to bed. At its worst, it had meant chilly distance and disapproval.

  But never anything like this. They were so at ease with each other, so relaxed and happy. No, Miss Manners would probably not approve of the food fight. But Lucie loved its spontaneity and charm. In short, she thought this family was wonderful.

  If only she got to keep them.

  Don't get too attached, Lucie. They're not yours. You just get them on loan.

  But the least she could do was enjoy them while she had them, right? She lifted her own wineglass and cleared her throat. "Excuse me?"

  "Shh, it's Lucie's turn," Ian ordered.

  "First," she announced, "I would like to propose a toast to all of you for being so kind to an outsider—"

  That spurred a flurry of protests, but she held up her hand to forestall them. "I'm not finished. Okay, so first, to all of you, and then, to Ian, who brought me into your midst."

  Goodwill and sentiment swamped her as she gazed at him. She could only hope that her emotions didn't radiate from her face, flooding him, scaring him to death. She knew him well enough to know that he wouldn't know what to do with the tenderness and joy she felt in her heart at that moment. But she couldn't keep herself from feeling what she was feeling, could she?

  Her lips curved into a soft smile. "To Ian."

  He didn't exactly smile back, but she read heat and a certain anticipation in his eyes.

  "I think Kyle is tired," his mother said suddenly. But she wasn't looking at Kyle. No, her eyes were fixed on Ian and Lucie and the smoldering glances passing back and forth between them. "It's late. Let's call it a night, shall we?"

  "Mom, I'm not ready for bed," Jessica objected.

  "Yes, you are. Come on, Jess, help your father and me get Kyle to his room. Here are your crutches, sweetheart. I've put you in the first floor guest room, the one where Aunt Sylvia always used to stay. And don't worry, your bride is al
l the way on the other side of the house…"

  As easily as that, they cleared the dining room, which left Ian and Lucie very much alone.

  Casually, he took her hand and led her up the stairs. It wasn't until they were halfway down their own hallway that Lucie put the brakes on.

  "Ian," she entreated, dragging her heels, "I know where this is going, and I still don't think—"

  "What? That we should share a room?" His grin was crooked and adorable as he caught her by the waist and spun her around in the middle of the corridor, sending her skirt billowing. "I think it should be crystal clear by now that we don't need a bedroom or a bed to get into trouble."

  And then he tickled her. "Hey!" She giggled, swatting at his hands. "Ian, stop it."

  It only took a few seconds for him to capture both of her hands in one of his, to back her up against the wall with her hands held high above her head, and to keep up the tickling assault until she could barely stand.

  "This isn't fair," she protested. But he didn't seem to care. She was past laughter and into hiccups now. "I'm still not sleeping with you. I don't care if you keep this up for hours—you still have to go to your own room and I'll go to mine."

  His fingers grew more gentle, and he switched to kisses, barely brushing his lips over her cheeks and the tip of her nose. One hand still clasped both of hers out of the way, but his free hand crept under her sweater, under the soft, stretchy fabric of her bra, sliding it out of the way, cupping and teasing her breast until her nipple peaked hard into his palm.

  Oh, he was good at this.

  "Ian…"

  "Who says I have sleeping in mind?" he whispered, blowing into her ear, making her shiver. "Who says I don't want to make love to you right here in the hallway?"

  "You can't."

  "Oh, yes," he said roughly, "I can."