“You’re such a chameleon,” he said, wanting to drape a scarf over the too-visible shadow between her breasts.
She stepped into a pair of high-heeled ankle boots and shook her head. “It’s just a uniform for work.”
“No, it’s more. Your posture changes. The way your hips move, the way you look out of the corner of your eye at me, even your voice lowers in timbre.” He walked around the bed to brush his open palms down the smooth skin of her arms from shoulder to wrist and back up again. “It makes me want to bend you over the bed, yank your pants down to your knees, and come into you from behind.”
Her pupils dilated and her breasts rose and fell with her shallow breaths. “Do it when we get back to your place tonight,” she said.
Even as his cock hardened in anticipation, an odd disappointment banged around his chest because she didn’t want him to come back to her apartment. Maybe his bed was bigger and his wine was more expensive, but he wanted to spend time in this place where he could learn more about her.
“I’ll be happy to oblige,” he said, then groaned as she ran her fingers over the erection pressing against his fly.
“Hold that thought,” she said, rubbing her palm against his straining cock so a spike of electric arousal lanced through him.
“You make it hard to hold any thought at all.” His body was tight with the desire to bury himself in her silky heat.
She stepped back and gave him a sassy look. “We need more mindless pleasure in our lives.” Snagging her backpack, she slung it over her shoulder before he could take it. “Can I hitch a ride in the limo?”
He frowned. “That had better be a rhetorical question.”
“I prefer not to make assumptions. Keeps things simpler.”
He hooked his fingers into the strap of her backpack and slid it off her shoulder. “I’ll make it very simple then. The limo is always at your disposal. I will always carry your bag.” He let all his pent-up desire loose in his eyes and voice. “I always want to touch you.”
Six hours later, as Kyra racked clean glasses into the bar’s storage drawers, Will’s words still sent shivers through her. Good ones and bad ones.
Good because who wouldn’t enjoy a gorgeous god of a man saying that he always wanted to touch you with an intensity that convinced you he meant it.
Bad because she was tempted to believe him about the “always” part, and she knew that was delusional. She needed to protect herself against that kind of fantasy thinking, but Will made it so damned hard to hold her heart at arm’s length from him.
In fact, she was pretty sure she had utterly failed because it had twisted so hard in her chest that she could barely breathe. She had been afraid that he would notice, but he’d slid her backpack over his shoulder and held out his hand, saying he didn’t want her to be late for work.
The moment had passed, but it had left her shaken.
So much so that she’d forgotten to tell Will that his partner, Greg, was meeting her at the center tomorrow morning to discuss dog food. She was skeptical that she had anything useful to contribute, but he’d seemed genuinely interested. That led to her getting up an hour early to give herself enough time to show him all her research and ingredients. He also wanted to meet Shaq, the pit bull with the sensitive stomach.
She glanced at her phone to check the time.
“You can take off now. I’ll finish up,” Cleo said. “I know who’s waiting for you.”
“You do?” Kyra slotted the last brandy snifter in.
“The gorgeous blond in the power suit, right? Your old college friend turned CEO.” Cleo waggled her eyebrows. “I wouldn’t keep him waiting long because there are a lot of ladies who would be happy to entertain him.”
Kyra chuckled. “Thanks, sweetie. I appreciate it.” She texted Will that she was ready any time. His text came back three seconds later.
Remember what you asked me to do tonight?
Chapter 14
The next morning, as she pulled the ingredients for Shaq’s special food mix from the center’s refrigerator, Kyra tried not to think about how it had felt when Will drove himself into her from behind. Last night he’d picked her up in the limo, kissed her once, and then moved to his corner so they couldn’t touch. But he’d watched her from the shadows, the city lights occasionally flashing over his face and showing how his eyes burned. She’d gone along with the performance because it fanned her own arousal.
Once inside his house, he’d pulled her into the first room with a chair, bent her over it, and had done exactly what he said he’d been fantasizing about. She had come so hard that she was sure she’d pulled a muscle. But somehow Will had made her come again in the bedroom.
Now her body hummed with a mixture of satisfaction and yearning. She felt it like waves of heat that ran over her skin before they seeped inside to settle between her legs.
“Focus!” she snapped at herself. “This is business.”
Powell, the security guard, called from the front desk, “You okay in there, Ms. Kyra?”
“I’m talking to myself, the first sign of insanity,” she called back as she opened a can of pumpkin.
“I done gone right over the edge then,” he said with a chuckle.
She heard the door open and the rumble of male voices before Powell appeared at the kitchen entrance with another man.
“I’m Greg Ebersole,” the man said, advancing with his hand held out. Her quick survey pegged him as a decade older than Will, with a focused gaze, dark hair liberally sprinkled with gray, and a tailored blue suit stretched over wide shoulders. He had the build of a stevedore and the grip of one, too. She surreptitiously rubbed her hand to restore the circulation when he released it. His gaze skimmed over the kitchen with sharp, professional interest. “This is where you make the dog food.”
“Luckily, the dogs don’t care if their chicken is cooked on a Viking range.” To a real chef, her secondhand appliances would seem sad and inadequate.
But he laughed. “A point in their favor that I hadn’t considered before.” He leaned his hip on one of the high counter stools. “Talk to me. What’s your proposal?”
“Proposal?” What the hell had Will told Greg? She didn’t want to make her lover look bad, even if he was the head honcho. “I think we’ve gotten our wires crossed. I thought this was just a fact-finding mission.”
“Okay.” Greg gave her an assessing look. “Tell me what you know about dogs with sensitive digestive tracts.”
She gave him a quick summary, showing him the ingredients and the final product. “This is a fresh batch because Shaq is going home for the weekend with his owner. It’s a new program our director started. Doggy slumber parties.”
“May I meet the famously queasy pit bull?” Greg straightened away from the stool.
While she stowed the dog food back in the fridge and walked down the stairs to the kennel, he peppered her with questions about her research and shared some of his. His market analysis made her think this could be a viable product, and excitement for the center fizzed in her chest.
The moment she opened the basement door, the dogs greeted them with everything from Shaq’s deep rumble of a bark to the ear-splitting yip of a Chihuahua mix. The kids were working on the “quiet” command, so Kyra walked in front of the crates where the dogs could see her and said “quiet” in a loud, firm voice while she held her finger to her lips. The volume dropped slightly and she rewarded the dogs who’d listened to her with a treat from one of the baggies that were kept handy in the kennel.
“Sorry,” she shouted to Greg over the remaining chorus of greetings.
He shook his head with a smile. “I’ve had dogs myself.”
“Quiet!” she said again. Most of the dogs settled down, probably more because the original excitement of seeing humans had worn off than because of her repeated order. But she gave them treats anyway.
Unhooking a leash from the rack on the wall, she opened the door of Shaq’s huge crate and clipped the lead
on his collar before signaling him to join them. He strode out with his rolling bowlegged gait and leaned his shoulder against her thigh to encourage some head stroking.
“He’s well named,” Greg said, his eyebrows rising as the big dog’s weight made Kyra do her usual off-balance dance step. “A ‘Big Fella’ indeed.”
“But a total sweetheart,” Kyra said, kneeling to scratch the sides of Shaq’s big jaws. His eyes closed in an expression of doggy delight.
“Will mentioned marketing possibilities using the center’s K-9 Angelz program.” Greg showed his dog skills by letting Shaq sniff the back of his hand before he petted the huge creature. “I’m starting to see why. Kids, rescue dogs, a pit bull with a heart of gold.” He was smiling but Kyra could see the wheels turning in his business brain as he glanced around the spotless but bare-bones kennel.
“Let me show you the doggy playground,” she said. “We’ll take Shaq out with us. That will make his day.”
The dog waddled up the half flight of steps that led out the back of the building. Turning left, Kyra opened the chain-link gate to step into what was once known as “the empty lot” and had brought together Max and Emily in a romantic fairy tale that made all the staff members sigh. Now the staff referred to the lot as “paradise.”
The front third of the yard closest to the street was dotted with the raised beds for the kitchen gardens, empty at the moment. Next came colorful play equipment for the children. Where she, Greg, and Shaq stood was the dog park, with toys and homemade agility equipment to entertain the critters and the kids.
“You should see the kids work with the dogs,” she said, unsnapping Shaq’s leash so the pit bull could amble around the yard. “They’re so patient and loving, but still firm. And they have a sense of humor about it that some adult dog trainers could learn from.”
Shaq lifted his leg on a fake fire hydrant. “He’s a walking cliché,” Greg said. Again he examined his surroundings with careful attention. Kyra felt a swell of pride when he said, “This place is impressive.”
“You should speak with our director, Emily Wade, about the marketing tie-in,” Kyra said. “I’m not qualified to comment on that.”
“When children are involved, we obviously have to be very careful, but it could benefit the center in a substantial way,” Greg said. “You’ve given me a lot to think about. Let’s go inside and talk further.”
Shaq was lying on his back in the sun, legs sprawled in a very undignified manner. “Hey, boy.” Kyra bent to attach his leash but the dog just lay there until she gave him a gentle tug. “Time to go.”
With a moan, Shaq rolled over and got to his feet, his expression one of reproach for cutting short his sunbathing.
“What a character!” Greg said. “I definitely want him in our ad campaign.”
“You hear that, Shaq? The nice man wants to make you a celebrity.”
The barking rose again when she opened the back door but she didn’t attempt to quiet it. She returned Shaq to his crate and led Greg back to the kitchen.
Greg slid onto a stool. “Tell me about your background,” he said.
“What do you mean?”
“Your résumé.”
“I’m not sure I understand what that has to do with dog food,” Kyra said.
“I want to hire you to work on this project. You’ve got the food. You’ve got the contacts.” He swept his hand around to indicate the center. “You’ve got the passion. You’re the obvious person to spearhead it.”
Kyra sat down hard on a stool. She knew nothing about launching a product for a corporation. “I don’t think I’m qualified.”
“Talk to me,” Greg commanded again.
She told him about having only two years of college, about working part-time in the local restaurant in Macungie, about bartending at Stratus, and cooking for the center. “So, you see, I don’t have any corporate experience.”
“I didn’t either when Will and I started Ceres.” He shrugged. “You learn. Sometimes the hard way.”
The mention of Will sent a flash of comprehension rushing through her. The dog food was a front. He’d set this up because he felt sorry for her. He wanted to give her some kind of cushy, figurehead job with a salary she didn’t deserve so she could pay off her debts. He was throwing her a bone—she winced inwardly at the pun—in order to fool her into believing it was a real business. He’d recruited Greg to throw her off the scent. Dear God, she had to stop with the dog metaphors.
But they kept her mind off all the implications of the job offer that she didn’t want to deal with in front of Greg.
“I’m really flattered, but I’m not the right person for the job.”
“Think about it.” Greg took a business card out of his pocket. “Call me with any questions.”
Kyra took the card but she didn’t believe a word he said. She didn’t have any of the skills required for such a position. “Thank you for the vote of confidence. I’ll be in touch.”
His gaze rested on her face and he managed to look sincere. “Don’t turn it down. You’ll be an asset to the project.”
Friday night was always busy at Stratus but Kyra didn’t remember a single customer she’d served for the last eight hours. Her attention had been focused on examining Greg’s job offer from every angle. Will had texted a couple of times with sexy quotations, but she’d brushed him off with a “too crazy busy to text.” And he’d left her alone after that, something she should give him credit for.
Except that she was too upset. He’d changed everything between them. Before this, she could fool herself into believing the differences between them didn’t matter. Will fit into her world so effortlessly that she’d forgotten that she couldn’t move in the opposite direction. She didn’t belong in the executive offices of a corporation or on a Connecticut estate that reminded her of a theme park. She had ignored the warning signal of Betsy Chase’s contempt for her.
But this job offer threw a harsh light on the vast gulf between them. Will could wave his magic watchband and create a job out of thin air just so his current girlfriend could pay off her debts. She had to give him credit for generosity, but the thought of him having that kind of power knocked the breath out of her.
On its heels came a gut-wrenching realization: she’d fallen in love with him . . . again. And she would have to give him up . . . again.
When the limo cruised up in front of Stratus at 1:30 a.m., Kyra was waiting on the sidewalk under the watchful eye of their late-night doorman, Pete, who wouldn’t leave until the last female staff member had departed in what he judged to be a safe means of transportation. It always gave Kyra a little glow of comfort to know Pete cared.
As Will unfolded his long body from the car, she couldn’t help it . . . she hurled herself at him, wanting to feel all of him against her for the last time.
“Now that’s a hello,” he said, his arms going around her without hesitation so that she was wrapped in him. She buried her nose in his chest, inhaling the smell of skin-warmed cotton and beautiful, golden Will. Trying to absorb the memory of how this felt so she could carry it with her when he was gone.
When she clung to him longer than usual, he took her shoulders and held her away so he could see her face, his own clouded with concern. “What is it?”
She shook her head and stepped out of his grasp. “I’ll tell you in the car.”
His eyes went hard and he gave poor Pete a look that would have reduced him to cinders if he’d been guilty of anything. “Who upset you? Tell me now and I’ll deal with them.”
She shook her head again and climbed into the limo, but not before he had tugged her backpack off her shoulder. I will always carry your bag. I always want to touch you.
She swallowed against the tears. This was going to be hell.
As soon as Will closed the door, he reached for her.
“Not yet,” Kyra said, scooting into the corner. Which reminded her of their role-play the night before. She nearly moaned out loud as m
isery lanced through her.
Will’s face was a study in mixed emotions: bafflement, concern, and uneasiness. He sat with his back to the door so he could look at her straight on. “I’d like to hear it now.” It was not a request.
“I met with Greg today,” she began. “He offered me a job.”
Will nodded. “He told me when he got back to the office. He also told me you seemed reluctant to accept it.”
“Because I don’t accept charity.” Her gaze was locked on him so she caught the tiny flinch, even though his expression didn’t change. “I’m not qualified to launch a new product. You’re just trying to give me money in an underhanded way.”
“Or maybe Greg is trying to pay you because you’d do an excellent job,” he said. “Keep in mind that he wanted to hire you. He makes his own decisions and they are always for the good of Cronus Holdings.”
His voice carried a conviction that almost made her waver, but she’d seen that tiny reaction to the word “charity.” “Okay, let’s say, for the sake of argument, that I would do a decent job. You realize that I’d be working for you. What happens when people find out we’re sleeping together? That’s not going to look good for either one of us.”
The streetlights on the side street were dim, so she couldn’t see his face. “There’s no reason they would know unless one of us tells them.” He made a gesture of impatience. “Not to sound arrogant, but the CEO doesn’t spend a lot of time with product managers, even ones on new projects. You’d report to Greg, not me, so there would be no reason for people to connect us.”
Kyra sighed. “Don’t be naive. Someone would see us together somewhere and talk.”
“So what?” Now he sounded every inch the aristocrat that he was. “Our private life is our business. Our relationship will not affect how we do our jobs.”
Second Time Around (Second Glances) Page 22