by Julie Kenner
Michael was sweet and wonderful and she’d shared some amazing things with him, but in the final analysis, their relationship was lacking. But with Tony…well, that went a lot deeper. He grounded her, made her feel safe and special. Oh Lord, she loved him. So help her, she did.
And that created a little bit of a problem. She certainly couldn’t keep sleeping with Michael now that she realized she was in love with Tony.
She sat bolt upright as an even more disturbing problem occurred to her: How on earth could she marry one man if she was in love with another?
A tricky question, true, but she had the answer. The same answer she’d had all her life—family obligations, responsibilities, plans.
She blinked back tears. She’d marry Harold because she had to. She’d hold on to Tony’s memory because she wanted to.
Isn’t that why she came to Fantasies, Inc. in the first place?
Outside her window, the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in a fabulous array of oranges and purples. She watched the spectacle until one sharp knock at the door interrupted.
She pulled open the door, then fought back a gasp. Michael. An unexpected wave of disappointment flowed through her. She’d had no reason to expect Tony, none at all, and yet somehow that had gotten in her head. Certainly he’d gotten in her blood, and the thought of being with Michael now simply depressed her—no matter how much the touch of his hands made her body sing. She felt her eyes well up.
In one fluid movement, he kicked the door shut and gathered her in his arms. “Hey, baby, shhhh. What’s the matter?”
Feeling foolish and silly but unable to stop, she let the tears come. She kept her face pressed against his shoulder, breathing in the now-familiar smell of his cologne. He stroked her hair and she relaxed in his embrace, letting herself take some comfort from him as she gathered her courage.
His hands closed on her shoulders and he gently pushed her away. His face was firm, studying hers. “Kyra? What’s wrong?”
Everything. Everything and nothing.
“I…I don’t think we can do this anymore.”
His grin was lighthearted, but she could see the undercurrent of concern. “This?”
She stepped back, breaking the contact between them, and swept her arm out to encompass the room. “Yes. This. All of this. You and me. I can’t do it anymore.” A tear trickled down her face, and she wiped it away.
“Sweetheart, I—”
She put a finger over his lips. “No. Please. I’m sorry. You do things to me. Truly amazing things.” She closed her eyes, gathering her courage even as she remembered how wonderful he made her feel. “But I can’t do it anymore.” She looked him straight in the eye. “I’m sorry.”
“Why?”
She took a deep breath. “I realized that I’m in love.” It felt good to say it, as if saying the words aloud made her stronger. As if Tony was right there beside her spoon-feeding her courage.
Michael stiffened. “Who’s the lucky guy?”
He sounded almost anxious, and a tingle whispered up her spine—another curious déjà vu, and again she pushed the sensation away, attributing it to her own fragile emotions.
She opened her mouth, wanting more than anything to say that she was in love with Tony. Wanting to say his name out loud and make it truly real, make it final.
But she couldn’t.
She couldn’t give up the life Harold had offered her, couldn’t sacrifice everything her family had worked so hard for, couldn’t turn her back on her promises to her mother.
“Kyra,” he repeated, his voice firm. “Tell me who you’re in love with.”
She looked up, meeting his eyes. “I’ve got a fiancé back home. I’m going to marry him.”
“You’re in love with him?” Disbelief laced his voice.
She pressed her lips together, unsure how to answer. But then she looked up into his eyes and knew he deserved the truth. “No. But I like him. I trust him, and I respect him.” She tried to smile. “I’m sorry, Michael. I just can’t do this anymore.”
“But if you don’t love him? If you love someone else…”
A single tear rolled down her cheek, and she wiped it away. True, their relationship had been mostly physical, but they’d shared so much. She owed the man an explanation at least. She’d told Tony about her fantasy. At the very least, she should tell Michael as well.
“I never really told you about my fantasy,” she said, “about why I’m here, about why I wanted you to be anonymous.” She stroked his roughened cheek, running her thumb along the bottom of his eye patch. “I’ve got obligations. Family stuff. Promises I made. I need Harold.” She shrugged, accepting her fate, knowing what she was giving up, but certain she was doing the right thing. “I need him, and I’m going to marry him.”
* * *
SHE STOOD in front of him, her back straight, perfectly calm. But she might as well have just kicked him in the gut, just reached in and ripped his heart out.
Certainly, he couldn’t feel any worse.
She loved him. Tony. Him. He was certain of it. His amazing Kyra had looked past the scars and seen him. And she loved him.
But that didn’t matter. Kyra loved Tony, but Harold had won anyway. Good old Harry got the girl, was going to spend the rest of his life with the woman Tony loved.
He started to open his mouth, wanting to argue with her, to beg, to plead. Wanting more than anything to tell her he loved her and to urge her to stay with him forever.
But he said none of it. Tony didn’t have the right stuff, and Harry did. Good old Harry could rescue the girl, could secure the castle and keep out the barbarians. Tony didn’t have a damn thing to offer. Nothing except love, but why even open that door? In the end, it would only hurt more, because Kyra had already made it clear that love wasn’t calling the shots where her life was concerned. It would hurt him, and it would hurt her.
Better to keep their friendship alive, even if that meant he died a tiny death. Better to see her, to laugh with her, to spend time with her. She’d need a friend, after all. And in the end, that was the most he could do. Be a damn good friend to her. Or Tony could. Michael needed to just leave her alone.
He reached out for her and, after a moment of hesitation, she slipped into his open arms. He held her close, then kissed the top of her head. After a moment, he pulled back and looked at her red and puffy eyes.
“I’m going to go now.”
She nodded, and he slipped out of the cabana, shutting the door behind him. He walked along the beach to his own room, stopping only once to hurl a rock into the churning waves.
Numb. He felt numb. He’d lost her today. Ever since the accident, he’d expected to lose any woman he got close to. But this had blindsided him. He hadn’t lost Kyra because of his face or his back or anything. All those problems, all those hours of self-pity, and at the end of the day, his physical appearance wasn’t the problem. He should have known Kyra wouldn’t care about that.
Trouble was, what she did care about was way out of his league.
As he opened the door to his cabana, the theme song from The Lone Ranger rang out. His cell phone. It had to be Alan, and he snatched it up.
“Moretti.”
“Yo, Tony. You keeping the babes satisfied?”
“All the time,” he said.
“You okay?” Alan’s voice turned serious.
“Fine,” he said. Then, “No. I’m not okay. I’m not okay at all.”
To his credit, Alan kept the sarcastic comments to a minimum, actually listening as Tony told him everything.
“Your back must be getting better,” Alan said. He had yet to comment on Kyra, and Tony had to smile. Leave it to Alan to tackle the easy problems first. “I mean, if you’re running around being this Zorro character—”
“So what? I’m supposed to head back home and tell the chief ‘Hey, put me back on payroll. I saved a kitten from a tree’?”
“You told me the kitten got away.”
“You know what I’m saying,” Alan said. “So you’re not back on active? Big deal. You can work a desk. Or get another job. That consulting firm. Hell, they’re nationwide. You could live anywhere in the country—even Texas,” he added in a very Alan-esque way of steering the conversation around to Tony’s real problem.
Tony ran his hands through his hair. Maybe there were other ways to be useful. Maybe he didn’t have to be out fighting fires. Maybe he could even get some satisfaction behind a desk.
But that didn’t change the most basic fact. “I can’t help her, Alan. She needs a deep pocket. A businessman. Someone with more money than I’ve ever seen. Someone who can keep a family legacy alive.” Frustrated, he clenched his fist. “This is the woman I love, and there’s not one damn thing I can do to help her.”
Even as he said it, he had to wonder. Why hadn’t he told her he loved her? Were his reasons really that noble, or was he just afraid of the pain he’d feel when she aimed those sad eyes at him and still chose Harold?
It was a risk. She might turn him down, might hang tooth and nail on to that foolhardy plan of hers. But dammit, he had to try.
He drew in a deep breath and said goodbye to Alan.
It was time for Michael and Tony to go have a talk with the woman they loved.
* * *
SHE WOKE UP confused and not rested at all. Weird thoughts and images had danced in her dreams, and she’d spent the night tossing and turning. She wanted to call Mona, but her friend would just say that her insomnia was the product of typical Kyra-guilt—she loved one man, was sleeping with another, and yet planned on marrying another one altogether.
But that wasn’t it, not exactly. Stretching, she grabbed her notebook from the bedside table and trained her eye down the list she’d made before trying to sleep. Every reason why she should marry Harold was neatly printed down the left side of the page—her family, the business, security, stability, and more. All there in black and white.
On the right side, she could only put one reason not to marry Harold—Tony.
No contest. The pros clearly won out, though she was having a few niggling hesitations about following her list rather than her heart.
Still, something else was bugging her—that déjà vu feeling she’d been having for the past couple of days.
Annoyed, she rolled over, burying her head under the pillow. She’d left the Do Not Disturb sign up, and the maid hadn’t changed the sheets. Now she breathed in Michael’s familiar scent.
Very familiar.
She sat up, confused, as an image danced on the edge of her memory. The boat. When she’d play-wrestled Tony for the brownies. That scent. She knew it, was smelling it right now on her sheets: Obsession.
Coincidence, or more?
“Now you’re being silly,” she whispered. Her imagination was clearly running wild.
Or maybe not so wild. She nibbled on the edge of her thumb as her mind sifted through clues. The patch over his left eye and Tony’s scar. The evening beard and Tony’s freshly shaved face. Michael’s insistence on the dark.
But that was silly. Tony had been off the island the night she met Michael, or at least that’s what he and Stuart had said. A constructed alibi?
Maybe.
Except Tony had a bad back, and she and Michael hadn’t exactly been calm in the lovemaking department. But even then…
She frowned. Even then, Michael had been careful. The first time they’d made love, she’d been on top. And the other times…she sighed, her body remembering his touch. Yes, he had been careful.
She recalled the soggy dishtowel she’d found on the floor by her bed. Melted ice, perhaps? Maybe even being careful, his back had paid the price.
Her breath caught in her throat, and she sat up straighter. It was true—it had to be. The man she loved and the man she made love with were one and the same.
Michael was Tony’s secret identity. And Tony Moretti was her fantasy lover.
A wave of pure happiness washed over her, only to be replaced by a flash of anger.
He’d lied to her. Both of them—Tony and Michael. He, they, whoever, had lied to her.
Every day, she’d left Tony for her secret lover, while all the time he’d known exactly who she was running to. And with Michael she’d tried so hard to keep their relationship purely physical. No strings, no nothing. Yet all the time he knew her little secrets, every detail she’d shared with Tony during the daylight.
She tried to hold on to the anger, wanted to nurture it and keep the sadness in check. But it was useless; she couldn’t stay mad.
She knew Tony. Knew him well enough to fall desperately in love. And that meant she knew him well enough to know the depths of his insecurities.
He hadn’t told her who he was for fear she’d turn away. He’d protected his heart, and in doing so, he’d protected her fantasy. Hadn’t she told him a million times how important anonymity was to her?
Well, she’d gotten anonymous all right. But she’d never expected her fantasy to turn around and bite her on the butt.
Be careful what you wish for…
She pulled her knees up, hugging them to her chest, and when the tears came, she didn’t even try to fight them.
So much had changed in the past twenty-four hours. She’d changed. And even though she’d fought her feelings tooth and nail earlier, deep in her heart, she knew she couldn’t go back to Texas and marry Harold.
She had no idea how she’d save the business—or even if she’d be able to save it—but Tony was right. She did deserve more than a marriage based on a profit-and-loss statement. Harold deserved a woman who truly loved him. She deserved a man whom she loved, and who loved her right back. Just like her mom had found in her dad.
It was scary, risking the business when she could so easily save it. Just two little words—I do. But those were two words she couldn’t say without three other little words, not even for her father. A week ago, yes. But things had changed. She’d changed.
She’d fallen in love, and she owed Tony the world for opening her eyes.
She needed to tell him, and the thought made her smile…until she remembered—she’d already told him.
She’d stood right there with Michael and said the magic word—love. Had said she loved him. Certainly it had been clear enough. He knew she didn’t love Harold, and that left only Tony.
She’d taken the risk, said it out loud and still he hadn’t dropped the facade. Hadn’t said the words back to her. Hadn’t argued when she’d said she was going to marry Harold. Hadn’t tried to talk her out of it. Hadn’t even blinked.
She sniffled, determined not to cry. Love wasn’t always a two-way street. If he didn’t love her, she’d still survive. After a while the pain would lessen and she’d have her memories. Heck, that was more than some people had in a lifetime. She should be grateful, but she wasn’t. Instead, she felt like crawling back under the covers and crying buckets.
She was just about to do that when the door opened. Squinting, she leaned forward, just in time to see black jeans, a T-shirt, dark hair and an eye patch.
Her breath caught. Michael. Tony. Either way, the man she loved.
And, dammit, she wasn’t ready to give up yet. Maybe he hadn’t said the words, but did that really mean he didn’t feel them?
She didn’t know. Not for certain. But she damn sure intended to find out.
* * *
“I NEEDED to see you,” he said, hoping she wouldn’t send him away. “I want to talk to you.” He needed to confess all. And he needed to tell her he loved her.
“I’m glad you came.” She was in her bed, the sheet covering her legs. He saw her shorts on the floor and imagined she had very little on under the covers. He swallowed and reminded himself to keep his eye on the ball, not her skin.
/>
“Why’s that?”
She patted the bed next to her, her grin slightly devious. “Maybe I decided I wanted another night with you, another erotic encounter.”
She let the sheet slip back, revealing her thin T-shirt and a good deal of bare leg. He swallowed. They needed to talk, needed to settle this, but the lure of having her in his arms again enticed him beyond belief. A man was only so strong….
He fought the tug of attraction. Not until she knew the truth. He wasn’t going to lie to her again by omission. He wasn’t going to make love to her again under false pretenses.
“What’s the matter, Michael?” She knelt on the bed, then moved toward him. When she was just a few inches away, she reached out and caressed his cheek. “I thought you might like to know that I’ve decided to call off my marriage.”
He swallowed. So much for rescuing. Once again the damsel had saved herself. “You have?”
“Uh-huh.” Her fingers teased the corner of his mouth, and without thinking he parted his lips, welcoming the taste of her. “Do you want to know why?”
Barely able to form coherent thoughts, he simply nodded.
“I thought about what you said.”
“About not loving your fiancé?”
“About deserving more. About not being happy in a marriage based on a profit-and-loss statement.” She met his eyes. “You were right.”
“I was?” His breath hitched as he realized the import of what she was saying. He’d said that on the beach, days ago. As Tony. “No, I never said that,” he whispered.
She met his eyes, her nod almost imperceptible, as she reached up to stroke his face. Her fingers deftly skimmed under his patch, pushing it up and off before he could stop her. “Yes, you did.”
He stiffened, afraid she’d be angry. But when he looked in her eyes, he saw only understanding. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I should have told you earlier.”
“It’s okay. I understand why you didn’t.” She looked down, and he noticed that she was twisting her hands in her lap. “But there is one thing I’m not as sure of—”
“I love you.” He took her hand. “I love you, Kyra.”