"Apparently you've forgotten that you were the one who told me that if I wanted something done right, I'd have to do it myself." Her voice was tight, an unmistakable sign of the control she was trying to exercise. Toni rarely lost her temper, and she certainly wasn't going to now. "And I do delegate," she informed him evenly. "But there are some things I don't trust anyone else with. As you so aptly pointed out, I have only been there a month and it takes time to know the people you're working with. Once I . . ."
Kyle's eyes narrowed, their glittering gray depths fixed steadily on hers. "You should know your employees by now," he cut in. "And you should be getting rid of that guy whose been causing you all that extra work. You can't do his job and yours and still expect to . . ."
"I don't think I need you to tell me how to do my job anymore." Her interruption was deliberately quiet, her expression a glacial mask.
Even with the hard glare Kyle was bestowing on her, he looked more attractive than she'd ever seen him before. So totally physical. And so aggravatingly self-confident. She was feeling more than just anger at the moment. But she didn't want to define the more threatening things he was making her feel.
Her gaze had never faltered, and she saw a dangerous flicker of certainty in his eyes. "Somebody needs to tell you," he said curtly.
"Well, you don't need to worry about it." She turned and put her cup down on the counter. Her hands were beginning to tremble, and she wasn't about to let Kyle see her slosh coffee all over the floor. She hated not being in control, and that betraying tremor only made her more upset. "I've outgrown my need for ..." She started to say "your approval," but caught herself before the words slipped out. She didn't even know where they'd come fromf
"You've outgrown your need for what, Toni?" Kyle looked only slightly less angry than she did. The fact that he was angry at all thoroughly confused her.
Not about to admit what she'd just been thinking, she reached for the pearl at the base of her throat. Absently she ran it along its chain. "It's not important," she whispered.
Neither one of them said anything then, both choosing to stare anywhere but at each other. They had argued before, but always about ideas or ideals. Never had they argued on a personal level. Whatever it was that was going on now seemed to be more than a simple disagreement between friends.
The uncomfortable silence seemed deafening in the sunlit room. The silence stretched on. Though she wasn't looking at him, her gaze riveted to the toes of her shoes, she could almost feel his eyes burning through her.
When he finally spoke there was a huskiness in his voice that betrayed more than Toni was prepared to recognize. "Maybe it's important to me, princess."
A tight little lump lodged in her throat. She didn't want to admit how much those words meant to her. She didn't want them to mean anything at all! "I can't imagine why," she mumbled.
When he didn't respond, she slowly raised her eyes. He was moving toward her. When he stopped less than a foot away, it was all she could do to breathe.
More than a little intimidated by his physical presence, and upset with herself for being that way, she tipped her head back and forced a lightness into her voice that didn't want to be there. "It really doesn't matter, Kyle." Then, wanting desperately to change the subject, she asked, "Did the lecture you promised me the other night have anything to do with my less than exemplary work habits?"
"Not really," he said quietly. His expression softened as he watched her trying to regain the tiny edge she'd lost on her control a few minutes before. "We didn't get a chance to talk much last night, did we? You seemed to be spending most of your time either complaining about how steep the hill was ... or panting."
He was obviously trying to erase the inexplicable tension that had so suddenly sprung up between them. And Toni appreciated his effort.
Wishing that he'd move—wishing that she could find the strength to move herself—she slanted him a nervy little glance. "I've never been able to carry on a conversation when it takes every ounce of breath I've got to keep my lungs from collapsing." Her gaze was involuntarily drawn to the dark hair curling against his chest. She wished she had the nerve to run her fingers through those soft, springy curls. "And the next time I suggest going for a walk, remind me how my legs feel this morning, would you?"
To her relief, he took a step back. But relief was short-lived. He was staring at the gentle contour of her breasts, rounded beneath her sweater. His eyes seemed to linger there before slowly moving down the sharp crease in her slacks.
Toni felt like she'd just been undressed by a pro.
"Your legs pretty sore?"
She nodded, trying to pretend that she hadn't noticed the way he'd been looking at her. It was difficult ignoring something so blatant, but at least he'd had the decency to sound sympathetic.
"I think I have permanent cramps in my calfs . . . and about a half a dozen blisters on my feet." She really didn't have any blisters. It just felt that way.
A devilish smile lit his face, and he rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "I'd be more than happy to rub them for you."
"I'll just bet you would, Donovan," she teased, determined to match his mood. She knew that he couldn't possibly be serious, but for a fleeting second she wondered what he'd do if she took him up on his offer. Then she wondered why the thought had even entered her mind. "I'm sure you have your massage technique down to an absolute science."
"Interested?" He grinned.
She managed to look completely appalled at the idea. "After the way you lit into me a few minutes ago, you'd probably start at my ankles and wind up wringing my neck. We'll just leave things the way they are. Cramps and all."
Apology and something else she couldn't quite define shadowed his otherwise playful features. "I really didn't mean to 'light into you," he said, raking his fingers through his silvering black hair. "It was just that I..." He gave a slight shrug, and his mischievous grin returned. "Let's get back to that massage. I've been told that I'm really quite good." He glanced over his shoulder as his housekeeper came bustling back into the room. "Madeline here's one of my biggest supporters."
Madeline? Sweet, motherly, sixtyish Madeline?
"About what?" Madeline asked, frowning at the pot. "I thought I asked you to stir these."
Sheepishly Kyle handed Madeline the spoon he'd abandoned on the counter. "I forgot. And I just offered to rub the cramps out of Toni's legs, but she doesn't trust my expertise."
It wasn't Kyle's expertise Toni mistrusted. It was herself. "Oh, he's really quite good," Madeline chirped, busying herself at the stove. "I've got a bad spot in my back," she waved the wooden spoon in the general direction of her shoulder blades—"right here. Any time it gets tight, all Kyle has to do is work at it for a couple of minutes and the kink's gone. I've paid chiropractors a small fortune to do what he does for nothing. If you've got a tight muscle, he'll get rid of it for you."
Toni doubted that seriously. If he so much as touched her, every muscle in her body would constrict.
Seeing Kyle's suspicious grin, Toni began moving toward the door. Retreat and run seemed to be the best course of action at the moment.
"Hold it." Kyle had snagged her arm as she reached for her jacket and was now pointing to the chair. "Sit down. It'll only take a minute."
She wasn't about to subject herself to this torture. And that's exactly what it would be. The thought of his strong hands touching her. . . "I've really got to get to work," she mumbled, struggling into her jacket. "You aren't going to the game with Kyle?" Toni barely had one arm in the sleeve when Madeline's question, and the feel of Kyle's hands on her shoulders, stopped her. Before she could open her mouth to protest Kyle's actions, or ask Madeline what she was talking about, Toni had been pushed down into the chair.
"She doesn't have time today." Kyle's words were directed to Madeline as he lowered himself to the floor at Toni's feet. "It takes a while to get organized when you take over an office. And it's easier to get your paperwork done when you
don't have a dozen people around asking a bunch of questions. We'll try for the game next weekend." He tipped his head back and met Toni's blank expression. "Pull your pant leg up." She just sat there and crossed her arms over her chest.
Had he actually defended her to Madeline with the same argument he'd used against her not ten minutes ago? Was he really going to massage her legs? What game?
Seeing that she wasn't going to cooperate, Kyle shrugged and slipped his hands beneath the hem of her slacks. In one smooth movement, he bunched the fabric around her knee, then proceeded to do the same with the other. Toni's eyes widened. Kyle's mouth curled in a satisfied smirk. Madeline started humming to herself.
"You probably should have sat in the spa for a while when we got home last night," Kyle said to Toni. His hands cupped her left calf, and he was kneading the knotted muscle with gentle, rhythmic motions. "The heat would have soaked some of the soreness out. Oh, Madeline"—He continued his businesslike massage, never missing a stroke, which was what Toni felt like she was about to have, and little tingles were racing madly from her toes to her thighs—"that cocktail party I'm having in a couple of weeks? There's another eight people coming, so be sure to fix enough food. And I'll be bringing a few of the guys back here after the game today."
"Don't worry about the party," Madeline returned, busily chopping an onion. "I'll put some sandwiches together and leave them in the fridge before I go."
Kyle may have been talking to his housekeeper, but his eyes were following his hands. One of them slipped up behind Toni's knee then traced a too-light path down to her ankle. "Nice legs," he mumbled under his breath, then spoke to Madeline again. "Since I'll be home all of next week ..."
The easy banter between Kyle and the woman who seemed more like a dear aunt than a housekeeper continued. But Toni was hearing little of it. He might as well have been kneading bread for all the attention he was paying to Toni. Toni, on the other hand, was aware of nothing but Kyle and the way his long fingers alternately punished and then caressed her soft skin. He slipped her shoe off, still talking to Madeline, and began working the pads of his fingers in small circles over the sole of her foot.
The knots in her legs were slowly dissolving, but the one in her stomach wasn't. She hugged her arms tighter around her middle, her eyes glued to the top of his dark head. The towel still hung around the corded muscles of his neck, and the morning sun slanting through the skylight made his shoulders look like hammered bronze.
Kyle had repositioned himself and was now sitting cross-legged on the floor. He laid her foot against his thigh, working methodically on each of her toes.
The chaos he was creating with her senses had made it impossible for her to speak. The tightness in her throat seemed to be building in less specific places.
This is all perfectly innocent, she told herself, and tried to ignore the tingling that had spread through her whole body. "What..." She cleared her throat and tried again. "What game are you two talking about?"
Kyle pulled her other foot onto his lap and began massaging her other calf. "A bunch of us guys get together on Saturdays to play football. That's all." His kneading now resembled more of a caress. "You used to work with some of them—Jerry Andrews, Todd Ruger. They bring their families sometimes. I just thought you'd like to see them again. You'll see 'em at the party though."
"You mean I'm invited?" Why did her voice sound so husky?
He glanced up at her, his gray eyes narrowed. "Of course you are. You'll know half the people there anyway, and they'd shoot me if you didn't show up."
"What's the party for?"
"Carol Gray's being transferred to Denver. It's sort of a combination promotion-farewell party." Toni barely knew Carol. She had joined Kyle's company just before Toni left, and at the moment, Toni was hard pressed to remember what the woman even looked like.
Wanting a diversion, any diversion, Toni tried to formulate some conversational question about Carol. But what Kyle was doing now stopped her cold.
His index finger lay lightly on her kneecap.
Slowly, he traced a feathery path over the curve and down her shin. Reaching her ankle, he shackled it in the loop formed by his finger and thumb. Her ankle looked so tiny compared to his large hands.
The strange intensity in his expression vanished with his lopsided grin. "That wasn't so bad now. Was it?" Giving her calf a squeeze, he pulled himself to his feet. "And in return for that favor, I'd like you to do me one." He caught the ends of his towel with both hands, drawing it tighter over the back of his neck. "Wear a dress to that party. You really do have a great pair of legs, Collins."
With that, he strolled out of the kitchen, calling back to Madeline that he'd be leaving right after he took his shower.
Toni shoved her pant legs back down and took a couple of deep breaths. Forcing herself to think of nothing other than the mechanics of putting herself back together, she slipped her shoes on and smoothed the lapels of her jacket. One thing she'd never been very good at was blanking her mind. She tried, but her rational brain was working furiously to overcome the assault of less logical thought. She felt a little shaky because she needed another cup of coffee. The only reason she was flustered was because she was already behind schedule. The heated points of fire that still burned her legs where Kyle had caressed them were just muscle cramps. And Kyle had just been his usual omnipotent, teasing and exasperating self. All good, sound, rational . . . excuses.
"Well," she said to Madeline, enormously pleased with her split-second analysis. "I . . . ah, guess I'd better get to the office and see if I can get something accomplished."
"Oh," Madeline smiled gently, drawing the word out a little. "I'd say that quite a bit's been accomplished already."
The cherubic little woman turned back to her task, completely ignoring Toni's puzzled frown.
Chapter 3
Kyle glanced down at the raven-haired woman whose fingers were deftly working at the knot in his tie. Her warm lips were pressed to the side of his neck, working an expert pattern upward to nibble seductively at his ear.
Why couldn't he respond to her? Maggie had always excited him before. So what was wrong now?
Muttering an inaudible profanity to himself, he took Maggie by the shoulders and gently pushed her away. He grabbed his snifter of brandy from the coffee table. Wanting only to end this ridiculous charade, he stood up.
Confusion was reflected in the woman's huge brown eyes. Her hair was tousled, but Kyle thought that it just looked messy rather than beguiling. Instead of finding the results of his handiwork provocative—her slightly smeared lipstick and the swell of her full breasts revealed by her unbuttoned blouse—he felt only disgust with himself. And oddly empty.
Maggie tugged at her skirt as she rose from the sofa, not bothering to fasten her top. "What's the matter?" she asked sulkily. "You seem a little preoccupied tonight."
She reached for his arm, but he moved away before she could touch him.
His jaw clenched tightly as he stood at the mantel, pretending interest in a small figurine.
A little preoccupied was a gross understatement. Ever since he'd returned from Chicago, he'd been able to think of nothing but Toni. Toni leaning against the kitchen counter, her hair wrapped in a towel and wearing that soft blue robe and still sleepy-eyed as she drank her morning coffee. Toni as she rushed past him an hour later, looking every inch the no-nonsense executive in her severely tailored suit. Toni teasing him while he tried to help her when it was her turn to cook dinner. Toni frowning in concentration as she sat at the table with the files she always brought home from the office.
He'd offered to go house-hunting with her on Sunday, wanting nothing more than to spend the day with her. But she'd just leveled those beautiful blue eyes at him and said that she already had plans to go with Greg. Kyle had been quite pleased with his bantering comment about "going after the rich doctor," though something very unpleasant had twisted inside him. It couldn't possibly have been jealousy. She h
ad certainly done nothing to encourage anything other than the friendship they already shared. And Kyle was trying desperately to act the same way he always had toward her. He had become obsessed with the thought of her, though. He wished that it had been Toni's lips that had so passionately returned his kisses just a short while ago. Did she touch Greg the way Maggie . . . ?
That uncomfortable knot constricted in his gut again. Thinking about Toni in another man's arms was doing nothing for his mood. His inability to respond to Maggie had put him in a lousy frame of mind, and hadn't done a thing for his ego.
Cripe! he thought, raking his fingers through his hair. Here I am with a gorgeous woman who wants nothing more than for rhe to take her to bed, and I'm as limp as hay after a rainstorm. What in the hell are you doing to me, Toni?
Glancing over at the beautiful foreign correspondent he'd been seeing off and on for the past several months, a self-deprecating smile hung on his lips. Maggie Sherman was worldly and sophisticated. And, more importantly, no more interested in a commitment than he was.
"Sorry, Maggie," he said, chaining his brandy. He handed her the empty snifter and dropped a quick kiss on her forehead. "I know I've been rotten company tonight. Give me a call when you get back from wherever it is you're off to this time, and I'll make it up to you."
Kyle wasn't accustomed to walking away from a willing woman. He couldn't believe that he was doing it now.
❧
It was well past midnight when Kyle slid his key into the lock and pushed open his front door. The lights in the living room were on, but the house was quiet. Toni was probably already asleep.
She was. But not in her bed. Kyle's hand stilled as he reached over to turn out the table lamp, his eyes frozen on her sleeping form.
She was lying on the sofa, one arm curled beneath her head and the other still grasping the edge of the Wall Street Journal, which had fallen partway to the floor.
Remember the Dreams Page 4