She reached for his shoulders.
Her knees were wedged around his hips and as her fingers worked slowly over the pale green fabric of his shirt, she didn't know who this exercise was affecting more. A massage was supposed to relax a person. But the muscles where her hands deftly pressed along his spine were positively rigid; and the one spanning her stomach felt like it had just balled up into a quivering knot.
"Toni?" Kyle began, his head lolling forward when her fingers sank into the crisp hairs at his nape again, "you didn't stay home from work today because of me, did you?"
Her hands splayed over his back, her palms making deep circles. If she pushed hard, he wouldn't be able to feel the betraying tremors in her fingers. "I stayed home because it's Sunday," she replied, negating what she'd said yesterday about going into the office today. She'd have to stay late every night this week to play catch-up. "I've been thinking about what you said about taking time off to relax, and decided that now's as good as any time to start." She really hadn't thought about it until now. She wasn't about to let her job suffer, but she wanted to spend as much time as she could with Kyle. Soon enough, she'd have to start looking for a place of her own. In the meantime, she wanted to let him know that she cared—subtly, of course. "Even if it hadn't been the weekend," she continued, trailing her fingertips down his back, "I would have stayed home if you needed me."
Kyle said nothing, his only sound a tiny moan as she reversed her motion and dipped her fingers beneath his collar. The muscles there were considerably more supple, and she felt him shudder.
"I guess I owe you a turn at KP," he mumbled, evading her remarks. "Thanks for cooking dinner last night."
Her tone was light and mildly teasing. Every time she lightened the pressure of her hands, she could feel him tense a little more, and she had the feeling that he was trying not to think about what she was doing. "Oh, I plan on getting even with you. You can take me out to some fabulously expensive restaurant and I'll have ..."
"You can have anything you want," he interrupted with a sigh.
"Anything?"
"You name it. Whatever . . . mmm . . . that feels good."
Repeating the motion that had elicited his sigh, she tried to keep her tone as conversational as she could. No mean feat, considering what she was doing now. "We'll discuss what I want when you feel better," she said, pulling his shirttail free from his jeans.
Sliding her hands up under his shirt, she swallowed hard and fought the desire simply to close her eyes and relish the feel of his smooth skin. If she closed her eyes, she would be able to see all too clearly the scene she had just finished reading a while ago. Though there was no warm, scented oil easing the friction between her hands and Kyle's back, and his fingers weren't tracing tantalizing paths over her arms and across her breasts, she could . . .
Knock it off, Toni! she chastised herself, and shoved his shirt up to the middle of his back with more abruptness than was necessary. It was taking a supreme amount of effort to remind herself that this was not part of the Great Seduction. At least, it hadn't started out that way.
Tucking her bottom lip between her teeth, she hastily reevaluated the situation. Kyle's neck didn't seem to be bothering him anywhere near as much as it had been. His breathing did seem a little irregular though. And he kept leaning against her hands to deepen their pressure when she massaged the small of his back.
It looked like it was time to abandon the more altruistic aspects of this massage.
Hoping that he couldn't hear the deeper huski-ness in her voice, she slowly lowered his shirt. "This would be a lot easier to do if you'd take this off, Kyle."
The moan that escaped from his throat was barely audible. The thick sound was definitely not one of pain, and she felt a curious sense of feminine power encouraging more daring behavior.
Raising herself up on her knees, she pressed herself against his back and reached around his neck to unbutton his shirt herself. Her face brushed the roughness of his cheek, and she could smell the spicy clean scent of his aftershave. Though she was the only one moving, she couldn't tell who was being seduced by whom at the moment.
A strangled gasp was compressed between Kyle's lips as Toni loosened the buttons from their holes and drew his shirt away to continue her agonizing massage. He was convinced that she didn't know what she was doing to him, how sensual her caresses were. She was simply returning a favor. To a friend, he reminded himself forcefully, nearly dying when her hands slid over his shoulders and sank into the dark hairs on his chest. The woman was a witch. An absolute sorceress. Her hands could turn cold stone into warm clay. And he felt about as malleable as that now.
Telling himself that he was only imagining the erotic undertones in Toni's touch because he wanted her so badly, he groped for something to talk about. Anything to get his mind off of what she was doing. Anything except her boyfriends. He couldn't quite stomach those conversations. He decided to ask about her mother.
Toni had told him long ago that her father had died when she was six, leaving her mother quite well off. Caroline Collins's global jaunts seemed like a safe topic.
For a second, it felt like Toni's hands went limp at the subject he had just proposed. But Kyle thought that it was just because he had moved a little too suggestively when her fingers had touched the sensitive nerve at the base of his spine. He willed himself to be perfectly still when her palms planted themselves firmly in the middle of his back.
Her breath feathered the hairs on the back of his head while she told him about her mother's recent trip to France. Kyle tried to pay attention, but no mortal male could concentrate on the quaint little villages in Bordeaux's wine district when a husky-voiced woman who smelled like powder and gardenias was practically breathing in his ear.
Toni's face was actually a good foot away from his ear, but Kyle wasn't terribly aware of major details at the moment. Her hands had just wandered down and were pressing into the skin just above the waistband of his jeans again. She was courting disaster by rubbing him there.
He knew that the seams of his pants came with a life-time guarantee against stress. Wryly he wondered if that same guarantee applied to the zipper.
Barely glancing behind him, he grasped her wrist and pushed her hand upward. "Rub my neck a little more," he said, hating the thickness in his voice.
That wasn't really where he wanted her hand. But he could only imagine what she would do if he put it where he did want it. One set of bruised ribs was enough.
The slight tightening of her thighs around his hips when she moved forward resulted in his slowly exhaled breath. Images he knew he was better off not thinking about flashed vividly in his mind.
Don't you think you'd be more comfortable if you lay down?" Practicality had prompted Toni's suggestion. She didn't want to stop—it was heaven to be able to touch him—but her legs were getting cramped and she needed to switch positions. He didn't look too comfortable perched like a statue on the edge of the sofa anyway.
Lying down was the last thing Kyle wanted to do. It was taking every bit of control he had not to turn around and press her into the cushions, taste the sweet warmth of her mouth that he remembered so well. A man could only push himself so far. And Kyle had just reached his limit.
"Your hands are probably getting tired," he hedged, picking his shirt up from the floor and pulling himself to his feet.
A million tiny needles jabbed into her legs as she untangled them and glanced up at Kyle's slightly flushed features. She had the feeling that her color was heightened, too. The feel of his body still burned on her hands.
Kyle refused to look at her and skirted the sofa to start down the hall. "Thanks for the back rub," he added flatly. "I think I'll go take a hot shower to finish what you started. That should get the rest of the kinks out."
The shower he was going to take definitely wasn't going to be a hot one. Once safely inside his room, he scattered socks, jeans and jockey shorts in a winding path to his bathroom. "If cleanlin
ess is next to godliness," he muttered, bracing himself against the icy spray, "then I'm destined for sainthood."
Toni leaned against the back of the sofa and stared at the glass figurine on the coffee table. As a seductress, she was an absolute flop. Kyle was physically attracted to her. Feminine instinct told her that much. But why was he holding back?
Flipping her hair over her shoulder, she rubbed her numb legs. There was more than a physical attraction between them. His affection was far too apparent for her to think otherwise. Did he realize that they knew each other so well, it would be impossible to separate feelings from any physical display of caring? Had he been hurt so badly by his ex-wife that he simply couldn't handle an emotional relationship?
Toni knew from their conversations in the past that his relationships with women involved little more than sex. Their relationship, for all practical purposes, included everything but that. Why couldn't he bring the two together?
She could think of only one reason that might answer her exasperated questions. Kyle was probably so used to thinking of her as a sort of little sister that he couldn't think of her as a woman. She didn't want to buy that logic though. He had responded to her—once.
And she wanted him to do it again. She was tired of having to restrain herself when she wanted to put her arms around him. She wanted to be able to touch him without pretext. Soothe the tiredness from him when he came home looking absolutely beat after an especially trying day—not just hand him a glass of wine and ask him to tell her about it. Verbal communication was important. But she wanted to touch him without feeling like she was treading on forbidden ground.
"Damn it, Donovan," she swore, jerking herself to her feet. "I'm not your sister! I'm a woman, and I love you."
History has long since proven that a woman in love is not the most rational creature in the world.
Kyle was leaving for Portland in the morning. But when he got back, Plan II: The Not-So-Subtle Approach was going into effect. Toni had no idea what that plan was, but by the time she finished a few more of Madeline's books, she'd think of something. Kyle had always maintained that nothing was ever handed to a person on a silver platter. If you wanted something, you had to work for it, and you should never let anyone or anything stand in your way if you think it is worth having.
Well, Kyle Donovan—stubborn and thickheaded as he was—was certainly worth having.
She'd waited all of her life for Kyle. And whatever portion he wanted of the rest of it was his for the asking.
❧
On Monday, Toni's office was in chaos. Tuesday was worse. The economy had taken a downturn, and she could have sworn that every investor her company serviced was trying to hedge its losses. The phones never stopped ringing, and when she finally sank behind the wheel of her rented Pontiac—one of these days she had to buy a car—she could still hear the infernal ringing in her ears. If telephones weren't the lifeline of the investment-brokerage business, she would cheerfully rip out every one of them.
Tired as she was, there was one stop to make before she could go home and, as Kyle would say, kick her feet up. She needed a bathing suit, and something wonderful to wear for Kyle's party Saturday night.
The crowds jostling her at the shopping mall did nothing to alleviate her fatigue. And though she managed a wan smile and mumbled, "That's ok," to every "'Scuse me" she heard when someone plowed into her, she was almost gritting her teeth by the time she let herself in the front door.
The sigh of relief preparing to depart from her lips turned into a succinct and very unfeminine expletive. The blasted phone was ringing.
Purse, briefcase and packages tumbled to the floor as she snatched up the nearest phone —the one on the table in the entryway. Her terse, "Hello," was more abrupt than she'd intended.
A warm chuckle on the other end of the line greeted her. "I had the feeling you'd sound like that."
"Kyle," she breathed, feeling her tension drain away at the sound of his voice. "I don't know why you called, but I'm glad you did. It hasn't been this low in years!" She was talking about the stockmarket.
"I know. You got a lot of people pulling out, or is everyone just trying to cover?"
For the next couple of minutes, their conversation, as it had a tendency to do at times, dealt with the vagaries of their chosen profession. Toni needed Kyle's sympathetic understanding. All day long she'd been dealing with clients who'd made it sound like she was personally responsible for the fact that they were losing their shirts. It was nice to commiserate with someone who'd been subject to those same attacks in the past.
"Enough of that depressing subject," Toni finally said, kicking off her heels. Bracing the phone between her ear and shoulder, she shook off her jacket. "How's your seminar? And why are you calling?" He'd never called from out of town before.
"The seminar's going fine. Just the usual strategy stuff. I called because I wanted to remind you to talk to Madeline tomorrow. Be sure to leave her a note to call you at your office."
"I told you not to worry about the party," she chided. "My memory's just as good as it ever was and I hadn't forgotten. Is that the only reason you called?" She had the feeling that it was. It was too much to hope that he might be calling just because he missed her.
She thought he hesitated for a moment, but then decided that he could just as easily have been switching ears.
"Not exactly," he admitted. "I wanted to make sure that you were ok. The way the market's been reminded me of the time that client lost everything he had and threatened to have you burned at the stake for bad advice. You didn't want anyone to know how upset you were, but... I just figured you probably had to take a lot of that same kind of guff the past couple of days."
Toni gripped the phone tighter. Dear, sweet Kyle. He had remembered something that had happened over five years ago. "I'm fine," she assured him softly. If he'd been standing in front of her now, nothing would have prevented her from hugging him. His unexpected thoughtful-ness had just made the past two days worth every miserable second. It didn't even matter that he was using his old, mentorish tone.
His equally tutorish tone veiled his question. "Are you in for the evening?"
A smile curved her lips as she assured him that she had no intention of leaving the house until morning.
"Good," he pronounced flatly. "You need to stay home alone and unwind."
The key word in that proclamation was "alone," and Toni didn't miss its significance. "I do?" she asked with an innocent inflection.
He ignored her question. "Try the spa. It'll help you relax. Since you don't have a bathing suit, use one of my tee-shirts. They're in the middle-left drawer of my bureau."
Toni's eyes darted to the package lying on the floor, the one containing the sleek, white maillot she'd been lucky to find. Stores in Seattle weren't exactly overstocked with beachwear this time of year.
A mischievous light danced in her eyes. Why tell him she'd just bought a bathing suit? Let him think she was using his hot tub naked. That should help crack that frustrating, brotherly facade! "The spa sounds like a wonderful idea, Kyle. And that's just what I'll do ... as soon as I get the rest of my clothes off."
That was not subtle, but she might as well take advantage of any situation offered.
Deciding that one more little comment wouldn't hurt—she wanted him to have a very clear picture—her voice lowered seductively. She wondered if she'd be so brave if there wasn't a few hundred miles of phone wire separating them. "I think I'll pass on the tee-shirt. But thanks for the offer. You sure you don't mind my being in your bedroom?"
Dead silence.
"Kyle?"
"Yeah? Uh ... no, I don't mind."
"You sure?"
She could almost see his jaw clenching as he muttered a curt, "Of course I'm sure."
"Well, I wouldn't want to ..."
"Look," he broke in, covering what sounded suspiciously like agitation with his brisk, businesslike tone, "I've got to meet a couple of guys down i
n the bar in a minute. Make a reservation somewhere and I'll buy you that dinner I owe you."
"Why don't we just have dinner here?" She was already planning on that. "You're probably tired of restaurants anyway."
"I said, I'll buy your dinner."
Toni couldn't keep the smile from her voice. He did sound a little upset. Not much. But enough. "Have it your way, Donovan," she said, placatingly, knowing that nothing was going to change her own plans. "See you Friday."
Dropping the receiver back on its hook, she scooped her packages, purse and briefcase from the floor. Her smile turned to a full-blown grin.
The market might be down. But Toni wasn't.
❧
Toni was standing in the kitchen, alternating sips of Scotch with prayers that her nerve wouldn't desert her, when she heard the front door open.
Kyle was home. She could hear him moving down the hallway to his bedroom.
Everything had been meticulously planned, right down to the bottle of Pouilly-Fuisse chilling in the ice bucket next to his spa. Dinner would be light—Chicken Kiev, pilaf and fruit. There was a fire burning in the fireplace and soft music playing on the stereo.
The whole scene—especially the spa part— had come straight out of one of Madeline's books. Toni had even had the glass of Scotch the heroine in the novel had needed while setting the stage to lower her hero's defenses. Unlike that imaginary character, Toni wasn't feeling the slightest bit tipsy. She was far too nervous for that.
She didn't look nervous. Years of practice allowed her anxieties to be masked by sophisticated calm. And as she heard Kyle enter the kitchen she turned to greet him with an easy smile.
Kyle wasn't smiling. He wasn't frowning either. The way the deep grooves bracketing his mouth were deepening, he just looked puzzled. "What's going on?" He had shed his jacket and was working his index finger behind the knot in his tie. "There's a bottle of wine in my bedroom and you . . ."
His words dissolved in a soft expulsion of breath when he finally looked up at her. Cool gray eyes fixed on the smooth fall of hair cascading down her back, then slid the length of the silky white caftan draping her slender curves. He looked like someone had just punched him in the stomach. A fair amount of his color had vanished beneath the collar of his white shirt.
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