by Cait London
She studied the glow of the lamplight on his lashes, the way he experimentally moved his knuckles and fingertips across the areas of her feet. Those areas at the base of her toes were energy reservoirs and even without his testing them, they leaped into alert. He frowned when he touched her heel in a way that made her knee jerk, and sensitized her femininity. She rubbed her arch on his hard thigh and Michael scowled at it. “You’ve got very pretty feet, but they are in the wrong place,” he stated tightly.
She realized she was wiggling her toes too close to his jeans’ zipper and eased them away. Michael’s hands trembled as he gripped her feet in both hands, as if not knowing whether to replace them or push them away. He lifted her foot to place a kiss inside her arch, watching her. The electricity from his tongue staked every nerve and took her clawing at the couch. She found her breath and wished she could draw him over her, in her. “I know you resented me paying for dinner, but you’ve been working too hard. I heard you doing laundry last night. I can stop by your place and get you more clothes, if you wish.”
Michael looked up from studying her foot and higher places. He gripped her ankle, not tightly, but possessively. “Do not go there again.”
He frowned, studying her more closely as she looked away. “You did. You actually went there and cleaned for them again, didn’t you? You probably cooked some nutritious goodie for Sharon.”
“Who’s Rosa?” she asked, since Michael’s gentle relaxing mood was broken and whatever rode him was back and angry. His “Call Rosa for women” memo flashed in her mind on the list of things to discuss with Michael. She’d found the note on his workbench in the back of her shop and it had nagged her all day.
Michael shook his head. “Some woman I know,” he explained curtly. “I asked you not to clean for them.”
“You didn’t ask. You ordered.” Kylie stood to her feet, angry with him. He would give her nothing, not even information about a name, a woman he knew.
Michael stood slowly, towering over her like a dark thunderstorm brewing a good lightning bolt. “I’m going out.”
“Fine. Run. Intimacy frightens you, so do relationships.” She wasn’t tired anymore, pleasured by Michael’s beginning reflexology techniques. “I can do my own toes.”
Michael ran his hand through his hair, leaving it in peaks. He had that desperate, trapped expression. “Kylie, I—”
“What?” She realized her tone gave him little opening for telling her what was on his mind, but with her body’s needs on override, she wasn’t happy to know she couldn’t keep the man she wanted desperately within arm’s reach.
“I’m going out for a beer.”
“At the Silver Dollar?” Where everyone could see that he was still lonely and haunted and that she couldn’t keep a man she’d asked on a date?
“On the back picnic table. It’s nice and cold and safe out there.”
Michael studied the bottles of colored nail polish he had arranged neatly over his workbench the next day. They represented the dreams he had of having Kylie’s full attention, of watching her little feet play and intertwine with his as they lay on her daffodil splattered sheets. Making love to Kylie in a closet or in the front seat of her pickup wasn’t what she deserved. Little had kept Michael from surging into her, placing himself deep in her, but he’d wanted an old-fashioned bed and a marriage ring on her finger. What was he doing? What made him think he was suitable marriage material for Kylie?
She knew about his young life, and he couldn’t bear her sympathy. He’d made money his goal for years, skipping the intricacies of relationships and Kylie was a woman who deserved conversation and intimacy. “Don’t you run away from me again,” she’d called out to him as he sat brooding on the picnic table.
She’d hurried out into the wind and hurled a warm shawl around his head and shoulders. She tucked it around him tightly and pushed back the fringes from his eyes. “You’re here, and it’s my fault and I’m not having people say I can’t take care of you. Oh, don’t glower at me. You don’t frighten me.”
It had been odd, yet right, sitting on the old picnic table, nursing his beer and wrapped in a woman’s large woolen shawl.
Leon, currently preening in the mirror, presented a problem. With Fredricka, who had stopped by to visit Michael, watching him, Leon was putting on quite a show of flexing muscles in the simple task.
“He is vain and a troublemaker,” Fredricka murmured quietly before sauntering over to Leon and smiling at him. “I would like a massage. Do you take walk-ins?”
Leon eyed Fredricka’s tall, statuesque body, her wide blue eyes and her long blond hair. “I think I have an opening now.”
Fredricka turned to look at Michael. “I have always liked you and Kylie,” she murmured. “It is good between you?”
“Pretty good.” If she weren’t killing herself worrying about Leon and Sharon, and if Michael had told her of his intentions, already known to everyone else.
“Kylie loves her work. She’s not much on playing,” Leon interrupted, not wanting to be excluded from the quiet conversation. “Except sports. She’s always been a tomboy. Not very feminine. Too open. No mystery.”
“Has she?” Michael asked darkly, nettled by Leon’s lack of knowledge of Kylie.
“I’d hardly call her a vamp or a tigress in bed. You never see her in a dress, do you?”
On his feet now, Michael took a step toward Leon. Kylie’s soft heart and her femininity weren’t up for discussion. “Listen, you—”
Fredricka’s hand stayed Michael. “You say you have an opening now, Leon? I’ve been waiting for a massage from a man with big, strong hands,” she purred.
After Fredricka’s tall curved body sauntered into the front part of the shop, Michael noted Leon’s drool and his haste to move after her. “Freddie” was usually cool and concerned with her tulip farm and her physical shape. She usually had little time for self-indulgence, running the miles into town for her mail. Men stood by the roadside to watch her pass, a beautiful tall flow of curves and long hair who ignored them all.
Michael turned his mind from the Fredricka-mystery and concentrated on his nonexistent and painful lack of love life. Two days of hit-and-miss cuddling Kylie-sessions weren’t helping his temperament, Michael decided. Honor prevented him making love to Kylie in her mother’s house without a wedding band on her finger. The moment had come and gone several times in which he could tell her that he’d spoken for her at the Women’s Council. It was only a matter of time before someone told her. Kylie seemed hot and ripe, and sensual tensions sprang between both of them at one look. Leon and Sharon were in the way at every turn and Kylie felt responsible for bringing them to Freedom Valley. She was too drained by running after them and Michael could ruin whatever advances he’d made with her by just one badly needed punch— Michael opened his notebook computer, studied the various shades of polish he intended to apply with regular attention to Kylie’s toes and began punching keys.
“Fredricka is awfully friendly with Leon,” Kylie worried quietly at Michael’s side. “You never heard me walk up to you and you’re usually so perceptive. What are you doing?”
When she peered at his computer, Michael quickly exited the programs. Within hours, he intended to pry Leon and Sharon from Kylie. The responses he’d gotten from associates all over the world had been good, and Michael expected immediate confirmation of Leon’s appointment at a resort far, far away.
Kylie’s hand smoothed his chest and Michael almost purred aloud, pushing away the hunter’s instincts that ruled him on a project. He was losing his guard, the one that had kept him alive in danger. She leaned her head on his shoulder and Michael fell into those dark blue, mysterious eyes, wondering at what ran between them, how Kylie could now be so close and warm.
Kylie had softened him, this precious little bit of curves and a cheeky grin and an open, trusting heart. She’d stolen a piece of him, but the mix of sultry, hungry woman and fairy still dazzled him. She’d fascinate him lo
ng past what brewed and sizzled between them now. He knew that she wanted him, but while he might permit a taste, he had beautiful, wild plans for the claiming of Kylie. He could give her relief and himself the pleasure of watching her go into herself, capturing those riveting sensations within her. “You asked what I’m doing? Waiting for you. Maybe I always have,” he said, and watched her eyes darken as his head lowered.
Moments later, Kylie tried to place her mind and her body in the same galaxy. Michael’s harsh breathing, the thumping of his heart and the desperate hunger of his mouth had once more ignited her—in the closet. She leaned limply against him, cherishing his warm trembling hands. “All better?” he asked against her forehead.
She nodded and Michael eased her from his arms and with a last searching tender kiss, opened the closet door. He eased Kylie out into the room, tugged her sweatshirt down firmly and smiled at the man gaping at them. “I heard noises,” Leon said finally.
Kylie trembled, the aftermath of her feverish need for Michael, as he closed the closet door. He rested his hand on her shoulder. It was a firm grip and not a caress, as if he wasn’t letting her move away from him. She flushed and hurried to explain. Kylie wasn’t prepared for anyone to know how much she needed Michael. Not that Leon’s opinion of her mattered, but her explanation was based on her background—in Freedom Valley passion wasn’t to be flaunted openly. The Women’s Council would call such behavior “unseemly.” Michael could fall back into the Cull bin easily. “Now Leon, this isn’t what it looks like.”
“Of course it is,” Michael said. “She’s very sexy and demanding and needs regular attention… Leon, I’d like you and me to be friends and I’ll drop over and cook dinner. I’ll just put something in the oven, so it will be ready when Sharon wakes up from her nap. But I’ve been wondering if you’d want to take some time off now and go for a drive?” he asked the other man as if unaffected by his steamy interlude with Kylie.
“What have you been doing to Leon?” Kylie asked furiously the next afternoon while in Michael’s kitchen. Michael hadn’t seen her since the closet incident; he’d been too busy with Leon and Sharon. As he passed Kylie’s door last night, she’d jerked it open to glare at him. He’d smiled at her, thinking how cute she was in her flannel pajamas, her green mud mask hard upon her face, framing her vivid blue cutting eyes and her firmed pink lips. He could have tugged her to him and kissed her until that first yielding began—but he didn’t. He had plans for Kylie and they included a proper consummation upon a righteous bed. When she was soft and mellow in his arms, all that fire banked for the moment, he’d tell her how he’d spoken for her. He’d tell her of his life, of the women who periodically stayed with him and some of whom he still supported as they grasped the first rung of their futures as independent women.
“You’re in a froth,” he had noted and wished the women he helped would have a bit of Kylie’s fire and strength.
“‘In a froth.’ You’re using my mother’s words and you’ve got that closed, hard look. What exactly did you do to Leon?” Kylie had demanded.
Now, in the early afternoon circled by a cold mist, after setting off all the alarms Michael had reset, Kylie was furious. Her mouth tightened as she glanced at his work, cleaning up after his guests. The swishing dishwasher was filled with dirty dishes discarded throughout the house, the washer and dryer going full blast. While Leon was meticulous about the Spa’s neat appearance, he discarded that trait in his off-duty hours. Sharon’s attempts at cooking were evidenced by the black crust at the bottom of all of Michael’s pots and pans. After one disaster, Sharon had simply moved on to another pan without cleaning the first. “Sorry about the window they broke. I’ll pay for the damage,” Kylie muttered.
Michael punched the buttons to stop the alarms Kylie had started; he punched the row of remote buttons to disable them in his shop behind Soft Touches and in his vehicles. He’d wanted to see if Leon’s gleaming, well-defined muscles could adjust to a good old-fashioned back-alley brawl. Leon hadn’t offered to repay him for anything, and Michael wondered how much Kylie had sacrificed in her marriage. “You’re not paying for anything. I haven’t done anything to him. But I’d like to.”
“He left a note. He’s got a good job in San Francisco, managing an elite spa. The corporation has spas all over the world and it’s likely that after the baby, they’ll be located in Switzerland, just where he’s always wanted to be. He said Sharon wanted to leave, too, and he’s going to sign a contract with great employee benefits. I always knew that with just a little nudge and the right incentive, Leon would become more responsible. It was worth my effort, for the baby’s sake. Why didn’t you answer your telephone this morning? I couldn’t leave Mrs. Watson, not after she’d taken so much care and pride in making her appointment—she’s approaching one hundred, you know. I want to know what you said or did to Leon to make him and Sharon leave town so quickly. Leon usually liked to stage his good-byes, lingering over them. He didn’t this time. If their using your house was too much of an inconvenience, they could have stayed at mine… And why did Sharon call, raging about the blond bionic Amazon stealing her husband? None of this makes any sense.”
“Miracles happen.” Michael’s extensive contacts had confirmed the setup, and within a few hours had gotten Leon a high-paying job and an accompanying apartment. Leon had pounced upon the offer. Michael had slipped Leon an envelope containing cash and the signed title of the Porsche. Michael had made certain that Leon knew if he asked Kylie for money or support again, that the consequences would be “unfriendly.”
Michael settled back against his kitchen counter to watch Kylie pace back and forth. Fredricka’s warning look made perfect sense now. She seldom entered the life stream of others, but clearly she knew how to dispose of a man by making his wife jealous. Fredricka liked life smooth in Freedom Valley and she had apparently taken action to remove the newcomers chafing the town. Seemingly deep in thought, Kylie picked up the bottle of furniture oil and the rag he’d intended to use and went to work on the antique table. “They should have used coasters to prevent these water marks. These weren’t here when I set the table that first night.”
Kylie straightened and frowned and slowly studied his kitchen and the living room. “Oh, a fireplace. It’s just the thing on a day like this with the blustering wind outside. Just lovely, with cream carpeting and cushions on dark heavy furniture. What a lovely view of the mountains! They’re all draped in mist now— You know, I was so busy taking care of Leon and Sharon that I didn’t really look at your home. The pantry and laundry room were arranged so conveniently off the kitchen and the guest bathroom is delicious. Karolina is dying for an invitation. She’s certain you’ve got a swords display and shrunken heads.”
Michael smiled tightly. His pistols and other gear were hidden in wall panels throughout the house. He imagined Karolina’s glee if she were to try his night-vision, heat-sensing and voice tracking and recognition equipment. A private room, well equipped with sensors, occupied his barn’s loft. Testing high-tech security devices in privacy away from labs with spies had become lucrative and he enjoyed trying his skills. “Karolina has an imagination.”
He followed Kylie as she wandered from room to room, staring at the nursery and the tiny cots provided for visiting children. “I’d like children someday,” he said. “Would you?”
“You ordered new things for the women and the children. Why?”
He shrugged, unable to tell her of how dark those lives had been. “They were my friends and they needed things.”
Kylie studied him, placing her hand along his jaw. “Michael, no one will think less of you for having a giving heart. Don’t be ashamed of the good you do. That you’ve always done.”
He wanted to tell her about his mother, about Lily and why he had chosen his path to help other women. But the words were locked tight in his throat; he wasn’t used to giving away parts of his life. It was a trait he intended to mend for Kylie.
He kissed
her palm, nuzzled it, unable to tell her of the fullness in his heart. Tell her, you fool. Tell her of your past and what you’ve done. Give her roses and wine and a dinner she’ll remember. Don’t let your body rule your head, not now, not with Kylie. Had he ever let the need for a woman rule him? Never. The denial slapped at him as he toyed with a curl.
“I would like children,” Kylie answered as the currents ran strong and warm between them. She pushed open the door to his guest room, warm with sunshine and Anna’s quilts and fragrant herbs tucked into vases. “Those are my mother’s braided rag rugs and her quilts. Did she stay with you?”
He thought of the long night sessions with women too shattered to trust a man, of the nights when Anna could be heard crooning to them, sleeping with them. He thought of the babies she’d brought into the world, teaching him what she knew. “Yes. She stayed sometimes.”
Kylie hurled herself against him, holding him tight. “I miss her. There was no time to say good-bye.”
He smoothed her back and nuzzled the fragrance of her hair. Anna had left lovely gifts wherever she went, caring for those she loved and those who needed her. “She’s here. In you and Tanner and Miranda.”
Kylie burrowed her face against his throat. “I’m not like her, not as sweet and good, especially when it comes to you.”
Michael fought the shiver of his need, that careening of tenderness into sensual need, to claim her as his own. He pushed away an unfamiliar foolish grin, which had just startled him.
She looked up at him and smoothed his hair and the shadows inside Michael went tilting into soft and fuzzy. “You’ll be moving back to your home. You probably only moved in to protect me. Leon had wanted to become…friendly again. Stop muttering. He was only feeling a little insecure.”
“‘Insecure,’ my—” Michael bit off the rest of his curse. He had to tell Kylie soon. Rosa had called him about “Jeanne,” her last name customarily ignored. Legal restraining orders hadn’t prevented her husband’s abuse and she was heavily pregnant, the baby endangered. For the time being Jeanne was indecisive, but once she made up her mind for protection, Rosa would need a safe house for her. “Mmm. I’ve got a problem and your mother’s house isn’t the place for it.”