Kitabı oku: «Skin Deep»

1

Section I:

Change is good…Real good

AW, HELL, what was it about her?

Michael Romero absently rubbed the back of his neck with his palm and eyed where Kyra White sat two tables away at the Tampa, Florida bar and grill frequented by employees of neighborhood businesses, including the architectural firm where he and Kyra both worked. Aside from being co-workers—he was one of four partners while she did the bookkeeping—they were best friends. A relationship that had been cemented when she’d first hired on at Fisher, Palmieri, Romero and Tanner four years ago. The first week on the job, she’d made a number of nervous mistakes and his partners had wanted to let her go. Instead, Michael had realized where the problem lay—her fear that she wouldn’t live up to the job—and had befriended her. No big sacrifice. She’d turned out to be one hell of a bookkeeper. And the status of their relationship quickly escalated to them becoming best friends and led him to where he was right now. Essentially lusting after a woman who was off-limits to him.

Well, maybe “lusting” wasn’t the word. But there was something about Kyra that jumped up and nipped him on the butt whenever he wasn’t looking. Scratch that. Whenever he was looking at her, while she didn’t have a clue about the direction of his thoughts. A strange kind of gravitational pull that made it virtually impossible to think about anything or anyone else.

Of course it didn’t help that Kyra was sitting with the latest in a long line of short-term boyfriends, guys who would rate high on anyone’s moron scale. His gaze skimmed over Kyra’s long, shiny chestnut-brown hair, her oval green eyes, her clean, girl-next-store features, and her slender form beneath a long, loose-fitting khaki skirt and boxy white blouse. Funny, he never much thought about her in sexual terms whenever they were face-to-face, trying out a new restaurant, playing on the firm’s softball team, or watching the latest video. Then she was his best friend, full of enthusiasm and challenging ideas, ready to laugh at his lamest jokes, constantly carping about his poor diet and his need for a woman deserving of him.

At times such as these, however, Michael wondered if the guy she was with knew how lucky he was that he could press his mouth against her soft pink one. Fan open her blouse to expose her elegant throat. And then, Michael pondered whether any of Kyra’s boyfriends had a clue how to handle a woman like her. Touch her in just the right way. Stroke her slick heat until her breath came in quick gasps and her body tensed in climax.

Aw, hell.

Michael stared at jerk number—Hell, he’d lost count over the past four years, stopping at somewhere around number ten, though he suspected there had been a few more since then. Thirteen. He’d label this one Thirteen just because it felt right. Aside from being a very smug, up-and-coming attorney, Craig Holsom was attractive and he knew it. Kyra had been dating him for three weeks. A record even by her standards. Holsom’s gaze wandered to a passing waitress, making no secret of his interest in the girl’s generous physical assets. Michael stared down to his lap, where he was scratching his palm, and realized he was filled with the sudden urge to knock the grin straight from Holsom’s face.

He grimaced, then took a long chug of his beer. He should have gone home instead of dropping by Lolita’s for a brew with Kyra. Especially since he knew Kyra was meeting Craig. He was incapable of saying more than a semicordial hello to any of her dates before begging off with one excuse or another to settle at another table. Tonight’s excuse had been a nonexistent date that was supposed to meet him there. It had become nonexistent as of two hours ago, when Jennifer Polasky had called him at work and told him she had to work late and was turning down his dinner invitation. She’d wanted a rain check, but Michael wasn’t that interested and told her he’d call to reschedule sometime next week. He didn’t bother to write a note to himself because he knew he wouldn’t be contacting her.

Michael’s mind ventured back to the object of his gaze. He’d already figured out that some of what he felt for Kyra stemmed from his need to protect her. He took great satisfaction in knowing that he knew her better than any other person alive—her sister Alannah aside—including all of the men she dated put together. He admired her strength when she’d told him she’d grown up in a two-room shack in a small town outside Memphis, Tennessee. He was equally as appalled when he’d learned she’d been working since she was ten, baby-sitting, pet walking, newspaper delivering, then graduating to fast-food joints so that she and her older sister Alannah could eke out a living after their parents had died. And he was even strangely proud that he’d been able to help her help herself when she’d flubbed up a receivables report and was almost dismissed from her job at the firm. Now she practically ran the place, keeping everything and everyone in line, proving to be the glue that held them all together when things got rough.

She was a breath of fresh air to a man who had grown up in a confused family environment. And she was a harsh taskmaster who refused to let him feel sorry for himself.

“Remember…things could always be worse,” was one of her trademark sayings.

And she was living proof that they, indeed, could be.

But why she continued to prove the point by dating men who didn’t have a clue about her true worth ceaselessly mystified him. Whenever he brought it up, she laughed, waved her slender hand, and told him that she was attracted to whichever guy she was attracted to, simple as that.

And Michael had been there to help pick her up whenever one of the jerks dumped her, as they all eventually did.

Kyra’s face turned suddenly ashen. It was only then that Michael realized he’d been staring at her nonstop. He looked at Holsom, the way he held his hands, palms up, the elevated state of his brows as if explaining something Kyra wasn’t equipped to handle.

Uh-oh.

Michael’s fingers tightened on his beer bottle as Kyra reached out and rested a hand on Holsom’s sleeve. Michael wished he hadn’t sat so far away. If he were closer, he’d be able to listen in on what they were saying. Then again, he didn’t have to hear the words to translate their meaning.

“I…don’t understand,” was written all over Kyra’s pretty face.

Holsom plucked her hand from his forearm and put it down in front of her, then patted it patronizingly. The bottle in Michael’s hand nearly shattered. “It’s over,” Jerk Number Thirteen mouthed.

Here we go again.

Michael started to get up from the table. It was getting a little old, this playing the knight-in-shining-armor bit. Especially since he never earned the princess’s traditional gratitude.

Kyra urgently said something to Holsom and he coiled back, staggering to his own feet.

Double uh-oh.

Michael forced himself to leave his beer where it sat on the table and began to make his way toward his best friend.

But he was afraid he was too late.

“Oh, yeah?” Holsom said, his face turning an unappealing shade of purple. “Well you’re about as lively in bed as a dead fish.”

Oh, boy.

KYRA WAS CERTAIN her jaw was stuck in the open position. She gaped at Craig Holsom as if he had two heads. Which, at the moment, he did, because the room suddenly swam in front of her, not so much a fancy room in a trendy club, but the fish tank Craig had just plunged her into the middle of.

He was dumping her.

And he had just insulted her abilities in bed.

The problem was, Kyra wasn’t sure what bothered her more. Sure, okay, when he’d said it was over between them a few minutes ago, she’d been unable to swallow the comment that their relationship could have been clocked on an egg timer…pretty much the same way sex with him had run. Then he’d gotten up and compared her to a dead fish in front of everyone.

Kyra let her eyes close and rubbed her temples. This couldn’t be happening. Not on top of everything else that had happened today. First she’d awakened to hear her landlady pounding on the floor, complaining her alarm buzzer was too loud. Then during lunch hour, she found out the dry cleaner had lost nearly every piece of clothing she owned aside from what she had on. To top all that off, this afternoon she’d stumbled onto an accounting error at work that could mean her job if she didn’t figure out what amounts she’d added up wrong and quick.

She’d considered opting out of drinks with Craig altogether, fearing what else fate had in store for her that day. Instead, she’d figured things couldn’t get much worse.

Oh, how very wrong she’d been.

Quiet giggling from the club patrons penetrated Kyra’s distracted state. She blinked and stared up at Craig who was wearing an all too satisfied expression on his face.

Kyra twisted her lips in contemplation. You know something? Michael was right. Craig was a jerk. The only problem was, Michael was always right. Which was infinitely irritating.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the man in question moving in her direction. Dear, sweet, solid Michael. Good. Because she’d need him to help her get out of here with at least a modicum of dignity.

Kyra pushed away from the intimate table for two, her knees wobbling so hard she was afraid she might knock over her chair. Thankfully, she didn’t. She glanced at Michael’s thunderous face, then at Holsom’s smug expression, half tempted to let Michael have a go at her latest ex. But, strangely, she wasn’t all that upset that Craig had broken things off with her. In fact, she was…relieved.

What did that mean?

It meant she should have walked away when he’d compared her skin to a peach at the produce section of the local supermarket three weeks ago. What a lame come-on line, she thought now. And about as original as the guy himself. The loser probably hung out at the supermarket to pick up chicks.

Kyra glanced around the club, realizing that almost every pair of eyes was on her, waiting for her response to Craig’s comment.

She tilted her head and smiled at her ex, satisfied that he looked instantly afraid of what she might say. And he had good reason to be. “Yes, well, Craig, better a dead fish than a lost cause, even with Viagra.”

She shoved her chair under the table, which in turn hit his chair, knocking the back of it against one of Craig’s more strategic areas. He gasped and grabbed the vicinity in question with both hands, while one of Kyra’s own hands went to cover her mouth.

“I’m so sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean—”

She felt fingers on her arm. “Let’s go,” Michael said in that deep baritone that always commanded her attention.

“You bitch!” Craig said, probably meaning to shout the insult, though it came out as a high-pitched wimper. Even with her genuine remorse, she felt the voice fit.

Michael slowed his step, and this time Kyra found herself tugging him toward the door.

“Call her that again and you’ll be eating your teeth,” she heard Michael tell Craig.

Thankfully there were no more exchanges in the few moments it took them to get from the table to the door. Once outside, Kyra blinked against the setting sun, then collapsed against the closed door, the thick late-summer Florida heat seeming to spray beads of sweat all over her skin. She blinked up into Michael’s glowering face. A lock of raven-black hair hung over his brow, his natural honey-colored skin looking darker yet in the waning light.

She glanced toward the door then found herself smiling. “I really didn’t mean to…well, you know, hit him with the chair.”

“That’s a shame, seeing as it was so fitting.”

She blinked and the side of Michael’s mouth budged up in a grin. He really was devastatingly handsome when he grinned.

“Have I told you lately that you really know how to pick ’em?” he asked, rolling the sleeves of his crisp white shirt up his hair-peppered forearms while his brightly colored tie flapped in the warm breeze.

“Every chance you get.”

“Yeah, well, I must not be telling you loudly enough.” He jabbed a thumb toward the club. “Why you let morons like Holsom get the better of you, I’ll never know.”

“Who said he got the better of me?” Kyra quirked a brow at him. She pushed away from the door and began walking toward the parking lot where they’d parked their cars, hers a thirty-year-old Mustang convertible, his a rugged late-model SUV with two air-conditioning units.

With each step Kyra took, she felt any amusement still lingering from the encounter seep from her muscles. On any other occasion she might blame the reaction on the intense late-summer Florida heat. But she knew that wasn’t the case now.

Her boyfriend had just broken up with her. Worse, he’d insulted her sexuality.

“Uh-oh. Here it comes. Phase two,” Michael said quietly beside her.

Kyra elbowed him in the ribs. He caught her when she might have tripped over her own feet. “Shut up.”

“Let’s see. First there’s amusement, because, well, let’s admit it, a breakup between you and one of your boyfriends is always a source for humor.”

“Glad you’re enjoying yourself.”

His grimace said the opposite was the case. “Then comes the grieving period. No matter how undeserving the jerk, you’re always hurt by his rejection.”

“Key word being rejection here, I think,” she pointed out.

Michael stopped next to her Mustang, accepted her keys, then opened the door for her. She instantly pushed the button to release the ragtop and pushed it back.

“Then after that comes the eating. Week-long binges filled with all the stuff you gripe at me for eating.”

She smiled at him. “As I recall, you do enjoy that phase.”

He gave her a partial grin. “Yeah, maybe that part’s not so bad.”

She climbed in and he closed the door after her. She turned the key and the sound of vintage Heart instantly filled the humid air. He arched a brow and she turned the volume down.

“They don’t deserve you, you know that?”

Kyra fastened her hair back with a ribbon she had draped around the rearview mirror. “I don’t give you this much hell when you break up with one of your girlfriends.”

He chuckled softly. “That’s because I’m not the one in need of consolation. They are.”

“Ah. I see.” She scanned his dark features, feeling better just talking to him. “While I, on the other hand, am nothing but a heap of sobbing female hormones in need of mopping up from the floor.”

“Uh-huh.”

She smiled, but even as she did, a damnable tear slid down her lower lash and splashed onto her blouse. She rubbed at her cheek in irritation. She knew Craig Holsom didn’t deserve a single look back. But she couldn’t seem to help herself. Rejection was rejection, no matter how you looked at it.

Michael was right. She was an idiot. Although he’d never really come out and told her that.

“Hey,” he said quietly, curving his fingers under her chin. “Are you going to be okay?”

She stuck her chin up in the air and sniffed. “Of course.”

“Hmm.” He brushed another tear from her cheek with a slow rub of his thumb. His gaze seemed to linger on her mouth, then he met her gaze. He gave her a coaxing grin. “You up for our normal postbreakup outing?”

“It’s what I live for.”

He narrowed his gaze at her, then tapped her visor to block the setting sunlight. “Follow me. I have a new place in mind.”

Kyra watched him walk across the lot to his SUV. Tall, broad-shouldered and slender-waisted with thick dark hair and a grin that would look too naughty even in the bedroom, Michael Romero was drop-dead gorgeous. And he was her best friend.

He paused next to his car then half turned to look back at her pensively, his profile in shadow. Kyra caught her breath, then swallowed hard.

And he was her best friend…

MICHAEL LAID HIS HAND against Kyra’s lower back and guided her inside the cozy little bookstore he’d found on the outskirts of town. The moment he’d spotted it, he’d known Kyra would love it. And he wasn’t disappointed. Her quiet, wide-eyed pondering of the teetering shelves that covered nearly every inch of available space told him she’d forgotten the club, Holsom, and the breakup of a relationship that was bound for the Dumpster the instant it started.

“Oh-hh,” she said quietly, as if they were in a library rather than a bookstore. “I love it.”

He couldn’t help grinning down at her. “I knew you would.”

Her gaze darted from here to there then back again.

“Lead the way. I’m right behind you.” He glanced at his watch. “But try to limit yourself to a half hour.”

She groaned.

“Okay, forty-five minutes. Or I leave without you.”

She smiled at him and kissed him on the cheek, igniting all sorts of interesting emotions he wasn’t quick enough to deny. “You’d never leave without me.”

He watched her disappear between the shelves and exhaled a long, even breath. Oh, she was right there.

He stepped in her wake, watching as she walked her fingers over the bindings of the mismatched, different-colored books lining the shelf at shoulder level. Her brown hair was still held back by that silly red ribbon she always wore when she drove with the top down. Which was all the time. Her skirt whooshed around her ankles as she walked. He silently cursed and called himself twelve kinds of a fool for continuing to act like Kyra’s friend when more and more lately he wanted to claim her as his lover.

“Have you read this?” she asked, tipping a book out from the rest.

He shook his head. “Nope. Don’t want to, either.”

She smiled at him. “You don’t know what you’re missing.”

His gaze leisurely skimmed her well-defined pink, unpainted lips. Oh, no. That was precisely the problem. He was afraid he knew exactly what he was missing. And it was beginning to drive him crazy.

He put his hand over hers and slid the book back into its slot. Her expression sobered and she flicked her wet tongue across her lips. Michael fought a groan and removed his hand, then continued down the aisle.

No, no, no. No matter how very tempting, he could never allow their relationship to cross over to an intimate level. He valued her friendship too much for that. And he’d seen firsthand that she wasn’t very good at the dating game. He didn’t think he could handle getting hot and heavy with Kyra only to say goodbye to her and their friendship in a few weeks’ time.

Not a day went by that he didn’t thank, and occasionally damn, fate that he’d been involved with someone else when they’d first met at the firm four years ago. If he and Jessica hadn’t been going out, he probably would have made a play for Kyra. She probably would have gone for it. And the mess that would have ensued would, in all likelihood, have guaranteed not only that she would have left the firm, but also that he would have missed out on what had evolved into one of the most important relationships in his life.

As an only child, his mother from Peru, and his father from Spain, he spent a great deal of time trying to define exactly who he was. And if Kyra didn’t help him in that quest, she at least insisted that he forget about that battle every now and again. And for that he would be eternally grateful. He was just him, she’d told him time and again. He wasn’t accountable to anyone but himself. And that’s exactly the way he felt. At least when he was with her.

Well, mostly when he was with her. Now he glanced at his watch, wondering how far she’d go over the time limit he’d set. And just how in the hell he was going to get her out of there.

“TICK, TOCK,” Michael said behind Kyra.

She glanced to find him tapping the face of his watch. She smiled then rounded a corner, absently running her fingertips along the spines of the books. She paused for a moment and took a deep breath. She loved everything about books. The way they sounded when you cracked them open. The scent of freshly milled paper. The varying textures, from the smooth glossy paperback covers with raised lettering to the puckered leather of hardbacks. The different artwork that depicted someone’s vision of the characters or the topic inside. Fiction, nonfiction, commercial bestsellers, obscure literary tombs, the text between the covers didn’t matter. She inhaled all of it with the passion of a long-time reader.

There were few things she liked better than losing herself in the pages of a sizzling, hot romance. Especially after having suffered a failed one of her own. Of course, Michael told her she was crazy for reading romance novels when her life already resembled an ongoing soap opera. “Stay tuned tomorrow for the next installment of ‘The Days of Kyra White’s Love Life.”’

She smiled as she found the romance section of the bookstore and began tipping out book after book.

Have it. Read it. Interesting but not up my alley right now. One by one, she scanned back-cover copy, took in the author name, eyed the artwork, then slid the books back into their neat little slots. One year Michael had given her a subscription to a book club for Christmas. She’d suspected he’d done it so he wouldn’t have to accompany her on these book-buying expeditions. She’d maintained the subscription, but there was still something about the experience of buying a book in person that filled her with a deep sense of satisfaction. A feeling of joy. Of being surrounded by dozens and dozens of stories peopled with characters she could always identify with.

The sense of…well, not being alone.

She twisted her lips. Okay, so maybe Craig’s breaking up with her did bother her more than she wanted to let on. But less than she would have suspected. What got to her was his comment on her sexual prowess. Or lack thereof. Was she really that bad in bed? Could that be one of the reasons why she got dumped so often? She made a face. Well, that might be the problem if she slept with even a moderate percentage of the guys she dated. But she didn’t. The truth was she hadn’t felt moved to.

She reached the end of the section and idly moved on to the next. Hmm. Still romance. But of the nonfiction variety. She pulled out a book entitled Fifty Ways to Please Your Lover and leafed through the contents. Her eyes widened at the graphic scenes depicted at the beginning of each chapter. Okay. She slowly slid the book back in and took out the next one.

Sex Kitten 101.

Before she could question her interest in it, Kyra absently opened the book to the index. Words such as “transformation,” “new attitude” and “breaking old habits” leaped out at her, one after another. She thought of Michael’s comparing her life to a soap opera. Pretty much of the same old, same old, with little variation.

She glanced up from the book and caught a reflection of herself in a multipaned window between the two bookcases opposite her. Outside the sun had totally set, so the glass threw her image back at her almost as cleanly as a mirror. Kyra swallowed, lifting a hand up to finger the silly ribbon in her hair, took in her long, straight brown hair, tugged at her oversize shirt. Plain. Simple. Direct. She’d consciously chosen the look because she thought it best depicted what she was all about. She glanced at the book in her hand, wondering if it was long past time for a change. And maybe this whole sex-kitten approach would be just the ticket.

She turned the book over and scanned the back-cover copy. “‘Is your life based on reacting instead of acting?”’ Kyra nodded. “‘Tired of the same old person staring back at you in the mirror?”’ Oh, yes. “‘Want to shock those closest to you?”’

She leaned back so she could look down the aisle she’d come from. Michael stood there, frowning at a stretch of travel books, his dark hair tousled, his white shirt as crisp as ever, his slacks hugging his long thighs to perfection. She swallowed hard then straightened and looked back down at the book clutched in her hand. Michael would probably scoff at the purchase. A self-made man, he’d pulled himself up by the proverbial bootstraps with little help from his parents or anyone else. And, she supposed, so had she. But there was a big difference between being a bookkeeper and being a partner in a very successful architectural firm.

She ran her fingers over the cover of the book, questioning the wisdom of any sort of radical change. The truth was, despite her hit-and-run dating experiences, she really wasn’t all that experienced when it came to the opposite sex.

Then again, it might be immensely gratifying to shock those closest to her. The image of Craig crawling back to her on his hands and knees begging for forgiveness certainly held a great deal of appeal. But for some reason, it was Michael’s face she saw when she imagined herself doing anything with the information the author touted.

“‘No risks. No prizes,”’ she said softly.

“DONE.”

Michael glanced up from the travelogue on Central America he held and stared at where Kyra stood next to him, a glossy hardback book clutched in her hands.

“I think you set a record.”

She tucked a stray strand of glossy brown hair that had escaped from the ribbon behind her ear, then shrugged. “It just kind of jumped out at me.”

He reached for the book, surprised when she pulled it out of the way. He raised his brows. “What gives? You’re usually eager to show me how literate you are and pester me to read whatever you chose.”

“This one’s just for me.”

“Female porn?”

She laughed and moved past him, leaving the subtle scent of her perfume in her wake. He groaned and followed, his curiosity piqued.

“Come on.” He leaned closer and whispered into her ear, “Let me see.”

She shook her head. “Nope.”

“You know I’m going to find out sooner or later. You might as well give up now.”

She plopped the book cover down on the cashier’s desk. He took out his wallet but she brushed him aside. “Not this time. Thanks.”

Kyra never turned down a gift. Generous herself, they seemed to always be paying for each other’s purchases. Neither of them had ever objected.