Skin Deep

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.

He crossed his arms and leaned against the counter, playing nonchalant. “Okay, I give up.”

She eyed him, suspicion shadowing her large green eyes. “Uh-huh. Like I buy that one.” She handed over the money, directing the bookstore owner to quickly bag the book. “It’s not going to work.”

Michael opened the door for her, then followed her outside. The sun had completely set, leaving a hazy glow around the street and parking-lot lights. The air was so thick you could have tripped over it.

He took her key, opened the door to the Mustang and handed her in just as he always did. He told her he was just being a gentleman. He knew it was because he always got a little glimpse of some prime leg as she climbed inside. Of course it helped that she was completely ignorant of his not-so-innocent game.

“So,” he said, watching as she put the bag with the book on the passenger seat. “Do you feel better?”

She nodded. “Much. Thanks.”

He glanced at his watch. “What do you feel up for? Some primo Cuban or seafood?”

She twisted her lips. “Actually, I’m not very hungry. I thought I’d just go home and call it an early night.”

Michael narrowed his gaze. Talk about not so innocent. Kyra had to be one of the worst liars he’d ever met. Which, of course, was yet another reason why she was so endearing.

“Book that good, huh?”

Her laughter sounded unnaturally husky in the moist night air. “Go home and nuke something, Michael. I’ll see you at work in the morning.”

He hesitated then finally pushed away from where he was leaning on the door. “Okay. ’Night.”

She grasped his hand, her skin remarkably hot.

He glanced at her.

“Thanks. You know, for this.”

“What are friends for?”

“Hmm.” She seemed to give him a once-over. “What, indeed?”