Читать книгу Skin Deep - Tori Carrington - Страница 10

OKAY, something definitely was not right.

The following evening, Michael wove his SUV through rush-hour traffic, heat rising in waves from the sizzling asphalt, thick black storm clouds gathering on the horizon. He slammed on the brakes to avoid ramming a car that had cut him off from the front and prayed the guy riding his bumper wouldn’t hit him from behind.

Michael blew out a long breath. Wrangling with traffic was not helping his dark mood.

He’d had an odd sensation in his gut ever since he’d watched Kyra drive off from the bookstore. And that feeling had only gained momentum since then. He’d gotten her answering machine when he’d called to check on her last night. And every time he’d ducked into her office throughout the day, she’d had her nose stuck in that book. She’d still refused to let him see it. And the paper bag she’d taped to the cover only lent a more mysterious quality to the hardback. Then when he’d stopped by her office to see if she wanted to go for a cup of coffee after work, he’d discovered she’d left an hour earlier.

What in the hell was the matter with her? Was she upset with him? She didn’t seem to be. In fact, she didn’t seem to be all that upset about Craig Holsom and their breakup, either. Which was odder still. It usually took her a good long week of moping, mock depression, and marathon eating to get over a breakup, even if the relationship itself had only lasted the same amount of time.

He just didn’t get it.

An exit ramp emerged to his right, a new shopping complex beckoning him from beyond. He swerved to get off the crowded highway. Maybe he’d given up too easily last night. Maybe she’d needed him. Maybe he’d read the signals wrong and she’d spent the night washing her pillow with tears.

The thought made his jaw clench. Craig Holsom, and the dozen or so that had come before him, didn’t deserve an hour of Kyra’s company, much less a single one of her tears.

A pint of Ben & Jerry’s. That should get Kyra to open up to him. Tell him what was going on. He quickly stopped by a nearby store, made the purchase, then pointed the SUV in the direction of her apartment complex. Within twenty minutes he stood on the second-floor landing, knocking on her door.

“Kyra?” he called through the old, neon-pink-painted door.

No response.

He grimaced. Her Mustang was parked at the curb, so he knew she had to be home. “I know you’re in there, so you might as well open up.”

Of course, there was the possibility that she’d already replaced Holsom with the next jerk on her list. The thought bothered him more than it should have. Far more.

He cursed under his breath and knocked again.

“Do you mind! Some people are trying to watch Wheel of Fortune! Keep it down up there!” the landlady who lived a floor below bellowed up the stairs. “This ain’t no bordello.”

Not that you could tell by her language, Michael thought. He stared down the winding stairwell right into Mrs. Kaminsky’s too-thin, aging face. He always found it hard to believe that such a window-shattering voice could come from such a small package. “Sorry, Mrs. K., I’ll try to be more quiet.”

“You do that!” she yelled, nearly blowing back his hair.

Michael grimaced and stepped up to Kyra’s apartment door. Why Kyra put up with the old battle-ax was beyond him. Strangely, she seemed to like the landlady’s interference. Perhaps because she’d had such little parental involvement for so much of her life.

“Kyra?” he said more quietly, curving his hand around the doorknob. It turned easily. Figures she’d leave her door unlocked. Then again, he couldn’t imagine any thief with the guts to get past Mrs. Kaminsky.

He pushed open the door and peered around the colorfully decorated interior of the apartment. The old place was nice. With large, airy rooms and polished pale wood floors, the one-bedroom apartment almost made putting up with the curmudgeonly old landlady worth it. Almost. If Michael were Kyra, he’d have moved out a long time ago.

“Kyra?” He softly closed the door behind him, eyeing a line of discarded clothes littering the floor. He frowned and picked up the skirt she’d been wearing earlier. Kyra was fastidiously neat. It wasn’t like her to just leave her clothes lying around…He picked up each item as he went, then peered into the empty bedroom. Where was she? His gaze focused on a small, empty box sitting just outside the closed bathroom door. Dropping the skirt, he picked up the box and knocked on the door.

“Kyra, are you in there?”

A small squeal told him that she was. He turned the box around. Hair dye? He grimaced. What in the hell was she doing in there?

The lock clicked on the door and he stepped back, expecting her to come out. He quickly discovered that she hadn’t been unlocking the door, but rather locking it, as if afraid he would come in.

“Kyra, what the hell is going on?” he asked through the thick wood.

“Go away,” she said.

Michael leaned against the doorjamb and sighed. “You’re upset with me. That’s it, isn’t it? The reason why you didn’t want to go out to eat with me last night, why you barely talked to me today.”

“Don’t be stupid.”

He looked at where he still held the ice cream in his other hand and considered putting it in the freezer. “If I said something to make you angry with me, I apologize.”

“No need to apologize.”

“I see. Is that because there isn’t anything to apologize for? Or are you saying I shouldn’t waste my time because what I said or did was completely unforgivable?”

A soft giggle filtered through the wood. He stared at the door, wondering just what was so funny.

“Kyra, come on out here and talk to me. I’m not into talking to doors.”

Silence.

Uh-oh. This was worse than he thought. And he was at a loss as to what to do next.

Not once in the past four years had he seen Kyra angry. In fact, he hadn’t a clue what it looked like. Would she giggle if she was upset? He wouldn’t discount the possibility.

Well, there had been that time when they were in a mall parking lot and a woman had dumped a kitten out of her car mere feet from a busy intersection. Kyra had rescued the scrap of fur—the feline in question that even now lazily considered Michael from his perch on top of the silent television—and given the woman what-for. He’d almost forgotten about the incident because it was so uncharacteristic for Kyra to lose her cool about anything. You wanted to cut in line? No problem. It probably meant you were in more of a hurry than she was. Heck, you might even have a wife in labor waiting in the car who wouldn’t go to the hospital until you got her that case of beer. You honked your horn at her and she would wave at you, thinking the gesture a greeting rather than a rebuke.

Michael sighed and closed his eyes. There was no telling exactly what was going through Kyra’s mind.

Suddenly the door opened inward, taking away Michael’s leaning support and nearly toppling him to the floor.

“Give a guy some warning, why don’t you,” he mumbled, fighting to straighten himself.

Only once he was standing, he realized that the open door wasn’t the only thing to knock him off balance. Kyra’s appearance absolutely floored him.

“SO?” KYRA ASKED, barely able to conceal her excitement as she forced herself to stand completely still in front of Michael. “What do you think?”

He stumbled backward a couple of steps, his mouth moving, although no sounds came out.

“I know. Something, isn’t it? I hardly recognized myself in the mirror just now.”

And she hardly had. Who knew what a difference two little hours could make in someone’s life? Kyra reached up to pluck at her newly cropped hair, still feeling light-headed by the absence of the weight of her long tresses. But she hadn’t stopped at the short, sassily styled ’do. Oh, no. On the way home from the salon she’d decided she’d wanted to change the color, as well, and picked up one of those home dye kits. She’d always been curious about the saying that blondes had more fun. She wanted to find out for herself if it was true.

Then, of course, there was her new wardrobe. Having to replace the things the cleaner had lost anyway, she’d gone shopping with the check they’d issued to cover the loss. But she’d stayed well away from the places where she usually bought her clothes. Instead she’d ventured into the trendy little shops in Ybor City and taken the advice of the salesgirls. The outfit she had on now was her favorite—a hot-pink stretchy tank top with a tight little mock-leopard-skin leather skirt.

True, so maybe she’d felt as if she was in little more than her underwear and wondering where the rest of her clothes were when she’d first tried the racy outfit on. But the more minutes that had ticked by, the more comfortable she’d felt. Not only in her new duds, but in her skin, period. And the new clothes helped her make one very important discovery—she had breasts! Sure, she’d always known she’d had them, had them. She just hadn’t realized how round and smooth and sexy they were. Which was plausible because they were usually hidden under three layers of clothing and an unattractive slingshot of a bra.

Michael suddenly looked pale. Her smile vanished and she stepped forward, nearly tripping over the four-inch heels she wore. Okay, these would take a little getting used to. “Are you all right?” she asked, guiding him away from the plant stand that held her favorite fern and toward the couch. He plopped down onto the pale cushions as though his spine had disappeared, and sat there staring at her.

She giggled, the sound emerging foreign to her own ears. She didn’t giggle. In fact, she didn’t even think she knew how. “I know, isn’t it something? The girl at the store told me hoseless was the way to go, but I think the fishnet stockings make the outfit. Don’t you?”

“I—I—I—”

Kyra put her hands on her hips, liking the feel of her body beneath the sexy material. “You…?”

“I…brought you some ice cream,” he croaked, thrusting a bag in her direction.

“Hmm, Half Baked, 2-Twisted. My favorite,” she said. “But I’m afraid if I have any of it right now, I’ll pop a seam or something.”

“Or…or something,” Michael agreed.

Walking on the tips of her toes, she stepped into the kitchen and put the ice cream in the freezer.

“So?” she prompted, standing in front of him again.

“So—” He cleared his throat. “So, what?”

She rolled her eyes to stare at the ceiling. “You didn’t answer my question. What do you think?”

His dark eyes narrowed as he looked everywhere but at her.

“Oh, come on, Michael. Look at me.”

“No.”

His quick refusal made her laugh.

“It’s like looking at my sister naked. If I had a sister. Which I don’t. But seeing as…” His mouth clamped closed and he continued staring at the opposite wall.

“Not exactly the reaction I was hoping for.”

His gaze slammed into hers. Kyra nearly stumbled backward from the impact. A heated question loomed large in his dark eyes as he considered her. A shiver ran over her skin like a lover’s touch, heating her blood and making her nipples harden.

She shifted her weight from one foot to the other. “What’s the matter? It’s not like you haven’t looked at me before. You’ve seen me in less than this plenty of times.”

“Oh, yeah? When?”

“When we go to the beach, for starters.”

“Oh.”

She smiled.

“You’re…you’re…”

She gestured with her hand. “I’m…”

“Blond.”

She sighed. “Trust you to state the obvious. For a guy who designs houses, you are completely unimaginative in your personal life, you know?”

“Yes, well, judging by the looks of you, you have enough imagination for both of us.”

A reaction. Now they were talking.

“Do you think it’s original? I mean, I just kind of went with my gut. Chose things I liked instead of what I thought would be appropriate.” She shivered again, relishing the zing of daring rushing through her veins. She held up her hands. “Wait. Now that I finally have your attention, I want your complete opinion.” Swiveling around on the heels a little too quickly, she teetered precariously, and reached for something to hold on to. There was nothing. She landed squarely in Michael’s lap.

Air rushed from Kyra’s lungs at the sudden move. She giggled and wriggled around to face him. And immediately became aware of a reaction she would never have thought she’d get from him.

“Oh,” she murmured. “Oh!”

Talk about your shockers. Yes, she had expected to shock Michael. But she hadn’t expected to be shocked by his…well, shock. She caught her breath, amazed that she had elicited such a reaction. And more than just a little thrilled….

OH, INDEED.

Awareness surged through Michael’s bloodstream like an overpowering drug. Everything that was Kyra filled his senses. Her sweet smell. Her soft hair. Her even softer skin. Her slender, very voluptuous body.

Somehow, Michael managed to shift Kyra from where her bottom fit snuggly against his painful erection. But he stopped himself short of lifting her all the way off his lap. Truth was, he liked her right where she was, thank you very much. Even if it was only for a few precious moments.

And, God help him, he liked the changes she’d undergone. While he’d always been fascinated with her long, shiny brown hair, the short, blond curls suited her oval face and the warm-honey tone of her skin. And the cut somehow made her pink lips look all pouty and kissable. He’d never really realized how full her mouth was until that moment, watching with rapt attention as her wet tongue flicked across her bottom lip.

Aw, hell.

And the clothes…

Yes, while he had seen her in a bathing suit, her choice in swimming apparel had always been as unassuming as her choice in clothes. He’d always known she had a nice figure, but within a blink of an eye she’d gone from pleasingly attractive to va-va-voom hot.

And he’d give anything in the world to kiss her in that one moment.

Kiss her? Hell, he wanted to sink into her slick flesh and ram into her like nobody’s business.

“Michael?”

He blinked and two very pert, very round breasts filled his line of sight. The pink material of her low-scooped tank hugged the mounds to perfection…and did little to hide her own reaction to their close proximity. Forget kissing her. He wanted to fasten his mouth around one of those engorged nipples. Scratch that. He wanted to swallow both of them at the same time.

Kyra wriggled, gaining his attention as her leather skirt slid against the smooth material of his slacks. He groaned and blinked again, bringing her face into focus.

She smiled at him. “I have breasts,” she told him.

He nearly choked on his own saliva.

“I mean, of course I have breasts. We’re all born with them. It’s just that—” she looked down, considering the area he’d been drawn to mere moments before “—who knew a bra could do this?”

“Um, yeah, who knew,” Michael agreed. She shimmied to straighten her top, and nearly pushed him right over the top. “Um, Kyra?” he said in low warning. “I think you’d better get up.”

She blinked at him. Charcoal-black ringed her lashes, making the green of her eyes that much more mesmerizing. “Oh,” she said, considering him. “Oh!”

Michael didn’t know which was worse. Her realizing what kind of state he was in or her not responding in kind to that same reaction.

Kyra budged, finally pushing up from the couch and regaining her footing. Or as much of it as she was going to gain in those sexy, black stiletto…those ridiculous heels. Heels that made her legs look as if they went on forever. And that she would probably break her neck in if she tried to walk more than ten feet.

“So…you like?” she asked point-blank, propping a slender hand with purple-painted nails on a too curvy hip. Was that leopard skin?

“Um,” he said, struggling to a better sitting position on the too soft couch. He didn’t dare stand for fear that he might injure himself. “‘Like’…isn’t the word I’d use, exactly.”

Was it him, or had suggestion just darkened her eyes?

“Then what is the word you’d use?”

Siren? Luscious? Hot? “Different,” he said.

The cat lifted his head from his position on the television. Michael was sure that if Mr. Tibbs had been able to roll his eyes at him, he would have. He glared at the tom, and gestured vaguely toward Kyra.

“Is there any particular reason for your…this…”

“Transformation?”

He hiked his brows. Transformation? As in a permanent way of living? As in out with the old, in with the new?

As in there was no way in hell he was going to survive with her looking like that twenty-four/seven?

He gave a deep, loud mental groan. He couldn’t handle two minutes with Kyra looking like that. How was he going to endure an entire friendship? “Um, that’ll do.”

She plucked up the clothing he’d dropped earlier, then swaggered toward the kitchen. Her gait was unsure, gutsy, making her look that much sexier. She opened the chrome garbage can and dropped the items inside, brushing her hands together as the lid closed.

She looked at him and he felt the urge to look away, as if merely meeting her eyes would reveal his true feelings.

“Does there have to be a reason? I mean, aside from my being long overdue for a reality check?” She twisted her lips. “I’ve lived twenty-four years looking like an old maid. It’s about time I looked more like the women my age.”

No woman your age looks like this, he wanted to tell her. But the words never made it past his lips. Sure, other women might dress that way, but not one of them could pull off the look the way Kyra did with so little or no effort. There was a quirky innocence, a playful charm, that made Kyra even sexier and impossible not to notice—as certain parts of his body could attest to. A curious naiveté and irresistible daring that made her look like one-third dressed-up teen, two-thirds single, professional female on the make.

Michael wanted to bang his hand against his head until it started working again. Until he stopped drooling after his best friend and started thinking with the parts of his body that mattered. Until he stopped wanting to throw her onto the couch behind him and explore those succulent breasts and plunge into her sweet-smelling flesh, those high heels piercing the air behind his back.

Instead he tugged on his shirt collar until he choked himself.

“Are you ready?” She struck a pose that was one-hundred-percent challenge. “It’s time to go out to let the world know the new Kyra has arrived.”