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And none of that could be good.
There was something else going on here. Something he was planning.
She just wished she knew what it was.
“You’re thinking again,” Isa said, reaching across the table to slap Kyra’s shoulder. “Cut it out.”
“Okay, okay.” Shaking her head, she took a deep breath, blew it out and said, “You’re right. No more thinking about Garrett Wolff. No more thinking about work. What’s the point, right?”
“Right.”
“I mean, if I’m going to be fired, thinking about it won’t change anything, right?”
“Right.” Isa nodded and gave her an encouraging grin.
“And if I’m living out of a shopping cart by this time next month, I’ll survive, right?”
Isa laughed outright. “You really should have gone for a drama degree instead of business.”
“Fine, fine.” She picked up her margarita for another sip, then smiled as she set it down. “No drama. No thinking.”
“Atta girl.”
Across the room, the band launched into a fast-paced song with a pounding, staccato rhythm that had even Kyra’s toes tapping.
“Come on,” Isa said, standing up and grinning. “It’s a line dance. Let’s go.”
She thought about it for a second or two. She hadn’t been in the mood for company tonight. Hadn’t wanted to come out and join the world. She’d wanted nothing more than to curl up in the dark quiet of her condo and concentrate on the misery being heaped on her.
But now that she was here, the world was looking a little friendlier. She wasn’t sure if it was Isa’s influence or the margarita, but whatever it was, it beat the heck out of sitting home alone, brooding.
Jumping to her feet, Kyra said, “Good idea.” If she was dancing, she wouldn’t be thinking. And right now that sounded like a plan.
She followed Isa through the crowd and took her place in the long line of dancers already moving through an intricate ten-step routine. Kyra swung her hair out of her eyes, laughed aloud and slid into the moves with practiced ease, letting go of everything in the sheer enjoyment of the music washing over her.
Boots stomped against the floor, hands clapped, dancers shouted and the band played faster, challenging them all to increase the pace.
Garrett stood at the edge of the dance floor and watched Kyra move. And damn, the woman had some great moves.
She wore a long-sleeved, red silk blouse, dark blue jeans that clung to her shapely legs like a lover’s hands, and shiny black boots. Her hips swayed with the beat and her feet flew, keeping up with the complicated steps of the dance. He watched her toss her head back and laugh, and he was caught by the way her eyes shone and her whole face lit up with pleasure.
He’d never seen Kyra like this.
Always, at the office, she was the career-committed female, on the way up. She was good at her job and concentrated on the work. She was usually pleasant, always efficient and completely annoying. And still he’d noticed her.
Hadn’t wanted to, but how could he have helped it? Any man would have been drawn to the scent of her. The look of her, softly feminine in slacks and jackets that looked as if they’d been designed especially for her.
At Voltage, she was an irritant who touched him in ways he didn’t like to think about.
But here at Rio’s she was someone else entirely. And something inside him tightened into a knot of hunger so raw, so strong, it surprised even him.
He’d only dropped by the club to see the owner, an old friend from college. But he’d been trapped there the moment he saw Kyra headed for the dance floor.
As the song ended, the band jumped quickly into another, not wanting to lose the crowd up dancing. Kyra and the dark-haired woman she was talking to automatically started moving again, keeping their places in the long line of dancers.
And almost before Garrett knew it, he was stepping up beside the tall blonde with the beautiful eyes.
She laughed, spun, kicked her right heel, then looked up at him, and all semblance of joy drained from her face. Her shining eyes went flat and cool and suspicious.
He was surprised to realize he didn’t like the fact she was so upset at running into him.
“Ms. Fortune,” he said, speaking loud enough to be heard over the band.
“Mr. Wolff,” she muttered, then started backing off the floor.
Damn it. She couldn’t get away fast enough. He never should have talked to her. Should have just left. But how the hell could he have done that after seeing her smile? Laugh? Dance? “Going somewhere?” he asked.
“I’m tired.”
“You don’t look tired.” Just eager to escape.
She blew out a disgusted breath that ruffled the fringe of bangs on her forehead. “You know, we’re not at the office. I don’t have to talk to you.”
That stung. And that fact, too, surprised the hell out of him. He scrubbed the back of his neck. “We’re not at the office, so why don’t you drop the attitude?”
Her head snapped back and her blue-green eyes shot sparks. “If you don’t like my attitude, why are you talking to me?”
“Seemed like a good idea at the time,” he muttered, though at the moment he was having a hard time remembering just why he’d followed his instinct to approach her. Then his gaze dropped, and he looked her up and down slowly, and he remembered.
This was a different Kyra from the one he knew, and damned if she didn’t appeal to him on all sorts of levels.
Another dancer bumped into her, and Garrett reached out to steady her. At the slight contact, heat swept up his arm and ricocheted around his chest. She sucked in a breath and shook herself loose from his grasp. But her eyes glistened and her face was flushed.
“Kyra,” the pretty brunette shouted from close by. “Everything okay?”
“Fine.” She waved a hand at her friend, then shifted her gaze back to Garrett. “If you’ll excuse me—”
She was leaving, and suddenly he didn’t want her to go. “Not afraid, are you?”
She stiffened and he could almost see her temper spike.
“Of you?”
“That’s the question.”
She snorted. “Hardly.”
“Then stay,” he said, holding out one hand. “Dance.”
She looked from his eyes to his hand and back again. “Why should I?”
He shrugged. “Music’s too good to waste?”
Her lips twitched and she looked at him with something a little closer to curiosity than animosity.
“Good point.”
“And hey,” he said, pushing the small advantage he seemed to have, “there’s always the chance that you’ll dance me into the ground.”
“There is that.”
“A small chance.”
“We’ll see about that.” She grabbed his hand and let him pull her back onto the dance floor. Then she took her place in line and fell into the steps of the dance as if it was instinctive.
Garrett couldn’t keep up.
But then, it was hard to remember dance steps when your gaze was locked on a particular woman’s behind and how it swayed in time to the music. Every cell in his body felt as if it were boiling. He didn’t care about the damn dance. He’d only wanted to prolong this moment with Kyra. There was something about her. Something that was beginning to resonate inside him. Something he really didn’t want to examine too closely.
Kyra stumbled slightly, but caught herself quickly and hoped no one else had noticed. She felt clumsy, awkward.
And it was all Garrett Wolff’s fault.
He’d surprised her, showing up at Rio’s.
Astonished her by wanting to dance.
And was now busy confusing the hell out of her by watching her so closely. She felt his gaze on her as surely as she would have his touch. Heat simmered deep inside her and made her long for the cool night air.
But there was no escaping Garrett’s company. Not unless she was willing to let him think he’d chased her off. And she wouldn’t give him that satisfaction.
As her brain raced and her feet struggled to keep up with the dance, the song ended and the band moved instantly into something slower, softer. The fiddle player moved to the front of the stage and scraped his bow across the instrument’s strings. A haunting melody seeped into the room and the crowd quieted as the lead singer’s voice quietly sang of love lost.
Kyra backed up, trying not to look at Garrett at all. Isa slipped away into the crowd, and Kyra was alone with the man who held the future of her career in his hands.
“Dance with me,” he said softly as more of the line dancers faded back into the crowd.
“I just did,” she said, despite the knot lodged in her throat.
“Kyra…” His gaze moved over her face, studying her as if seeing her for the first time. Holding out one hand to her, he said again, “Dance with me.”
Around them, the music swelled, the strains of the fiddle an aching, living thing in the air.
And Kyra took his hand, stepping in close to him.
She couldn’t say why. She knew she shouldn’t. Knew it would be better for both of them if she simply went back to her table with Isa and forgot all about running into Garrett. But she couldn’t do it. Caught by something dark and dangerous glittering in his pale blue eyes, she followed a stronger instinct than the one telling her to leave.
He held her right hand in his left, wrapped his right arm around her waist and pulled her close to him. The scent of him invaded her, making her head swim. The strength of his grip made her pulse jump. The feel of his thighs moving against hers had her closing her eyes and resting her head on his shoulder.
Her heartbeat quickened and something hot and thick moved through her veins.
Music filled the air and swept through her senses, making everything seem sharper, clearer, hotter. She felt as if she were quivering, poised on the very lip of a precipice. But she couldn’t see the edge of the cliff and didn’t know what waited for her at the bottom.
All she knew for sure was her life had just taken another turn for the weird.
Four
T he music stopped, then started again with a pulse-pounding, foot-stomping beat.
And still Garrett couldn’t let Kyra go. She felt good in his arms. Too good. It wasn’t something he’d expected, but now that he’d found it, damned if he didn’t want to hold on to the feeling.
She stared up at him, ignoring the other dancers, as he was. Her eyes looked more green than blue in the dim light of the club, and he felt, as well as saw, the flicker of something warm and intriguing in their depths.
All around them, dancers moved to the beat while the two of them stood, gazes locked, oblivious to everyone else. His chest tight, Garrett fought for breath and told himself to let her go. To step back before he did something that neither of them would be happy about.
But Kyra moved first.
“Thanks,” she said, sliding her hand from his and stepping out of his embrace. “For the dance, I mean,” she added quickly.
His hands felt empty, and he rubbed the tips of his fingers together as if trying to find the warmth that had slipped away so suddenly.
“Right.” Nodding, he stepped off the dance floor and waited for her to follow. Once clear of the dozens of couples dancing the Cotton-eyed Joe, Garret scrubbed one hand across his face and tried to find a way out of this now uncomfortable situation.
What the hell had he been thinking?
Dancing with Kyra Fortune?
Letting himself imagine doing a hell of a lot more with her?
Where was this coming from? He’d never known a woman who irritated him more than Kyra. She was opinionated, pushy, arrogant and an all-around thorn in his side.
So why did he suddenly want to grab her and kiss her blind?
“Look,” she said, pulling Garrett from the wild thoughts racing through his mind, “I’m going to go back and join my friend—”
“Yeah,” he said, grabbing at the excuse she’d offered. “And I’ve got to go—”
“—so how about we just pretend this never happened?”
“Huh?” Surprised, he stared at her. Her gaze flicked to each side of her, as if making sure no one was listening. When she looked back at him, her eyes were clear and cool, with no hint of the spark he’d seen earlier.
She blew out a breath. “It was a nice dance, but seriously, it was just a fluke, right? I mean, I was here, you were here….”
He nodded. “Coincidence.”
“Exactly.” She beamed at him as if he were an especially slow student who’d finally caught on to the day’s lesson. “So all I’m saying is that there’s no point in making a big deal out of this.”
Made perfect sense, he told himself. It was the out he should have been looking for. So why, he wondered, was he feeling the first stirrings of anger inside him? He was already regretting dancing with her. Why in the hell should he be pissed because she was asking him to forget about the whole thing? That ripple of anger spread and bubbled throughout his body, and he almost welcomed it. Heaven knew it was a far more familiar feeling around Kyra than anything else he’d been experiencing that night. “So we just ignore it.”
“How hard can it be?”
“Getting easier every second.”
She frowned. “No reason to get cranky. I’m doing this for both of us.”
He folded both arms across his chest and braced his feet far apart in an unconscious fighting stance. “Thanks so much.”
“You know,” she said, giving in to a bit of anger herself, “I think I’m being reasonable about all of this. I’m just saying what you’re thinking.”
“Wow. A mind reader, too. I had no idea you were a part-time mystic.”
Her jaw worked as if she were biting her tongue. Hard. She leaned in toward him, captured his gaze with hers. “I don’t know why you get to act all huffy. This is all your fault.”
“What?”
“Hey, I didn’t ask you to dance.”
Good point. She hadn’t even known he was in the building. If he’d just slipped out the front door instead of following her to the dance floor, none of this would be happening. Disgusted with himself, he felt his battle stance dissolve, and he shoved both hands into his jeans pockets. “If I could kick my own ass right now, believe me, I’d do it.”
Her lips twitched and he found himself staring at her mouth and wondering how it would taste.
Damn it.
“So you agree?” she asked.
Though it cost him dearly to agree with Kyra Fortune about anything, he had to admit she had the right idea here. To just forget about this little blip in their relationship. To put them both back on an even footing. Even if that meant making them armed adversaries again. They were much safer that way.
“Yes.” He gritted his teeth, determined now to just get away from her as fast as he could.
“Good.” She nodded abruptly, but didn’t move to leave.
“Something else?” he asked, pitching his voice to be heard above the music.
She looked as though she wanted to say something, then thought better of it. “No. I mean… No.”
“Okay.” He glanced at his watch, more for effect than anything else. “I’ve got an appointment so—”
“Oh.” A flash of something that might have been disappointment streaked across her features and was gone again in an instant. Then she lifted her chin, looked him in the eye and said, “All right. Then, goodbye.”
“Yeah.” Why wasn’t he moving?
“See you at work.”
“Right.” He still didn’t budge. For God’s sake, he told himself, move.
Before he could, though, she turned and walked away, weaving through the crowd with a lazy grace that held Garrett captivated. Even after the mob of people swallowed her, he stared after her, like some lovesick schoolboy hoping for another smile from the head cheerleader.
He shook his head as if trying to shake Kyra out of his mind. But as he turned and stalked toward the front door, storming through the crowd like a man possessed, he already knew it wouldn’t be that easy.
He’d held her now.
He knew what she felt like in his arms.
And he wondered why in the hell the first woman to stir his senses in years had to be the one woman who made a habit out of making his life miserable.
It appeared that Fate really did have a sense of humor.
A twisted one.
“What the heck was that about?” Isa demanded as soon as Kyra made it back to their table.
She dropped into a chair, slapped one hand to her spinning stomach and reached for her margarita before she tried to answer her best friend. While the icy slush slid down her throat, Kyra tried to get a grip on the different feelings racing through her.
But she just couldn’t do it.
Finally, she lifted her gaze to her friend’s. “I have absolutely no idea.”
Isa shook her head. “Not buying it, girlfriend,” she said flatly. “There is something going on between you two.”
“He’s my boss.” Oh God, she’d danced with her boss. She’d gotten all hot and squishy while pressed up against Garrett Wolff. Kyra propped her elbows on the table and cupped her face in her hands. “This is so not good.”
Isabella laughed, clearly enjoying herself. “Yes it is. God, Kyra, you’ve been so tightly wrapped the last few years, you might as well have been vacuum packed. It’s more than time that you cut loose a little.”
Kyra lifted her head and glared at her friend. “Not with him.”
“That wasn’t how it looked to me.”
“Don’t you get it, Isa? The man holds my career in his tight fist. One word from him and I’m finished.”
“Looked to me like he was thinking more about starting than finishing,” Isa said.
“Yeah, but starting what? An affair?” Kyra groaned again. “God, that sounds so cheesy.”
“But interesting, right?” Isa leaned on the table, crossing her arms on the glossy surface. “I mean, there was definitely some sparkage, right?”
“Boy howdy.”
“Excellent.”
“Not excellent,” Kyra protested, though not quite as strongly as she should have.
An affair with Garrett Wolff would be disastrous—and fabulous. Terrifying—and exciting.
“It doesn’t have to be the end of the world, Kyra.”
“Yeah, but it could be,” she said, then added, “and I can’t risk it. Can’t take the chance of putting my career on the line. I can’t fail, Isa. I owe my family that.”
Isa had heard this before, so she leaned back in her chair and shook her head slowly. “You’re always thinking you owe something to somebody. So my question is, what do you owe yourself, Kyra? When do you get to do something just for you?”
Good question.
Kyra only wished she had an answer.
Ryan Fortune drew in a long, shuddering breath and wondered how much longer he’d be able to accomplish that simple task.
His body was shutting down. He felt it. The invader in his brain was winning the battle. He knew with a bone-deep certainty that there were only a handful of days left to him. If that.
Lying against a stack of plump pillows, he shifted slightly in his bed, pleased to feel muscles respond to thought. Such a simple thing, really. To stretch. To feel the play of muscle and bone.
To live.
He stared up at the ceiling and watched the dance of sunlight and shadow across the pale surface. He felt the soft breeze slipping through the partially opened window, and he could smell spring on the wind. Through the open curtains, he saw the trees outside his bedroom, budding now after a cold, hard winter.
He wished to hell he could be around to enjoy another spring. To curse another summer heat wave. Enjoy another Christmas. Hell, to do something as simple as walk the land, Lily’s hand firmly clasped in his.
Frustration bubbled inside. His whole damn life he’d been a doer. He’d never been one to sit when he could stand, walk when he could run. He liked being in the thick of things. Holding out a hand to help those behind, while always reaching forward.
He’d built a proud family. He’d increased the legacy left by his own father, and knew that his children would do the same.
And still it wasn’t enough.
He wasn’t ready to go. At sixty, he should have lots of years left. He should be able to sit on a damn rocking chair on the front porch of the Double Crown and watch his great-grandchildren playing in the sun.
Hell, only a year ago he’d had grand dreams and plans, and now…he only wished he and Lily could stop and watch a sunset together again. He wished he had the strength to run his fingers through her hair, to kiss her, to make love to her one more time.
Ryan’s eyes closed and a soft smile crossed his face as he remembered what his daddy used to say. If wishes were horses, beggars would ride.
“You’re right, Dad,” he whispered, as if Kingston Fortune were there in the room with him. Who knew, maybe his spirit was there, getting ready to escort Ryan’s soul on its trip to…wherever.
Funny. His mind kept drifting. Never used to be like that. Used to be able to concentrate. Focus. Now… “No more wishing,” he whispered into the silence of his room. “Instead, I’ll just remember what I’ve had.” More than most, that was for damn certain, he assured himself.
He’d loved and been loved by two women in his life. He’d raised children and known the love of family, which when you came right down to it, was all that meant anything.
He frowned and gave a short sigh—all he could spare. He’d made mistakes; all men did. He regretted some, but others had caused good things to happen in the end, so it was hard to be sorry about them. Still, he’d tried to do his best. Tried to make a difference—not only for his family, but for the world. He’d tried. Damn, he’d tried.
He only wished he knew if he’d succeeded.
“Ryan, honey?”
He opened his eyes and turned his head on the pillow, following the voice that he knew would be with him through eternity.
“Still beautiful,” he whispered, and watched his wife’s luscious mouth curve into a smile.
“Silly man,” she said, and unnecessarily straightened the sheet and light blanket covering him. Smoothing, running her fingertips across the fine linen, she avoided looking at him.
She did that so often these last few days.
Ryan knew why. There would be tears in her amazing dark eyes. There were always tears now, and oh, how he wanted to be able to stop those tears for her. He wanted to grab her up, tumble her onto this wide, now lonely bed and bury his body deep within hers.
Strange how the hunger for life didn’t ebb as death drew near.
In his mind, he was still the strong young man who’d seen a teenage Lily Redgrove and lost his heart. It didn’t matter who or what had come between that time and this. There’d always been that slender thread connecting their two hearts. It had taken a lifetime for them to finally come together—and when they had it had been well worth the wait. But oh God, they were being cheated out of all the years to come.
“Stop,” he whispered. “Sit.”
She did, perching on the edge of the mattress as if she were a bird gingerly landing on a live electrical wire. “Do you want anything, honey? Can I get you something?”
“Time,” he said, finding a smile for her. “Give me more time, Lily.”
“We’ll have time, honey. We will.” She picked up his hand and held it gently between her own, as if she could somehow transfer her health, her vitality, to him.
Sunlight splashed across the big room and backlit Lily until her dark hair looked gilded. A strong woman, Lily. She’d been through a lot in her life and she’d never been broken. She’d faced up to tough situations and stood her ground. Yet now she was deliberately trying to pretend that the end wasn’t staring them in the face.
And he’d gone along for the most part. He was tempted to continue to play the game they’d somehow slipped into. To keep pretending that this was nothing more than a bad case of flu. That he’d be back walking the land in a week or two.
God knew, pretense was more comforting than truth. But there were a few things he needed to say to her, while he still could.