Who knew a big-city lawyer would be so discombobu-lated by the idea of strictly social conversation? The horrified look on Kyle’s face had been priceless. Chuckling at the memory, Shayna pulled on a crew-necked, long-sleeved T-shirt and smoothed it over her hips. Good to know her sense of humor had survived the day from hell. She’d need it to endure the hours ahead.
While she’d showered, she sorted through all the surprises lobbed at her today, and she’d been forced to admit—to herself, at least—that Kyle wasn’t to blame for the bombshell he’d dropped. He’d only been doing his job, and regardless how unsavory the message, he didn’t deserve the full force of her anger.
That belonged to Walker and Patty.
Besides, what could a man like Kyle Anderson know about trying to put distance between yourself and your sleazy parents? More than likely, he’d grown up in a perfect Beaver Cleaver household where fighting over the television remote was the full extent of family strife.
A final check in the mirror assured her she was decently covered. Banishing all thoughts of Kyle Anderson and his ideal childhood, she grabbed her robe off the foot of the bed. The poor thing had seen better days and was stretched out nine ways to Sunday, but it had been a gift from Daddy and she treasured it. Funny how a ratty old scrap of material could feel like a warm hug.
If only seeing Kyle hadn’t driven all rational thought from her head, maybe she’d have had the wherewithal to change clothes immediately instead of running around flashing him.
When she’d opened the door, he’d been fierce, primal and sexy as all get out. Her girlie parts had instantly flared to life. Heck of a time for her libido to raise its hand and demand attention.
Of course, Kyle had opened his mouth and spoiled the effect. It was going to be darn hard to treat him like an innocent messenger if his every word got her dander up.
She hooked the robe on the back of her bathroom door. Beneath her feet came the familiar vibration of well water rushing through the cabin’s ancient copper pipes. Forcefully blocking out all thoughts of Kyle in her shower, Shayna straightened her spine and headed for her closet. She had to find him something to wear.
The first thing she thought of that had half a chance of covering his broad shoulders—which she wasn’t picturing in her mind—was Daddy’s old coaching gear. The fit would be questionable, but it beat the heck out of having Kyle running around in a towel until his things dried. Thinking pure thoughts, Shayna snagged the green-and-gold track suit—the only clothes she’d saved all these years—from the darkest regions of her closet.
Out of habit, she brought it to her nose. His scent had faded from the material but not from her memory. Old Spice, leather and pipe tobacco. Eyes misty, she returned the hanger to the back of her closet.
No way she could handle seeing Kyle Anderson wearing her daddy’s coaching gear. That outfit represented the essence of James Miller. To allow Steven Walker’s legal minion to borrow it—even if the alternative was a near-naked man in her house—felt like a betrayal.
Digging deep in the other corner of her closet, she unearthed a paint-stained sweatshirt, one she’d appropriated from a college boyfriend. She aimed herself at the mirror and held the sweatshirt up to her chest. Since she couldn’t see herself around the gigantic black wall of material, she figured it would work. Now she just needed something to cover his bottom half. Out of the blue, memory struck. Shayna balled up the sweatshirt, quickly retrieved a thick pair of hiking socks and raced downstairs. A few months back, Travis had left a pair of coveralls here when he’d volunteered to fix her leaking dishwasher.
As she hit the first-floor landing, she paused for a beat, listening for the familiar rumble of the shower. Assured Kyle was still occupied—and no longer bothering to pretend she wasn’t picturing him in her mind—she raced into the smaller of the two bedrooms, which had been hers as a girl.
On the other side of the wall, the shower sounds stopped. With a squeaky groan, Shayna kicked it into high gear. She so didn’t want to be here when Kyle wandered out of the bathroom, most likely naked as a jaybird. The sweatshirt and socks landed on the bed as she rushed to the dresser. She pulled open the top drawer and dug through it. No coveralls. Same story for the second drawer. And the third.
Drat! They had to be in here somewhere.
She yanked open the bottom drawer, and just as her fingers connected with the folded piece of denim she’d been searching for, she heard the bathroom door open behind her.
Easily picturing him crossing the room buck naked, she jerked to her feet. “Don’t come out yet,” she ordered, blindly tossing the coveralls to the bed. “I was just leaving.”
“No problem. I’m decently covered.”
Not certain what a Hollywood pretty boy considered decent, Shayna turned slowly and had to bite her tongue to keep from sighing. Her stomach literally cramped at the delicious sight of him.
He had an oversized bath towel wrapped around his tight, flat waist. Holy cow, he had a great body. Who knew attorneys had six packs? And those shoulders? Wow! The entire beautiful package was coated in a golden California glow. Imagine. A tan in November.
Afraid she’d start foaming at the mouth if she allowed her inspection to wander any farther south, Shayna racked her brain for a sophisticated, blasé remark. Nothing there. Seemed she didn’t have a single G-rated comment left in her head.
Surprisingly, Kyle bailed her out. He picked up the coveralls and held them to his chest. “The mechanic look isn’t exactly my style, but beggars can’t be choosers. Hell, I was afraid you’d make me wear that awful robe, and I’m sure I wouldn’t have done it justice.”
He threw her a wink before picking up the bundle of clothes she’d brought downstairs and returning to the bathroom. Completely stunned, Shayna sank onto the bed. She had to use her palm to close her gaping mouth.
So in addition to being stubborn, rude and doggedly determined to do Steven Walker’s bidding, Kyle Anderson was also charming, funny and extremely hot. Talk about a lethal combination.
And since she was stuck with him for a while, she’d best find a way to put the man and the situation into perspective.
Pushing to her feet, she left the room, making sure to pull the door closed. Headed for the kitchen, she decided to deal with this the way she did most forms of stress. Food.
Since she wasn’t alone, she’d have to forego her favorite comfort food—strawberry ice cream, straight from the carton. A nice everything-but-the-kitchen-sink sandwich sounded like a good second choice.
Then, hopefully, they could kill a couple hours before bedtime with a nice, safe family movie, or better yet, a sappy holiday special. Anything to keep her from dwelling on her heart-pounding reaction to Kyle Anderson.
The sound of him clearing his throat alerted her to his arrival. She looked up and had to fight to keep her eyes from rolling into her head.
Not fair. The man looked nearly as scrumptious in the baggy hand-me-downs as he did in the snug towel.
This was going to be an extremely long night.
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