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?”
Then she started the Mustang and pulled away, not even giving him the little wave she normally did.
Michael rubbed his chin, then started walking toward his SUV. Why did he feel as though Kyra had just broken some sort of unspoken code between them? And why did he both dread and celebrate the possibility?
2
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
