Chance Meeting (28 page)

He remembered wishing she were with him then. He was feeling real good, mellow with decent food and that second beer he was slowly nursing. He’d have liked to sit on the sofa with her, close enough that while they were watching the movie together, his arm could rest along the back of the sofa, his fingers lightly tracing the curve of her shoulder. He’d have turned to her to say something about one of the actors, and his eyes would have fixed instead on the delicate shell of her ear, the creaminess of her skin, the way her eyelashes, so thick and long, curled, a dark mink shade to their very tips. His eyes would travel the clean lines of her profile, that sexy little scar at the edge of her eyebrow. Inside Steve the memory of the kiss they’d shared would repeat, fresh as the first time. How she’d tasted, how he’d brought her to that flash point of burning heat and desperate, mind-blowing need. How he could do that to her again. And give her more. How he could take her to the very beyond. He’d gone to bed hard, aching, and alone.

This morning, he’d awakened that way, too. But at least he’d slept, Steve acknowledged, vigorously a toweling himself off, the ice-cold shower having restored some of his self-control. And while he had been waiting for sleep to claim him, his thoughts had been, for the first time in weeks, centered on a beautiful woman. That was progress.

Steve didn’t bother glancing out the window. It was too early to tell what the day would be like. But he remembered the weather forecaster last night had called for cool temperatures so he pulled on a sweater over his jeans and T-shirt. The sweater, heather blue, was a favorite—thick, soft, and reversible, too, the other side a light green. His parents had picked it up for Steve during a trip they’d taken to Scotland and Ireland. It had become so worn over the years that even the chamois elbow patches his mother had diligently sewn were beginning to fray.

He would brew some coffee, make a mug for her, rap on her door, and give her the news about the money, Steve decided, skipping every other step as he descended the stairs. Flicking on the radio, he padded around the kitchen barefoot, despite the fact that the ceramic-tiled floor was bone-chilling cold at this hour. The sensation helped wake him up. Spooning coffee into the machine, he dusted off his hands on jeans the same hue as his sweater and equally worn.

Steve ascended the stairs as rapidly as he’d come down them, the steaming coffee held before him. In Paris one year, when he’d been competing at the Grand Prix held there, he’d been fortunate to witness the bizarre spectacle of caf? waiters in a race. They had streaked down the boulevard, arms outstretched before them, balancing a tray piled high, laden with cups and saucers. He felt a little like that now, only not quite as successful, hot liquid sloshing uncomfortably over the mug’s brim and onto the back of his hand.

After a loud and enthusiastic knock on her bedroom door, Steve freely interpreted the muffled reply he heard as an invitation to enter.

Damned lucky he didn’t lose it right there and tip the hot coffee all over himself. She was down on the floor, wearing teeny-tiny lycra bike shorts, a pink ribbed tank top, and nothing else. That he could have handled, although his heart rate would have taken at least an hour to return to normal. No, it was what she was
doing
on the floor that had his tongue hanging out like a desert lizard’s catching a drop of rain, his eyes popping with sudden, uncontrollable lust.

Christ, not even his little sister’s Barbie dolls could have done
that,
was all his sizzled brain could come up with.

Ty’s legs were extended perpendicular to her body, her torso flat on the bare wooden floor in front of her. Feet arched, toes pointed, her nails were painted a delectable pinky coral. It looked as if she were capable of staying in that position for the foreseeable future. Steve swallowed and took a deep breath, trying to think about something other than all the interesting things one could do with a body that flexible. Then he noticed the smell. “Whew, Jesus! What did that cleaning crew use in here?”

Slowly, she shifted her arms, bending them until she was propped on her elbows, her body now raised at a slight angle. Her legs remained stationary. Steve heard her voice come from somewhere beneath her shoulder.

“It’s not the room,” she corrected, “it’s me . . . Absorbine.” Her head shifted as she lowered her torso back down to the ground, groaning slightly as she did.

Ty was far too sore to feel even remotely selfconscious. She was trying to stretch her inner thighs in a Russian split. It had taken fifteen minutes to ease herself into this position, a feat usually accomplished quite naturally. Now that she’d worked her way down to the ground, she wasn’t about to move. Anyway, she was decently covered, and she’d bet her father’s annual income she didn’t have a thing Steve hadn’t seen before.

“You okay?” he asked.

“Do I look okay?” Her tone was acidic. She flexed her feet, groaning once again. Yes, indeed. More than okay, but obviously they were coming at the issue from different points of view. Now that Ty had explained the source of the odor, Steve could identify it. While admittedly strong and astringent, for some reason Absorbine had never seemed quite so overwhelming before. Must be the superior ventilation in the barn, he thought, his eyes beginning to water. “You sure you didn’t go a little heavy on the Absorbine? It’s pretty strong stuff.”

“I only used the one bottle. Bubba assured me he has plenty more. Maybe if I rub a gallon or so into my calves and thighs, I’ll begin to feel marginally better.”

He looked at her legs and found himself volunteering.

“No thanks,” Ty replied dryly. “But if you’d be willing to walk on my back, I’d be eternally grateful.”

An outrageous suggestion, but she really hurt. Badly. Otherwise, never in a million years would she have made such a request. Muscles Ty had never bothered to worry about were so incredibly tight that she wanted to bawl like a baby at the pain, at the gross injustice of her body betraying her this way.

“My walking on your back would make you feel better?” he asked incredulously. “I weigh a hundred and sixty-eight.”

“Oh, yes.” Ty’s head rubbed up and down against the bare wooden floor. “A bit heavier than Lars, but that’s okay. Go ahead,” she encouraged. “I won’t break. Though I doubt I’d even notice if I did,” she added as an afterthought.

“You, uh, want me to step on you while you’re like that?” Steve inquired, trying to keep his voice casual, approaching her carefully, his eyes glued to the onehundredeighty-degree line her legs formed from her hip sockets. While he was learning to expect the unexpected, this was pushing the envelope on weird, wild, and never to be believed. Ty had seemed like a pretty straitlaced woman up to now.

“Oh, right. Wait a sec.” Like the arms of a corkscrew, her legs slowly came together. Steve watched, mesmerized, his mouth dry.

As though stepping into dangerous waters, Steve lifted his foot hesitantly, not knowing what to expect as he lowered it onto Ty’s slender back. He stared fixedly at the little pink lines of her ribbed tank top, holding his breath in suspense. When she didn’t scream out, he placed a little more weight on her.

“Go on, you’ve put, what, half your foot on me?”

“I’m going to crush you,” Steve warned, swallowing a huge lump lodged in his throat. It settled in his belly, spreading, one part anxiety mixed with nine parts lust.

“No way. Just don’t step on my spine, ’kay? Mmm, that’s right. Lord, that feels good.” Ty exhaled in dazed contentment as her body was gently compressed between Steve’s weight and the wooden floor boards.

Man, Steve thought, standing with both feet firmly placed on the small of Ty’s back, absorbing her little mews of contentment, his confidence growing apace. Last night’s fantasy of making out with Ty on the sofa was downright tame compared to this—not that he wasn’t a hundred percent sure he could kick up the level of erotic exotica if need be.

Ty’s body felt incredible beneath him.

Steve would never have guessed the soles of his feet could be this sensitive. The texture of her tank top, the way it slid over smooth, resilient flesh, muscles, and bones . . . each minute detail registered, becoming part of him.

Wiping sweat from his palms against the faded fabric of his jeans, Steve extended his arms for balance and took a small step up the length of her back. Her soft groan had sweat popping out all over again.

“So, you generally into kinky stuff? Whips, bondage, warm honey? And who’s Lars?”

“No, this is as kinky as I get.” She gave a muffled laugh that sounded awfully close to a purr, Steve noted, his body temperature rising a couple notches more. “But I do usually pay Lars to do . . .” She pronounced a japanese term that Steve thought sounded awfully like
sushi.
“Perhaps that qualifies as kinky, now that you mention it. Lars is fabulous. A Swedish demigod with an adoring clientele, every single one of them begging to lie down and be used like rugs. The names of the people that man has walked on would astound you.”

An image blossomed in Steve’s mind of a pasty-faced creep, who probably had weekly sessions reserved for him at the local tanning salon, stomping on Ty. Didn’t she know she could get diseases that way, athlete’s foot at the very least?

Ty’s voice cut into his thoughts. “By the way, for your information, this is the
only
time I’m going to let you walk all over me.” He’d been doing a close approximation, anyway, since the very first day at the lawyers’ office, Ty reflected, remembering his attitude toward her. “This is an
emergency
situation. Don’t read more into it than that.”

So Ty considered this a one-shot deal, did she? That she could use him and then throw him over for some plantar-wart-ridden moron named Lars? Time to show his partner just what he was capable of. What she was up against. “Oh, yeah? You sure about that?” His voice was mild, disinterested even, as slowly, deliberately, Steve curled each of his toes into her, pressing down firmly. Exultant when he felt her response, her muscles and bones melting beneath his soles. From her lips an involuntary moan of helpless pleasure.

A broad grin split Steve’s face. Sure as the sun rose in the east, he was gonna get—and in the very near future, too—another chance to walk all over Miss Ty Stannard.

Minutes slipped by as Steve continued his sensual path up and down Ty’s back. He was gearing up to suggest a full body massage at no extra charge when the doorbell rang, surprising him enough to jump lightly off her back, the floor a decidedly second-rate surface now.

Steve watched Ty roll gingerly to her side. Distracted, the doorbell relegated to some distant region of his brain, his eyes roamed over the length of her body, admiring the yards of silken flesh her shorts and tank top revealed. Yes, he decided, Ty could definitely benefit from a deep tissue massage. Dear Lord, her abused muscles were still aching. While her inner thighs were doing somewhat better after stretching them out in the split, her hamstring muscles felt like old rubber bands, ready to snap. Preoccupied, Ty stared balefully at her legs, racking her brains for a stretch that might relax them, only little by little becoming aware of Steve’s heated gaze. When her eyes encountered his, a brilliant, blazing blue, bright with arousal, Ty’s heart thudded madly against her ribs. The room, quiet except for the sound of Ty and Steve’s breathing, was once more disturbed by the insistent chime of the doorbell. This time the ring was even longer, a finger driving its way into the wall

“Uh, hadn’t you better answer the door?” Ty asked, her gaze trapped in his. And leave? Like hell. “Whoever it is will go away.”

But whoever it was didn’t. A third, then a fourth ring came in quick, impatient succession, and Ty rose stiffly to her feet, the spell broken. She raised an eyebrow at him.

“All right, all right, I’m going,” Steve grumbled. Sidestepping the mug of coffee he’d placed on the floor, he reached down to pick it up. “I brought you some coffee. Probably stone cold by now.” Poor kid, Steve thought, with a mixture of sympathy and amusement as Ty walked toward him with overly careful, too-precise steps. She was moving the way a quarterback did after being sacked, unsure she could trust her legs to support her. “Guess this means you don’t want to go for a bareback gallop on the beach with me.”

“Very funny. Ha ha.” Ty cast him a withering glare, not amused in the least. “Go see who’s at the door. I’ll be down in a minute.”

“You might want to open some windows before you leave. Aerate the place. You’re probably killing brain cells by the millions.”

At least I have them to kill,
she nearly retorted, but didn’t, remembering the incredible way Steve could use his feet. “Go away,” said Ty, in her severest tone, taking baby steps toward her closet. Only the presence of a truly gorgeous woman could temporarily dispel from Steve’s mind the image of Ty’s body one short flight of stairs above and all the things he planned to do with it. Only a truly gorgeous woman, with Titian-red hair, cornflower-blue eyes, and mouth stretched wide in a thousand-watt smile, saying, “Surprise!” prevented Steve from immediately slamming the door in her face and running back up the stairs to Ty’s room so that he could begin working on fantasies one through a thousand.

He paused, allowing himself the pleasure of a good second look. A woman this beautiful didn’t darken a man’s doorway every morning—or any other time of the day, for that matter. A rare gift should be appreciated, he said to himself, as a smile of masculine approval lit his tanned face, set his blue eyes twinkling. As far as Steve was concerned, one couldn’t ask for a finer start to the day than he’d had so far.

“Sweetheart,” Steve drawled, “as surprises go, this is one of the nicest I’ve ever had the pleasure of receiving. Do I know you?” Not that he really cared. He was quite willing to play host to this woman, acquaintance or not. Her face, though, seemed familiar. Maybe they’d met in a bar or a restaurant in town.

Her laugh was as delightful as the rest of her. “ Actually, I’m here for Ty. I’m a friend of hers, Lizzie Osborne.” The vision extended her right hand.