CHAPTER 9

AGAIN, morning came without Michael.

This time, she’d known it would. But until she actually woke up alone, she’d been able to hold on to the spurious fantasy that he’d be there next to her. That he’d gather her in his arms and tell her he loved her, that she didn’t have to marry Harold and that everything would be okay—her father, her life, everything. That he loved her.

She snorted. Now that really was a fantasy, and not one she needed to be entertaining.

Frustrated, she threw off the sheet and grappled for her robe, then started stalking around the cabana looking for the stupid cell phone. She’d made a big, fat, hairy mistake coming to Fantasies, Inc. Huge. Massive.

How on earth could she go back to a calm, staid life with Harold after sharing such intense intimacy with Michael? After finding Tony, a man she could really talk with? The future loomed before her, and where before it had seemed full of possibility for her career and her family, now it just seemed empty.

Frustrated, she yanked open drawer after drawer, desperately needing a shoulder to cry on.

She found the phone right where she’d left it, of course, and she punched in Mona’s number. No answer, not even the machine, which meant either the machine was full or Mona had her computer plugged into the phone line. Either way, Kyra was out of luck.

She considered throwing the cell phone across the room out of spite, but decided that would be even more stupid than falling for her fantasy man. Instead, she put it back in the drawer, took her notebook from the top of her dresser, sat cross-legged on top of the bed, and started tapping her pen against the paper.

The familiar rhythm calmed her, and she tried to focus, remembering why she’d come to Fantasies, Inc. in the first place. A good time. An experience. The experience of a lifetime.

So far, she’d gotten everything she asked for. And despite her whirling, swirling emotions, she’d gotten no more or less than that. There was no intimacy. Sex, yes, but nothing more.

She didn’t even know him. Just like Mona had said—she couldn’t really be intimate with a man she didn’t really know, no matter how wonderful he made her feel between dusk and dawn.

This was just a fantasy—a fantasy designed to give her a memory powerful enough to get her through the life that was waiting for her off the island. In the end, she could walk away. She had to.

And in the meantime, she needed to keep the difference between island fantasies and Texas realities firmly in mind.

Determined to pull herself together, she slammed the notebook shut. She considered calling Mona one more time, but ruled it out. After all, there wasn’t anything to talk about. She’d have her fling, she’d leave the island, she’d marry Harold. End of story.

Besides, if she wanted to talk there was always Tony. Except…

Frowning, she pulled her knees up and hugged them to her chest. For some reason, the idea of talking about Michael to Tony again just didn’t feel right.

She ran a hand through her hair. Yesterday, she’d talked with him about everything. Why on earth would she be feeling shy about running the Michael-problem by him?

Because there is no Michael-problem.

Right. Exactly. That had to be it. She’d already solved the problem, already decided Michael was just her fantasy interlude, so of course she’d feel weird about the prospect of dredging it all out for psychoanalysis by Tony. Besides, there were a heck of a lot more interesting things to talk with him about.

If she was lucky, she could even catch him at breakfast. The thought of spending the day together cheered her, and she hurried to take a quick shower, wondering what kind of adventure they’d share that afternoon.

* * *

“HOW ABOUT SAILING?” Kyra asked. Her feet were propped up on an empty chair, a half-empty glass of orange juice in front of her. She took another swig. “It’s going to be a gorgeous day. Let’s take out one of the boats.”

He bit back a frown. His sailing days were over, at least on a small boat where his back would have to take the brunt of the work. “I thought we were diving today.”

“We’re signed up to go. But we can’t talk if we’re underwater.”

His chest tightened. “What do you want to talk about?” Surely she hadn’t discovered his secret, had she?

She shrugged and laughed. “Not a thing. I just like hanging out with you.”

He swallowed, the invisible band even tighter now. Trying for casual, he reached across the table and squeezed her hand. “I like hanging out with you, too.” Depressing as hell, but he knew the one woman he could talk with, the one woman he could really open up to, could never truly be his. She belonged to another man. Forever, this Harold guy. For now, Michael.

He cleared his throat, knowing he shouldn’t bring it up, but morbid curiosity getting the better of him. “So, did your mystery man show last night?” he asked, fighting the urge to tell her everything. He knew he should, that he wasn’t playing fair. But he couldn’t risk the consequences. She’d be angry, sure, but that he could handle. What he couldn’t handle was the pain when she walked away. And that was enough to convince him to keep his mouth shut.

“Kyra,” he prodded, “did he come?”

Her cheeks were a delightful shade of pink, and she’d become fascinated with the dew on the outside of her juice glass.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” he said.

She looked up, her eyes sparkling. “Yeah, he showed.”

“And?” God, he was pathetic, but he needed to hear it from her, needed to know.

“And it was wonderful. He’s wonderful.” A shadow crossed her face, and she took another quick sip. “For a temporary fantasy, I mean.”

Tony signaled to the waiter, not actually needing anything except an excuse to look away. Damn it all, he was actually jealous. You’re losing it, Moretti. Kyra had the hots for Michael, and Tony was jealous of his own damned alter ego.

Maybe he should have said yes when the city shrink had suggested he go in for counseling. He sure as hell needed someone to pound some sense into his head.

She cleared her throat. “So how about sailing?”

He shook his head, willing to concede the change in subjects, but not the activity. “Wouldn’t you rather relax?”

“What’s a little work for adventure-gal?” She cocked her head, then wrinkled her nose. “Oh, Tony, I’m sorry. I just realized. I bet sailing is hell on your back.”

He bristled, then forced himself to relax. “Not at all,” he lied.

“Really?”

“Really,” he said firmly. “It’s all levers and pulleys. Nothing straining at all.” Another lie.

“Sounds like work. Kevin said the big boat’s going out this afternoon,” she said. “All we’d have to do is hang out on the deck and drink daiquiris.”

“That doesn’t sound very adventurous.”

“Well, no…”

“Let’s go sailing,” he said. “The back’s not a problem.” His nose was going to start growing if he kept this up, but he didn’t want to see pity in her eyes. Not from her, never from her. “I promise.”

The truth of it was, he wanted her time on the island to be special. Maybe he couldn’t confess, but he could damn well try to make her fantasy perfect—her days with him, and even her nights with his damned alter ego. Sensual, erotic, unforgettable.

“You really want to go?” She still didn’t sound convinced. Smart girl, but he couldn’t stomach her thinking him helpless. And so long as the weather cooperated and his back held up, he wouldn’t be. Besides, she wanted this, and in some small way taking her out on a boat might assuage some of the guilt sitting like a lump in his stomach.

“Absolutely,” he said. “We’ll go tomorrow.”

She smiled, and he knew he’d finally convinced her. “Sounds great, so long as you’re sure.”

“Absolutely. We’ll have a blast.” He kept his face calm, hoping against hope the Fates—and his lower lumbar region—were on his side. “I can’t wait.”

* * *

“TELL ME about your day,” Michael said, his voice softer than the candlelight glowing in the small bathroom.

Sighing, she leaned against the side of the deep tub, sliding down until the bubbles grazed her breasts. Michael balanced on the edge behind her, dribbling warm, soapy water from a sea sponge onto her bare shoulders. Pure heaven.

“It was wonderful,” she murmured, her voice near a purr. And it had been. Tony knew his way around the island better than she knew a radio control booth. He’d shown her all sorts of secret places, and even rescued a baby bird from a tangle of fishing line. They’d forged onward through the humid air, battling the foliage. Even now, she could picture the nape of his neck, the way his sweat-dampened hair curled above the collar of his T-shirt. And the way he’d kept glancing back at her, so protective, had practically given her chills.

They’d finally ended up at a crystal-clear pond, deep in the wilds on the north side of the island, and they’d spent the day skipping rocks and talking about everything and nothing. She’d told him about wanting to make the station a success, wanting to make her father proud. He’d told her about his former life as a firefighter, all the lives he’d helped save, and sharing his dream that he’d someday be able to do something else to help protect people.

“A great day,” she repeated.

“I’m glad to hear it.” He slipped his hands down into the water, stroking her breasts until she closed her eyes and arched up, her body silently demanding more. “Let’s see if we can’t make the night just as great.”

“Shouldn’t you be out saving kittens or something? It seems like you’re always with me.” She opened her eyes and grinned. “Not that I’m complaining.”

“I’m exactly where I want to be,” he said.

“Good.” She tilted her head back and sighed, her body thrumming from the touch of his strong hands on her breasts, her stomach. “Because you’re exactly where I want you to be, too.”

* * *

THE BOAT moved along at quite a clip, the sails billowing in the strong wind. Kyra stood at the front, her arms out to her sides, Titanic-style, as they flew over the vivid blue sea.

Her hair whipped around her face in a mass of tangles. Her nose shone with a coat of yellow zinc oxide. Her T-shirt was stuck to her skin from the ocean spray. She felt wonderful, almost giddy, and she turned around to smile at Tony. “This is fabulous!”

He looked up from the back of the boat where he was busy doing something, then cupped his hand to his ear.

“Fabulous!” she repeated, and he nodded.

“Wait a sec,” he called. She stayed put, stifling the urge to touch anything until he told her to, and fearful that if she moved toward him she’d get whonked in the head with some moving part. She watched him work, enjoying the way he moved and the way the sun glinted off the purely masculine angles of his body. After a few moments, the boat slowed to a stop, the sails hanging slack, and she realized he’d dropped the anchor. She’d been so caught up watching him, she hadn’t been paying attention to what he was actually doing.

“This seems like a good place for our picnic,” he said.

She blinked, dragging her mind back to reality as she took a look around. In the distance, she could make out the shoreline of Intimate Fantasy. To her left—port, he’d said—waves were frothing, breaking on a reef that rose up to skim the surface of the tantalizingly clear water. Clouds moved in the sky, billowy mountains of cotton playing peek-a-boo with the sun. “It’s perfect. I’ll get the basket.”

The restaurant had packed them a lunch, and she made her way down below to the tiny cabin under the deck. The place was adorable—a little apartment in miniature, complete with a tiny portal window. She cranked it open, letting in the breeze, then grabbed the basket and went back up top.

He’d spread a blanket on the deck, and now he was stretched out, his sunglasses tossed aside as he lay back basking in the sun. For a moment, she just stood there, mesmerized by the way the sweat glistened on his bare chest. Already, from just their few days together, he’d gone from slightly pale to a rich bronze. Her throat hitched, and she tamped down a wash of sadness for this wonderful man who’d been hiding himself from the world inside because of one stupid accident that had left him scarred, inside and out.

Thankfully, he was becoming less and less self-conscious. She glanced at his sunglasses, thrilled he’d taken them off with absolutely no chance of shade. He trusted her, knew she couldn’t care less about the angry scar that rimmed his eye. Knowing he felt that comfortable with her made her feel warm and special.

Ironic, really. A week ago, she’d been alone. At least, it had seemed that way. And now she had two men in her life who made her feel like the center of the universe.

She tamped down a twinge of guilt. She was never the kind of girl who could date two men at once, could never understand how those girls in high school did it. Kyra had always become too involved, unwilling or unable to spread herself too thin. But now she was spreading herself between Michael and Tony, and the situation made her feel strange and awkward.

That was silly, of course. No matter how special Michael might be, he was still a fantasy, still anonymous. And no matter how dear Tony was, there was nothing physical between them. They were just friends, that’s all they’d ever be. The thought made her a little sad, and she frowned, trying to shove away her melancholy mood.

She plopped down next to him and started unpacking the basket. When everything was spread out, she gave his foot a gentle nudge. “Hey, sleepyhead. You hungry?”

He rolled over, mumbling something, and she was struck with an odd sense of déjà vu—like she’d woken up next to him before. She shook her head. Silly. He just had the same build as Michael, and they’d spent so much time together that now everything about him seemed familiar.

Another kick, this one a tad more forceful. “I’m going to eat everything and there won’t be anything left for you.”

He sat up blinking, looking adorably like a sleepy little boy. “Even my brownies?”

“Well…” She grabbed the brownies in question, holding on to the foil package.

He scooted closer. “It’s dangerous to keep a man from dessert,” he whispered, his voice low, menacing and oddly familiar.

“Whatever do you mean?” she asked, all innocence as she clutched the brownies closer.

“Careful, little lady.” He grabbed her around the waist, tickling, and she gasped, the feel of his arms around her both playful and exciting. “Come on, sweetheart. You know you can’t win.”

With a massive effort, she focused on their game, not the riot of sensations rippling through her. “Help!” she squealed, “I’m being attacked for my dessert!” She rolled backward, pulling him down with her while still holding the brownies against her chest. He was just inches away, so close she could feel the press of his body against hers and the warmth of his skin. Her breath came in jagged bursts and she tried to get a handle on her confused emotions.

“Got you,” he said. His hands brushed her breasts as he reached for the brownies. His face was only inches from hers, his touch and scent both welcome and familiar. They were both breathing hard. For a moment, everything else disappeared. The sound of the waves, the whisper of the wind against the sails, the call of birds overhead. All gone. Just her and him, alone.

Her lips parted in some unconscious invitation, but then she caught herself and snapped her mouth shut, blinking and shivering. Suddenly antsy, she shifted beneath him, unsure and needing to get away. Maybe he felt it, too, because he pulled himself up, flashed her a weak smile, and took the package of brownies to the far side of the blanket.

“Want one?” he asked, so calmly it irritated her. Didn’t he feel it? Or was her overwrought libido playing tricks again? “They’re good,” he added.

She shook her head, not trusting herself to speak. “No thanks. I’m fine.” She wasn’t fine. She was a long way from fine, but she didn’t intend to share that little fact.

After a minute, she grabbed a bottle of water out of the ice chest and took it to the front of the boat, letting the strong wind whip around her, beating away her frustrations. She glanced back over her shoulder, but he hadn’t followed. Instead, he had his face tilted up to the sky, his eyes closed, looking perfectly at peace with the world.

She turned back to the sea, now restless. Just looking at him had warmed her to her toes, and the knowledge made her uneasy.

The waves were breaking harder over the reef, and the reef seemed even closer now. She squinted. It was closer. That was odd. And the sun no longer kissed the deck’s polished wood.

The clouds that had followed them had suddenly turned nasty, were now black and ominous. Something clanked against the boat’s hull, a metallic warning for them to get out of there. Like summers in Texas, storms over Florida developed fast, and this one looked to be a doozy. She twirled around, about to call for Tony when she realized the boat was moving, drifting backward closer and closer to the reef.

That couldn’t be good.

“Tony!”

He was already looking up, frowning as he stared at the clouds. He turned toward her voice, and she pointed.

“We’re moving,” she said.

The wind raced over the boat, slapping her hair into her eyes and sending it stinging against her skin.

“It’s okay. We’re anchored. You’re just feeling the boat rock. We’ll be fine until the squall blows by, but we should go below. I don’t think it’ll last too long.”

“No,” she shouted over the wind. “It’s really moving.” She looked out toward the reef again. “Take a look.”

He did. “Damn. You’re right. We’re dragging anchor.”

The boat rocked upward as the waves got into the groove of the storm, and she grabbed on to the side as the front end slapped back down against the water, sending ocean spray shooting up into the air.

Tony stumbled toward her, trying to keep his balance on the rocking boat. The front dipped down as yet another wave crashed over the boat, and she was thrown forward. He caught her around the waist.

“I need to get the anchor up.”

She moved toward the front, where the rope hung down, taut now from the pull of the current. “I’ll help.”

He shook his head. “I need you in the cockpit.”

She didn’t argue, but he must have seen her confusion. “I need you to nudge the engine forward. That’ll give me some slack so I can pull up the anchor.” The boat tossed once again, and he grabbed her shoulders, bracing them both against the stomach-churning motion. “Do you remember how?”

She nodded, wiping the spray off her face, then turned and carefully picked her way to the cockpit. When she turned back around, she saw Tony sprawled out over the front of the boat tugging at the anchor line, but the drag of the boat still pulled it too taut, and he wasn’t having any success at all.

The boat heaved, a huge wave crashing up as the nose went down. Kyra screamed as a wall of water broke over Tony. She held her hand to her mouth, chewing on her knuckles, until he turned around and signaled that he was okay.

He yelled something that she couldn’t hear, but she gave him a thumbs-up anyway, certain he wanted her to ease the boat forward and give him some slack. With her hair flying, she concentrated on the controls, trying to remember the crash course he’d given her when they’d set out that morning. After a hesitant start, she got the engine to cooperate. Forward, then halt. He’d take up some slack. Then forward, and halt again. And over and over, until they’d found a rhythm working together, not needing words, but somehow communicating as they worked together to get the best of the storm.

Tony secured the anchor, then clambered over the deck to her. “Great job.” He adjusted the boat, then put her hands back on the wheel. “Just hold us steady for a bit.”

After fiddling with the sails for a few moments, he came back and took control. “You okay?”

She nodded. Already the storm was dying. But still her pulse throbbed so rapidly she could barely tell where one beat stopped and the next began. She was soaked to the skin. She still couldn’t catch her breath.

All in all, she was more than okay. She felt wonderful.

“When you promise a girl an adventure, you deliver.” Impulsively, she raised up on her toes, wanting to kiss him, to hold him close. Wanting to continue that awesome feeling of togetherness, like they were joined in mind and body, moving in a timeless rhythm.

But as she moved in closer, she saw the surprise and shock reflected in his eyes, and managed to catch herself just in time. Embarrassed, she took a step backward, twisting her hands in front of her.

“Kyra?”

Mortified, she couldn’t meet his eyes. “I…I left the portal open down below. I better go make sure we haven’t flooded the cabin.”

Careful not to stumble in the drizzle, she hurried below, then threw herself onto the bed. She grabbed a corner of the spread and wiped her face, not sure if she was drying rain or tears.

She needed to get a grip, needed to get her emotions under control. This was just hormonal. PMS, probably. Sure. That’s all. Just an emotional reaction to riding out the storm together.

Nothing had changed. Nothing important, anyway. In just a few days she’d go back to Texas and tell Harold she’d marry him. She’d get her life under control, take care of her business and her father. She had a plan, dammit. A good plan. A solid plan.

She was already confused as hell about her feelings for her anonymous Michael. The last thing in the world she needed was to fall in love with Tony Moretti.

* * *

TONY MOVED on autopilot, his concentration intense as he ignored the pain and focused simply on getting them back to the island. Only when he’d reached the dock and secured the mooring lines off did he let the full impact of what he’d done register. Idiot! Damn him to hell, he’d been an arrogant, pathetic son of a bitch.

He should have known better than to take the boat out with his back—he did know better. But he’d ignored his common sense and they’d almost been dragged onto the reef.

He’d wrenched the hell out of his back trying to pull up the anchor. If he hadn’t been able to fight his way past the red surge of pain…if Kyra hadn’t been cool enough to remember how to maneuver the engine to give him some slack…

But dammit, he shouldn’t have put her in danger in the first place. Shouldn’t have lied about his abilities just to impress her. He should have told her the truth and let someone else take her sailing.

What if the storm had been worse? What if—

Bile rose in his throat, and he lurched forward, almost losing the contents of his stomach.

He could have killed them—could have killed her. And all because he wanted to prove that he was as whole as any other man. That he was as whole as she thought Michael was.

But he wasn’t whole, and he never would be.

He clenched his fists, furious at life, at his predicament, at everything—but mostly furious at himself for putting her at risk, this woman that he’d come to care for more than anything or anyone he’d known before.

And he remembered how she’d backed away, her eyes wide and mortified, instead of kissing him.

“Tony?” she said. “Are you okay?”

He looked at her, saw the worry reflected in her soft gray eyes.

No, he wasn’t okay. He hadn’t been okay for almost a year. And it was about damn time he came to grips with that. About damn time he accepted his fate and got on with his life.