Aimee’s frown fell away and was replaced with a smile so bright it could power the entire state of Georgia. Eyes centered square on his face, she twined one leg behind the other and wet her lips with more flair than Marilyn Monroe. It was like letting the air out of a balloon. Her face softened, the tension in her shoulders receded and she looked like she’d been worked over by a masseuse.
Terrence thought he heard movement behind her and peered inside. The shutters were open, and the sun was making mosaic shapes on the mahogany floors. Cool blue walls blended easily with the opulent, crystal chandelier, the oak staircase and luxurious draperies. He felt connected to Kyra, and Aimee—or any other temptress who tried—wasn’t going to come between them.
After a nasty spill off his motorcycle a few years back, he’d heeded his coach’s advice and cleaned up his act. No more late nights at the club, no more bar fights, and no more girls like Aimee Phillips. He wanted more than just another pretty face and a bangin’ body. He wanted the total package. Someone thrilling and fun who wasn’t concerned with where he ranked on lists of richest athletes.
“Oh, I see. Well in that case, we should definitely hook up while you’re in town. I’m moving down here soon, and I could really use a friend.” Aimee asked if he needed a date for Snoop Dogg’s album release party and thrust her breasts in his face for good measure. “Are you game?”
Terrence shook his head. Aimee hadn’t changed one bit. The personal chef was still looking for someone to take care of her. And not just anyone, either. It had to be someone famous and ridiculously wealthy who could use their celebrity status to open doors for her. Though she’d once ditched him and hooked up with a hot-shot baseball player with a fleet of luxury jets, Terrence harbored no hard feelings toward her. Why would he when he had Kyra? Aimee had perfected the naughty-but-nice look and had the longest legs outside of Nevada, but Kyra was the type of woman he’d been looking for. Authentic, straightforward and more beautiful than words, Terrence knew that he could always count on Kyra to tell him the truth. Aimee had the loyalty of a stray cat, and though she was an attractive woman, she couldn’t be trusted.
“Aimee, you’re still here?”
Terrence stepped around Aimee and pushed open the door. Without makeup, Kyra barely looked legal, and the fuchsia bandana covering her hair enhanced her youthful appeal. Her extra-long tank top and shorts were loose-fitting, but her beauty was unmistakable. It shone from within, from her core, from the depths of her soul. Aimee was decked out in white, but Kyra was the one who looked innocent. And when she greeted him with a cheery wave, his heart thumped louder than a hundred conga drums.
He held up the bags. “I brought brunch.”
“Something smells delicious.” Aimee pointed a jeweled finger at the bag. “Do you have poached sausages in there?”
Terrence nodded. “I have breakfast enchiladas, too. They’re Kyra’s favorite.”
Groaning, Aimee rubbed a hand over her stomach. “I wish I could stay, but I have a meeting downtown with a potential client.”
“Then you better get going. Traffic’s thick heading south.” Terrence didn’t mean to be rude, but when Aimee stomped off, he knew she’d taken offense. An eye roll, a flick of her hair, and she was gone. Not wanting to appear eager, he waited until he heard the door slam, before setting his sights back on Kyra. “Great house,” he said, glancing around. A marriage of classical and urban architecture, the two-storey home featured an arched opening, cherrywood furniture and generous shelf space. “The decor’s very cool. Eclectic but modern. I like it.”
“Your place is probably ten times this size.”
“It’s not the size of a house that makes it a home,” he told her. “It’s the people who live there and the love and respect they share.”
“Uh-oh. Someone’s been watching too many Jimmy Stewart movies.”
“Who?” Terrence scratched his head. “Is that the guy in all those old movies you used to force me to watch?”
Her laughter filled the room. It was a soft, almost musical sound and her eyes were sparkling. Terrence felt his heart inflate. Finally, something was going right. Kyra was laughing, and that was always a good thing.
“I forgot, you never liked the classics. Baby Boy is more your style, isn’t it?” Kyra wore a coy, closed-mouth grin and if it wasn’t for the distance between them, he would have kissed her. He’d never been one to push up on a woman, but he was only human. How could anyone withstand that delicious smile? Desire consumed him and the more he fought it, the more he wanted her. It was that age-old cat and mouse game; he was enjoying the chase.
“So, what were you and Aimee talking about?”
“Nothing.” To put her mind at ease, he decided to tell the truth. “Kyra, I don’t know what she told you, but we were never a couple. We went out a few times, but nothing happened between us.”
Kyra shrugged. “It’s no big deal. I was just curious.”
“I’m going to set up brunch out on the patio,” he said, anxious to distance himself from his past. “Why don’t you meet me outside with a pitcher of your famous watermelon lemonade?”
“But—”
“Ky, don’t argue. Just let me do something nice for you.” In four long strides, he was in her personal space. She smelled like orchids and her lips looked sweet. Terrence was a quick study and though he’d only been back in Hollington for a week, he had a good picture of who Kyra Dixon was. The PR director was a woman of incredible poise and strength, but beneath all of her admirable qualities was someone who was hurting. Terrence had to show her how special she was. With that thought in mind, he slipped a hand across her shoulders and led her through the French doors.
* * *
Chuckling, Terrence put down his glass and sat back in his wicker chair. “Come on, Kyra. Everyone knows women lie more than men. Weaves, acrylic nails, five-inch heels to make you taller.” He lifted the tablecloth and paused when he saw her red painted toes poking out of her sandals. “It’s all part of the female conspiracy, and every time a guy buys a woman and her girlfriends a round of cocktails, he feels like a sucker.”
Kyra giggled. “We get all dolled up to go out because that’s what you men like. You guys drool over curvy centerfolds and we sisters are just trying to stay in the game.” She pointed a finger at him. “And just so you know, no one wakes up looking like a sex kitten. Eva Menendez has bed head and bad breath just like the rest of us!”
Their laughter floated on the afternoon breeze.
“Sounds like someone has a touch of celebrity envy,” he teased, wiggling his eyebrows. “God, I hope you don’t have a secret aspiration to be an actress or something because I’m sick of meeting women whose life goal is to be on the big screen.”
“I couldn’t handle all the scrutiny that comes with being famous. Hell, I’d get a tummy tuck, too, if I was dissed on one of those gossip Web sites.”
“I’d die before I’d let you do that. You’re perfect just the way you are.”
“And all natural!” she added, laughing.
“That you are, baby. That you are.”
Kyra took a bite of her four-cheese omlette. Chasing it down with water, she noticed the defiant slope of his jaw and the odd look on his face. She wanted to know what he was thinking, but didn’t have the courage to ask. Steering the conversation to a safer topic, she asked about his plans for the weekend. “Are you going to Snoop Dogg’s party? It’s all Aimee could talk about during our workout.”
“That depends. What are you doing tonight?”
He looked deep into her eyes and when he smiled, her heart murmured. Kyra made