Too Close to Touch (16 page)

Mick and Kylie were both silent as Gretchen disappeared down the hall, Mick’s lips pressed together in a tight line. When Kylie Þ nally met her gaze, Mick’s eyes were accusing.

“What?” Kylie asked. “Why are you looking at me like that? She’s taking me to dinner to thank me for my help.”

“Uh-huh.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing, Ky.” Mick exhaled forcefully. “I’ve got to go get ready for the game. Have a nice dinner.”

“Thanks,” Kylie said to Mick’s retreating back. “Good luck tonight. Hit a home run.”

She slumped down into her chair, sulking for several minutes before pulling herself together. She’d been looking forward to this evening all day long and she wasn’t about to let Mick’s weirdness about Gretchen spoil it for her. After shutting down the open applications on her computer and logging off, she neatened up her desk. She hated to arrive in the morning to a pile of chaos. With a small rush of anticipation, she grabbed her purse from the bottom drawer and Þ shed out her keys.

Clicking off the desk lamp, she couldn’t keep the smile from her face.

What the hell am I going to wear?

v

The doorbell rang at exactly six twenty-nine, but Kylie swore anyway. She glared at her reß ection in the bathroom mirror, begging the butterß ies in her stomach to swarm elsewhere. They didn’t listen.

“Get a grip, O’Brien,” she ordered, heading down the stairs in her bare feet. “You have no reason to be nervous. This is dinner with your boss, not a date.”

She took a deep breath as she rested her hand on the doorknob,

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TOO CLOSE TO TOUCH

hoping to calm her ß uttering nerves. When she pulled the door open, that breath was knocked completely from her lungs as she took in the sight before her.

Gretchen stood on her doorstep in casual black pants and a red, short-sleeved sweater. Not only was red a fabulous color on her, but because everything else about her was so dark—her pants, her hair, her eyes—the red stood out even more, demanding attention. Her hair was drawn back just enough to spill unruly curls in a cascade along her shoulders. One stray lock dangled down alongside her left eye and looked devastatingly sexy. She smiled at Kylie, her hands clutching her small purse in front of her.

“Wow. Gretchen. You look fantastic.” The compliment was out and hanging in the air between them before Kylie had any prayer of catching it. Rather than disapproval, however, a very gentle pink tint colored Gretchen’s high cheekbones.

“Thanks. You’re not looking too shabby yourself.” Her deep voice sent a chill up Kylie’s spine, something Kylie was beginning to wonder if she’d ever get used to.

Stepping back, she invited, “Come on in.”

As Gretchen stepped into the small entryway, Kylie noticed she was wearing slight heels, making them almost exactly the same height.

She liked being able to look directly into Gretchen’s eyes.

“This is an adorable place.” Gretchen wandered into the living room, taking in the small space with its cozy furniture and copious framed photos. Her face registered an approval that made Kylie swell with pride. “You’ve even got a Þ replace.”

Kylie’s eyes were drawn to Gretchen’s hand as she ran her well-manicured Þ ngertips over the brick mantle. “It was the biggest selling point for me. It’s great in the winter.”

Gretchen took in the leather club chair and ottoman angled near the Þ replace, a tall ß oor lamp bent over them. “Looks like the perfect reading spot.”

Kylie smiled. “Exactly. Although I usually move the chair back near the window at this time of year. I haven’t had a chance.”

Gretchen’s focus moved on to the pictures decorating the mantle.

“I remember most of these people from the cookout.” She pointed to several photos of Kylie’s family members. “Who’s this?”

• 115 •

GEORGIA BEERS

“That’s Angie. My ex.”

“You’re obviously still friends.” It was said with what seemed to be a knowing smile.

“Yes, we are, smart-ass. And yes, I’m friends with all my exes, before you feel the need to ask.”

“And just how many exes do you have?” If Gretchen felt the question was inappropriate, she didn’t show it. Kylie felt a familiar warmth at the teasing tone of her voice.

“Way too many to count,” she teased back. It crossed her mind then to offer Gretchen a glass of wine, a seat on the couch. That’s what she would normally do with a woman who was picking her up to take her out.

Not a date
, the little voice whispered.
Then why does it feel so
much like one?
she wanted to ask.

Shaking her head free of the internal conversation, she said, “Let me just grab my shoes and we can go.”

In the bedroom, she slipped her feet into ß ats that went well with her navy blue chinos. Glancing into the mirror, she fussed with her hair one last time, tucking it behind her ears and Þ nger combing the ends.

She decided it was a good outÞ t. The blue and white striped blouse was casual, but nicely tailored and her sister, Erin, had told her it Þ t her perfectly. Of course, in Erinspeak, that really meant it Þ t a little too snugly across Kylie’s chest. Small gold hoops in her ears and a matching teardrop diamond necklace completed her look.

Impulsively, she reached up and adjusted her neckline so the diamond was more visible, then unfastened one more button, revealing additional collarbone, more skin, and an extra teasing wink of cleavage.

She ß ed the room before she could change her mind and put on a turtleneck.

Downstairs, Gretchen had moved to the other side of the living room and was studying more photos. She looked up at Kylie’s approach and her eyes fell directly to the exposed skin at Kylie’s chest. Clearing her throat, she held up a photo of Kylie’s fourteen-year-old nephew, Joshua.

“He has your eyes,” she said.

“You think so?” Kylie crossed the room and stood shoulder to shoulder with Gretchen, trying to concentrate on the picture and not the hands holding it or the intoxicating scent of Gretchen’s perfume.

“DeÞ nitely. They’re exactly the same blue.”

• 116 •

TOO CLOSE TO TOUCH

Kylie was touched by the statement and tried not to grin too widely as Gretchen set the picture back down on the table. “Ready?”

“After you,” Gretchen said, extending her arm toward the door.

Gretchen’s BMW was shining like a new penny in Kylie’s driveway. Gretchen hit the remote door lock and opened the passenger door for Kylie. With a sigh, Kylie sank into the soft, deep tan leather seat and fastened her seat belt.

“Oh, I could get used to this,” she commented, nestling farther into the embrace of the leather.

Gretchen got in and started the engine with a soft purr. “You like her?”

“She’s beautiful. I’ve never been in a Beemer before.” Kylie’s family came from modest roots and she knew her father would never dream of spending on a car the kind of money the BMW must have cost.

“Never?” Disbelief tinged Gretchen’s voice.

“Nope.”

Without another word, Gretchen got out and went around to Kylie’s door again, pulling it open.

Kylie crinkled her nose in confusion. “What?”

“You drive.”

Kylie was hit by a sudden rush of adrenaline. “Are you serious?”

“Yes, I’m serious. Move it. You’re in my seat.”

Kylie didn’t need to be told twice. She jumped out and quickly skirted the car to situate herself in the driver’s seat. Placing her hands on the steering wheel, she inhaled deeply.

“It still smells new.” She glanced at Gretchen. “Is it? Is she, I mean? New?”

“I’ve had her for about three months.”

“Does she have a name?”

“Not yet. I’m still working on it.” Gretchen gestured at the dashboard with her chin. “Come on. Reservations are at seven. You’d better get a move on if you want to zip around a little before we get to the restaurant.”

Kylie felt like a little kid at Christmas. She adjusted the seat, sliding it back two settings, fastened her seat belt, smiled at her passenger, and slipped the gearshift into reverse.

v

• 117 •

GEORGIA BEERS

They pulled into Mercutio’s parking lot at 7:10. Kylie put the car into park, turned off the ignition, and handed the keys to Gretchen.

In the side mirror, she could see her face was still glowing from the exhilaration.

“Think they gave our table away yet?” she asked with a sheepish grin.

“Let’s hope not.”

“I don’t care if they did. That was worth it.”

Mercutio’s was a well-known local establishment that was situated conveniently on University Avenue, halfway between Kylie’s home and Gretchen’s apartment. It was large and open, with high ceilings that sported painted ductwork and spinning fans. One side was all ß oor-to-ceiling windows that opened onto a large patio populated with tables and an outdoor bar.

“Do you want to sit inside or outside?” Gretchen asked as they approached the hostess.

“It’s pretty warm. We should take advantage. Do you mind sitting outside?”

“Not at all.” To the hostess, Gretchen said, “Hi. Reservations for two under Kaiser. We’re a little late.” She shot a look at Kylie that made Kylie smile.

They followed the hostess to a small, private table in a corner of the rectangular patio. Beams from the setting sun streamed across part of it and Gretchen gestured for Kylie to sit there. Strategically placed hedges and vine-covered fences provided a nice feeling of privacy in what was a fairly populated part of the city. Their table was round and glass-topped, intimate in size, and its location allowed them to observe the rest of the tables, as well as the patrons at the bar, if they so desired.

Kylie decided she’d rather look at the face across from her.

“I’ll bet you burn as red as a lobster in the summer, don’t you?”

she asked.

“My mother used to get really brown, but my dad is white, white, white. If I don’t glop on at least SPF 30, I’m in trouble.”

“You’re like a China doll.”

Gretchen raised her eyebrows. “Excuse me?”

“All dark hair and dark eyes and snow-white skin,” Kylie explained. “Like a beautiful China doll.”

Gretchen lowered her eyes and fussed with her napkin. Kylie

• 118 •

TOO CLOSE TO TOUCH

realized that she might have ß ustered her with the compliment, and the idea was enormously pleasing.

The waiter appeared, a young, handsome man with spiked blond hair, three earrings, and a tattoo on his wrist of some Japanese symbol.

His smile was charming and his eyes sparkled as he greeted them and prepared to take their drinks order.

“Wine?” Gretchen asked Kylie.

“That would be great. Should we just order a bottle?”

Gretchen feigned shock, and then smiled when Kylie began to look slightly embarrassed. She ordered a bottle of an Italian Pinot Grigio and their waiter skittered away, promising to return with bread and dipping oil. They studied their menus in silence, both deciding on their dinner choices within only a few minutes.

“So…” Kylie leaned her forearms on the table and studied Gretchen’s face. She was surprised by the sudden urge to twirl that loose ebony curl around her Þ nger, and clasped her hands together in front of her just to be safe. “How was your visit with your family?”

“It was…interesting.”

“In what way?”

Gretchen propped her chin in her hand and her elbow on the table, looking like she was honestly thinking about her answer. While she contemplated, the wine and bread arrived. The waiter poured two glasses and they digressed into placing their dinner orders.

As soon as they were alone once more, Kylie raised her glass for a toast, but Gretchen cut her off with a placating hand.

“Wait. This one is to you,” she said. “To Kylie O’Brien. The best damn EAA a girl could ask for. Thank you for all your help. You are invaluable to me.” Her coal-dark eyes shone and Kylie pressed a hand to her chest, touched by the words.

Their glasses met over the table, the soft pinging audible to only them. They sipped, each nodding their approval of the wine. Reaching into the basket in the center of the table, Kylie tore herself a hunk of bread and rubbed it through the garlic-infused olive oil on the plate next to it.

“Your trip home,” she said, popping it into her mouth. “Why was it interesting?”

Gretchen’s eyes held hers for several long seconds, as if she was trying to decide whether it was safe to talk on a personal level. She helped herself to bread and followed Kylie’s moves into the oil.

• 119 •

GEORGIA BEERS

“Well.” She chewed. “My father has to have bypass surgery next week.”

“Oh, wow.”

“But nobody thought they should tell me about it. They’ve known for more than two weeks.”

“What?”

“Yeah, they mentioned it casually over dinner on Saturday, my brother and my dad.” Gretchen sipped her wine. “I’m afraid I had a little blowout with my brother in the parking lot of the restaurant.” At Kylie’s raised eyebrows, she nodded. “Yeah. Not cool.”

“Of
course
you had a blowout. Why wouldn’t you? I’d have been pissed.”

“I was deÞ nitely that.”

“Why didn’t they tell you sooner?”

“J.J. fed me some crap about my father being worried about my move and my new job and not wanting to stress me out more.”

“Hmm.” Kylie chewed thoughtfully. “That makes sense.” When Gretchen’s eyes snapped up to hers, she quickly backpedaled. “It makes sense, but it doesn’t mean it was the right call. I totally understand him not wanting to add pressure to your life. But they still should have told you.”

“But see, that’s where things get muddled, because my father isn’t the kind of guy who worries about stressing other people out. If he did, he would have been home much more often when we were young and my mother would have had less anxiety in her life. The number one person on John Kaiser’s list is John Kaiser. It always has been.”

Kylie tried to imagine what her own life would have been like if her father had been unavailable, but she couldn’t. Matt O’Brien had been a busy guy who worked long, hard hours, but he spent every moment of free time with his family. “He wasn’t around much for you?”