Skin Deep. Tori Carrington

once in the past four years had he seen Kyra angry. In fact, he hadn’t a clue what it looked like. Would she giggle if she was upset? He wouldn’t discount the possibility.

      Well, there had been that time when they were in a mall parking lot and a woman had dumped a kitten out of her car mere feet from a busy intersection. Kyra had rescued the scrap of fur—the feline in question that even now lazily considered Michael from his perch on top of the silent television—and given the woman what-for. He’d almost forgotten about the incident because it was so uncharacteristic for Kyra to lose her cool about anything. You wanted to cut in line? No problem. It probably meant you were in more of a hurry than she was. Heck, you might even have a wife in labor waiting in the car who wouldn’t go to the hospital until you got her that case of beer. You honked your horn at her and she would wave at you, thinking the gesture a greeting rather than a rebuke.

      Michael sighed and closed his eyes. There was no telling exactly what was going through Kyra’s mind.

      Suddenly the door opened inward, taking away Michael’s leaning support and nearly toppling him to the floor.

      “Give a guy some warning, why don’t you,” he mumbled, fighting to straighten himself.

      Only once he was standing, he realized that the open door wasn’t the only thing to knock him off balance. Kyra’s appearance absolutely floored him.

      “SO?” KYRA ASKED, barely able to conceal her excitement as she forced herself to stand completely still in front of Michael. “What do you think?”

      He stumbled backward a couple of steps, his mouth moving, although no sounds came out.

      “I know. Something, isn’t it? I hardly recognized myself in the mirror just now.”

      And she hardly had. Who knew what a difference two little hours could make in someone’s life? Kyra reached up to pluck at her newly cropped hair, still feeling light-headed by the absence of the weight of her long tresses. But she hadn’t stopped at the short, sassily styled ’do. Oh, no. On the way home from the salon she’d decided she’d wanted to change the color, as well, and picked up one of those home dye kits. She’d always been curious about the saying that blondes had more fun. She wanted to find out for herself if it was true.

      Then, of course, there was her new wardrobe. Having to replace the things the cleaner had lost anyway, she’d gone shopping with the check they’d issued to cover the loss. But she’d stayed well away from the places where she usually bought her clothes. Instead she’d ventured into the trendy little shops in Ybor City and taken the advice of the salesgirls. The outfit she had on now was her favorite—a hot-pink stretchy tank top with a tight little mock-leopard-skin leather skirt.

      True, so maybe she’d felt as if she was in little more than her underwear and wondering where the rest of her clothes were when she’d first tried the racy outfit on. But the more minutes that had ticked by, the more comfortable she’d felt. Not only in her new duds, but in her skin, period. And the new clothes helped her make one very important discovery—she had breasts! Sure, she’d always known she’d had them, had them. She just hadn’t realized how round and smooth and sexy they were. Which was plausible because they were usually hidden under three layers of clothing and an unattractive slingshot of a bra.

      Michael suddenly looked pale. Her smile vanished and she stepped forward, nearly tripping over the four-inch heels she wore. Okay, these would take a little getting used to. “Are you all right?” she asked, guiding him away from the plant stand that held her favorite fern and toward the couch. He plopped down onto the pale cushions as though his spine had disappeared, and sat there staring at her.

      She giggled, the sound emerging foreign to her own ears. She didn’t giggle. In fact, she didn’t even think she knew how. “I know, isn’t it something? The girl at the store told me hoseless was the way to go, but I think the fishnet stockings make the outfit. Don’t you?”

      “I—I—I—”

      Kyra put her hands on her hips, liking the feel of her body beneath the sexy material. “You…?”

      “I…brought you some ice cream,” he croaked, thrusting a bag in her direction.

      “Hmm, Half Baked, 2-Twisted. My favorite,” she said. “But I’m afraid if I have any of it right now, I’ll pop a seam or something.”

      “Or…or something,” Michael agreed.

      Walking on the tips of her toes, she stepped into the kitchen and put the ice cream in the freezer.

      “So?” she prompted, standing in front of him again.

      “So—” He cleared his throat. “So, what?”

      She rolled her eyes to stare at the ceiling. “You didn’t answer my question. What do you think?”

      His dark eyes narrowed as he looked everywhere but at her.

      “Oh, come on, Michael. Look at me.”

      “No.”

      His quick refusal made her laugh.

      “It’s like looking at my sister naked. If I had a sister. Which I don’t. But seeing as…” His mouth clamped closed and he continued staring at the opposite wall.

      “Not exactly the reaction I was hoping for.”

      His gaze slammed into hers. Kyra nearly stumbled backward from the impact. A heated question loomed large in his dark eyes as he considered her. A shiver ran over her skin like a lover’s touch, heating her blood and making her nipples harden.

      She shifted her weight from one foot to the other. “What’s the matter? It’s not like you haven’t looked at me before. You’ve seen me in less than this plenty of times.”

      “Oh, yeah? When?”

      “When we go to the beach, for starters.”

      “Oh.”

      She smiled.

      “You’re…you’re…”

      She gestured with her hand. “I’m…”

      “Blond.”

      She sighed. “Trust you to state the obvious. For a guy who designs houses, you are completely unimaginative in your personal life, you know?”

      “Yes, well, judging by the looks of you, you have enough imagination for both of us.”

      A reaction. Now they were talking.

      “Do you think it’s original? I mean, I just kind of went with my gut. Chose things I liked instead of what I thought would be appropriate.” She shivered again, relishing the zing of daring rushing through her veins. She held up her hands. “Wait. Now that I finally have your attention, I want your complete opinion.” Swiveling around on the heels a little too quickly, she teetered precariously, and reached for something to hold on to. There was nothing. She landed squarely in Michael’s lap.

      Air rushed from Kyra’s lungs at the sudden move. She giggled and wriggled around to face him. And immediately became aware of a reaction she would never have thought she’d get from him.

      “Oh,” she murmured. “Oh!”

      Talk about your shockers. Yes, she had expected to shock Michael. But she hadn’t expected to be shocked by his…well, shock. She caught her breath, amazed that she had elicited such a reaction. And more than just a little thrilled….

      OH, INDEED.

      Awareness surged through Michael’s bloodstream like an overpowering drug. Everything that was Kyra filled his senses. Her sweet smell. Her soft hair. Her even softer skin. Her slender, very voluptuous body.

      Somehow, Michael managed to shift Kyra from where her bottom fit snuggly against his painful erection. But he stopped himself short of lifting her all the way off his lap. Truth was, he liked her right where she was, thank you very much. Even if it was only for a few precious moments.