Skin Deep. Tori Carrington

He silently cursed and called himself twelve kinds of a fool for continuing to act like Kyra’s friend when more and more lately he wanted to claim her as his lover.

      “Have you read this?” she asked, tipping a book out from the rest.

      He shook his head. “Nope. Don’t want to, either.”

      She smiled at him. “You don’t know what you’re missing.”

      His gaze leisurely skimmed her well-defined pink, unpainted lips. Oh, no. That was precisely the problem. He was afraid he knew exactly what he was missing. And it was beginning to drive him crazy.

      He put his hand over hers and slid the book back into its slot. Her expression sobered and she flicked her wet tongue across her lips. Michael fought a groan and removed his hand, then continued down the aisle.

      No, no, no. No matter how very tempting, he could never allow their relationship to cross over to an intimate level. He valued her friendship too much for that. And he’d seen firsthand that she wasn’t very good at the dating game. He didn’t think he could handle getting hot and heavy with Kyra only to say goodbye to her and their friendship in a few weeks’ time.

      Not a day went by that he didn’t thank, and occasionally damn, fate that he’d been involved with someone else when they’d first met at the firm four years ago. If he and Jessica hadn’t been going out, he probably would have made a play for Kyra. She probably would have gone for it. And the mess that would have ensued would, in all likelihood, have guaranteed not only that she would have left the firm, but also that he would have missed out on what had evolved into one of the most important relationships in his life.

      As an only child, his mother from Peru, and his father from Spain, he spent a great deal of time trying to define exactly who he was. And if Kyra didn’t help him in that quest, she at least insisted that he forget about that battle every now and again. And for that he would be eternally grateful. He was just him, she’d told him time and again. He wasn’t accountable to anyone but himself. And that’s exactly the way he felt. At least when he was with her.

      Well, mostly when he was with her. Now he glanced at his watch, wondering how far she’d go over the time limit he’d set. And just how in the hell he was going to get her out of there.

      “TICK, TOCK,” Michael said behind Kyra.

      She glanced to find him tapping the face of his watch. She smiled then rounded a corner, absently running her fingertips along the spines of the books. She paused for a moment and took a deep breath. She loved everything about books. The way they sounded when you cracked them open. The scent of freshly milled paper. The varying textures, from the smooth glossy paperback covers with raised lettering to the puckered leather of hardbacks. The different artwork that depicted someone’s vision of the characters or the topic inside. Fiction, nonfiction, commercial bestsellers, obscure literary tombs, the text between the covers didn’t matter. She inhaled all of it with the passion of a long-time reader.

      There were few things she liked better than losing herself in the pages of a sizzling, hot romance. Especially after having suffered a failed one of her own. Of course, Michael told her she was crazy for reading romance novels when her life already resembled an ongoing soap opera. “Stay tuned tomorrow for the next installment of ‘The Days of Kyra White’s Love Life.”’

      She smiled as she found the romance section of the bookstore and began tipping out book after book.

      Have it. Read it. Interesting but not up my alley right now. One by one, she scanned back-cover copy, took in the author name, eyed the artwork, then slid the books back into their neat little slots. One year Michael had given her a subscription to a book club for Christmas. She’d suspected he’d done it so he wouldn’t have to accompany her on these book-buying expeditions. She’d maintained the subscription, but there was still something about the experience of buying a book in person that filled her with a deep sense of satisfaction. A feeling of joy. Of being surrounded by dozens and dozens of stories peopled with characters she could always identify with.

      The sense of…well, not being alone.

      She twisted her lips. Okay, so maybe Craig’s breaking up with her did bother her more than she wanted to let on. But less than she would have suspected. What got to her was his comment on her sexual prowess. Or lack thereof. Was she really that bad in bed? Could that be one of the reasons why she got dumped so often? She made a face. Well, that might be the problem if she slept with even a moderate percentage of the guys she dated. But she didn’t. The truth was she hadn’t felt moved to.

      She reached the end of the section and idly moved on to the next. Hmm. Still romance. But of the nonfiction variety. She pulled out a book entitled Fifty Ways to Please Your Lover and leafed through the contents. Her eyes widened at the graphic scenes depicted at the beginning of each chapter. Okay. She slowly slid the book back in and took out the next one.

      Sex Kitten 101.

      Before she could question her interest in it, Kyra absently opened the book to the index. Words such as “transformation,” “new attitude” and “breaking old habits” leaped out at her, one after another. She thought of Michael’s comparing her life to a soap opera. Pretty much of the same old, same old, with little variation.

      She glanced up from the book and caught a reflection of herself in a multipaned window between the two bookcases opposite her. Outside the sun had totally set, so the glass threw her image back at her almost as cleanly as a mirror. Kyra swallowed, lifting a hand up to finger the silly ribbon in her hair, took in her long, straight brown hair, tugged at her oversize shirt. Plain. Simple. Direct. She’d consciously chosen the look because she thought it best depicted what she was all about. She glanced at the book in her hand, wondering if it was long past time for a change. And maybe this whole sex-kitten approach would be just the ticket.

      She turned the book over and scanned the back-cover copy. “‘Is your life based on reacting instead of acting?”’ Kyra nodded. “‘Tired of the same old person staring back at you in the mirror?”’ Oh, yes. “‘Want to shock those closest to you?”’

      She leaned back so she could look down the aisle she’d come from. Michael stood there, frowning at a stretch of travel books, his dark hair tousled, his white shirt as crisp as ever, his slacks hugging his long thighs to perfection. She swallowed hard then straightened and looked back down at the book clutched in her hand. Michael would probably scoff at the purchase. A self-made man, he’d pulled himself up by the proverbial bootstraps with little help from his parents or anyone else. And, she supposed, so had she. But there was a big difference between being a bookkeeper and being a partner in a very successful architectural firm.

      She ran her fingers over the cover of the book, questioning the wisdom of any sort of radical change. The truth was, despite her hit-and-run dating experiences, she really wasn’t all that experienced when it came to the opposite sex.

      Then again, it might be immensely gratifying to shock those closest to her. The image of Craig crawling back to her on his hands and knees begging for forgiveness certainly held a great deal of appeal. But for some reason, it was Michael’s face she saw when she imagined herself doing anything with the information the author touted.

      “‘No risks. No prizes,”’ she said softly.

      “DONE.”

      Michael glanced up from the travelogue on Central America he held and stared at where Kyra stood next to him, a glossy hardback book clutched in her hands.

      “I think you set a record.”

      She tucked a stray strand of glossy brown hair that had escaped from the ribbon behind her ear, then shrugged. “It just kind of jumped out at me.”

      He reached for the book, surprised when she pulled it out of the way. He raised his brows. “What gives? You’re usually eager to show me how literate you are and pester me to read whatever you chose.”

      “This one’s just for me.”

      “Female porn?”

      She