Tony leaned back to catch C.J.’s eye, but the pilot had already slipped his glasses back on, the mirrored frames making it impossible to read his expression. He nodded at Tony, then headed off, his last words,think about it, hanging in the air.
Tony did. He thought about it a lot as he watched Kyra fumble at trying to learn how to play water volleyball, her face lit with laughter. They could be friends; he’d seen it in her eyes. But never in a million years would a woman—any woman—be interested inbroken, scarred Tony Moretti as a lover. Not even a woman as special as Kyra.
But her mysterious Michael…
That was a different story.
He stroked his chin as a wild, decadent, impossible thought flashed through his mind.
Maybe, just maybe, Tony Moretti and Kyra could be friends, even while she and Michael became lovers.
* * *
KYRA WALKEDalong the beach, kicking up the warm surf with her bare feet. She held the cell phone against her ear and waited for Mona to say something, and waited…and waited.
Frustrated, she held the phone out and stared at it. The little red light was flashing, so she must still have a connection. “Mona? Mona, for crying out loud, where’d you go?”
More silence. Then, “Are you insane?”
Thatwas more like it. In the five years they’d been friends, Kyra’d never once known the disc jockey to be speechless. Personality-wise they had nothing in common. Mona was bold and brassy, whereas Kyra was just Kyra. They shouldn’t have been friends. It defied logic. But somehow, they meshed together perfectly, and over the years, Kyra had come to depend on Mona like no one before.
“Maybe I have gone crazy,” she said. “I don’t know. That’s why I called. You need to tell me the right thing to do.”
“The right thing? You call and wake me up—”
“It’s after noon.”
“—and tell me that some incredible fantasy hunk was just dropped in your lap, but youdidn’tsleep with him? Kyra, that’s not the right thing. That’s the insane thing.”
“I’m being reasonable and responsible.” Kyra stopped and wiggled her toes, digging tiny holes into the sand. The truth was she’d come to Intimate Fantasy to escapereasonableandresponsible. But damned if those shackles weren’t tighter than she’d expected. If she couldn’t convince herself, maybe Mona could.
“You’re being a chicken.”
“I know.” She pressed her lips together. “He makes me feel…wonderful, and it terrifies me. How can I just walk away at the end if I feel like this?”
“I’m not seeing the problem,” Mona said. “Did this Michael guy ask you to marry him?”
“Don’t be silly.”
Mona sighed, and Kyra pictured her rolling her eyes. “You want to be pragmatic? Fine. We’ll do this the Kyra Cartwright analytical way, okay?”
Kyra stifled a grin. “Fine.” She sat down on the beach, the phone tucked between her ear and her shoulder so she could draw random patterns in the wet sand.
“One, you paid a ton of money for this fantasy. To let it pass by would be fiscally irresponsible.”
She couldn’t help it. Kyra laughed. Mona was thelast person in the world to talk about financial responsibility. Still, she supposed her friend had a point—a little one, but still a point.
“Second, you went to this island to have a wild adventure. Sex and sun. The perfect island vacation. You wanted to get away from four walls and a paper-cluttered desk and into something to get your adrenaline pumping and your other juices flowing. Right?”
Her cheeks warmed, but she couldn’t deny it. “Right.”
“Three, you’ve never had a down-and-dirty, heart-pounding, loins-throbbing kind of affair.”
“Loins?”
“Just work with me, okay?” Kyra imagined Mona tapping her foot, her eyebrows raised.
“Fine. Whatever. So far in my life, my loins have been calm. No throbbing. Not even a quiver.” At least not until she’d met Michael.
