CHAPTER 9
AGAIN, morning came without Michael.
This time, she’d known it would. But until she actually woke up alone, she’d been able to hold on to the spurious fantasy that he’d be there next to her. That he’d gather her in his arms and tell her he loved her, that she didn’t have to marry Harold and that everything would be okay—her father, her life, everything. That he loved her.
She snorted. Now that really was a fantasy, and not one she needed to be entertaining.
Frustrated, she threw off the sheet and grappled for her robe, then started stalking around the cabana looking for the stupid cell phone. She’d made a big, fat, hairy mistake coming to Fantasies, Inc. Huge. Massive.
How on earth could she go back to a calm, staid life with Harold after sharing such intense intimacy with Michael? After finding Tony, a man she could really talk with? The future loomed before her, and where before it had seemed full of possibility for her career and her family, now it just seemed empty.
Frustrated, she yanked open drawer after drawer, desperately needing a shoulder to cry on.
She found the phone right where she’d left it, of course, and she punched in Mona’s number. No answer, not even the machine, which meant either the machine was full or Mona had her computer plugged into the phone line. Either way, Kyra was out of luck.
She considered throwing the cell phone across the room out of spite, but decided that would be even more stupid than falling for her fantasy man. Instead, she put it back in the drawer, took her notebook from the top of her dresser, sat cross-legged on top of the bed, and started tapping her pen against the paper.
The familiar rhythm calmed her, and she tried to focus, remembering why she’d come to Fantasies, Inc. in the first place. A good time. An experience. The experience of a lifetime.
So far, she’d gotten everything she asked for. And despite her whirling, swirling emotions, she’d gotten no more or less than that. There was nointimacy. Sex, yes, but nothing more.
She didn’t even know him. Just like Mona had said—she couldn’t really be intimate with a man she didn’t really know, no matter how wonderful he made her feel between dusk and dawn.
This was just a fantasy—a fantasy designed to give her a memory powerful enough to get her through the life that was waiting for her off the island. In the end, she could walk away. She had to.
And in the meantime, she needed to keep the differencebetween island fantasies and Texas realities firmly in mind.
Determined to pull herself together, she slammed the notebook shut. She considered calling Mona one more time, but ruled it out. After all, there wasn’t anything to talk about. She’d have her fling, she’d leave the island, she’d marry Harold. End of story.
Besides, if she wanted to talk there was always Tony. Except…
Frowning, she pulled her knees up and hugged them to her chest. For some reason, the idea of talking about Michael to Tony again just didn’t feel right.
She ran a hand through her hair. Yesterday, she’d talked with him about everything. Why on earth would she be feeling shy about running the Michael-problem by him?
Because there is no Michael-problem.
Right. Exactly. That had to be it. She’d already solved the problem, already decided Michael was just her fantasy interlude, so of course she’d feel weird about the prospect of dredging it all out for psychoanalysis by Tony. Besides, there were a heck of a lot more interesting things to talk with him about.
If she was lucky, she could even catch him at breakfast. The thought of spending the day together cheered her, and she hurried to take a quick shower, wondering what kind of adventure they’d share that afternoon.
* * *
“HOW ABOUT SAILING?” Kyra asked. Her feet were propped up on an empty chair, a half-empty glass of orange juice in front of her. She took another swig. “It’s going to be a gorgeous day. Let’s take out one of the boats.”
He bit back a frown. His sailing days were over, at least on a small boat where his back would have to take the brunt of the work. “I thought we were diving today.”
“We’re signed up to go. But we can’t talk if we’re underwater.”
His chest tightened. “What do you want to talk about?” Surely she hadn’t discovered his secret, had she?
She shrugged and laughed. “Not a thing. I just like hanging out with you.”
He swallowed, the invisible band even tighter now. Trying for casual, he reached across the table and squeezed her hand. “I like hanging out with you, too.” Depressing as hell, but he knew the one woman he could talk with, the one woman he could really open up to, could never truly be his. She belonged to another man. Forever, this Harold guy. For now, Michael.
He cleared his throat, knowing he shouldn’t bring it up, but morbid curiosity getting the better of him. “So, did your mystery man show last night?” he asked, fighting the urge to tell her everything. He knew he should, that he wasn’t playing fair. But he couldn’t risk the consequences. She’d be angry, sure, but that hecould handle. What he couldn’t handle was the pain when she walked away. And that was enough to convince him to keep his mouth shut.
“Kyra,” he prodded, “did he come?”
