For Kicks (8 page)

He swung his legs over the side of the bed and found the plush carpet. He continued to shake his head and laugh at himself as he cleaned up in the bathroom, the haggard eyes in the mirror unfamiliar and more than a little pathetic. Why couldn’t he leave well enough alone?

Pre-dawn light filtered through the windows as he crossed the suite, twisting the doorknob on Breeze’s bedroom door in silence. She lay peacefully curled up on her side, the pink ribbon of her nightgown decorating her bare shoulder. It really had been a dream.

Closing the door quietly, he shook his head and smiled at his hopeful mind. If she’d been naked, he might have thought their interlude had been real.

On her tiptoes, Breeze crept from her bedroom to the kitchenette. The sky beyond the bank of windows glowed a sunrise pink. Not unlike the chemise she’d slept in.

Accustomed to a freshly laundered nightshirt every time she lay down, she’d been struggling with sleeping in the same one each night. The sleeping attire Anthony, or more likely Lonnie, deemed appropriate was more feminine and revealing than she was comfortable with. But clean had been too much of a temptation to resist.

Opening the cupboard, she found a teakettle and filled it. After setting it on the stove and cranking up the heat, she searched until she found tea bags and a mug. Then she leaned on the counter and waited for the clatter of tiny bubbles simmering inside. She didn’t dare let the kettle whistle and risk waking up Logan.

Had he been dreaming of her? The dream guide she’d finished reading before falling asleep said shared dreams could predict the future.

Gave a whole new meaning to the phrase “in your dreams”.

Last night’s dreams made no sense, especially with the ridiculous interpretations in the guide. In one she’d been on a rooftop, the only way down through a chimney. Only in dreams could she have found herself at the bottom, in the middle of one of her training classes.

The dream that woke her could have been a memory. She and her mother, tending the large vegetable garden behind her parents’ house. It had felt so real she’d smelled the coming rain, though there wasn’t a cloud in the sky. Butterflies of every size and color flitted about as they collected vegetables in baskets. She held out a finger and one landed, its wings moving with exquisite stillness.

“Look, Mama. I caught one,” she’d called out. Her mother had turned, a sad smile on her face.

“Let it go, baby. It’s more beautiful when it flies.”

“But it wants to stay with me.” She stared down at the purple wings and they stilled.

Suddenly in front of her, her mother’s fingers were warm on her wrist, flicking both their arms upward and launching the butterfly.

“I didn’t want to let go either,” her mother whispered, pulling her close. “But I had to let you fly.”

She’d woken with eyes heavy and full of tears she refused to spill. It was only a dream after all. But after looking up parts of the dream in the guide, she knew even her subconscious was conspiring against her.

If she believed in that sort of thing, the chimney would be a phallic symbol, showing her guilt at behaving improperly with Logan. The garden would be a place of peace, the coming rain washing away old ideas, and the butterfly a sign to throw off old habits.

Good thing she didn’t buy into any of this. The only thing she decided the dream meant was that she needed to call her mother. Tell her there were rumblings about a promotion before the holidays. One of these calls, her mother would see that she’d made the right choice when she’d escaped the rumors and mayhem to start fresh. No one could argue with success.

The rumbling of the teakettle alerted her to why she stood in her nightgown in the kitchen in the first place. With a shake of her head, she poured the steaming water into her mug. Her thoughts swirled like the tea in the cup, but in the middle of it all one idea rooted.

If no one ever found out, then indulging in Logan couldn’t hurt her. Sipping the hot liquid, she winced as it scalded her tongue. She knew better. She’d been down that road once before, trusted someone to keep a secret, only to have it revealed in a way so hurtful she’d run for her life.

The front door clicked, then was pushed open. Breeze gasped and looked about the room for somewhere to hide. She’d counted on Logan being asleep when she’d ventured from her bedroom before her morning shower.

He stepped into the room wearing nothing but swim trunks and shoes, damp hair curling over his forehead. His smooth golden skin stretched over his trim, muscled physique. She closed her eyes, sealing the image to memory. Until she realized he might be doing the same.

Her eyes flashed open and she held her mug of tea in front of her as protection. Why hadn’t she just stayed in her room?

“Good morning.” Logan closed the door with his foot, then toed off his Kicks. The newspaper sat perched beneath the crook of his arm and he held a white paper bag.

“You’re up early.” She eyed the door of her bedroom, but her stomach grumbled, hungry for what might be in the bag.

“I couldn’t sleep, so I went for a swim.”

“Bad dreams? I have a dream guide that might help you.” She stepped to the table, eyeing the bag.

Logan chuckled under his breath and laid down the paper and sack. “What about you, Breeze? Any dreams to decipher from last night?”

Intensely aware of his gaze on her, she looked at the window, the colors clearing in the wake of the rising sun and rousing city. “I put as much faith in it as I do the Tarot. But I dreamed of my mother, so I might call her this morning.”

“Do you talk to her every day?”

“My mother?” Breeze shook her head. “No.”

“You should.”

She turned to look at him. “You don’t know my mother. She’d think all this new age stuff I’m reading means something other than I get bored on airplanes and in hotel rooms.”

“It does. But you should call her anyway. Every day.”

“It was just a silly dream. If I started calling every day, she’d think something was wrong and chase me across the country.”

“Lucky you.” With a wistful smile he turned his attention back to the bag, the paper rustling beneath his hands. “Waiting for the perfect time to call only keeps you from doing it. And you’ll regret it.”

Breeze stepped closer, resisting the urge to lay a hand on his arm. She knew he wasn’t talking about her anymore. But asking about it would be crossing the line in the sand she’d drawn. “I didn’t dream there was anything wrong with her. I’ll call though. What did you bring? More of Kentucky for me to experience?”

“I think muffins are universal.” The smile returned to his voice. “But these caught my eye. They’re cute and tiny.” He tore open the bag, revealing teeny muffins, no bigger than her thumb. “Like you.”

“That has to be a record. Not even six in the morning and you’re flirting with me.” Breeze reached for a muffin and popped it in her mouth. At the center of the sweet corn muffin was a blackberry. “Oh, that is good.”

“I know. I had some downstairs.” Logan sat on the tabletop and picked up a handful. “What are your plans for the day?”

“The district manager will be here after lunch. We’re driving to Louisville for three training classes.” She reached for another muffin—banana with a walnut hiding inside.

“Will you be back for dinner?”

“I think so. The district manager invited me to Sunday dinner at her house, but I think that would be awkward.”

“Have dinner with me.” A new, heady light gleamed in his eyes. He reached out a hand, his fingers toying with the ribbon at her shoulder.

“Don’t do that.” She stepped back, feeling his eyes rake over her body barely shielded behind the thin layer of silk. “One false move and the whole thing falls away.”

“And why is that a bad thing?”

“We’ve been over this, but if you’d prefer I can do a bullet point presentation.” She clutched her mug tighter and prepared to make her escape.

“Tell me again. We’re two responsible adults, so attracted to each other we’re having a hard time thinking straight. But you keep coming up with all these hurdles. Saying we work together, which we don’t. Saying you don’t usually date when I’m not concerned with usually, I’m concerned with now.”

“And what about later?” she asked, her voice betraying her by cracking.

“What do you mean?”

“You love the chase, Logan. I think that’s what is making you feel this way. What happens when you catch me? Then what?”

Silence hung between them, like the squiggles of dust dancing in the streaming sunlight. Her skin chilled as her heartbeat slowed. She waited.

For words that never came.

“It’s nice of you to offer to have dinner with me, but I have a lot of work to do.”

“You mean the progress meeting with me? We can do that over dinner.”

“I’d rather not.”
Act casual. Don’t let him know he just crushed my hopes like an ant under his thumb.
“Besides I need to do some laundry, repack and get the concierge to ship the other suitcase back. I don’t want to lug them both around.”

“I’ll take one back with me on Monday.”

She grabbed a handful of muffins. “You’ve done too much already.”

Breeze marched to her bedroom and closed the door behind her. She set her breakfast on the desk, the books and flash cards taunting her. She knew exactly what she thought of them now.

With one fell swoop, she cleared the desk, tossing her dreams in the garbage.

Then what? What next? Damned if he knew. Logan liked playing things by ear, doing what felt right at the time. And right now Breeze just felt right.

He sat frozen on the table, trying to force his mind to think long term. Past the end of this visit, this project, this year. He knew he wanted to keep feeling the way he felt around her. A strange blend of calm and excitement, relaxation and exhilaration.

Unexplainable, but undeniable.

He listened to every subtle sound as she showered and prepared for her day. Long hours away from him, where they’d both have time to talk themselves out of what they both wanted.

He wanted her. On a level he had no frame of reference for and was more than a little uncomfortable with. He couldn’t rein it in or rationalize it the way she did. But then, he had a hard time putting anything off until tomorrow. He’d learned too soon that sometimes tomorrow never came.

Sliding off the table, he walked silently across the floor. His hand stalled on her doorknob and then rose to rap his knuckles on the hard wood.

She ignored his first attempt at knocking. By his fourth try he’d switched from knuckles to the side of his fist.

“Would you stop that.” Breeze pulled open the door as his fist was about to connect, freezing his hand in midair. She stood before him, mountains of curls piling over her head. “With all that racket, someone is going to complain.”

“Your hair.”

She capped her head with her hands, pressing down the mass. “I know. This is what happens when I blow it dry. I become a poodle.”

“It’s neat.” He reached out and wrapped a silken curl around his finger. “You should wear it down more often.”

“I hate it down.” She turned on her heel and marched back to the bathroom. He followed as far as the perfectly made bed and perched himself on the edge.

“I like it.” He stopped short of telling her why, that it looked perfect for tangling his fingers in, that it looked like they’d just gone a couple rounds the fun way.

“It’s a lot of work,” she said from behind the partially closed door.

“You could cut it. That would be faster.” But please don’t.

“No, that would be curlier. I have to keep it long to weigh down the curl.”

“Lucky me.”

He waited for her to emerge from the bathroom, looking around her room at the neat piles of clothes. When did she find the time to completely organize every moment of her life?

This must be how she got so much done. She didn’t stop to think or, God forbid, feel. The desk where her books were stacked yesterday was clear and clean. Even that bit of clutter exorcised from her life.

“Did you call your mom?” he called into the abyss, hoping it would get a reaction from her big enough to enter the room.

“Not yet.” She emerged from the bathroom, her hair subdued into a French braid.

Logan couldn’t stifle his laughter.

“What is it?” She put her hand on her hip.

“I feel like a cradle robber. You look about fifteen in your sundress and cardigan with your hair pulled back.”

“I know, I hate it,” she grumbled, stepping around to the other side of the bed and surveying the piles of fabric.

“You could take your clothes off. There’s nothing childish about the body underneath.”

“
Logan
.” She gasped, looking up at him with wide eyes. “You’ve never seen me naked. And you won’t either.”

“Sure I have.” He tapped his temple. “Let me tell you about my dream last night and then you can make it come true.”

Both hands flew to her hips. “You know what—”

“I answered your question wrong out there.”

“You answered honestly. That’s all I can expect.”

“No, I was scared to say what I wanted to because you’re stomping all over me at every turn.”

“Well, I have to. Your behavior is unprofessional and inappropriate. And what you keep pushing for, if it got out, it would ruin me.”

“How?”

“How? People will say I got this project on my back.”

“You’re here because you are more prepared than anyone else. It has nothing to do with me.”

“The truth and what people believe are often two different things.” She sorted through the clothes, placing them in new piles. “And if Mendelssohn’s loses another chance at exclusivity with Nitrous, and my managers believe a personal relationship had anything to do with it, I’ll be fired for fraternizing with a vendor.”

“Nitrous is a multi-billion dollar international footwear conglomerate. I’m one link in the chain. I couldn’t affect the relationship with Mendelssohn’s either way.”

“I know that.”

“Then why—”

“You’re not hearing me. It’s not reality that matters, but perception. And I’ve worked too hard to be perceived as someone who lies down to get ahead. Once you are labeled that way, it’s the only way to move ahead. And so my career would be permanently stalled.”