Lip Lock (4 page)

Kyle shook away the daydream and shifted in his chair, his pulse pounding hard. But the images wouldn’t go away. They grew stronger. Almost real.

He could see Molly as if she were right there, feel her soft hair under his hand. Watch her rise from the floor and perch on the edge of his desk. He’d run his fingers along her silk-clad legs and discovered she wore the sexiest garters that he had yet to see a woman wear.

He would glide his hands under that peach dress she was wearing today. He’d push her legs apart and reveal the fragile panties as his only barrier.

Kyle could easily imagine tearing the scrap of lace away before dipping his head and tasting her. He closed his eyes as his mouth flooded with anticipation.

His scalp tingled, as if her hands were already bunching in his hair. Her knees would be hooked over his arms as he drove his tongue into her core.

She’d go crazy, of course. Her responses would clearly show that no man had made her feel this way, and no man ever would. It was his fantasy, after all.

And in his fantasy she would be sprawled on his desk, naked and panting for his next touch. His hands would possess her breasts, pinching her hard nipples as his tongue teased her clitoris.

She’d be screaming his name and incapable of hiding anything, unable to lie, unwilling to cause trouble.

“Here’s your speech for the next annual meeting…”

Kyle flinched violently as Sara walked into his office. His heart stopped and he felt like he was going to jump out of his skin. “I have to stop doing this,” he muttered to himself.

He turned to his computer and punched in his password as Sara continued listing status reports on various projects. He listened while scanning through the voicemail saved on his computer, silently willing his cock to lie down. Damn the glass desktop.

He frowned when he saw a recent call and clicked play. The audio streamed through his state-of-the-art speakers.

“Hi, Kyle. This is Laurie, the caretaker of your island cottage. The redecorating is almost complete, although I still question the butt-ugly wallpaper in the bedroom.”

“What?” He looked at the computer screen and then at Sara.

“Anyway,” Laurie continued, as she was known to do, “the reason I’m calling is because my daughter is expecting a baby soon and when she goes into labor—”

“Kyle, I’m sorry.” Sara stepped closer to his desk. “I don’t know why Molly forwarded that call to you. She knows I take care of those issues.”

“It’s not a big deal.” He clicked off the audio. He wasn’t aware that Laurie was about to become a grandmother. And he’d forgotten about the redecoration. It had been his first getaway and he hadn’t been there in a year.

“I’ll follow up with Laurie,” Sara offered.

“Okay.” He started to scroll down the other messages and paused. “What does she mean about butt-ugly wallpaper?”

“I’ll ask the interior decorator.” Sara shrugged. “And I’ll talk to Molly and remind her which calls go to me.”

“I’ll do that.” Kyle rose from his seat before he thought about it, ignoring Sara’s bewildered look.

It probably wasn’t a good idea to be anywhere near Molly after one of his inconvenient daydreams. What could he say? He liked trouble. He liked pushing his luck to the limit, testing his control of his environment and himself.

But he didn’t know why he felt this way about Molly. Or why he had to constantly keep himself in check around her. He hadn’t felt the need to around any other woman.

But maybe that was because he couldn’t act on his desires. Kyle considered the possibility as he pushed the security glass door open. The other women knew the score. They were experienced and they were his sexual equals.

And he’d tamed every one of them. With ease, he remembered as he walked up to the reception desk where he saw Molly alone, but on the phone. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to tame the trouble out of Molly Connors.

“Yes, I know, but—” She looked up and froze before a very professional and very fake smile spread across her face. “How may I direct your call? Thank you.”

Kyle watched her push a button before replacing the handheld instrument. He glanced at the switchboard. “You hung up on them.”

Her eyelashes fluttered. “No, I didn’t.”

A bald-faced lie. She didn’t even pretend to check. He’d have to watch out for this one.

Molly primly folded her hands and rested them on her desk. “How may I help you?”

Why did he find that ladylike pose more threatening than if she went into a kung fu position? “I’m reminding you which of my personal calls go to Sara,” he began, noticing the confusion flit through her eyes. “Sara said she gave you a list.”

“Yes, that’s right.” She amped up her smile a notch. “She did.”

No, she didn’t. He didn’t know why Sara didn’t, or why Molly was perpetuating the lie. He guessed she was protecting her boss, which was admirable. Sorta.

“I must have misplaced the list. I’ll ask Sara to give me another copy.”

Which was worse? That Sara lied, trying to look good in his eyes, or that Molly lied to take the blame? He considered calling them both on it, but what purpose did it serve? The matter seemed trivial, but he sensed it was the tip of an iceberg.

Molly grabbed a pen and a rainbow-colored notepad in the shape of an M. “Which calls do you want to go to Sara?”

“All family.” They had never been close and the only time they called was to ask for money.

She raised her eyebrows but silently wrote it down.

He squashed back the need to explain himself. He had no problems giving out the cash to his relatives. Especially if it meant he didn’t have to hear from them until they needed more money.

“And anything that has to do with my houses,” he added.

That got her. “Hous
es?”

“I probably should get a personal assistant, shouldn’t I?” He scratched his jaw as he thought about it.

Her gaze followed his hand. “Sounds like you should.”

Kyle looked into her eyes and held her gaze. The air hummed and crackled. “Know anyone who’d like to apply for the job?” he asked.

He saw her throat working. “That would depend on the job description,” she said hoarsely.

“Someone who takes care of me personally?”

Her mouth twitched. “Too broad of a description.”

“Caters to all of my personal needs?”

Her eyes gleamed and she crooked her finger at him.

The blood in his veins started to zing. This was the first time she’d acted playful to him. He liked it. Wanted more. Kyle leaned over the high desk wall.

Molly tilted her head, the faint scent of perfume reaching him. “Sounds like a job for an army,” she said in a low, husky voice. “You might want to rethink the personal assistant idea.”

“Yeah.” He straightened and stepped away. “It would really depend on the person.”

“And the boss,” she muttered under her breath.

Oh, yeah. She was trouble.

Molly stepped off the bus and hurried toward her apartment. The night seemed murky, the cold November moisture seeping through her coat. Her breath was trapped in her lungs. Her heart pounded in her ears.

She had no idea what she was going to do. Her landlord had given her a few days of grace to get him the money. She needed to come up with something and talk fast. Molly had a horrible feeling that she’d use every extra second and still come up short.

She’d already called in every favor, begged and bartered with every friend and acquaintance outside of the office. No one at the office could know about her problem. No one. And she’d do whatever necessary to keep it that way.

When she had finally got a hold of the landlord who had been avoiding her calls—wasn’t that ironic!—she had to make up a story on the spot. She wasn’t even sure what all she said. Something about a hospital stay. It was like she opened her mouth and some inner storyteller fed her the lines.

Whatever she had said must have been brilliant because her landlord became sympathetic and ready to call off the dogs. Man, she wished she had written the story down. She might need to use it again the next time a persistent bill collector got a hold of her.

Now all Molly had to do was get all the money she had on hand to her landlord, find a job she could do on the weekends, and not eat for the foreseeable future. No problem.

Molly turned the corner to her apartment. She noticed the cluttered front yard under the weak glow of the streetlights. Who was moving out? Oh, please let it be the workaholic prostitute.

Wait a second…Molly tripped as she stared at the sofa. That was hers! She’d recognize the atrocious orange stripe design anywhere, even in the dark. The hand-me-down was an eyesore.

She stumbled to a complete stop as it sunk in. Her landlord had kicked her out of her apartment. He’d tossed out her stuff. So many emotions slammed against each other, she was surprised she didn’t collapse on the ground.

Molly stared dumbfounded at the jumble of furniture and clothes and clutter. Her underwear was tangled with silverware. The rickety chair looked suspiciously broken. A mud puddle seeped underneath her mattress.

Whoever dumped her stuff on the wet lawn didn’t care if they scratched her table or walked on her bed sheets. The carelessness, the intentional disregard for her things, dug at her like a splinter.

There wasn’t a whole lot of stuff. That was the first coherent thought that floated over the multiple layers of pain. Her life was strewn before her, and this was all she had accumulated? Could this really be all of it? Molly was about to race inside when she saw her friend Bonita.

“Molly, what happened?” Bonita asked as she hurried up the sidewalk.

“I was…” The word zapped the strength right out of her. Molly sagged against the back of the sofa. She looked forlornly at her basement apartment. There was no going back. She never liked the place, but leaving it like this—abruptly and unwillingly—made her feel lost. Confused. Scared. “I was evicted.”

“No way.” Bonita looked at the furniture and clothes dumped in the yard. “I thought you were going to sweet-talk your landlord.”

“I did. He said he was going to stop the process.”

“Maybe the marshals got here before he could reach them?”

“No, I bet he lied to me.” Molly pushed off the sofa as the indignation washed over her. “I went through this whole story of being hospitalized for leprosy and the guy lies to me!”

Bonita’s eyes widened. “Are you sick?”

“No, but that’s beside the point.” Molly covered her face with her hands. “What am I going to do?”

“You can stay with me.”

Molly dragged her fingers down her cheeks. “Oh, thank you.”

“But only for tonight,” Bonita clarified. “
My
landlord could kick me out on the street any moment as it is, having that many kids living in a one-bedroom apartment.”

Molly nodded with understanding. She inhaled sharply, but couldn’t clear the fog that numbed her mind. “What am I going to do with all my stuff?”

“Take what you can and leave the rest,” Bonita suggested as she picked up a towel and folded it. “Let your landlord clean up the mess.”

She couldn’t leave anything behind. It was more than being sentimental. She didn’t know what she was going to need right away, or what would take her forever to replace.

Her friend set the towel on the sofa cushion. “Better come up with a plan fast because it looks like rain.”

Molly held out her hand and felt the fine winter mist. Not quite a drizzle, but more like the gods pumping a spray bottle at her.

Frick. Molly dropped her hand. She couldn’t even think of anything right now.

“I’m going to make some dinner. It’s leftovers but you come over and have some,” Bonita offered. “I’ll send one of the kids over when dinner’s ready.”

She shot a grateful look at her friend. “Thanks.”

“You’re going to get through this.” She gave an encouraging pat on Molly’s shoulder. “Everything is going to work out.”

Molly nodded, but she wasn’t so sure. She watched Bonita walk back to her own apartment building, fighting the urge to collapse on the sofa and have a good cry. Instead, she made herself right the upturned chair in front of her.

She shouldn’t be in this mess. Okay, maybe a little, but nothing of this magnitude, Molly decided as she picked up the pillow at her feet. It wouldn’t have been so bad if her good-for-nothing ex-boyfriend didn’t leave her hanging with all the unpaid bills.

She would really love to curse and blame him, Molly thought as she savagely tossed the pillow onto the mattress, but she knew she was ultimately responsible for her decisions. At the time she thought some of her choices were smart. There was something to be said about protecting herself and putting all the finances in her name. Quite another to cancel that smart move by living with a loser.

Here she thought they had been working together toward a future. Instead, he took what he could get, and when there was nothing worth taking, he left. Leaving her with no home, a mountain of debt, and no future.