Angel's Touch (17 page)

Kira stopped outside the kitchen doorway and stared up at her, unsmiling—at her face. Steam rose from the mugs she held in either hand. “What are you doing?”

“Checking your smoke detector.” Megan snapped the lid shut, careful not to dislodge any wires. “You have the dual-action kind that detects smoldering fires as well as open flame. That’s great.”

“I know what kind of smoke detectors I have. You do know what I do for a living, right?”

“Sorry. Guess that was kind of nosy of me.” Megan should have left it at that. Instead, she listened to herself in horror as her mouth continued. “When was the last time you changed those backup batteries, anyway?”

“I replaced them when I moved in. They’re new.” Kira put the mugs down and stared at her strangely.

“Good. Great. That’s great.” God, her mother had been right, warning her that people would think it odd if they ever noticed how many smoke detectors the McLarens had in the house. Her mother had threatened to take them all down the day a fourteen-year-old Megan blew weeks of her allowance on an eight-unit value-pack of smoke detectors, taught herself to use a drill while her parents were at work, and went wild. You’d think they’d appreciate being safe.

But she’d always known she was the only one in the family who took the threat of fire seriously. When she was five years old, she packed her stuffed animals in a backpack and kept it by her bed because her mother said if there was a fire she was supposed to run outside right away and not get her animals and not look for Mommy or Daddy, just run outside, so she wanted to be prepared. She wanted to save her kitty, too, but Tiger wouldn’t stay in the bag. “Leave the door open for Tiger if you have to run out,” her mother said. “The cat will find her own way out.”

Kira reached up to help Megan down from the chair. Megan didn’t need help but she took Kira’s hand anyway, probably because she was still flustered over being caught nosing around. When she stepped down and Kira didn’t immediately let go, she looked up at Kira’s face, then down at their hands, remembering how good this had felt when they were dancing. She hated limp handshakes that shrank from her touch, or elderly socialites who frowned at her as if a firm handshake was unladylike. Kira’s grip was wonderfully strong, as strong as her own, and the joining of one forceful grip with another was solid and electrifying. Like they were meant to hold on to each other like this.

Before things could get awkward, Megan consciously relaxed her hand and tried to pull away, but Kira wouldn’t let her. O…kay. Kira rubbed her thumb against her hand. She hadn’t done that at Avalanche. Megan bit her lip. Damn it, she needed to free her hand. Either that or give in to the heat that was bubbling up in her chest and making her break out in a sweat. And kiss her to make it stop.

To make it stop—yeah, there was a logical plan. Kira continued with her slow stroking, loosening her grip so she could slide across Megan’s palm and between her fingers. Megan swayed on her feet.

It was Kira who finally put a stop to it and broke contact. Megan sank onto the couch, afraid she might pass out.

Kira retrieved one of the mugs from the table and passed it to her. “Hope you like Cinnamon Sensation.”

“That’s the tea you couldn’t remember the name of?” Megan commented weakly. “What’s the sensation part?”

Kira’s smile made her sorry she’d asked. “Licorice, I think.”

There was no coffee table in front of the couch, so she placed the hot mug on the floor by her feet to wait for it to cool. Now her hands had nothing to do.

“Personally, I have my doubts about the name.” A sexy drawl crept into Kira’s voice. “I think that’s why I can never remember it.”

Megan’s fingers tightened, aching to mesh with Kira’s. How could she miss that feeling so acutely after mere seconds? She dug her fingers into her thighs, then realized Kira was watching. She sat on her hands.

“I got this spa supply catalog in the mail today,” Kira said, her voice back to normal and her teasing smile suddenly gone. She pulled the catalog from a basket by the front door and came back and sat next to Megan on the couch. “Would you mind going over it with me?”

“Sure.” Megan grabbed Kira’s pen and notepad from her, relieved that Kira had taken mercy on her and returned to business mode.

“Kelp body mud,” Kira read. “That sounds good, don’t you think?”

Megan leaned over Kira’s shoulder to look at the catalog, but all she could pay attention to was the buzz of Kira’s vibrant energy field and the intriguing scent of her skin. She smelled like rain, with a tantalizing hint of feminine musk that drew her in. She had to get closer, had to inhale more deeply, had to fill herself with her scent.

An inch away from her neck, she came to her senses. She pulled back slightly—maybe an inch—and sucked on her bottom lip to keep from touching her. Her lips ached from the deprivation, but this was not the time to be investigating whether Kira’s skin tasted as good as it smelled.

“I like the seaweed angle. Kelp, sea rocket—it all fits in with a beach theme. We could put out bowls of potpourri made of dried seaweed and chunks of sea salt.” Kira flipped to the next page of the catalog, seemingly unfazed by Megan’s proximity.

Megan couldn’t quite bring herself to sit back and put a respectable distance between them. “If you’re doing a beach theme, you have to offer seashell massage.”

“You’re kidding. What is that?”

“Have you heard of hot stone massage? You heat up smooth, polished stones and lay them on the client’s body? It’s the same thing, except with seashells. The shells are supposed to have a more uplifting energy than the stones.”

Kira leaned back and Megan should have gotten out of the way, but didn’t, and narrowly avoided a collision with her shoulder.

Kira didn’t seem to notice. “Have you tried it?”

“No.”

“You should try it.”

“Me?” Megan loaded the word with a heavy dose of put-upon employee, even though she had nothing against seashells.

Kira grinned and turned back to the catalog. “Do they have shells in here?” She flipped through and abruptly stopped. “Ooh! Mango salt scrub!” She showed her a photo of a flawlessly manicured woman rubbing salt crystals on her bare thigh. “She looks like a salt-encrusted salmon. I always wanted to put that on the menu at my restaurant, but Lizzy…yeah, forget Lizzy. Mm, mm, mm.” She sounded like she couldn’t decide whether having someone rub salt on her would feel great or make her feel like she’d made an embarrassing mistake. “What’s a salt scrub good for, anyway?”

Megan cleared her throat. “You really should try it. If you’re this excited just reading about spa treatments, I’m sure you’ll enjoy experiencing them.”

“Maybe.” Kira reached for the notepad in Megan’s lap and scrawled
mango salt scrub
before handing it back. “So how much of this salt would I need to order?”

“I have no idea. This is what I meant when I said I don’t know how to run a spa.”

“You know the important stuff,” Kira said, dismissing Megan’s concerns. She flipped back to the page featuring body mud.

Kira was going to screw this up if she threw away her common sense. “You sank a lot of money into this—” Megan began.

“It’s going to work out great.”

Such optimism. Megan reached for her tea, but it was still too hot to drink. Frustrated, she put her mug down and leaned closer to read about the oh-so-fabulous differences between green, pink and black mud.

“Detox,” Kira read from the catalog description. “How does that work, exactly? I mean, how does putting mud on yourself—which is basically dirt—detoxify your skin?”

“Um…” They were definitely in each other’s personal space, and it felt so good she had a hard time reminding herself she had standards for how to act when discussing business. Standards? What standards? She slipped her feet out of her sandals and curled her legs underneath her on the couch, crowding Kira even closer.

A pulse fluttered in Kira’s neck. Megan watched it for a few beats. So Kira wasn’t as unaffected as she seemed. That was…not good.

And Megan knew she wasn’t going to do the right thing and move out of range of Kira’s aura until Kira made her do it.

Also not good.

When they came in from the rain, she had watched a single drop of water roll down Kira’s neck as it traced her dips and curves. She wondered what it would have tasted like to follow that raindrop with her tongue.

Megan caught her breath. She spoke quickly to cover it up. “I’ll research spa treatments and write up a brochure for you. But I do think if you’d just
try
going to a spa—and I don’t mean hanging out in their accountant’s office—you’d have a better sense of what your customers are looking for. At least get a massage.”

“I will. Are you sure you don’t want to do me the honor?”

No, no, no. Hadn’t Kira told Svetlana at the restaurant that she wouldn’t ask Megan for a massage? She had said it with such seriousness that Megan was convinced Kira really didn’t want her to think of her as a client. Wishful thinking, apparently.

“You don’t want to.” Kira evidently knew exactly what the look on her face meant.

Megan swallowed apologetically. “There’s plenty of other great massage therapists who—”

“Are perfectly safe?”

“Of course they’re
safe
…”

“I’m not talking about medical malpractice here, you know,” Kira said gently.

Oh.

Megan shifted farther away from her on the couch. Kira closed the catalog and tossed it on the floor. She pulled one knee onto the couch, turning so her whole body faced her, and waited for Megan to say something.

There were many reasons she didn’t want to give Kira a massage. Or, at least, one. Because she really did want to, but she shouldn’t, and—

“I had a nice time with you at Avalanche,” Kira said. “Especially at the end. Up until the part where you said you couldn’t kiss me anymore.”

Megan opened her mouth but no sound came out.

“So I’m a little confused. You can’t kiss me because you gave me a massage, but you can’t give me a massage because…?”

Kira had a right to force the issue. Megan had been less than clear. She’d ignored boundaries, she’d gotten too comfortable…and now, to top it all off, she was doing a heck of a job keeping herself in line. She wouldn’t give Kira a massage and she wouldn’t kiss her, and it was supposed to be one or the other—not both. Maybe Kira was right, and a ten-minute massage in the post-race massage tent didn’t exactly constitute a therapeutic relationship. But she knew from experience that lines had to be drawn. It was up to her to draw them.

“I’m sorry, that was rude of me,” Kira said. “I’ll make an appointment at Peaceful Moments.”

Relief loosened the knot in Megan’s throat. “For a massage? God, not there. Not for your first time. You’ll never want a massage again. Go somewhere good. Call Svetlana. Call
Patrick
. Didn’t I already give you Svetlana’s number? Geez, I’ll give you a list.”

“Actually, I was thinking of going to Peaceful Moments for a mud bath. I’ll save the massage for later.”

“Oh.” Did that mean Kira was going to wait for her to change her mind? Megan felt pleased at the thought, then guilty. She
wanted
Kira to get a massage from someone else. It was just that she was jealous of whoever was going to get to do it. “I guess they’re good at spa treatments.”

“Because anyone can slap mud on a customer, right?”

“Pretty much.”

Kira looked like she was hiding a smile. She never seemed to stay mad for long. “Is my spa going to have an anti-spa attitude?”

Megan busied herself making adjustments to their list of products to order. “I prefer to think of myself as pro-massage. Besides, you’re the one who was so determined to hire me for this job. You should have asked about my biases during my job interview.”

“Because I’m a professional,” Kira said.

“That’s right.” Megan didn’t look up from her list. What kind of businesswoman hired people without interviewing them, anyway?

“Then we’ll be the best damn massage-centered spa on the East Coast.”

That was nice of her to say. Although it did imply Megan’s involvement in the business, which was
not
part of their deal.

“You know,” Kira said, “at the restaurant, when you and your friends were figuring out what was wrong with our waitress’s shoulder—I got the feeling Patrick doesn’t think much of the medical profession.”

“Yeah, that’s pretty rampant among massage therapists. It’s because we see all their failures. The back surgeries that don’t help, the knee repairs that go wrong, the chronic pain they can’t fix. It’s not pretty. I treated a woman last week whose doctor said her severe pelvic pain was all in her head, because weeks of expensive tests had all come out normal. It turned out that the pain was caused by a simple trigger point in her abdominal muscles.”

“So we’re anti-spa,
and
we’re anti-doctor?”

“Can we put that in the brochure?”

Kira laughed. “No.”

Megan sat back and crossed her ankle over her knee. “They do save lives, though. If I get in a car accident, for God’s sake take me to the hospital, not to a Reiki practitioner.”

“Not a problem.”

“You think I’m kidding, but some people take the anti-medical thing too far. Doctors know a million times more than we do about the human body, even if it’s all disease-focused.” Megan uncrossed and recrossed her legs. “I think we get defensive and don’t give them enough credit.”

“Because doctors don’t give
you
enough credit?”

“Exactly. But it’s so foreign to everything doctors have ever learned about healing, why
would
they understand the value of what we do?”

“You don’t get resentful?”

Megan shrugged. “They deal with life and death. We deal with quality of life, and pain. They’re two completely different things.”

“I bet you would have made a good doctor, though. Why didn’t you go to med school? You’re smart enough, and you’re interested in how the body works.”

Oh, not this. Her parents still had not given up on the idea that she would one day go to medical school. She didn’t need anyone else hassling her about it. Megan didn’t bother to hide her annoyance. “You’re not going to tell me I’m wasting my talents, are you?”