Remember the Dreams (8 page)

❧

By the time they had finished dinner the next evening, it was obvious that the incident in the hallway had been relegated to the land of the never-mentioned. It was also apparent that Kyle hadn't forgotten the unexpected physical explosion that had passed between them. Their conversations had been easy, quite companionable actually. But some enervating tension seemed to strain their intermittent silences.

It was during those silences that Toni found herself glancing guardedly toward him. And every time, she would find him watching her, a telling darkness narrowing his eyes. But all he would do was either give her a noncommittal smile, or look blankly away. The desire he would shutter so quickly was encouraging—and more than a little frustrating.

The attraction was definitely there, but it didn't look like he was going to do a thing about it. If anything, he was going out of his way not to touch her.

Toni, being her usual, practical self, decided that there was only one thing she could do. She hadn't imagined Kyle's response to her caresses any more than she had imagined her own to his.

It wasn't carved in stone that the male had to be the aggressor, so why shouldn't she be the one to make the move? She could handle an affair with him, couldn't she?

Toni was omitting one very important detail from her mental questioning. The only thing allowing her to think this way was the fact that she was hopelessly in love with him—practical or not. If she were honest with herself, she'd have to admit that she'd probably been in love with him for the past five years. And Someone Up There was giving her a second chance.

There was only one tiny little problem. Toni had never seduced a man before, and she wasn't quite sure how to go about it.

The most obvious place to pick up that kind of information was from a pro, of course. And who knew the art of seduction better than Kyle? She'd never hesitated to ask his advice before. So why not get a few pointers from the expert? Toni closed the file she'd been all but ignoring for the past half hour and slanted a glance through her lashes at Kyle.

He was lying on the sofa reading the evening paper. From where she was sitting on the opposite side of the living room, she could see only his long, denim-covered legs and his fingers grasping the edges of the paper. Outside the pool of light from the table lamp beside him, mobile shadows moved on the wall from the flickering light of the fireplace. And she could hear the rain being thrown in windy gusts against the wide glass doors behind her.

It should have been a scene of absolute serenity. And it might have been except for that indefinable tension that seemed to fill the room. It made the air feel about as thick as one of Madeline's stews.

"Kyle?" Toni began, glancing down at the file resting on her knees. "Are you up to giving me a little friendly advice?"

Absently she flicked at the metal tab holding the papers in the folder. She had to appear as nonchalant as possible.

The newspaper rustled as he turned the page. "Sure. You having a problem with investment strategy or something?"

"It's a strategy problem, but it's something of a more personal nature."

"And you want my advice?"

Was there a thread of strain in his voice? "Well, since you're a male, I thought you'd be the most logical person to ask." When he didn't say anything, and the paper didn't move, she continued casually. "There's this man that I'd like to get to know better, and he's being a little . . . well, I guess you'd call it 'reserved.' I thought maybe you could ..."

"Who?" The voice behind the newspaper sounded choked.

"Oh, his name's not important," she returned innocently. "I just thought you could tell me how to thaw him out. I think he likes me, but we can't seem to get past the . . . past the hand-holding stage." Well, she justified to herself, he did hold my hand once. Sort of.

She wished she could see his face. On the other hand, it was probably better that she couldn't. With him hiding behind the paper, he couldn't see hers either.

"Just how far do you want to go with this guy?"

Point-blank. That had always been Kyle's style.

She gave the metal tab another flick. "As far as I can get." Her bright blue eyes shot to the white-knuckled hand holding the paper, and she swallowed a disbelieving moan. Did she actually say what she thought she had?

Kyle's voice sounded a little tight. "I suppose you could always try plying him with alcohol. That should loosen his inhibitions."

It did . . . once, she thought dryly. "I'd prefer him sober."

"Then how about a quiet dinner by candlelight?"

They had dinner together almost every night, and Toni had the feeling that a couple of candles wouldn't make any difference. "I need something better than that. Something more . . ."

"Obvious?" came the voice from behind the paper.

"Well, nothing overt," she countered, picking up her pen to draw little squiggles on the folder. "Just tell me what appeals to a man who . . ."

Kyle noisely turned another page and gave the paper an impatient snap. "I can't believe that any man could possibly be that dense. If you like him, you've probably been sending out signals that any normal male could pick up. So this guy must be either dumb, blind, incredibly stupid, or all three. Get him to take you to his place, build a fire, put on some music, and hand the jerk a bottle of wine. But if you have to go to all that trouble, you'll probably be very disappointed when he finally does get around to making a pass."

Toni was sure that it wasn't her imagination. Kyle had actually sounded jealous.

Her elbow was resting on the arm of the chair, and she put her hand to her forehead. Turning her smile to the wall, she prayed that the giggle in her throat wouldn't escape.

Kyle was neither dumb nor blind. Incredibly stupid was up for grabs. There was already a fire in the fireplace. A soothing ballad played softly on the stereo, blending with the melody of the rain. The remnants of the wine they'd had with dinner filled their glasses, the empty bottle now sitting on the coffee table. And Kyle was seriously underestimating his lovemaking, though he quite obviously didn't know that it was his own prowess he'd just criticized.

He certainly wasn't being very cooperative in planning his seduction though.

"Thanks, Kyle," she mumbled, suppressing her grin as she opened her file again. "You've been an enormous help."

When she picked up her things to go to bed twenty minutes later, Kyle was still buried under the newspaper. As she walked past his reclining form and said good-night, she dropped the empty wine bottle on his stomach.

❧

A weak September sun tried vainly to shine the next morning. Madeline had assured Toni that a little rain wouldn't prevent Kyle and "the boys" from playing their usual Saturday football game. Kyle had mentioned the game last weekend, and Toni had every intention of going today.

The quiet discussion taking place between the two women now had nothing to do with either the game or the weather. Taking advantage of the easy friendship developing between her and Madeline, Toni had asked her the same questions she had put to Kyle last night. No names were mentioned, of course. And if Madeline suspected anything, she was kind enough to keep it to herself.

"You just leave it to me," Madeline said, patting the sleeve of Toni's bulky white pullover. "I've got just what you need. Since I don't live too far from here, I'll run by my apartment after I pick up Kyle's cleaning." The sound of heavy footsteps approaching the kitchen caused her voice to drop to a whisper as she quickly added, "I'll put the box in your closet."

The box? The pale brown arches of Toni's eyebrows snapped together as she opened her mouth to ask Madeline what she was talking about, but the deep resonance of Kyle's voice cut her off.

"They turn the heat off in your office?"

Toni dismissed the odd flutter of her pulse, telling herself that it was ridiculous to be affected by the sound of someone's voice. The questioning frown that had been meant for Madeline was redirected to Kyle. What was he talking about?

She didn't have to ask. Her expression did it for her.

"The way you're dressed," he prompted, sounding as if those ambiguous words should clarify everything.

Crossing his arms over the very faded "10" on the old football jersey he was wearing, his dark eyes slid over her heavy, cabled sweater, down the line of her rather snug corduroy pants and settled on her calfskin boots.

When his deceptively disinterested gaze finally returned to the knot of silken hair on her head, she realized what he was talking about. She probably would have understood sooner if her senses hadn't developed the maddening habit of short-circuiting every time she saw him.

"I'm not going to the office right now." With more boldness than she was feeling at the moment, she returned his appraisal with one of her own. How could a pair of washed-out jeans with torn knees look so terrific? "I thought I'd been invited to a football game."

"You mean you're actually going to take a weekend off?"

"Cute, Donovan," she chided, returning his teasing smile with mock exasperation. "I'll go in tomorrow. But I could hardly pass up a chance like this. It might be kind of interesting watching them pull you out of the mud. And"—she nodded toward the window—"from the way it was raining last night and the looks of the sky right now, there should be plenty of it in the park."

Kyle's eyes were still on Toni, but his words were directed to the woman with the silly smile plastered on her pleasant face. "She talks bravely, Madeline."

Madeline didn't acknowledge Kyle's remark.

She just mumbled a barely audible, "See you two later," and started humming to herself as she headed downstairs to fold the laundry.

Toni could have shot her. The tune she was humming was the "Wedding March."

Apparently Kyle didn't notice. With a gallant sweep of his hand, he gestured for Toni to precede him out of the kitchen. "You know," he said as she started past him, "it might be kind of interesting seeing you covered with mud, too, Collins."

"I can't imagine how that would happen," she returned smugly, her mind racing with the possibilities of how he could accomplish that feat. She could think of worse things than being tackled by Kyle. "I'm not playing. I'm only going to watch."

There was something in his deep chuckle that sounded like a provocative warning. "Oh, you don't have to play." His hand settled on her back as he nudged her toward the front door. It was a simple gesture. Completely platonic. But that didn't stop the crazy tremors from racing through her stomach and down her legs. "There are other ways for a person to get a little muddy. And I really should get even with you for nailing me with that wine bottle last night. What did you do that for anyway?"

Toni barely glanced up as she accompanied him down the front steps to the car. "Just seemed like the thing to do." She shrugged, thinking how right he was about the "guy" being dense. Maybe she should have hit him over the head with it.

It could have been a product of wishful thinking, but Toni was almost positive that there was some subtle difference in Kyle's attitude toward her. She was more convinced than ever when they reached the park and his teasing, brotherly manner fell away for a few very revealing moments.

Several of the men Kyle played football with were already out in the middle of the soggy field, and two of them broke away when they saw Kyle's Porsche pull into the tree-lined parking lot.

"Toni Collins!" Todd Ruger came lumbering forward and wrapped her in a bone-crushing hug before she'd even closed the car door. "I couldn't believe it when Kyle said you were back. And working for the competition! You look great, kid. Just great!"

"Thanks, Todd," Toni laughed, leaving her arms around his waist. She tipped her head back to see if five years had made any difference in his little-boy face. They hadn't. Todd still looked as cute as ever—if a six-foot-three-inch, two-hundred-pound-plus bear could be called cute. "You don't look so bad yourself. How's Trista and the kids?"

Todd's grin faltered briefly. "Trista and I split a couple of years ago. But I've got the boys this weekend." He jerked his head toward the two towheaded eight-year-old twins chasing a soccer ball. "You really look great," he repeated. "Doesn't she, Jerry?"

Toni wanted to tell Todd that she was sorry about him and his wife, but she didn't get the chance. Jerry Andrews, a man of considerably less bulk than the one still holding her loosely, stepped beside her. He wasn't anywhere near as effusive as Todd, but his greeting was just as genuine.

Jerry and Todd were both talking, almost simultaneously, and Toni was trying to keep up with their questions when she glanced over at Kyle.

Her spirits, already in pretty good shape, soared.

Kyle's jaw was clenched so tightly that she thought his teeth might shatter. Though his arms were crossed, she could see his hands balling into tight fists and the muscles in his neck flexing tautly. It was hard to tell which looked more ominous—the gray clouds boiling overhead, or Kyle's gray-black eyes.

Odd things to feel elated about, but it was what was causing him to look so wonderfully dangerous that filled Toni with a heady exhilaration.

He was glaring at Todd's hand, now resting lightly around her shoulders, and at her arm, still slung around Todd's waist.

It took every ounce of control Toni had to keep her face from registering acknowledgment of what she was seeing in Kyle's eyes. There was a fierce possession revealed in those glittering depths, and the unmistakable signs of a man struggling to restrain himself.

Within seconds that forbidding expression vanished, to be replaced with a tight, but affable, smile.

"Come on you guys," he muttered good-naturedly. "You can stand around and rehash old war stories later." His hand grasped Toni's elbow a little too firmly, and he pulled her away from Todd. "We've got a game to play."

Kyle had recovered so quickly that neither Jerry nor Todd had noticed his momentarily challenging stance. But Toni had. And that was all that mattered. She didn't even notice how cold the wind was that ruffled Kyle's hair as she sank down onto the long wooden bench and watched the three men jog out onto the field.

With the exception of Todd's boys, the other men's families had elected to stay home where it was warm and dry. Toni didn't feel the need for company right then anyway. The thoughts that warmed her against the cold mist now dampening her sweater and clinging in jewellike clusters to her hair were company enough.

How was she ever going to get him to kiss her again?

Her eyes, like her thoughts, were on Kyle. He was running with his head tucked low and his broad shoulders hunched forward. She saw his arms shoot out just as the hulk with the football wedged against his stomach tried to dodge him, and both the hulk and the ball hit the ground with a thud.

Nice tackle, she smiled to herself, and immediately returned to her contemplation.

She thought about just initiating a kiss herself, but summarily dismissed that idea. Her aggressiveness didn't extend to that kind of behavior. Calling the shots at work was one thing; this was another matter entirely. Somehow she'd have to maneuver it so Kyle would take the initiative. How was she going to do that? A thoughtful frown knitted her brow.

Maybe whatever was in Madeline's "box" would help.

She was trying to figure out what could be in that box—discarding the more ridiculous possibilities like black lace garters and love potions— when she saw Kyle lunge for the ball, and three men pile on top of him.

Arms, legs and torsos emerged from the lopsided human pyramid, and the three men struggled to their feet. Kyle didn't.

Visions of him lying there unconscious skittered through her brain, and within seconds she was off the bench and running toward the field. She could almost see him lying there broken and . . .

Immediately she checked herself, grateful that she was still a good distance away. Kyle was up and being led to his car, supported by two men she had been introduced to an hour earlier as Les and Gary. Kyle's jersey, as well as his jeans and the side of his face, were covered with mud. And he was holding his side. She wasn't sure, but it sounded like he was laughing.

Making a deliberate effort to hide the initial fear that had sent her vaulting like a frantic mother bear rescuing her cub, she crossed her arms in a gesture of calm complacence and headed for the car, too. He'd scared the living daylights out of her, and she'd almost succeeded in making a total fool of herself. She could just imagine the other men's reactions—not to mention Kyle's—if she'd raced out there and blurted out something nice and simple like Don't die, Kyle! I love you!

It was disgust at her overreaction—this business of being in love definitely altered common sense—that made her hug her arms defensively as she approached the group now standing by Kyle's Porsche.

"You big idiot," she mumbled, hoping her more protective emotions were masked from the others as she rapidly scanned Kyle's face. He was grinning! "Don't you think that was a rather unintelligent thing to do?"

Drying his face with the towel Gary had handed him, he tossed her an indifferent glance, then nipped the towel onto the hood. "What do you know about football?" He winced, hugging his side again, then tried to look casual as he leaned against the fender.

"Very little," she admitted honestly, wondering why men always had to put on such a brave front. "But I know enough not to jump on a ball when there's three guys the size of Mack trucks running at me."

Two of those guys, Les and Gary, looked at her sheepishly. It was Les who spoke. "I think we just knocked the wind out of him." Drawing his hand through his tangled brown hair, he turned back to Kyle. "I think that's all we did anyway. Sure hope you didn't break a rib or something."

"It'd take more than you featherweights to do any serious damage," Kyle quipped with typical male equanimity. A stoic smile creased his attractive and mud-streaked features.

One of Todd's boys came racing up, his soccer ball tucked under his arm. "Boy! That was neat!" His chubby little face was bright with wide-eyed admiration. "My dad really nailed ya, didn't he?"

"Yeah," Kyle groaned, still managing to look undaunted as he ruffled the child's hair. "He sure did, Davie."

Toni didn't miss the obvious affection Kyle had for the child who was now asking if he was all right. But the instant he glanced over at her and saw the soft light in her eyes, he turned his attention to the men, all but ignoring Davie.

Toni was a little puzzled at the obviousness of his action. For someone whose attitude had always included an intense dislike of children, there had been an awful lot of warmth in that brief exchange—as much warmth as there was coolness in his quickly shuttered expression when he'd caught her watching him. She didn't quite know what to make of that and, with a mental shrug, turned her attention back to the men.

Apparently it was an unspoken rule that when one of their friends got hurt, that was the end of the game. Within seconds, a half-dozen other men—all looking just as wet and dirty as Kyle— descended on them. Toni edged around to the other side of the car.

Being the only female present, she suddenly felt a little out of place in the midst of the ensuing male camaraderie. Concern for Kyle was evident by the back-slapping and free-flowing advice—which ranged from everything to going to get an x-ray to anesthetizing the pain with Scotch—and Toni had the feeling that any feminine concern would be an unwelcomed intrusion. Kyle didn't look like he needed her anyway.

That hurt.

It was several minutes before the crowd dispersed and the men headed to their own cars. Toni had taken a clean towel from Kyle's sports bag and handed it to him.

"Are you all right?" she asked, watching his face disappear behind the striped terrycloth.

His response was muffled, but distinctly defensive. "I'm fine."