"Jesus, could my day get any worse?" Sylvia muttered to herself as she sat on the arm of a black leather couch in the sumptuous living room of one of Devlin & Payne's top executives. She'd spent hours getting ready for this. Shower, hair, makeup, everything. And she's agonized over what to wear. She didn't have a huge selection to choose from given her salary and the cost of living in the great city of New York, but she'd saved for the last few months and had finally managed to find the perfect dress. Deep green with a fitted bodice top, the satin material clung to her skin like a lover's hand and swept down from gently rounded hips to her ankles. There were no sleeves, but the straps that held it on her shoulders were wide enough to frame in her face and hair. She'd fallen in love with the dress as soon as she'd seen it. The only lamentable thing about it was that it had taken her nearly three hours to find it. Who knew JCPenney had that many clothes to look through?
Five inch heels encased her feet in a death trap of feminine fashion and though her toes were absolutely killing her, the shoes were the perfect match to the dress. Oh, and not to mention the fact that she would have to skimp by on Top Ramen and Macaroni and Cheese for another few weeks to pay for them. All this trouble and expense for the annual Christmas party of Devlin & Payne, the law firm in which she was a secretary. Oh alright, executive assistant. It sounded prettier, but the sad truth was that she was nothing more than a secretary who happened to be able to type at 120 words per minute and could dictate in shorthand.
In short, no one actually worthy of the rest of the guest list.
Re-crossing her legs for the umpteenth time, she twisted the champagne glass in her hand again before taking a sip. She'd been given the glass when she'd first arrived and was barely halfway through it almost an hour later.
Despite the classy updo she'd swept her hair into and the diamonds she'd put in her ears -- a high school graduation gift from her mother -- she felt so out of place. Everyone here was some sort of lawyer or manager or VIP from their most important clients. And she was the lowly secretary that no one noticed because she did her job quietly and efficiently.
Not the best end to an evening.
Sighing, she figured an hour was enough time to spend perched on a couch in the back corner watching everyone walk by and she rose from her seat. Careful not to catch her shoes on anything -- walking around in high heels on the thick carpet was NOT her idea of a good time -- she stepped away with the resolve to make her goodbyes and go home to soak her feet and watch Star Trek re-runs.
Fate, as it seemed, thought differently.
No sooner had she moved from her corner than she was promptly plowed into by a large, very hard, masculine body. The champagne left in her glass flew out and she was certain that every single drop of it ended up on her chest.
Great. Just great.
Without bothering to curse -- what good would it have done anyway? -- she reached around the man for a stack of napkins and began dabbing at the growing wet stain.
"God, I'm so sorry," the voice that went with the body said. She didn't look up just yet, mostly because if she did she'd be far too tempted to light into him like a bulldog with a cow bone, and instead just shook her head.
"Don't worry. It's just champagne. I won't melt." She couldn't keep the faint southwestern accent out of her voice, but she was too tired and upset to do much about it. Besides, if the man was uncoordinated enough to walk right smack into her, then he was probably too drunk to remember anything that happened anyway.
"You sure about that?" the man asked. There was a kind of male amusement in his voice that never failed to raise her hackles. Carefully colored lips pressed into a very displeased line as she continued with the napkins that sadly weren't helping much.
"Yes, I'm quite su—-" Looking up, her tirade stopped mid-sentence. Good god, it couldn't be him. It just couldn't. Because if it really was Mr. Kyle Harper, then God must truly hate her.
* * * * *
Kyle was bored. The party was just like every other function he'd attended this week and quite frankly, he wished he would have declined this invitation. But he couldn't afford to alienate the firm that took care of his business' legal needs so he'd attended. Well, actually, he could afford to alienate them, but he didn't want to. Devlin & Payne was a law firm to trust and he held their reputation in much higher regard than his own personal comfort for a few hours.
Which meant he was bored.
Really bored.
Out-of-his-mind bored.
But he pretended to be interested in the conversation about merging markets and rising inflation anyway until he just couldn't stand it anymore.
"I'm sorry gentlemen. If you'll excuse me." He smiled that famous Harper smile and shook a few hands before stepping away...and straight into a deftly moving female body. Maybe if he'd been paying more attention he would have missed her, but the woman just came out of nowhere.
With ash blonde hair and creamy skin that lacked that golden tan that so popular nowadays, she looked striking. Especially in that dress. A dress that he had obviously ruined now due to his own inattention.
He apologized and was about to offer to replace the thing for her when she spoke. There was something oddly familiar about that voice though he couldn't quite place it. But he could place how he reacted to it. It was a voice meant for sex; smoky and low with a hint of wildness beneath the professionally polite tone. His forehead wrinkled as he tried to place why it was so familiar. And then she looked up. Only one woman he'd ever known had had eyes like cornflowers and lips meant to tempt a man to death.
"Syl?"
* * * * * *
Jesus Christ in Heaven it was Kyle. She couldn't believe she hadn't known it the moment they'd hit each other. For an instant everything froze. She stopped dabbing at her chest and they both stood utterly still. She tried to think of something witty to say. Something glib and chic and completely worthy of a professional woman, but the only words she could of think of were "Holy shit." And no, she was not going to act the stupid hick girl in front of him again.
Memories flooded back, memories she'd tried to bury deep. Hot, Texas nights in a convertible 'Cuda with the stars and the moon as their light. Long, drugging kisses filled with the taste of homemade ice cream and lemon drops. The feel of those long fingered hands running over her skin, underneath her shirt, teasing at the edges of her bra.
And then he'd left.
Blinking, her trance broken by the harsh reality of dreams shattered, she realized her mouth was hanging open and shut it with an audible click as her teeth snapped together. Then she turned around and left him standing in the middle of the room.
This couldn't be happening. She'd finally gotten over him and gone on with her life and here he is, showing up at this party of all places. Ok, so never mind that she'd only dated twice since moving to New York and neither one had ended up in anything remotely sexual. She was over him. Done Finito. Ended.
God, she was so NOT over him.
She had nowhere to run to really, and it would seem really suspicious if she just stormed out of the house so she aimed blindly for the kitchen. At least she could hide in there for a while and pretend to be cleaning off her dress before leaving. People would accept that.
The instant she closed the door behind her, the noise of the party cut off dramatically. The kitchen itself was huge. An island stood in the middle of the room, but there was still enough space around it to comfortably work with at least six other people. Trays and bowls sat on the counters in neat rows and she took a quick moment to marvel at whoever could keep a kitchen clean like this in the middle of a dinner party. Moving to the sink, she reached for some paper towels to dampen, but that was as far as she got. The doors opened again and as the noise level rose then fell back to near silence, she turned around and watched as Kyle stalked her.
There really wasn't another word for it. He moved so quietly, that lean body of his so controlled. He'd let his hair grow out and in the drop lights she could see the deep red inside the sable brown. Tonight he'd tied it back at the base of his neck and she remembered how it felt to run her fingers through it. It was so soft and thick and always smelled like sandalwood.
"What do you want Kyle?" She winced slightly, not having meant to sound quite so bitchy, but she didn't want to want him anymore. It was too hard to wake up from dreams that left her aching and hot when she knew how easy it had been for him to leave her.
"What are you doing here, Syl?" She hated that he called her Syl. Only her family had ever called her that and though she loved to hear it in his rich, deep voice, it reminded her too sharply of other things he'd said. Other things she'd been naive enough to believe.
"I work for Devlin & Payne. What are you doing here?" Because she couldn't stand to look at him standing so handsome in front of her, she turned back to the sink and began vigorously rubbing at her dress. She knew the thing was ruined, but she didn't care. It gave her a great excuse not to look him in the eye.
Kyle didn't know what to say. He'd never expected to see Sylvia Newton again, but here she was. Gone was the delightfully honest country girl from Texas that he'd fallen in love with that summer 6 years ago. Instead stood a modern, chic woman who still had the power to take his breath away with nothing more than a look. Even if that look clearly said she'd kill him where he stood if only she could find a knife. The fact that they were in the kitchen, the typical resting place of very large knives, didn't make him feel very safe. But then again, he'd never felt safe around her. He'd always felt on edge and a little dangerous because he could never seem to catch his balance with her. He'd always felt that every step he took was a gamble though the prize was beyond wonderful and it made that summer even more of a whirlwind.
But then his father had died and he'd been forced back to New York on less than a minute's notice. By the time he'd gotten himself back onto solid ground, he figured it was way past trying to apologize and make up. So he'd relegated that summer to the kind of wishful dreams a man could look back on fondly and tried to exorcise her from him.
