Jennifer Greene - Sunburst

“Honey…” He sighed, though none of the stiffness left his features.

“I don’t want to argue with you. I’m with you, Kyle, if you’re sure taking on more is what you want to do right now. I love your ideas…”

They stood facing each other. He placed a kiss on the tip of her nose, his fingertips lingering on her cheeks. “Prove it, then,” he whispered. “Play hooky for the afternoon. Forget all about working completely. Erica…”

She cocked her head. “I’ll need a bribe.”

The kiss sustained her as she walked back to the house and into the kitchen. But her euphoria didn’t last. As she mixed a batch of cookie batter, flour mixed with sugar mixed with butter mixed with an occasional salt tear. Stupid, the tears. She was furious with herself. Everything was fine. They were nearly out of debt, headed for bigger and better things. She loved it here, no matter what Kyle thought. And he wanted to be here. So what was wrong?

The same thing that had been wrong for months, she admitted to herself unhappily. Kyle had gone to the bank by himself, without consulting her, on a decision that affected both of them. He had always done that, made all the decisions, assumed a protective role.

And before Joel’s death, she had always loved the niche he’d created for her in his life; she couldn’t deny it. It had always been enough just to be Kyle’s softness and laughter, his lighter side, his love. But it was not enough now. Her man was burdened with trouble he couldn’t share with her, determined to shelter a lady who didn’t want sheltering any longer. Having stood in his shadow for so long, it was a tenuous business trying to assert herself. The bookshelves were full of theoretical ideas; finding a solution was not so easy in real life, though. Kyle had never accepted help from anyone, always making his own way. He was the original strong, silent type…

And when she had offered help in this time of crisis, he had rejected her offering. She felt like a burden, not a mate, and was terribly afraid he saw her precisely that way. She had insisted on handling the antiques, loving that work anyway, but also knowing they had never really made a dent in Joel’s debts. Kyle had done it all, taken on all the responsibility.

She didn’t want to be a responsibility. She saw so many things more clearly now. How could a man really love someone he couldn’t talk to without reserve, someone he couldn’t share all his problems with? Someone who couldn’t carry her own weight? And if he didn’t love her as he once had; if he saw her as a responsibility; if he was taking on the expansion solely because he thought he had to for her sake…

Erica put the sheet of cookies in the oven and set the timer. Lord knew what they were going to taste like. When one started from scratch, the outcome could never be guaranteed. Wait and see, she told herself.

There was a war going on in the skies this late July afternoon. A simple sun-and-cloud war. One minute the clouds were allied in big, fat gray bunches, threatening a furious deluge of rain, and the next minute the sun attacked with such searing intensity that not a soul on the place had a shirt on-barring Erica.

She watched the skies with amusement, her hands on her hips. In a cream-colored gauzy blouse that loosely dipped to a V at her throat, and with her hair swirled into a careless coil on top of her head, she looked fresh and feminine in spite of the sultry day, with a graceful softness to her features. It had been one of those I’m-going-to-live-forever kind of days. In spite of her newly discovered affinity for varnish and brush, it had been a delight to get away from her work. She had taken an overnight trip to Milwaukee, and included in the packages still unwrapped in the house was a negligee designed to incite the most stoic man and a casual hostess dress in sunset colors. Kyle had stuffed a handful of bills in her purse, and told her not to come home until she was broke.

She was.

With the new building going up, the place had turned into a madhouse. Her two-day excursion had not really been for buying clothes, but for coming up with display ideas, and her car was still packed with the basics for the showroom-once the structure was done.

Her hazel eyes focused on the unfinished building. Though it was still bare boards at this stage, the sweet, lingering smell of new wood reached out to Erica like the smell of anticipation. The size and scope of the skeleton building were already there. In only two days, the workmen had made incredible progress. The building crew consisted of a half dozen teenagers from the neighborhood whom Kyle had hired, Kyle, and yes, Morgan…who, to her amazement, could actually put in a full day’s manual work.

Through the steady hammering and sawing, Kyle hadn’t noticed her yet. His tanned back had a sheen of moisture to it, like baby oil, the ripple of muscle all the more pronounced because he was so lean, all sinew. As always in windy weather, his black hair curled, a phenomenon he hated like absolute hell. Watching him rake an impatient hand through the silky strands evoked another unconsciously sensual smile from Erica. His carpenter’s apron was strung from low-slung jeans, the weight of nails and tape measures and tools drawing the jeans down, baring his navel in front and the last taper of spine in back. He radiated energy and purpose from every pore; she could feel the vibrations from a hundred yards away.

It was nearing quitting time. The men would stop at three; Kyle had other responsibilities besides the new building. Her glance flickered to Morgan, drawn by his easy burst of laughter at something one of the boys had said. Morgan… She still didn’t quite understand why he was here. He had called one day; she had told him enthusiastically about the new building. The next thing she knew, he had shown up with a trailer in tow to camp in, prepared to take a three-week vacation to help them out. His last vacation had been to Corfu; the one before that to Bermuda… Manual work was not exactly his style, but loyalty in friendship certainly appeared to be.

To be absolutely honest, she’d been slightly taken back at the prospect of having Morgan underfoot for a solid three weeks, but that was an unfair reaction and she’d hidden it. Kyle needed the help, though he would never have admitted it.

And Kyle… Things were still not perfect between them, but the vibrancy was back in his body, his eyes, as if he were alive again. Only occasionally did she catch him watching her; at times she had the odd sensation that he was treating her like spun glass…the way he had delighted in weaning her from her antiques and turpentine for the trip to Milwaukee, the way he had insisted she have some “mad money” to spend, the way he still withdrew into himself too often. It was not right-side up again, not all of it, but the world had tilted upward with the project, and it was a far cry from being completely upside down…

“Erica!”

She pivoted toward Morgan’s voice. He was shouting from a scaffold, his eyes welcoming even from the distance. She waved a vigorous hello over the noise, seeing Kyle’s head whip around in sudden awareness. Kyle moved the moment he saw her, detaching the apron from his belt loops as he shouted something to the others, then leaping down from his perch and striding toward her.

She could feel anticipation surge through her bloodstream like white-water rapids; her color was high when he kissed her in front of all the watching eyes. Her eyes searched his, just for a moment, checking for those disquieting undercurrents that too frequently were a part of his mood. Not this time. She could not doubt the sincerity of his welcome, and she hugged him with a radiant smile, loving the slippery warmth of his bare skin.