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“Don’t think of it in numbers. Just get in the rhythm of crunch-release. And think what a taut stomach you’re going to have, not that your figure isn’t already great.”
“Then why am I paying for this torture?”
“You’re not. Your brother is. One more. Crrrunch and down and stop.”
She groaned and stayed flat on her back until Bernie took her hands and tugged her to a sitting position.
“We’ve worked on your abs, your stomach and your upper thighs,” he said. “I guess that about does it for this session. Now you can go out and party the night away.”
“Not me. I’m pretty much a dud.”
“Really, I never heard that about you, but I did hear that you’re a workaholic.”
“Who would you hear that from?”
He glanced across the room to where her neighbor Kyle Blackstone was leaning against a weight machine, chatting with a couple of bosomy females in form-fitting tights and clingy tops.
“You surely don’t believe everything Kyle says.”
“I don’t, but the women sure hang on his every word. You’re about the only one in here who doesn’t drool when he shows them a little attention.”
Kyle caught her looking at him and waved. She hated that, but she waved back in what she hoped was a nonchalant, offhand manner. He started over, and her pulse shot up. No need for aerobics when he was around. But she had no intention of letting him know he had that effect on her. He was far too sure of himself as it was. She’d just as soon Bernie not know, either.
“The man spends a lot of time watching you,” Bernie said. “Have you ever been out with him?”
“No.”
“Good. You have a lot more class than those bimbos that follow him around like groupies chasing a rock star.”
“He’s not my type.”
“I don’t think you’ve convinced him of that yet.”
“He’s only interested because he thinks I’m a challenge.” She groaned as she pulled her stressed muscles into a standing position. “Thanks for the session, though I feel like I’ve been run over by a truck.”
“No pain, no gain. It’s trite but true.”
Kyle stepped up beside her. “That was quite a workout. If you need someone to massage those aching muscles tonight, I’m available.”
“And just which muscles do you plan on massaging?”
“You name it. I’m very accommodating.”
“I’ll just bet you are.”
“Well, if you don’t want a massage, how about dinner? There’s a new Italian restaurant just a block from our building. The pasta is eccellente and the vino is squisito.” He used his hands, fingers and mouth to add emphasis to his claim.
“And I already have a dinner invitation. Just my luck,” she teased.
He cocked his head to one side and flashed a devastating smile. “We can always do dessert at my place.”
“Dream on.”
“I already am.” He closed his eyes. “Wow! You’re good.”
When he opened his eyes, she closed hers. “Yeah, I am, aren’t I?” She gave him a playful right cuff to his upper arm. “I’m out of here. Thanks again, Bernie. And, Kyle, happy hunting. I’d hate for you to have to sleep alone tonight.”
She turned and walked away, not stopping until she reached the door to the ladies’ locker room. Bernie and Kyle were still standing together, immersed in conversation. Two very nice-looking men. Bernie had more of the macho build, huge shoulders, well-defined biceps, muscular arms and legs. Kyle was just lean and mean. Rock-hard body. Thick dark hair. Deep-blue eyes that a woman could drown in and never yell for help.
The man was drop-dead gorgeous—but he was not for her, and she needed to keep that thought firmly planted in her mind. The minute she became interested in a man, her life became complicated. The men either became possessive and jealous of the time she spent on her career, or else merely wanted to get her into the sack.
Without a doubt, Kyle fell in the latter category. Turning away from him, literally and figuratively, she pushed through the door of the locker room. She’d have to hurry to be at the restaurant by eight-fifteen, and it wouldn’t be prudent to keep Mr. McAllister waiting.
* * *
ASHLEY STUDIED the menu. The restaurant was pricey for her expense account, but no reason to worry, since McAllister would be picking up the check. She’d offer again anyway. Mr. Clintock had informed her when he’d given her the account that he wanted the Ranchers Association to be extremely happy with both the treatment they received from all employees of the agency and the quality of the finished product.
The waiter stopped at her elbow and asked for their drink order. Jim Bob ordered a vodka martini. She ordered a glass of sparkling water with a twist of lime.
“Nonsense. You need a real drink,” the rancher insisted. “Something to help you relax, so that we can get to know each other better.”
“I never drink when I’m on the job.”
“Then let’s just call this a get-acquainted night. I always work better when I feel I’m in tune with the person I’m working with.”
She cringed at the intimacy that had crept into his tone. It would never have been there if he was talking to Mr. Clintock or any of the other men connected with the firm. It was more of the “little lady” mentality that she hated. Or else Mr. McAllister was not as harmless as she’d assumed.
“What I’m most interested in are your ideas about the ad campaign,” she said, making sure he realized she was here only for business purposes. “I know the Ranchers Association is eager to modernize their image.”
“And Mr. Clintock assured me that you’re the woman who can do that for us.”
She centered her attention on the menu. By the time the waiter returned with their drinks, she’d decided on a green salad and a broiled trout filet. Jim Bob went for the steak, the largest and most expensive cut they offered, with a loaded baked potato and a side order of sautéed mushrooms. He ordered an appetizer of oysters Bienville for the two of them to share and a bottle of cabernet sauvignon with two glasses.
She waited until he’d gulped down half his martini, the time span of about four seconds, before she went back to the subject they had supposedly come to discuss. “Why don’t we start with the ideas you’ve come up with since our meeting this morning? That will give me more insight as to how you see this working.”
His mouth stretched into a smile. “I hate to talk business on an empty stomach. Why don’t you tell me something about yourself? And, by the way, the color of that suit really brings out the green of your eyes.”
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. Now tell me, what does an attractive little filly like you do for fun?”
“I work.”
“That sounds much too boring, and I have a feeling you’re not a boring lady.”
“Actually, I am.” She sipped her water. “But if you want to know about me, I can certainly give you the details that affect my ability to do my job. I have an undergraduate degree in graphic arts and a master’s degree in commercial advertising. I’ve worked for Clintock, Mitchum and O’Connell for almost two years.”
“And I’m sure you’re very good at what you do. But you can’t just work. As pretty as you are, I bet you have dozens of men on the string.”
“Afraid not. I’ve never wanted the kind of man who would settle for dangling from a string.”
“Then you must break a lot of hearts.”
“None that I know of.”
“I don’t believe that for a second.”
He scooted the candle from the center of the table. She met his gaze, hopefully achieving the look she was after. Business or nothing. “I’m sure that you’re far more interested in what I can do for the Ranchers Association than you are in my personal life.”
“Everything has a time and a place. Right now it sounds as if you could use more fun in your life. I know this great little club we could visit after dinner.”
Another dirty old man. She’d have to nip in the bud any ideas he had about including her in his extracurricular activities. But she couldn’t nip so sharply that she drew blood, at least not if she could help it. She wanted to keep this account.
“I don’t dance,” she lied, “and I hate nightclubs. The smoke bothers my contact lenses. So let’s talk about you. Let’s see, you’re married and have four children. Am I correct?”
His glowing ardor cooled as quickly as if she’d dumped her glass of water on his head. He downed the rest of his drink and motioned to the waiter to bring him another. After that, he sat quietly for a moment, his hand wrapped around the base of his empty glass while he stared at her from beneath his bushy, salt-and-pepper brows.
“You’re correct,” he said. “I have a lovely family, but that doesn’t mean I can’t enjoy the company of a beautiful woman. But if you’re more comfortable talking strictly about business, I can do that, too.”
“I appreciate that, and I want you to know that I’m committed to giving you and the association the type of modern, progressive image we discussed. I’ll make sure you get what you’re paying for.” And that didn’t include her. “So what are your ideas for the ad campaign?” she asked, determined to salvage something from the meeting besides irritation.
He rolled his fresh drink around in the glass, staring into it as if it were a crystal ball. Finally, he set it on the table and looked at her. “The association wants something bolder than we’ve ever had before, something that says we’re happening and on the technological edge of beef production. But we don’t want to lose our image as ranchers. You know, kind of John Wayne and Bill Gates rolled into one. Does that make sense to you?”
Perfectly. He wanted a miracle. And she darn well planned to give it to him, just as long as she didn’t have to get any closer to him than she was right now in order to deliver.
The rest of the meal passed without incident, though she was certain from some of the looks he gave her that he was still eager to inject her boring life with just about anything she wanted, as long as the facts never got back to his wife.
What she wanted was to go back to her apartment and sink into her nice, comfortable bed. Alone.
* * *
IT WAS NEARLY half-past ten when the elevator stopped at the eighth floor of the Prentiss Apartment Building. The door slid open, but before Ashley stepped out, she noticed a woman rushing toward her, head down, her raven-colored hair pulled back from her face. She looked up for a second as they passed, and Ashley could see that her eyes were swollen as if she’d been crying.
“Is something wrong?” Ashley asked. “Can I help you?”
“No.” Her voice wavered, and her hands were shaking as she put them up to stop the door from closing.
Ashley hesitated, then walked toward her own apartment. If the woman didn’t want her help, she couldn’t force it on her.
Besides, she was exhausted. Of course, she could always knock on Kyle Blackstone’s door and tell him she’d come for the massage.
Or she could jump off the balcony onto the street below. It would be about the same kind of suicide. She had willpower, but not the kind that could survive Kyle Blackstone’s hands roaming over her. Even the thought of it sent tingles to parts of her body that didn’t need to tingle.
She walked past his door on the way to her own. A huge wicker laundry basket sat in front of his door. Probably a gift from one of his many admirers. She was tempted to go back and peek inside but changed her mind. It was probably better not knowing what kind of gifts women sent that man.
Once inside her apartment, she twisted the dial of her dimmer switch until the living area was bathed in a welcoming glow. Neither her brother Dylan nor her sister Lily could ever understand how a person raised on a ranch could consider an apartment in a high-rise in downtown San Antonio home, but it fitted her lifestyle just fine, provided everything she needed.
She walked to the bedroom and kicked out of her black pumps, shedding her panty hose before she took off her suit. She draped the skirt and jacket over the hanger but didn’t bother to change into her pajamas. Her black slip would do just fine for the activities she had planned. A nice settling glass of wine while she worked.
Ranchers. Cattle. Beef. The words came back to ramble through her mind as she poured a glass of chardonnay and curled into her overstuffed chair. Ranchers. Cows. Worse than counting sheep, she decided as her eyes grew heavy. Her weary mind lost the power to concentrate, and instead pictured Kyle dressed in a cowboy hat and boots.
She closed her eyes. She didn’t want the man, but she might as well enjoy the image.
* * *
ASHLEY JERKED AWAKE, spilling half a glass of wine onto her living room carpet as she did. She’d obviously been a lot more tired than she’d realized. Only half-awake, she stumbled to the bathroom, wet a cloth, then hurried back to get the stain out before it had time to set.
Down on all fours, she had pain in places she didn’t even know she had places—proof that with Bernie’s help she was working muscles she’d never worked before. And now either she was hearing things, or there was a kitten trying to tell her something.
She looked around the room, half expecting her neighbor’s cat to poke its head from beneath the couch. Mikasa liked nothing better than to sneak in while the door was open, hide out and then pounce on Ashley when she least expected it.
The cries stopped, then started again, several decibels louder this time. But the sound was coming from the hall and not inside the apartment. Ashley stepped to the door and put her eye to the peephole. There was no sign of a cat. No sign of anything or anyone, except that basket in front of Kyle’s closed door. For a second she thought it had moved, but when she blinked and looked back, it was still. Nonetheless, the noise persisted.
If it was Mikasa, she was in trouble, likely caught behind or under something and couldn’t free herself. Ashley slid the dead bolt until she could open the door a crack. She peered up and down the hall, searching for some sign of the cat.
She was nowhere around. The noise had stopped as well, but the basket in front of Kyle’s door was most assuredly shimmying now. She crossed to the basket and leaned over.
Ohmigosh! It definitely wasn’t a cat but it was alive. An absolutely adorable baby girl—at least it looked like a girl—with chubby cheeks and the most beautiful dark brown eyes Ashley had ever seen. She fell to her knees and tugged the blanket to the side so that she could see all of the surprise package. The infant kicked her tiny feet and threw a few punches into the air.
“Don’t cry, baby. Whatever’s wrong, we’ll find someone who can fix it.”
The baby stopped whimpering and stared at Ashley, her tiny lips quivering. Poor thing. Ashley fumbled with the fastener on the safety belt that held her in the car seat. Once it was loosened, she picked up the baby and cuddled her awkwardly. If she had any maternal instincts, they’d never surfaced before, and they didn’t seem to be kicking in now.
There was no telling how long the baby had been out here, but it had been at least two hours since Ashley had first noticed the basket. She was probably hungry. Or maybe she was wet or worse. Ashley reached into the basket, feeling behind the seat for some kind of instructions. Surely babies came with instructions. If they didn’t, they should.
She pulled out a bag of baby supplies. Tucked beneath it was a piece of folded notebook paper. There was something written on it, but one glance and she knew it didn’t contain nearly enough instructions to help out a novice like herself.
Still, she scanned the note until the crisp ring of the elevator bell alerted her she was not alone. She turned as Kyle Blackstone and a shapely brunette with half a dress stepped into the hall. As they got closer, she could see that he was with Alicia, one of his groupies from the health club.
“Oh, look. It’s my neighbor, and doesn’t she look maternal, especially in that little black thingy she’s wearing.”
Ashley glared at him. He was only a few steps away now, and the leggy brunette had draped herself over his left arm so that they looked like one body with two heads and four legs.
Kyle took his arm from around Alicia and dug in his front pocket until he pulled out his key ring. The baby started crying again. He stared first at the baby and then at Ashley. “I hope you’re not at my door looking for a baby-sitter. I’m all tied up tonight. You know how it is.”
She stepped between him and the door. “I know exactly how it is. I’m pretty tied up myself, so as much as I’d like to help out, Daddy, this baby is all yours.”
For once the man was speechless.
CHAPTER TWO
KYLE STARED at Ashley. As much as he loved playing mind games with his sexy neighbor, this was carrying things too far. “Cute trick, Ashley, but I’m not even biting on this one.”
“I don’t call deserting an innocent baby a trick, Kyle Blackstone. I’d call it a crime.”
Her usually lyrical, seductive voice struck with hard-hitting bitterness.
“I think this is a little more than I bargained for.”
