“Right,” Stacy smiled back, but it didn’t reach her eyes, and Kylie didn’t miss how her twin’s attention strayed across the room to where Ian stood. After being joined at the hip for the past several months, Ian had suggested they move in together, and Stacy had abruptly pulled the plug on the relationship. Kylie couldn’t help thinking her twin had a heaping dose of cold feet…and regret, if her expression tonight offered any hint of her feelings.
“Talk to him,” Kylie urged.
Stacy frowned and shook her head. “No. We’ve already talked everything to death. He wants commitments and promises. Christ, he even mentioned the ‘M’ word.” She shivered and released a humorless laugh. “That’s so not what I’m looking for. My career demands all my focus. I spend fifteen-hour days on the set, and the rest of my time learning my lines, doing publicity, and meeting with my agent about new projects.”
“But you love him—”
“No!” The denial flew out of Stacy’s mouth on wings of panic, and told Kylie her sister was running scared. “You know me better,” Stacy went on. “I don’t do love. Lust? Sure. Sex? Hell, yes. But nothing more.”
Kylie remained silent. Rather than argue, she leveled a patient, who-are you-trying-to-convince look at her sister.
Stacy ran a hand through her flawless cascade of blond waves. “Look, Ian’s an amazing guy. He deserves a sweet girl who wants to make him the center of her universe.” Her eyes drifted to the other side of the room, where Ian stared back with an expression that warned he might either kiss her senseless or strangle her in the next five seconds.
The look apparently wasn’t lost on Stacy. She flushed and mumbled, “I’ve got to go. I’ll call you tomorrow.”
Kylie forced a lid on her frustration as she watched Stacy leave. Now wasn’t the time or place to excavate her sister’s fear of commitment, but Kylie intended to dig in very soon. Not out of a compulsion to step in and rescue her twin from a bad decision—they’d both finally outgrown that habit—but because she wanted Stacy to expect, and fight for, love with the same determination she used to pursue her career.
Soon, Kylie silently vowed as she stood in her shiny new space while the last of the guests said their good-byes and wandered out into the starlit evening. The Santa Monica mountains rose in the distance, framing a huge, round moon as full of portent as an ancient Celtic blessing coin.
She felt blessed, and her blessings extended beyond having friends and family on hand to celebrate the realization of her goal. Between the loyal students she’d cultivated over her years instructing at other yoga studios, and the new members she’d picked up via word of mouth, her classes were booked to capacity. The biggest blessing of all, however, stood by the door, arms folded across his chest, watching her.
She walked over to him. He smiled the slow, crooked smile that always sent her pulse skyrocketing, and centered himself between her and the door. “Sorry,” he said, sounding anything but. “Hope I’m not in your way.”
Trevor had been by her side since the day she’d been released from the hospital, but never, ever in her way. While helping her do everything from create her business plan to pick paint colors, he’d slowly taught her the all-important difference between being able to depend on someone and being dependent. He’d shown her that sharing her heart didn’t mean subjugating her dreams.
“No,” she replied, unable to help the husky note in her voice, “you’re not in my way.”
“Good to know.” He reached behind him clicked the front door lock closed.
“Just the opposite, really. I couldn’t have done this,” she gestured around the studio, “without you.”
“I don’t know about that, but I suppose I am pretty handy to have around at times.” He winked, and with a flick of his fingers over the wall panel, dimmed the lights to a soft glow.
Unwilling to let him brush off her words, she laid her palm on his chest, over his heart. “Trevor, I mean it. Your belief in me, your support…” She shook her head. “Not to mention setting up spreadsheets, or spackling and painting. I don’t have the words to describe what everything you’ve done means to me.”
He lifted her hand from his chest and kissed it. “I’m versatile. Thing is”—releasing her hand, he stepped away and lowered the rattan blinds over the big, street-facing windows—“I don’t think you fully appreciate how versatile I am.”
Though his expression remained playful and his voice teasing, Kylie suddenly worried he really didn’t understand how much he meant to her. “I do,” she promised. “I appreciate everything about you.”
“We’ll see.” He drew her back into the main room, pulled one of the rented, slipcovered chairs away from a table, and positioned it in the center of the open area that had served as the dance floor for the evening’s festivities. “Take a seat.”
Oh, no, what was this? Were they going to have a talk? Her heart clutched. “Trevor—”
He slipped over to the sound system, hit a couple buttons on the remote, and then walked back around until he stood in front of her chair, facing her. “Now, about my versatility…”
Music started, an instantly identifiable guitar riff, followed by an equally identifiable voice—“Kiss,” by Prince. Trevor flipped his jacket off his shoulders and let it slide down his arms to land on the floor. Then h
e inched closer, leading with his hips, which were doing a mouthwatering bump-and-grind in perfect time with the pulsating beat of the song.
“Oh my God,” Kylie gasped, and clapped a hand over her mouth.
Off came the tie, which he draped around her neck. She giggled. “My own private dancer. I can’t believe I thought spackling was your secret, hidden talent.”
“I spackle, too. But I figured I owed you at least one dance, and I wanted to make it memorable. How am I doing so far?”
Kylie could only nod like a bobblehead.
“Okay.” Not missing a beat, he flicked open his cuffs. “Since I’ve taken an oath to protect and serve, I’m duty-bound to warn you to shield your eyes for this next part.”