New and…Improved? & Andrew in Excess

2

HOURS LATER, Kent watched Becca fidget on her stool as she bent over her microscope.

She wasn’t a fidgeter.

Her wriggling was what had originally gotten his attention, but what held it was how she wriggled.

His gaze fixed on her hips as she scooted herself first one way then another.

It was difficult to tell her exact shape beneath all those layers she wore, just as he had no idea what she looked like without glasses on her face. He’d never seen her with her hair down, either, and because of the way she twisted it up out of her way, he had no idea how long it was.

Which was fine. He liked her-everyone liked Becca-she was generous, open, warm. And because he liked her, he was careful not to be attracted to her. It was a law with him, written in stone. Don’t ever like the women you date. Lust after them, yes. Sleep with them, whenever safe and possible. But absolutely do not like them. It was a well-known fact that friends and sex should never mix because then there were expectations.

He hated expectations.

So when his mouth opened and said, “I think we should talk about this adventure thing,” he both surprised himself and broke his personal law number two, which was don’t pry, because once you do, you’re involved.

Becca ignored him.

Good. He should let it go. That was the smart thing to do, and he was nothing if not smart. But Becca seemed to be itching for trouble, and while he understood the need for trouble all too well, the thought of her going after it, and maybe even finding it, disturbed him more than he cared to admit.

It wasn’t that he didn’t think she could take care of herself. He actually didn’t know her well enough to make that decision. But she seemed sweet and kind and yes, dammit, naive. “Becca.”

She shot him a smile filled with nerves, and it was such a dazzling one his heart actually skipped.

Not a good thing.

Not when, earlier, he’d touched her in concern and felt that heady shock of awareness. And now a mere smile tipped his inner organs out of whack.

Food, he decided. He must be hungry.

“I need to run,” Becca said suddenly. “I don’t want to be late.”

Everyone else had quickly scattered at exactly five o’clock. Normally Kent would have scattered with the best of them, but something had held him back tonight. “Late?”

Her pencil broke. “Darn it.” Her lips tightened as she patted herself down, searching for another one.

Pointedly, he looked at the one she had behind her ear, but she was grumbling, not paying any attention. “I can never find-”

Reaching close enough to see the few freckles scattered on her nose, he slid it out and held it up. “This what you’re looking for?”

“Thanks,” she muttered, making a grab for it, but he held firm.

“Late for what, Becca?”

“I’d rather not discuss it.” She gave up on the tug-of-war and pushed at her glasses. Then once again glanced at the clock.

“It’s still six o’clock.”

“Yeah. I’d better go.”

She didn’t seem too eager, which upped his worry factor. “What’s with you today?”

“Nothing. Look, don’t you have something to do? Like maybe, oh I don’t know, read your catalog?”

He let out a grin. “You know very well it’s not my lingerie catalog. It came for you, but you tossed it. I couldn’t just stand by and let you waste paper that way.”

Her gaze shot heavenward. Then at the clock yet again. “I’ve got to go.”

“So you’ve said.”

Her voice held a bit of something he couldn’t put his finger on. Panic? He really hated this. She was going off to find some sort of excitement.

Who would look after her?

He knew the answer to that, but he didn’t have to like it. “Okay, dammit, I’ll come with you.”

She looked confused. “What?”

“To keep you out of trouble. Nothing more.”

She cocked her head. “To keep me out of trouble?”

“That’s what I said, didn’t I?”

“You know, if this were anyone else in the lab, say Sherry-” She dragged out the name of his secretary. “If she were going out, you’d want details. Lurid details.”

“Hey, I’ve caught you listening to the stories, too.”

“My point is, I find it interesting that you never worry about anyone else in the lab.”

She had him there. “Sherry can take care of herself,” he said finally, knowing by her instant flash of temper he’d said the wrong thing.

“I’m eight years older than she is!”

How could he explain that she seemed like an innocent? He decided not to explain at all, not to do anything to drag himself in any further.

“I think I’ll just head out,” she said stiffly, sliding off her stool. She walked to the door, lifted her purse and coat off the wooden hanger there. Then she hesitated, her back to him. “I’m wondering why you treat me as if I were your baby sister. Is it because we work together? Or because I look…the way I do?”

Uh-oh. He sensed this was one of those girl traps. “This has nothing to do with your looks.”

She crossed her arms, cocked her head and gave him one of those long-suffering, mock-patient expressions every woman has perfected. “What does it have to do with?”

“Well…” With longing, he glanced at his own coat, and the door.

“Oh, never mind,” she said, disgusted. “Men.”

The door shut not so quietly behind her.

BECCA DROVE ALONG the narrow, curvy, two-lane highway of Incline Village, thinking things were going to change from this day on.

The sun disappeared behind the horizon, and in its wake a glorious array of colors bounced off Lake Tahoe where it glimmered on her right. Its waters were a shimmering, brilliant blue that spoke of its amazing depth. The Sierra mountains towered on her left, magnificent and still peaked with snow, though it was already May. And as she drove through Incline, a place she spent both her days and nights, she thought it sad it was a place she’d never played.

Never really lived.

Well that was going to change too.

She turned into the parking lot and looked at the old wooden building that served as the lake’s equivalent of a mini-mall. The structure was two stories tall and built to resemble a cabin. It dated from the early part of the twentieth century, when Lake Tahoe had been an exclusive resort for the rich and famous from the San Francisco Bay area. Nearly a hundred years later, little had changed. Not the look of the place, or the wealthy tourists.

The area, especially this building, exuded charm and nostalgia, just as the various entrepreneurs inside the building wanted.

Summer’s Place was at the end of the mall, newly converted from a small but exclusive dress shop. The rent in this district was unspeakably high, as it was throughout Incline Village.

Income Village the locals had dubbed it.

And though Summer was wonderful, resourceful and very talented, even she couldn’t have possibly afforded the rent by herself. The story in town was that her sweet, kind, rich ex-boyfriend had given her a rent-free ten-year lease.

That was true, but only half of the real story.

She’d actually won it from him in a game of poker. Strip poker. Becca had expected Summer to hide that little tidbit, but she was actually proud of it.

And Becca was proud of her. But a makeover?

Faltering on the steps, she looked out to the lake. A small company that took tourists parasailing was set up on shore, bringing in the latest paying customer, who was hooting and hollering with delight.

Becca turned and stared up at the bright, cheerful sign that read: Summer’s Place, Full Service Salon.

Her stomach tap danced. Her nerves skittered.

She wanted this, she reminded herself. It was just step number one to a more exciting, satisfying life.

When she almost believed it, she went inside.

TWO HOURS LATER she sat beneath a hair dryer, a cup of steaming tea on her right, a glamour magazine-which might as well have been printed in Latin-on her lap. She wore nothing but a robe and some scented lotion that smelled heavenly.

There was something decadent about being so completely naked beneath the robe in a room filled with people. Summer sat at her right, happily chatting away to two other customers as she held Becca’s hand.

Becca assumed it was to hold her still, to keep her from running screaming out of the salon. But she no longer felt like screaming at all.

The salon was incredibly homey and relaxing, not at all intimidating, as some salons could be. The colors were bright and cheerful, much like Summer herself. There were all sorts of snacks available-nothing made clients happy faster than something yummy to munch on. Soft rock blared discreetly from hidden speakers overhead. The reception area had been designed to look like an expensive but approachable clothing boutique, and since one of Summer’s closest friends, Monique, designed and sold clothes right here, it actually was.

An entire wardrobe had been picked out for Becca, and it hadn’t been simple. She’d wanted easy-to-wear clothes that she could both work and play in.

Summer had insisted on two different looks, one for Becca’s work and one for the nightlife she was hoping Becca would have.

They’d settled somewhere in between, but it was the lingerie she’d purchased that still had her blushing. The silks and lace seemed decadent, especially since she didn’t get all that many opportunities to show off her underwear, but there was something almost thrillingly naughty about wearing such exotic things beneath her clothes.

She’d had a delicious massage by Pierre, who’d somehow managed to convince Becca she would love to have his hands all over her body.

He’d been right. For about one-millionth of a second, she’d agonized over lying face down and naked except for one little scrap of towel barely covering her essentials. She’d asked for a bigger towel and Pierre had laughed.

She was certain every square inch of her had furiously blushed, especially the not-so-toned inches.

But Pierre had a voice made for comforting and a touch that was out of this world. If her massage, which had been very professional and proper, had gone on for two more minutes, she was convinced she would have mortified herself and had an orgasm right there on the table. She could have said the same about her pedicure and manicure.

But some of her euphoria died when Summer led her back to her work station. Her sister insisted on styling her hair, without letting Becca face the mirror.

“I’m nervous,” Summer admitted as she finished.

“Oh God, really?” Becca braced herself for the worst. “Did you turn my hair green again?”

Summer bit her lip. “How do you feel about magenta?”

“Summer!”

“Just kidding. But gee, thanks for the confidence.”

“Just tell me,” Becca said urgently. “How bad is it?”

“It’s fab, stop it. All I meant was, it’s exciting for me to do something for you for a change.” Summer squeezed her shoulders affectionately. “Especially since you’ve done so much for me.”

Becca didn’t want to take any credit for their past. Their parents had been killed when she’d been only eighteen, and Summer just sixteen. Becca had taken care of her sister, but anyone would have done the same.

“You’re always right there,” Summer said quietly. “I’ve wanted to give you something back, anything. For so long, I’ve wanted that.” She smiled. “Thanks for letting me do this.”

Slowly she turned Becca to face the mirror.

Ooohs and aaahs filled her ears as everyone around them gave their opinion. Becca hardly heard. Her gaze was locked on the mirror, her heart suddenly thundering. Her head spun. Her eyes glowed, and thanks to the magic of makeup, seemed huge and green. And her hair…it wasn’t green or magenta. Instead, it was shiny, loose to her shoulders and the most glorious color of honey she’d ever seen.

“Well?” Summer demanded, looking at no one but Becca. “Say something. Anything.”

It was a miracle, was all she could think. “I had no idea I had such good genes.”

Summer laughed and hugged her. “You ought to take that trip to Italy after all. Reward yourself.”

She couldn’t stop staring at herself in the mirror. “Oh, I intend to reward myself,” she said slowly. “And you, too. But not with Italy.”

“I see the wheels turning,” Summer said cautiously. “But I don’t think-”

“Exactly. Don’t think,” Becca said, echoing her sister’s earlier words right back at her. Right out the window she could still see the parasailers. She smiled and turned back to Summer, who looked out the window and gasped when she saw someone hanging from a parachute one hundred and fifty feet above the lake’s water. “Oh no.”

“Oh yes,” Becca said, smiling.

“Okay, look.” Summer drew a deep breath. “I understand you’re going through some sort of mid-life crisis. You’re only thirty, but you hear your clock ticking, or something equally stupid. Becca, stop laughing, I’m serious! Going out and dangling from a tiny little string a million feet in the air isn’t going to-”

“Chicken.”

Summer closed her mouth and glared at Becca. “I’m not a chicken. You take that back.”

“Double dare,” Becca said and waited, knowing full well Summer had never, in all her life, been able to refuse a dare.

“You’ll ruin your hair and nails,” Summer said with an insulted sniff, as if this was her only concern.

“Triple dare,” Becca whispered.

Summer dropped the sophisticated air and swore the air blue. Then she grabbed her purse. “Okay, you’re on. But last one there goes first.”