The One You Want

by Gena Showalter

  He might not know every detail of her past, but he liked who she was now.

  Have to make things right. It was the only reason he'd accepted his father's invitation to dinner.

  Dane led his date into his childhood home. His father and Roanne were waiting in the sitting room, where the engagement party had been held. Thomas had an arm wrapped around her waist, holding her close, as if she were a precious treasure.

  Opinions were subjective.

  Dane fought a wave of disappointment when he realized Kenna hadn't yet arrived.

  "Well, well," Thomas said. "Look who decided to put his big-boy panties on and face his dear old dad."

  "There's one problem with that statement," Dane replied easily. "You aren't dear to me."

  Thomas pursed his lips when Dane sat on the couch rather than closing the distance and extending a hand to shake. "You're still blaming me for your unhappiness, I see."

  "If only that were all I blamed you for." Dane used to idolize his father. Thomas had been the one to comfort him after Daniel's death. But since the revelation of The Affair, Dane could barely stand the sight of him.

  Blustering, his father snapped, "One day you'll fall in love. You won't be able to help yourself. You'll sell your soul to be with her."

  Dane glanced at Roanne. She stared down at her feet. "You speak as if I actually have a soul. As if mine wasn't ripped from me by lies and betrayal."

  They lapsed into silence, minute after minute ticking by, no one daring to speak. Roanne puttered around the sitting room, fiddling with the trays of hors d'oeuvres, smoothing the fabric of her form-fitting white dress. Dane's date, Courtney, sat beside him on the couch, sipping wine. Thomas finally claimed the chair in front of the hearth and glared at everyone.

  Then the doorbell rang.

  Dane stood, every muscle in his body suddenly tense.

  The housekeeper answered the door and a few seconds later, Kenna was stepping into the sitting room. Breathing became a thing of the past. Her hair hung over her shoulders like streams of fire. Her cheeks were pale, her freckles stark. She wore a comfortable top and jeans--and he responded as if she were naked, desperate to get to her. To have her. Why? It made no sense. He wasn't some virginal kid with a fistful of twenties standing inside a whorehouse.

  But...damn. She was natural and beautiful and real.

  And she was a mother. He avoided mothers, he reminded himself. Always. He wanted nothing to do with children. Not raising them, nurturing them or possibly ruining their lives.

  "This isn't awkward at all," West said with a grin. "Not a bit of tension in this room."

  Surprise and irritation filled Dane. Kenna had chosen to come with West. And West had agreed--after being warned away.

  Dane gave his friend a stiff nod of greeting. The fact that the guy was dressed as casually as Kenna suggested they were comfortable enough with each other to converse about their clothes and actually coordinate.

  They better not be comfortable enough.

  While Kenna had stopped in the doorway, West kept coming forward, extending his hand to Dane. They shook, each squeezing hard enough to crack bone.

  West never lost his grin as he leaned in and whispered, "Don't worry. I know she's your sister. I'll treat her right. In bed and out. I'm willing to listen to any objections you may have, though. No? Nothing? Okay, then." He patted Dane on the shoulder and maneuvered around him to say hello to the others.

  A curse rose from deep in his chest and exploded before he could stop it. West laughed without turning around.

  "One day," Dane snarled, "I'm going to put your nuts in a grinder and make a testicle salad sandwich."

  West just laughed harder.

  "Dane." His father stared at him as if an alien baby had just clawed its way out of his stomach. "That's no way to speak to a guest."

  "I've been known to say worse," Kenna said.

  Sticking up for him?

  She approached him before he could respond, her fake smile in place. "It's nice to see you again, Dane."

  He hated that smile, wanted the real one. He also hated how formal and distant she was with him. No one to blame but myself. "Nice isn't the adjective I expected you to use." He smoothed his expression, took her hand--warm, soft, delicate--and kissed her knuckles...he wanted to lick them when he caught the scent of strawberries. Not an odd thing in this town, and not something that would normally arouse him, but it was stronger on her, sweeter, and his mouth watered for a taste.

  Control. He forced himself to release her.

  She took two steps back.

  "I owe you another apology," he said quietly. Whatever her past, he was no one's judge and didn't want to be. "I had no right to attack your character."

  A few moments passed while she seemed to grapple with acceptance of his words. When she decided he'd meant what he said, the stiffness drained from her shoulders. "Just so you know, I don't sleep with married men."

  "I believe you."

  "Then you're forgiven."

  That easily? "Someone's got to teach you how to hold on to a good grudge, honey," he teased.

  What the hell. Me? Teasing?

  Her eyes twinkled up at him, the glow at last returning to her cheeks. "Everyone makes mistakes."

  Yes, but he seemed to make more than most. One of his had cost his brother his life. His hand inched upward, toward his cheek, to the scars countless surgeries had made more aesthetically pleasing.

  When he realized what he was doing, he scowled. "We're going to be family," he said. "I'd like us to be friends."

  "Friends?" The word was little more than a whisper.

  "Yes."

  "Friends spend time together." Her gaze slid over him the way his had slid over her when they'd stood inside the library, and he noticed the way her pulse jumped in her neck. How a tremor moved through her, rocking her on her feet.

  Was she...attracted to him?

  His body responded to the idea, hardening.

  "I--" Whatever she'd intended to say, she changed her mind. "Sure." She nodded. "That'd be nice."

  "Nice," he parroted, when suddenly friendship sounded anything but.

  Roanne and Courtney appeared arm in arm at his side.

  "What are you wearing?" Roanne demanded of Kenna, who went pale again.

  Both females were in designer dresses with heels so tall he was surprised they weren't mistaken for stilts.

  Courtney went on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek, and he jolted away, avoiding contact. She stiffened, and he knew he'd embarrassed her, but he'd already explained to her, to every woman he'd ever dated, that his face was off-limits, even in bed.

  "Could you embarrass me more?" Roanne said on a sigh, still focused on her daughter.

  Kenna flinched before squaring her shoulders. "Yes, I could," she said. "Would you like me to show you how?"

  Dane hid a grin. "I think she's perfect just the way she is."

  She gazed at him with surprised gratefulness. "Really? I mean, thank you. Friend."

  He gritted his teeth.

  "I agree. I think you look lovely," Courtney said, kind as usual. "But perhaps you'd like to borrow my wrap?" She offered the last for Roanne's benefit, revealing an aspect of her character he did not like. She was someone who would never pick a side or fight for what she believed in.

  He'd be ending things tonight.

  "Thank you, but no." Kenna raised her chin. "I'm perfect."

  The action...he'd seen it before, when they were in the library together...a habit, he realized. When she was being judged--and had to steel herself against hurt? Just how often had it happened in her short life?

  An-n-nd, his chest started aching all over again.

  "I agree about the perfect thing." West appeared at Kenna's side and wrapped his arm around her waist.

  Dane pressed his tongue against the roof of his mouth to stop himself from speaking. No telling what he'd say.

  "But--" Roanne began.

  "Leave the girl alo
ne, Roanne. She's as pretty as a picture," Thomas said, astonishing Dane. His father moved to the entrance of the dining room. "The food is ready, and I'm a starving man. Come on, now, everyone."

  The others joined him, while Dane hung back. Kenna was the only one to notice. She offered him a nod of encouragement.

  The last time he'd sat at that dining table, Daniel had been alive, and his parents had been in love. He'd been part of a happy family.

  As the door to the past opened, memories swamped him.

  Don't go there.

  Too late.

  I want to skate on the pond, Dane.

  It's dangerous. The ice could crack.

  It won't. Please!

  With that heartfelt plea, Dane had caved.

  Now he rubbed his cheek; he would have sworn he felt the jagged edge of ice digging in, digging deep, as he'd tried to pull his brother from the frigid water after the ice had, in fact, cracked. Would have sworn that, despite multiple surgeries to smooth the skin, it was still raised.

  "Dane?" Kenna's voice drew him out of his head, and the dark mire of his thoughts. "Deciding whether or not to make a run for the door?" She stopped a few feet away from him and smiled, her real smile, and his breath snagged in his throat. So damn beautiful. "Gotta say, you look like you'd rather lob an H-bomb into the dining room than enter it."

  "For once, looks are not deceiving. But I wonder why you don't you look that way. The way your mother speaks to you..." He didn't like it.

  She shrugged. "She's the only parent I have left."

  "You forgive her?"

  "Every day, in every way."

  "You forgive too easily, honey."

  "You told me that already. But honestly, it's not easy. It's just something I have to do. For me. I don't want to spend my days mad or bitter, and I refuse to let her opinion color mine. Besides, you should be grateful. You've had to apologize to me twice, practically begging for that easy forgiveness."

  "Brat," he muttered.

  Grinning, she said, "I was headed to the bathroom to wash my hands. At the risk of everyone assuming I lied and that I'm actually suffering from terrible digestive problems, would you like to walk through the gardens?"

  Time alone with her? "I'd like that very much," he said, and offered his hand.

  She hesitated only a moment before wrapping her fingers around his. Suddenly they were skin to skin. The heat of her thrilled him. The softness of her teased him. He wanted...

  More.

  Cursing himself, he led her through the house, avoiding the dining room. Once they were outside in the coolness of the evening and under the stars, she released him. But the memory of her touch continued to haunt him. He craved her softness and heat, fought the urge to grab her hand and hold on for dear life.

  Came here with Courtney. Kenna came with West. She did the right thing.

  But even still, the desire for contact never lessened.

  They slowly moved through the maze of roses, gardenias and clinging vines, the moon high and golden. A lover's moon. Just bright enough to light the way, and just dark enough to hide his yearning to steal a kiss.

  The tension in him intensified--and pooled in one place.

  "Courtney seems nice," she said.

  "I don't want to talk about her."

  "The other girl--"

  "Her either."

  "How many girlfriends do you have?" she asked.

  "None."

  "None? Wow," she said.

  "Wow?"

  She laughed, the sound of it as magical as her smile, enchanting him. "Are you my official echo? Yes, wow. You seem to have an unending supply of nondates. But how about I do you a solid and focus on something besides your revolving bedroom door? Like West. He is--"

  A flash of jealousy caused him to speak over her. "I don't want to discuss him either."

  "O-kay. You are severely limiting my options for conversation topics," she said.

  "I'll give it a try, then. How'd you spend your day?" Thinking about me? The way I thought about you?

  "I don't want to say," she hedged.

  Curiosity crashed through him like a lightning bolt. "Now you have to tell me."

  "Or?"

  "Oh, honey. I'm a man without mercy. I'm willing to tickle you until you pee your pants, letting everyone think it isn't just your digestive system acting up."

  She snorted, and even that was charming. "Good luck with that. I'm not ticklish."

  "Sure you are."

  "I'm not. Really."

  "You are, you just don't know it. Trust me. No one has found the right spot on your body, that's all. But I could. It's a gift."

  Silence.

  Such wicked silence.

  The huskiness of his tone and the suggestiveness of his words echoed in his mind. He was flirting. He never flirted. Nor was he ever playful. Nor had he ever tickled a woman, or even wanted to.

  Until now. Until her. The woman he couldn't have and shouldn't want. Kenna wasn't one of his in-and-out relationships, even if she would be agreeable to such an arrangement.

  Would she?

  "I was planning a sort-of bucket list," she said, easing back into the conversation.

  "Sort-of bucket list?"

  "A...fun list. Things my friend and I want to do before we dry up like old prunes."

  Dry up? Oh, sweetheart. I'll make you so wet you'll--

  Nothing.

  He fought the curl of desire low in his belly. "A...sexual list?" he asked, treading carefully.

  "No!" she shouted, horrified. "No. We're going to get tattoos and throw a drink in someone's face. And TP someone's house. And jump into a pool with our clothes on." She ticked off several other to-dos, each more entertaining than the last. Tame, but endearing.

  Her excitement was a heady thing, dusting her lovely freckled skin with a pink that rivaled the roses around them; he realized he was smiling. This woman might have a daughter, but she was as innocent and pure as newly fallen snow.

  "I want to help," he said. "I have to drive to Dallas tomorrow for a series of meetings, but I'll be back on Friday. Wait for me, and I'll help you check off a few items."

  In fact, he didn't like the thought of her doing a single one without him. Wanted to witness them all.

  "Wait. I'm not sure I understood you correctly. You want to...help me?" she asked.

  "Why is my aid so surprising? We're friends, aren't we?"

  "I guess." She eyed him curiously. "But what if a perfect opportunity presents itself while you're out of town?"

  He thought for a minute, decided. "Change of plans. I'll skip Dallas and return to Strawberry Valley tomorrow." He was the boss. His word was law. He could delegate and do what he wanted, when he wanted. "We'll start on your list. Together."

  CHAPTER FIVE

  KENNA BUZZED WITH anticipation all day, watching the clock--tick, tock--while writing a paper for school, watching Norrie and even while working at Two Farms. Dane had promised to pick her up after her shift, despite the lateness of the hour.

  His one and only text played through her mind.

  You decide what U want 2 do & I will make it happen.

  As awesome as that was, one thing was even awesomer.

  Awesomer? I'm worse than a junior high girl with a secret crush. But the fact that thrilled her? She now had his phone number, and it was totally okay, because he didn't have a girlfriend.

  Why didn't he have a girlfriend?

  She would have done an internet search, but didn't want to learn about him that way. What was on paper--or online, whatever--wasn't always accurate. After all, if anyone had ever cared enough about her life to post the details online, well, most of the "facts" would have been false.

  Was Dane allergic to commitment? Or had he just not found the right person? Was he a serial bang-and-bailer?

  "Hello. Earth to Kenna."

  Kenna blinked, realized she'd been standing in front of Bart Chumley's table for several minutes, silent. "I'm sorry." He'd asked to
be placed in her section, and she prayed he didn't pressure her for a date again. "Have you decided what you'd like to order?"

  He ignored the question, saying, "You know I have three daughters, yes? They're fourteen, twelve and nine, and I know they would love to hang out with your Norrie. We should schedule a get-together."

  "When I was fourteen, twelve and nine, I wanted nothing to do with anyone younger, so I doubt your daughters will want anything to do with mine," she said, softening the rejection with a smile. "Now, what can I get you to eat?"

  The next few hours of her shift passed slower than the others--surely--but somehow she survived. Barely. Bart actually stuck around, even when everyone else took off. Brook Lynn would have stayed to help Kenna clean up, but Jessie Kay was off no-one-knew-where again, and Brook Lynn was determined to find her. Plus, Brook Lynn would be picking Norrie up from the sitter.

  "I don't know if you heard," Bart said, watching Kenna mop, "but my divorce is now official."

  "That's...good?" Will I be blamed?

  "Chumley," a hard voice suddenly boomed. "A word."

  Dane! Her gaze cut through the dim haze of the restaurant to find him in the doorway, wearing another suit, this one navy pin-striped and pure business chic. His dark hair stuck out in spikes, as if he'd plowed his fingers through the strands one too many times.

  Kenna's heart kicked into warp speed.

  "My pleasure, Mr. Michaelson." Grinning excitedly, Bart joined Dane.

  Dane led him outside. Why was he so angry about the potential conversation? Because he was jealous?

  But...no. Impossible. Kenna looked nothing like his ladyloves. Once underdeveloped, childbirth had left her overdeveloped and in no way slender. And maybe the cookies she loved had something to do with it. But she wasn't elegant, either. Wasn't even close.

  Besides, she and Dane were friends, nothing more. That's what he'd wanted. And he was a good friend. At dinner her mother had taken the bowl of rolls away from her, saying, "Don't you want to watch your carbs, darling?"

  Dane had grabbed the rolls, buttered half for himself and half for Kenna. They'd eaten them, too. Every single one. It had been a wonderful moment of camaraderie. The support she'd never before had from a male.

  A girl could become addicted to that.

  Dane returned--alone. He removed his jacket, rolled up his sleeves and began stacking chairs on tabletops. What was he doing? And were those handful of dark spots on both his arms tattoos?

  Don't stare! Don't react!

  Too late. The blood in her veins heated, and her belly quivered. He was just so freaking sexy.