by Jill Shalvis
He laughed. That he had an adventurous spirit called to her, not that she’d admit it. “Good thing we’re not doing anything stupid,” she said.
“Like?”
“Like dating.”
His jaw tightened. “Yeah.”
They drove in silence for a while after that, though Kenna would have paid to hear his thoughts since hers had left work long ago and were stuck on what she’d just said.
The thought of them going out.
It both made her wince and…yearn. “Um…turn right. Now left,” she said, biting her lip, trying to remember exactly… She pressed closer to the window as the rundown neighborhood came into view. “I don’t know this place very well…”
“I do.” His voice was grim, making her glare at him but he kept his eyes on the road. “What are you looking for?”
“There.” She watched in relief as the Teen Zone came into view. “Pull over there.”
Old, vacant houses. Graffiti on everything nailed down. Wes didn’t look thrilled. “This isn’t—”
“Right here, that house on the corner.”
“Kenna—”
“Hold that thought,” she said quickly, hearing in his tone that he was uncomfortable, that he wasn’t going to let her out of the car, not in this neighborhood. The moment he braked, she opened the door and leaped out, but because she didn’t want him to follow her, she peered back through the open window.
His hair was windblown, his expression behind his glasses edgy and uneasy.
“I’ll be right back,” she told him.
Surprising her, he reached out and grabbed her wrist. His fingers were long and strong, just like the rest of him, and she stared down, looking at his big, slightly callused hand on her smooth skin.
If she’d been one to worry obsessively, then she might freak out that one simple little touch could stop her in her tracks. Good thing she didn’t worry obsessively. Much.
“This isn’t a great neighborhood,” he said.
“I’ll hurry.” She pulled free and started up the walk. Sarah’s generosity had been on her mind, and she had a twenty-dollar bill burning a hole in her pocket. Something deep inside was desperately afraid Sarah wouldn’t take the money, which would leave Kenna still in her debt.
Independence had become everything over the past years, everything. Already it had been greatly jeopardized when she’d accepted her father’s job. She knew damn well she couldn’t have gotten such a job on her own merit and experience, not yet anyway.
Then there was the man sitting in his car, looking at her as if she was something between a cross he had to bear and a morsel he’d like to nibble on.
Whether he realized it or not, she owed him as well. To her knowledge, despite how he felt about sharing the position and his doubts about her ability, he hadn’t complained about her to her father, hadn’t done anything other than accept her as is.
Sarah answered her knock and smiled her surprise. “Kenna. How lovely to see you. And to see you looking so well.” Her smile blossomed as she took in Kenna’s long, flowing dress, which, while maybe a tad sexy only because the material clung to her figure, was actually quite modest and definitely very unhooker-like. “I like the new look.”
Courtesy of my old Nordstrom’s discount, Kenna nearly quipped, still amazed that people paid full retail for such things. Instead, she held out the twenty-dollar bill. “I just wanted—”
“Come in. I hope you have time for a glass of iced tea?”
Kenna thrust out the bill once more. “This is yours.”
“Of course it’s not.”
“But it is.” She wagged the bill, because darn it, Sarah wasn’t even looking at it. “Please. Take it. Use it for this place.”
“What I could use, Kenna, if you want to help, is your time.”
“I have this new job, and it takes most of my time—”
“I have a teenage girl in here right now,” Sarah said. “She’s eighteen and already selling herself.”
Kenna’s heart fell. “For drugs?”
“For clothes and food.” Sarah’s smile was gone. “She’s too old for the foster system.” She squeezed Kenna’s hand. “The more people who try to reach her—”
Kenna thought about the girl inside, struggling to survive and her throat burned in shame. Had she ever believed she’d had it tough? My God, how shallow. “I was just having a string of bad luck on the day we met, that’s all, and now I’m embarrassed to tell you how well off I really am.” She held out the money again. “I can’t let you think I can’t pay you back. I’ve told you I’m Kenna. Kenna Mallory. My father owns the Mallory Hotels. All of them.” There was an ache in her chest at the thought of Sarah’s disappointment, a woman giving all of herself to everyone around her, even a perfect stranger.
Never in her life had Kenna felt so selfish. She lifted her head to tell Sarah so, but Sarah was smiling at someone just behind Kenna. “Hello, there.”
“Hello.”
At the sound of Wes’s voice, the ache from deep inside tightened into panic. Her first instinct was to turn around and…and smack him, but she refrained herself. Barely. “I thought you were going to wait in the car.”
“Nope.” He smiled at Sarah and held out his hand. “Weston Roth.”
“I’m Sarah Anderson— Wes?”
“Sarah…wow. I didn’t recognize you. Small world.”
“It is in this neighborhood,” Sarah said with a laugh.
Wes turned to Kenna to explain. “I grew up near here. Sarah lived a few doors down. She worked with my younger brother, helped me convince him to go to college instead of hanging on the streets with the worthless crowd he’d gotten into.” He smiled at Sarah. “Back then your Teen Zone was a couple miles farther south. I didn’t know you had one right here.”
“It’s new.” Sarah looked around her, at the deteriorated street, at the rundown yard full of dried-up, trampled grass and crumbling brick. “Well, new to us anyway.”
Kenna looked around her and thought…Wes. He’d grown up here. Here…
“You’re a friend of Kenna’s, then?” Sarah asked him, and Kenna tensed.
She wasn’t his friend, she was the thorn in his side.
“Yes,” he said, holding Kenna’s gaze captive.
Nope. No way. She didn’t buy it. Or she didn’t want to. “We’ve got to go,” she said. Pulling out the pocket on Sarah’s jeans, she tucked in the twenty-dollar bill. “I’m sorry it’s not more. Good luck.” And she chased her own shadow to the car.
Wes got in behind the wheel as she was buckling up. “What was that about?”
“Just a visit.” And now it was over. She’d go back to her comfy new job, her comfy life and remember daily how very lucky she was. “Let’s go.”
“You gave her money.”
“You’re quick.”
He studied her carefully. Too carefully, and she felt fragile, an inch from shattering. “Look, I repaid a debt, okay? Can we go now?”
“Are you crying?”
She swiped at a tear. “Of course not.” What was wrong with her? Why did she feel so emotional? So on edge?
“Look, I know it’s none of my business—”
“You’re right about that.”
“Kenna—“
Ruthlessly, she swiped at another tear. Her last tear. “Just drive, Wes. Can you do that?”
She felt him staring at her, but she didn’t look over at him, and he let her get away with that. “Yeah, I can do that,” he said after a long moment and, shockingly enough, he did.
Only he didn’t take her back to work, as she’d expected. Instead, they drove up to…a go-kart race track?
She blinked at the two separate race tracks, each equipped with karts that were going very fast. “What is this? What are we doing?”
“Relaxing.” He shoved his sunglasses on top of his head and gave her a look of pure trouble.
It should be illegal, that look, as it was more intoxicating than any drug. �
�Relaxing,” she repeated, her voice still a little shaky. “Where’s the beach?”
“No beach. We’re doing this my way.”
His way. Holy smokes, with a smile like that, aimed right at her, she’d probably do anything his way. “We’re on lunch break.”
“So we’ll eat after.” He sighed when she just looked at him. “How many hours did you work last week? Like, sixty? We’re entitled.”
They stood in line. Then he was slipping a helmet on her head, tucking her hair in, his fingers brushing against her jaw, his eyes locked on hers. “Ready?”
If that wasn’t a loaded question. “You should know,” she said, so close she could have kissed him. “This is a really bad idea. You and me…we mix like oil and water.”
“I know.”
“So what are we doing?”
“I haven’t a clue.” He stroked a finger over her jaw. “I can’t remember.”
“You said we were going to relax. Your style.”
“Yeah. This will help.”
“Help who, exactly?”
“Hell if I know.”
11
THE FIRST TIME AROUND, Kenna sat with Wes in a two-seater kart. He took the track like a pro—meaning full speed—making her scream with far more terror than laughter.
Hands and body in full control of the kart, whipping them around the track, he glanced over. “Stop?”
“No!”
That caused a smile, and by the end of their lap time, she wanted to do it herself.
They picked out their karts and before the laps started, when they were side by side, waiting for the green flag, he looked over at her and revved his engine.
That was such a guy thing, she laughed. “I’m going to win,” she called to him.
“No, you’re not.”
And true to his word, he beat her, the first two times in fact, but on the third, she pulled ahead of him in the last lap and won by a hair. She got out of the go-kart and marched right up to him.
He was grinning, until she stabbed a finger into his chest—a chest that didn’t give an inch. “You let me win. Don’t ever let me win.”
“Then stop driving like a girl.”
Oh, that did it. “One more.” She got back into her kart, and on the fourth try beat him for real.
“I didn’t let you win,” he said when it was over.
“I know.” Coolly, she let him move ahead of her before doing a little victory dance.
But when he looked back over his shoulder and caught her at it, he grinned.
And once again, the air sizzled around them.
They got back into his Jag. For a long moment, the air was tight with everything they’d repressed, with a longing and a need neither of them dared put into words.
“You had fun,” he said quietly.
She lifted a shoulder. “It was okay.”
“You had fun. I have the hearing loss from your screams to prove it.”
“Yeah? So wear ear plugs next time.”
“Say it, Kenna.”
When he looked at her like that, all dangerous smile and intense eyes, she knew she’d tell him whatever he wanted to hear.
But this time, it was the utter truth. “I had fun.”
“And?”
“And…” She drew a deep breath. “And if you’d stop looking at me like that, I might have the smallest chance of being relaxed. Very relaxed.”
With a grin, he started the car.
THE DAYS PASSED and work went on. Kenna buried herself in it, happy enough. One afternoon she took herself to a conference room to work, where she could spread out her papers, where there was no phone and no interruptions.
And okay, maybe she didn’t want anyone to see what she was working on.
For several hours, she was alone, and she read and worked away, until, without a knock, without any warning at all, the door opened and in came Wes.
He shut the door behind him and leaned against it, not saying a word.
Her heart leapt right into her throat, annoying her. More so when his gaze took itself on a little tour of her body. She wore a perfectly acceptable dress, with long snug sleeves and a tight bodice. It went up to her neck at least, and was even a rather sedate color of blue, but the way his eyes heated made her feel as though she was in a bathing suit.
She snapped shut the files and slid her notes beneath them.
“Whatcha doing?”
“Nothing.” She winced at the lie. She should have come up with something.
“Nothing, huh?” He pushed away from the door to come toward her.
Damn it, she wasn’t ready to show him. Standing, she lifted the file and her notes and held them to her. “I’m just doing…stuff.”
“Really? What kind of stuff.”
“I don’t know, just stuff.”
“I share with you. Now you share with me. Come on, share your ‘stuff.”’
“Not today— Hey!”
They did a tug-of-war over the files for a moment, but Wes won. He stared down at them. “My postmortem acquisition file with my summary on the hotel and its merger potential with the sister hotel your father is looking at.” Confused, he looked at Kenna. “What are you doing with this?”
“Well—”
“I’m presenting this information to the board next week.”
“I know.” She tossed up her hands. “Okay, listen. I didn’t want to tell you until I’d finished my own report, but I thought I’d add it to yours. I’d hoped you’d let me present it with you, as a team. Let’s just hope they’re wearing color that day.”
He shook his head as if it hurt. “What does that have to do with anything?”
“It’s just that I’ve got this theory. The more color in their shoes or ties—since God forbid we pick a suit other than dark or darker—the better things go for me.”
“That’s…an interesting observation.”
“It’s true. Look at you and me. Once I got you to wear color, we started getting along better.”
He shook his head. “That’s just true enough to be scary. What do you want to add to my report?”
“Lots, actually. In looking back, the personnel expenses seem off. They seemed too high given what I know the employees are getting, both in salaries and benefits.”
He was watching her very carefully, listening. Valuing what she was saying, which for some stupid reason, gave her a surge of pride. Good. If she didn’t have passion for this job, then at least she could have pride. “When I took a closer look,” she said. “I found that at the executive level, there were some interesting bonuses given.”
“Yes, of course. For getting each phase of the renovations completed on time, bonuses were awarded.”
“But those bonuses were all paid out whether the deadlines were met or not.”
His forehead creased. “You’re certain?”
“Very. If we knock that kind of crap off, we could give the employees some of the benefits we refused them.”
“Knock that kind of crap off…you going to use that terminology in your report?”
She bit back a smile because she could hear his in his voice. “I’ll try to control myself. Look, I just want to prove myself.”
“Who the hell to?” He laughed. “Your dad owns the place.”
But she didn’t laugh with him, and he sobered. “Okay, you feel the need to prove yourself. But you’ve been doing that.”
“I want to do more. I have good ideas, too, Wes. Ideas for the employees that would make things simpler regarding scheduling and overtime, and give a sense of company pride. I’m serious about this job, you know. Just as serious as you.”
“Yeah.”
“No, I mean it.”
He scrubbed a hand over his face, then startled her by reaching out and wrapping his fingers around her arm, pulling her a little closer. “I know. And it’s to my discredit that I haven’t really done anything to help you, I’ve just let you go, thinking you’ll get tired or bored and move on.”
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“Because that’s what I’ve always done. Move on.”
“I’m sorry, Kenna. You deserved more from me.”
She had no idea that a man uttering those two little words, I’m sorry, could be so utterly sexy.
And empowering. “Don’t be sorry. Make it up to me. I have research and cost projections—” She opened up her spreadsheets to show him. “See?”
He leaned over her shoulder, so close she could feel his warm breath on her cheek. “Where did you get all this?”
“I got some studies off the Internet for comparison. Here’s a draft of where I see the presentation going…” With bated breath, she waited while he flipped through. “What do you think?”
He glanced at her, his eyes unreadable. “What do I think?”
She’d never cared what another person had thought about her, but she cared now.
Far too much. “Yeah.” Suddenly they were much closer than she’d realized, and she became breathing-challenged.
“I’m not sure I should say what I’m thinking,” he said softly. “As it has nothing, nothing at all, to do with work.”
12
KENNA HELD her breath and stared at Wes, mesmerized by the look in his eyes, the feel of his large, warm hand on her arm. “It…doesn’t?”
“No.” They stood like that, only inches apart, so close she could see his eyes weren’t solid blue, but had specks of dark gray dancing in them. A strand of her long hair clung to his throat, another to the light stubble on his jaw.
Hormone alert.
“I think,” he said very quietly. “That I’d be better off taking this back to my office to look it all over without distraction.”
Or temptation.
He didn’t say that, but she liked to think he was thinking it. In any case, it wasn’t quite the unequivocal yes on her proposal that she’d have liked to hear, but Weston Roth wasn’t impulsive. He was a sharp, methodical thinker who couldn’t be rushed.
Not even by lust. “Thank you,” she said, gathering all the papers close. “But I’m not done yet. I’d rather polish it first.” She moved to leave.
