Keeping Kennedy

by Debra Webb

  Kennedy faced him, determined to make him understand the full ramifications of the problem. “I have to show up with a real, live fiancé. I want to be absolutely positive that they all believe my…my story. Don’t you understand? I won’t see most of these people for another ten years. By then, this will all be ancient history. But right now I have to do this. It’s a matter of principle.”

  “Don’t you mean pride?”

  “Whatever.” She released a beleaguered sigh.

  “Okay, okay,” he relented. “I get the picture. Now, what does this have to do with me? You want me to find you a fiancé or what?”

  “Nooo!” she protested, planting her hands firmly on her hips in frustration.

  “What then?” he prodded, his gray eyes searching hers a bit too closely, a hint of amusement shimmering in their clear depths.

  She pinned him with a look that had won over more than one stubborn client at the public relations firm where she worked. “Because I told my parents that you are my fiancé.” She almost laughed at the look of unadulterated disbelief on his face, but there was nothing remotely funny about any of this.

  “Me?”

  She nodded. “You.”

  He choked out a laugh, then closed the already too small gap between them. He considered her in a way that could mean a number of things—none of which she wanted to deliberate at the moment. “You told your folks, who told all your friends, that I’m your fiancé?”

  “What are you, dense? Yes, that’s what I told them. When they asked for a name, yours is the only one that popped out.”

  He gave his head an odd little shake and stifled another distressed chuckle. “But you and I have never even—”

  “Dated,” Kennedy supplied before he could day something coarse. “I know.”

  “Okay,” he said slowly, maintaining that irritatingly intent eye contact. “I need you to tell me exactly what it is you’re asking me to do, Kennedy.”

  He wasn’t making this easy. He had to know what she wanted—needed. She’d never even contemplated that he might actually say no. But that seemed a distinct possibility now. Persuasion was her business, and she was a master at her craft. She could do this. She had to do this. “I’ve taken the week off from work…”

  He lifted one dark eyebrow in skepticism. “You’re joking, right?” A grin tugged the corners of his full lips upward. “Sidney T. Booker, public relations wizard, is going to let his number one spin doctor take a whole week off. Have they evacuated the White House? Closed down Capitol Hill? How will D.C. politicians survive without you around to keep them smelling like a rose after they dive headfirst into a barrel of sh—”

  “I’m not the only damage control expert in our firm,” Kennedy interrupted curtly.

  He leaned in closer. “Ah, but you are the one the President himself asked for on two different occasions in the last year.”

  “Back off Drake, you’re in my personal space,” she hissed through clenched teeth.

  Still holding her gaze without so much as a blink, he retreated a step.

  “Why do you do that?” Kennedy glowered at him. They had gotten completely off track. The man could be so infuriating. How could she ever spend an entire week with him? She should just hire someone to play his part. Except she couldn’t. Her parents had seen his picture.

  “Do what?” Fake innocence radiated from his distractingly handsome face.

  “Crowd me. You always invade my personal space. Eighteen inches, Drake. Don’t you know anything? You are completely uncouth,” she added for good measure, then realized her mistake. She was supposed to be winning him over to her side, not pushing him away.

  That metallic gaze suddenly sparkled with mischief. “That’s a fine way to talk to the man you’re planning to marry,” he offered glibly.

  She rolled her eyes. “Pleeease.” She shuddered at the thought. Never in a million years would she marry a man who crawled through jungles, climbed mountains, crossed deserts and was foolish enough to call it fun. Adding emphasis to her thought, Iggy scooted across the floor, his long tail swishing back and forth on the shiny hardwood. “Just because we’ve never been…intimate,” she informed him, “doesn’t mean I don’t know you well enough to know that you’re not my type. Not my type at all.”

  A grin that literally left her breathless stole across his chiseled features. Before she could fathom what he intended, he had backed her against the window and braced his arms on either side of her. He leaned in so close that she could feel his warm breath on her face. Her heart did a couple of somersaults, then dropped into her stomach to quiver there.

  “Never underestimate what’s in the package, Kennedy, until you’ve opened it.” He moistened his lips all the while looking at hers. Her heart was pounding so hard she was sure he heard it. Why was he behaving like this? Just when she was positive he might do something crazy like kiss her, his gaze reconnected with hers. “Now tell me,” he whispered in a low, husky voice that sent a shiver over her skin, “what is it exactly you want from me?”

  For the first time in her adult life, Kennedy found herself at a loss for words. Unsure of an already-made decision. Reluctant to follow through with something she’d started. But she had to do this. No way could go back to Friendly Corners without her faux fiancé. “You know what I want,” she managed in spite of the sudden tightness in her throat.

  “Say it, Kennedy,” he murmured.

  Held captive by his gaze and tamping down something that felt entirely too much like sexual awareness, she went for broke. “I want you to go to my hometown with me and pretend to be my fiancé for one week.”

  Chapter Two

  “Hold still just one moment longer, Mr. Drake.”

  Drake felt like a mannequin being rigged up for display or—more likely—hanging. He cast a doubting glance at Edward, the man folding and tucking and adjusting the silk suit jacket Drake now wore.

  Apparently satisfied with his final adjustments, Edward queried the woman in charge, “How’s that Ms. Malone?”

  Kennedy paused midstride, then turned in their direction. “Hang on, Carol,” she said into the cell phone that Drake fully believed to be permanently attached to her ear. Her coral-colored lips puckered thoughtfully, she gave Drake’s Versace-clad frame a long, slow sweep, then shook her head. “Go with the Armani,” she instructed before returning to her conversation with a business associate.

  “Good choice,” Edward agreed. He slipped the coat from Drake’s shoulders with practiced ease.

  Kennedy paced back and forth across the plush carpet. Her free arm giving dramatic emphasis to her every word, she appeared immensely distressed over some decision her associate had made. Drake hadn’t spent much time with Kennedy in a social setting, with the exception of the one time he’d taken her to dinner to celebrate the publication of his latest collection of photographs. But that one time had been enough to get a fix on her.

  Strictly business. That had been his first impression of Kennedy Malone and time hadn’t changed his mind. She worked long hours, her social life was non-existent as far as he could tell, and she was his friend. A frown furrowed his brow at the thought. Not that he charmed every woman he met, but he wasn’t oblivious to the fact that women—most women he happened to meet—were somewhat attracted to him. He was well aware that his looks were an asset in that department. And for the first thirty years of his life he’d considered himself a very lucky man indeed. But things had changed in the last three.

  There was always another pretty lady right around the corner waiting for a good time, but no keepers. No one who wanted to move beyond the physical. No one who moved him in that direction. Not that he didn’t enjoy a damned good sex life—he did. But somehow it wasn’t the same anymore. It just wasn’t quite enough.

  He had a great career—money, prestige, travel. But there was something tremendously unsettling, well, lonely about being thirty-three and waking up alone more often than not. Maybe women didn’t want guys like him f
or husbands or fathers. Drake dragged his fingers through his hair and cursed his nostalgic mood.

  What the hell was wrong with him? His interest continued to follow Kennedy’s every move. It had never bothered him before that she looked at him with indifference. Maybe the problem was too much sun and not enough sleep. That was probably the answer. He’d be himself after a good night’s sleep, assuming he ever got one with Kennedy the Tyrant leading him around by the nose.

  “No, Carol! Tell the senator that he can’t pretend it didn’t happen,” Kennedy snapped. Her free hand now planted on one hip, she pivoted and retraced her steps.

  The ivory silk pantsuit she wore clung to her slender shape in an especially eye-pleasing manner. Kennedy dressed well, choosing conservative, but always elegant outfits. Her shoulder-length hair, the color of sand on a sun-kissed beach, was cut in a swingy style that framed her face and neck, caressing her peach-colored skin like a lover’s touch. Drake drew in a slow, deep breath to counter the effect she was suddenly having on him. And those eyes, more gold than brown, surrounded by long, thick lashes, could persuade a man to do anything. But Kennedy had never looked at him with sexual interest—not even once.

  They were pals. Buddies.

  He respected that relationship, no matter how much his more primal instincts protested. Kennedy was his friend. A good friend. He could always count on her. And now she needed him. No way would he let her down or screw up their friendship.

  Still deeply engrossed in her phone conversation, she tunneled her fingers through her hair and down to massage her neck. Her fingers trailed over the smooth skin near the base of her throat and his groin tightened. He wondered how she would taste right there—where that pulse pounded rapidly beneath satiny skin.

  “Don’t waste your time, sir.”

  Ripped away from his forbidden fantasy, Drake turned to Edward. “What?”

  “Ms. Malone never mixes business with pleasure,” the clerk assured him.

  “Excuse me?” Drake’s temper flared. What was the man insinuating?

  Assuming a knowing look, Edward elaborated. “Ms. Malone often brings her clients to this shop for”—the older man gave Drake a cool once-over—“makeovers, shall we say?” He leaned slightly closer and lowered his voice. “Many have tried, all have failed.” He nodded conspiratorially. “Ms. Malone is a true lady. Money, power, good looks…None of it fazes her. I doubt you will be any more successful than the others.”

  Drake clenched his jaw against the retort that sprang instantly to mind. “Thanks for the tip, Edward,” he said instead. “I’ll bear that in mind.”

  Edward thrust a large white box at him, followed immediately by another, then a garment bag. “Just wanted to save you the embarrassment, sir,” he explained in his most helpful tone. “It’ll take a special man to win Kennedy Malone,” he added in a stage whisper. His admiring gaze lingered on the woman in question for a long moment. “A special man, indeed.”

  Drake had never been accused of setting out to snag a female. He’d never had to. And he had no intention of starting now.

  “All set?” Suddenly standing right in front of him, Kennedy beamed a professional smile of approval in his direction. His traitorous pulse reacted.

  Before he could answer, Edward, his friendly adviser, responded, “Oh, yes, Ms. Malone, quite set. I believe Mr. Drake has everything he’ll need.” The older man shot Drake a wink.

  “Great,” Kennedy enthused. “We’re ready then.”

  He was ready all right, Drake agreed silently. Ready to kick himself for letting Kennedy talk him into this idiotic charade.

  ~*~

  “We’ve been over this already,” Drake grumbled. He leaned back in the seat of the rented sedan and tried to put the last few hours out of his mind, but again his efforts proved useless. After whirlwind packing and doubling his housekeeper’s salary for the week so she would feed Iggy, he and Kennedy were on their way. The flight had been unremarkable, but, so far, the drive from the airport to Fayetteville had proven decidedly more exciting.

  He knew Kennedy to be an aggressive driver on the streets of D.C. But once on the interstate, she drove like a bat out of hell. She talked nonstop and her cell rang constantly. She had no qualms about driving, talking, and using that dramatic body language of hers—simultaneously. If they arrived in Friendly Corners alive it would be a miracle. He closed his eyes to shut out the landscape whizzing by in a blur of autumn colors. He was surprised North Carolina’s highway patrol hadn’t stopped her as she sped along the interstate. Maybe the local police would slow her down, he mused as they headed for the exit ramp.

  “Drake, this is important,” she insisted. “Now listen up.”

  “I’m listening,” he intoned, refusing to open his eyes.

  “My parents are very old-fashioned. They don’t drink except for the occasional glass of wine at a social function. So don’t even think about beer while you’re under their roof. As a small-town attorney and a prominent member of the Methodist Church, my father is an archconservative, so don’t swear or smoke in front of him.”

  He shook his head slowly from side to side. Where did the woman get these ideas? “I quit smoking when they kicked me out of the Hell’s Angels,” he assured her sarcastically.

  Her brief hesitation made him smile. “You are joking, aren’t you?” she finally asked.

  He blew out a breath. “I did do a photo essay of a couple of renegade Angels once, but don’t worry, I don’t smoke.”

  “Oh.” She frowned. “Why did I think you smoked?”

  “I have no idea.”

  “Maybe it’s because you’re…you know, like you are.”

  His eyes popped open and he shot her an irritated look from behind his sunglasses, for all the good it would do. “I’m not sure I want to know what that means.”

  She gave him a bright smile, which, to his frustration, immediately banished his irritation. “Oh, I don’t know…nothing, really.”

  A horn blasted, sending Drake’s heart into his throat. “Keep your eyes on the road,” he barked then held his breath until she’d darted back into her own lane. The guy in the red four-wheel drive truck shook his fist as he flew past. “Damn it, Kennedy, where’d you learn to drive?”

  “Relax, we’re almost there.”

  “Thank God,” he muttered, still clutching the armrest with white-knuckled intensity. His heart slid slowly back into his chest and began to beat once more.

  “And my mother,” Kennedy continued as if nothing had happened. “She’s a housewife. She loves to clean and bake and all that jazz.” She shook her head as if she couldn’t grasp the concept. “Since that’s basically her career, be sure to compliment her homemaking skills.”

  The smile that lingered on Kennedy’s lips told him that she loved her folks, despite how boring she made them sound. Despite her infrequent visits, she spoke as if they were pretty close. Being an only child, he supposed that Kennedy really didn’t have anyone else. Unlike the Drake brood. He had three brothers and two sisters. Never a dull moment when they got together. Which didn’t happen often enough anymore.

  “Oh yes,” she added. “There’s Uncle Martin.” Her smile broadened into a grin. “He’s the mayor, and a real charmer. I think you two will get along fabulously.”

  “Whatever,” Drake grumbled, wondering again how he had gotten roped into this. He shot the driver a look. Kennedy’s powers of persuasion were definitely not to be underestimated. No wonder she was Sid’s best.

  A sign welcoming visitors to Friendly Corners came into view and he breathed a sigh of relief. He just might see his next birthday after all. He flicked a glance at the driver.

  Friendly Corners looked exactly as Kennedy had described it. Small, neat and welcoming. Modest houses lined the streets. Huge old trees, bursting with gold and russets, shaded the freshly cut green lawns. Branches on fire with color extended over the walks, dropping the occasional leaf to flutter in the slight breeze. Bales of hay, big orange
pumpkins, and sundry other Halloween decorations proclaimed fall’s first major event was on its way, and summer was officially over.

  “One more thing,” Kennedy said ominously, drawing his attention back to her as she slowed to take a right. “They’re not the touchy-feely type. So no touching or…or kissing around my parents, okay?”

  Surprised, he lifted a skeptical brow. Hell, he hadn’t even thought of that. “You mean there may come a point where I have to kiss you?”

  She arrowed him a look over her eyewear. “Only as necessary for the validation of our story.”

  Damn, he’d almost gotten his hopes up for a minute there. He peered out the window at the meticulously landscaped lawns. If he had to spend a week in Cleaverville, the least he should get for his pain and suffering was one kiss. He shifted and took a moment to admire the driver’s profile. Her features were soft and delicate, utterly feminine. Her coloring was so natural that if she wore makeup, it was impossible to tell. The camera would love her. Maybe she’d let him take a few pictures. Or maybe he’d do it without her ever knowing.

  A smile pulled at his lips as he recalled Edward’s warning. Ms. Malone is a true lady. And a friend. He intended to do right by her. She had never asked him for anything. The least he could do was come through on her first and only request. Even if it was the craziest thing he had ever done. And he definitely wouldn’t allow these new and non-platonic urges to take over. Self-control would be his middle name.

  “Here we are,” she announced as she braked to a stop and shoved the gearshift into park. She passed her cell phone to him. “Put that in the glove box, please.”

  “Are you sure you can function without it?”

  Kennedy removed her sunglasses and gave him an indignant look. “You should do stand-up, Drake.” She tucked her glasses into her visor and opened the car door. “You’re a real comedian.”

  Ignoring her jab, he tossed the phone and his eyewear into the glove box. He scanned the stately two-story Georgian style home. Like the others he’d seen, the landscaping was well done, pleasant. All those nice, calm adjectives jumped to mind as he surveyed the rest of the small neighborhood.