“Maybe everything you’re saying is true,” Noah allowed. “But he believes himself to be in love. In this instance, that counts as the same thing.”
“And what, if you don’t mind my asking, is this instance?”
“You know.”
“I want to hear you say it.”
He was torn between a strong desire to refuse her command and the urge to demonstrate it in person. In the end, he settled for the middle road. The boring, safe, lonely middle road. “You and me. Together. It can’t happen.”
“But we’re together right now.” Her tone dropped, a hitch in her breath.
He ignored her, struggle though it was. “It would be better if you didn’t touch me so much when we’re in the same room. He’s watching you a lot closer than you think.”
“Lincoln doesn’t own me. Lincoln doesn’t get to tell me what to do.” She rose and moved to stand before him, close but not touching, boxing him in. “If there’s one thing I’ve learned the hard way, it’s that no man does unless I give him the right.”
Her hands came to rest on either side of his shoulders, thumbs grazing the outside of his shirt. The fabric was thick, rough—and not nearly impenetrable enough to protect him from the desire that moved, sluggish and hot, through his entire body. This proximity to her—so close he could feel the warmth coming off her skin—was what he’d been trying to avoid all evening. The urge to pull her against him was almost unbearable.
But not quite.
“I mean it, Kendra. You’re very attractive and funny and sweet, but...”
“So that’s it?” She lifted on tiptoes, her head drawing closer to his, her lips parted enticingly. There was nothing he could say and no way to hide the fact that he wanted her. What was left of his self-control—and there wasn’t much of it—disappeared, all of his blood flow redirected southward and robbing him of rational thought. “You’re going to stand there and pretend you don’t feel it too?”
Closer now, she brought her mouth almost to the point of touching his. All he had to do to feel her lips give way under his was lower his head a fraction of an inch. And he wanted to. Oh, God, how he wanted to. Every instinct in him wanted to place his hands behind her head, to wrap her hair in his fist and bury his tongue in her throat. He wasn’t normally an aggressive kisser—prided himself on being able to maintain control and take it slow—but it seemed the soft, teasing moans she released brought out the worst in him.
The worst in him wasn’t all that hard to find, unfortunately. Especially when it came to women like her.
“I can’t.” His voice broke as he placed his hands on her shoulders and pushed her gently away. “I’m sorry, but it’s just not possible. I can’t do this to my friend.”
“You can’t do this,” she echoed, her voice dazed as she stepped back, distanced but not nearly distanced enough. “Your blood is pounding so hard I can practically hear it. You want to kiss me. You want to do a lot more.”
He gulped. “I do.”
“But you’re saying no.”
“I’m saying no.”
Without another word of protest, she backed off, taking a moment to straighten her dress, a clinging blue thing that seemed to beg for his touch. The absence of her was almost as palpable as her presence had been.
“It’s not fair, you know,” she said softly, no malice in her voice. “If the situation were reversed, if I was the one chasing after him, unable to let go after a one-night stand that happened a year ago, I’d be branded as crazy. Unstable. Obsessive.”
He hadn’t thought about it that way before. “That’s probably true.”
“There’s no probably about it. It’s a truth I see taking shape all the time. A man’s unrequited love is a pure thing. A woman’s is emotional blackmail.”
“That doesn’t change the situation between us.”
It was clear she disagreed. “Lincoln shouldn’t get to hold my desires hostage just because he can’t let go.”
“No. But he does get to hold mine hostage because he’s my friend.” Noah took a deep drink of wine, feeling emboldened by the rush of the alcohol and the blood slowly returning to his brain. “He’s not in a good place right now.”
“When has he ever been in a good place?”
Lincoln had his moments. Unfortunately, few people made the effort to see them. “Give him time. He’s a lot more rational than most of us give him credit for. He just has a way of letting his emotions rule over him.”
“Unlike you.” She remained standing in front of him, tempting and untouchable. “You’re obviously a master at not letting your emotions anywhere near.”
Noah spread his hands helplessly. What could he do? He might be insanely attracted to this woman, might have given his left nut to feel her breath on his lips again, but that didn’t change the fact they were talking about Lincoln here. His friend.
“I guess I should be going. It really has been a long couple of days.”
He spoke without thinking. “Please don’t let this stop you from coming back tomorrow.”
She grabbed the bottle of wine by the neck and took a drink. “Why? So I can play board games and avoid touching you and probably end up hurting Lincoln’s feelings even more? What good is that going to do any of us?”
Now would have been the perfect time to let her go. He could see to Lincoln’s recovery on his own, learn more about the bar fight and his work situation. Slowly help him realize that Kendra wasn’t interested, that it was time to accept the truth and move on.
“I just really want to see you again.”
The wine bottle lowered as the fight left her. “That’s not fair either.”
“I know.”
There didn’t seem to be anything else to say. With a shake of her head and what he could have sworn was a disappointed look at his ebbing erection, she made her way back up to the house. He knew, without question, that she’d be back tomorrow.
He wished he could be sad about that.
Hell, he wished he could be happy about it too.
Chapter Four
“Mom, I know you’re upset, but I don’t think locking Nikki in her room is going to help matters any.” Kendra held the phone in the crook of her neck as she performed an extra wipe down of what most of her clients referred to as the torture chamber. Unlike the tranquility room, where people were wrapped and pampered and encouraged to visit their happy places, these were the four walls where stray hairs and blemishes came to die. She’d never admit it out loud, but she always felt much more tranquil in the torture chamber. The antiseptic undertones soothed her troubled soul.
“And I know what I’m talking about,” she persisted. “You used to try locking me up all the time. You’re a ridiculously easy jailer to escape.”
“Yes, but at least you finished graduate school,” her mother said. Along with the exasperation in her voice, Kendra could hear the underlying humor. “Your father and I are willing to look the other direction as long as she gives us something to focus on. How can we brag about her to our friends if she gives us nothing to work with?”
“You could always talk up your highly successful, glamorous daughter with a medical spa that needs plugging instead.”
“They’re tired of hearing about your work.” Her mother paused, leaving Kendra in no doubt of what was to come next. “Now, if you were to bring home a successful, glamorous young man for us to plug...”
“I thought you called to complain about Nikki.”
“Nikki has youth on her side.”
“I have wisdom and experience on mine.”
Her mother sighed. “Just talk to her, okay? It’s not like her to lose her head over a boy like this. Three Incompletes, and she won’t tell me what her plans are for next semester. Your father’s busy with that study he’s helping develop, and I
’ve given up trying to get her to do anything except eat.”
“Force-feeding her isn’t going to help anything.” Kendra had many memories of her mother cooking up batches of her favorite dishes—fried bajji and spicy biryani—in an attempt to wean her from unsavory love affairs. No amount of persuasion could convince her mother that ten extra pounds wasn’t a satisfactory way to move on with one’s life. “She probably just wants to be alone right now.”
“What an abhorrently American thing to say to me.”
“Yeah, well. I’m an abhorrent American. And so, I might add, are you.” A quick glance at the clock warned Kendra that she needed to end the phone call and get ready for her next chemical peel. “You know any advice I give her will probably end up repelling all the marriageable candidates in her life.”
Her mother sighed. “I know. You’re good at that.”
Thanks for the vote of confidence, Mom. “But I’ll see what I can do,” she promised.
“That’s all I ask. Now. Do we need to talk about the musician I spoke with on the phone the other day?”
“No.” She injected enough force in her words to hopefully close the subject down forever. “He’s nothing serious.”
“He sounded young.”
“Goodbye, Mom.”
“And underemployed.”
“I have a client coming in.”
“I’m just saying.”
Kendra hung up the phone and chuckled, imagining how that story would play out when her mother retold it later. Her parents, bless them, presented an interesting picture of first-generation immigration. Both moved to the United States from India as children—her dad just turned twelve, her mother an adorably toothless six—and grew up in the space that lingered between their traditional Indian households and the American culture that surrounded them. Their marriage, though not strictly arranged, held strong flavors of familial influence.
As the outcome of such a union, Kendra and her siblings grew up in a similarly unconventional environment. Family came first. Education was a priority. And although her mother might not love her lifestyle choices, she unquestionably supported Kendra’s right to make them—provided, of course, she never actually brought one of those choices home as a life mate.
Not that there had ever been any question of that. Life mates didn’t exactly grow on trees around here.
The door pushed open, and her three o’clock appointment poked a head in. “Hey, Kendra. I’m a bit early. I hope that’s okay.”
“Come on in,” she said, grateful for the distraction. Nikki dropping out of school for a semester over a guy wasn’t the crisis her mother was making it out to be, but she could understand her concerns. She remembered all too well what it was like to be that age, to flit between life choices like they were shoes, changing on a whim and a man’s teasing stare. “I was just setting things up.”
“Excellent. I need you to burn away these age spots before my benefit luncheon next week.” The woman, a real estate agent named Liza, came the rest of the way into the room. “My ex-husband’s new girlfriend will be there. She’s twenty-two.”
“No need to say anything more.”
“She wears yoga pants almost all the time. Even to the movies.”
“And probably looks amazing in them, huh?” Kendra clucked sympathetically, even though she was big a fan of them herself. Everyone looked better in yoga pants. “Well, focus on the positive. He’s probably regretting it already. I have a sister who’s twenty-two, and I wouldn’t wish her on anyone.”
“It’s true what they say.” Liza settled into the chair and closed her eyes, awaiting Kendra’s careful ministrations and a healthy dose of glycolic acid. “Youth is wasted on the young.”
“And on older men who should know better,” Kendra agreed.
* * *
Noah left Lincoln cursing at Kendra’s iPod sometime around noon.
Apparently, Kendra was a big fan of classic show tunes and movie soundtracks, because that was all Lincoln claimed to be able to find on her hard drive. “And no games other than Tetris,” he’d whined. “Why’d she even bring it?”
Fortunately, he’d found a Taylor Swift album and eventually settled down with his headphones. Poor guy. Noah would have had a hard time being housebound for one day, let alone a series of them. Even before his life here, he’d always been an active man—practically had the Schuylkill River Trail in Philadelphia memorized—and rarely indulged in those lazy Sunday mornings his coworkers had considered a staple of metropolitan life. Of course, now most of his activities were necessarily productive ones, what with running the small homestead he’d developed over the years, his woodworking and hunting when the season allowed.
But he liked to think he’d choose to do those things anyway. There was something to be said for working toward an actual goal instead of constantly chiseling away at nothing.
His reason for getting out now was fishing, though it was more of an excuse to put distance between himself and Lincoln than a need for fresh supplies. He could take the complaints, enjoyed the conversation, didn’t mind the servility of dancing attendance on an injured man. But listening to him talk about Kendra was proving more than he could stand.
“Have I told you about all her piercings, Noah?” he’d asked over breakfast. “Before I met her, I thought I knew all the best parts of a woman’s body. Oh, boy, was I wrong. She’s got these ones—”
“This isn’t a conversation I’m comfortable having with you,” he’d replied curtly, cutting him off.
Something cold had glittered in Lincoln’s eyes, and Noah couldn’t shake the feeling that he knew. He knew how much it pained Noah to hear those words, how much more it pained him to resist asking for details. He knew how close Noah had been to capitulation last night.
Kendra was right. This situation wasn’t fair—to any of them.
Miller Pond was located a short distance from his house, the trail a well-worn path he could have walked in his sleep. Technically, the pond bordered both his property and the state parklands, but no one cared that he took a good portion of his protein from the stock. Despite his best intentions to keep a low profile and stay out of the public eye, he’d become an oddity in the county, a quirk. More than one person had pointed in excitement at seeing him laid out on the shoreline, his pole set up against a rock, his head resting on his arms as he stared lazily at the sky.
The hermit, they called him. The lone wolf. Thoreau.
He was usually happy to play along, pretending that Miller Pond was his own version of Walden. It seemed a small price to keep outsiders at bay. But he wasn’t a philosopher, willing to use his frustrated sexual energy to fuel deep thoughts, and he wasn’t particularly keen on playing the eccentric tourist trap today. So instead of choosing his favorite spot, he sat on a large, flat rock overlooking a shady part of the pond and cast his lure in.
Midday wasn’t an ideal time for fishing, so he only caught two small fish, napping in the intervals between each bite. He was in the middle of one of those catnaps when he heard the sound of Kendra’s voice calling.
At first, he thought the sweet, lilting spill of his name across her lips was part of a dream, and he gave in to the delight of it, doing his damnedest to hold on to the wispy remains of his subconscious. It was comfortable there. Warm and soft and slightly lemon scented.
“No-ah!” Her voice sounded again, louder this time, growing irritated. He sat up.
“Over here,” he called back. Every instinct told him to get up and run to her, to do something dramatic and wimpy like embrace her in an open field where slow-motion daisies rippled, but he stayed on the ground, his blatant immobility the only clue he was affected by her presence.
“There you are.” She stalked through the underbrush, trampling a serviceable blackberry bush and almost kicking his catch of the day back int
o the pond. “Ew. Did you know you’re sleeping next to dead fish? They’re disgusting.”
“You shouldn’t call them names...unless that name is dinner.”
“You catch your own dinner?”
He twisted his head to peer up at her. The sun created a kind of halo around her head, making it impossible for him to see anything but the glow of her form, perfect against the bright blue sky. “If I can’t catch it, bag it or grow it, I don’t eat it.”
“Are you serious?”
He scooted over to make room for her on his rock, but she wrinkled her nose. She was wearing what had to be the tightest jeans crafted by mankind, topped by a leopard-spotted shirt and heeled boots that must have made walking the half mile out here rather painful. An outdoorswoman Kendra clearly was not.
It seemed a safe thing to grasp onto, the gulf that existed between them. That gulf was much stronger than any lingering attraction might be. And if it wasn’t—he’d keep digging until he made it so.
“You really don’t eat if you don’t catch anything? What do you do in the winter?”
“I hunt quite a bit in the fall, and I have a smoker that does a decent job of preserving the extra meat.” He shrugged and began reeling in his line. “I also have a really nice neighbor, Mrs. Nelson. She’s convinced I’d die every year without her. She leaves food on my doorstep when she thinks I’m not looking. Of course, she also puts her name on masking tape on the outside of the container, so I’m not sure what her end goal is.”
She stared at him a moment longer. “That sounds horrifying.”
Irritation pricked at the back of his neck. “Which part? The self-sustainability, or the kind neighbors? You’d be surprised how easy it is to give up processed foods and overconsumption if you actually gave it a try.”
The Party Girl Page 7
