The One You Want (Original Heartbreakers)

by Gena Showalter

  She threw herself against his chest, wrapping her arms around him and crying against his neck. He held on tight, as if afraid to let her go. She wasn’t sure how long they stood like that, Dane whispering into her ear, telling her everything would be all right, that he would move heaven and earth to make it so.

  When finally she quieted, he asked again what was wrong and she told him about the “cutbacks.”

  He smoothed the damp hair from her cheek. “Honey, you don’t have to worry about money anymore. I—”

  “No. No.” She shook her head. “I’m not taking money from you.”

  His frown returned, darker than before. “So...I can date you but not help you?”

  “That’s right.” Up went her chin. “Otherwise I would feel like a hooker.”

  “Are you freaking kidding me? You’re my girlfriend. A man wants his girlfriend happy. Wants to give her gifts.”

  “You can give me gifts,” she allowed. “Within reason.”

  He was far from placated. “But no cash.”

  “Or checks.”

  Gritting his teeth, he said, “Well, I want to gift you with a day of fun. How about that?”

  “No. I have to find another job.”

  “It can wait a single day.”

  She thought for a moment, sighed. “Fine. One day.”

  All of his anger and irritation drained in an instant, and that was all the warning she had. One moment he was standing in front of her, the next he was bending down and sticking his shoulder in her stomach, hefting her up.

  “What are you doing?” she squeaked, banging on his back.

  He stopped at his car and grabbed a bottle of Windex. “Are you thirsty? Because I am.” He popped off the top and strode forward, walking down the busy street as if this was a normal day and he didn’t have a redhead dangling over his shoulder.

  “Don’t you dare drink that,” she called, laughing. “It’s mine.”

  People stared, and for once, she didn’t care.

  “You want this sweet nectar,” he said, “then you’ll have to take it from me.”

  “Dane!”

  He downed half the contents.

  “Someone call Dr. Samuels,” a voice shouted. “We got ourselves a bona fide emergency.”

  “Oh, dear sweet madness. Dane Michaelson’s done gone and fried his brain, y’all,” another lamented.

  Kenna laughed all the harder.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  NO ONE IN town would hire Kenna, and she couldn’t figure out why. Every excuse was the same. Cutbacks, no new hires. She would have worried about money, but her boyfriend—so weird, calling him that—ensured her cabinets were filled, her portion of rent paid and Brook Lynn’s car always gassed. Gifts, he said.

  She didn’t like it, not one bit, but keeping Norrie fed, sheltered and everywhere she needed to be took priority over pride. But Kenna kept a mental tab in her head, determined to repay every cent to Dane. And she wasn’t giving up hope. She had one more place in town to try before she’d have to branch out and look for work outside Strawberry Valley. Swat Team 8—we assassinate fleas, ticks, silverfish, cockroaches, bees, ants, mice and rats. She had an interview on Monday.

  Though she had more free time than ever, she hadn’t gone back to Dane’s home in the city, and she hadn’t invited him to spend the night at her house. As she’d told him, she was keeping him and Norrie separate. But for once, that restriction bothered her. More and more, she wanted the two to get to know each other, to like each other.

  Was that wise, though? When things ended, Norrie’s heart would break.

  Not true, Kenna thought. Whether her relationship with Dane lasted or not, he would always be a part of Norrie’s life. As her uncle. There would be no tearful goodbyes or asking for him when it was clear he’d never show up.

  Finally, Kenna broke down and texted him.

  I want 2 see U. SOON.

  His reply was immediate.

  Spend the weekend w/me at the Anderson ranch—Michaelson ranch now.

  Me & Norrie??

  You.

  Did he just want to be alone with her, or did he not want to spend time with Norrie?

  I’d like 2 bring Norrie, she typed. Don’t want 2 keep U 2 apart anymore.

  Her trembling finger hovered over the Send button. One minute...two.... She pressed.

  A long while ticked by, each second more agonizing than the last, before he responded.

  All right.

  That was it. All he had to say.

  Dread unfurled inside her. That did not bode well, did it? But she made it the rest of the week without panicking or backing out. And then Friday finally arrived, and Dane was waiting at the door for them, the sight of him stealing her breath, as always.

  “Uncle Dane!” Norrie called, running to him as if they’d been parted for years. She threw her arms around his legs, and he awkwardly patted her on top of the head before gently setting her away from him.

  Kenna’s dread magnified.

  He took both of their bags, saying, “Come on. Let’s go inside.”

  He led them through the living room and down the hall. The home was nothing like Kenna remembered. Gone were the pink carpets and too-white walls, the couch that kids had walked on and the coffee table that had been covered with red plastic cups. Instead, the walls were different shades of blue, the couch soft, plush leather that looked as if it had never even been sat on, and the coffee table large and elaborate, with flowers spilling from a vase in the center.

  “This is your room,” he said to Norrie, placing her bag inside.

  The little girl’s excitement deflated. “It’s so ugly.”

  “Norrie,” Kenna chided.

  “What? It is, and honesty is the best policy, right?”

  “Right.” The room was plain, that was all. The walls were white, the bed covers white, the dresser white.

  Dane shifted from one foot to the other, every movement seeming to help him distance himself from her. “Did you bring your swimsuits?” he asked Kenna.

  “I sure did,” Norrie said, digging through her bag and withdrawing a one-piece with cupcakes all over it. She held it up, showing him. “Even though Jessie Kay says people pee in the water all the time and that when boys get in, it makes the water like tentacle tea.”

  Tentacle?

  Dane barked out a laugh, then quieted and blinked in surprise. He whispered, “I think she means testicle.”

  Kenna gasped, horrified and, yes, amused. “I’m so going to murder that girl!”

  “Do you guys want to swim?” he asked. “I promise I haven’t peed in the water.”

  “Yes, yes, yes!” Norrie said, running and jumping on the bed.

  “Get changed.” Kenna shut her inside the room, to give her privacy.

  Just like that, Dane relaxed. He pressed her against the wall to steal a soul-drugging kiss, dropping the other bag, his hands cupping her bottom and lifting her so that her softest part cradled his hardest.

  “I’ve missed you.” His husky voice caressed her.

  Kenna nibbled on his chin. “I’ve missed you, too.” So much. “What do you have planned for me this weekend?”

  “Did you bring your cowgirl boots?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then I’ve planned lots of riding activities.”

  She chuckled. “I didn’t notice a stable full of horses.”

  “I’ll be your mount.”

  Hinges creaked, and Norrie made a gagging sound. “Oh, gross! Are you guys gonna make a baby?”

  “What?” Dane jumped away from Kenna as if she’d just heated a thousand degrees. “No.”

  Can’t be hurt. He’s just playing by my rules.

  Hate my rules.r />
  Norrie flipped her hair over her shoulder and, in typical six-year-old fashion, completely lost interest in the subject. “Let’s swim!”

  They followed her outside in silence. The sun was shining in all its glory, the sky baby blue and cloudless. The pool was a figure eight and crystal clear, with a hot tub at one end. Kenna doused Norrie and herself in sunscreen—they burned as easily as toast—and helped the girl into a pair of floaties.

  As Norrie jumped into the water without a qualm, Kenna sat beside Dane under a covered patio table. “May I ask you a personal question?”

  “Sure,” he replied, though he appeared hesitant.

  She kicked off her sandals and placed her feet in his lap. “What do you think of commitment so far? I mean, having to turn away all those buxom beauties because you’ve got a chubby, freckled redhead at home must be maddening.”

  Was that neediness in her tone? Ugh.

  Maybe he hadn’t heard it.

  Yeah, and maybe Santa was real.

  “You are not chubby,” he said, rubbing her arches. “You are soft and warm and perfect, and I will be pissed if you ever insult yourself again.”

  “Scary,” she said with a mock tremor, trying to act nonchalant.

  “And what do you mean, turning away all those buxom beauties?” he continued. “Apparently you haven’t gotten the memo. I am the Ice Man. Rude, honest to the point of brutal and emotionally unavailable. Women aren’t exactly throwing themselves at me.” A pause. “Anymore.”

  “People think you’re rude?”

  “Don’t think it, know it.”

  “But you’re one of the nicest guys I know.”

  He tickled the bottom of her foot and she almost jolted out of her chair. “Oh, honey,” he said, “do I have you fooled.”

  They talked and laughed for hours while Norrie played in the water. When it came time for lunch, they ate grilled cheeses picnic-style, and Norrie practically fell asleep in her plate. Probably a good thing. She hadn’t had the chance to notice how Dane had done his best to avoid her.

  At Kenna’s request, he carried the girl to bed, but he held her away from his too-stiff body. Trying not to lose heart—the two just needed to spend more time together, that was all—Kenna dressed her daughter in dry pajamas and tucked her in, then followed Dane to the master suite.

  “I get to stay in your bedroom this time,” she said with a sharper edge than she’d intended.

  He paused to look back at her and frown before leading her into the massive en suite and turning on the water.

  Why frown? For the first time, the silence between them was awkward.

  “You know,” she said in an effort to break it, “I feel like we’re growing apart.” She traced a fingertip down his stomach. “You should probably show me more reasons for us to stay together.”

  He’d frozen for the first part of her speech but hugged her when she finished, shuddering against her. “Don’t scare me like that.”

  This strong man feared losing her that badly? “I don’t understand you,” she admitted. “What do I bring to the table?”

  “Are you seriously asking that after the way you wrung me dry the last time we were together?”

  “Besides sex. Which you can get from anyone.”

  “Not like that.”

  “Dane.”

  He cupped her cheeks, saying, “Kenna, I am carefree with you. I can laugh and tease. I can relax and enjoy. Do you know how rare that is? I trust you. Have never met anyone with a heart as big as yours. Now, why are we still talking? I’ve got some reasons to give you.”

  He stripped away his clothes, proving he was already hard, then stripped away hers. The moment she was naked, she was on him, kissing him, giving him all that she was...all that she would ever be.

  He backed up until they were under the spray of warm water. But she didn’t feel the wetness for long. He kept going, pressing her up against the tiled wall. The cold made her gasp.

  “I’ve wanted you too long, honey. This is going to be fast, and I apologize in advance.”

  * * *

  DANE WAS ON FIRE for the woman. Had been since the moment she’d arrived looking so gorgeous in a summer dress he’d gifted her with, a pretty pink thing with lace. She wrapped her legs around his waist, an invitation to the sweetest pleasure of his life. He positioned himself and thrust hard, deep. Her moan was music to his ears. The feel of her, so tight, so wet without any real foreplay, was heady, drugging. He moved in her and she moaned again, a sound of rapture. She clutched and clawed at his back, and he loved it, the last of his control shredding. He became an animal, pounding in and out, and all she could do was take it. But she did, she took it and begged him for more.

  He kissed her roughly, raw with passion. She consumed him—her sounds, her scents, her touch, her taste. Her nipples were hard, deliciously abrading his chest. The friction...so good.

  He reached between them, pinched one and then the other, then slid his fingers between her legs. One press, and she screamed his name, clenching around him.

  He followed her straight over the edge.

  He wasn’t sure how much time passed before he lifted his head. Her eyes were closed, her lips red and kiss-swollen. Her cheeks were flushed, and her skin damp.

  He gave her a soft kiss and her lashes fluttered open. Her pupils were huge, her irises glassy. “That was for me,” he said. “Now let’s take care of you.”

  * * *

  HOURS...AND HOURS...LATER, Kenna snuggled deeper into Dane’s embrace. She was ninety percent sure she’d never walk again, and one hundred percent sure she didn’t care. She was moving into his bed forever. The sheets had been made from clouds, surely.

  The barest hint of moonlight streamed in through the window, but it didn’t reach them. Darkness surrounded them in a safe haven. They’d just finished making love for the third time. Apparently taking care of her involved multiple positions.

  “Just so you know, I didn’t take you to my bed last time,” he said suddenly, “because I didn’t want you where others had been.”

  “Oh.”

  Oh? That’s the best I’ve got? She melted even closer to him, practically fusing their bodies. “How are you even real? Were you created from a catalogue?”

  He rolled her over and pinned her down. “Was the catalogue for cavemen?”

  “And Vikings. And Regency gentlemen. And playboys. And poets. And—”

  “Poets!” His expression registered horror. “I have never and will never write a poem. You take that back right this minute, honey, or we will find another tickle spot you’re so sure you don’t have.”

  “Tickle me at your own peril.”

  “I’d be willing to risk it, but I have a feeling you’d leave this bed as payback, and that’s my worst nightmare come to life.” He kissed the tip of her nose. “What am I going to do with you, Miss Starr?”

  Love me.

  Love? Her amusement faded in a snap. Did she love him?

  What if she did? Oh...crap. She couldn’t. She had more than herself to think about. What if he never accepted Norrie?

  “What is it?” he asked, stroking his thumb over her cheek. “What’s wrong?”

  Worry about it later. “Nothing,” she managed with a shaky smile. “Do you have any snacks in this place? I seem to have worked up an appetite.”

  He looked at her, silent for a long while, before deciding to believe her. “I have the perfect snack for you,” he said, wiggling his brows.

  She arched a brow. “Will I find it in the kitchen...or your pants?”

  “Most definitely my pants. But don’t worry, it’s portable. You can have it in the kitchen if you’d prefer....”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  KENNA’S INTERVIEW WITH Mr. Porter, owne
r of Swat Team 8, went well. He told her that he was too old to spray houses for roaches, ants and termites—which he was—and too mean to answer phones when potential customers called—also true—and that his only grandson had just left for the army and he needed someone to take over every aspect of the business for minimum wage, no tips, and since Kenna was the only person to apply, she could have the job, he supposed, and he didn’t care what Mrs. Christine Michaelson had offered him to turn her away.

  So, two birds, one stone. The mystery of Kenna’s unemployment had been solved, and she now had a job.

  When she wasn’t spraying houses, which was quite often, she stayed in Mr. Porter’s house and answered his phone, kept him company, or ran all of his errands. He was a grouchy, lonely old man who needed a friend, but didn’t want to admit it. She kind of loved him.

  The doorbell rang, and Mr. Porter called out, “Better answer that, Kenna. My knees are aching something fierce.” He was perched in his favorite recliner, a beer in one hand and the TV remote in the other.

  “Sure thing, Mr. Porter.”

  “How many times do I have to tell you to call me Virgil, girl?”

  “I’ve lost count.”

  He mumbled something disparaging under his breath.

  “I’ll call you Virgil after hours.” Grinning, she opened the front door. When she spotted her mother, the grin faded and she sighed. It was too early in the day for insults about life choices, weight and failures. “This is my place of employment, Mom.”

  Roanne stepped past her and into the small house, removing her sunglasses. Her distaste for the well-used furniture and stained carpet was clear. Had she always been such a snob? “I need to speak with you.”

  “It’ll have to wait. These are my office hours.”

  “I’ve heard startling rumors about you and Dane.”

  “You also heard the girl,” Virgil piped up without moving from his recliner. “Office hours are from seven to three, and all breaks have to be scheduled two weeks in advance.”

  Roanne bristled but ignored him. “At least tell me if the rumors are true, Kenna. I’m your mother. I deserve to know.”