Читать книгу The One You Want - Gena Showalter - Страница 8

CHAPTER TWO

“THE REDHEAD IS...WOW.”

Dane followed his friend’s gaze, knowing whom he’d find at the end of the line. Kenna Starr. “She is,” he admitted.

But she was also a complication.

He hadn’t been prepared for the effect she would have on him. Seeing her for the first time after so many years away had been like falling into an oven after being trapped in a deep freeze. He didn’t know whether to bask in the heat, curse or crawl out and toss in a bomb.

Lincoln West rubbed two fingers over his stubble-dusted jaw, saying, “The women here don’t seem to like her much.”

“There are rumors suggesting she’s a man-eater,” Dane said. “It’s even been debated whether or not she consumes her prey whole or spits out his bones.” He’d also heard she only ever slept with married men, and dumped the poor saps as soon as they were ready to divorce their wives.

What’s more, she supposedly had a daughter, though no one even knew the father’s name.

Dane would never admit this aloud, but he’d made a point to talk with every party attendee currently living in Strawberry Valley. After a while, he’d stopped trying to be stealthy with his questions, and just flat out demanded answers. Everyone had been more than happy to tell him everything they knew about her...only to pepper every bit of information with all the reasons he should leave Oklahoma City, where’d he’d spent the past sixteen years, and return “home.”

He’d return for good in...never.

“That sweet little morsel a man-eater?” West gave him a light tap on the arm. “I’m not buying it. You’ve seen her busing drinks to help the staff same as I have.”

Dane didn’t want to believe the gossip, either. To say he was disappointed by what he’d heard was the equivalent of calling an ocean a puddle. But...if she was anything like her mother...

Yeah. It all came back to that. Even though he knew better than most that a kid shouldn’t be blamed for the mistakes of the parents. Which was actually why he was here. Not to support his dad’s idiotic decision to marry the woman who had helped destroy their family, but to apologize to the little redheaded girl he’d hurt all those years ago.

He’d never forgotten the way her freckled face had washed with pain and fear as his mother had screamed at Roanne the day she’d discovered the affair. Or how Kenna’s little body had trembled. Or how, despite all that, she’d tried to comfort him, even though he’d called her all kinds of nasty names.

It’ll be okay. You’ll see. Everything will be okay.

He had expected her to grow into a pretty woman. After all, it was her mom’s pretty face that ensnared and obsessed his dad. But Dane had not expected this. A beauty more delicate than a fairy-tale princess, with the body of a porn star. Not stick-skinny as society worshipped, but lush and round and soft. A woman’s body.

From the moment she’d stepped into the sitting room, he had been unable to tear his attention away from her. She had a cascade of stunning red hair that possessed the barest hint of a wave. Large eyes shaded with different colors of green were fringed by spiky lashes of jet-black. Plump pink lips formed a heart in the center, surely the epitome of sin. And her skin...damn. A mix of porcelain and silk with the most adorable freckles scattered throughout.

He’d never been a freckle man, but she’d already converted him. He was pretty sure his inner frat boy would have traded his right nut for a chance to trace a path from one of her freckles to the other—with his tongue.

His hands balled into fists. Desire a Starr woman like his father? No. Humiliate his mother further? No, again.

But whatever Kenna’s past—or present—she still deserved that apology.

“I think I should get to know her better,” West said, and Dane’s fists automatically tightened. He wasn’t sure why. “I could use a friend when I move to Strawberry Valley.”

The guy had been looking for a remote place to settle down. He’d never voiced his reasons, but Dane had his suspicions.

West had had a rough upbringing, bouncing to a new foster home every six months or so. Then he’d gotten into some trouble with drugs and pissed away a full ride to MIT. A cautionary tale, yes, but one with a happy ending. The guy had gotten clean a few years ago and gone on to create a programming system Dane had purchased for eight figures.

Having never had a permanent home, West had to be looking for someplace to put down roots. He probably thought a small town where everyone knew your name—and your business—was a little slice of heaven.

He’d soon learn better.

But he wouldn’t be learning with Kenna. Because she’s soon to be my sister. No other reason—truly. “I’m your friend.”

“You aren’t moving back here. She can show me around.”

“I’ll show you around when I visit.”

“But you won’t get naked with me.”

His eyes narrowed as he said, “I will if you insist, but she’s off limits. She has a kid.” Maybe. Probably.

“So?”

“So, you don’t do mothers.”

“Always a first time for everything.”

Irritation nearly choked him. “You’ll have to pick someone else.”

West arched a brow at him. “You staking a claim?”

“No.” He didn’t do mothers, either. Hell, he didn’t even do commitment. With so many options on the buffet, there was no reason to settle for a single entrée. He would never be like his father, making promises to one woman while lusting after another.

Always better to keep his options open.

“I just don’t want her getting hurt,” he said. “Consider me on big-brother duty and drop it.”

A bark of laughter sounded. “You? Looking out for a woman’s feelings?”

“It’s not that hard to believe.”

“You forget how long I’ve known you. I’ve witnessed the pulverization of your business rivals. I’ve watched you send your assistants into hysterics with a single look, and your dates into bouts of tears with a single word. You, my friend, are what’s called an asshat.”

“And you seriously suck.”

Jada, Dane’s companion for the evening, returned from the bathroom. “You ready to go, baby?” She scraped her nails down the center of his tie, a promise of things to come.

Go? His gaze snagged on Kenna—again. She was dressed like the servers, only the outfit was particularly indecent on her, her every dramatic curve on display. Curves that her scarf couldn’t hide. But despite the boldness of her dress choice, she appeared almost...shy as she conversed with those around her. Definitely awkward.

When she thought no one was looking, she would bend down and rub her feet. Blisters? When she walked the room after standing for a bit, she would teeter on her high heels. And her smile was clearly fake, practiced rather than natural. A few times, she’d hidden behind potted plants. And yet, when single men leered at her and presented her with a phone number on a napkin, she displayed no surprise or feminine affront, just accepted the “gift” and said something to make the male laugh—before discreetly disposing of the napkin later on.

The contrasts of her intrigued him.

West was right. She couldn’t be a man-eater.

“Dane.” Jada stepped in front of him. “Are you listening to me? I asked if you were ready to go.”

“Not yet.”

She stood on her tiptoes and whispered, “Even though I’m so hot for you my panties are melting?”

He patted her hand, tried for a charming tone. “Even though.”

“Dane,” she said, stiffening. “You’ve barely even looked in my direction this whole night.”

“I’m just certain that’s not true,” he replied—his gaze still fixed on Kenna.

Jada reached up to touch his face, but he jerked away before contact. Scowling at her, he said, “You know better.”

Paling, she dropped her arm to her side.

West patted him on the shoulder. “I’ll leave you two to your...yeah.” Off he went—directly to Kenna. The two chatted easily for a bit, and with a quick, unrepentant smile thrown in Dane’s direction, West wrote something on a napkin and handed it to her. His number, no doubt about it.

Bastard.

Dane tossed back his champagne and placed the empty glass on a passing tray. He wanted Kenna out of his mind. And he could think of only one way to make that happen. Apologize, as planned, concluding their business.

Easy enough.

“You’ll be fine without me for a few minutes,” he told Jada. It was a command, not a question.

She latched on to his wrist. “But, bay-bee.”

He hated when she drew out the word like that. Added an intimacy to their relationship that wasn’t really there. Yes, they’d slept together. Yes, they would sleep together again. But that’s all they had, all he wanted.

“I’m here to spend time with you,” she said. “No other reason. I’m ready for us to get closer, reach the next level.”

Scratch that. They wouldn’t be sleeping together again. Wanting more had always been, and would always be, the final nail in any of his romantic involvements. He’d be ending things with Jada tonight.

He pried her loose and with a muttered, “Stay,” took off, closing in on Kenna.

Along the way, person after person stepped into his path. At first, he was polite. Chatted a bit before excusing himself, all the while watching the object of his fascination. She’d been uncomfortable and distant most of the night, but now, as she spoke with a beautiful blonde server, different emotions played over her features. Amusement. Delight. Irritation. Longing.

The longing made his chest ache.

Why?

By the fifth interruption, he was downright rude, snapping, “I don’t care,” and stalking away with determination. Anyone who’d ever spent any time with him knew about his volatile temper, and expected it.

Finally he reached his prey. Close enough to smell the sweetness of her perfume. He breathed in deeply, savoring the scent of vanilla and sugar; some primitive part of him seemed to stretch and wake up, insisting he grab her and cart her away. To bed. Now. Before she got away.

To bed? Hell, no. Where had that come from?

Get this over with. She’d moved on from the server and was now speaking with Bart Chumley, the middle-aged, recently divorced owner of the two biggest gas stations in Strawberry Valley.

“—so kind of you to offer, but I have to work,” she said. “Not to mention school.”

She was a student? What did she study? And why wasn’t she done? She was...twenty-three now, he thought.

Chumley had trouble looking higher than her succulent chest. “You’re breaking my heart here, Kenna. Surely there’s a day that you’re free.”

“I’m scouring my mental calendar,” she said, “but I’m telling you, all the dates are full.”

“Kenna, honey,” Dane said, his low, intimate tone at odds with the murderous glare he directed at Bart. She’s going to be a part of my family, and I protect what’s mine—don’t make another play for her.

The male must not have understood the implied threat, because he brightened. “Mr. Michaelson! It’s an honor, sir. I’ve been hoping for a chance to talk with you. You see, I’ve got this idea, and I knew you’d be perfect for...”

His voice faded from Dane’s awareness. Kenna had stiffened the moment he’d spoken, and now she slowly turned to face him. Her eyes were as wide as saucers, her cheeks flushed a deep rose. A flush that traveled past the bustline of her dress and—damn it! He was as bad as Chumley.

“I’d like a moment of your time,” he said.

She opened her mouth, closed it, then took a step away from him. He got the distinct impression she meant to refuse him, which amazed him. Women more often than not did whatever he asked. Of course, they either worked for him, so he was paying them, or they were dating him, so he was screwing them.

“Please,” he added, and the word felt foreign on his tongue.

Her shoulders slumped just a little. “Oh, all right.”

He almost grinned. Almost. “Your enthusiasm is heartwarming.”

They made it out of the overly crowded sitting room without interruption, Chumley forgotten, and stepped into the library blocked off from guests. It had been so long since he’d been inside this room, and he had mixed feelings about being there now. A bittersweetness. As a child, it had been his favorite place to play, but also where his world had crumbled.

He and his younger brother, Daniel, used to build forts in here while their dad worked, but when Daniel had died about six months before Thomas and Roanne began their affair, Dane had come in here to cry. To be alone with his shame and guilt.

He was surprised to discover nothing had changed. Same oak paneling on the walls, the shelves stacked with countless books. Same paintings by Lucas Cranach the Elder, Pieter Brueghel the Younger and Van Goyen. The triptych above the door still depicted the biblical story of Abraham and the holy sacrifice of his son Isaac.

“Sit,” Dane said to Kenna, and motioned to the couch. At the wet bar, he poured himself three fingers of whiskey. When he turned, Kenna was standing just where he’d left her, nervously shifting from one foot to the other. Wasn’t going to trust him or relax. Okay, then. He leaned against the edge of the desk, unwillingly snared by her loveliness. “I want to apologize for my behavior the last time you were here.”

“Okay. Wow. I kind of expected to be ice picked.” She toyed with the top of her scarf, causing it to shift, revealing even more of that freckled cleavage. “But an apology? Not even a blip.”

He felt as if he was falling back into that oven. He was hot, sweat suddenly trickling between his shoulder blades. His heart pounded erratically, as if trying to escape his chest. His hands itched, and damn if his slacks didn’t tighten, nearly choking the life out of his favorite appendage.

“If you can forgive me—” he began.

“Which I haven’t,” she interjected.

“But if you did—”

“Though I probably won’t.”

“Yeah, but if you did, I would—” The teasing glint in her gorgeous green eyes shut him up. “Are you laughing at me?”

“Only a little.” A smile lifted the corners of her lips, brightening her entire face. Suddenly she glowed, and he realized he wasn’t just falling back into the oven, but rather he’d already been cooked.

Stick a fork in me. I’m done. Charred all the way to the bone.

He must have been radiating heat, because the air between them began to sizzle. She lost her smile, her features dimming. He cursed the loss. Other women must have glowed like that, surely, but as he racked his brain, he came up empty.

“Sorry,” she said after clearing her throat. “I couldn’t help myself. You were just so...intent. And really, there’s no need for you to apologize, Mr. Michaelson.”

“Dane.”

“You were a kid,” she continued. “You were reacting to the horror of the situation.”

“You didn’t react to the situation.”

Her next smile was slower to come but no less bright. “That just means I’ve always been more intelligent than you.”

Smart mouth.

Gorgeous mouth. How did it taste?

Stop. Stop!

What kind of rare creature continuously teased the big, bad ruler of the Michaelson fortune? A golden unicorn at the end of a rainbow? It was new to him. But...he liked it, he realized.

Was this how she’d stolen the hearts of all her lovers?

He stiffened, hating the thought. Earlier, he’d convinced himself that West was right...that Kenna was just a sweet girl caught up in the falsity of rumor. He suspected, perhaps, that he hadn’t wanted to believe it, that he hadn’t wanted her to be just like her mother. But here she was, charming the uncharmable, stoking fires of a jealousy he’d never before experienced.

“Do you have a kid?” The question left him before he could stop it.

Her features shuttered, hiding all emotion. “Yes.”

Well, then. If one rumor was true...

“She’s six,” Kenna added. “But don’t strain yourself doing the math. I’ll just tell you. I got pregnant at sixteen and had her at seventeen.”

Something about her tone bothered him. He heard affection and love, sure, but also sorrow and pain. “Is the father—”

“Now, just hold on a sec, Mr. Michaelson.”

“Dane.” Her insistence on calling him Mr. Michaelson frustrated him.

A lot of things are frustrating me tonight.

“I’m not discussing that part of my life with you,” she said.

Fair enough. The fact that he’d even broached the topic stunned him. He, one of the most private people in existence, often refused to answer the simplest of questions about himself, and he always despised those who dared to ask, and yet here he stood, grilling Kenna about the most intimate details of her life. As if he had a right to know.

He should walk away from her. He’d done what he’d set out to do. He’d apologized. But he was loath to leave things so strained between them. They would be seeing each other again, after all.

Yeah. That’s why. Not for any other reason. “I heard you say you’re a student. What are you studying?”

Leery, as if she expected him to laugh, she softly admitted, “Elementary education.”

Admirable. “When do you finish?”

“Two years. I hope.”

“Why the late start?”

“My daughter.”

Reminded of the child, he frowned. “The girl whose father you refuse to name.”

She pushed out a heavy sigh. “We’re not going to get very far like this, so I retract what I said about not discussing that part of my life. What is it you really want to know? If her dad was married to someone else when she was conceived, as rumor claims? If I’m a husband-stealing whore?”

A muscle clenched in his jaw. His gaze slid down her body, noting again how the dress hugged each of her delicious curves. She had gorgeous legs any man would kill to have wrapped around him, with her hooker heels digging into his back.

“Are you?” he asked.

Her eyes narrowed, dark lashes fusing. While she had glowed with her amusement, she crackled savagely with her anger. What this girl felt, she really felt. Emotion affected her soul-deep.

“I was seventeen when I gave birth to Norrie. I was a kid myself. That’s all. But now I will never give you a chance to get to know who and what I have become,” she said. Up went her chin. Back went her shoulders. She pasted that fake smile on her face, one that definitely didn’t glow. “Would my past make me any less of a person with feelings capable of being hurt now?”

Hate myself. “No,” he said. “You’re not a whore. I had no right...Kenna, I—”

“Don’t bother. You heard the gossip and judged me guilty. That tells me all I need to know about your character. Goodbye, Mr. Michaelson.” She walked out of the library, and she never once looked back.