Keeping Kennedy Page 4

  But this was her life, not some stranger’s. Kennedy knew all the players—had a shared past with them. Total objectivity was out of the question.

  “Are we going in or what?”

  Drake’s voice dragged Kennedy from her disturbing reflection.

  Why did he have to look at her that way? As if her were worried about her. Or that he cared how this would all turn out when the week was out. “What?”

  “Awaiting further instructions, ma’am,” he said in a mock military tone, annihilating any possibility that he really cared.

  She must have been out of her mind to do this. But it was too late to change her strategy now. The spin was already in motion. Kennedy moistened her lips. “There is one more thing.”

  Drake looked heavenward. “Big surprise.”

  “There’s this one man in particular—”

  “I knew it,” he cut in, a wide grin spreading across his tanned face. “I knew there had to be a lost love somewhere in your past.”

  Kennedy folded her arms over her chest and glared at him. “Button it and listen, Drake.”

  He matched her stance and adopted an offended expression. “You didn’t tell me I had to take all this abuse.”

  “His name is Larry.” She swallowed. “Larry Hawthorne. He was the captain of the football team and—”

  “You two were an item,” Drake concluded.

  Kennedy blinked. “Right.” She blocked the painful memories. “Until the head cheerleader set her sights on him.”

  “And that would be dear old Cassandra,” he suggested astutely.

  Kennedy nodded, then summoned up her hardened indifference. “That was a long time ago.”

  “But it still hurts.”

  “Not anymore,” she denied quickly. Not anymore, she repeated to that little voice deep inside that wanted to refute her denial.

  “Revenge, then,” he offered. “Maybe you’d like to deliver a little retribution while you’re here. Even the score, so to speak.”

  She shook her head, then shrugged. “I don’t know…maybe. I haven’t planned that far in advance.”

  Drake smiled then, a little crookedly, which only made his mouth look that much more sensual. “Just point him out to me when we get inside.” He offered his arm. “Shall we?”

  Curling her arm around his, Kennedy managed a smile. She could do this. She could count on Drake. He was a good friend.

  They followed the signs to the main ballroom where Veronica, the daughter of the local hardware store owner, worked the sign-in table.

  “Kennedy!” The buxom redhead skirted the table and gave her a quick cheek-to-cheek embrace. “Girl, I was hoping you would make it!”

  “I wouldn’t have missed it,” Kennedy said smoothly. “Veronica, this is Douglas Drake.”

  “Your fiancé!” She gave Drake an admiring once-over. “I’ve heard all about you, Douglas.” Veronica clutched his hand and gave it a good shake.

  “All good, I hope,” he said in his most charming tone.

  “You got it.” Veronica grabbed her stack of stick-on labels and a Sharpie. “Jeez, Kennedy, you don’t even need a name tag. You haven’t changed a bit, girl.” She quickly scribed their names on labels and handed one to each of them.

  “Thank you,” Kennedy replied, hoping the remark was intended as a compliment. Knowing Veronica, it probably was.

  Name tags in place, Kennedy took a deep, fortifying breath and led the way into the vibrantly decorated ballroom. Banners, streamers, and balloons all in the Friendly Corners high school colors and honoring her graduating class were everywhere. A cash bar was located on the far side of the room. A small stage, also colorfully decorated, held the center spot at the rear. What Kennedy immediately recognized as late nineties music wafted through the air, a backdrop to the hum of conversations, the clink of glasses, and the ripples of laughter. With only fifty-seven in the graduating class, it looked to Kennedy as if most of were already here, accompanied by their spouses or dates for the evening.

  Everyone appeared to be decked out in fashionable garb—MTV fashions to the hilt. Even some of the punkish hairstyles were retro. Before Kennedy could suck in another breath of courage, the games began. She and Drake were swept into a tide of hugs, handshakes, and introductions. Kennedy didn’t remember her classmates as being so demonstrative or friendly.

  Like any good strategist, she analyzed and categorized everyone she met. Surprisingly, not much had changed. Some had gained a little weight, others had lost a good deal of their hair, a few looked pretty much the same. But in all of them, Kennedy could still see the glimmer of the kids they used to be.

  She wondered if they could still see the shy little girl in her.

  Kennedy hoped not.

  She wasn’t anything like that anymore. She was a confident, take-charge type now. No more holding back for Kennedy Malone.

  “Would you like to drink, Kennedy?” Smiling affectionately at her, Drake slid his thumb softy over her cheek.

  Despite the knowledge that his every look, every touch was merely a ruse, she trembled in response. She frowned at the reaction and the offer. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”

  “Give me a break,” he muttered close to her ear. “We’ll look pretty nerdy standing around here all night without a drink.”

  “All right,” Kennedy relented. “I’ll take white wine. But only one.”

  She watched Drake cut through the crowd. Taller than most of the men, with that raven black hair, he was easy to follow. Worry nagged at her again. Maybe she should have gone with him. What if someone approached him at the bar? She chewed her lower lip, watching every move as he ordered their drinks.

  “Afraid someone will steal him?”

  Kennedy looked up into the evil green eyes of Cassandra Hawthorne. She groaned inwardly. Cassandra hadn’t changed at all. Still tall, thin, brunette and gorgeous. And without a name tag, Kennedy noted. As class president, the woman obviously thought herself above such trivialities. Or maybe it was that Material Girl look she didn’t want to detract from.

  “Hello, Cassandra.” Kennedy’s teeth immediately set on edge.

  “Hey, that’s a yummy fiancé you’ve got there,” Cassandra said with wicked glee as she continued to observe Drake’s trek in their direction.

  Kennedy followed Cassandra’s gaze and did a double take. Why hadn’t she ever noticed the way Drake moved? Slow, sleek and deliberate. The man had a walk designed to make the ladies sit up and take notice and they definitely did. Every female in the place took a long look at Drake as he moved across the room.

  He paused at her side, handed Kennedy the stemmed glass of white wine, then gave Cassandra a cool once-over. The woman went into immediate meltdown beneath the man’s brief, but thorough appraisal. Kennedy seethed in silence. He’d damn well better be looking for a name tag or he would regret that particular move.

  “Cassandra, I presume?” he finally said.

  Cassandra extended her red-nailed hand, which Drake promptly brushed with his lips, eliciting a gasp from its owner. “And you must be Douglas Drake,” she crooned, her scarlet lips curving into what she obviously considered to be a come-hither smile.

  “At your service,” he said with a nod. “I would’ve known you from anywhere from Kennedy’s description,” he added with silky charm.

  Puzzled, Kennedy stared at him. She hadn’t given Drake a description of the woman. In fact, they hadn’t discussed the wicked witch at all.

  Cassandra fluttered her too-long lashes. “Well, I’ll make it a point to see you later,” she said cryptically, glancing from Drake to Kennedy—as if Kennedy were included in that remark.

  “I didn’t tell you the first thing about that woman,” Kennedy snapped when Cassandra had moved out to ruin someone else’s evening.

  Drake smirked, then took a sip of his drink. He leaned close and whispered in Kennedy’s ear, “I know a she-devil when I see one.”

  Kennedy smiled then. Maybe this was going to
work after all.

  For the next two hours she relived dozens of retold memories and reacquainted herself with her former classmates. She met spouses, significant others, and saw hundreds of pics of offspring. And she basically had a pretty good time. Most had turned out as she had expected. Penny was a schoolteacher; Joe, a mechanic like his father; Carl, a baker in the family store. But the one person she’d most wanted to see hadn’t shown.

  Larry.

  The jerk that had broken her young heart and turned her off love. She supposed that want wasn’t the right word; Kennedy needed to see him. To show him that her life had turned out better without him.

  That was all.

  She harbored no romantic notions about him.

  Ten years was a long time. She’d forgotten him ages ago.

  Suddenly he was there. Larry entered the ballroom and paused to survey the crowd. He was still every bit as good-looking as he had been back in high school—better even. Nearing thirty now, Larry had filled out especially well. Kennedy’s heart pounded. Her throat constricted. In about five seconds he would locate her in the throng, just as he’d always done when they had dated. That instinctive connection would kick in and—

  “Kiss me, Drake,” Kennedy demanded in a stage whisper.

  He looked at her as if she had sprouted a second head. “What?”

  “Kiss me,” she repeated through clenched teeth.

  A sexy twinkle lit his gray eyes, and he slid his arm around Kennedy’s waist and pulled her firmly against his strong body. “Do you want me to keep it simple or do you want an Academy Award winning performance?” he teased, his lips so close to hers that she could feel the electricity arcing between them.

  “I want the Oscar,” she murmured quickly without considering the ramifications of her request.

  His right hand glided slowly up her back, then tangled in the hair at her nape. “The Oscar it is then,” he whispered as he took her mouth with his own.

  Dark, mysterious, wild, exotic…that’s how Drake tasted. His lips felt firm and hot against hers. His body was strong, sure, demanding…commanding hers to react. Fire swept through her, kindling low, then bursting in every direction with hot, licking flames of carnal desire. Somehow her arms wound around his neck and pulled him closer, instinctively urging him to deepen the already fantastic kiss. His tongue traced her lips and Kennedy’s knees almost buckled beneath her. He nibbled, then suckled her bottom lip, making her pulse hammer. Unable to stop herself, her lips parted and his tongue swept inside. Heat and the lingering taste of bourbon exploded inside her mouth as his tongue stroked hers and then did an electrifying little glide over the roof of her mouth. A jolt shot straight to her core, hot, stinging.

  Startled, Kennedy pulled back.

  “Had enough?” he murmured thickly, his warm, sweet breath fanning the flames burning out of control inside her.

  She blinked and tried to find her voice. “Yes,” she said hoarsely.

  His eyes never leaving hers, he slowly released her. “You look good just kissed, Kennedy Malone.” He smiled that crooked half smile she’d seen a thousand times and it suddenly did strange things to her insides.

  Her fingers drifted up to her still sizzling lips. What had just happened here? “I’ll…I’ll be right back,” she sputtered. She spun around and all but ran to the ladies’ room.

  Once inside, she leaned against the closed door and squeezed her eyes shut. Mercy, had she ever been kissed like that before?

  No.

  Never.

  She wiggled her toes to uncurl them. How could a mere man generate that much energy? She trembled at the memory of how his arms had felt around her, how his lips had felt against hers. Kennedy straightened and shook herself. Although she didn’t have a vast amount of experience on which to base her conclusion, she felt Drake was a world-class kisser.

  Make-believe, she reminded herself. Just part of his own spin on the situation. He probably didn’t even enjoy it. She wasn’t even sure she had.

  Yeah, right.

  God, she was screwed up.

  Kennedy trudged over to the row of sinks and mirrors. She stared at her reflection. Why did other people’s opinions of her matter so much? Why hadn’t she outgrown the childish need for approval?

  “Because you’re hopeless, Kennedy,” she muttered to her reflection. Her lips were still swollen from his kiss. She swallowed. “Just for show,” she reminded, ruefully noting the glow in her eyes.

  “Whew!” a feminine voice trilled.

  Kennedy turned to find Wanda Wallingsford sashaying through the door. Loud, obnoxious, party-hearty Wanda. The girl most likely to screen centerfold candidates for Playgirl. Wanda smoothed her black leather miniskirt, then flipped her long bleached blond tresses over her shoulders.

  “Hey, Kennedy.” She waggled her eyebrows. “That’s a helluva beefcake you found yourself.”

  Kennedy manufactured a smile. “Thanks.” She supposed that was the appropriate reply. What did one say when another woman ogled one’s supposed fiancé?

  Wanda closed her eyes and swooned. “I’ll bet he’s really hung too.”

  Appalled, Kennedy glared at the woman. “Excuse me?”

  Wanda snapped her eyes open and stared, wild-eyed, back at Kennedy. She cocked one overly plucked eyebrow. “Don’t try to fool me, Kennedy Malone. I’ve got eyes. What a package that man has! Mm-hmm.”

  “Package?” Kennedy’s mouth gaped.

  Wanda laughed drunkenly. “Oh, Kennedy. Prissy, strait-laced Kennedy.” She gestured magnanimously for a moment before throwing up her hands. “I’m referring to his fruit basket. The package, you know?”

  At Kennedy’s continued puzzlement, Wanda demanded, “Haven’t you ever looked at the man’s crotch? Good Lord, he’s a stud! Surely you’ve noticed.”

  Kennedy’s mouth worked, but nothing came out. She blinked rapidly, then tried again. “O-of course, I’ve noticed,” she finally croaked. “He is fantastic in bed.”

  Wanda grinned wickedly. “That’s what I’m talking about.” She wobbled precariously to a stall.

  ~*~

  Drake wiped his tingling lips with the back of his hand. He hadn’t meant to let things get quite that out of control, but he just couldn’t help himself. Kennedy had melted against him, responded with real passion. The only thing that had saved him from making a complete fool of himself was her startled response to his forwardness. He’d been crazy with want.

  Damn.

  He shifted, trying like hell to calm the raging erection Kennedy had left him with. Here he stood on the middle of a party, surrounded by strangers, and hard as a rock for a woman who’d never even seemed to notice he was male, much less available.

  Damn.

  Looking no worse for wear, Kennedy made her way through the mingling crowd. She paused a few feet away to chat with a short woman, whose name, if he remembered correctly, was Elaine. Drake closed his eyes against the vision of Kennedy in that slinky black dress. She couldn’t have looked sexier if she’d been naked—well, maybe that was an exaggeration. He had no doubt that Kennedy had though t she was being conservative when she’d selected that dress, but she’d failed miserably.

  The silky fabric caressed her body rather than draped it. The black was a vivid contrast to her creamy coloring. He took a deep breath and opened his eyes.

  Kennedy hadn’t moved, but she was not staring directly at him.

  Or more specifically, at his crotch.

  His brow furrowed. Why the hell was she staring at him like that?

  Her gaze suddenly connected with his and color rose high in her cheeks. Her long legs covered the short distance between them with powerful strides. She stopped right in front of him and leaned in close. His breath caught. Her subtle scent made his heart thump. How could any woman who looked that dammed sexy smell so fresh and innocent?

  “Drake,” she said quietly, glancing around to make sure no one was listening. “I appreciate that you’ve gone above and beyond the ca
ll to look hot, but, really, it wasn’t necessary to accessorize.”

  What the hell did she mean by that? “You’ll have to be a bit less cryptic, Kennedy.”

  She licked those delicious lips, her gaze carefully averted from his. “What are you wearing beneath those jeans?”

  Realization hit him and he smiled. So she’d noticed. He angled his head so his lips just brushed the shell of her ear. “Baby there’s nothing in these jeans but me. Is that a problem?”

  Kennedy jumped back like a frightened bird. Before she could utter a comeback, Cassandra appeared. ‘Kennedy, you remember Larry, don’t you?”

  So this was Larry. Drake looked the other man over. And how thoughtful of Cassandra to bring him right over to Kennedy.

  “Of course,” Kennedy said tightly.

  Larry smiled. “Good to see you, Kennedy.”

  Drake disliked the man on sight. He knew an absolute jerk when he saw one, but he’d never say that to Kennedy. She apparently still had feelings for the guy.

  She turned to Drake. “This is Douglas Drake.”

  Drake produced a wide smile and stuck out his hand. “Her fiancé,” he clarified.

  Larry shook his hand. “So I hear.”

  “I’ll have to introduce the two of you to our children,” Cassandra enthused. “Aaron is eight, and Jessica just turned six.”

  Kennedy’s smile wavered slightly. “That would be nice.”

  Damn the woman, Drake swore silently. Didn’t Cassandra know when enough was enough? He hated bullies and this woman was a bully.

  “You should come by the school tomorrow afternoon, Jessica has her dance recital.” She smiled sweetly. “She’s a perfect little ballerina.”

  “Took after her mom,” Larry added. “Dancing has never been my forte.”