Keeping Kennedy Page 6

  “Get off me, you big oaf,” she snarled, matching his glare with a murderous one of her own.

  His handsome face looked confused, then realization dawned. “Damn!” He rolled off her, and the bed. He slammed into the floor with a resounding thud, punctuated by several ear-scorching four letter words—a number of which Kennedy couldn’t recall ever having heard before.

  She peeked over the edge of the mattress and smiled sweetly. “Good morning.” She had a sudden, almost overwhelming, urge to push that thick lock of raven black hair away from his forehead, then skim his shadowed jaw. Her fingertips tingled at the thought. Kennedy quickly balled her fingers into fists and banished the forbidden yearning. “Are you always this grumpy before coffee?”

  Pushing up onto his elbows and positioning himself entirely too close, his utterly appealing and intensely wild masculine scent filled her nostrils. Kennedy’s breathing hitched.

  “Only when crazy women try to take a bite out of me.” He reached up to rub the angry red mark on his chest.

  “Serves you right.” Needing distance in a hurry, she bounded off the opposite side of the bed. “You’ll learn to keep your hands to yourself.” She headed for the closet, scowling, intent on finding something suitable to wear for a scavenger hunt.

  “Well, maybe in the future you’ll stay on your side of the bed,” he countered, the sound of his zipper underscoring his words.

  She shuddered at the sound—with disgust or lingering desire, she didn’t know, nor did she intend to analyze her reaction. “You are so crude, Drake,” she muttered as she rifled through the contents of her closet. How could she wear any of these out-of-style clothes? Had she really been that much of a geek? Evidently the answer was yes.

  “I’d talk about crude,” he growled, his breath hot on her neck.

  Kennedy jumped away, then whirled to face him. How had he sneaked up on her like that? “Eighteen inches, Drake,” she warned. “You’re in my personal space again.”

  Shirtless and looking entirely too sexy for a friend, he took an unwilling step back. That crooked half smile overtaking his lips, he leaned against the doorframe in his very own cocky, lazy way. “I would’ve never taken you for the hickey type.”

  Kennedy gave him a you-wish look. “I bed your pardon?”

  He tapped his chest. “Hickey. You do know what a hickey is, don’t you, Kennedy?”

  She glanced at the darkening bruise, then glowered at him. “That is no hickey. It’s a battle scar.” She arched a brow. “And next time I may aim a whole lot lower.”

  Drake smiled wickedly. “Promise?”

  “Get out of here so I can get dressed.” Kennedy shooed him out of the walk-in closet, flipped the switch for the closet light, then pushed the door closed. She pressed her forehead against the cool painted surface and cursed herself for the fool she was.

  “This isn’t real, Kennedy,” she muttered. But, why oh why did it feel so real?

  He had hit the nail on the head without even knowing it. She was insane.

  Absolutely.

  Unquestionably.

  Certifiably insane.

  And considering the recent behavior of her parents, the problem was clearly genetic.

  ~*~

  Twenty minutes later, both dressed in tattered jeans and T-shirts, Kennedy led Drake into the kitchen. The smell of fried bacon made her stomach rumble.

  Had she even eaten last night? She didn’t think so.

  “Good morning, sweetpea,” her father, still decked out in hippie garb, said over the morning paper.

  “Morning,” she replied as cheerily as possible, considering the task that lay before her. Drake and her father exchanged greetings.

  “Would you two like some breakfast?” Kennedy’s mother gestured to the serving platter warming on the stovetop. This morning Bren sported a mini-dress, a suede vest with fringe that skimmed the hem of her skirt, and thigh-high leather boots.

  Before either of them could respond, Kennedy’s father pulled a chair from the table. “Sit, enjoy,” he suggested.

  Kennedy’s gaze suddenly riveted to the kitchen table and her appetite vanished. “I—I think I’ll j-just have juice.” She swallowed and turned on her heel to make a dash for the fridge.

  No way could she ever eat at that table again. She closed her eyes and blocked the image of her formerly respectable parents amusing themselves on the shiny oak top.

  “Exciting plans for the day?” she heard her father ask Drake.

  Kennedy poured her juice and listened to Drake recite the details of their scavenger hunt.

  “Why, honey, that sounds like great fun,” her mother enthused.

  “I can’t wait,” Kennedy muttered.

  “Oh, my.”

  Her gaze shifted to her father. He tapped he paper now lying flat on the kitchen table. “Would you look at this,” he said, shaking his head slowly from side to side. “I can’t believe it. Not after all this time.”

  Kennedy moved to his side and peered down at the article he indicated. “The Kissing Bandit Strikes Again After Thirty Years,” she read aloud. “What in the world?”

  “I’d almost forgotten about him,” her father said distractedly.

  “Who?” Drake looked from one Malone to the next.

  “Thirty years ago, right after we moved back here,” Brenda explained, “a man wearing a Zorro mask would pull unsuspecting females into some dark place like a stairwell or supply closet and kiss their socks off.”

  Chuck nodded. “It went on for about a month, then just suddenly stopped.”

  “Who was it?” Kennedy asked, still perusing the article.

  “No one knows,” her father told her. “It just happened. People talked about it for years, but no one ever admitted to being the infamous Kissing Bandit of Friendly Corners. It’s our one unsolved mystery.” He chuckled. “I remember the chief of police being irate that he couldn’t catch the culprit.” Chuck waggled his eyebrows. “Especially since his wife was one of the first victims.”

  Kennedy looked at her mom. “How about you, Mom?”

  She shook her head. “Not me.” Her eyes suddenly twinkled with mischief. “I can remember keeping my fingers crossed and hoping, though.”

  “Hey,” Chuck growled.

  Drake leaned forward to look at the bold headline. “I think it’s kind of romantic.”

  “Romantic?” Kennedy’s mouth gaped. She had no idea he even knew the definition of the word. Well, she amended, he probably knew a little bit about it considering the ladies who lined up at his door when he was home. Or maybe he simply knew all the right pick-up lines.

  “It is,” Brenda agreed. “A mysterious man—and from all reports, a sinfully sexy man—appearing out of nowhere and kissing you breathless would be something like in a romantic novel.”

  Kennedy rolled her eyes. “I think it’s called assault now, Mother.”

  “Have a cup of coffee, D.D.,” Chuck suggested in an effort to change the subject.

  The discussion changed to football then. Still, a little intrigued by the kissing bandit story, Kennedy leaned against the counter and considered the old mystery. Reunion week just kept getting stranger and stranger. Had someone put something in the city water supply?

  Though distracted by her thoughts, a part of her couldn’t help noticing the ease with which Drake related to her parents. An instant rapport had formed between the three. Too bad it was for naught. Kennedy felt almost guilty about misleading her parents like this, but what choice did she have? They’d forced her into a corner. She sighed. And she’d come out fighting with the only weapon she had, the art of illusion.

  But illusions were fleeting…and Kennedy knew it was only a matter of time before hers shattered.

  ~*~

  After breakfast with her parents, Kennedy and Drake drove across town to Bowden Park. Unfortunately for them, it had evidently rained all night long. Water stood in every low place around, and in some places that weren’t so low. Kennedy cursed
Cassandra Hawthorne with every step she took into the dripping forest that surrounded Bowden Park. The creek was swollen, threatening to flood the trail that bordered its muddy bank. Drake made it very clear after the first ten minutes that he didn’t want to listen to her complaints, so Kennedy kept them to herself.

  Somehow she would find a way to get back at her high school nemesis. Kennedy smiled. At last, something to look forward to. She suddenly imagined Cassandra at an important gala…wearing the same exact dress as three other women in attendance. Kennedy’s smile broadened to a grin. Wouldn’t that get her goat? And that very catastrophe could be arranged. All she would have to do—

  “Watch your step here,” Drake said, jerking her back to the matter at hand.

  “What?” Before he could expand upon his warning, Kennedy’s next step mired into the too-soft edge of the trail, sending her off balance. He reached for her flailing arms, even snagged her by one elbow, but it was too late. Landing on her bottom, the cold water enveloped her all the way up to her neck. Drake came down on his knees between Kennedy’s widespread legs.

  “Smooth move,” he grumbled.

  “I can’t believe I’m doing this,” she groused.

  He lifted his arms and allowed the water to drip from his extended limbs. “It wouldn’t be so bad, Kennedy, if you would just pay attention to where you’re walking. This isn’t a city sidewalk, or some corridor in your posh office building.”

  She batted a wisp of hair from her face. “I told you that I’m inept in these kinds of surroundings.”

  Drake got to his feet, then extended his hands to help her up. “After yesterday’s drive from the airport, I’m beginning to think you’re more dangerous than inept outside a controlled environment.”

  Bestowing a fake smile on him, she accepted his offered hand and allowed him to help her to her feet. The wet cotton of her clothing felt shrink-wrapped to her skin, with mud splotches for decoration. “I’m not the outdoorsy type.”

  “I can see that.” Looking supremely annoyed, he splashed out of the murky water with Kennedy in tow. He carefully maneuvered up the slippery bank and staggered onto the trail.

  Kennedy followed, shivering as the cool breeze hit her wet clothes.

  Drake frowned. “Do you want to go back home and change? The sun’s out, but it’ll take a while to warm up after that cold soaking.”

  Kennedy folded her arms over her chest and hugged herself. “Let’s just get this over with.” She was a big girl; she didn’t need him fussing over her. He already thought she was inept—no, make that dangerous.

  She trudged along behind him for what felt like forever. The sun tried valiantly to peek between the branches of trees. The brown autumn leaves that still remained after last night’s rain were too far efficient at blocking the sun’s warming rays. Frowning up at the mostly bare branches, she slammed into Drake’s muscular back before she’d realized he’d stopped. Awareness curled through her, heating her from the inside out.

  “This is it,” he said, paying no attention to her misstep.

  Kennedy moved around to his side to study the crude map he held. She suppressed the need to shiver again, though she couldn’t be sure if it was from her still-wet clothes or from looking at his handsome profile. The man truly was a major hunk. In the three years they had known each other, why had she never noticed once how incredibly handsome Drake really was? Maybe because she hadn’t really looked. He was a friend. You don’t look at friends like that.

  Drake pointed to the creek and the fallen tree that crossed it. “That’s the landmark.” He scanned the woods. “Twenty paces to the right of the fallen tree,” he murmured as he read over the instructions once more. “Then look up.”

  Cassandra was an idiot. Who in their right mind would send two adults into the woods looking for a certain tree among hundreds of others? Realization zapped her with sudden humiliation. What two adults in their right minds would do as Cassandra told them? Obviously, she and her neighbor…friend…fiancé, whatever. Jeez, what a mess she had gotten herself into.

  “Ten, eleven…” Drake counted aloud as he stepped off the twenty paces.

  It wasn’t until then that Kennedy noticed the unexpected way in which his jeans clung to his muscular behind. She stalled and cocked her head to analyze the intriguing effect. Long legs, muscular butt, lean waist, broad shoulders. She sighed as warmth instantly rushed through her once more. There was something sensually satisfying about just looking at his masculine form.

  “That’s the one,” he announced.

  Kennedy dragged her gaze from his physique to the tree he pointed out. It looked like all the rest to her, but she supposed he had some caveman gene that allowed him to select this particular tree over all the rest.

  “How do you know that’s the one?” she demanded crossly. She didn’t like being out of her element. Kennedy Malone liked being in charge. And, somehow, she’d lost complete control since the beginning of this farce.

  Drake turned around slowly to face her. He leveled his gaze on hers and spoke as if she were five years old. “Unless our feathered friends have started constructing their nests of Ziploc baggies and duct tape, then that’s what we’re looking for right here.”

  Kennedy squinted, straining to make out the item he pointed toward in the highest branches of the tree. Sure enough, there it was. “How on earth are we supposed to get it down?”

  “Easy,” Drake said with a broad smile that somehow spelled trouble with a capital T. “You’re going to climb up there and bring it down.”

  Kennedy harrumphed. “I beg your pardon?”

  “The limbs are too small. They’ll never hold my weight,” he explained. “You’ll have to do it.”

  Kennedy backed up a step and shook her head adamantly. “No way. I didn’t climb trees as a child and I’m not about to start now.”

  Drake shrugged. “Then you forfeit to Cassandra.”

  That thought didn’t sit too well. She didn’t want Cassandra to win. The woman had gotten the better of her too many times in the past. Kennedy’s gaze traveled slowly up the tree once more. Could she really do this? She could see Cassandra’s triumphant expression if she didn’t.

  “It’s your call,” Drake added, egging her on. Kennedy swallowed. She rolled her shoulders and considered all the equipment she used at the spa. She was in good physical condition. Gave an elliptical a run for its money. Why couldn’t she climb a tree?

  “All right,” she agreed.

  “That’s my girl.”

  The devilish grin on his face heated her insides yet again. What was wrong with her? This whole spin was making her crazy. Without further consideration, she squared her shoulders and strode forward. She would not say die…at least not yet. She paused directly in front of the tree and calculated her first move. The lowest limbs were about at shoulder level. She would need a boost, definitely.

  “I’ll give you a boost,” Drake said, as if reading her mind.

  Instead of making a stirrup as he had done last night, he clasped her by the waist and hoisted her up. Startled, Kennedy scrambled onto the lowest branches as quickly as possible. She couldn’t bear the hot feel of his hands around her waist any longer than necessary. His touch made her feel restless. She did her best to ignore the unfamiliar sensations and started the climb upward. Gingerly, she pulled herself up, toward her destination, silently repeating every swearword she knew and Cassandra’s connection to each.

  Finally she perched on a limb that put her within arm’s reach of the bag. Kennedy pulled the bag and tape off the tree limb and shoved it and the note it contained dictating hers and Drake’s costume for the ball into her pants pocket. This had to be the most idiotic idea Cassandra had ever hatched up. Kennedy shivered again as her cool, damp clothes flattened against her skin in the autumn breeze.

  Then she made her mistake…She looked down.

  Muscle-freezing fear surged through her veins. She had climbed a great deal higher than she realized. She mu
st be…too many feet above the ground.

  Kennedy swallowed. Her heart pounded like a drum. She told herself to move, but she couldn’t. She couldn’t even let go of the limb she held in a death grip.

  “What’s the holdup?” Drake called. “You okay?”

  No! She wasn’t okay. Kennedy shuddered. She had to get down. She almost laughed hysterically.

  “Kennedy, what’s wrong?” he demanded again, that analyzing gaze watching her too closely.

  She licked her lips and opened her mouth to speak. Nothing came. Kennedy took a deep, shaky breath. “I…I can’t get down.”

  He frowned, an expression somewhere between disbelief and amusement. “Of course you can get down. You got up there. Just take your time and retrace your steps.”

  She gave her head a little shake. “I wasn’t looking down when I climbed up. I…I can’t do it.”

  She didn’t quite make out the oath he hissed, but she felt certain it didn’t bear repeating. “Just come up here and get me,” she suggested, the pitch of her voice rising to match the fear pulsing through her veins.

  He glared at her. “You climbed up there because the limbs wouldn’t hold my weight, remember?”

  “You’ll have to risk it,” she told him, her tone final. “I’m not coming down otherwise.”

  “I suppose I could go for the fire department.”

  Kennedy’s eyes rounded in horror. “Don’t you dare. You come up here and help me down this instant. Or…or,” she stammered, “I’ll never speak to you again.”

  “I should be so lucky.”

  This was going nowhere. Kennedy finally did what she knew she had to do: beg. “Please?” she cried. “I need you, Drake.”

  That rattled him. Kennedy could see the subtle but instant change. He swore again, then sighed loudly. “All right,” he grumbled.

  Relief flooded her when he started up the tree to rescue her. Thank God. She flexed the fingers of first one hand and then the other. Her fingers were numb from holding on so tightly. He pulled himself up beside her.