"What did you say to him?" she asked.
"That I had a collection of jars filled with human hearts and he was about to make an unwilling donation."
Her jaw dropped open. "You did not."
"Oh, honey. I sure did."
She giggled, saying, "But why?"
His gaze traveled over her, heating, and her amusement died. "I'll let you know as soon as I figure it out."
O-kay, how was she supposed to respond to that?
This man was such a mystery to her.
She thought back to what she did know about him. He'd had a younger brother, Daniel, and the two had done everything together. Until Daniel drowned. It happened the winter before the Michaelson/Starr affair.
At the funeral, she'd watched Dane stand stoic and pale at the graveside, not giving way to the flood of tears that had surely been building up. The left side of his face had been bandaged. Though she'd been only six years old, his obvious pain had affected her and she'd wanted so badly to hug him.
"Are you forced to clean up on your own every night?" he asked.
"Not every. The employees rotate."
"And then you walk to your car?"
"Yes."
"Alone?"
"Again, yes."
He stopped stacking chairs and pinned her with a lethal glance. "Tell me you have a weapon, at least."
Hello! She was no dummy. "Of course I do." She snatched her purse from behind the bar and showed him the retractable sword she carried, preferring it over the ax. The center was oak, and with the press of a button, blades would shoot out from both sides.
He blinked at the weapon...at her. "A dual sword?"
"Well, zombies only die for real if you cut through their brain." She twirled the blades, made a slashing motion, basically showing off the mad skills she'd picked up while watching TV.
"Zombies?" he gasped out. "You're worried about zombies? Not rapists or murderers?"
Duh! "The zombie apocalypse is totally going to happen!"
He closed the distance, claimed the sword and set it on the counter with a hard thump. Then he placed one hand at her left and one at her right, effectively caging her in.
Instant. Awareness.
Gulping, she peered up at him. The air smelled like testosterone and manflesh again. (That was a thing, right?) The heat of him enveloped her, stroking her skin, a tangible caress.
"What's going on? What's happening right now?" she babbled.
"What's happening is a very stern lecture. You do not walk to your car at night, alone, ever again. It's dangerous, and I won't allow you to put yourself in harm's way. If I find out you have, the lecture will become a spanking."
She couldn't help it. She smiled. "Is that what you're into?"
"Kenna."
"No judgment, really."
He rolled his eyes, straightened, but soon decided to cage her again. "Your safety is important to me." His gaze drifted to her lips, lingering. His voice dropped to a whisper. "Very important."
Look away! Look away!
But why? a sultry voice inside her head asked.
Common sense replied. Because he's been with two different women in a matter of days. Because you will never ever have a one-night stand. Because no good could come from doing anything with him.
Also, she could totally be misreading his intentions.
No more humiliation for me. Dealt with my fair share already.
In an act of self-preservation, she finally managed to turn her head away from him. Now, walk away and--oh! His tattoos! They were scattered here and there over both of his arms. She clasped his wrist and pulled it closer. The colors and details etched into his flesh were exquisite. Wild strawberries, green leaves, white flowers with yellow centers. One, two, three...four. Each connected by a vine.
"You love the town that much?" she asked, daring another peek at him.
"Not the town," he gritted. Faint lines of tension etched the corners of his eyes. "What it represents."
"Your brother," she said with a burst of intuition.
He nodded stiffly. "He would eat wild strawberries until he made himself sick."
"Norrie, my daughter, does the same."
In a snap, he straightened away from her. A blank mask fell over his features. Without his heat, she felt chilled...alone though he was nearby.
"What did you decide to check off your list?" he asked, his voice devoid of emotion.
What did I do wrong?
"TP," she said quietly.
"And who will be the lucky recipient?"
Here was where things were gonna get tough. "I was thinking...your dad and my mom." They were living together now.
She expected Dane to balk, but his grin of delight was swift and bright, thrilling her. "I like the way your mind works, Freckles, I really do. But now I'm wishing I had stuffed the trunk of my car with more than one hundred rolls of paper."
"You have that many? Seriously?"
"Honey, I came prepared to do everything on your list. Your wish, my command."
*
DANE HELD UP an infrared camera phone, recording Kenna's every move as she threw rolls of toilet paper into the infinite span of trees on his father's lawn. She flittered in every direction, smiling so brightly, clearly struggling not to laugh out loud and gain unwanted attention. His chest did that aching thing again.
He was starting to hate it--because he was starting to love it.
"You missed a spot on the right," he called.
"Shh! Be quiet! You'll get us caught."
"Get you caught, honey. I'm just an innocent bystander recording all the evidence to help the cops make their case, like the good citizen I am."
She gave him a double-birded salute, and he barked out a rusty laugh. I'm laughing. Me. When was the last time that had happened? He couldn't remember. But she kept doing things to amuse him. Shock him, even. Like pulling out a sword and expressing a very real fear about zombies. Zombies.
"Are you having fun?" he asked, already knowing the answer.
"So much!" Looking straight at the camera, she said, "Look at me, Brook Lynn. I should get an award for best TP'er ever."
Was Roanne this uninhibited, this captivating? She must be, despite the horrid way she treated her daughter, because why else would his father have been so fascinated with her? A pretty face enthralled for only so long. But Thomas had been unable to let her go for sixteen long years, never selling the home his wife wouldn't even allow him to visit. At last willing to give up everything to be with her, signing his company over to Dane, then divorcing Christine once Roanne's husband passed and she felt free to be with him openly, without scandal. Returning to the town where his youngest son had died. Putting down roots again. All for Roanne.
Despite the chill in the air, sweat trickled down Dane's back. He was just as bad, wasn't he? He'd almost kissed Kenna. Would have killed for the chance to kiss her. Savagely, nothing held back. Her soft body had been pressed against his, and Dane would have sold the soul he'd claimed not to have for a single taste of her lips and tongue, to hear the sounds she made when her pleasure hit--pleasure he had caused.
If she hadn't brought up her daughter, reminding him that he wasn't interested in mothers, he would have done it. He still wondered how she would have reacted. Would she have welcomed him? Or rebuked him?
Better not to know. Because, if he learned she would welcome him, he would be on her, and there would be no stopping him.
One of the motion-sensitive lights switched on, chasing away the shadows in the front yard. Kenna yelped and dropped her roll of toilet paper.
"Abort mission! Abort mission!" She sprinted toward the car.
He grabbed her hand as she tried to bypass him and jerked her behind a wall of bushes. She tripped over a rock and ended up sprawled on the ground.
"Sorry, honey," he said as she rolled over. "You okay?"
"Shh!"
The light flooded over her, illuminating her smile.
Ache!
His father's voice boomed out. "What the hell!" and Dane flattened himself beside Kenna, so that he couldn't be spotted over the line of the bushes.
"Our home. Our beautiful home. Who would do something like this?" Roanne gasped out.
Kenna was shaking, and any second now, she would burst into hysterical laughter. He covered her mouth with his hands, was once again struck dumb by the softness of her skin...the heat... This close, he could smell the strawberries in her hair, stronger than before. Would she taste just as sweet?
A mother. My stepsister. Off-limits.
But he was hardening against her. Could she feel him? He wanted her to feel him.
No, no, he didn't. With a muttered curse, he shifted his hips away from her.
"Do you think everyone hates me?" Roanne asked, tears now in her voice.
"Of course not. Everyone loves you, darlin'," Thomas assured her. "You know teenagers. Always playing pranks."
The rest of his father's reply was muffled as the two walked back inside the house.
Dane removed his hand and stared down at Kenna, who made no move to rise. Her amusement was gone, sadness in its place.
"Feeling sorry for her? Oh, honey. I've told you that you forgive way too easily, right?" he asked, and sighed. He smoothed a lock of hair from her cheek, let his thumb wander along the line of her jaw. A tremor shook her.
"She sometimes hurts my feelings, yes, but that doesn't mean I have to hurt hers." She reached up, hesitated for several heartbeats of time. When he made no move to turn away, she traced her fingertips over his right cheek.
He never let women touch him there. But Kenna had seen the scars in all their awful glory, and knew to expect the slightly raised flesh. He actually leaned into her touch, luxuriating in the feel of her. So soft. So gentle.
So damned perfect.
How had he lived without this?
"What is it we're doing here?" she asked, a catch in her voice.
"Being friends," he rasped, but that wasn't exactly the truth. "Now, let's get out of here." Before he did something epically stupid.
CHAPTER SIX
KENNA WAS CONFUSED. In the week that followed the TP'ing of Mr. Michaelson's house, Dane made no contact with her. He hadn't even come back to town, choosing instead to remain in the city. At least, that was her guess. Sure, he could have been called away on business, but wouldn't he have texted her if that had been the case? He'd said he wanted to help her with her list. All of her list. So why the disconnect?
She constantly changed her mind about whether or not she should text him. But what would she say? Yo, yo, yo, U interested or not?
Am I sixteen?
Or what about, U will help me w/ the fun list as promised.
Am I a dominant, and he my submissive?
Gah!
He'd almost kissed her. She knew that. And she'd wanted him to do it. Had wanted it so badly. Her body had ached for it, just as his clearly had. After he'd covered her mouth with his hand, she'd felt him grow hard against her thigh.
Why hadn't he done anything about it?
Her first sexual experience was one she couldn't remember--didn't want to remember. And though the few times she'd been with Paul had been good, and there had been many nights since their split that she'd missed the feel of a man's arms, her desire for Dane went far beyond that. She craved him specifically.
Can't give in. After Paul, she'd decided to wait for love. If she was going to risk another walk of shame and years of gossip, not to mention a father figure in Norrie's life, it had to be worth it. Sex had to mean something, not just to her but to the man she was trusting with her body and her reputation. And okay, yes, that made her an oddity in today's society, but she didn't care.
She wasn't in love with Dane, but all the ingredients were there. She could fall. Hard. Perhaps the distance he'd put between them was for the best.
"Hate to break it to you, mate, but Dane Michaelson is seated in your section," Brook Lynn said when she reached Kenna at the soda fountain.
Kenna and Brook Lynn had decided today was the day they would speak with an accent, and though Mr. Calbert had complained, repeatedly, they hadn't stopped. And wouldn't. Not for any reason. Brook Lynn sounded Australian, and Kenna sounded English...sort of.
Her stomach twisted into a thousand little knots. Dane had decided to come here? Really? Today of all days?
"Thanks for the heads-up, dearie." She finished filling the plastic cups with the appropriate beverages, kissed Brook Lynn on the cheek and carried her burden to a family of four. She scanned the six tables in her corner of Two Farms.
When she spotted Dane, she froze, liquid sloshing over the rim of the cups. He'd brought a date. A beauty with a short cap of blond hair, and the slender build of a runway model.
The knots in Kenna's stomach began to leak acid.
What did I expect?
Whatever. It didn't matter. Kenna pawned off the drinks and though she would have rather eaten rusty nails, made her way to his table. He wore a black suit, and an ice-blue tie. The blank mask he'd worn the last time he was here, when they'd talked about his brother and her daughter, was back in place. His amber eyes were hard and cold, his lips pressed into a firm line.
Doesn't want me. Never wanted me. Got it.
"Kenna," he said, nodding a greeting.
She pasted a smile on her face. It must have been a brittle one, because he flinched. "Anything I can get the pair of yous?"
He blinked at her. "You're from New Jersey now?"
"England. What of it?" she asked, chin high. "Now, what I can get you two for bloody dinner? Be quick about it, will you, I've got other tables to see to, I do." And now I'm cockney.
He peered at her a long while before tossing down his menu and rubbing a hand down his face. "We don't want anything. This was a mistake."
"So we're not hungry?" his date asked, as if her appetite depended completely on his. "And what about the tour of your new house? Are we still going to see it?"
"You bought a house?" Kenna gasped out, then had to repeat the question using one of her accents.
Blondie looked at her and frowned. "Excuse me, but this is a private conversation."
Dane scowled. "Don't talk to her like that. This is my...Kenna."
My Kenna.
The words affected her--heart, hammering out of control. He'd stopped himself from saying "sister," she was sure of it. He didn't feel brotherly toward her anymore.
In a burst of sudden clarity, she realized why he'd brought the blonde to the restaurant. He'd recognized Kenna's interest, had experienced his own, and he'd wanted to show her that he wasn't going to do anything about it. He was still dating around and had no interest of starting anything new with anyone else.
I'm being put in my place, quick and easy. "I'm his soon-to-be stepsister, I am," she said for him, keeping her tone light, breezy. He'd never know how much he'd hurt her. Unwilling to take a chance on me. Doesn't think I'm good enough. "But we're not close. Not at all."
His eyes narrowed, the thick fan of lashes shielding all that molten gold.
Blondie immediately relaxed, extending her hand to shake. "So nice to meet you."
The weakness of her grip annoyed Kenna. "So...do you want anything to bloody eat?"
Dane closed his eyes for a moment, drew in a deep breath. "Whatever you recommend will be fine."
She marched away, but she didn't immediately type in an order. She ducked into the employee break room and took her cell out of her locker. She was going to let Dane know she'd moved on. Here. Now. He had nothing to worry about. Her fingers flew over the keyboard as she texted West.
Are U free? I'm @ 2 farms & so is Dane. W/ a date.
They, too, had developed a friendship. Unlike Dane, West had called her. Often. Just to see how she was doing. And it was beyond nice; she hadn't realized how starved she'd been for adult companionship. Brook Lynn had Jessie Kay and her thousands of jobs, but Kenna had never had anyone else...until West had fille
d a gap she hadn't known she had.
For the next twenty minutes, she managed to work as if all was well. She took Dane and Blondie a bottle of wine, even poured without spilling it. She served her other patrons without missing a beat.
Finally, West strode through the door. Kenna met him at the bar, and he leaned over to kiss her right on the lips. A blush stained her cheeks, and she had to stop herself from looking around to make sure no one had watched.
"Um, was that really necessary?" she asked.
He grinned at her, unrepentant. But for the first time, she saw the darkness clinging to the edges of his amusement. He wasn't as happy-go-lucky as he acted, and she wondered why. "Yes. Now, what time do you get off?"
"Ten-thirty." Only half an hour away. "If I can get rid of all my bloody customers."
"Why are you talking like you're from a Regency England poorhouse? You know what? It doesn't matter. It's cute. I'll get rid of your customers for you and make sure you get off properly." He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively.
She rolled her eyes. They didn't have that kind of relationship, would never have that kind of relationship, but he still liked to tease her. "I thought a man of your prowess would have more original material."
He flicked the end of her nose. "Did you know Dane and I have dated a few of the same women? He's never cared. But time and time again, he's warned me away from you."
Hope unfurled, only to die a quick death. No way would she allow herself to get caught up in a does-he-or-doesn't-he-like-me storm. Whether he did or not didn't matter. He'd crossed a line tonight.
How? He's single. He can see whomever he wants.
Well, he'd led her on.
How? He never promised me anything.
Stupid common sense! Lost in her thoughts, not paying attention to her actions, she moved on autopilot and popped the top on a beer, then handed it to West.
"Thanks. But I didn't order this," he said.
Crap. Focus. "And yet you're still going to pay for it," she quipped.
"I guess I am," he said with a nod.
His ease with her relaxed her, and it was a nice feeling. "After my shift I plan on jumping into a body of water with all my clothes on. You want to come with? I need someone to record it for Brook Lynn."
"You mean with all your clothes off, right?"
"Nope. On."
"Where's the fun in that?"
Before she could respond, Dane arrived, patting his friend on the back. "West. What are you doing here?"
"Enjoying the scenery," West said, and winked at Kenna. "Also making plans for later. Me and Kens are going to do some late-night swimming." His voice dipped as he added, "And filming."