Keeping Kennedy

by Debra Webb

  “Well.” Cassandra feigned a smile. “You have other assets.”

  Drake thought he might be sick. Kennedy looked as though she already were. Just as Drake opened his mouth to excuse himself and Kennedy, the crackling of a microphone sounded.

  ~*~

  “Girls and boys, I need your attention for about two minutes,” a man dressed in sixties clothes announced from the stage. He chuckled. “I guess I should say ladies and gentlemen.” He shook his ponytailed head. “It’s still hard to believe you’re all so damned grown up.”

  Kennedy smiled a real smile for the first time this evening. Uncle Martin. Without so much as an excuse me to Cassandra and Larry, she bolted forward, pushing her way through the crowd. She didn’t have to look back to know Drake followed; she could sense him not far behind her. She paused at the left side of the stage and waited for Martin to finish his little welcome speech to the graduate of 1999.

  “Kennedy,” her uncle boomed as he stepped off the stage. He pulled her into his arms and hugged her tightly. “Lord have mercy, little girl, it’s so good to see you. It’s been too long.” Her drew back and gave her thorough appraisal. “You’ve grown up on me since last Christmas.” He pulled her left hand from his shoulder and eyed the engagement ring, then grinned. “And gotten yourself engaged.”

  She swallowed back the rising guilt. She hated deceiving her uncle. Her parents almost deserved it, but Martin didn’t. He and Kennedy had always been two of a kind. Both too busy with their careers and with no time for distractions like romantic entanglements. He’d run interference for her with her parents on that very issue too many times to count.

  “Uncle Martin, I’d like you to meet Douglas Drake.” Kennedy turned to Drake, willing her smile to remain in place. “My fiancé. Remember, Drake, I mentioned that Uncle Martin is the mayor of Friendly Corners.”

  Martin released Kennedy and grabbed Drake’s hand, giving it one quick but firm shake. “You’ve caught yourself one fine lady, young fella. I hope you know how lucky you are.”

  Drake smiled. “Yes, sir.” He turned a doting smile on Kennedy. “I guess I’m about the luckiest man alive.”

  Kennedy narrowed her gaze at Drake. There was no need for him to lay it on quite that thick.

  Martin slipped his arm around her shoulders and hugged her to his side once more. “I would have been here sooner,” he said, then gave his niece a swift peck on the forehead. “But I had five other reunion receptions to kick off.” He smiled fondly, but his gaze grew suddenly distant as if remembering some faraway something. “Celia’s really outdone herself this time.”

  “She’s done a great job,” Kennedy agreed, recalling the reunion chairwoman with fond memories of her own. Celia had been her piano teacher, and such a lovely woman.

  “Name your poison, Martin,” Drake cut in, his expression unreadable. “I’ll get us all a drink from the bar.”

  Martin grinned devilishly, the ponytail adding to the effect. “Bourbon, son. Is there anything else?”

  Drake grinned then. “A man after my own heart.” He slid a quick glance at Kennedy. “Another white wine?”

  She nodded, in spite of having insisted she would only have one, then watched him disappear into the crowd.

  “Listen to me, Kennedy.” Martin’s expression turned uncharacteristically serious, as did his eyes. “I want to tell you right now how proud I am of you for finally doing the right thing.”

  Her brow puckered in confusion. “Right thing? I don’t understand.”

  “Just listen,” he said firmly. “Life is too short to waste it.” Her uncle sighed, looking old and tired. “And it’s definitely a mistake to spend it alone.”

  Kennedy choked out a laugh. “I’ve never heard you talk like this. I thought you loved being a bachelor. How many times have you stuck up for me on this very issue with Mom and Dad?”

  He shrugged halfheartedly and shook his head. “Things aren’t always what they seem, Kennedy. I was wrong. I’m just glad you didn’t wait until it was too late like I did.”

  “Just one minute here.” She perched her hands on her hips. “As long as you’re breathing, it’s never too late. If there’s something you want in life, Uncle Martin, you just have to reach out and grab it.” She glowered at the man she loved with all her heart. Sidney T. Booker’s favorite phrase came to her in a flash. “Its’ never over until it’s over,” she told Martin with a look that she hope relayed half the meaning her boss could put into those words.

  “But—” A slow, knowing smile stole across Martin’s face. “You might just be right, little girl.” He stroked his chin thoughtfully. “Maybe it’s not too late.”

  “It’s never too late,” she repeated as she gave her uncle another affectionate hug.

  “Excuse me, Kennedy.”

  Cassandra again. Kennedy cringed as she pulled away from her uncle.

  The witch giggled like the idiot she was. “Kennedy, I just wanted to remind you to pick up the revised information packet at the sign-in table before you leave for the evening. You’ll need it,” she added emphatically.

  “Revised what?” Kennedy went on instant alert. Cassandra never did anything helpful without an ulterior motive.

  “The information packet,” Cassandra repeated impatiently, then smiled sweetly. “It outlines the rest of the week’s activities in more detail, including tomorrow’s scavenger hunt.”

  “Scavenger hunt?” Sounding like a parrot, Kennedy wilted with instant apprehension.

  “A last minute addition,” Cassandra explained with obvious pleasure. “Not to worry. Everyone’s hunt has been especially designed for them. I’m sure you’ll find yours to your liking.”

  ~*~

  “A scavenger hunt!” Kennedy glared at the paper in her hand, then crumpled it. “I can just imagine who thought up that brilliant idea!”

  She stopped halfway up the sidewalk to her parents’ front door and whirled on Drake. “I’ll tell you who,” she said, answering her own question. “Cassandra. She knows how I hate the woods and anything creepy-crawly.” She shook the crumpled information sheet at Drake as if this were his fault. “She set me up as sure as I’m standing here.”

  “What’s the big deal, Kennedy?” He shrugged. If he’d had any idea Cassandra would return, he would have never have left Kennedy alone with her uncle. But Drake had felt like an intruder and thought maybe they needed some privacy. He’d definitely needed a few moments away from her. “So we’ll do a little hiking in the woods. I don’t see the problem.”

  “The problem” she glared at him as if he were dumb as a post “is that I don’t do hiking in the woods. Cassandra knows that’s the one situation I can’t hold my own in. I’m telling you, she set me up!”

  Drake grinned before he could stop himself. Damn, she was a pretty thing all riled up, even if he wasn’t supposed to be noticing that undeniable fact. “Ah, but Cassandra doesn’t know about your secret weapon.”

  Kennedy frowned petulantly. “What secret weapon?”

  “Me.”

  She rolled her eyes dramatically. “That’s supposed to make me feel better?”

  Ignoring her jab, he slung his arm around her slender shoulders and guided her toward the door. “I’m right at home in that kind of environment.”

  She turned to him, the porch light spotlighting her sweet face. “That’s right.” Her smile slowly returned. “You’ve been in jungles and rainforests all over the world. Bowden Park and the surrounding woods will be a breeze for you.”

  “Precisely.”

  “That’s a relief.” She reached for the doorknob, then paused, lines pleating her smooth forehead. “I can’t shake the feeling that something’s going on with my uncle. I’ve never heard him talk like that before.”

  Drake shrugged, remembering the conversation Kennedy had repeated to him between her bursts of anger at Cassandra and her stupid agenda. “Maybe he was offering the only advice he had to give.”

  “Maybe.” Still looking
far too worried, Kennedy turned the knob but nothing happened. She frowned, then turned it again. “It’s locked.”

  “Don’t you have a key?”

  “No,” she snapped. “My parents never lock the house.”

  He plowed a hand through his hair. He was ready for this night to be over. Too much he hadn’t expected had happened. “Ring the bell.”

  “I don’t want to wake them.” Kennedy chewed her lower lips and considered their predicament for a few moments. “Let’s go around back.”

  Obsessing on how it would feel if he were the one nibbling her lips, he followed her through the darkness to the backyard.

  She climbed the three steps to the back stoop and checked the door. “Locked, too.” She surveyed the rear of the house. “That’s the laundry room.” She pointed to a nearby window. “The lock on that window has been broken for years.” Kennedy leveled her gaze on his. “If you could hoist me up there” she gestured to the window “I could climb though and unlock the door.”

  “No problem.” He assumed a position beneath the window, braced his feet wide apart and made a stirrup with his hands. Kennedy placed one foot into his hands and he hoisted her up. While she struggled with the window, he tried not to notice the way her hips kept rubbing his jaw. He took long, deep breaths to slow his reaction to her lithe body. He swallowed a groan when she turned slightly and her pelvis pressed against his face.

  “Got it,” she whispered just before she slid out of his hold.

  Drake scrubbed a hand over his face. This was turning into a harder job than he’d anticipated, emphasis on the hard part. Allowing the cool night air to do its work, he slowly climbed the steps as Kennedy opened the back door.

  “Quiet,” she warned in a stage whisper. “My parents have probably been asleep for hours. You know, early to bed, early to rise.”

  As silently as possible they made their way through the dark house, then up the stairs. When they reached the second story landing, Kennedy hesitated.

  “What’s that sound?” she asked softly.

  “What sound?”

  Then Drake heard it. The unmistakable sound of creaking bedsprings. The longer he listened the more frantic the sound became. Soon the springs were accompanied by moans and groans of a human origin.

  “Oh…my…god…” Kennedy breathed.

  Drake passed a hand over is jaw to stifle a chuckle. “Sounds like the flower children are pollinating.”

  Kennedy whirled on him. He couldn’t see her face but he could imagine the fury in those golden eyes. “This is not funny, Drake!” She huffed. “My parents are…are…”

  “Having sex,” he supplied.

  “Ohmigod.” Kennedy stormed off in the direction of her bedroom.

  The next sound Drake heard was a crash. Kennedy had collided with something. Lights came on and her parents tumbled into the hallway, her mother wearing a carelessly donned robe, her father in his boxers.

  “Kennedy, is everything all right?” her father asked breathlessly.

  “No!” Kennedy whirled away from her scantily-clad folks and busied herself with up righting the table she’d overturned. “Why were you—why was the door locked?” she sputtered.

  “Oh, honey, I’m sorry,” her mother offered, shifting her robe into place. “Ever since that time Ricky Johnson accidentally walked in on us, we’ve started locking the door when we have sex.”

  Her profile visible to him, Drake saw Kennedy’s mouth drop open. He strode quickly to her side. “Sorry to…interrupt you.” He smiled and ushered Kennedy toward her room. “We’ll just—”

  Kennedy suddenly balked, then turned back to her parents. “Why would the lawn boy come up the stairs?” she demanded, her mother’s words sinking in. “Don’t you still leave his money on the kitchen table?”

  “Well, sweetpea, we weren’t upstairs,” her father explained. “We were in the kitchen on the table.”

  Kennedy’s mouth sagged open again.

  “G’night, folks,” Drake said, dragging a stunned Kennedy farther down the hall. “We have a big day ahead of us, so we’d better call it a night.”

  Brenda and Chuck called their goodnights as Drake forced their daughter into her bedroom. She turned on him then, her eyes wide with indignation.

  “The kitchen table?” she shrieked.

  “Don’t knock it until you’ve tried it,” he suggested calmly.

  Kennedy ran the fingers of both hands through her hair, undoing that sexy do…into an even sexier one. Damn, why did he have to notice that? He tugged his shirt over his head.

  “This can’t be happening,” she muttered distractedly.

  “Come on. Kennedy, it’s not that big a deal. If it makes you feel any better, my parents probably have sex, too.”

  She glared at him, hands on hips. “Don’t you dare try to mollify me. First, I had to beg you to help me—” With one surprised palm, she halted his attempt at protest. “I get home and find my parents have turned into hippies.” She huffed an indignant sound. “Then I discover that I was conceived out of wedlock. And that doesn’t even include all the reunion crap. I’ve had just about all I can stand for one day!”

  He unbuttoned his fly and lowered his zipper. “Don’t blow a gasket, Kennedy. It’s been a long day, but tomorrow things will be better.”

  As if suddenly realizing that he was removing his clothes, Kennedy stared at him. “What the hell are you doing?”

  “Getting ready for bed.”

  Without another word, Kennedy pivoted and stormed out the door.

  Drake shook his head. He tossed his shirt on a handy chair and stripped he covers back from the bed. Scratching his chest, he wandered back into the hall and down to the bathroom. Kennedy was definitely overreacting. Of course, he was overreacting as well—only in a different way.

  After taking care of necessary business, including brushing his teeth, he padded back to her room. Surely things would be better tomorrow. He still hadn’t had a decent night’s sleep.

  What sounded like ripping cloth hit his ears before he stepped through the bedroom door. He frowned at the sight of Kennedy crouched in the middle of the bed, dress hiked up around her shapely thighs.

  “What are you doing?”

  She backed awkwardly to the foot of the bed, then hopped down. She flung what looked like a roll of silver duct tape across the room and slapped her hands together as if dusting them off. “Now,” she said triumphantly.

  “Now what?”

  She turned and with a flourish gestured to the bed. “That’s your side and that’s mine.”

  Drake stared in disbelief at the bed she had divided straight down the middle with a line of duct tape. She couldn’t be serious.

  Kennedy walked to the right side of the bed—her side. She kicked off her shoes and shot him a look. “And if you know what’s good for you, you’d better not let any part of your body cross that line.”

  Chapter Four

  It was difficult to breathe. She couldn’t move.

  Kennedy struggled to awaken, to fight the weight crushing her. Slowly, awareness crept through the darkness, bringing with it a sense of time and place.

  Hot. She felt hot and languid as she floated just the other side of consciousness. Not quite awake, but not fully asleep. A smile tugged at her lips as she inhaled the intriguing scent that cloaked her. Leather and musk…warm and male. Her heart rate increased, edging her closer to consciousness. The indistinct, seemingly formless weight suddenly began to take shape.

  A hard, heavy thigh rested between hers. A strong, thick arm draped her chest, long fingers splayed across her bare shoulder. Her head seemed trapped between two unyielding objects. Kennedy’s eyes opened and her heart lurched to a near stop. Her face was pressed into the curve of Drake’s neck, trapped between his chin and shoulder. He was practically on top of her, crushing her with his muscular frame. His—

  Her eyes rounded when she realized exactly what was pressing into her hip. She opened her mouth to
scream, but quickly snapped it shut. If she screamed her parents would come running…She couldn’t do that.

  She licked her painfully dry lips. Okay, be calm, she told herself. All she had to do was wake him—no! No way would she let him catch her like this. She frowned as she performed a quick physical inventory. Hot, wet, and throbbing. Kennedy cursed her traitorous body. She wasn’t supposed to have reactions like this to this man. She had never reacted to him like this.

  Friends—they were supposed to be friends.

  She listened intently to his breathing…slow, deep, even. He was dead to the world. Okay. All she had to do was scoot out from under him. Her right arm was trapped beneath his massive chest, and to her supreme chagrin, curled around his back. What the hell was he doing on her side of the bed anyway?

  Kennedy smoothed her left hand over the sheet to find the duct tape to the right of her. Damn! She was on his side. How had that happened? At least he wasn’t naked. Thank God for that. The metal teeth of his half-open fly bit through the thin cotton T-shirt she wore. Why hadn’t she packed heavy flannel? Because she hadn’t expected to be sharing a room with him—that’s why! Her parents were supposed to put him in the guestroom.

  Chewing her lower lip, she held her breath as she eased a tiny fraction to the right. Drake groaned, then promptly tucked her back against him. Kennedy squeezed her eyes shut and waited for him to resettle—but he didn’t. Her breath caught when his hips ground solidly into hers, making her all the more aware of his arousal. It took all the restraint she could marshal not to touch him intimately. Desire roared through her body, leaving her weak with want. Then his right hand slid down to her breast and he squeezed.

  Flustered, confused, and enraged, Kennedy did the only thing she could—she clamped down on his chest, biting for all she was worth.

  “Son of a—” Drake jerked away. “What the hell are you doing?” He glared at her, those gray eyes dark with more than irritation, desire maybe. He shoved his fingers through his sleep-mussed hair, then touched the bite mark on his chest. “Are you insane, Kennedy?”