by Debra Webb
Time for him to leave the room, Drake decided. Maybe this was what this whole charade had been about. Had Kennedy only used him to make her ex-boyfriend jealous so she could win him back? No. Kennedy wasn’t like that. He knew better. Larry was married with children. She wouldn’t…would she? The image of Cassandra flittered through his mind. Revenge was a powerful motivator. But Drake knew Kennedy—or he thought he did.
“Well, if you two will excuse me,” he said, determined to leave the room before he said or did something completely stupid. “It sounds as if this is a private conversation.”
“Wait.” Kennedy stayed his departure. “Larry needs our help. And I’d like you to stay,” she added when Drake looked doubtful.
“All right,” he said slowly. He glanced at Larry. If the man considered him a threat or unwelcome, no hint of it showed in his eyes. Maybe his coming here was on the up-and-up. Veronica had spilled the beans about the dance teacher episode to Drake even before telling Kennedy. The woman had been literally busting to tell somebody. Dear old Larry had one big problem.
“It isn’t how it looked,” Larry said in a tone almost as lame as the words he’d uttered. He glanced at Drake as if reading his thought. “I know how stupid that sounds but it’s true. I love my wife. I would never do anything to hurt her. Trisha needed a hug. She’s going through a major crisis at home right now. That’s all it was…comforting a friend. Nothing more.”
Kennedy shrugged noncommittally. “Gee, Larry, how nice of you to provide the needed shoulder at just the wrong time. Smooth move.”
He threw up his arms in frustration. “I swear I’m telling the truth.”
Kennedy did an about-face and paced toward the fireplace on the other side of the room. “That’s what they all say, big boy. It’s the oldest line in the book.”
Drake couldn’t prevent the grin that tugged at his lips. When Larry looked to him for understanding or support, he nodded in Kennedy’s direction. “What can I say? She’s right.”
Larry’s upraised arms flopped back against his sides. “Kennedy, you’ve known me all your life. You know I wouldn’t do that.”
She lifted a skeptical eyebrow at him. “Do I?”
Larry huffed a breath of exasperation. “We were kids back then, nothing but walking hormones. This is different. I’m telling you nothing happened. It was completely innocent,” he insisted.
Kennedy placed her hands firmly on her hips and glared up at the man who was at least a head taller than her. “That was your first mistake.”
“What? I don’t believe this!” He glowered down at her with a mixture of depression and confusion. “How can you say that? I only came here to beg you to talk to Cassandra for me. She’ll believe you.”
Kennedy almost choked on her laughter. “I know you’re upset, Larry, but don’t kid yourself. Cassandra hates me, but that’s beside the point. The first rule of damage control is never, ever deny anything.” Kennedy pointed at him for emphasis. “You were caught in a compromising position with another woman.” He started to argue and Kennedy halted him with an upraised palm. “No buts, the facts speak for themselves. Your wife saw you in the arms of another woman.”
Drake folded one arm over his chest and propped the elbow of the other on it. He stroked his chin and watched Kennedy in action. So this was the heavy hitter who kept the top D.C. brass looking shiny and new. Malone, spin doctor extraordinaire. Here was the confident woman he knew and loved. Startled, he gave himself a mental shake and then assured himself that it was just a figure of speech, not meant the way it sounded.
“But it wasn’t sexual,” Larry was insisting.
“Prove it,” Kennedy countered.
That one stumped the big guy. Drake felt almost sorry for him.
“Trisha tried to call her, too. But Cassandra wouldn’t listen.” Defeat sagged Larry’s shoulders.
“Imagine that,” Kennedy retorted with a dramatic wave of her hands. “Your wife wouldn’t believe the other woman fresh out of your arms.”
Larry planted his hands at his waist. “Well, then, since nothing I say seems to be right, you tell me what to do.”
The smile that suddenly lit Kennedy’s face told Drake that major inspiration had hit. “How’s your two-step, Lar?”
He frowned. “What?”
“Your two-step? Your waltz? Did Cassandra ever teach you to dance?”
“You know I can’t dance,” Larry groused. “I’ve always had two left feet.”
“At least that’s the truth,” Kennedy said. Larry let out another defeated sigh. “But that may be your saving grace.”
“You’ve lost me completely,” he muttered.
“Trisha is a dance instructor,” Kennedy began as she tapped her chin and started to pace once more.
“Cassandra has always nagged you about learning to dance. You could have decided that this special reunion week was the perfect time for you to give her something she has always wanted. A sweet surprise for the little wife.”
Kennedy wasn’t really talking to either of them now. She paced back and forth, her expression a study in concentration. Drake could almost see the wheels turning inside that pretty head. She was plotting.
She stopped abruptly, then turned to face first Drake, then Larry. “What better time to showcase your surprise than at the masquerade ball on Friday night?”
“What surprise?” Larry demanded, still not following Kennedy’s reasoning.
“Why, the surprise for you wife. What else?” Kennedy sized him up as she walked all the way around him. “Between now and the ball after the homecoming game on Friday night, you are going to learn how to do a perfect waltz.”
Larry’s face screwed up with disbelief. “You can’t be serious. That’s barely three days away. I hate dancing. I couldn’t do it ten years ago and I sure can’t do it now.”
“All I can say is you’d better spend every waking moment practicing.” Kennedy leveled her gaze on his. “Here’s the story. You’ve been working closely with Trisha on this surprise for your dear wife. That’s why you were in each other’s arms. She was teaching you a proper dip.”
His head was shaking furiously in denial. “It’ll never work. I can’t do it.”
“Of course it will,” Kennedy assured him. “You can do it. All you have to do is follow my instructions precisely. It will work.”
“Sounds doable to me,” Drake interjected. Not that he thought Kennedy needed his help, but it couldn’t hurt.
“If someone brings up what happened between you and Trisha, change the subject. If anyone asks, don’t deny—evade.”
“What about Cassandra?” Larry still looked skeptical. “I can’t just change the subject when she asks, assuming she speaks to me at all.”
“Just keep assuring her that she will know the truth soon enough. That it has all been for her.” Kennedy patted him on the arm. “Play the martyr to the hilt.”
Larry dragged a hand through his hair. “This sounds almost crazy enough to work.”
“It keeps the big boys out of trouble at the White House,” Drake interjected. He slipped his arm around Kennedy’s waist and pulled her to him. “She has a perfect record. The President himself asks for her by name.” Kennedy glared at him, but Drake only smiled proudly.
“Just remember,” Kennedy said, turning her attention back to Larry. “Never deny anything, keep changing the lead, and always have a diversion.”
Kennedy had lost him again. The utter confusion on his face told the tale.
She sighed patiently. “When you waltz your wife across the gym floor on Friday night, you will have your diversion,” Kennedy promised. “The whole town will be talking about how you practiced in secret for weeks, even suffered public humiliation thinking you had been unfaithful just to give your wife something she had always wanted—a real Ginger and Fred dance with her husband.”
Larry smiled then. “I do believe you have something there, Kennedy.”
“That’s why I get paid the
big bucks,” she teased.
Larry hugged her again. Drake seethed. What was it about another man touching Kennedy that made him react so fiercely? It was just his protective instincts, he rationalized. If he hadn’t found out just how vulnerable Kennedy was, maybe he wouldn’t be reacting so foolishly. She didn’t need his protection, he argued with himself. She had made it this far without him. What in the world made him think she needed him now?
“Careful there,” Drake heard himself say in spite of what he’d just decided. Larry pulled away from Kennedy; both stared expectantly at Drake. “Hugging is how you got into this mess,” Drake added sheepishly. Kennedy had the grace to blush. Larry just laughed, a short, strained sound.
“Thanks, man,” he said then, and slapped Drake on the shoulder. “You’re a hell of a lucky guy to have snagged this one.”
Before Drake could respond, Larry bounded out of the room with renewed purpose.
“Well, that was easy enough,” Kennedy said with a hint of wistfulness in her tone.
Drake searched her face for some sign of regret that she had come up with a possible solution to Larry’s dilemma. He saw nothing but a sense of satisfaction.
“You did good.”
Kennedy met his gaze fully for the first time since entering the room. “Thank you, Drake. That means a lot coming from you.”
For a long moment he could only stare back into that tawny gaze. But then he had to touch her. Just as he reached for her, Brenda Malone burst into the room.
“Chief Mason just called your father! The bandit has struck again!”
While mother and daughter discussed the latest episode, Drake made a decision. He had to get his act together. He absolutely could not walk around lusting after Kennedy. He would not allow this spin to turn into anything other than what it was—make believe.
Chapter Six
Kennedy spent Wednesday helping Celia with last-minute glitches in reunion activities. Cassandra was apparently at home sulking, leaving others to organize the rest of the week’s events. Chaos, Drake decided, was definitely Kennedy’s true element. She could take any difficult situation and turn it around. She was amazing to watch in action. He smiled, his pride and respect for her taking a giant leap. And she was so beautiful. His chest tightened with pride…or something like that.
While she wasn’t looking, he snapped a few photos of her deep in concentration. Her blond hair was swept into a loose bun, displaying the profile that nearly took his breath. Her long, slender neck made him want to touch her there. He licked his lips, then let out a long breath to slow his hurtle toward arousal. The way her clothes clung to her body did strange things to his ability to draw in his next breath. But Kennedy Malone belonged to no man. Could he make her his?
The question shook Drake hard. This high school reunion was one of her spins. On Sunday they would go back to D.C. and everything would return to normal. Kennedy would be his neighbor, his friend again. That thought shook him even harder. He looked away from her. He didn’t need this frustration. Kennedy wasn’t interested in a guy like him. They were polar opposites. She would marry some government bureaucrat or political ham. She only tolerated Drake.
“I’m” he gestured toward the gym door when Kennedy glanced up from her work “going to take a walk.”
“Okay.” She smiled.
Drake’s heart lurched. He shifted his attention to the exit sign above the gym doors and strode toward it as swiftly as possible without breaking onto a run. He had royally screwed up this time, probably because he’d just spent three weeks alone, save for a couple of male, non-English speaking guides, in the African desert. Obviously, his need for a woman’s touch was overwhelming his good sense. Kennedy was not the ideal woman, the keeper, his rebellious thoughts had been dwelling on of late. She was his friend, his buddy. A powerful, career-oriented woman who had no time for physical relationships, much less love.
Love?
Damn. There was that word again.
A strange sensation twisted through him. Double damn. He couldn’t seem to shake himself out of this funk. He had to—
A sound from the far end of the corridor captured his attention. A woman turned the corner, the sound of her high heels reaching Drake’s ears, her image not quite clear in the semi-darkness. A door a few feet in front of her suddenly burst open and a man dressed all in black flew out of it. It took about two seconds for Drake’s brain to assimilate that this was the kissing bandit. His camera came up and he began clicking off shot after shot without conscious thought. Then the man in black was gone and the woman screamed for all she was worth.
~*~
“After thirty years,” the mayor was saying, “I can’t believe you actually caught the bandit on film.” He took another sip of his beer and clunked the sweating can back down on the table.
Drake tried to decipher the mayor’s seemingly contradictory reactions. Martin kept saying how glad he was that after all this time they might finally have a clue, but the look on his face belied his words. Worry glimmered in those tawny eyes that looked so much like Kennedy’s. Not to mention the way the man had insisted that he take Drake and Kennedy out for a drink to celebrate Drake’s quick thinking. He’d herded them away from the growing crowd at the gym as if he feared some disastrous event might occur. Drake still wondered how the man showed up so fast, even before the police arrived at the gym.
“I caught him all right,” Drake confirmed. “I have his profile, approximate height and weight, at least.”
He carried both a film camera and a digital. He just happened to be using the film camera when the event occurred. There had been no time to retrieve the digital camera. The local drugstore had one-hour developing but it wasn’t open all night. Martin, like the few who knew he had gotten the shots, would simply have to wait. The mayor looked as if he might not survive the wait. Drake’s suspicions were growing by leaps and bounds. “Who knows,” he added just to see the man’s reaction? “Sometimes I catch more than I expect.” Before he could analyze the look in Martin’s eyes, Kennedy interrupted.
“Personally,” Kennedy announced, her voice slightly slurred, “I can’t wait to find out who he is. Thirty years is too long for a mystery to remain unsolved.”
“Would you folks like anything else?” the waitress asked, hovering near the mayor’s elbow.
Drake shook his head. “Nothing else for me.” He hadn’t even finished the first beer.
“I’ll have another, Lisa,” the mayor said with a weary smile. “How about you, Kennedy?”
Kennedy lifted one shoulder in an attempt at a shrug and grinned in a lopsided sort of way. “Why not? This is great stuff.” She fingered the stem of her glass.
Drake frowned. He knew Kennedy wasn’t much of a drinker. The only thing he had ever seen her indulge in was wine. He leaned close and whispered, “Hey, those Long Island Teas are a little stronger than you might realize.”
Kennedy cocked her head and stared at him, aghast. Damn, it was too late, he realized. She was past the point of caring.
“I bed…your pardon,” she retorted thickly.
The waitress returned then and placed another tall glass before Kennedy and the beer next to Martin’s empty can. She thanked the mayor for his generous tip and moved on to the next table.
“She’ll be fine,” Martin assured Drake. “You’ll take good care of her. It’s not often than Kennedy lets her hair down. Leave her be.”
Kennedy nodded once. “That’s right, Drake. You let your hair down all the time. I can’t keep count of the women coming and going at your apartment.” She shook a finger at him. “What’s good for the goose—I mean the gander—is good for me.” She hiccupped faintly.
The look Martin shot Drake was nothing short of startled, which quickly turned openly accusing. Damn. He had to get Kennedy out of here before she blew the spin to hell and back.
“Sweetpea, you know better than to say things like that,” Drake put in quickly, his eyes attempting to relay to her
the magnitude of her faux pas. “A photographer’s work is never done.”
After a long drink, Kennedy sighed loudly, then flipped her silky hair over her shoulders. “I don’t care about your women, Drake, as long as you keep that thing away from me.” Kennedy shuddered visibly. “The last time it was between my legs—” She hiccupped again. “Well, anyway, just remember that I’m not going to be a slave to that thing again. The maid might do it, but I won’t anymore.”
Iggy. She was talking about his pet iguana. One look at her uncle’s face and Drake knew that the man had formed an entirely different theory. Anything Drake said at this point would only make things worse. Kennedy’s advice to Larry rang in his ears. Do not deny. Evade.
He shot out of his seat, almost knocking the chair over in his haste. “Time to call it a night, Kennedy,” he offered the best smile he could manage.
“But I’m not finished with my tea,” she resisted.
“Oh, yes you are.” Drake pulled Kennedy to her feet and wrapped one arm around her waist. “Thanks, Martin, for the drinks.” Drake ignored the questioning expression on the man’s face. “We’ll see you tomorrow.” The mayor’s and several other patrons’ goodbyes were called to their retreating backs.
It wasn’t until Drake parked in the Malone driveway that he realized he left his camera on the table at the pub. He shot a cross look at Kennedy, who was already climbing out the passenger door. No way could he go back for it and risk leaving her alone with her parents. She might say something they would both regret. Drake would just have to trust Martin to take care of the camera for him. At the moment he had his hands full, he decided as he emerged from the vehicle.
“Oh my God, would you look at those stars!” Kennedy enthused from her position on the ground. Drake did a double take. She lay flat on her back staring up at the heavens. He couldn’t take his eyes off the woman for a second.
“Everything looks more interesting when you’re a little tipsy,” he explained as he helped her to her feet.