The One You Want (Original Heartbreakers)

by Gena Showalter

  “No!” she shouted, horrified. “No. We’re going to get tattoos and throw a drink in someone’s face. And TP someone’s house. And jump into a pool with our clothes on.” She ticked off several other to-dos, each more entertaining than the last. Tame, but endearing.

  Her excitement was a heady thing, dusting her lovely freckled skin with a pink that rivaled the roses around them; he realized he was smiling. This woman might have a daughter, but she was as innocent and pure as newly fallen snow.

  “I want to help,” he said. “I have to drive to Dallas tomorrow for a series of meetings, but I’ll be back on Friday. Wait for me, and I’ll help you check off a few items.”

  In fact, he didn’t like the thought of her doing a single one without him. Wanted to witness them all.

  “Wait. I’m not sure I understood you correctly. You want to...help me?”

  “Why is my aid so surprising? We’re friends, aren’t we?”

  “I guess.” She eyed him curiously. “But what if a perfect opportunity presents itself while you’re out of town?”

  He thought for a minute, decided. “Change of plans. I’ll skip Dallas and return to Strawberry Valley tomorrow.” He was the boss. His word was law. He could delegate and do what he wanted, when he wanted. “We’ll start on your list. Together.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  KENNA BUZZED WITH anticipation all day, watching the clock—tick tock—while writing a paper for school, watching Norrie and even while working at Two Farms. Dane had promised to pick her up after her shift, despite the lateness of the hour.

  His one and only text played through her mind.

  You decide what U want 2 do & I will make it happen.

  As awesome as that was, one thing was even awesomer.

  Awesomer? I’m worse than a junior high girl with a secret crush. But the fact that thrilled her? She now had his phone number, and it was totally okay, because he didn’t have a girlfriend.

  Why didn’t he have a girlfriend?

  She would have done an internet search but didn’t want to learn about him that way. What was on paper—or online, whatever—wasn’t always accurate. After all, if anyone had ever cared enough about her life to post the details online, well, most of the “facts” would have been false.

  Was Dane allergic to commitment? Or had he just not found the right person? Was he a serial bang-and-bailer?

  “Hello. Earth to Kenna.”

  Kenna blinked, realized she’d been standing in front of Bart Chumley’s table for several minutes, silent. “I’m sorry.” He’d asked to be placed in her section, and she prayed he didn’t pressure her for a date again. “Have you decided what you’d like to order?”

  He ignored the question, saying, “You know I have three daughters, yes? They’re fourteen, twelve and nine, and I know they would love to hang out with your Norrie. We should schedule a get-together.”

  “When I was fourteen, twelve and nine, I wanted nothing to do with anyone younger, so I doubt your daughters will want anything to do with mine,” she said, softening the rejection with a smile. “Now, what can I get you to eat?”

  The next few hours of her shift passed more slowly than the others—surely—but somehow she survived. Barely. Bart actually stuck around, even when everyone else took off. Brook Lynn would have stayed to help Kenna clean up, but Jessie Kay was off no-one-knew-where again, and Brook Lynn was determined to find her. Plus, Brook Lynn would be picking Norrie up from the sitter.

  “I don’t know if you heard,” Bart said, watching Kenna mop, “but my divorce is now official.”

  “That’s...good?” Will I be blamed?

  “Chumley,” a hard voice suddenly boomed. “A word.”

  Dane! Her gaze cut through the dim haze of the restaurant to find him in the doorway, wearing another suit, this one navy pin-striped and pure business chic. His dark hair stuck out in spikes, as if he’d plowed his fingers through the strands one too many times.

  Kenna’s heart kicked into warp speed.

  “My pleasure, Mr. Michaelson.” Grinning excitedly, Bart joined Dane.

  Dane led him outside. Why was he so angry about the potential conversation? Because he was jealous?

  But...no. Impossible. Kenna looked nothing like his ladyloves. Once underdeveloped, childbirth had left her overdeveloped and in no way slender. And maybe the cookies she loved had something to do with it. But she wasn’t elegant, either. Wasn’t even close.

  Besides, she and Dane were friends, nothing more. That’s what he wanted. And he was a good friend. At dinner her mother had taken the bowl of rolls away from her, saying, “Don’t you want to watch your carbs, darling?”

  Dane had grabbed the rolls, buttered half for himself and half for Kenna. They’d eaten them, too. Every single one. It had been a wonderful moment of camaraderie, filled with the support she’d never before had from a male.

  A girl could become addicted to that.

  Dane returned—alone. He removed his jacket, rolled up his sleeves and began stacking chairs on tabletops. What was he doing? And were those handfuls of dark spots on both his arms tattoos?

  Don’t stare! Don’t react!

  Too late. The blood in her veins heated, and her belly quivered. He was just so freaking sexy.

  “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. “But why?”

  His gaze traveled over her, heating, and her amusement died. “I’ll let you know as soon as I figure it out.”

  Oookay, 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. We 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 double-bladed 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 happen
ing right now?” She was babbling.

  “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 framed 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 of 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 were 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.