Falling For Ken (Blueprint to Love Book 2)

by Giordano, Lauren

  His eyes closed, dark lashes swept his ghostly face. Kendall was caught by a wave of sympathy for the excruciating pain she knew he suffered. "Let's get you home and clean you up. I'll drive as slow as I can, okay?"

  "Jeez– I'm pathetic." He sagged against the cushion.

  "I think you're bordering on superhuman to endure what happened today." She re-fastened the seatbelt around his slack frame before heading back around the truck. When he started shivering, she slid him a worried glance before turning up the heat. How the hell would she get him upstairs to bed?

  By the time she arrived home, Traynor's soft breathing told her he'd either passed out from pain or fallen asleep from sheer exhaustion. Ken swung down from the seat and headed into the darkened house, in need of a few minutes of preparation before she could haul him inside.

  Wincing at the chorus of barks that began the moment her key turned in the lock, she prayed Lurch had been able to hold it for so many extra hours. She'd endured enough messes for one night.

  "Let's go outside, pal." Scrambling through the house, she snapped on lights as she headed for the back door. Jerking it open, she released a relieved sigh when Lurch bounded into the backyard. Taking the stairs two at a time, she ran to her bedroom. There, she flung back the comforter on her bed before heading for the bathroom. She emerged with a stack of clean towels and two extra pillows. Harrison needed sleep most of all, but eventually he'd want to be propped up. Tossing his prescription on the nightstand, she returned to the stairs.

  Time for the hard part. She propped open the door before crossing the front porch and heading for the truck. Harrison was still asleep when she neared the passenger side. Hating the thought of waking him, his participation was unfortunately necessary.

  "Harrison? Can you hear me?" He grunted a response when she swung his legs out. Grabbing his cane, she slung it over her arm. Hoisting him around his waist, she gently tugged him to his feet, then quickly dove under his arm to support his weight before he pitched forward.

  "As soon as we're inside you can go back to sleep." Kendall panicked for a moment when Traynor slumped over her. She didn't want to calculate how much weight she was trying to prevent from crashing to the pavement.

  "Harry, wake up." After only a minute, she was perspiring from the effort to hold him upright. Groaning, he finally took some weight on his good leg. She waited until he was awake before handing him the cane. "Can you help me get you inside?"

  "H-how far?"

  "Not far," she lied, glancing up. The turret room window glowed invitingly out of reach. She tried to block out the vision of all those stairs. When they reached the top of the porch steps they collapsed by mutual agreement.

  "God, Ken– can't I just sleep out here? Roll me inside in the morning."

  Panting for breath, she lay beside him on the porch, staring up at the moths fluttering around the light. The scent of honeysuckle wafted over her like a thin summer blanket. From her vantage point, she noticed the porch ceiling needed painting again.

  "I might join you, Traynor. If it takes this long to get you upstairs, it'll be morning before we get there." Turning, she found him watching her, his vivid, green eyes red-rimmed from fatigue, yet quietly assessing her in the dark. He'd gone from comatose to alert in a matter of minutes. "You ready yet?"

  Squeezing his eyes shut, he cursed under his breath.

  "I'll take that as a 'yes'." Biting back a groan, she stooped to grab his cane. If every muscle in her body was aching, she could only imagine how Harry felt. She staggered with him through the foyer, their movements reminding her of the three-legged race she'd won in second grade, and used the momentum to launch up the stairs for the bedroom.

  Ten minutes later, she hobbled with him to the foot of the bed and sat down. Before she could remove his arm from around her, Harrison collapsed back on the mattress, taking her with him. They lay side by side, out of breath and drenched in perspiration.

  "Please tell me I don't have to move again."

  "It's only three feet to the pillow, but we'll wait until your pain pill kicks in." When he didn't respond, Ken allowed herself the luxury of one satisfying moment before the awkwardness of their situation began to unnerve her. She had the gorgeous, hard bodied Harrison Traynor in her bed– one muscled arm still wrapped around her. As fantasies went, this was about as close to perfection as she would ever achieve.

  And she was too exhausted to enjoy it. As her eyelids drooped, the irresistible lure of Traynor's force field of body heat demanded she move, lest she fall asleep beside him. She still had work to do. It was probably a blessing when Lurch began howling at the back door.

  "I hear a wolf." Traynor's voice slurred with sleep. She rose quickly, retrieving a long overdue pill from the bottle. When he murmured, she slipped the pill between his lips, holding his head up while he swallowed it with water.

  She would've undressed him and tucked him in, but Lurch continued to whimper. Cursing, she strode from the room. The last thing she needed were angry calls from the neighbors. Lurch bounded inside, hovering by his dish until she noticed it was empty.

  "Sorry, Sweetie." After filling his bowl, she set out clean water before filling the cat's dish. Like magic, Wink appeared, stretching her slinky frame and yawning as though oblivious to the man she had just dragged through the house.

  "Don't look at me like that," she warned. "He's only staying a few days." Crouching to stroke the cat, Kendall was nearly bowled over by her faithful mutt. Patting him absently, she stifled a yawn. "I've had a hellacious day. I'm taking a shower and going to bed. I don't want to hear any fighting down here, got it?"

  ***

  Lord, he was tired. Football practice had been brutal. Harry felt as though he'd been run down by a locomotive instead of a linebacker. Hearing voices murmur downstairs, he smiled. Aunt Mona was busy in the kitchen, cooking all his favorites for the Thanksgiving break.

  "Harrison? You still awake?"

  He scrunched his nose in confusion. "Mona? Is that you?"

  "Yeah, Sugar. Let's get you out of those clothes so you can sleep, okay?"

  He felt her hands at his throat and twisted his head so she could unbutton his shirt. Her fingers were cool when they slipped the shirt from his shoulders. He groaned with the effort it required to move, frowning when his aunt gasped.

  "Whass wrong?" He blinked, but there were two of her . . . and neither looked like Mona Traynor. She didn't smell like his aunt, either. She smelled like the cheerleader he'd been hitting on all season.

  "Lord, you've got so many gashes." She dabbed at his chest and he felt a sting of heat. Harry didn't remember getting scratched at the game.

  "Deborah? Is that you?"

  "Nope. Not Deborah, either. You sure get around, Traynor."

  "Deborah's sooo pretty. W-who are you?"

  "I'm your worst nightmare, Sugar. Remember me?" He frowned when she chuckled. Was he having a nightmare?

  "I'm Ken, remember?"

  She began washing his chest and shoulders. When she finished with the front, she tugged him forward to rest against her chest. The warm hollow of her throat beckoned him closer, her soft, sweet scent tantalizing his nose. If she smelled this good, she probably tasted even better. Harry heard her gasp when his lips wandered over a sensitive spot. Her skin was unbelievably soft.

  "W-what are you doing?"

  "You taste good."

  "I– um . . . well thanks, I guess."

  He sighed appreciatively when she began to wash his back. "You smell nice, too." The sensation of the warm, wet washcloth felt impossibly good against his skin. His eyes fluttered open when warm water sluiced over his head and her fingers scrubbed gently over his scalp. "That feels incr– increbable." Harry grinned, despite a twinge of pain. "Is that a word?"

  Frowning when he remembered her name, he blinked, but there were three of her when he opened his eyes. She was dressed in a flowing white gown, her feet bare. Her long hair was dark and wet against her back, her kaleidoscop
e eyes a mysterious golden color.

  "Ken's a boy's name." She patted him dry and pushed him gently back against the pillows. He sighed with pleasure, floating on a cushiony cloud with a golden-eyed angel tending his every need.

  “Can't put one over on you, Harry.”

  Her soft, husky laughter skimmed his nerves, leaving a warm tingle behind. When she drifted away he experienced a jab of disappointment. Then he felt her hands on his foot and heard the soft clunk when his shoe fell to the floor. When she unzipped his pants, he waited patiently.

  "Oh, dang."

  Cloud girl was pissed. Harry forced himself to concentrate. "What-?"

  "I forgot about your ankle cast. I'll have to cut your pants off."

  His thoughts drifted to making love on a cloud. With an angel. "Okay."

  "Damn, these look expensive. Why couldn't you wear jeans to the site?"

  "Who's Jean?"

  A few minutes later– or maybe it was days—cool air rushed against his legs. Her touch was so gentle he had a hard time finding her. First on his left, she reappeared on his right, like a firefly adrift on a hot summer night. Reaching for her, he came away empty-handed.

  "Angel? You still here?" Her hands paused on his calf where warm, soapy water trickled down his leg. When she swiped it with a towel, he sighed.

  "That's as far as the sponge bath goes, Traynor. I'm afraid my delicate sensibilities can't handle much more of your chiseled bod. You must live at the gym."

  When the cool, crisp sheets brushed against his skin, he groaned. A blanket followed before the lamp snapped off.

  "Goodnight, Harrison."

  "I live on Parker Street." The soft, musical laughter washed over him again. Harry felt her breath against his cheek and instinctively turned to find her.

  "Don't leave." The fear was instinctive. If this was a dream, he didn't want it to end.

  "Go to sleep, Harry" she whispered. Floating across the room, her soft footsteps faded in the night. It finally dawned on him he hadn't seen any wings.

  ***

  He was naked. In a woman's bed. With the worst hangover of his life. Harry turned to the opposite pillow, relieved to discover it empty. A quick check under the sheet confirmed he still had briefs.

  One-night stands weren't usually his style. Neither was drinking too much. So, where the hell was he? Shifting on the pillow, he groaned. Holy hell. Pain crashed in on him, his head clanging as though caught between two cymbals. And he remembered the fall.

  "This is Ken's house."

  Sitting up slowly, he wished he hadn't. Clenching his teeth prevented a moan of sheer agony from breaking free. Drawing a sharp-edged breath, Harry released it gradually, waiting for the shockwaves to subside. His body had become a symphony of throbbing pain that began with his skull and rippled over him, ending at his feet. Staring at the lump under the floral comforter, he remembered he'd broken his ankle. The other lump on the bed moved when he shifted. It made a sound mimicking disdain and stretched.

  "Who the hell are you?"

  The cat yawned, then stared at him. With one eye. The other eye appeared scrunched shut. She– and it could only be a she, Harry surmised, lost interest in him, leaping gracefully from the bed. Crossing the room, she disappeared, weaving through patches of filtered sunlight in the shadowed hallway beyond the door.

  Holding his breath, he swung his legs over the side of the bed. His cane was hooked on the bedside table. Drawing a ragged breath, he made a grab for it. Damned if it didn't hurt to breathe. His ribs were as battered as the rest of him. Leaning heavily on the cane, he hobbled to the adjoining bathroom, each step more painful than the previous one.

  Ten minutes later, he dragged himself back to the bed, his heart tripping from the effort. The simple task had exhausted him. After mopping perspiration from his forehead, he collapsed against the pillows. He'd barely had the strength to brush his teeth with the new toothbrush she'd left by the sink.

  "Are you decent?"

  Kendall Adams. Please, God . . . no. Harry groaned at the sound of her voice. He was trapped in a nightmare of pain. Why the hell couldn't it be with someone nurturing? With a woman who was– like a woman? Someone who didn't start an argument with every sentence? Someone whose voice didn't scrape over him like nails on a chalkboard.

  She poked her head around the doorframe. "How're you feeling?"

  "My head is about to detach from my body and after ten minutes of exertion, I'm ready for bed again." He frowned when she approached with a tray.

  "You shouldn't get out of bed without help."

  "I didn't think you'd be terribly interested in assisting me in the bathroom."

  "The doctor said-"

  "I don't give a damn," he interrupted. "Despite your attempt to kill me yesterday, I'm still able to manage my bodily functions." He had only the slightest twinge of conscience when Kendall's cheeks bloomed pink with embarrassment. But, damned if her eyes didn't nail him to the wall. Like a mirror to her thoughts, they widened with shock before the sparking, gold flecks dimmed, extinguished by the guilt she so readily assumed. Her anguish lanced through him. As quickly as he'd spoken the frustration-laden words, Harry wished he could retract them.

  "I didn't mean that." Gazing at the ceiling, he sighed. "There isn't a spot on me that doesn't hurt. But I shouldn't take it out on you."

  "You've been through hell. I'm sure the pain is terrible." Shrugging off his bad temper, Ken set the tray on the nightstand.

  "I'm not the greatest morning person either." Harry was relieved when she laughed, the sparkle returning to unusual topaz eyes. Just like that, he'd been forgiven.

  "That's not much comfort, Traynor."

  "Why not?"

  "You already slept through the morning. You've been out fourteen hours." She flicked a glance at her watch. "It's lunchtime."

  It was his turn to show surprise. How could he have slept away half a day? Hazy memories floated before his eyes. "Did you feed me applesauce?"

  "And some broth," she confirmed. "I was worried you'd get sick from all those meds on an empty stomach."

  Sniffing the food appreciatively, Harry's stomach rumbled in response. "I may be ready for real food."

  "Let's get you propped up and we'll go to work."

  The mattress shifted when she sat down next to him and again when the cat bounded back up on the bed.

  "Wink, you troll. Your food's downstairs."

  "You call her Wink?"

  She smiled. "Doesn't she look like she's winking at you?"

  "How'd she lose her eye?" Before he realized it, Ken spooned beef stew into his mouth. He chewed. He swallowed. Chewed again. Until the bowl was nearly empty. Then sipped gratefully from the iced tea she raised to his lips, nearly draining the glass.

  "I'm not sure. I found her at the shelter." Breaking a piece of bread, she popped it in his mouth. "She looked like she needed me, so I brought her home."

  He digested the morsel of information along with an incredibly buttery roll. "You don't seem like the type to pick up strays."

  "They sure seem to find me." She gave him an appraising glance. "Let me guess . . . you had me pegged for a trailer park, fridge on the porch and an old Chevy rusting in the yard, right?" Laughing at her own joke, she picked up the stew again, intent on feeding him another spoonful. A strange contentment washed over him when she chuckled. Why was the sound so familiar?

  "Did you make this?"

  "I make a big pot of something every few days. Then I don't have to cook every night. I grow the vegetables out back."

  "And the bread? It's really good."

  "When I have trouble sleeping, I bake." Kendall paused, cocking her head to acknowledge a sound on the stairs that reminded him of a bouncing ball. Thump . . . thump.

  "What's that noise?" Harry raised his gaze to hers, surprised by how her eyes seemed to glow in the dimly lit room.

  Ken picked up a section of orange and popped it in his mouth. "That's Lurch. He's been going crazy downsta
irs wondering what he's missing. Sounds like he's decided to pay a visit."

  He chewed thoughtfully, his gaze following Ken when she turned toward the door. Her hair wasn't limp and straggly like he remembered. It was long and wavy. Really long. She had it pulled back in a ponytail, but several chocolate strands escaped, curling into her collar. Her slender throat appeared lost in the too-large work shirt.

  "C'mon, Lurch. You're almost here." Turning back, she caught him staring, but Ken seemed oblivious to his perusal. "You ready for another piece?" Not waiting for his reply, she shoved another orange slice between his teeth. The sweet, tart juice trickled down his throat.

  The head of a shaggy white dog appeared around the doorframe, much like Ken had poked hers around it earlier. The rest of him followed soon after.

  "Ken– you have a three-legged dog."

  "A woman from the shelter found him wandering. He'd been hit by a car."

  Harry smiled when he guessed the rest of the story. "And you figured he needed you?"

  "He's a wonderful dog. You barely notice he's missing a leg."

  "Isn't it cruel to call him Lurch?"

  Her winged eyebrows scrunched into a frown. "I got his name from the Addams family. Get it? Adams and Addams?" Leaning down, she ruffled his fur. "And Lurch likes it, don't you, sweetie?"

  Harry slumped against the pillows, sleepy, sated and feeling the slightest bit better. "What's next? A canary singing show tunes?"

  "I didn't realize you had a sense of humor buried under that stuffed shirt, Traynor." Rising from the bed, she set his tray on the bureau. She flicked a glance at what appeared to be a surprisingly delicate wrist. "Time for another pill. I've worn you out. And I need to head back to the site."

  "Saturday afternoon?" He studied her while she refilled his glass with icy water before accepting the pill she handed him.

  "There's a lot of daylight left. You'll be okay for awhile?"

  "I'll be asleep before you hit the driveway." Kendall hesitated before tucking the sheets around his waist, her gaze carefully averted, her cheeks flushed with color. "Maybe tomorrow we can review your contract."