Falling For Ken (Blueprint to Love Book 2)

by Giordano, Lauren

  They groaned in unison on impact– her with him– him with the wall. Waiting for the stars to clear from his vision, Harry realized the expression actually had merit. When he finally came to his senses, he jerked forward, wincing as pain shot through his back. His good arm was trapped between the wall and the woman on top of him.

  "Ken? Kenny– are you alright?" He tried to touch her with his casted arm, but the angle was too awkward for his fingers to reach her. When she didn't respond, panic flared through him, his pain forgotten. Dammit, had he hurt her?

  Lurch reappeared at his side, creating a commotion of bouncing and licking that Harry could have done without. His heart ricocheting in his chest, his headache returned with the ferocity of a sledge hammer.

  "Sit, Lurch. Sit, damn it." He shifted on the landing, twisting Kendall's prone body until she was sprawled across his lap. Confirming the gentle rise and fall of her chest through the soft cotton bathrobe, he sighed with relief when she groaned.

  "Kendall, honey– wake up." Sweat dampened his forehead at the possibility he'd injured her. How could he have been so stupid? Dammit, he could have hobbled downstairs after she left. But he'd wanted to prove her wrong. "Ken– please?"

  Harry's hands shook when they traveled over her soft legs, still damp from the shower. From what he could tell, there were no broken bones. She hadn't bothered to dry off before bolting from the bathroom. Hell, she'd probably guessed he would try something stupid.

  Another wave of guilt crashed over him. She was tiny– nearly a foot shorter than him, and so damned fragile. She'd never appeared small when she was on her feet and snapping at him. He glanced up the stairs to the second floor. There were only five stairs up and about twenty going down. How would he haul her back upstairs on one leg? His cane had landed clear across the foyer downstairs. If he could manage to get to his feet, he'd carry her up to the bed and call for an ambulance.

  Scooping her up, Harry slid his casted arm under her legs and hoisted her against him with his good arm around her back. The flimsy cotton robe stretched taut across her breasts. Perfect, naked breasts. Christ, he couldn't think about that right now.

  He had to focus. How could he safely get to his feet without dropping her?

  "Okay, Lurch. Help me out, pal and stay out of the way."

  "If you've finished groping me, would you mind telling me what the hell you were doin' out of bed?"

  Harry froze. Her glacial eyes fixed on him, a scowl planted on her irritated face. "How? When did you. . . I mean, were you–"

  "Get your hands off me."

  He complied, relief pouring through him when she scrambled away. She scooted up one stair and sat down with an unmistakable wince. His relief turned swiftly to guilt. "Are you hurt? You were knocked out-"

  "I'm fine," she interrupted.

  "What the hell were you thinking, rounding the corner like that? If I hadn't been here to break your fall you would've tumbled down the stairs."

  "If you'd stayed in bed, I wouldn't have been running downstairs to find you. I heard all the noise and thought it was you clunking down, ass over teakettle."

  Harry dragged himself back on the landing and leaned against the wall. Lurch flopped down beside him, his tail wagging with excitement. "Well, this certainly didn't go according to plan."

  "I'll say." With a groan, she leaned forward, elbows resting on her thighs. "You got any more bright ideas, Traynor? Because I think you should know I'm not accustomed to this much activity before seven in the morning."

  "I'm sorry. I thought I could make it downstairs. I'm tired of being such a burden. I've stayed in bed for three days. I can't stand the thought of another." His sigh was exasperated. "I was making progress but I tripped on Lurch and my good leg buckled and the rest is history."

  "I didn't hurt you, did I?" Anxious eyes revealed embarrassment.

  Wearily, Harry rubbed the back of his neck, feeling heat rising in his face. "Nothing's broken. I've probably added a couple bruises, but this time it was my pride that took a beating." He met her uneasy glance and smiled. "You're quite a tackle."

  "It comes from chasing down contractors for money."

  Like him. Harry winced, not missing the meaning behind her statement. "Did I hurt you?"

  "Nah. It'd take a bigger man than you to take me out." Her expression smoothed out as she finally smiled. "Although you felt more like the man of steel than Clark Kent when I rammed into you." Rising to her feet, she teetered on the step before regaining her balance. Hobbling over to him, she slipped under his shoulder. "Now . . . are we going up or down?"

  "Any chance we can go down? If I have to spend another day in bed, I'll go nuts."

  "What if you get tired?"

  "I promise I'll rest on the couch." When her arm slipped around his waist, Harry was shocked by the answering singe of awareness that jolted through his system.

  Great. Now that he'd discovered her perfect body, his own would be unable to forget it. "What about you? You're limping." Though determined to push the revelation from his mind, she smelled incredible. The fresh, clean scent clinging to her skin was making his head swim.

  She pondered his question as she wrestled him down several stairs. "You landed on my foot. It hurt for a minute, but it's already fading."

  "What about your head? I thought you fainted." Gripping the banister, he tried to shift some of his weight from her. "You scared the life out of me."

  Halfway down the stairs, they stopped, both panting to catch their breath. Her gaze ran the length of him before she finally smiled. "Haven't you had a woman throw herself at you before?"

  "Seriously, Ken. I think you passed out."

  "Whatever. . . I'm fine," she dismissed.

  She slid under his arm again, tucking her body against his as they descended again. His body responded in kind. Jesus, he was getting hard. Her warm curves plastered against him sent his imagination into overdrive. How was he supposed to forget the perfect breasts her plain Jane bathrobe had revealed? Do not look down. The order from his brain was futile.

  Dammit, he looked. Big mistake.

  Her robe gradually slipped open as they struggled with each step. His heart tripped in response to the view, his blood quickening with each glimpse of long, slender legs. He quickly shifted his gaze to the steps. Ken's feet were small and bare. Her toes, he discovered, were painted a surprisingly feminine shade of violet.

  His senses on overload, Harry hesitated on the next step and she staggered to a halt.

  "You need to rest?" Her voice was husky from exertion.

  "Uh– no. I'm fine." Stunned by a ferocious urge to capture one of her small feet in his hands and massage the aches away, he fisted his hand. What the hell was wrong with him? He could not afford to be attracted to Kendall. If she knew what he was thinking, she'd drop-kick him down the rest of the stairs. They were both out of breath when they reached the first floor.

  "I need another shower." She flipped a strand of wet hair back over her shoulder. "You still hungry, Traynor?"

  Hell, yes. But not for food. "I could eat." When Ken discovered the problem with her robe, Harry glanced away, pretending to focus on the airy openness of her kitchen. Her eyes appraised him as she quickly retied the sash, her cheeks staining pink with awareness. No way in hell would he risk embarrassing her with a joke– not now.

  "I-I'll run upstairs and change before I cook breakfast." She beat a hasty retreat up the stairs while he hobbled to the farm table and pulled out a chair. Lurch plopped down at his feet.

  Harry was starving, all right. But he seriously doubted breakfast would cure his hunger. How could he fantasize about a woman who was the antithesis of everything he wanted?

  He could not pursue her. He didn't want to pursue her, he corrected. He wanted someone like Deborah– except with sparks. She'd been right for him in every way. Except . . . he'd felt only fondness.

  Kendall Adams had to remain strictly business. Ken was a business nightmare. Her issues could threaten th
e outcome of the project. If A & R defaulted, she could take Specialty down with her. His heartbeat slowed to a reassuring thump. He had a job to do. One that would likely result in her shutting down. He couldn't allow a stupid, ill-timed attraction sway him. Nor could he allow his gratitude interfere with the decision he would make.

  One thing had become startlingly clear. If he hung around Ken much longer, his decision would become impossible. She was too easy to get used to.

  He glanced around the sunny kitchen. Herbs spilled from pots on the windowsills, filling his senses with the earthy aroma of rosemary and basil. Her kitchen smelled alive. The buttery, yellow walls were a warm cheerful shade that would brighten even a gloomy day. His gaze rested on an old buffet. The scuffed wood had been lovingly repainted, a field of daisies dancing around the cabinet's base. The surface was cluttered with photographs and a collection of chipped pottery in a rainbow of colors.

  Glancing away from the happy noise of her lively kitchen, he wondered where she'd stashed his briefcase, ignoring the guilt stabbing his chest for thinking about what lay ahead. His head pounded in a symphony of crashing cymbals that had more to do with dread than his latest tumble.

  Today they would review her files. Headache or not, he would clear up the billing confusion– likely in a matter of minutes. Harry knew on whose side the chips would fall. Specialty's accounting team didn't make mistakes.

  In a heartbeat, Kendall would go from tolerating her battered houseguest to hating him. Sometime today he'd have to find a ride home. He couldn't continue to stay here knowing his actions would devastate her business– and her life. He'd catch a ride home to hobble around his empty house, leaving Ken to pick up the pieces. And he'd try not to think about what he'd done to her.

  ***

  Jerking the trailer door open an hour later, Kendall trudged inside. Despite two showers, her shirt clung to her back in the stifling humidity.

  "Mornin', Claire. Has the mail come?"

  "Morning, Kenny. No checks– if that's what you mean. I've called the stragglers, but you know how that goes."

  "If anything comes in, drive it over to the bank as soon as possible."

  "Gotcha. You've had two calls this morning from that equipment rental place." Her secretary rounded the desk with a fistful of messages. "And another creepy hang-up."

  "It's summer, Claire. The kids have nothing better to do."

  "Well . . . it's starting to freak me out. It's bad enough at the office. Now they're callin' out here, too?"

  Wincing, Kendall headed to her office. It was the supplier calls that made her sweat. The financial noose was tightening. She wouldn't be able to hold out much longer. The discussion she dreaded more than anything would happen today.

  Despite her resolution not to think about him, her thoughts returned to Harrison. The battle over their contract still loomed. It would be better to get the pain over. She didn't want her financial troubles spilling over on anyone else. Specialty would have to pull her contract and find someone to finish the job. Short of a miracle, nothing would save A & R now. It wasn't fair to keep Traynor waiting.

  Harrison had been quiet over breakfast, leaving her wondering whether he'd hurt himself worse than he'd let on. In true Ken Adams style, she'd pretty much knocked him off his feet on the landing that morning. She still couldn't believe she'd seen stars after colliding with his chest. Talk about a swoon.

  When she'd awakened to discover his hands running over her, she'd thought her heart would catapult from her chest. His Hotness was touching her– the social geek– the anti-prom queen. Sure, he'd only been checking for broken bones. But every fantasy she'd allowed herself to have about Harrison Traynor always started and ended with those sturdy, capable hands.

  Then she'd discovered her robe flapping open. Shaking her head, she blushed all over again. Without doubt, she was the biggest fool in the county.

  He'd asked her to bring home the files, in fact had been insistent they review the contract when she returned for lunch. Harry wanted to get it over with, too. After nearly killing him again this morning, Traynor probably couldn't get away from her fast enough. She had the sinking feeling their talk wouldn't go well.

  "So, look who's finally decided to show up. And you wonder why we have financial problems."

  Ken glanced at her watch. With the eventful morning, she was indeed late. Raising her gaze to the sneering eyes of her stepbrother, her stomach tightened with both anger and dread. "This from the guy who works three days a week."

  "Unlike you, I have other business interests besides this dump." Pushing into her office, he flopped into the chair across from her desk. "You give any thought to what I said?"

  "What's to think about?" She forced her gaze to the window, avoiding the serial-killer eyes buried in a bloated, fleshy face.

  "Look, Sis. This place is headin' into the toilet. We both know it. Let's save our asses and get outta Dodge before you're left holding the bag."

  "You own twenty percent of this mess."

  "Yeah. I'll be sure to stick around for that." He began chortling.

  Kendall's face heated. Without doubt, Lance would walk– free and clear.

  "Look, idiot– I can't sell without you and vice versa. Unless one of us gets hit by a bus . . . we're stuck together." He examined his grubby nails before returning his attention to her.

  "That's not a bad idea," she muttered.

  "Yeah, I thought so, too."

  "I'm not selling, Lance. So if you're not going down with the ship, I suggest you run home and see what other assets you can bleed out of my father before he realizes what a scumbag you are."

  The chair tipped over when he stood. No longer laughing, Lance's eyes flashed fury. He lunged around the desk. "Don't mess with me, bitch or I'll make you sorry."

  "You're threatening me?" Kendall held her ground, praying he couldn't see her heart pounding through her shirt. Instead, she took a step closer, running her gaze over him as though he were a pile of garbage. "Because I don't take kindly to threats."

  When he raised his fisted hand, her eyes widened. Dang– she might actually be in trouble.

  "Kenny. . . I need you to-" When Jimmy entered her office, Lance lowered his arm. Shooting a glance to her burly foreman, she shook her head. Jimmy had probably been eavesdropping outside her office door. If it were possible to dislike Lance more than she, what Jimmy felt was pure loathing.

  "I believe we're through here," she dismissed, her voice icy.

  "Not by a long shot, hon." Rounding the desk, he shoved Jimmy out of the way, muttering as he stalked out.

  "Thanks, Pop." She sank down in the chair, her limbs shaking. "I owe you."

  "Why don't you let me beat the tar outta him, Kenny? We've been savin' a corner of the parking deck just for him. The concrete guys hate him, too."

  Kendall smiled, her heart sinking. "As much as I'd enjoy that, it won't solve our problems." She scanned the bustle of construction activity from her window and turned to question him. "Everything going okay?"

  "Yeah. When you get a minute, hike over to the east quadrant. There's somethin' I wanna show you."

  "Give me twenty minutes."

  Her foreman left, shutting the door softly. Ken tried to remember the last time she'd enjoyed coming to work. She'd grown up with the knowledge she would run the company one day. For three years, she'd enjoyed the challenge of making the business her own. Until Lance arrived. Since then, each new day drained her spirits a little more.

  She kneaded the base of her skull where the familiar pounding had already begun. Half the guys on her crew had been there since high school. They'd never worked anywhere else. Where would her employees go when she shut down? The staff at Adams & Rey were like family– accustomed to her easy style. Her loyalty. Many of them wouldn't be hirable at another firm. In a tight labor market, no one would want her motley crew.

  Hot tears clogged her throat. She was out of options. The realization hit her like a blow. Worse, she was out of
time. Woodenly, she walked to the door and flipped the lock. Drawing the blinds on the window, she returned to her battered chair and sank down to a chorus of squeaks. Then she laid her head on the blotter and cried.

  ***

  Hearing a vehicle approach, Harry hobbled to the window. Kendall hopped down from the truck, tossing her hard hat on the passenger seat. His interest piqued, he watched her peel off a dusty work shirt and toss it on the hood.

  "Jeez." His brain registered the skimpy tank top Ken wore underneath. The simple cotton fabric clung to breasts he knew approached perfection. Her hair was woven into a braid that trailed down her back. Standing near the truck with her eyes closed, long, slender arms stretched to the heavens, Harry was again struck by her subtle beauty. She radiated strength and softness at the same time. All that energy bound up in an explosive firecracker.

  His gaze followed the graceful flutter of her hands until they reached her neck, absently kneading the spot that seemed to house her stress. He experienced a stab of guilt, acknowledging he would soon add to her turmoil.

  When Kendall turned, he stumbled from the window, hastily conjuring thoughts of Deborah. Willowy and graceful, a lawyer on the fast-track, she worked hard to be witty and well-read. All assets in the blueprint he'd mapped of his future. Along with the perfect wife were two children, preferably a boy and girl. He'd been an only child– and he wouldn't have wished it on anyone. Since meeting Lurch and Wink, Harry had added a pet to his plan– dog or cat, but certainly not both.

  So why was his heart hammering like a teenager's over an obstinate, backhoe-driving flutist? Until now, his vision of the perfect woman had been reedy and gentile, with alabaster skin and a mysterious smile. Kendall's sun-kissed face was not the one sketched on his plan. Her supple body wasn't the one he envisioned holding at night. She had freckles, for God's sake.

  Whistling as she trudged up the steps, Harry smiled despite his rising panic. She was just so damn sweet. His smile dissolved when he thought of the approaching conversation. Though his decision was strictly about the numbers, his stomach wrenched at the thought of hurting her. The end result was he'd be the one putting her out of business.