A group of boys flew past them on skateboards, chased by giggling girls. She suddenly realized he seemed to know the town well.
"I didn't know you were familiar with Verily."
"I'm not."
She swung her head around. His profile was strong and graceful in the dying sun, even marred by the horrible frames of his glasses. "Then how do you know there's an ice cream place open?"
"A quaint, artistic river town in New York on Main Street. Are you kidding? They always have ice cream."
She shook her head. "You didn't even have dinner yet."
"I'm a rebel."
Kennedy smiled.
They reached the small cafe, Xpressions, which boasted gourmet treats and homemade ice cream chock full of calories, fat, and deliciousness. Nate took his time picking out the flavor, requesting samples of the Raspberry Razzle and Chocolate Truffle. She thought about getting a fat-free frozen yogurt, but it was just too pathetic even to bother with. He turned to her with a serious frown. "If it was up to you, what flavor would you get?"
A bit of grumpiness overtook her. "Why get fruit in an ice cream? It's pointless."
He tapped the small plastic spoon against his mouth. "Brilliant theory. I'll take a double scoop, please. Chocolate Truffle and the Peanut Butter Bash."
Her stomach growled. She tried to remind herself that she had a perfectly proportioned piece of poached salmon and unbuttered green beans at home waiting for her. "Peanut butter is also high in fat. You just picked the two worst flavors to guarantee the clogging of arteries."
He gasped in mock horror. "Worse than the Cake Batter or Cookie Dough?"
"Fine. It's your funeral."
"Oh and on one of those homemade waffle cones, please. Sure you don't want one? They have frozen yogurt."
She glared. "No, thanks."
His face relaxed into the joy of a child as he attacked the ice cream cone, a bunch of napkins wrapped around the base. "Let's sit for a few minutes."
"I have to get home."
"Just a minute."
She huffed but led him to the carved bench by the dog park. They watched the dogs run and play in wild abandon, while they sat under a twisted elm tree. A man wrapped his arms around his lover and stole a kiss by the wire fence. Ken relaxed. She hadn't come out for a walk in a while. It was kind of nice to just sit and enjoy the sights of Verily.
"I love New York. Always amazed me you can hike the mountains, ride a horse, and see a Broadway play all within an hour of each other. Have you lived in Verily your whole life?" he asked.
"No, we all attended NYU and lived in Manhattan. Then Arilyn, Kate, and I visited for a weekend and fell in love. We decided to open Kinnections and settle here. How about you?"
He snorted around his ice cream. "I ended up in California at the Dryden Flight Research Center. My goal was always NASA, I just wasn't sure what base I'd end up with, but I'm a numbers guy. Always been fascinated by physics and the challenge of manipulating information and equations to increase efficiency. My teachers couldn't keep up with me, so it was only a matter of time before NASA came knocking. When it dismantled, the private sector exploded. I was able to come back to New York and enjoy working for a reclusive techno billionaire who wants to fiddle with space travel. But trust me, the astronauts and pilots are the ones who get the glory. And the girls."
She watched a trail of chocolate ice cream drip onto his spotless lab coat and smothered a laugh. He looked down and muttered a curse. "Damn, I almost got through the day without a stain. I'm running out of coats. Here, hold this."
He shoved the cone into her hands and tried to mop up the mess with the napkins. Kennedy stared at the gorgeous, shiny, drippy ice cream cone in front of her. Pieces of chocolate truffle peeked out from beneath. A chunk of peanut butter whispered her name. Sanity tugged at the fringes of her mind until a moan from Nate caught her off guard.
"What's the matter?"
"Stomachache," he said.
She raised a brow. "You think? Look at this monster. I warned you about dinner."
"You gotta finish it."
Her heart pounded and her palms began to sweat. "No! I can't eat this. I'll cut off five years of my life and gain ten pounds."
"Don't be so dramatic. I refuse to waste a good cone. I ate most of it, just have a little so I don't feel guilty."
"But I--"
"I had the top half of my face ripped off today. Eat the cone, Kennedy."
"Oh, for God's sake, fine." The first lick caused a tiny shudder of pleasure to explode along her nerve endings. "This is ridiculous. I didn't eat dinner either."
"Good, we'll be sick together."
The second bite almost put her into cardiac arrest. The third and it was all over.
She was so happy.
A whimper escaped, and she didn't care. She attacked the cone with more enthusiasm. After all, she was doing him a favor. "So, if you're studying propulsion, you're really dealing with velocity. Are you trying to manipulate the formula in order to reach higher efficiency?"
He jerked back and gave her an odd look. A warning bell sounded in her brain, but it was too muted from the sugar rush. He spoke very slowly, as if trying to balance his words, but his gaze shred her to pieces and seemed to rationalize every part. "Yes, but everything works together. In order to change the velocity, you need the right balance of impulse to propel momentum. The thrust equation depends on the mass flow through the engine and the exit velocity."
"Got it. Do you think the use of chemical rockets is the most efficient?"
Oh, God, the peanut butter hit the piece of truffle and exploded in her mouth like a double orgasm. She crossed her legs and squeezed tight, trying to get herself under control.
Nate cleared his throat. "No, I believe a nonchemical solution where an external source of electrical energy accelerates the propellant that provides the thrust is better. But if I reach a breakthrough on my research, the entire equation and use of the formula will change, which will give us another option." He suddenly seemed to notice Kennedy's enthusiasm for the ice cream cone and smiled. "It's really good, isn't it?"
"Yes, so good."
"You have some on your chin. Stay still." He reached over and dragged the napkin over her mouth, chin, and down her neck. She swirled her tongue around and around the cone and finally got to the crunchy part and took a bite. The crisp, warm wafer melted in her mouth. Heaven. Just one more bite and she'd throw the rest away. She'd eaten enough to make him happy.
"Funny, the way they break down the whole equation, huh?" she commented as she continued munching away. "It translates to people quite well. A person follows an impulse, which propels momentum and creates a change in life. But if one is too impulsive, the momentum could pick up too much speed and cause complete disaster. Life is a balance, I guess."
"But if one remains stagnant, and never follows an impulse, there is no rocket launch at all."
She ate the rest of the cone, and the sugar buzzed hot in her veins as happiness flooded through her. "Yes. I guess you're right. Unless you're very happy where you are, and then who needs a rocket ride?"
Suddenly, she looked up and found him closer than expected. He had slid over on the bench until his shoulder pressed into hers. His gaze studied her mouth, caressing her face, and the wave of his hair spilled over his brow, making her fingers crave to reach out and stroke the strands back. The ice cream high faded and was replaced by an electrical current based on pure, hot, no-holds-barred, down-and-dirty sex.
"Ken?"
"Yeah?" she squeaked.
The dogs barked. The clang of the gate opening and closing drifted in the air. The breeze tugged the strands of her hair and blew them wildly about. She caught the scent of mint, soap, and rich chocolate. Everything blurred and faded like a movie set gone dark. Nothing mattered except for the slow descent of his mouth toward hers.
"Promise me something."
Her body hummed and softened, ready to come out and play. Her core ache
d for his touch on her naked skin, his tongue back in her mouth, his voice whispering her name so sweetly, like nothing she'd ever heard in her life.
"What?" she whispered.
He pushed back her hair with a gentleness that contradicted the hot lust in his eyes.
"Always eat ice cream. It's a beautiful thing to watch."
She held her breath. Waited.
He clenched his jaw, muttered something under his breath, and rose from the chair. "Come on. I'll walk you to your car."
This time, he didn't take her hand. Stung but determined not to show it, Kennedy didn't let herself think of the loss of his touch or the kiss that hadn't occurred. They walked back in silence until they reached her vehicle.
"Good night, Ken. Drive safe."
He disappeared down the street, but she refused to look back.
Absolutely refused.
six
KENNEDY STUDIED HER client as he crossed the room. She'd texted him to meet her at the Tuck-N-Pack gym, but it took a few rounds back and forth to get him to agree. Guess working out wasn't his thing. His T-shirt and sweat shorts were the closest to normal clothes she'd seen him in. His legs held nice tone and his six-foot frame wasn't overbearing and fit his body type nicely. His shoulders and biceps were pretty cut. Could he have possibly gotten those arms from golf? Nah, impossible: that was the wimpiest sport in the world and did nothing. Amazing how his whole persona changed with just a haircut, polish, and normal skin tone. Her Eliza was blooming in front of her eyes.
Kennedy had tossed and turned all night, thinking about that almost kiss, and finally came to a conclusion. Their relationship would now be strictly business. No ice cream cones, hand holding, or confessionals. It was perfectly normal to begin developing a bond when working so closely. Arilyn had struggled with the line many times; Kate had ended up with one of her clients, for crying out loud; and now it was her turn. But when morning finally came, and she climbed out of bed from a sleepless evening, she committed to the path. No more diversions.
He stopped and looked over his thick frames with pure suspicion. "Hey."
"Hi. How was work?"
"Wayne got blocked, so I had to talk him off the ledge."
"Your lab partner?"
"Yes. I hate these places. What idiot names a place the Tuck-N-Pack?"
"I thought it sounded creative. You seem cranky."
He glowered. Kennedy fought a smile. Her scientist looked kind of adorable with his newly waxed brows drawn down and his jaw clenched. "Let's get this over with. What are we doing? Weights? Bike? Treadmill? Or do you just want me to put you on my back while I do one hundred pushups for your entertainment?"
"Not today. You've got great biceps. And legs. Do you run?"
"No. It's from golf."
She snickered. "Yeah, right. We're taking a class today to stretch your boundaries. Have you ever danced?"
Something akin to horror flickered in his eyes. "Have you ever golfed?"
"Guess not. A man comfortable with dancing owns his body. Dancing brings grace, balance, and a certain sensuality. You live mostly in your head. You're missing a connection to your actual physical form, and I think this will do the trick. It's also a great workout."
His glasses slipped a few inches down his nose. He shoved them back. "What class is it?"
She turned on her heel and headed toward the smoked glass door in the back. Her fingers curled around the handle. "Zumba." With a grin, she opened the door and stepped through.
He froze to the spot and the door swung closed in his face. She waited, but he remained still, refusing to move. Kennedy held back a sigh and peeked back out. "Nate, trust me on this."
He waited a beat. Two. Then walked away. Kennedy leaped out in front of him. "Is there a problem?"
Nate lowered his voice to a dark hiss. "Do you know what gym class was like for me? I still have nightmares, and now you want to humiliate me in another group setting? Stomping around to a bunch of bad music with a cheerleader-type instructor is not my idea of a decent workout."
She jerked back. God, she hadn't anticipated his bringing up awful memories of high school gym. It seemed like they had suffered the same woes of adolescence--it had taken years before she'd been strong enough to go into a gym with her head held high and work out without wondering if she'd hear the chants of fat girl. She grabbed his hand and squeezed tight. "I'd never do anything to humiliate you. Never. Everything I do has a higher purpose, and that's to find you a wife, Nate. Your wife. I send all my clients to this gym, and no one judges them. Just try it with an open mind. Please."
She held her breath for his decision. An odd sort of heat flooded through her from the intense way he studied every inch of her face, as if probing beneath her skin to find all the stuff hidden. He had a way of making someone feel she was the most important person in the world under that stare.
"Are you sure Zumba will get me to my wife?"
"It's an important piece in the puzzle. Each step brings you to the next level."
He returned the pressure of her fingers. Funny, it was like they fit perfectly together. Almost like being home. The thought skittered through her, and she quickly tugged her hand away. Business. Just business.
"Fine. I'll try."
Giddiness flooded her. "Thank you. You won't regret it."
"I don't believe you, but I'll try anyway," he muttered.
She dragged him into the studio before he had time to change his mind.
The cool air hit her full force and pebbled goose bumps on her bare arms and legs. The room was half-full, and she guided him toward the back corner. Large screens were set up so the instructor could be viewed from every angle, and most of the students were warming up with gentle stretches. Nate crossed his arms in front of his chest and surveyed the room with disdain. She leaned over. "First off, no one's looking at you. No one cares. Try to let yourself go for once in your life and forget controlling the outcome. Don't rationalize the moves. Have some fun, and take an hour off from results."
He stiffened, but the perky brunette bounced to the center stage and spoke into her earpiece. "Is everyone ready to ZUMBA?"
The crowd roared. "Yes!"
"Well, let's turn it up, people!"
The music boomed from the walls and ceiling, wrapping them in a Latin-type rhythm that perked up the heartbeat and warmed the blood. Kennedy concentrated on their model, enjoying the back-and-forth steps of the warm-up, and watched Nate in the mirror under half-lidded eyes. He stomped back and forth with deliberate movements, his nose wrinkled in concentration. She knew it would be a big test for him to admit he may not get the steps, but it was important to dive beneath the control barrier he kept up. No woman wanted a perfectionist as a mate, or someone judgmental. She needed to scratch past his rigid mental structure and get him to feel.
The warm-up transitioned to grinding hip-hop. Kennedy missed many of the steps, but made up for it in enthusiasm and the swing of her hips. Another glance in the mirror showed the gleam of sweat on Nate's brow, the slip of his glasses down his nose, and the frustrated grimace of his lips. She almost caught the smoke from his head steaming out as he tried to mimic the instructor's rapid pace. As soon as he nailed one routine, she switched to another rocketing foot dance that seemed to have no rhyme or reason. It was exactly what Kennedy wanted him to experience.
"Let's work the hips, people! One, two, and three. Slide on four. Bump and grind, baby, that's what I'm talking about!"
Forty minutes into the class, Nate Ellison Raymond Dunkle surrendered.
It was a fascinating breakdown to watch. Kennedy knew the exact moment he decided he couldn't do it. No matter how hard he tried, the dance slipped away from him, always out of his grasp, leaving only the raw tempo of music, the scent of sweat, and the stamp of feet on the bare floors. The lights spun and threw him into a greenish silhouette.
Kennedy prided herself on breaking down the male species. Arilyn usually helped target the exact hurdle her prey needed i
n order to strip down boundaries. Kennedy wasn't educated as a counselor, but she enjoyed witnessing growth in a person. Lord knows she'd dealt with tons of angst in her own past. Still, pain built character. Growth helped love. Being stagnant and fearful only blocked any of the good vibes in a healthy relationship.
At least, that's what she always believed.
He stopped dancing. Stared at the move of bodies, flowing and ebbing, some in tempo and most not. She never stopped in her own routine. This was his journey, and his choice. She could only lead him in the right direction. Kennedy turned, bent, then did a rotation, a hip thrust that made her feel naughty and powerful. Again. And again.
Nate narrowed his gaze, taking in the scene, and did the one thing she'd swear the man was incapable of.
He danced.
He spun, lowered, rotated, and thrust. Worries over looking stupid, or not copying the exact movements, or the horror of his high school gym class all seemed to drift away. He missed most of the steps but never stopped. He gave up and gave in, and his body took over.
She couldn't tear her gaze from him in the mirror. His cotton shirt slipped up and she caught a glimpse of a nice rack of abs. The innate stillness he owned radiated outward into a flow of almost poetic grace, his feet sliding across the floor, his hips rocking with a power that left her a bit breathless. Like a caterpillar catching flight as a butterfly, in that instant he dove into the moment and owned it. An almost sexual energy emanated in waves and mixed with the earthy tempo, turning him into a man radiating sheer command. For one second, her skin tingled and her breath caught. For one second, she was completely and utterly attracted to him.
The music changed; slowed. Cool-down began, with gentle glides and simple arm movements. The moment passed and faded, already seeming like a weird dream. Class ended and students lingered to guzzle water, chat, and speak with the teacher. A proud grin curved her lips as she walked over to her profusely sweating client.
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