by Lauren Layne
“Don’t be creepy,” Kate muttered, even as she looked at Kennedy’s closed door, hating that Sabrina might be a tiny bit right. Not necessarily about the loins and all of that. Kate liked to think she could control her baser instincts.
But it stung a little to realize just how much she’d been holding back when it came to Kennedy Dawson—first by trying to disguise her amorous feelings, then by trying to disguise her hurt feelings, now by trying to manufacture all the reasons he was wrong for her.
Kate picked up her cell.
“Who are you calling?”
“Jack,” she muttered.
“You’re going to see him again?”
Kate nodded as the phone started to ring.
“But I thought we agreed those were friendship roses,” Sabrina whispered.
“Exactly. Which is why I need to see him. Whether he meant it or not, he sent the right flowers, because apparently friendship is all I have to offer.”
“For how long?”
Kate jabbed a finger in the general direction of Kennedy’s office. “Until I figure out how to deal with that.”
15
Saturday, April 20
“Do you want to talk about it?”
Kennedy pulled back from the railing where he’d been staring absently at the murky water of the East River. “Hey, Dad.”
Roger Dawson joined his son at the railing, his ever-present scotch in one hand.
“Great party,” Kennedy said, taking a sip of his cocktail.
“Yeah, your mother always did put together a nice event.”
Nice event was an understatement. Kennedy’s parents had decided to celebrate forty years of marriage on a luxury yacht, chartered for the evening for two hundred of their “closest friends and family.” With a caviar buffet, live jazz band, and black-tie dress code, it made Kennedy’s birthday party a few weeks earlier feel like a backyard barbecue in comparison.
He felt a little flicker of guilt. The birthday party made him think of Claudia, which in turn made him realize this was the first time the woman had even crossed his mind since they’d broken things off earlier in the week.
“So you want to talk about it?” his dad asked again.
“Talk about what?”
“You tell me.”
“Oh good,” Kennedy said sarcastically, tossing back the last sip of his drink. “This game.”
His father smiled, not bothering to pretend that he didn’t know exactly what Kennedy was talking about. Roger had left his sons’ earliest years to his wife and an ever-present nanny, but by the time Kennedy and his brothers were in high school, their dad had stepped forward a bit, played more of a role, and this had been one of his favorite strategies. Whenever there’d been something on one of their minds, whether it be school, girls, friends, or sports, he’d had the same approach: he’d ask if his son wanted to talk about it. And then wait. And wait. And wait.
It worked. Every damn time, Kennedy and his brothers were sure they hadn’t wanted to talk about it, right up until the moment it all came spilling out. But Kennedy wasn’t fifteen any longer, and he knew that talking about problems didn’t necessarily solve them.
He stayed quiet, and his father changed tack. “No Claudia tonight?”
“We broke up.” Kennedy reached to his left to put his empty glass on a table.
His dad nodded. “Yeah.”
Kennedy let out a laugh. “You could at least pretend to be surprised.”
Roger shrugged. “It was nice of her to throw you that birthday party.”
“But?”
“Well . . .” His dad took a drink. “The party seemed a bit more about her than you.”
“Probably. I’m not sure either of us was in the relationship for the right reasons.”
“Why were you in it?”
Kennedy looked over his shoulder at the hundreds of people laughing and drinking on the yacht deck. “You know this is your party, right? You don’t have to play dad right now.”
“You never play dad. You are dad. And right now, this father wants to know what’s got his oldest son brooding alone.”
“I’m always brooding.” Always alone, too.
It was a weird thought. He wasn’t always alone, not technically. He had a great family, loyal friends. He dated when he felt like it. But whether it was from the reality of another birthday or the fact that his two closest friends and youngest brother had found women who seemed to make up their other half, Kennedy was increasingly aware that he wasn’t part of a couple. And while he’d never minded solitude, this was different.
“You said you were in the relationship with Claudia for the wrong reason. What was it? The companionship?”
Kennedy gave a wry smile, because his father may as well have read his mind. “Maybe. More so, I think, that Claudia seemed like the type of woman I always thought I’d end up with.”
“She was beautiful,” Roger granted.
“Yes. But it was more than that,” Kennedy said, glancing at the water. “Mom set us up. The Palmers live in Europe now, but Claudia grew up just a few blocks north of us. They went to our church, though a different service. She knows all of the same people we do.”
“And that’s what you wanted? Someone from our social circle?”
“I don’t know. It seemed right on paper.”
“But didn’t feel right?”
Kennedy shook his head.
His father casually turned around, leaning his elbows on the railing as he faced the crowd. “This got anything to do with Jack?”
Kennedy gave his father a sharp look. “What about Jack?”
“You tell me. You’re always quiet, yes, but you’ve been even more reticent than usual since your brother moved back from Europe. Since he took up with your girl.”
“Kate’s not my girl,” Kennedy said, turning around so he, too, could lean back against the railing, crossing his arms over his chest.
“She sure cleans up nice, though. I always liked her.”
Kennedy forced himself to follow his father’s gaze, and though he thought he was braced for it, the sight of Kate and Jack together still packed a wallop in the vicinity of his throat.
Again with the pink.
What was with Kate lately? It was as though she’d gone out and bought a whole arsenal of pink dresses just for Jack, and also to torture Kennedy. He didn’t even like pink. Well, that’s not true. He’d never given a thought one way or the other to the color . . . until now.
The pink dress she’d worn at his birthday party had been flirty and feminine. The one on their double date had been fun and casual. But this . . .
Kennedy’s gaze drifted over her, and he swallowed. The front of the rose-colored dress was demure, tying at her neck and then skimming over her frame with only a hint at the slight curves below, all of the way down to silver sandals.
When he’d first walked in and seen her, he thought he could manage the evening without staring. Maybe. But when she’d turned around and he’d seen the back, he was a goner. She’d pulled her hair up into a simple knot at the back of her head, no doubt styled intentionally to show off the large bow tied behind her elegant neck, showing off her slender back. All of it.
Kate said something to Jack, who bent his much taller frame to hers, his hand coming around to rest lightly on the smooth skin that had been demanding Kennedy’s attention all night. Skin that was not his to touch. That had never been his. But could have been . . .
He turned back abruptly toward the water, away from his brother and Kate, as well as his own thoughts. Or tried to, anyway.
As usual, Kennedy’s father missed nothing. “Does she know?”
Kennedy didn’t play dumb. “No.”
“Does Jack?”
Kennedy shook his head. “I didn’t even know until a few days ago.”
“Hmm.” His father took a drink. “What’s your plan?”
“What do you mean, what’s my plan? She’s my assistant. He’s my brother. I get ov
er it.”
Roger continued to study Jack and Kate. “You think she’s the one for him?”
Kennedy gave a fleeting glance over his shoulder, then back out at the river. “I don’t know.”
“Yes, you do.”
Kennedy’s fingers clenched around the iron railing. “Well, what do you want me to do, Dad? Go storm over there and tell him that I don’t see it? That he’s not able to give her what she wants?”
“How do you know what she wants?”
“She told me. She wants love at first sight, someone who doesn’t hold back, who’s willing to go all in,” he said, recalling their conversation that night over the chessboard.
His father said nothing for a minute, then looked back at Kennedy. “You remember that summer when you were about nine or so, and we rented that house in Nantucket with the pool?”
“Sure.”
“It was all you boys wanted to do, swim in that pool. Not Fitz, he was too young, but the other three of you spent all damn day in that thing.”
“So?” Kennedy knew there was some sort of fatherly lesson coming, but he didn’t have a clue what it was.
“It says a lot about someone, the way they approach a new pool for the first time. Your mother and I laughed about it, watching you boys that first day. Jack went cannonballing into the deep end.”
“Of course he did,” Kennedy said with a slight smile.
“John sat on the top step, book still in hand, because he’d wanted to finish his chapter before going swimming. But you and Jack didn’t want to wait.”
“Because it was never one chapter; it was always the whole book.” Kennedy himself had always enjoyed reading, but his younger brother John was bookish on a whole other level.
“And you,” his father said, continuing with his swimming parable. “You walked the perimeter of the pool. Checked the number painted on the side to see how deep it was. Gave the diving board a careful test to make sure it was sound. Dipped a foot in to test the temperature. I’m sure if you knew how, you’d have checked the chlorine levels, too.”
“Because people pee in pools. Jack probably did.”
“You were always the cautious one, and your mother and I fully expected you to go into the pool via the shallow end, taking your time.”
“I get it,” Kennedy said a little irritably. “Jack’s the spontaneous one, John’s head is more in the book world than the real world, and I’m the overly cautious one.”
“But you didn’t wade into the shallow end,” Roger continued, as though Kennedy hadn’t spoken. “After making sure it was okay to do so, you dove into the deep end without a second’s hesitation. And you stayed in that pool well after Jack and John got bored and left.”
His father fell silent, and Kennedy glanced over. “Okay, I give up. The moral of the story is . . .”
“You do go all in, son. You go all in bigger than anyone I know. It just takes you a while to figure out your plan of approach, dot your i’s, do your due diligence first.” Roger Dawson clapped his son on the shoulder. “Talk to your brother. It won’t do either of you any favors to keep your mouth shut if it eats you up. It won’t do Kate any favors, either.”
Kennedy said nothing.
“At least think about it,” his father said, patting him on the shoulder. “Life goes by so quickly. Don’t waste a minute of it.”
Kennedy knew it was the coward’s way out, but he waited until his brother was alone before making his move.
“Hey,” Jack said, grinning when he saw Kennedy. “Where the hell you been? I haven’t seen you since we first got in.”
“I’ve been making the rounds,” Kennedy lied. “So much for this being a small get-together.”
“Classic over-the-top Mom party, right?” Jack said, snagging a stuffed mushroom off a passing tray. “Hey, sorry to hear about Claudia. She seemed nice.”
“She was. Just not . . . You know.”
“Yeah, I know. Unfortunately.”
Jack’s sardonic tone gave Kennedy pause. “Do you?”
“Yup.” Jack popped the mushroom in his mouth. “Got the old let’s be friends talk from your girl Kate.”
“What?” Even as hope flared, he cared enough about his brother to be bothered. “She dumped you at our parents’ anniversary party?”
“Nah.” Jack picked up his glass of champagne from a table. “We had ‘the talk’ earlier this week. Decided we were better as friends and all of that.”
“Who decided?”
“She brought it up first.” Jack lifted a shoulder. “But I’d have done it if she hadn’t. Sucks, though. She’s one of the good ones, but the physical chemistry was off. It was a little too much like kissing my sister.”
“You kissed her?” Kennedy’s question came out short, angry.
Jack had lifted his hand to wave at someone across the deck, but his gaze snapped to Kennedy’s, and his hand lowered. “Whoa.”
“What?”
Jack studied him for a moment, then sighed and shook his head. “You’re an idiot.”
“You get dumped by an amazing woman, and I’m the idiot?”
Jack didn’t rise to the bait, just gave Kennedy an irritated look. “I had my suspicions, but you had Claudia, and . . . Damn it, Kennedy. You should have told me she was off-limits.”
“I did,” Kennedy ground out. “I very distinctly remember telling you that Kate was off-limits, that we had a pact—”
“Forget the stupid pact. I meant, you failed to mention that she was off-limits because she’s yours.”
“She’s not a possession, Jack.”
“I’m aware, Kennedy. But don’t pretend not to know what I mean. You like her.”
“Of course I like her.”
“You know what I mean. You want her. Nothing to do with friendship. Or work.” Jack stated it as a fact.
And hell. Hearing it out loud . . .
“No. I don’t know. It’s complicated.”
“See, that’s always been your problem. You act like you want everything to be simple and straightforward, but you spend so much effort trying to simplify every damn thing that you end up with a situation that’s a hundred times more complex than if you’d just gone with the flow.”
“All right, Aristotle, calm down,” Kennedy snapped, grabbing Jack’s champagne and taking a large swallow, since it was the closest drink around. “If you two are broken up, why is she here with you?”
Jack shrugged. “Like I said, we’re friends. I asked if she still wanted to come, and she said sure.”
“Where is she?”
“Restroom,” Jack said. “Apparently there’s a long line. Boats aren’t exactly known for bountiful facilities.”
“Maybe that’s why she dumped you,” Kennedy said. “You use words like bountiful.”
His brother threw up a good-natured middle finger and grabbed his champagne back. “Go get your girl.”
“She’s not . . .” The automatic denial died on Kennedy’s lips. Maybe she was. At the very least, his dad was right. He owed it to himself and to her to find out.
Kennedy started pushing through the crowd even before he’d fully registered his intent to move.
“Hey, Kennedy.”
He turned back to his brother, who lifted his glass in a toast. “Keep it simple.”
Yeah, right.
He didn’t know what he felt for Kate. But it was anything but simple.
16
Saturday, April 20
Kate waited in line for the ladies’ room for a solid fifteen minutes before she decided to cheat the bathroom system.
She assuaged her guilt by reminding herself that she and the owner of the yacht charter went way back. In fact, Kate was the one who’d put Kennedy’s mom in touch with the company for this party. Surely that earned her the right to break a few rules. Like, say, using the restroom in one of the exclusive suites.
Strictly speaking, the suites were off-limits during big cocktail parties, but she’d coordinated enoug
h boat parties during her tenure at Wolfe to know that the company kept a few of the rooms unlocked in case any of the guests needed a private place to deal with seasickness.
Or in Kate’s case, a really full bladder.
Someone forgot to stock hand towels in the tiny bathroom, so Kate settled for shaking her hands vigorously as she stepped into the suite attached to the bathroom. It was small but nicely appointed, equipped for overnight stays with two small beds that could be pressed together as one, as well as a built-in couch in the corner and a small wet bar. She was tempted to sit for a moment and get a reprieve from the wealthy but increasingly tipsy partygoers . . .
Kate’s hands froze midshake as she realized she wasn’t alone. “What are you doing in here?”
Kennedy didn’t move from where he leaned against the wall in the small windowless room. “Asks the woman who barged through a door marked PRIVATE.”
“How’d you find me?”
“I didn’t see you in line at the main ladies’ room, so I asked one of the staff members, who remembered seeing ‘someone in a pink dress’ duck in here.”
“Well, congrats, you found me. Can we get back?” She pointed to the closed door he was blocking.
“To your date?”
His light emphasis on the word date gave her pause. “You talked to Jack.”
“I did. Pretty sexy dress to wear for someone who’s just a friend.”
“Save it,” she snapped, marching forward. “We’re not in the office, so you can’t tell me what to do or what to wear.”
“When have I ever told you what to do or what to wear in the office?” he said, uncrossing his arms and straightening. “Even if I wanted to, you wouldn’t have listened.”
“Well, why would I? You’re technically my boss, but not my only one. You’re not my boyfriend. We’re barely even friends, so—”
“Again with that? You’re not sure we’re even friends?” His words were low, quiet, but she fell back a step in surprise because he looked . . . hurt.
She tried to calm her racing heart, not entirely sure why she was so worked up. “We are, I guess. It’s just . . . You know. We’ve never been easy together.”