Keeping Kennedy (3 page)

“No, Carol! Tell the senator that he can’t
pretend it didn’t happen,” Kennedy snapped. Her free hand now
planted on one hip, she pivoted and retraced her steps.

The ivory silk pantsuit she wore clung to her
slender shape in an especially eye-pleasing manner. Kennedy dressed
well, choosing conservative, but always elegant outfits. Her
shoulder-length hair, the color of sand on a sun-kissed beach, was
cut in a swingy style that framed her face and neck, caressing her
peach-colored skin like a lover’s touch. Drake drew in a slow, deep
breath to counter the effect she was suddenly having on him. And
those eyes, more gold than brown, surrounded by long, thick lashes,
could persuade a man to do anything. But Kennedy had never looked
at him with sexual interest—not even once.

They were pals. Buddies.

He respected that relationship, no matter how
much his more primal instincts protested. Kennedy was his friend. A
good friend. He could always count on her. And now she needed him.
No way would he let her down or screw up their friendship.

Still deeply engrossed in her phone
conversation, she tunneled her fingers through her hair and down to
massage her neck. Her fingers trailed over the smooth skin near the
base of her throat and his groin tightened. He wondered how she
would taste right there—where that pulse pounded rapidly beneath
satiny skin.

“Don’t waste your time, sir.”

Ripped away from his forbidden fantasy, Drake
turned to Edward. “What?”

“Ms. Malone never mixes business with
pleasure,” the clerk assured him.

“Excuse me?” Drake’s temper flared. What was
the man insinuating?

Assuming a knowing look, Edward elaborated.
“Ms. Malone often brings her clients to this shop for”—the older
man gave Drake a cool once-over—“makeovers, shall we say?” He
leaned slightly closer and lowered his voice. “Many have tried, all
have failed.” He nodded conspiratorially. “Ms. Malone is a true
lady. Money, power, good looks…None of it fazes her. I doubt you
will be any more successful than the others.”

Drake clenched his jaw against the retort
that sprang instantly to mind. “Thanks for the tip, Edward,” he
said instead. “I’ll bear that in mind.”

Edward thrust a large white box at him,
followed immediately by another, then a garment bag. “Just wanted
to save you the embarrassment, sir,” he explained in his most
helpful tone. “It’ll take a special man to win Kennedy Malone,” he
added in a stage whisper. His admiring gaze lingered on the woman
in question for a long moment. “A special man, indeed.”

Drake had never been accused of setting out
to snag a female. He’d never had to. And he had no intention of
starting now.

“All set?” Suddenly standing right in front
of him, Kennedy beamed a professional smile of approval in his
direction. His traitorous pulse reacted.

Before he could answer, Edward, his friendly
adviser, responded, “Oh, yes, Ms. Malone, quite set. I believe Mr.
Drake has everything he’ll need.” The older man shot Drake a
wink.

“Great,” Kennedy enthused. “We’re ready
then.”

He was ready all right, Drake agreed
silently. Ready to kick himself for letting Kennedy talk him into
this idiotic charade.

~*~

“We’ve been over this already,” Drake
grumbled. He leaned back in the seat of the rented sedan and tried
to put the last few hours out of his mind, but again his efforts
proved useless. After whirlwind packing and doubling his
housekeeper’s salary for the week so she would feed Iggy, he and
Kennedy were on their way. The flight had been unremarkable, but,
so far, the drive from the airport to Fayetteville had proven
decidedly more exciting.

He knew Kennedy to be an aggressive driver on
the streets of D.C. But once on the interstate, she drove like a
bat out of hell. She talked nonstop and her cell rang constantly.
She had no qualms about driving, talking, and using that dramatic
body language of hers—simultaneously. If they arrived in Friendly
Corners alive it would be a miracle. He closed his eyes to shut out
the landscape whizzing by in a blur of autumn colors. He was
surprised North Carolina’s highway patrol hadn’t stopped her as she
sped along the interstate. Maybe the local police would slow her
down, he mused as they headed for the exit ramp.

“Drake, this is important,” she insisted.
“Now listen up.”

“I’m listening,” he intoned, refusing to open
his eyes.

“My parents are very old-fashioned. They
don’t drink except for the occasional glass of wine at a social
function. So don’t even think about beer while you’re under their
roof. As a small-town attorney and a prominent member of the
Methodist Church, my father is an archconservative, so don’t swear
or smoke in front of him.”

He shook his head slowly from side to side.
Where did the woman get these ideas? “I quit smoking when they
kicked me out of the Hell’s Angels,” he assured her
sarcastically.

Her brief hesitation made him smile. “You are
joking, aren’t you?” she finally asked.

He blew out a breath. “I did do a photo essay
of a couple of renegade Angels once, but don’t worry, I don’t
smoke.”

“Oh.” She frowned. “Why did I think you
smoked?”

“I have no idea.”

“Maybe it’s because you’re…you know, like you
are.”

His eyes popped open and he shot her an
irritated look from behind his sunglasses, for all the good it
would do. “I’m not sure I want to know what that means.”

She gave him a bright smile, which, to his
frustration, immediately banished his irritation. “Oh, I don’t
know…nothing, really.”

A horn blasted, sending Drake’s heart into
his throat. “Keep your eyes on the road,” he barked then held his
breath until she’d darted back into her own lane. The guy in the
red four-wheel drive truck shook his fist as he flew past. “Damn
it, Kennedy, where’d you learn to drive?”

“Relax, we’re almost there.”

“Thank God,” he muttered, still clutching the
armrest with white-knuckled intensity. His heart slid slowly back
into his chest and began to beat once more.

“And my mother,” Kennedy continued as if
nothing had happened. “She’s a housewife. She loves to clean and
bake and all that jazz.” She shook her head as if she couldn’t
grasp the concept. “Since that’s basically her career, be sure to
compliment her homemaking skills.”

The smile that lingered on Kennedy’s lips
told him that she loved her folks, despite how boring she made them
sound. Despite her infrequent visits, she spoke as if they were
pretty close. Being an only child, he supposed that Kennedy really
didn’t have anyone else. Unlike the Drake brood. He had three
brothers and two sisters. Never a dull moment when they got
together. Which didn’t happen often enough anymore.

“Oh yes,” she added. “There’s Uncle Martin.”
Her smile broadened into a grin. “He’s the mayor, and a real
charmer. I think you two will get along fabulously.”

“Whatever,” Drake grumbled, wondering again
how he had gotten roped into this. He shot the driver a look.
Kennedy’s powers of persuasion were definitely not to be
underestimated. No wonder she was Sid’s best.

A sign welcoming visitors to Friendly Corners
came into view and he breathed a sigh of relief. He just might see
his next birthday after all. He flicked a glance at the driver.

Friendly Corners looked exactly as Kennedy
had described it. Small, neat and welcoming. Modest houses lined
the streets. Huge old trees, bursting with gold and russets, shaded
the freshly cut green lawns. Branches on fire with color extended
over the walks, dropping the occasional leaf to flutter in the
slight breeze. Bales of hay, big orange pumpkins, and sundry other
Halloween decorations proclaimed fall’s first major event was on
its way, and summer was officially over.

“One more thing,” Kennedy said ominously,
drawing his attention back to her as she slowed to take a right.
“They’re not the touchy-feely type. So no touching or…or kissing
around my parents, okay?”

Surprised, he lifted a skeptical brow. Hell,
he hadn’t even thought of that. “You mean there may come a point
where I have to kiss you?”

She arrowed him a look over her eyewear.
“Only as necessary for the validation of our story.”

Damn, he’d almost gotten his hopes up for a
minute there. He peered out the window at the meticulously
landscaped lawns. If he had to spend a week in Cleaverville, the
least he should get for his pain and suffering was one kiss. He
shifted and took a moment to admire the driver’s profile. Her
features were soft and delicate, utterly feminine. Her coloring was
so natural that if she wore makeup, it was impossible to tell. The
camera would love her. Maybe she’d let him take a few pictures. Or
maybe he’d do it without her ever knowing.

A smile pulled at his lips as he recalled
Edward’s warning.
Ms. Malone is a true lady
. And a friend.
He intended to do right by her. She had never asked him for
anything. The least he could do was come through on her first and
only request. Even if it was the craziest thing he had ever done.
And he definitely wouldn’t allow these new and non-platonic urges
to take over. Self-control would be his middle name.

“Here we are,” she announced as she braked to
a stop and shoved the gearshift into park. She passed her cell
phone to him. “Put that in the glove box, please.”

“Are you sure you can function without
it?”

Kennedy removed her sunglasses and gave him
an indignant look. “You should do stand-up, Drake.” She tucked her
glasses into her visor and opened the car door. “You’re a real
comedian.”

Ignoring her jab, he tossed the phone and his
eyewear into the glove box. He scanned the stately two-story
Georgian style home. Like the others he’d seen, the landscaping was
well done, pleasant. All those nice, calm adjectives jumped to mind
as he surveyed the rest of the small neighborhood.

He emerged from the car, closed his door and
rounded the hood to join Kennedy on the other side. “Nice
place.”

“Thank you.” She took his arm and started
toward the front door. “Remember everything I told you. My parents
are not at all like the people you generally associate with. Please
don’t say or do anything that will ruffle their feathers. This has
to go smoothly.” She sighed wearily. “I just want this whole thing
over.”

He stopped and pulled her around to face him.
“Look, I won’t let you down. I’m damned good at fitting in with my
environment.”

She smiled and his heart thumped hard.
“Thanks, Drake. You don’t know how much this means to me.”

He blinked, then swallowed back the urge to
draw her into his arms. Buddies, he reminded himself. “Let’s get
this show on the road.”

Walking side by side, and arm in arm, Kennedy
led Drake up the steps and across the porch to the front door of
the home in which she’d grown up. As she pushed the button to ring
the bell, he told himself again that a break would do him some
good. He’d been promising himself some downtime for months now.
Life in the slow lane would be a nice change of pace. There was
something to be said for boring—he just couldn’t think what it was
at the moment. As far as her parents went, what kid hadn’t dreamed
of having a mother like June Cleaver for at least a day? And her
father couldn’t be all bad if he liked football. Kennedy had said
he like college ball.

Really, how boring could they be?

The door swung inward and Drake’s gaze
riveted to the face of the woman who greeted them, an older version
of Kennedy, but every bit as stunning.

“Kennedy!” The woman threw her arms around
her daughter and hugged her tight. When she drew back, Drake had to
take a second look to make sure he’d seen right.

A tie-dyed tank top clung to her slim body.
Faded jeans hugged her hips and flared into huge bellbottoms at her
ankles. Her hair was braided and she wore some sort of headband. A
silver peace symbol hung around her neck.

If this was June Cleaver of Friendly Corners,
maybe this trip wasn’t going to be so boring after all.

~*~

Kennedy closed her gaping mouth. She squeezed
her eyes shut, counted to three and reopened them. The stranger who
looked disconcertingly like her mother was still there.

“Mother?”

“Honey, I’m so glad you’re home.” Brenda
Malone turned to Drake, who stood mutely at Kennedy’s side. “And
this must be your guy,” she enthused.

Her guy?
Kennedy’s mouth dropped open
again.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Malone,”
Drake said politely as he extended his hand. Kennedy’s mother
ignored the outstretched hand and pulled him into a big hug.

Her mother didn’t hug strangers. What was
going on?

“Call me Bren,” she told Drake. “Everybody
does.”

Who called her Bren? Kennedy had never heard
her mother called Bren in her entire life.

“Come on in, you two.” Brenda tugged Drake
inside. Bewildered, Kennedy followed.

“Where’s Dad?” she asked cautiously. What on
earth had happened to her mother? A breakdown of some sort? A
midlife crisis? Kennedy wrinkled her nose. And what was that smell?
“What’s that smell?” she blurted, echoing the thought.

“Incense, babe,” Brenda all but moaned. She
closed her eyes and inhaled deeply. “Isn’t it groovy?”

Incense? Groovy?

“Oh, no,” Kennedy muttered. Her mother was
possessed, obsessed—or on drugs. When had this happened? How was
her father handling this? Why hadn’t he told Kennedy? She could
have come home sooner.

“I can’t believe you’re finally here.”

Brenda Malone ushered Kennedy and Drake
farther into the entry hall, then closed the door soundly behind
them. Distracted by her thoughts, Kennedy jumped when Drake’s hand
pressed against the small of her back. His long fingers moved
slightly in a comforting gesture. Playing his part already, she
decided.