Keeping Kennedy (5 page)

What if she couldn’t pull this off?

Kennedy slowed. For three years she had been
Sid’s damage control expert. Otherwise known as a spin doctor—she
cringed at the title. Kennedy Malone never failed on an assignment.
She worked nearly twenty-four hours a day until the job was done.
She scarcely slept or ate until she’d accomplished her goal.
Graduating summa cum laude a full year ahead of her peers, with a
B.A. in political science and a degree from one of the nation’s top
law school, had gotten her a job at the prestigious Booker Firm.
Hard work and a vivid imagination had facilitated her climb to the
top.

But this was her life, not some stranger’s.
Kennedy knew all the players—had a shared past with them. Total
objectivity was out of the question.

“Are we going in or what?”

Drake’s voice dragged Kennedy from her
disturbing reflection.

Why did he have to look at her that way? As
if her were worried about her. Or that he cared how this would all
turn out when the week was out. “What?”

“Awaiting further instructions, ma’am,” he
said in a mock military tone, annihilating any possibility that he
really cared.

She must have been out of her mind to do
this. But it was too late to change her strategy now. The spin was
already in motion. Kennedy moistened her lips. “There is one more
thing.”

Drake looked heavenward. “Big surprise.”

“There’s this one man in particular—”

“I knew it,” he cut in, a wide grin spreading
across his tanned face. “I knew there had to be a lost love
somewhere in your past.”

Kennedy folded her arms over her chest and
glared at him. “Button it and listen, Drake.”

He matched her stance and adopted an offended
expression. “You didn’t tell me I had to take all this abuse.”

“His name is Larry.” She swallowed. “Larry
Hawthorne. He was the captain of the football team and—”

“You two were an item,” Drake concluded.

Kennedy blinked. “Right.” She blocked the
painful memories. “Until the head cheerleader set her sights on
him.”

“And that would be dear old Cassandra,” he
suggested astutely.

Kennedy nodded, then summoned up her hardened
indifference. “That was a long time ago.”

“But it still hurts.”

“Not anymore,” she denied quickly. Not
anymore, she repeated to that little voice deep inside that wanted
to refute her denial.

“Revenge, then,” he offered. “Maybe you’d
like to deliver a little retribution while you’re here. Even the
score, so to speak.”

She shook her head, then shrugged. “I don’t
know…maybe. I haven’t planned that far in advance.”

Drake smiled then, a little crookedly, which
only made his mouth look that much more sensual. “Just point him
out to me when we get inside.” He offered his arm. “Shall we?”

Curling her arm around his, Kennedy managed a
smile. She could do this. She could count on Drake. He was a good
friend.

They followed the signs to the main ballroom
where Veronica, the daughter of the local hardware store owner,
worked the sign-in table.

“Kennedy!” The buxom redhead skirted the
table and gave her a quick cheek-to-cheek embrace. “Girl, I was
hoping you would make it!”

“I wouldn’t have missed it,” Kennedy said
smoothly. “Veronica, this is Douglas Drake.”

“Your fiancé!” She gave Drake an admiring
once-over. “I’ve heard all about you, Douglas.” Veronica clutched
his hand and gave it a good shake.

“All good, I hope,” he said in his most
charming tone.

“You got it.” Veronica grabbed her stack of
stick-on labels and a Sharpie. “Jeez, Kennedy, you don’t even need
a name tag. You haven’t changed a bit, girl.” She quickly scribed
their names on labels and handed one to each of them.

“Thank you,” Kennedy replied, hoping the
remark was intended as a compliment. Knowing Veronica, it probably
was.

Name tags in place, Kennedy took a deep,
fortifying breath and led the way into the vibrantly decorated
ballroom. Banners, streamers, and balloons all in the Friendly
Corners high school colors and honoring her graduating class were
everywhere. A cash bar was located on the far side of the room. A
small stage, also colorfully decorated, held the center spot at the
rear. What Kennedy immediately recognized as late nineties music
wafted through the air, a backdrop to the hum of conversations, the
clink of glasses, and the ripples of laughter. With only
fifty-seven in the graduating class, it looked to Kennedy as if
most of were already here, accompanied by their spouses or dates
for the evening.

Everyone appeared to be decked out in
fashionable garb—MTV fashions to the hilt. Even some of the punkish
hairstyles were retro. Before Kennedy could suck in another breath
of courage, the games began. She and Drake were swept into a tide
of hugs, handshakes, and introductions. Kennedy didn’t remember her
classmates as being so demonstrative or friendly.

Like any good strategist, she analyzed and
categorized everyone she met. Surprisingly, not much had changed.
Some had gained a little weight, others had lost a good deal of
their hair, a few looked pretty much the same. But in all of them,
Kennedy could still see the glimmer of the kids they used to
be.

She wondered if they could still see the shy
little girl in her.

Kennedy hoped not.

She wasn’t anything like that anymore. She
was a confident, take-charge type now. No more holding back for
Kennedy Malone.

“Would you like to drink, Kennedy?” Smiling
affectionately at her, Drake slid his thumb softy over her
cheek.

Despite the knowledge that his every look,
every touch was merely a ruse, she trembled in response. She
frowned at the reaction and the offer. “I’m not sure that’s a good
idea.”

“Give me a break,” he muttered close to her
ear. “We’ll look pretty nerdy standing around here all night
without a drink.”

“All right,” Kennedy relented. “I’ll take
white wine. But only one.”

She watched Drake cut through the crowd.
Taller than most of the men, with that raven black hair, he was
easy to follow. Worry nagged at her again. Maybe she should have
gone with him. What if someone approached him at the bar? She
chewed her lower lip, watching every move as he ordered their
drinks.

“Afraid someone will steal him?”

Kennedy looked up into the evil green eyes of
Cassandra Hawthorne. She groaned inwardly. Cassandra hadn’t changed
at all. Still tall, thin, brunette and gorgeous. And without a name
tag, Kennedy noted. As class president, the woman obviously thought
herself above such trivialities. Or maybe it was that Material Girl
look she didn’t want to detract from.

“Hello, Cassandra.” Kennedy’s teeth
immediately set on edge.

“Hey, that’s a yummy fiancé you’ve got
there,” Cassandra said with wicked glee as she continued to observe
Drake’s trek in their direction.

Kennedy followed Cassandra’s gaze and did a
double take. Why hadn’t she ever noticed the way Drake moved? Slow,
sleek and deliberate. The man had a walk designed to make the
ladies sit up and take notice and they definitely did. Every female
in the place took a long look at Drake as he moved across the
room.

He paused at her side, handed Kennedy the
stemmed glass of white wine, then gave Cassandra a cool once-over.
The woman went into immediate meltdown beneath the man’s brief, but
thorough appraisal. Kennedy seethed in silence. He’d damn well
better be looking for a name tag or he would regret that particular
move.

“Cassandra, I presume?” he finally said.

Cassandra extended her red-nailed hand, which
Drake promptly brushed with his lips, eliciting a gasp from its
owner. “And you must be Douglas Drake,” she crooned, her scarlet
lips curving into what she obviously considered to be a come-hither
smile.

“At your service,” he said with a nod. “I
would’ve known you from anywhere from Kennedy’s description,” he
added with silky charm.

Puzzled, Kennedy stared at him. She hadn’t
given Drake a description of the woman. In fact, they hadn’t
discussed the wicked witch at all.

Cassandra fluttered her too-long lashes.
“Well, I’ll make it a point to see you later,” she said
cryptically, glancing from Drake to Kennedy—as if Kennedy were
included in that remark.

“I didn’t tell you the first thing about that
woman,” Kennedy snapped when Cassandra had moved out to ruin
someone else’s evening.

Drake smirked, then took a sip of his drink.
He leaned close and whispered in Kennedy’s ear, “I know a she-devil
when I see one.”

Kennedy smiled then. Maybe this was going to
work after all.

For the next two hours she relived dozens of
retold memories and reacquainted herself with her former
classmates. She met spouses, significant others, and saw hundreds
of pics of offspring. And she basically had a pretty good time.
Most had turned out as she had expected. Penny was a schoolteacher;
Joe, a mechanic like his father; Carl, a baker in the family store.
But the one person she’d most wanted to see hadn’t shown.

Larry.

The jerk that had broken her young heart and
turned her off love. She supposed that
want
wasn’t the right
word; Kennedy
needed
to see him. To show him that her life
had turned out better without him.

That was all.

She harbored no romantic notions about
him.

Ten years was a long time. She’d forgotten
him ages ago.

Suddenly he was there. Larry entered the
ballroom and paused to survey the crowd. He was still every bit as
good-looking as he had been back in high school—better even.
Nearing thirty now, Larry had filled out especially well. Kennedy’s
heart pounded. Her throat constricted. In about five seconds he
would locate her in the throng, just as he’d always done when they
had dated. That instinctive connection would kick in and—

“Kiss me, Drake,” Kennedy demanded in a stage
whisper.

He looked at her as if she had sprouted a
second head. “What?”

“Kiss me,” she repeated through clenched
teeth.

A sexy twinkle lit his gray eyes, and he slid
his arm around Kennedy’s waist and pulled her firmly against his
strong body. “Do you want me to keep it simple or do you want an
Academy Award winning performance?” he teased, his lips so close to
hers that she could feel the electricity arcing between them.

“I want the Oscar,” she murmured quickly
without considering the ramifications of her request.

His right hand glided slowly up her back,
then tangled in the hair at her nape. “The Oscar it is then,” he
whispered as he took her mouth with his own.

Dark, mysterious, wild, exotic…that’s how
Drake tasted. His lips felt firm and hot against hers. His body was
strong, sure, demanding…commanding hers to react. Fire swept
through her, kindling low, then bursting in every direction with
hot, licking flames of carnal desire. Somehow her arms wound around
his neck and pulled him closer, instinctively urging him to deepen
the already fantastic kiss. His tongue traced her lips and
Kennedy’s knees almost buckled beneath her. He nibbled, then
suckled her bottom lip, making her pulse hammer. Unable to stop
herself, her lips parted and his tongue swept inside. Heat and the
lingering taste of bourbon exploded inside her mouth as his tongue
stroked hers and then did an electrifying little glide over the
roof of her mouth. A jolt shot straight to her core, hot,
stinging.

Startled, Kennedy pulled back.

“Had enough?” he murmured thickly, his warm,
sweet breath fanning the flames burning out of control inside
her.

She blinked and tried to find her voice.
“Yes,” she said hoarsely.

His eyes never leaving hers, he slowly
released her. “You look good just kissed, Kennedy Malone.” He
smiled that crooked half smile she’d seen a thousand times and it
suddenly did strange things to her insides.

Her fingers drifted up to her still sizzling
lips. What had just happened here? “I’ll…I’ll be right back,” she
sputtered. She spun around and all but ran to the ladies’ room.

Once inside, she leaned against the closed
door and squeezed her eyes shut. Mercy, had she ever been kissed
like that before?

No.

Never.

She wiggled her toes to uncurl them. How
could a mere man generate that much energy? She trembled at the
memory of how his arms had felt around her, how his lips had felt
against hers. Kennedy straightened and shook herself. Although she
didn’t have a vast amount of experience on which to base her
conclusion, she felt Drake was a world-class kisser.

Make-believe, she reminded herself. Just part
of his own spin on the situation. He probably didn’t even enjoy it.
She wasn’t even sure she had.

Yeah, right.

God, she was screwed up.

Kennedy trudged over to the row of sinks and
mirrors. She stared at her reflection. Why did other people’s
opinions of her matter so much? Why hadn’t she outgrown the
childish need for approval?

“Because you’re hopeless, Kennedy,” she
muttered to her reflection. Her lips were still swollen from his
kiss. She swallowed. “Just for show,” she reminded, ruefully noting
the glow in her eyes.

“Whew!” a feminine voice trilled.

Kennedy turned to find Wanda Wallingsford
sashaying through the door. Loud, obnoxious, party-hearty Wanda.
The girl most likely to screen centerfold candidates for
Playgirl.
Wanda smoothed her black leather miniskirt, then
flipped her long bleached blond tresses over her shoulders.

“Hey, Kennedy.” She waggled her eyebrows.
“That’s a helluva beefcake you found yourself.”

Kennedy manufactured a smile. “Thanks.” She
supposed that was the appropriate reply. What did one say when
another woman ogled one’s supposed fiancé?