My Man Pendleton (19 page)

With Kit still howling and pounding on his back with both fists, Pendleton made his way to the dining room. He found McClellan, Jr. seated at the head of the big table, a delicate-looking blonde to his right. Without ceremony, he proceeded forward, dumped Kit into the chair she had occupied that ill-fated night at dinner, and turned to his host.

"McClellan," he greeted the other man with a brief nod.

His host stood, buttoned his jacket, and nodded back. "Pendleton."

"You'll forgive me if I tell you that I can't stay."

"No problem. Thanks for bringing Kit home."

"My pleasure."

"Oh, I sincerely doubt that."

Since the observation required no further comment, Pendleton turned to Kit and bowed with all the chivalry of an evil overlord. "Miss McClellan," he said. "It was a memorable occasion."

Kit had slumped into her chair, but now turned her attention to the table, obviously looking for something in particular. "What? No wine?" she finally asked her brother. "What kind of host are you, Holt? Sheesh."

"Good night, Miss McClellan," Pendleton concluded before turning his back on the lot of them.

A quick reminder spun him back around again, however, this time to focus on Kit's brother.

"McClellan," he said, "do you have any duct tape?"

The other man shrugged. "Of course."

"Mind if borrow a couple of feet?"

"Not at all."

McClellan, Jr. summoned Mrs. Mason to retrieve a roll of duct tape from the kitchen, then, when she returned, he tossed it to Pendleton. Pendleton muttered his thanks and, still ignoring Kit, began to make his exit once again.

 
"'Night, Pendleton!" she called after him cheerfully. "Thanks for saving the last dance for me!"

He stiffened at the reminder, but didn't acknowledge her farewell. This time, he remembered quite well how to leave the McClellan house. He only wished he could rid himself of the household as easily.

* * *

He dreamed that night about Kit. About riotous music, squawking birds, palm trees, oceans, and marimbas. And hurricanes. Lots and lots of hurricanes. And amid the swirling scenes of turmoil pounding at his unconscious brain, there erupted a single oasis of serenity: He dreamed about lying naked on the beach with Kit McClellan, limbs entwined, mouths joined, bodies slick with salt water.

Pendleton rolled over in bed with a groan. He was still half-asleep, and caught up in the strangeness of the dream, when something halted his progress. Something warm. Something soft. Something that, when he reached over to drape an arm around it for further investigation, murmured a quiet, satisfied sound. His eyes still closed, he moved his hand leisurely down the length of the thing, only
to have it stretch languidly and twine its bare legs with his.

Curves. That was what registered first. The revelation was quickly followed by another, however, the realization that those curves were moving closer. Slowly, it dawned on him that he wasn't alone in his bed. So he opened one eye experimentally, and, in the scarce morning light that filtered through the curtains, he saw a rather pronounced lump beneath the covers beside him. A lump with dark blond curls that peeked out from beneath the blanket. A lump that mumbled something incoherently before turning its back to him again.

Ignoring for a moment the fact that he slept in the buff, Pendleton pushed himself up on one elbow to get a closer look at his companion. Of course, he knew who it was without seeing her face, but something inside him was still clinging steadfastly enough to denial that he reached a hand out toward her. He had meant to touch the blanket, to tug it and the sheet back just enough to see if it really was Kit McClellan and not some other blond, madcap heiress who had invaded his bed. But instead of the blanket, his fingers wandered to her hair, skimming lightly over the silky tresses before winding a single dark gold ringlet around his thumb.

And that was when Kit began to stir with more purpose, rolling back to face him again. It was she, not he, who pushed the blanket down past her shoulders, and when she did, Pendleton saw that he wasn't the only one who slept in the buff.

"Miss McClellan," he said, his voice a rough whisper. "What are you doing in my bed?"

She shoved a fistful of hair out of her eyes and smiled sleepily. "Well, good morning to you, too, Pendleton. Brrr," she added with a shiver. "It's freezing in here. You need to get yourself a couple of cats. Or a woman. Whatever."

"Thank you, but I feel the need for neither. What are you doing in my bed?" he repeated. "How did you get here?"

"I drove, silly," she murmured sleepily. "Your address is in Daddy's Rolodex. I had a little trouble finding a parking place out front, though, so I had to double park. I didn't realize one of your neighbors was a
Louisville
police officer."

Pendleton sighed. "That would be my next door neighbor. Captain Nichols."

"Oooh. Do you think he'll get mad when he realizes he's boxed in by a Mercedes S-class?"

"Gee, I have no idea. Those guys that hang out across the street in
Central Park
might notice, though. The Gang o' Car Thieves, I think is what they call themselves."

Kit sighed dramatically. "My car keys are in my purse by the back door. Would you mind terribly moving it for me? There's a good boy."

He ignored her question and posed one of his own instead. "What I meant by 'How did you get here?' wasn't an inquiry into what manner of transportation brought you to my doorstep. What I want to know is how you got past that doorstep and into my house. My bed."

She yawned like a bored cat. "Oh, that. Funny thing about old houses. The locks are generally
sooooo
easy to pick."

"You broke into my house?" he asked, surprised at how calm he managed to keep his voice, not to mention himself.

She wrinkled her nose a bit. "Mmm
…
I prefer to think of it as illegal entry."

"Interesting distinction. And exactly where did you learn this particular trade?" he asked further. "
Glenview
doesn't seem the kind of environment where such skills are passed down from one generation to the next."

"You might be surprised," she murmured. She yawned again, lustily this time, and scrubbed her hands through her hair. "All right. If you must know, when I was seventeen, I dated a guy who was something of a lovable rogue. Until Holt and Mick had him arrested. He was still a lovable rogue after that," she hastened to clarify, "but his presence behind bars did put something of a damper on our relationship." She shrugged her—quite naked—shoulders philosophically. "I guess I should be grateful he was nailed for something he actually did, and not because they trumped up some charge of armed robbery against him."

Pendleton only gazed at her in silence for a moment.
"You
dated a guy who committed armed robbery?"

She made a face. "Of course not. I said that would have been the charge my brothers had trumped up against him. Actually, Turk—"

"Turk? His name was really Turk?"

"—just ran numbers. He only served six months." She shrugged again, less philosophically this time. "But he didn't want to see me anymore after he got out. Go figure. In spite of that, our short time together was one of my more productive relationships. It lasted four whole weeks."

Pendleton told himself that the only reason his righteous outrage toward her seemed to be fading some this morning was because he was half-asleep and she was totally naked. Surely once they were up and at 'em, he'd be offended to full capacity once again.

"All right," he conceded softly, "now that we have established
how
you got in here, I suppose the next item on our agenda would be
why
you got in here."

She smiled sweetly. "I thought I might move in with you for a while."

She thought she might move in with him for a while. That was a good one. Pendleton almost laughed.

She sighed with much contentment, then continued, "Cherrywood is just so
…
I don't know
…
overdone. And it's so big, you can get lost in that place. I could really use a change of scenery. And since you and I hit it off so well down in the
Caribbean
, I thought it might be fun for us to be roomies."

She thought it might be fun for them to be roomies. That was another good one. Gosh, if he wasn't careful, he was going to break a rib laughing so hard.

"Miss McClellan," he began.

"Gee, Pendleton. You might as well call me Kit. After all, we have slept together."

"We have
not—"

"Yes, we have. And Daddy's absolutely delighted about it, let me tell you."

Oh, now that brought him wide awake in no time at all. "Excuse me?"

"I said Daddy's absolutely delighted about us sleeping together. He came home last night just as I was leaving with my bags, and I told him all about us."

He chuckled anxiously. "Oh, no, no, no, no, no."

Kit giggled contentedly. "Oh, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes."

"Miss McClellan—"

"Kit."

"Miss McClellan, I don't think you realize what you're saying."

"Actually, Pendleton, it's you who doesn't realize what I'm saying. There's so much more underlying this conversation than meets the ear. You can't possibly imagine."

"Try me."

"Nah. If you knew what I was talking about, all the fun would go right out of it."

"Miss McClellan—"

"Kit," she insisted. "Come on, Pendleton. You said my name out loud once already without any trouble at all. What's the problem?"

What's the problem? he echoed to himself. The problem was that he'd said her name out loud once already without any trouble at all. But instead of explaining that to her, he replied, "There's a little something we need to address here. Immediately, in fact."

"Only one little something? That's a surprise."

"I, um," he continued, "I sleep naked."

She smiled sweetly again. Uh-oh. "I know."

"How do you know?"

"I peeked."

"When did you peek?"

"Last night, when I crawled into bed beside you."

"So, uh, so it was dark?"

"I had a flashlight."

"Ah."

"Well, I'd never been in your house before," she said, "so I had no idea where the furniture was,
and I didn't want to trip over anything. Imagine my surprise to discover that there
is
no furniture. You're going to have to ask Daddy for a raise."

"Miss McClellan—"

"Kit."

"The reason there's no furniture
isn't
because I don't have the funds to buy it, but because I haven't had the time to shop for it and…
"
He hesitated, wondering just how one went about dealing with this sort of thing. "I'm naked," he finally reiterated.

"So? I'm naked, too."

That was a fact of which he really wished she hadn't reminded him. "Which is something else we need to talk about," he said.

"Okay," she agreed, way too easily. "Let's talk about it. In fact, let's go ahead and talk about
all
the things we need to talk about." She extracted her hands from beneath the covers and ticked off the facts on her fingers as she enumerated them. "Let's see now…
You're naked—that's one thing. I'm naked—that's two things. We're in bed together, we've slept together, and I can't wait to see what happens when Daddy tells the boys all about it—that's three more things. Oh, wait, another thing—you're going to make my family so happy, Pendleton. And you can't possibly know how important that is to me. I don't know how I'm ever going to be able to properly thank you."

Thinking he should probably just roll belly-up and surrender, he continued heedlessly, "You could start by getting out of my bed."

"Okay." She gripped the covers again, clearly ready to throw them back and reveal herself in all her naked glory.

"Wait!" he cried, squeezing his eyes shut. "Not yet."

"Hey, Pendleton, no time like the present."

"Stop," he commanded her. "Just
…
stop."

He opened one eye experimentally and was delighted to see that she had done as he'd requested for a change. She was still in his bed, and still covered up. But she was also still naked. As was he. Wasn't this just a wonderful way to wake up in the morning.

"What time do you have to be at work?" she asked.

"Not until eight. What time is it?"

Kit reached over to the nightstand on her side of the bed and retrieved her watch, then squinted at it in the dimly lit room. "It's
…
seven forty-five
."

It took a moment for that to register.
"What?"

She tossed her watch back onto the nightstand and reached her arms high above her head with a contented groan. As she relaxed the stretch, she told him, "I guess
I
forgot to tell you that
I
turned off your alarm when I came to bed last night. Frankly, those things annoy the heck out of me. I like to wake up gradually, by my own internal alarm clock. And it never goes off until after ten. Not unless some guy running his fingers through my hair wakes me up first."