New and…Improved? & Andrew in Excess (3 page)

T
HERE WERE A DOZEN THINGS
Kent should have been doing, but instead, long after everyone had gone home for the day, he stood in his office, staring blindly out the window.

Normally he could stand right in this spot, with his picture-perfect view of Lake Tahoe, dotted with sailboats and whitecaps, and be so satisfied with his life he couldn't stand it.

He loved this place, it was his heart and soul. It was also a symbol of all he'd accomplished in his life, of how far he'd come from the young, homeless street rat he'd once been. It had taken every ounce of courage and grit he'd had to manage college, then to procure an internship. Even more to start up his own company, but he'd done it.

Though he was no longer a nobody, some of the stigma had stuck to him, and it wasn't often he let people inside. For so much of his childhood and young adulthood he'd had no control over his life,
and now as a direct result, he valued his independence above all else.

Even his friendships were treated with kid gloves and some distance.

Until Becca.

There was just something about that woman. That he couldn't put his finger on exactly what it was was more than a little disturbing. It wasn't attraction, he assured himself. Not sexual attraction, anyway.

Yeah, right.

But sleeping with her would be a very bad idea. Sex, great as it would be, would ruin everything because afterward he'd be looking for a way to escape and she'd be planning their two-point-five kids and a white picket fence.

Today, though, when she'd been talking about making a change, talking about adventure and strip clubs, he couldn't help but take notice. She was running hot and itchy, and she intended to get that itch scratched.

Something akin to panic filled him at that thought.
Platonic
panic, he assured himself, but panic nonetheless. After all, anyone could see she was a baby when it came to affairs of the heart.

And she was going out looking for action.

It was simple really. He had to do something. She'd made it clear that tonight was the night.

Like a caged lion he paced his office, knowing what kind of man she'd attract at a strip club. A bad one. An unkind one. One who would take advantage of her.

Dammit!

Someone was going to have to look after her, help her, protect her.

Someone was going to have to find out what the hell she thought she was doing, and he hoped it would be someone who cared about her. Someone who understood she just wanted an adventure. Someone who wouldn't hurt her.

Someone like him. God.
Him.

He swore again and grabbed his keys, hoping he wasn't too late. Luckily the town was small, there were only a limited number of places she could have gone.

If she even stayed in town that is. She could have gone to South Shore, where there were any number of places she could go find her trouble.

Summer. She'd know what Becca was up to.

He hoped.

 

B
ECCA DID GO FIRST
. Not by choice, but when she and Summer walked up to the man in charge of
the parasailing, he took one look at Becca and said, “You first.”

“Me?” she squeaked in tune to Summer's nervous giggle. “Why me?”

“Because, and no offense here, lady, you look as if you might back out after your friend here goes.”

“She's my sister.”

“Ah,” he said, nodding. “All the more reason for you to go first.”

Well it had been her idea, she told herself as she was strapped into a complicated—and hopefully very safe—contraption. Only fair that she go first.

Right?

Sounded good in theory. But she screamed when the first rush of wind lifted her from the launch pad, and she gripped the strap in front of her so tightly her fingers promptly went numb.

She screamed when Summer waved to her from the shore. Summer, who was one little tiny dot on the sand.
Oh my God,
Becca thought, slamming her eyes closed, screaming again.

Adventure,
a very teeny voice reminded her.

So she opened her eyes. And continued to scream when she looked down from her height of
over one hundred and fifty feet and could see the entire Tahoe Basin spread out beneath her.

Oh my God!

When they started to lower her, and her stomach switched places with her now scrambled brain, and she kept on screaming. The rush was amazing, huge, and worth every penny of the exorbitant fee she'd paid to be scared witless.

At fifty feet she started breathing again. At twenty-five feet she waved triumphantly down to Summer, who was standing next to a tall, dark, handsome looking man… Twenty feet…

Kent.

He was standing there next to Summer, head tipped back as he studied her descent with an inscrutable look on his face.

Still okay,
Becca told herself at fifteen feet.
You're okay.
Exhilaration raced through her, both because she'd had her first and second adventures already, and now Kent was looking at her in a way that made her think her third adventure might be far more interesting than she could have imagined.

Their gazes met, his dark and strangely fierce. A tingle started in her stomach, which was now thankfully back in it's rightful place behind her belly button.

Ten feet.

And she remembered, she was looking pretty hot. Her hair, her makeup…had he noticed?

Oh yeah, she could tell by the way he was staring at her that he most certainly had noticed.

Yep, everything was going pretty darn good, and it remained that way…right up until the time she missed the launch pad on her descent and hit the icy, cold water of Lake Tahoe.

 

S
HE DREAMED ABOUT IT
, the mascara running down her face in oh-so-attractive rivulets, her clothing plastered to her body like a second skin as they'd hauled her out of the water, dripping like the catch of the day.

And was rudely awakened by the alarm.

Groaning, Becca buried her head because it wasn't just a dream—it had really happened.

She wasn't sorry she'd tried parasailing, she wasn't even sorry she'd hit the water. That Kent had witnessed the whole thing was the sorry part. It was one thing to willingly make a fool of herself, but it was quite another to have an audience while doing it.

He hadn't laughed when they'd unceremoniously dumped her back on the launch pad at Summer's feet, he hadn't dared, but she thought maybe he'd wanted to.

And what had he been doing there anyway?

After making sure she was okay and as warm as possible behind the heater in her car, Kent had vanished as quickly as he'd arrived.

Had Becca only imagined that flash between them? The sun had been setting, she remembered as she picked out one of her new outfits. It could have easily been a trick of light, that look in his eyes. Yeah, that was it.

A few minutes later she stepped into her new panties. The red lace thong immediately gave her a wedgy, but Summer had insisted she try them.

Doubtfully, she pulled on one of her new dresses and wondered if she would be able to go all day without yanking at her underwear.

She also wondered what Kent would say to her today. Would he mention the new look?

Probably not.

She supposed her next adventure would have to be something other than jumping her hard-to-read boss. But what?

Well it would have to come to her. Thoughtful, she drove to work and walked in the front door of Sierra Scientific Laboratory.

Cookie, the receptionist, was on the phone, her feet up on her desk as she simultaneously chomped
on a piece of gum, polished her nails metallic green and took a message.

Becca shut the door behind herself.

Automatically straightening, Cookie set her feet down, a professional smile and a finger raised to indicate she'd be off the phone any second.

Then her jaw dropped.

Smiling weakly, a little startled by this reaction, Becca waved at the stunned woman and headed toward the back.

Then she stepped into her favorite place in the world. The lab. Her home away from home. It was here that she felt accomplished, as if she was making a difference. And she was, she reminded herself. At S.S.L. she
was
making a difference. Viruses were their specialty, and after intense study, they were coming closer to understanding them better. Her goal was to be able to treat them.

Without blowing anything up.

The lab wasn't large. There were six work stations, all of which were filled at the moment with various projects. Through the lab and down another hall were a set of offices, including Kent's.

Dennis, a junior chemist, sat at the first work station. He was superbly intelligent, funny, cocky, and a born troublemaker. He had at least one date a weekend, the details of which he enjoyed sharing
with everyone on Monday mornings. Though he joked around with Becca as much as he did everyone else, she knew he thought her sweet, kind and…well, a bit stuffy.

Wait until he heard about the parasailing incident.

At the next work station sat Jed. He was the second most reserved one in their midst, after Becca herself. In his late twenties, Jed was quiet and generous. He would give a complete stranger the shirt off his back, and had. Which maybe explained why he also had dates every weekend. He just rarely shared the details as Dennis did.

They were both wonderful, but tended to treat her as if she didn't have a female bone in her body.

She was about to test that theory.

Her new and very high heels clicked noisily on the floor. Since she'd never worn anything but tennis shoes in the lab, it sounded startlingly loud. Both Jed and Dennis glanced up.

And took a comical second take. Then a third.

“Wow,” Jed whispered.

Dennis let out a low, soft whistle. “Rebecca Anne Lewis, where have you been hiding all my life?”

She couldn't help it, she grinned at his mean
ingless but sweet flirtation. “Right in front of your nose.”

Slowly he rose from his stool, his eyes on her body as he shook his head. “Oh baby.”

It embarrassed her. She knew how she looked, hadn't she just spent every red light on the drive here staring at herself in the rearview mirror? The pastel yellow shirtdress flattered both her coloring and her body style, showing off her limbs, which were usually covered. She knew this, she'd wanted this, but it was going to take some getting used to.

Dennis couldn't get over her. “If I'd known what you've been hiding all this time, I'd—”

“Um…Dennis?”

“Hang on a sec, Jed,” he said, still smiling at Becca. “Anyway, I'd—”

“Dennis—”

Dennis shot his closest friend a disgusted look. “Man, this is why you don't get women—”

“I get plenty of women, and your slide is on fire.”

Jed and Becca both laughed as Dennis whipped back to the burner, swearing as he rescued his work.

“You look great,” Jed whispered while Dennis jumped around and swore some more.

“Thanks.” Becca headed past them, turning to
smile at them as she backed into the third station, feeling all warm and fuzzy and happy. She dropped her purse and reached behind her to steady herself as she prepared to sit on her stool. “I can't tell you how much your support—”

Not an empty seat, she thought vaguely as she sat. Beneath her thighs she felt two, hard, muscular ones. Beneath her bottom she felt the unmistakable lap that matched the male thighs.

Two strong, warm arms came up to steady her as she squealed in surprise and twisted to meet the dark, intense gaze of the man she'd convinced herself she wasn't attracted to.

“Well, if it isn't the resident parasailer,” he said. “I see you warmed up nicely.”

B
ECCA LEAPT UP
,
but not before Kent's body heat seeped into her skin, seeming to warm her from the inside out.

She stared at him, unable to think. Her mind had gone mushy, but it was okay because he stared right back at her.

“Those legs were made for dancing,” Dennis called out. “Let's try that new swing club tonight, you and me.”

Locked into Kent's gaze, she couldn't move. He didn't either.

“What do you say, Becca?” Dennis asked.

“She's busy.”

Surprised at Kent's words, Becca responded. “I didn't say that.”

“No, I believe
I
did.”

So much heat in his gaze. Heat was good, she told herself, her heart in her throat.

“Don't you like to dance?” Dennis asked her.

How to admit she'd never done it? That no one
had ever wanted to take her before? “Yes,” she said, determined. Anything to get her mind off her gorgeous, unsuitable boss.

“Another adventure?” Kent asked for her ears only. “You know you could have been hurt last night.”

Was that rough, urgent tone all for her? Couldn't be, much as she was starting to secretly wish otherwise. But she knew he wasn't a one-woman man, not to mention she wasn't his type. “But I wasn't hurt.”

His jaw tightened. “Could I see you alone in my office?”

“You're the boss,” she said flippantly while her poor, drumming, overexcited heart threatened to burst out of her chest. She passed Jed, who sent her a sympathetic smile. Dennis winked.

Kent's office door shut behind him, the sound abnormally loud in the silent room. She stood facing his window, not quite daring to look at him. He stood directly behind her, she could
feel
him. Could feel his gaze on her hair, on her body, everywhere.

She knew this because everywhere he looked, she got hot. It was unladylike, and definitely not romantic, but she was going to start to perspire if he didn't say something. “Nice view,” she said
inanely, nodding her head toward the beautiful lake.

“What's going on, Becca?”

“You tell me. Why were you at the lake last night?”

“I thought I was rescuing you from—” He shook his head. “Never mind.” A muscle in his jaw worked, and his eyes were so dark they looked black.

“You thought you were rescuing me from…” The lightbulb clicked on in her brain and she let out a disbelieving laugh. “You really thought I was going to a strip club, didn't you?”

“Well you did mention it.”

“I mentioned Italy, too.”

“I knew you weren't going to Italy on your salary.” He couldn't seem to take his eyes off her. “You had the makeover. You look…amazing.”

“Same as last night.”

“Hardly. Not when you were a hundred feet in the air, waving your feet and screaming like a banshee, and certainly not afterward when you missed your landing and came out of the drink looking like a drowned rat.”

“Oh, yeah.” Curiously deflated, she straightened. “Well…I need to get to work.”

Kent followed her, then held the door shut when
she would have opened it. “You never answered my question, Bec. What's going on here?”

She put her arms out and twirled around, modeling herself. “I was looking for a change, you know that. Is there something wrong with it?”

His quick intake of breath gave him away. “No.” Betrayed by the thickness of his voice, he cleared his throat. “That dress…”

She had turned away from him, facing the door again, but now she peeked at him over her shoulder to find him staring at her behind.

“Are you…wearing anything under that?” He sounded hoarse.

And looked so irresistible. Why couldn't they explore this attraction? What would it hurt? The need made her bold. “Thong panties,” she whispered, feeling the blush creep up her face, and deciding she very much liked the way the heat in his eyes sparked to a full flame.

“Thong—” He closed his eyes, groaned, a sound so serrated and sexy and thrillingly dangerous she shivered. “Where did
yesterday's
Becca go? The one that liked her quiet life and baggy jeans?”

“She's on vacation. Permanently.”

He lifted his confused gaze to meet hers. “I
don't think I get it. You were fine the way you were.”

“I told you,” she said gently, because clearly she had completely baffled the poor man. “Fine is no longer enough for me. Now if you'll excuse me…” Again she turned to the door, reached for it. “I have work.”

At her back, his fingers settled against her arm, and that same bolt of attraction, the one she'd felt yesterday, staggered her. “There are safer ways to flex your wings,” he said very quietly, his hard chest against her spine and shoulders.

“Just some friendly concern?”

He went absolutely still, then dropped his hand and stepped back. “I'm sorry,” he murmured. “I shouldn't have—” He shoved up his sleeves, revealing those arms she loved. They were lean, tightly muscled, allowing all sorts of wicked images to float across her mind.

When he caught her staring, he swore and backed up farther, bumping an elbow into a microscope on the credenza, which he had to be quick to catch as it went flying. With another oath, he set the expensive equipment down and crossed his arms over his chest, tucking his hands away as if he didn't trust them.

He looked edgy, dangerous. And so cute she wanted to hug him. “Kent—”

“You've got work.”

He was trying to resist her, with all his might, and it gave her a wonderful, delirious sense of feminine power that she'd never felt before. He was attracted, and for whatever reason, he didn't want to face it. But he didn't want to hurt her, either. “You're sweet, Kent.”

“Sweet?” A bark of hard laughter escaped him. “If you could read my thoughts when I look at you in that dress, you'd rethink that word.”

Smiling would definitely ruin the moment. “Would it be so bad if I knew what you were thinking?”

“Yes!”

“Why?”

“Because…dammit, just because!”

“There's a good reason.”

“This is not going to happen.”

“What isn't going to happen?” she asked innocently and he rubbed his temples and groaned.

“I mean it,” he told her. “Not happening.”

Her smile escaped then. “Okay, but—”

“No! No buts! God—” he swiped a hand over his face. “Are you going to look this way every day?

“Yep.”

He looked miserable. “This isn't real. You do not suddenly look this…hot.”

Her smile widened and he pointed. “Stop that, stop that right now.”

“I'm just looking at you.”

“Yeah, you're just looking at me. Like you want to eat me for breakfast. Now knock it off.” When she laughed, he glared at her. “I mean it. Be good.”

She shook her head and walked to him. “So what you're saying is that you don't feel anything when you look at me. Other than…friendship.”

He flattened himself to the door. “That's right. That's all I feel.”

On her tiptoes now, because he was very tall, she touched his rock hard jaw. “If you're sure,” she whispered.

He groaned again, and beneath the hand she'd rested on his chest, she felt his every muscle tense. “And friends don't…don't touch,” he grated out.

The intercom buzzed, startling them both, and Cookie's voice filled the air from the intercom. “Becca? Was that you that came through here a minute ago?”

Becca backed away from Kent and at the loss
of her incredible body heat, he drew a careful breath.

What was happening?

“It's me,” Becca said to the intercom, her eyes still on Kent's.

He meant to look away, but couldn't. He had no will left, it was busy warring between his need to grab and kiss her and run like hell.

Running seemed like a much smarter move.

“Well let me say, you look fab,” Cookie said.

“Thanks.” Becca blushed.

Kent had just enough blood left in his brain to find her embarrassment amusing. Yes, she was much more beautiful than he'd ever imagined, but that didn't mean anything because they weren't involved. Not at all. Not even one little bit. He cared for her, maybe more than he meant to, but he could control that.

No involvement with someone he cared about.
None.

But because he did care, he waited until Cookie had clicked off the intercom and said, “Okay, come clean. What's your next adventure?”

“Why?”

“I want you to be careful, that's all.”

“Careful is my middle name.”

“This isn't funny, Becca. You're not going to
a club, right? Because men are slime, trust me on this.”

“All men?”

“Most definitely all men.”

She actually looked intrigued by that but before they could discuss it, Dennis poked his head in and grinned at her. “Just wanted to tell you, I'll pick you up at eight. Wear your dancing shoes.”

Becca frowned. “Dennis—”

The door shut again, effectively cutting off whatever she'd been about to say.

Slowly, she let out her breath.

“Slime,”
Kent repeated. “Complete slime.”

 

T
HE CLUB WAS PACKED
. First of all, it was a new place, and secondly, the hors d'oeuvres were on special. There was nothing the locals enjoyed more than a good deal.

Oh, and the band was hot.

That's what the guy at the door told him. Kent reserved judgment, or attempted to as the big band sound from the forties bombarded his eardrums.

He preferred good old-fashioned rock and roll.

He had no business being here, but he'd been unable to think of anything except Becca being taken advantage of. He hoped to God she hurried up and got this adventure thing out of her system
soon, because frankly it was exhausting trying to save her.

It took him a moment to adjust to the lighting, and then he wished he hadn't. On the dance floor, in the arms of a friend he suddenly wanted to slug, was Becca. She had on one of those black, shimmery, mouth-watering, body-hugging dresses he had been drooling over just yesterday from her catalogue. Just like in the glossy pages, the spaghetti straps and scooped neck, snug body and short skirt were all systematically designed to drive a man insane with wanting.

Dennis had one hand on the small of her back, nudging her close so that there wasn't a spec of light between their two bodies. His other hand held Becca's as they gyrated to the music.

Becca's face was flushed with her smile of concentration, and she nodded at whatever little secret Dennis was whispering in her ear.

Rejecting a server's offer of a drink, Kent strode directly onto the dance floor. The music changed tempo, from lightning fast to soft and slow.
Great,
he thought with a groan. Make-out music.

Becca was a sitting duck.

Over her head, Dennis saw Kent coming, and winked.

With what Kent felt was a remarkable calm, he pushed his way between them.

“Kent!” Becca blinked at him in surprise. “Hello.”

“Move it,” Kent suggested to Dennis.

“You're cutting in?” Dennis kept his hold on Becca. “But you hate to dance.”

“I. Love. It.”

Dennis laughed and shook his head. “No, you don't. Remember last month? We took those blond twins out? Tish crushed your toe beneath her five inch heels, and you said—”

“I remember what I said,” he grated. “Now get your hands off Becca's ass and go somewhere. Preferably somewhere far away before I decide I don't want to pay you anymore.”

Dennis grinned. “You can't fire me because I'm dancing with Becca.”

“How about for sexually harassing her?”

Dennis's jaw dropped for a second, then he laughed before turning to Becca. “Are you being harassed, Becca? Sexually?”

She divided a curious glance between the two men and chewed on her full, lower lip.

A full lower lip that had on the most tasty-looking lip gloss Kent had ever seen.

“I've never been sexually harassed in my life,” Becca said quite seriously.

Dennis shot Kent a wide, guileless smile. “See? She's fine. I'm fine. Now why don't you go somewhere and be fine, too?”

Kent knew he should back off and let Becca make her own mistakes. In fact, that's what he was going to do right this minute, and he turned away but not before he saw the flash of uncertainty on Becca's face. Sighing, because he couldn't very well leave now could he, and he held out a hand to her. “Do you
want
to dance with me?”

In a move that was both touching and terrifying, she gave him her hand in return. “Yes,” she said without hesitation, then blinked, horrified, as she turned to Dennis. “I— Oh, Dennis, I—”

With typical nonchalance, Dennis smiled and shrugged it off. “Go ahead. Dance with him. But watch out for your pretty toes, he's got two left feet.”

“I'm sorry,” Becca whispered.

Dennis shook his head. “Don't be, it's just one dance.” He looked at Kent and leaned close enough so that with all the music and other conversations going on, Becca couldn't hear him. “You've got it bad.”

“You don't know what you're talking about,” Kent said.

“Don't I?”

Kent grabbed Becca's hand, moving her farther in on the dance floor. The music had changed again, and the tempo raced as fast as his thoughts.

Over the loud, drumming beat Becca asked, “What was that about?”

It was about rescuing you, dammit.
“You looked like maybe you needed a break.”

Her eyes, the ones that had lit up at the sight of him only a few moments before, suddenly cooled ten degrees. “I look tired to you?”