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“What are you doing?” she asked, standing still and just letting it happen, whatever it was. Fighting would do no good.
“Making you somewhat presentable. You should have let me buy you a dress.”
Roanne had been living off Henry Starr’s insurance money for about two years. He’d died of cancer after an eight-month battle; actually, he’d died of a broken heart long before that, hating Roanne for her betrayal, but never leaving her. Why he’d stuck around, Kenna had never known. It certainly hadn’t been for her. He’d actually disowned her right before her seventeenth birthday, and he’d made it clear his money wasn’t to be spent on her, so despite her mom’s seemingly kind offer—always comes with strings—Kenna would never take a dime.
“You know Daddy would have rather I wore last season’s garbage bag,” she said.
“He’s dead. What he wants doesn’t matter anymore.”
“That’s so cold.”
“It’s also true.”
Maybe, but all Kenna had ever wanted was to make her father proud and happy.
And I failed in every way.
Motions clipped, Roanne threaded the scarf between Kenna’s breasts, draped the material along her middle, then wrapped the ends around her waist. To make sure everything stayed in place, she then used a diamond-crusted broach to pin those ends at Kenna’s lower back. The final result was shockingly effective, making the dress appear almost Grecian.
Roanne looked her over, nodded. “That’ll have to do. Now, don’t be a wallflower,” she said, patting Kenna’s cheek. “Get out there and have a good time. Or not. Probably not. We don’t want a repeat of...you know.” Her mother flittered off, calling, “Hannah! Darling, you are utterly radiant! I’m so glad you could join us.”
Deep breath in...out...
Kenna concentrated on the beauty of her surroundings, wondering where to go next. The room was decked out with an incredible assortment of hand-carved stones, exotic woods and colorful marbles. Every piece of furniture provided a perfect complement, seemingly plucked straight from some Victorian palace. But her favorites? The intricate mosaics and the magnificent frieze ceiling.
“Champagne?” Brook Lynn approached her, holding out her tray.
Kenna gazed longingly at the offering, but shook her head. “I wish. It would certainly make the time tick by faster.” She made sure to enunciate each of her words, so that Brook Lynn would have an easier time reading her lips. Her friend had a rare inner ear disorder that made her hear everyday sounds at an unbearable volume. Even something as simple as a cat’s meow used to send her into screaming fits of pain. The implants in both of her ears were supposed to regulate volume somewhat, or, when even that proved to be too much—as it always did at big social gatherings—render her temporarily deaf.
“It would also energize this dud fest,” Brook Lynn said.
“True, but I can’t risk it.” Even a few sips of alcohol turned Mild Kenna into Wild Kenna. She danced on tables, sang too loudly, even performed strip teases. Once, she’d slept with a boy she hadn’t known—which was exactly how she’d ended up with the horrible reputation she’d never been able to shake.
“Oh, all right,” Brook Lynn said. “But if one more drunken old fart grabs my bee-hind, I’m going to do what Rick did to that biker and rip out his throat—with my teeth.”
Rick from The Walking Dead. Kenna and Brook Lynn always watched the show together, and then discussed their survival plans for a zombie apocalypse afterward. An apocalypse guaranteed to happen. It was just a matter of time.
“No throat ripping today.” Kenna lifted the hem of her dress, revealing the small weapon strapped to her inner thigh. She rarely left home without some sort of protection. “I brought a mini-ax. I’ll defend your honor.”
“Hey! That ax is supposed to be reserved for zombie kills.”
“Um, I’d say these people are close enough. Wouldn’t you?”
Brook Lynn chuckled, and as always, drew the attention of every man nearby. Unfortunately, “every” included their boss, Mr. Calbert, who stood in a far corner watching his employees, making sure everyone did what they were supposed to do. He scowled at Brook Lynn and made a shooing motion with his hands. Grumpy businessman speak for go back to work or you’re fired.
“I’ll stay till the bitter end and help clean up,” Kenna said. “That should pacify him for this little noninfraction infraction.”
“No way. You won’t be paid for it. And you need to get home to Norrie.”
Norrie. Kenna’s daughter, and the light of her life. The reason she pushed herself as hard as she did, working full-time and going to school part-time, with the dream of becoming a teacher. “She’s staying the night with a friend, so no more protests. I’m helping and that’s that.”
“Okay. I accept and you’re a doll.” Brook Lynn kissed her cheek before sailing off.
Kenna meandered through the crowd. A few feet away, a guy held out his empty glass without looking away from the man he was conversing with, expecting the wait staff to see and take it. Afraid he would drop it and cause a scene, garnering Mr. Calbert’s displeasure with his employees, she bounded forward and claimed the glass. Then the man beside him handed over the glass he’d just drained.
After she placed the empties on a passing tray, she circled the room, pretending to be a happy guest. The richest of women from Strawberry Valley were decidedly chilly with her, but then, that was nothing new. Some even drew their men away from her to stop any kind of interaction.
Chin up. Shoulders back. Smile. They’d never know how deeply their treatment wounded her.
She’d done penitence for her sins for seven years. She’d done penitence for her mother’s sins for far longer. No one had wanted to cast blame on Thomas Michaelson—or anger him by turning on his lover. But they’d needed a target. And there I was, painting one on my chest.
The city folk were more than happy to chat with her, but they yammered on about things she didn’t understand or even care to know. NYMEX. U.S. Energy Information Administration. Untapped oil and natural gas fields in Alaska and the continental United States. Finally she planted herself in a corner for a brief respite...and like a creeper, watched Dane.
The blond bombshell stayed at his side ninety-five percent of the time, clinging to his arm. No matter whom he spoke with, male or female, he received constant, eager nods, as if every word that came out of his mouth was the long-awaited answer to world peace.
He was polite to everyone, including the serving staff—which surprised her, because it was such a rare thing among the elite—though she noticed he avoided any interactions with his father and her mother, going so far as to steer his date in the opposite direction.
Jessica Kay Dillon, Brook Lynn’s older sister and Kenna’s other roommate, as well as a former Miss Strawberry Valley beauty queen, stepped in front of Kenna and offered her a stuffed mushroom from the tray she was circulating.
“Have you seen Dane Michaelson?” the girl whispered. “I really hope he’s into orgasm donation. I would do him so hard he wouldn’t walk right for a week.”
Of course, that was when Dane deigned to look at her again. While she was blushing from Jessie Kay’s words, reeling, imagining all the ways he was probably adept at giving those orgasms. Can’t think of him that way. Ever. Because...
Say it. Make peace with it.
Unable to turn away from him, she whispered, “He’s going to be my stepbrother.”
After all these years, Mr. Michaelson had finally divorced Dane’s mother to marry Roanne, and the two were throwing this fabulous engagement party to celebrate. Everyone seemed overjoyed to be a part of their happiness. Everyone except Dane and Kenna.
“What does that matter?” Jessie Kay asked. “He’s not your real brother.”
“He’s still off-limits.”
A gorgeous guy claimed Dane’s attention, and finally he broke eye contact with Kenna. She released the breath she hadn’t known she’d been holding. Considering the way she reacted to him, it would be in her best interest to stay far, far away from him.
CHAPTER TWO (#ulink_a6cbcc24-cb4d-54aa-a37b-130728d63af9)
“THE REDHEAD IS...WOW.”
Dane followed his friend’s gaze, knowing whom he’d find at the end of the line. Kenna Starr. “She is,” he admitted.
But she was also a complication.
He hadn’t been prepared for the effect she would have on him. Seeing her for the first time after so many years away had been like falling into an oven after being trapped in a deep freeze. He didn’t know whether to bask in the heat, curse or crawl out and toss in a bomb.
Lincoln West rubbed two fingers over his stubble-dusted jaw, saying, “The women here don’t seem to like her much.”
“There are rumors suggesting she’s a man-eater,” Dane said. “It’s even been debated whether or not she consumes her prey whole or spits out his bones.” He’d also heard she only ever slept with married men, and dumped the poor saps as soon as they were ready to divorce their wives.
What’s more, she supposedly had a daughter, though no one even knew the father’s name.
Dane would never admit this aloud, but he’d made a point to talk with every party attendee currently living in Strawberry Valley. After a while, he’d stopped trying to be stealthy with his questions, and just flat out demanded answers. Everyone had been more than happy to tell him everything they knew about her...only to pepper every bit of information with all the reasons he should leave Oklahoma City, where’d he’d spent the past sixteen years, and return “home.”
He’d return for good in...never.
“That sweet little morsel a man-eater?” West gave him a light tap on the arm. “I’m not buying it. You’ve seen her busing drinks to help the staff same as I have.”
Dane didn’t want to believe the gossip, either. To say he was disappointed by what he’d heard was the equivalent of calling an ocean a puddle. But...if she was anything like her mother...
Yeah. It all came back to that. Even though he knew better than most that a kid shouldn’t be blamed for the mistakes of the parents. Which was actually why he was here. Not to support his dad’s idiotic decision to marry the woman who had helped destroy their family, but to apologize to the little redheaded girl he’d hurt all those years ago.
He’d never forgotten the way her freckled face had washed with pain and fear as his mother had screamed at Roanne the day she’d discovered the affair. Or how Kenna’s little body had trembled. Or how, despite all that, she’d tried to comfort him, even though he’d called her all kinds of nasty names.
It’ll be okay. You’ll see. Everything will be okay.
He had expected her to grow into a pretty woman. After all, it was her mom’s pretty face that ensnared and obsessed his dad. But Dane had not expected this. A beauty more delicate than a fairy-tale princess, with the body of a porn star. Not stick-skinny as society worshipped, but lush and round and soft. A woman’s body.
From the moment she’d stepped into the sitting room, he had been unable to tear his attention away from her. She had a cascade of stunning red hair that possessed the barest hint of a wave. Large eyes shaded with different colors of green were fringed by spiky lashes of jet-black. Plump pink lips formed a heart in the center, surely the epitome of sin. And her skin...damn. A mix of porcelain and silk with the most adorable freckles scattered throughout.
He’d never been a freckle man, but she’d already converted him. He was pretty sure his inner frat boy would have traded his right nut for a chance to trace a path from one of her freckles to the other—with his tongue.
His hands balled into fists. Desire a Starr woman like his father? No. Humiliate his mother further? No, again.
But whatever Kenna’s past—or present—she still deserved that apology.
“I think I should get to know her better,” West said, and Dane’s fists automatically tightened. He wasn’t sure why. “I could use a friend when I move to Strawberry Valley.”
The guy had been looking for a remote place to settle down. He’d never voiced his reasons, but Dane had his suspicions.
West had had a rough upbringing, bouncing to a new foster home every six months or so. Then he’d gotten into some trouble with drugs and pissed away a full ride to MIT. A cautionary tale, yes, but one with a happy ending. The guy had gotten clean a few years ago and gone on to create a programming system Dane had purchased for eight figures.
Having never had a permanent home, West had to be looking for someplace to put down roots. He probably thought a small town where everyone knew your name—and your business—was a little slice of heaven.
He’d soon learn better.
But he wouldn’t be learning with Kenna. Because she’s soon to be my sister. No other reason—truly. “I’m your friend.”
“You aren’t moving back here. She can show me around.”
“I’ll show you around when I visit.”
“But you won’t get naked with me.”
His eyes narrowed as he said, “I will if you insist, but she’s off limits. She has a kid.” Maybe. Probably.
“So?”
“So, you don’t do mothers.”
“Always a first time for everything.”
Irritation nearly choked him. “You’ll have to pick someone else.”
West arched a brow at him. “You staking a claim?”
“No.” He didn’t do mothers, either. Hell, he didn’t even do commitment. With so many options on the buffet, there was no reason to settle for a single entrée. He would never be like his father, making promises to one woman while lusting after another.
Always better to keep his options open.
“I just don’t want her getting hurt,” he said. “Consider me on big-brother duty and drop it.”
A bark of laughter sounded. “You? Looking out for a woman’s feelings?”
“It’s not that hard to believe.”
“You forget how long I’ve known you. I’ve witnessed the pulverization of your business rivals. I’ve watched you send your assistants into hysterics with a single look, and your dates into bouts of tears with a single word. You, my friend, are what’s called an asshat.”
“And you seriously suck.”
Jada, Dane’s companion for the evening, returned from the bathroom. “You ready to go, baby?” She scraped her nails down the center of his tie, a promise of things to come.
Go? His gaze snagged on Kenna—again. She was dressed like the servers, only the outfit was particularly indecent on her, her every dramatic curve on display. Curves that her scarf couldn’t hide. But despite the boldness of her dress choice, she appeared almost...shy as she conversed with those around her. Definitely awkward.
When she thought no one was looking, she would bend down and rub her feet. Blisters? When she walked the room after standing for a bit, she would teeter on her high heels. And her smile was clearly fake, practiced rather than natural. A few times, she’d hidden behind potted plants. And yet, when single men leered at her and presented her with a phone number on a napkin, she displayed no surprise or feminine affront, just accepted the “gift” and said something to make the male laugh—before discreetly disposing of the napkin later on.
The contrasts of her intrigued him.
West was right. She couldn’t be a man-eater.
“Dane.” Jada stepped in front of him. “Are you listening to me? I asked if you were ready to go.”
“Not yet.”
She stood on her tiptoes and whispered, “Even though I’m so hot for you my panties are melting?”
He patted her hand, tried for a charming tone. “Even though.”
“Dane,” she said, stiffening. “You’ve barely even looked in my direction this whole night.”
“I’m just certain that’s not true,” he replied—his gaze still fixed on Kenna.
Jada reached up to touch his face, but he jerked away before contact. Scowling at her, he said, “You know better.”
Paling, she dropped her arm to her side.
West patted him on the shoulder. “I’ll leave you two to your...yeah.” Off he went—directly to Kenna. The two chatted easily for a bit, and with a quick, unrepentant smile thrown in Dane’s direction, West wrote something on a napkin and handed it to her. His number, no doubt about it.
Bastard.
