nothing but a sense of satisfaction.
“You did good.”
Kennedy met his gaze fully for the first time
since entering the room. “Thank you, Drake. That means a lot coming
from you.”
For a long moment he could only stare back
into that tawny gaze. But then he had to touch her. Just as he
reached for her, Brenda Malone burst into the room.
“Chief Mason just called your father! The
bandit has struck again!”
While mother and daughter discussed the
latest episode, Drake made a decision. He had to get his act
together. He absolutely could not walk around lusting after
Kennedy. He would not allow this spin to turn into anything other
than what it was—make believe.
Chapter Six
Kennedy spent Wednesday helping Celia with
last-minute glitches in reunion activities. Cassandra was
apparently at home sulking, leaving others to organize the rest of
the week’s events. Chaos, Drake decided, was definitely Kennedy’s
true element. She could take any difficult situation and turn it
around. She was amazing to watch in action. He smiled, his pride
and respect for her taking a giant leap. And she was so beautiful.
His chest tightened with pride…or something like that.
While she wasn’t looking, he snapped a few
photos of her deep in concentration. Her blond hair was swept into
a loose bun, displaying the profile that nearly took his breath.
Her long, slender neck made him want to touch her there. He licked
his lips, then let out a long breath to slow his hurtle toward
arousal. The way her clothes clung to her body did strange things
to his ability to draw in his next breath. But Kennedy Malone
belonged to no man. Could he make her his?
The question shook Drake hard. This high
school reunion was one of her spins. On Sunday they would go back
to D.C. and everything would return to normal. Kennedy would be his
neighbor, his friend again. That thought shook him even harder. He
looked away from her. He didn’t need this frustration. Kennedy
wasn’t interested in a guy like him. They were polar opposites. She
would marry some government bureaucrat or political ham. She only
tolerated Drake.
“I’m” he gestured toward the gym door when
Kennedy glanced up from her work “going to take a walk.”
“Okay.” She smiled.
Drake’s heart lurched. He shifted his
attention to the exit sign above the gym doors and strode toward it
as swiftly as possible without breaking onto a run. He had royally
screwed up this time, probably because he’d just spent three weeks
alone, save for a couple of male, non-English speaking guides, in
the African desert. Obviously, his need for a woman’s touch was
overwhelming his good sense. Kennedy was not the ideal woman, the
keeper, his rebellious thoughts had been dwelling on of late. She
was his friend, his buddy. A powerful, career-oriented woman who
had no time for physical relationships, much less love.
Love?
Damn. There was that word again.
A strange sensation twisted through him.
Double damn. He couldn’t seem to shake himself out of this funk. He
had to—
A sound from the far end of the corridor
captured his attention. A woman turned the corner, the sound of her
high heels reaching Drake’s ears, her image not quite clear in the
semi-darkness. A door a few feet in front of her suddenly burst
open and a man dressed all in black flew out of it. It took about
two seconds for Drake’s brain to assimilate that this was the
kissing bandit. His camera came up and he began clicking off shot
after shot without conscious thought. Then the man in black was
gone and the woman screamed for all she was worth.
~*~
“After thirty years,” the mayor was saying,
“I can’t believe you actually caught the bandit on film.” He took
another sip of his beer and clunked the sweating can back down on
the table.
Drake tried to decipher the mayor’s seemingly
contradictory reactions. Martin kept saying how glad he was that
after all this time they might finally have a
“You did good.”
Kennedy met his gaze fully for the first time
since entering the room. “Thank you, Drake. That means a lot coming
from you.”
For a long moment he could only stare back
into that tawny gaze. But then he had to touch her. Just as he
reached for her, Brenda Malone burst into the room.
“Chief Mason just called your father! The
bandit has struck again!”
While mother and daughter discussed the
latest episode, Drake made a decision. He had to get his act
together. He absolutely could not walk around lusting after
Kennedy. He would not allow this spin to turn into anything other
than what it was—make believe.
Chapter Six
Kennedy spent Wednesday helping Celia with
last-minute glitches in reunion activities. Cassandra was
apparently at home sulking, leaving others to organize the rest of
the week’s events. Chaos, Drake decided, was definitely Kennedy’s
true element. She could take any difficult situation and turn it
around. She was amazing to watch in action. He smiled, his pride
and respect for her taking a giant leap. And she was so beautiful.
His chest tightened with pride…or something like that.
While she wasn’t looking, he snapped a few
photos of her deep in concentration. Her blond hair was swept into
a loose bun, displaying the profile that nearly took his breath.
Her long, slender neck made him want to touch her there. He licked
his lips, then let out a long breath to slow his hurtle toward
arousal. The way her clothes clung to her body did strange things
to his ability to draw in his next breath. But Kennedy Malone
belonged to no man. Could he make her his?
The question shook Drake hard. This high
school reunion was one of her spins. On Sunday they would go back
to D.C. and everything would return to normal. Kennedy would be his
neighbor, his friend again. That thought shook him even harder. He
looked away from her. He didn’t need this frustration. Kennedy
wasn’t interested in a guy like him. They were polar opposites. She
would marry some government bureaucrat or political ham. She only
tolerated Drake.
“I’m” he gestured toward the gym door when
Kennedy glanced up from her work “going to take a walk.”
“Okay.” She smiled.
Drake’s heart lurched. He shifted his
attention to the exit sign above the gym doors and strode toward it
as swiftly as possible without breaking onto a run. He had royally
screwed up this time, probably because he’d just spent three weeks
alone, save for a couple of male, non-English speaking guides, in
the African desert. Obviously, his need for a woman’s touch was
overwhelming his good sense. Kennedy was not the ideal woman, the
keeper, his rebellious thoughts had been dwelling on of late. She
was his friend, his buddy. A powerful, career-oriented woman who
had no time for physical relationships, much less love.
Love?
Damn. There was that word again.
A strange sensation twisted through him.
Double damn. He couldn’t seem to shake himself out of this funk. He
had to—
A sound from the far end of the corridor
captured his attention. A woman turned the corner, the sound of her
high heels reaching Drake’s ears, her image not quite clear in the
semi-darkness. A door a few feet in front of her suddenly burst
open and a man dressed all in black flew out of it. It took about
two seconds for Drake’s brain to assimilate that this was the
kissing bandit. His camera came up and he began clicking off shot
after shot without conscious thought. Then the man in black was
gone and the woman screamed for all she was worth.
~*~
“After thirty years,” the mayor was saying,
“I can’t believe you actually caught the bandit on film.” He took
another sip of his beer and clunked the sweating can back down on
the table.
Drake tried to decipher the mayor’s seemingly
contradictory reactions. Martin kept saying how glad he was that
after all this time they might finally have a
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