Natural Blond Instincts (6 page)

W
ES BRIEFED
her on the way to the union meeting in short, concise sentences that were actually quite helpful. Not once was his tone condescending or critical, though she imagined behind his glasses simmered resentment at having to help her out in the first place.

The man was clearly conflicted on this sharing-the-job thing.

That made two of them.

The actual meeting went well, until she realized she sided with the union and not the hotel. At one point, she turned to Wes to help explain what it was the union wanted and why it was such a good thing, but the look on his face stopped her cold.

Oops. Wrong side.

Afterward, she avoided Wes and the fallout that was coming, instead making her way through the hotel and stepping outside for some fresh air. She sat on a marble bench in a fabulously lush garden
overlooking the ocean and wished she could take a nap on the beach.

“How do you think it went?”

She looked up at Wes, who looked just as at home outside in the California sun as he did in the board room. “Is that a trick question?”

“Of course not,” he said.

“And you'd like the truth?”

“Yes.”

“I think you did exceptionally well for the hotel.”

He frowned. “What does that mean?”

“It means good for you, you saved my father tons of money.”

“But…? I'm quite positive I heard a
but
at the end of that sentence.”

“But…” She looked at the glorious summer sky. “I think you did a crappy job for your employees. You didn't back down on the two percent difference in salary increase they wanted, nor the onsite day care…not even on the issue of sick days needing to be increased. All in all, the union accepted a sucky package, because you wined and dined their rep into thinking he got a great deal.”

“Well, don't hold back,” he said wryly. “Tell me how you really feel.”

“I always will, Wes.”

He looked at her for a long moment and sighed. “Somehow, I'm sure that's going to be more a curse than a blessing.”

 

T
HE NEXT MORNING
Kenna had just arrived in her office—at eight o'clock sharp, amazingly enough—when Wes appeared in her doorway.

“Next round?” she guessed.

“I read your report on the renovations, regarding the progress we've made—or not, in this case—staying on budget.”

It shouldn't have given her a little thrill, that he'd read her work. “Did you?”

“And the thing is, a lot of the plans changed in progress. Your father upped the amount of art he wanted purchased, for example, as well as increasing the number of antiques in each room. Those two things alone added considerable cost, and he didn't seem to mind.”

“It seems frivolous, given our other policies.”

“Such as?”

“Such as no price breaks for locals. No specials in the restaurants. No package deals—”

“How does that relate to the art purchasing?”

“I'm just saying, we're overcharging our local residents simply because someone wanted an extra picture on the wall, a picture that cost more than a small fortune. It doesn't make any sense.”

“We're not catering to the locals.”

“That's awfully snobbish.”

“Kenna.” He laughed. Shook his head. “Have you looked at this place? By its very nature, it's snobbish.”

Before she could answer, a woman came to the door. Kenna recognized her as Carrie, one of the security managers.

“Our new equipment has arrived,” she said.

“New equipment?” Kenna asked.

“We ordered all new security cameras, radios and such. The latest in hotel technology,” Wes explained. “It's been back-ordered for months. The employees have all been to classes and training, and they can't wait to dig in.”

“Thought you'd want to look over the inventory first,” Carrie said. “Before I alert the rest of security.”

“I do, thanks.”

“I do, too.” Kenna smiled into Wes's face, which had a priceless expression of bewilderment and vexation. He'd have liked to do this alone.

Too bad. He moved to the door and so did Kenna, meaning there was a lot of full-body contact as they squeezed through the narrow opening.

“Kenna—”

“Wes—”
Pretending that being plastered against
him in the doorway had absolutely no effect on her, when oddly enough, it did, she set a hand on his arm and imitated his warning tone. Beneath her fingers, his muscles were smooth and hard, his skin warm. This close, he seemed even larger, and oddly, not so much intimating as…

Yikes.

Just a little…sexy.

She pulled her hand back.

His gaze remained on hers. “Are you coming with me to get out of reading all those reports on your desk?”

“Absolutely.”

Again his lips quirked. He was going to have to stop doing that, because watching them move like that made her wonder what else his lips did well.

Oh boy. Time to go.

“Fine,” he said. “We'll go together.”

“Fine.”

“In the name of orientation.”

Whatever he wanted to call it, as long as she got her way.

 

W
ES NODDED
to employees here and there, as he and Kenna made their way to security, but, despite all the distractions, he found himself watching Kenna walk.

And it was quite a walk. Every step of the way, down the long hallway, then out into the reception area, down the elevator, over priceless carpets and past impressive paintings, through the huge glass doors into the early dazzling San Diego summer sun and onto the patio decking, he watched.

While telling himself he shouldn't.

“Beautiful day,” she said when they went through a courtyard, beyond which came the scent of chlorine. The security rooms were just beyond the pool area. “I'd still prefer the beach, though. Give me the hot sand and pounding surf any day over the scent of pool.”

He lifted his eyes off her legs, which were revealed by the long slit in the skirt with every step she took. Did she know her hips swung to and fro in the most hypnotic way? That she was highly entertaining in a way he couldn't explain, and he didn't want to miss anything? He shook his head to clear it. “The beach. Yeah, I was there at the crack of dawn, and it was something.”

“What were you doing? Running?”

“Surfing.”

She glanced at him over her shoulder. “
You
surf?”

“Is that so strange?”

She laughed. “I'm just trying to picture you without the tie.”

“Who says I surf without it?”

She stared at him, then laughed again. “You're very different than I thought you'd be, Weston Roth.”

And so was she. They moved close together to make their way through a narrow walkway. Strands of her long blond hair seemed to catch him, tug at him. Annoying as hell.

Worse, she'd dressed like some movie star out of the 1930s. Who could have guessed a long-sleeved blouse and long, long skirt could be so sexy? It might have been the fact that the blouse was sheer, showing a peek-a-boo hint of something lacy beneath.

They came to the pool. Because it was early yet, no one was in the water. Two little girls, wearing matching pink polka-dot bathing suits and inflatable arm rings stood near the edge, screeching at each other.

“Mom said!”

“No, she didn't!” The left one added a shove to the screech.

Her sister shoved back.

Kenna stepped forward. “Hey, there's no lifeguard on duty. Where's your mother?”

The girls paid her no attention. Wes watched them screeching and shoving, and wondered if all
little children were devils incarnate. These two especially, as with each push, they brought each other closer to the edge of the pool.

His fearless new partner stepped close, right on the very edge of the tile herself.

He stepped close, too, and tried to warn her. “Uh…Kenna? Bad idea—”

“Where are the pool employees? These girls can't be out here alone.” Stepping between the kids, she bent down to their level. “Where's your mom?” she repeated.

“Mom said!” the one on the right said again at an incredible decibel level.

“No, she didn't!” The one on the left reached around Kenna and added another push.

Wes winced. “Kenna—”

With absolute irritation, she whirled on him. “I just need a minute, Wes. Can you give me that?”

He looked down at the edge of the pool, almost directly beneath her feet, and then into her fierce eyes.

Swallowing the dire warning he'd been about to offer, he stood back, calculated the splash level, and then stepped back another few feet. “You know what?” he said. “Take all the minutes you want.”

“Thank you.” Kenna turned back to the children. “Now,” she said, with the patience of a harassed
teacher on a Friday afternoon. “I want the two of you to—
Hey!
”

One of the little girls stopped pushing her sister and pushed Kenna.

“Stop that,” she said sternly.

The other sister apparently liked this new target, too, and joined in the action, adding her weight to the pushing match.

And that's when it all went bad.

Arms flailing, Kenna flew backward.

Right into the pool.

S
URFACING
,
Kenna blew her soggy hair out of her face. Furious, and more than a little embarrassed, she glared at her target. Not the two horrified children, but Weston Roth. “Don't even think about laughing.”

“I wouldn't dare.”

The two girls, crying now, ran for their mother, who'd just come onto the deck with an armful of towels.

Nice of her to show up.

Kenna's teeth started to chatter, because the contrast between the air temperature and the water temperature was so great and she swam for the side of the pool. That's when it hit her that Wes stood a good ten feet back.

Of course he did, the jerk.

“I could be drowning, you know.” She shoved more of her soggy hair from her face. She really was going to have to go with waterproof mascara.

The irritating man merely smiled, though he did step a bit closer. “Are you?”

“Yes.”

He laughed, and the low rough sound of his good humor really fried her. She knew damn well he wouldn't be laughing if it was
him
in the water.

“You're talking too much to be drowning,” he said, then hunkered down at the edge of the pool, careful to keep his shoes dry. “You're a mess.”

“It's very sweet of you to point that out.” She lifted a hand, too irritated to swim to the shallow end or toward the ladder. “Pull me out.”

Mockingly apologetic, he shook his head. “You said you were going to handle this.” His smile was slow, sympathetic and utterly, infuriatingly sexy. “You said—”

“Oh, shut up.” She held on to the side of the pool, the water dragging her clothes down while she plotted her revenge, never mind that it was her own stupidity that had landed her in the pool in the first place. Somehow this was his fault, she just knew it. “Give me a h-hand.”

She hadn't faked the shiver at the end, but she realized when he frowned in concern that it was a nice touch and immediately added another.

He held out a hand, which she took. And latched
on. Feet braced on the side of the pool, she tugged as hard as she could.

The splash he made after he flew over her head and hit the water was quite satisfactory.

When he broke the surface, he shook his head and stared at her, shocked. “You pulled me in.”

She smiled. “Your glasses are crooked.” She moved to haul herself out, meaning to do so gracefully, with dignity, so as to fully savor having the last word.

But her clothes weighed a ton. She'd lost one heel, and she couldn't hike her leg up in her tight skirt. “Um…Wes?”

He swam to the edge, with a fine stroke she couldn't help but notice, and shot daggers at her. “What?”

“Could you give me another hand?”

“Hell, no.”

She shivered again—not quite a fake one this time—and he rolled his eyes. “Oh,
fine.
”

In the next breath, he'd hauled her toward him, and since he could stand, he slipped one large hand around her waist, another other under her legs. His fingers curled just beneath her breast, his strong, warm forearm banding around her upper thighs.

For one all too brief second, she was plastered against his hard chest before he lifted her up and
out, unceremoniously depositing her in a growing puddle on the edge of the pool.

At the feet of five gaping employees, all trying not to be amused by this situation. Nice of
them
to show up, too. Someone tossed her a towel.

“Thanks,” she said, pulling her clinging clothes away from her body in vain. Giving up, she worked on her hair. “Thanks so much for coming now, instead of say five minutes ago, when two little girls could have drowned.”

With the grace and dignity she'd wanted for herself, Wes hoisted himself out of the pool beside her, surging to his feet in one easy, strong motion that made her want to grind her teeth.

Only a moment ago she'd had a flashing thought that all those lean muscles of his were a bit sexy. They weren't sexy, they were maddening as hell.

“Your skirt…” he said a little oddly.

Looking down at the material which had plastered itself to her body, rendering her porno material, she tugged at it again. “I hope you're all of age,” she said to the employees still standing there, and they laughed a little nervously.

She sighed. “Okay, we're fine now, so you can all go back to work. Assuming one of you stays out here to watch the pool.” She glanced at Wes, unable
to get past the fact she'd done an extremely childish and reactionary thing by pulling him into the water.

He hadn't yelled at her. He'd even helped her out of the water when she could have very well swum to the shallow end and gotten out herself.

Why had he done that?

She looked him over. He was every bit as drenched as she, and probably just as cold. His glasses had drops of water on them, making her wonder if he could even see her clearly.

Even more unsettling, for all his talk of wanting this job for himself, he'd been, if not exactly kind, at least honest. “Thank you.”

He looked confused again and a little wary. “For what?”

“Sticking with me. For working with me, even though I know you must resent the hell out of it.”

He pulled off his glasses and shrugged those amazing shoulders, so perfectly delineated in his wet shirt. “I just want the hotel to be a success,” he finally said. Shoving his fingers through his hair, he sent more water flying. And then seemed to realize she was hanging on his every word. “I'd like to hear you want the same thing.”

“As opposed to taking this job for the glory?” She gestured to herself, a soggy wreck. “Because from where I'm sitting, Wes, there isn't much glory.”
When he just looked at her, she relented. “I want the hotel to be a success. Of course I do. I'd just like to be a part of that success. Even have something to do with it.”

“As much as any of us are, you will be.”

She almost felt that odd lump of emotion return to her throat, because for a minute there, wet and chilled, he
did
seem kind.

“You have mascara running down your face,” he said. “It's everywhere.”

Okay, not so kind. But definitely honest.

 

W
ES SPENT
the day dealing with paperwork, phone calls and a handful of other things while doing his damnedest to avoid Kenna.

A few days ago that avoidance would have been directly tied into his aggravation at having to share his damn job, the one he'd wanted all for himself.

Now, he had to admit that it wasn't all about the job. He needed some space to get over the pool incident, where he'd learned a couple of things. One, Kenna had a body full of lush curves meant to bring a grown man to his knees.

He was a grown man.

And his knees were willing to take his weight.

And yet it was the second thing he'd learned that really stuck with him. For all her tough-girl, bring-
it-on attitude, Kenna had a softer side, and he had to say, for just a moment there, when he'd had her in his arms, helping her out of the pool, it'd brought out the Tarzan in him.

Luckily he'd come to his senses and regrouped.

He planned on regrouping for a while longer, and was happily at it when Mr. Mallory called him.

“I hear the union meeting went well the other day. What's up for this week?”

Wes flipped open the calendar his assistant had left for him and talked business for a while before the question that he had hoped to avoid like the plague came.

“How's she doing?”

No one had to tell Wes which
she.
“She's…doing.”

“Good. I had no doubt that once I convinced her to give up her wild ways, she could be a good Mallory.”

For the first time Wes wondered at the pressures of being a “good” Mallory, and how that pressure would feel on the shoulders of someone like Kenna, who was clearly her own woman, with her own thoughts and ways.

As opposed to his own family, who had no expectations for him other than to be happy. And to have enough to eat.

“No problems, then?” Mr. Mallory asked.

Short of Kenna burning the place down, Wes had no intentions of being the man to complain to his boss about his daughter. “Did you expect problems?”

The older man sighed. “Look, I'll be honest. I wanted to give Kenna this chance, I
needed
to give her this chance. But…well, I know what I'm asking of you. Don't get me wrong, I believe in her, but I know she has some odd ideas, and can be a bit…shall we say strong-willed?”

Wes thought of Kenna and her concerns about the locals not getting good rates, being bothered that the restaurants didn't have specials, irritated as hell over the employee contract negotiations… Then he thought about her dripping wet, hair in her face, makeup in her eyes, sheer, lacy clothes shrink-wrapped to every inch of her incredible body.

No, Wes doubted Mallory knew what he was asking. “Everything is fine.”

“Well…that's good. Carry on, then, Roth.”

Carry on.

Sure. No problem. No problem at all.

 

T
WO DAYS LATER
, Wes still hadn't had to deal with Kenna other than on occasional business issues. They'd divided things up and only ran into each
other at meetings, where she seemed to be managing just fine.

As for himself, he was swamped. Between the ongoing renovation issues, keeping everything under control while having guests in the hotel at the same time, the accounting quarterlies and the myriad other problems associated with running a new hotel, he felt challenged enough.

When his brother Josh stormed into his office, Wes took one look at his expression and groaned. “Don't tell me I have computer problems.”

“It's not the system.” Josh, their computer wizard, was affectionately known as the resident “computer geek.” He was tall and lean like a runner, and tended to walk with his shoulders slumped as if he carried the weight of the world. He plopped in a chair and sprawled out his long arms and legs. “It's not your computer, it's your employees. One in particular.”

There was only one employee “in particular” who bothered Josh, and that was Wes's junior manager in charge of conference booking. Truthfully, it wasn't Serena's job that got to Josh, but the woman herself.

Not that Josh would ever admit it, but he had a thing for her.

As for Serena…embarrassingly enough, she had a
thing for Wes, which he'd been doing his damnedest to ignore. “What did she do now?”

“She's insane.”

“Not insane, just…spoiled.”

“Yeah. A spoiled
brat.
”

Which apparently ran in the Mallory women. “What did she do?”

Josh didn't answer, which in itself was the answer.

“Don't tell me you asked her out again.”

“Okay. I won't tell you.”

“Josh, let it go. She's not your type.”

“Hey, one of these days she's going to realize what a catch I am.”

Josh was the baby of the Roth family, which meant that for years, ever since Wes at age twelve had first found work washing cars to help his parents pay the rent, he'd felt responsible for his little brother. It was why he'd paid for Josh's college, why Wes had encouraged him to come work here…but as a result of Wes paving the way for him, Josh didn't tolerate things well. Things being…well, Serena not giving him the time of day. “Concentrate on work. You have enough of it.”

“Is that what you do when a woman is driving you crazy?” Josh asked. “Concentrate on work?”

“Yes.”

Unfortunately, at the moment, like Josh, it was the woman at work driving him crazy, leaving him no respite at all.

 

W
ES THOUGHT
his date that night might give him a badly needed mental break. Irene was beautiful, sexy and fun.

Or she had been when they'd met at a mutual friend's party a few weeks back. But at dinner she worried about a report she'd done earlier. She kept checking her cell phone to see if it was fully charged so she wouldn't miss any important calls. She wondered if they could stop by her office to check on something.

When they'd met, her dedication to work had been a turn-on, but tonight Wes suddenly wished she could just…be. When they were heading toward his car after leaving the restaurant—with Irene checking through her digital organizer—she stopped walking but kept working through her schedule. “My place?”

“Irene.”

“Yours?” She frowned and kept her gaze glued to the small screen in her hands. “I don't think I have time to get across town and—”

“Irene.”

Something in his voice finally alerted her and she
looked at him. “Oh,” she said slowly. “You don't want to…”

“I'm sorry,” he said, while wondering if he'd lost his mind.

He watched her walk away after they'd said their goodbyes, and pictured a different woman entirely, one with long, curly blond hair, moss-green eyes and a brilliant, shimmering smile which hid things he wondered about.

With a sigh he went home to his bed. Alone. Where he decided to spend the rest of the weekend hang-gliding, surfing, whatever it took to take his mind off one unconventional, whimsical Kenna Mallory.

 

W
HILE
W
ES
was trying not to think about her, Kenna was trying not to think about him. On Saturday night, she and Ray met for Japanese food, and over sushi discussed her life.

“Tell me everything.” Ray used his chopsticks to load his plate from their shared platter. “Everything.”

“Like what?”

“Like…” He waved his chopsticks in the air. “I don't know. The important stuff.”

“Well…” Kenna sipped her sake. “This week we're working on quarterlies, and—”

“The juicy stuff, darling. Come on, cough up details. What are the men wearing?”