Natural Blond Instincts (8 page)

Courtesy of my old Nordstrom's discount,
Kenna nearly quipped, still amazed that people paid full retail for such things. Instead, she held out the twenty-dollar bill. “I just wanted—”

“Come in. I hope you have time for a glass of iced tea?”

Kenna thrust out the bill once more. “This is yours.”

“Of course it's not.”

“But it is.” She wagged the bill, because darn it, Sarah wasn't even looking at it. “Please. Take it. Use it for this place.”

“What I could use, Kenna, if you want to help, is your time.”

“I have this new job, and it takes most of my time—”

“I have a teenage girl in here right now,” Sarah said. “She's eighteen and already selling herself.”

Kenna's heart fell. “For drugs?”

“For clothes and food.” Sarah's smile was gone. “She's too old for the foster system.” She squeezed Kenna's hand. “The more people who try to reach her—”

Kenna thought about the girl inside, struggling to
survive and her throat burned in shame. Had she ever believed
she'd
had it tough? My God, how shallow. “I was just having a string of bad luck on the day we met, that's all, and now I'm embarrassed to tell you how well off I really am.” She held out the money again. “I can't let you think I can't pay you back. I've told you I'm Kenna. Kenna
Mallory.
My father owns the Mallory Hotels. All of them.” There was an ache in her chest at the thought of Sarah's disappointment, a woman giving all of herself to everyone around her, even a perfect stranger.

Never in her life had Kenna felt so selfish. She lifted her head to tell Sarah so, but Sarah was smiling at someone just behind Kenna. “Hello, there.”

“Hello.”

At the sound of Wes's voice, the ache from deep inside tightened into panic. Her first instinct was to turn around and…and smack him, but she refrained herself. Barely. “I thought you were going to wait in the car.”

“Nope.” He smiled at Sarah and held out his hand. “Weston Roth.”

“I'm Sarah Anderson— Wes?”

“Sarah…wow. I didn't recognize you. Small world.”

“It is in this neighborhood,” Sarah said with a laugh.

Wes turned to Kenna to explain. “I grew up near here. Sarah lived a few doors down. She worked with my younger brother, helped me convince him to go to college instead of hanging on the streets with the worthless crowd he'd gotten into.” He smiled at Sarah. “Back then your Teen Zone was a couple miles farther south. I didn't know you had one right here.”

“It's new.” Sarah looked around her, at the deteriorated street, at the rundown yard full of dried-up, trampled grass and crumbling brick. “Well, new to us anyway.”

Kenna looked around her and thought…Wes. He'd grown up here.
Here…

“You're a friend of Kenna's, then?” Sarah asked him, and Kenna tensed.

She wasn't his friend, she was the thorn in his side.

“Yes,” he said, holding Kenna's gaze captive.

Nope. No way. She didn't buy it. Or she didn't want to. “We've got to go,” she said. Pulling out the pocket on Sarah's jeans, she tucked in the twenty-dollar bill. “I'm sorry it's not more. Good luck.” And she chased her own shadow to the car.

Wes got in behind the wheel as she was buckling up. “What was that about?”

“Just a visit.” And now it was over. She'd go back
to her comfy new job, her comfy life and remember daily how very lucky she was. “Let's go.”

“You gave her money.”

“You're quick.”

He studied her carefully. Too carefully, and she felt fragile, an inch from shattering. “Look, I repaid a debt, okay? Can we go now?”

“Are you crying?”

She swiped at a tear. “Of course not.” What was wrong with her? Why did she feel so emotional? So on edge?

“Look, I know it's none of my business—”

“You're right about that.”

“Kenna—“

Ruthlessly, she swiped at another tear. Her
last
tear. “Just drive, Wes. Can you do that?”

She felt him staring at her, but she didn't look over at him, and he let her get away with that. “Yeah, I can do that,” he said after a long moment and, shockingly enough, he did.

Only he didn't take her back to work, as she'd expected. Instead, they drove up to…a go-kart race track?

She blinked at the two separate race tracks, each equipped with karts that were going
very
fast. “What is this? What are we doing?”

“Relaxing.” He shoved his sunglasses on top of his head and gave her a look of pure trouble.

It should be illegal, that look, as it was more intoxicating than any drug. “Relaxing,” she repeated, her voice still a little shaky. “Where's the beach?”

“No beach. We're doing this
my
way.”

His way. Holy smokes, with a smile like that, aimed right at her, she'd probably do anything his way. “We're on lunch break.”

“So we'll eat after.” He sighed when she just looked at him. “How many hours did you work last week? Like, sixty? We're entitled.”

They stood in line. Then he was slipping a helmet on her head, tucking her hair in, his fingers brushing against her jaw, his eyes locked on hers. “Ready?”

If that wasn't a loaded question. “You should know,” she said, so close she could have kissed him. “This is a really bad idea. You and me…we mix like oil and water.”

“I know.”

“So what are we doing?”

“I haven't a clue.” He stroked a finger over her jaw. “I can't remember.”

“You said we were going to relax. Your style.”

“Yeah. This will help.”

“Help who, exactly?”

“Hell if I know.”

T
HE FIRST TIME AROUND
,
Kenna sat with Wes in a two-seater kart. He took the track like a pro—meaning full speed—making her scream with far more terror than laughter.

Hands and body in full control of the kart, whipping them around the track, he glanced over. “Stop?”

“No!”

That caused a smile, and by the end of their lap time, she wanted to do it herself.

They picked out their karts and before the laps started, when they were side by side, waiting for the green flag, he looked over at her and revved his engine.

That was such a guy thing, she laughed. “I'm going to win,” she called to him.

“No, you're not.”

And true to his word, he beat her, the first two times in fact, but on the third, she pulled ahead of
him in the last lap and won by a hair. She got out of the go-kart and marched right up to him.

He was grinning, until she stabbed a finger into his chest—a chest that didn't give an inch. “You let me win. Don't ever let me win.”

“Then stop driving like a girl.”

Oh, that did it. “One more.” She got back into her kart, and on the fourth try beat him for real.

“I didn't let you win,” he said when it was over.

“I know.” Coolly, she let him move ahead of her before doing a little victory dance.

But when he looked back over his shoulder and caught her at it, he grinned.

And once again, the air sizzled around them.

They got back into his Jag. For a long moment, the air was tight with everything they'd repressed, with a longing and a need neither of them dared put into words.

“You had fun,” he said quietly.

She lifted a shoulder. “It was okay.”

“You had fun. I have the hearing loss from your screams to prove it.”

“Yeah? So wear ear plugs next time.”

“Say it, Kenna.”

When he looked at her like that, all dangerous smile and intense eyes, she knew she'd tell him whatever he wanted to hear.

But this time, it was the utter truth. “I had fun.”

“And?”

“And…” She drew a deep breath. “And if you'd stop looking at me like that, I might have the smallest chance of being relaxed. Very relaxed.”

With a grin, he started the car.

 

T
HE DAYS PASSED
and work went on. Kenna buried herself in it, happy enough. One afternoon she took herself to a conference room to work, where she could spread out her papers, where there was no phone and no interruptions.

And okay, maybe she didn't want anyone to see what she was working on.

For several hours, she was alone, and she read and worked away, until, without a knock, without any warning at all, the door opened and in came Wes.

He shut the door behind him and leaned against it, not saying a word.

Her heart leapt right into her throat, annoying her. More so when his gaze took itself on a little tour of her body. She wore a perfectly acceptable dress, with long snug sleeves and a tight bodice. It went up to her neck at least, and was even a rather sedate color of blue, but the way his eyes heated made her feel as though she was in a bathing suit.

She snapped shut the files and slid her notes beneath them.

“Whatcha doing?”

“Nothing.” She winced at the lie. She should have come up with something.

“Nothing, huh?” He pushed away from the door to come toward her.

Damn it, she wasn't ready to show him. Standing, she lifted the file and her notes and held them to her. “I'm just doing…stuff.”

“Really? What kind of stuff.”

“I don't know, just stuff.”

“I share with you. Now you share with me. Come on, share your ‘stuff.”'

“Not today— Hey!”

They did a tug-of-war over the files for a moment, but Wes won. He stared down at them. “My postmortem acquisition file with my summary on the hotel and its merger potential with the sister hotel your father is looking at.” Confused, he looked at Kenna. “What are you doing with this?”

“Well—”

“I'm presenting this information to the board next week.”

“I know.” She tossed up her hands. “Okay, listen. I didn't want to tell you until I'd finished my own report, but I thought I'd add it to yours. I'd hoped
you'd let me present it with you, as a team. Let's just hope they're wearing color that day.”

He shook his head as if it hurt. “What does that have to do with anything?”

“It's just that I've got this theory. The more color in their shoes or ties—since God forbid we pick a suit other than dark or darker—the better things go for me.”

“That's…an interesting observation.”

“It's true. Look at you and me. Once I got you to wear color, we started getting along better.”

He shook his head. “That's just true enough to be scary. What do you want to add to my report?”

“Lots, actually. In looking back, the personnel expenses seem off. They seemed too high given what I know the employees are getting, both in salaries and benefits.”

He was watching her very carefully, listening. Valuing what she was saying, which for some stupid reason, gave her a surge of pride. Good. If she didn't have passion for this job, then at least she could have pride. “When I took a closer look,” she said. “I found that at the executive level, there were some interesting bonuses given.”

“Yes, of course. For getting each phase of the renovations completed on time, bonuses were awarded.”

“But those bonuses were all paid out whether the deadlines were met or not.”

His forehead creased. “You're certain?”

“Very. If we knock that kind of crap off, we could give the employees some of the benefits we refused them.”

“
Knock that kind of crap off
…you going to use that terminology in your report?”

She bit back a smile because she could hear his in his voice. “I'll try to control myself. Look, I just want to prove myself.”

“Who the hell to?” He laughed. “Your dad owns the place.”

But she didn't laugh with him, and he sobered. “Okay, you feel the need to prove yourself. But you've been doing that.”

“I want to do more. I have good ideas, too, Wes. Ideas for the employees that would make things simpler regarding scheduling and overtime, and give a sense of company pride. I'm serious about this job, you know. Just as serious as you.”

“Yeah.”

“No, I mean it.”

He scrubbed a hand over his face, then startled her by reaching out and wrapping his fingers around her arm, pulling her a little closer. “I know. And it's to my discredit that I haven't really done
anything to help you, I've just let you go, thinking you'll get tired or bored and move on.”

“Because that's what I've always done. Move on.”

“I'm sorry, Kenna. You deserved more from me.”

She had no idea that a man uttering those two little words,
I'm sorry,
could be so utterly sexy.

And empowering. “Don't be sorry. Make it up to me. I have research and cost projections—” She opened up her spreadsheets to show him. “See?”

He leaned over her shoulder, so close she could feel his warm breath on her cheek. “Where did you get all this?”

“I got some studies off the Internet for comparison. Here's a draft of where I see the presentation going…” With bated breath, she waited while he flipped through. “What do you think?”

He glanced at her, his eyes unreadable. “What do I think?”

She'd never cared what another person had thought about her, but she cared now.

Far too much. “Yeah.” Suddenly they were much closer than she'd realized, and she became breathing-challenged.

“I'm not sure I should say what I'm thinking,” he said softly. “As it has nothing, nothing at all, to do with work.”

K
ENNA HELD
her breath and stared at Wes, mesmerized by the look in his eyes, the feel of his large, warm hand on her arm. “It…doesn't?”

“No.” They stood like that, only inches apart, so close she could see his eyes weren't solid blue, but had specks of dark gray dancing in them. A strand of her long hair clung to his throat, another to the light stubble on his jaw.

Hormone alert.

“I think,” he said very quietly. “That I'd be better off taking this back to my office to look it all over without distraction.”

Or temptation.

He didn't say that, but she liked to think he was thinking it. In any case, it wasn't quite the unequivocal yes on her proposal that she'd have liked to hear, but Weston Roth wasn't impulsive. He was a sharp, methodical thinker who couldn't be rushed.

Not even by lust. “Thank you,” she said, gather
ing all the papers close. “But I'm not done yet. I'd rather polish it first.” She moved to leave.

He put his hand on her arm. “You do realize that the report was done by me only because I've been here since the beginning, and that point of view is crucial.”

“Maybe my point of view is crucial.”

“Tell me when you're done and I'll read what you've got.”

Knowing he meant it somehow added to the pressure to get it right, to actually have a crucial point of view. “Thanks,” she said, liking it better when she'd thought him a jerk.

 

T
HE NEXT DAY
was a scheduled managerial meeting. Wes showed up a few minutes early, wanting to be alone long enough to breathe without an audience, but when he entered the conference room, he wasn't alone at all.

Kenna had beat him there.

Engrossed in reading, she didn't even look up when he entered. “Hey,” he said.

“Hey, yourself.”

“What are you up to now?”

Her expression closed itself off, and he wanted to kick himself for sounding so antagonistic.

Not surprisingly, she said, “Nothing.”

Nothing…Kenna was never up to nothing. He wondered what she was tackling and would have asked her about it, but Serena swept into the room.

“Your latest staff memo on the importance of customer service was brilliant,” she informed Wes. “I thought we could discuss your strategies—”

“Strategies?” Josh came into the room behind her. “I've got strategies. Want to discuss them with me?”

Serena lifted a brow. “Not in this lifetime.”

“Baby, you don't know what you're missing.”

“Believe me—”

“Children,” Wes chided. “Wait for recess.”

With a snort, Josh turned away and poured a cup of coffee.

Serena smiled sweetly at Wes. “So…where were we? Oh, yes, your memo—” She broke off when Josh handed her a mug of coffee. She stared down at it, then blinked at him.

“Say ‘Thank you, Josh',” Josh said.

“Thank you, Josh.” She sounded confused.

Josh just smiled.

Kenna had buried herself back into her reading, making the occasional note, studying fiercely, and Wes wondered if he should be excited about their next confrontation…

Or worried.

She glanced up at him and moistened her lips, which caused his body to jerk to attention. Damn, but the line between work and feelings was being crossed.

And double crossed.

Worried, he decided. He should be very worried.

 

T
HE CLOCK
in the huge, gleaming hotel kitchen chimed the hour. Twelve times. Midnight took a good long time to sound off, and since the place was empty, and also dark, the sound of it echoed eerily.

“Good thing I'm not Cinderella,” Kenna muttered around a huge bite of chocolate cake. She stood in front of the large island, fork in hand, digging through a leftover cake with abandon.

It was what happened to frustrated, confused, over-stimulated and unfulfilled women, she supposed. Women who were frustrated at not being quite as good as they'd expected to be, women who couldn't tolerate their own learning curve, women feeling just a little pathetic because she…because she wanted her co-VP in an entirely inappropriate way.

In the name of comfort, she took another four-thousand-calorie bite of cake.

And then another.

 

W
ES WORKED LATE
that night, hunched over his computer, hitting the keys hard, trying to keep his mind focused, but it kept circling back to Kenna.

When his phone rang, it startled him. Who could be calling at…He checked his watch. Midnight. “Mallory Enterprises.”

“Weston Roth?”

“Yes. Who is this?”

“Ray Panziera, a friend of Kenna's. Listen, she's not in her room, I was wondering…is she there in the offices?”

“Hold on.” He jogged down the hall but Kenna's office was dark. He went back to his. “She's not at her desk.”

“Well, who in their right mind would be?”

Wes sighed. “Would you like to leave a message?”

“Oh, just wanted to see if she was up for a late-night drink. We do that sometimes.”

Wes had no idea why that bugged him, but it did.

“It's no biggie,” Ray said. “If I know Kenna, which I do, she's got the late-night munchies and is somewhere in the hotel stuffing her face. If you happen to see her, you might mention she could have called me to share, the bitch. Ciao.”

Wes stared at the phone, then hung up. Kenna's friends were as crazy as she was. He tried to put the call out of his head, tried to get back into work, but
it was no good. With a sigh, he walked out of the offices and into the elevator. Downstairs, he moved through the lobby and headed for a house phone. He had no idea why really, but something in him wanted to check on her, to make sure everything was okay. It really was late, and maybe she was sick—

Just as Ray had said, she didn't answer her room phone.

He'd now officially done his best to check on her. No way was he going to search this huge place, not at this hour.

Nope.

Dammit.
There were two restaurants in the hotel, both closed. He could have tried the bar, but somehow he didn't think Kenna would go to the bar for a late-night snack.

He headed for the hotel kitchen.

The lights at the far end were on, and he strode around huge stacking trays that tomorrow morning would be loaded with baked goods, and came to an abrupt stop in front of the large wooden island.

Kenna stood on the other side of it, one hand holding a fork, the other steadying an entire sheet cake as she leaned over an opened magazine, engrossed in her reading. If he wasn't mistaken, her mouth was rimmed with chocolate.

When she saw him, the fork dropped with a clatter.

Not the magazine, he noticed, which she pressed to her chest.

Curious now, he stepped closer, not knowing what he expected. Maybe an article on “How to Drive Your Partner Insane.”

Hell, even voodoo exercises wouldn't have surprised him. Pushing his glasses closer to his eyes, he leaned in. “You're reading…”

“Nothing.” She hugged the magazine closer, which he could now see was
Cosmopolitan.
“I'm reading nothing. Why are you here?”

“Ray called looking for you.”

“At the office?”

“At the office.”

“Oh. He probably wanted to go out, we do that sometimes when neither of us can sleep.” She loosened her arms and started to back away. “Thanks.”

“Uh-huh.” He blinked in disbelief. “You're reading…” He cocked his head to get a better look. “‘How to Get Your Sexy Partner from the Board Room to the Bedroom'?”