Falling For Ken (Blueprint to Love Book 2) (8 page)

"I'm sure it was a real hardship having cheerleaders hang all over you."

His smile flashed white in the dark. "Okay. So there were a couple perks." Following her into the hall, his smile faded. "I guess I'm just as hard-headed as him." At her questioning glance, he sighed. "Instead of construction, I chose finance for my career. Until the day he died, all I ever heard were wimpy accountant jokes."

"I'm sure he was proud of you. He just didn't know how to show it." Kendall sensed his focused gaze cutting through the shadows. "At least you tried. I gave up trying to please my dad . . . and he's still alive."

"Why-" 

Blurting out secrets hadn't been in the plans. Time to change the subject. "Are you saying that under the Superman exterior you're really Clark Kent?"

Harry didn't smile. "I'm just a guy doing his job. I don't do things halfway." Hobbling through the archway, his steps were slow and clearly painful. Kendall waited, careful not to approach with an offer of assistance. When he caught up to her, she slipped under his available arm, casually borrowing some of his weight. Together they methodically moved down the hall. When they reached her room, he was out of breath.

"I can't change who I am." Harry spoke with a weary sarcasm that came from years of self-defense. Years of teasing, jealous comments over something he couldn't control. His appearance. His very nature. Kendall couldn't help but be drawn to it– to what she had experienced.

She chuckled at his grumpy comment. "If it makes you feel better, you don't look quite as perfect as you did Friday. I like your bed head better."

Limping closer to the bed, he sank into it with relief. "Thanks, Ken."

As he struggled to remove the too-tight shirt from around the bulky cast encasing his wrist, she stepped forward and gently tugged it over his head. Harry fell back against the pillows, clearly spent from the exertion.

She waited, uncertain why she lingered. They'd traded one dark room for another, yet this bedroom somehow seemed less threatening. She resisted the urge to fluff the pillows behind his head– and the stronger one to run her fingers through his hair.

"Can I get you anything? A glass of water?"

"Water sounds good." His voice slurred with sleepiness. He barely lifted his head when Lurch scampered to the bedroom door, growling low in his throat.

"What's up with him?"

"A watchdog he's not," she muttered. Ken headed to the door. "What's the matter, Sweetie?" When she stooped to scratch behind his ears, Lurch shook her off and stumbled into the hallway. The staccato barking began a moment later.

"Maybe he hears something."

She waited with him on the landing, stroking his rigid body and straining to hear the noise bothering him. But like every other night, the only sound was the familiar song of the crickets. As quickly as he'd gone on alert, Lurch strolled back to the bedroom. Once he'd flopped on the rug by Traynor's feet, she picked up the water pitcher. Harrison's even breathing told her he'd already fallen asleep.

Waiting in the bathroom until the water ran cold, Kendall snapped out of her strange reverie. She couldn't afford to forget what Harrison represented. He was the man forcing her company into bankruptcy. His injuries were a result of her company's carelessness. They would be used against her, she was certain. Traynor had a job to do– protect Specialty Construction from potential liability.

She
was
that liability.

***

Harrison was awake and broodingly alert when she arrived on his doorstep with juice and toast a few hours later. Unlike him, Kendall was groggy and punch drunk from lack of sleep. "Hope I didn't keep you waiting." She tried to inject some cheer into her voice. As soon as she had a minute, she would down a handful of aspirin for the headache starting behind her eyes.

"What's wrong? You look terrible this morning."

"I tried wearing a bag over my head, but I spilled your juice on the way upstairs." Frustration flared as she stalked to the bed. She jerked his make-shift tray table over the bedspread, averting her eyes from his seriously chiseled chest.

"No need to be cranky about it."

"This is how I look with two hours sleep." She set the tray down forcefully, wincing when orange juice sloshed over the side of the glass. "You only have to tolerate me a few more days."

"Chill out, Ken. I meant that you look exhausted– not hideous."

On her best day– one with eight hours sleep, perfect hair conditions, all the bills paid and absolutely no worries– Kendall Adams could look halfway decent. She was presentable in a way that didn't smack of 'beautiful', but in the right light could pass for 'cute'. There were only a handful of those days– clustered around the year-end holidays, when it was too late to make her self-imposed budget and too early to worry about failing in the new year.

"Oh." The silence lengthened. "Sorry." Scooping up the toast that had skidded off his plate, Ken avoided the scrutiny she knew she'd find in his eyes after her tirade.

"I'll get your coffee before my shower. Then I'll move you downstairs before I run over to the site for a few hours."

"Don't worry about me. I can get downstairs. Take care of yourself and go."

Her back to him, Ken raised her gaze to the ceiling. Too late, she glanced in the mirror and realized he'd caught her expression. Lord, would she ever learn to be more careful? She spun around to face him. "Look Traynor, no offense to your manhood, but you're gonna need help. I don't want you taking another header– especially not down
my
stairs. The insurance company doesn't like me much."

"I'm completely capable-"

"Will you
please
not argue? Just this once?"

Harrison stared at her, any trace of warmth gone from his eyes. Regretting her words, Kendall acknowledged the obvious.
This
is what she did to men. She provoked the hell out of them. But she hadn't meant to lash out. Swallowing her pride, she yielded to gnawing guilt.

"Please, Harrison. I don't like leaving you alone. The doctor said you've got to be really careful. I promised to watch over you and instead, I'm always leaving you. I'll feel much better if you let me help you get comfortable."    

"Alright," he conceded reluctantly. "Let's stop talking about it. Go take your shower."

***

It would have been perfect. In his mind, Harry envisioned himself firmly planted on her couch with Lurch by his side, the remote in one hand and a mug of freshly brewed coffee in the other. His expression would be just smug enough to indicate disdain for Ken's ridiculous concerns. Unfortunately, Harry's mind wasn't working clearly. For the first time, he wondered whether the blow to his head was more of a concern than he realized.

He'd made it to the landing where he leaned heavily on the banister. He was sweating profusely and his damn leg was killing him. He'd also managed to wrench his good shoulder when his allegedly good leg buckled and he'd dove for the railing to keep from plunging to the first floor. Lurch wasn't helping, teetering on the landing with him, yipping excitedly while bouncing underfoot on his three legs.

How had it all gone south? The moment he'd heard the shower start, his feet hit the floor. Now, he had to get downstairs before Kendall appeared with another of her withering I-told-you-so looks. Tipping his head back, Harry winced when she tried to reach a high note in the shower, oblivious to the fact that her musical ability clearly didn't extend to her slender throat.

He groaned at the fleeting image of her in the shower and resolutely shoved it from his mind. All night he'd tried to erase the mental picture of her. The only word Harry could think of to describe the way he'd felt was mesmerized. Standing in the dark watching her, awed by the sheer wonder of her talent and by the ethereal loveliness of the woman herself. He swallowed around the sudden dry patch in his throat.

She'd been serene and mysterious in the moonlit room. Long, flowing hair trailing down her back, her body limber and graceful in the thin, cotton gown. When she'd opened her eyes– when she'd finally returned from the beautiful place she'd visited, Kendall had turned to him. And smiled.

And his heart stuttered.

Almost afraid to breathe for fear of breaking the spell she'd cast over him, even now, Harry wasn't certain whether it was the woman or the haunting music that had mystified him. Later, after the house had gone silent, he'd debated whether he'd conjured her in a dream. Or if she'd merely been a side effect from all the pain medication. For how could a person be so completely different from an original impression? The question still stumped him. Because there was no way the fragile, luminous beauty he saw in Kendall was locked inside the prickly shell of Ken Adams.

This morning he'd waited, eagerly– to see her again. To search her face in the light of day and find the intangible woman he'd discovered in the moonlight. Instead, she'd stomped into the room and glared at him, her fathomless, golden eyes shadowed with fatigue instead of mystery, her face strained with worry, instead of the joy he'd witnessed during the night. Her creamy skin flushed with anger. The no-nonsense, tough as nails Ken Adams had returned.

Harry was startled from his reverie by the unmistakable sound of the water shutting off and a moment later, by the loud thumping of his cane, crashing end over end down the long flight of stairs. This was followed by a series of ear-splitting barks from a now spastic Lurch.

"Shit. I'm in trouble."

Harry didn't have time to turn before the bathroom door jerked open upstairs and Ken flew through it. She careened around the corner, skidding to make the sharp turn for the stairs. Before he could warn her, she'd plunged down toward the landing. Amber eyes widened with shock, acknowledging his presence in the split-second before she crashed into him and sent him sailing into the wall.

Chapter 5

Harry went down in a heap, tripped by Lurch, who howled in protest when he inadvertently stepped on one of the dog's good legs. When Kendall tumbled down on top of him, he didn't have time to brace himself. Instead, he received a faceful of wet hair. The fleeting thought that she smelled amazing was lost a moment later when the rest of her body smashed into him with the power of a defensive tackle.

The force propelled him to the corner of the landing. In a last ditch effort to contain the damage, he tried to protect Ken from hurting herself. Catching her in his good arm, Harry took her with him when he slammed into the elaborate Victorian chair-rail and slumped to the floor.

They groaned in unison on impact– her with him– him with the wall. Waiting for the stars to clear from his vision, Harry realized the expression actually had merit. When he finally came to his senses, he jerked forward, wincing as pain shot through his back. His good arm was trapped between the wall and the woman on top of him.

"Ken? Kenny– are you alright?" He tried to touch her with his casted arm, but the angle was too awkward for his fingers to reach her. When she didn't respond, panic flared through him, his pain forgotten. Dammit, had he hurt her?

Lurch reappeared at his side, creating a commotion of bouncing and licking that Harry could have done without. His heart ricocheting in his chest, his headache returned with the ferocity of a sledge hammer.

"Sit, Lurch. Sit, damn it." He shifted on the landing, twisting Kendall's prone body until she was sprawled across his lap. Confirming the gentle rise and fall of her chest through the soft cotton bathrobe, he sighed with relief when she groaned.

"Kendall, honey– wake up." Sweat dampened his forehead at the possibility he'd injured her. How could he have been so stupid? Dammit, he could have hobbled downstairs after she left. But he'd wanted to prove her wrong. "Ken– please?"

Harry's hands shook when they traveled over her soft legs, still damp from the shower. From what he could tell, there were no broken bones. She hadn't bothered to dry off before bolting from the bathroom. Hell, she'd probably guessed he would try something stupid.

Another wave of guilt crashed over him. She was tiny– nearly a foot shorter than him, and so damned fragile. She'd never appeared small when she was on her feet and snapping at him. He glanced up the stairs to the second floor. There were only five stairs up and about twenty going down. How would he haul her back upstairs on one leg? His cane had landed clear across the foyer downstairs. If he could manage to get to his feet, he'd carry her up to the bed and call for an ambulance.

Scooping her up, Harry slid his casted arm under her legs and hoisted her against him with his good arm around her back. The flimsy cotton robe stretched taut across her breasts.
Perfect, naked breasts
. Christ, he couldn't think about that right now.

He had to focus. How could he safely get to his feet without dropping her?

"Okay, Lurch. Help me out, pal and stay out of the way."

"If you've finished groping me, would you mind telling me what the hell you were doin' out of bed?"

Harry froze. Her glacial eyes fixed on him, a scowl planted on her irritated face. "How? When did you. . . I mean, were you–" 

"Get your hands off me."

He complied, relief pouring through him when she scrambled away. She scooted up one stair and sat down with an unmistakable wince. His relief turned swiftly to guilt. "Are you hurt? You were knocked out-"

"I'm fine," she interrupted.

"What the hell were you thinking, rounding the corner like that? If I hadn't been here to break your fall you would've tumbled down the stairs."

"If you'd stayed in bed, I wouldn't have been running downstairs to find you. I heard all the noise and thought it was you clunking down, ass over teakettle."

Harry dragged himself back on the landing and leaned against the wall. Lurch flopped down beside him, his tail wagging with excitement. "Well, this certainly didn't go according to plan."

"I'll say." With a groan, she leaned forward, elbows resting on her thighs. "You got any more bright ideas, Traynor? Because I think you should know I'm not accustomed to this much activity before seven in the morning."

"I'm sorry. I thought I could make it downstairs. I'm tired of being such a burden. I've stayed in bed for three days. I can't stand the thought of another." His sigh was exasperated. "I was making progress but I tripped on Lurch and my good leg buckled and the rest is history."

"I didn't hurt you, did I?" Anxious eyes revealed embarrassment.

Wearily, Harry rubbed the back of his neck, feeling heat rising in his face. "Nothing's broken. I've probably added a couple bruises, but this time it was my pride that took a beating." He met her uneasy glance and smiled. "You're quite a tackle."

"It comes from chasing down contractors for money."

Like him
. Harry winced, not missing the meaning behind her statement. "Did I hurt you?"  

"Nah. It'd take a bigger man than you to take me out." Her expression smoothed out as she finally smiled. "Although you felt more like the man of steel than Clark Kent when I rammed into you." Rising to her feet, she teetered on the step before regaining her balance. Hobbling over to him, she slipped under his shoulder. "Now . . . are we going up or down?"

"Any chance we can go down? If I have to spend another day in bed, I'll go nuts."

"What if you get tired?"

"I promise I'll rest on the couch." When her arm slipped around his waist, Harry was shocked by the answering singe of awareness that jolted through his system.

Great. Now that he'd discovered her perfect body, his own would be unable to forget it. "What about you? You're limping." Though determined to push the revelation from his mind, she smelled incredible. The fresh, clean scent clinging to her skin was making his head swim.

She pondered his question as she wrestled him down several stairs. "You landed on my foot. It hurt for a minute, but it's already fading."

"What about your head? I thought you fainted." Gripping the banister, he tried to shift some of his weight from her. "You scared the life out of me."

Halfway down the stairs, they stopped, both panting to catch their breath. Her gaze ran the length of him before she finally smiled. "Haven't you had a woman throw herself at you before?"

"Seriously, Ken. I think you passed out."

"Whatever. . . I'm fine," she dismissed.

She slid under his arm again, tucking her body against his as they descended again. His body responded in kind.
Jesus, he was getting hard
. Her warm curves plastered against him sent his imagination into overdrive. How was he supposed to forget the perfect breasts her plain Jane bathrobe had revealed?
Do not look down
. The order from his brain was futile.

Dammit, he looked. Big mistake.

Her robe gradually slipped open as they struggled with each step. His heart tripped in response to the view, his blood quickening with each glimpse of long, slender legs. He quickly shifted his gaze to the steps. Ken's feet were small and bare. Her toes, he discovered, were painted a surprisingly feminine shade of violet.

His senses on overload, Harry hesitated on the next step and she staggered to a halt.

"You need to rest?" Her voice was husky from exertion.

"Uh– no. I'm fine." Stunned by a ferocious urge to capture one of her small feet in his hands and massage the aches away, he fisted his hand.
What the hell was wrong with him?
He could not afford to be attracted to Kendall. If she knew what he was thinking, she'd drop-kick him down the rest of the stairs. They were both out of breath when they reached the first floor.

"I need another shower." She flipped a strand of wet hair back over her shoulder. "You still hungry, Traynor?"

Hell, yes. But not for food. "I could eat." When Ken discovered the problem with her robe, Harry glanced away, pretending to focus on the airy openness of her kitchen. Her eyes appraised him as she quickly retied the sash, her cheeks staining pink with awareness. No way in hell would he risk embarrassing her with a joke– not now.

"I-I'll run upstairs and change before I cook breakfast." She beat a hasty retreat up the stairs while he hobbled to the farm table and pulled out a chair. Lurch plopped down at his feet.

Harry was starving, all right. But he seriously doubted breakfast would cure his hunger. How could he fantasize about a woman who was the antithesis of everything he wanted?

He could not pursue her. He didn't
want
to pursue her, he corrected. He wanted someone like Deborah– except with sparks. She'd been right for him in every way. Except . . . he'd felt only fondness.

Kendall Adams had to remain strictly business. Ken was a business
nightmare
. Her issues could threaten the outcome of the project. If A & R defaulted, she could take Specialty down with her. His heartbeat slowed to a reassuring thump. He had a job to do. One that would likely result in her shutting down. He couldn't allow a stupid, ill-timed attraction sway him. Nor could he allow his gratitude interfere with the decision he would make.

One thing had become startlingly clear. If he hung around Ken much longer, his decision would become impossible. She was too easy to get used to.

He glanced around the sunny kitchen. Herbs spilled from pots on the windowsills, filling his senses with the earthy aroma of rosemary and basil. Her kitchen smelled alive. The buttery, yellow walls were a warm cheerful shade that would brighten even a gloomy day. His gaze rested on an old buffet. The scuffed wood had been lovingly repainted, a field of daisies dancing around the cabinet's base. The surface was cluttered with photographs and a collection of chipped pottery in a rainbow of colors.

Glancing away from the happy noise of her lively kitchen, he wondered where she'd stashed his briefcase, ignoring the guilt stabbing his chest for thinking about what lay ahead. His head pounded in a symphony of crashing cymbals that had more to do with dread than his latest tumble.

Today they would review her files. Headache or not, he would clear up the billing confusion– likely in a matter of minutes. Harry knew on whose side the chips would fall. Specialty's accounting team didn't make mistakes.

In a heartbeat, Kendall would go from tolerating her battered houseguest to hating him. Sometime today he'd have to find a ride home. He couldn't continue to stay here knowing his actions would devastate her business– and her life. He'd catch a ride home to hobble around his empty house, leaving Ken to pick up the pieces. And he'd try not to think about what he'd done to her.

***

Jerking the trailer door open an hour later, Kendall trudged inside. Despite two showers, her shirt clung to her back in the stifling humidity.

"Mornin', Claire. Has the mail come?"

"Morning, Kenny. No checks– if that's what you mean. I've called the stragglers, but you know how that goes."

"If anything comes in, drive it over to the bank as soon as possible."

"Gotcha. You've had two calls this morning from that equipment rental place." Her secretary rounded the desk with a fistful of messages. "And another creepy hang-up."

"It's summer, Claire. The kids have nothing better to do."

"Well . . . it's starting to freak me out. It's bad enough at the office. Now they're callin' out here, too?"

Wincing, Kendall headed to her office. It was the supplier calls that made her sweat. The financial noose was tightening. She wouldn't be able to hold out much longer. The discussion she dreaded more than anything would happen today.

Despite her resolution not to think about him, her thoughts returned to Harrison. The battle over their contract still loomed. It would be better to get the pain over. She didn't want her financial troubles spilling over on anyone else. Specialty would have to pull her contract and find someone to finish the job. Short of a miracle, nothing would save A & R now. It wasn't fair to keep Traynor waiting.

Harrison had been quiet over breakfast, leaving her wondering whether he'd hurt himself worse than he'd let on. In true Ken Adams style, she'd pretty much knocked him off his feet on the landing that morning. She still couldn't believe she'd seen stars after colliding with his chest. Talk about a swoon.

When she'd awakened to discover his hands running over her, she'd thought her heart would catapult from her chest. His Hotness was touching
her
– the social geek– the anti-prom queen. Sure, he'd only been checking for broken bones. But every fantasy she'd allowed herself to have about Harrison Traynor always started and ended with those sturdy, capable hands.

Then she'd discovered her robe flapping open. Shaking her head, she blushed all over again. Without doubt, she was the biggest fool in the county.

He'd asked her to bring home the files, in fact had been insistent they review the contract when she returned for lunch. Harry wanted to get it over with, too. After nearly killing him again this morning, Traynor probably couldn't get away from her fast enough. She had the sinking feeling their talk wouldn't go well.