Falling For Ken (Blueprint to Love Book 2) (12 page)

"What if you're not paying attention when fate calls? What if you miss the signs?" Transferring bacon to a serving plate, he glanced at her. "Do you get a second chance?"

She smiled over his puzzled expression. "You accountants like definitive answers. Credits and debits have to balance. Everything's black or white?"

"Having a plan is practical," he admitted. "If you don't know where you're going, how do you ever know you're there?"  

"With the right person, it doesn't
matter
where you end up." His expression of mock horror made her chuckle. "All I know is it's hard work. Merging two lives, two sets of expectations and opinions . . . Anyone who says otherwise is a moron."

He switched off the stove. "You're a fighter."

Meeting him, Kendall retrieved the platter. "I'm tough," she corrected. "In this business I wouldn't survive." 

"Does anything scare you?"

"Eating your cooking," she teased as they sat down. Still smiling, she took a bite of fluffy pancake. "Mmm . . . maybe not. Beyond the usual bump-in-the-night stuff?"

"Everyone's afraid of those."

"I think . . . failure. I'm most afraid of letting people down." Adding a drizzle of syrup, she took another bite and sighed. "These are wonderful."

"Thanks. I practically lived on them as a kid." Sipping his juice, Harry set it on the table. "Mom was usually passed out by dinner."

He'd had it worse
. She envisioned the serious, disciplined boy he'd been forced to become. Harry probably never had the chance to run wild, without a care in the world. With the knowledge he was nurtured and protected by parents who loved him. His world had been defined by his mother's illness and his father's rigid attempts to control it. No wonder he'd chosen accounting. Numbers were solid and orderly in a world of chaos. Safety had won over passion. She wondered whether he'd ever questioned his choices.

"This fear of failure . . . what does that mean to you right now?"

The intensity of his worried stare forced heat into her face. Defiantly, she met his scrutiny. "It means I'll survive. My life won't be over if I lose my business." Her eyes suddenly swimming, she glanced away.
No crying
. Not tonight. Not in front of this man.

"My first obligation is to my employees. Some have worked for my family for thirty years," she explained. "I'll protect my crew– pay my debts. Then pick myself up and start over."

"All by yourself?"

"I don't know any other way." A sad smile tugged her mouth.

"My offer still stands . . . even if you don't want it."

Could she accept his help? Heart thudding, she avoided his gaze. It was so tempting. Someone to lean on– occasionally. Confide in.
Trust
. "I'll . . . consider it."

His smile quirked, sending streamers of curious energy through her system. "Wow. That's major progress." 

Heart sinking, she picked up the syrup. She'd begun to suspect she
could
trust him. Recognizing dangerous territory, she shifted the subject. "What are you afraid of? I spilled so now it's your turn."

"Is that how it works?" His eyes heated with amusement. "Okay. The thing I'm most afraid of is– heights."

Kendall clapped a hand to her mouth, mortified at the implication of his calm statement. The fall into her pit. . . had to have been a nightmare for him. Yet he'd never lost his sense of humor– even when he'd lain broken and bleeding at the bottom.

"Oh, Harry-"

"Hey, I survived. I can handle high places. . . I just don't go looking for them." He reached across the table to pry her clenched fingers open. "I have a picture in my wallet to remind me."

"Remind you?"

"Occasionally, fear has to be confronted," he explained. "Two winters ago, I went skiing with the guys. In Utah . . . some resort they dragged me to."

The photo she'd seen– and judged. Gorgeous, happy Harrison on a mountaintop. "How'd you do it?"

"I blocked my eyes on the lift ride up." He searched her face for reaction. "And then I skied down slow, like a ninety year old woman."

"That's amazing." She smiled over his confession. "You should be proud of yourself."

"Full disclosure: As soon as I hit the bottom, I hurled in a trashcan." When she cracked up, he joined in. "That slope felt ten miles long."

"You should be proud of yourself."

"Remember that next time you go swinging into your crater. I'll be the one cheering you on . . . from a football field away."

***

Harrison insisted on cleaning up the kitchen after dinner. Kendall knew his leg bothered him, had seen him wince every time he put pressure on his foot. She knew by the fine lines of tension around his eyes that his head ached as well. But she'd grown to understand he wouldn't appreciate her coddling him. Like the other important issues they weren't discussing this evening, she pretended not to notice.

Instead, she swiftly cleared the table, stacking dishes on the counter near the sink. Then she casually withdrew and let him get to work. He didn't see her slip out onto the deck a few minutes later, flute case in hand. The need to play had her hands itching with impatience, but the night was too peaceful, the sunset too spectacular to spend an evening sitting behind the piano.

The first soft notes were tentative as Ken waited to see where the music would take her. Closing her eyes to the beauty of the night, she let the sound wash over her, let the notes seep under her skin and into her blood. Only by pouring herself into the pulsing, living flow of music would she gain any peace.

In a dim corner of her mind, a smoldering ash of hope flickered. That Harrison would join her. Without seeing him, she knew he'd paused in the kitchen to listen. Her vision of him was vivid, her connection startlingly strong. Ken didn't want to feel the link between them, but knew instinctively it was not something she could choose to ignore.

She would play for him tonight. Indeed, she already was. The notes were soulful, the haunting melody a mournful cry for something intangible. Tonight, she experienced no self-conscious fear of him watching her. Tonight she would share a part of herself that few people ever saw. Her vulnerability. Ken wanted to reach out to him, letting the lyrical beauty of the music reveal her wishes. Tonight, her instrument acted as an extension of her soul, conveying hope. Uncertainty. The desire she knew in her heart she'd never be brave enough to confess. The need she knew only Harrison could assuage. For tomorrow, he would be gone.  

***

Harry set the pan on the counter, careful it didn't slip through suddenly nervous fingers. The flute's haunting sadness tightened his chest. Kendall spoke to him in a way he'd never experienced. And he no longer knew how to react. How could he be so in sync with a woman he barely knew? Drawing a ragged breath, he leaned against the counter. He was so damn aware of her– every expression that crossed her face, the fleeting joy in her smile, the whisper of sadness in her eyes.

This desire for her was completely unplanned. The magnetic pull he felt every time they were together was not something he'd factored into the equation. And the escalating compulsion to touch her was a force that would grow rapidly unchecked if he didn't put a stop to it.

While Kendall had taken her bath, Harry had checked email. Avoiding the erotic images his overworked imagination drew for him, he'd listened to messages, forcing a much-needed dose of reality to his situation. Messages from the boring, predictable life he'd placed on hold. Relieved to hear Mona's voice, he learned she'd planned a family dinner two days later to welcome Jake and Jenna home from their honeymoon.

Since the moment he'd tumbled over that precipice, Harry hadn't been himself. Despite his injuries, he felt lighter, easier, less serious. And the unfamiliar feeling was unsettling.

Tomorrow, when he finished at Ken's office, she'd drive him home. He could hobble around for a day or two until everyone returned. More than ever, Harry wanted the familiarity of a noisy gathering with his cousins– needed the reassurance his life hadn't changed.
And wouldn't
. The impulsive desire to invite Kenny along? He would simply ignore it. Living with her was becoming too comfortable. The sooner he wrapped up this assignment, the better.

Because no matter how hard he fought it, the nagging voice in his head grew steadily louder– tempting him to forget the complications and live in the moment. To take what he knew he could convince her to give.

Kendall was unlike any woman he'd ever spent time with. She was so damn strong-willed, so purposeful– he'd instinctively been drawn to her. But Harry's innate sense of right and wrong prevented him from taking the fantasy too far. He never acted carelessly. He'd never
not
been in control with a woman. Nor would that change. He'd witnessed firsthand the damage that resulted from loving someone. He'd
lived
the sickening weakness. Until the day she died, Buchanan had worshipped his mother Sarah. Blind to her faults– to her appalling lack of control, to the embarrassment she'd become. Bucky forgave everything. Her drinking– her sorry excuses for abandoning him and their son. Hell– Bucky
made
excuses. All in the name of love. No one else had mattered to his father. Certainly not his son.

Harry wanted no part of it. Love could only ruin him, subjecting him to the whims of a woman who would likely prove unreliable. Love could only destroy the balanced life he'd forged for himself. Since Jake's wedding, he'd been deluding himself that he might be missing something. That maybe he should hold out for someone he could love.

Dude, you don't need it
. He could settle for affection– from a woman who wouldn't make unreasonable demands– who wouldn't require the emotional stuff he could never provide. Maybe something could be worked out with Deborah, after all. They didn't have love, but in four months, they'd developed a strong friendship.

Or had they? Harry's messages revealed she'd called exactly once– responding to his call from the hospital– when he'd been desperate for
anyone
to rescue him. So he wouldn't have to rely on Kendall. Deb's response had been lukewarm.
Too bad you're hurt. Hope you're feeling better
. She hadn't sounded worried. Despite knowing he'd been injured, she hadn't felt the urge to follow up. The knowledge unsettled him. One call in five days?

The woman who'd hinted of marriage hadn't volunteered to return from her business trip. Yet Ken had come to the rescue of a man she barely knew. A man she knew to be her enemy.

Annoyed with himself for being disappointed, Harry threw the dish towel on the counter. He had responsibilities. He had a satisfying life– worlds away from the stubborn, trouble-prone woman on the deck. The woman who had somehow managed to slip under his skin. Drawn by the magnetic pull of Kenny's music, he edged closer to the patio door.

He wasn't being fair, he admitted. Blaming Deborah for their mutual lack of consideration was an easy excuse. How often had he thought of
her
over the past week? And when Deb
had
crossed his mind, he'd done nothing but compare. She'd been a diversion from thinking about Kendall.

Harry thrived on his calm, predictable existence. He liked knowing what came next. If he didn't explore the possibility of change– he wouldn't be compelled to acknowledge something missing. He wouldn't be forced to confirm the gnawing doubt that maybe he was too eager to settle for something average– when a little risk might yield something great.

Watching Kendall through the window, his body responded to her graceful movement. His fingers tightened reflexively on the door handle while he absorbed the bewitching lament of the instrument that had become one with her tapered hands. Her peaceful beauty enchanted him. His blood throbbed with new awareness, while his brain clung desperately to the known– to the familiar.

The need to be near her was strong. And alarming. He resisted the urge to jerk open the door, to startle the golden light in her eyes and unlock the secrets she kept hidden in the darkest corners of her soul. Why should he be the only one suffering? The only one in turmoil? Why should he-

The flash of insight rocketed through Harry, catching him off guard. Kendall
was
in turmoil.

She played for him.

More frightening than the answering drumbeat of desire strumming through him, was the awakening of a wild restlessness Harry had never known. Panic jagged down his spine at the mere thought of the chaos it would cause. The messiness of the unplanned– the unexpected. He needed certainty in his life. He craved it. Wanting Kendall had disaster written all over it. Loosening his grip on the handle, he backed away, fear of the unknown squeezing the breath from his chest.

He had to stop this craziness– had to get away from her before he did something stupid– before the damage he inflicted was to more than just her livelihood.

The answer was space– distance. Where Harry could clear his head. Return to the business of his life. Away from Ken, he'd stop thinking about her. The crazy doubts running through his head would cease. Life would return to normal.