Keeping Kennedy (10 page)

A soft rap echoed from the door.

Kennedy glowered at the white painted
surface. “I don’t know why you’d bother knocking now, Drake.”

A feminine giggle sounded next, Kennedy
cringed.

“You have company, sweetpea,” Brenda said
through the still closed door.

Company?

“Who?” Kennedy pulled a couple of pins from
her hair. Veronica hadn’t been off the phone long enough to have
driven over here.

“It’s Larry, honey. He seems distraught. He
said he really needs to talk to you.”

Kennedy’s eyes rounded in disbelief. Larry?
“Larry Hawthorne?” she asked before she thought.

Brenda chuckled softly. “Well, of course,
sweetpea. Do you know another Larry in Friendly Corners?”

Jerking impatiently at her hair, pins flying,
Kennedy surveyed her reflection. She looked a mess. “Keep him
company, Mom. I’ll be right down.”

“No hurry, dear, Drake is entertaining
him.”

Drake.
Oh, no. Kennedy had to hurry.
Though she couldn’t quite pinpoint exactly how she knew, but
something about the expression on Drake’s face whenever Larry was
around or his name was mentioned told Kennedy that he did not like
the man. Left alone too long, there was no telling what might
happen. Drake might blow their cover.

That thought shot Kennedy’s stress level to
new heights. She slapped on a little foundation and blush and
dragged a brush through her hair and hurried to her bedroom.
Kennedy stalled before her walk-in closet. Why would Larry come to
her when his wife kicked him out? Could their seeing each after all
this time have—no way! She quickly pulled on some clothes. Whatever
he had come for, it had nothing to do with the past.

~*~

Drake gritted his teeth as Larry Hawthorne
studied a portrait of Kennedy at about age thirteen hanging over
the mantle in the Malone living room. If that guy made one comment
about how beautiful she was or how angelic she looked, Drake
planned to…

To what? Was that jealousy he felt? He shook
his head in denial. Couldn’t be. He didn’t do jealous. Besides,
Kennedy wasn’t really his fiancé. She was a friend. Except friends
didn’t kiss the way they had kissed just a little while ago. And a
friend certainly wasn’t supposed to get a raging erection from
merely seeing a
friend
in the tub. Drake swallowed the knot
that rose in his throat, even now when he thought of Kennedy and
all that silky skin, bubbles slipping down those delicate shoulders
he wanted her.

Drake silently cursed himself, then the jerk
drooling over her picture. Kennedy was completely inexperienced. No
one, not him or Mr. Ex-football star, was going to take advantage
of her.

“Larry, hey,” Kennedy said as she breezed
into the room. “What a pleasant surprise.”

She was wearing her spin doctor clothes,
Drake thought, seething. No jeans or T-shirt. This casual but
sophisticated looking pantsuit was silk, the rich amber color
highlighting the flecks of gold in her brown eyes. Larry strode
immediately to her and clasped his arms around her. Drake felt rage
stir inside him, which was ridiculous. He shouldn’t be feeling
this.

Hawthorne drew back and looked at her. “You
just won’t believe what happened,” he said wearily.

“I heard. I am so sorry.” Kennedy patted his
arm and looked up at him with such concern that Drake clenched his
fists at his sides.

“You can’t imagine what I‘ve been through the
past few hours.”

Time for him to leave the room, Drake
decided. Maybe this was what this whole charade had been about. Had
Kennedy only used him to make her ex-boyfriend jealous so she could
win him back? No. Kennedy wasn’t like that. He knew better. Larry
was married with children. She wouldn’t…would she? The image of
Cassandra flittered through his mind. Revenge was a powerful
motivator. But Drake knew Kennedy—or he thought he did.

“Well, if you two will excuse me,” he said,
determined to leave the room before he said or did something
completely stupid. “It sounds as if this is a private
conversation.”

“Wait.” Kennedy stayed his departure. “Larry
needs our help. And I’d like you to stay,” she added when Drake
looked doubtful.

“All right,” he said slowly. He glanced at
Larry. If the man considered him a threat or unwelcome, no hint of
it showed in his eyes. Maybe his coming here was on the up-and-up.
Veronica had spilled the beans about the dance teacher episode to
Drake even before telling Kennedy. The woman had been literally
busting to tell somebody. Dear old Larry had one big problem.

“It isn’t how it looked,” Larry said in a
tone almost as lame as the words he’d uttered. He glanced at Drake
as if reading his thought. “I know how stupid that sounds but it’s
true. I love my wife. I would never do anything to hurt her. Trisha
needed a hug. She’s going through a major crisis at home right now.
That’s all it was…comforting a friend. Nothing more.”

Kennedy shrugged noncommittally. “Gee, Larry,
how nice of you to provide the needed shoulder at just the wrong
time. Smooth move.”

He threw up his arms in frustration. “I swear
I’m telling the truth.”

Kennedy did an about-face and paced toward
the fireplace on the other side of the room. “That’s what they all
say, big boy. It’s the oldest line in the book.”

Drake couldn’t prevent the grin that tugged
at his lips. When Larry looked to him for understanding or support,
he nodded in Kennedy’s direction. “What can I say? She’s
right.”

Larry’s upraised arms flopped back against
his sides. “Kennedy, you’ve known me all your life. You know I
wouldn’t do that.”

She lifted a skeptical eyebrow at him. “Do
I?”

Larry huffed a breath of exasperation. “We
were kids back then, nothing but walking hormones. This is
different. I’m telling you nothing happened. It was completely
innocent,” he insisted.

Kennedy placed her hands firmly on her hips
and glared up at the man who was at least a head taller than her.
“That was your first mistake.”

“What? I don’t believe this!” He glowered
down at her with a mixture of depression and confusion. “How can
you say that? I only came here to beg you to talk to Cassandra for
me. She’ll believe you.”

Kennedy almost choked on her laughter. “I
know you’re upset, Larry, but don’t kid yourself. Cassandra hates
me, but that’s beside the point. The first rule of damage control
is never, ever deny anything.” Kennedy pointed at him for emphasis.
“You were caught in a compromising position with another woman.” He
started to argue and Kennedy halted him with an upraised palm. “No
buts, the facts speak for themselves. Your wife saw you in the arms
of another woman.”

Drake folded one arm over his chest and
propped the elbow of the other on it. He stroked his chin and
watched Kennedy in action. So this was the heavy hitter who kept
the top D.C. brass looking shiny and new. Malone, spin doctor
extraordinaire. Here was the confident woman he knew and loved.
Startled, he gave himself a mental shake and then assured himself
that it was just a figure of speech, not meant the way it
sounded.

“But it wasn’t sexual,” Larry was
insisting.

“Prove it,” Kennedy countered.

That one stumped the big guy. Drake felt
almost sorry for him.

“Trisha tried to call her, too. But Cassandra
wouldn’t listen.” Defeat sagged Larry’s shoulders.

“Imagine that,” Kennedy retorted with a
dramatic wave of her hands. “Your wife wouldn’t believe the other
woman fresh out of your arms.”

Larry planted his hands at his waist. “Well,
then, since nothing I say seems to be right, you tell me what to
do.”

The smile that suddenly lit Kennedy’s face
told Drake that major inspiration had hit. “How’s your two-step,
Lar?”

He frowned. “What?”

“Your two-step? Your waltz? Did Cassandra
ever teach you to dance?”

“You know I can’t dance,” Larry groused.
“I’ve always had two left feet.”

“At least that’s the truth,” Kennedy said.
Larry let out another defeated sigh. “But that may be your saving
grace.”

“You’ve lost me completely,” he muttered.

“Trisha is a dance instructor,” Kennedy began
as she tapped her chin and started to pace once more.

“Cassandra has always nagged you about
learning to dance. You could have decided that this special reunion
week was the perfect time for you to give her something she has
always wanted. A sweet surprise for the little wife.”

Kennedy wasn’t really talking to either of
them now. She paced back and forth, her expression a study in
concentration. Drake could almost see the wheels turning inside
that pretty head. She was plotting.

She stopped abruptly, then turned to face
first Drake, then Larry. “What better time to showcase your
surprise than at the masquerade ball on Friday night?”

“What surprise?” Larry demanded, still not
following Kennedy’s reasoning.

“Why, the surprise for you wife. What else?”
Kennedy sized him up as she walked all the way around him. “Between
now and the ball after the homecoming game on Friday night, you are
going to learn how to do a perfect waltz.”

Larry’s face screwed up with disbelief. “You
can’t be serious. That’s barely three days away. I hate dancing. I
couldn’t do it ten years ago and I sure can’t do it now.”

“All I can say is you’d better spend every
waking moment practicing.” Kennedy leveled her gaze on his. “Here’s
the story. You’ve been working closely with Trisha on this surprise
for your dear wife. That’s why you were in each other’s arms. She
was teaching you a proper dip.”

His head was shaking furiously in denial.
“It’ll never work. I can’t do it.”

“Of course it will,” Kennedy assured him.
“You can do it. All you have to do is follow my instructions
precisely. It will work.”

“Sounds doable to me,” Drake interjected. Not
that he thought Kennedy needed his help, but it couldn’t hurt.

“If someone brings up what happened between
you and Trisha, change the subject. If anyone asks, don’t
deny—evade.”

“What about Cassandra?” Larry still looked
skeptical. “I can’t just change the subject when she asks, assuming
she speaks to me at all.”

“Just keep assuring her that she will know
the truth soon enough. That it has all been for her.” Kennedy
patted him on the arm. “Play the martyr to the hilt.”

Larry dragged a hand through his hair. “This
sounds almost crazy enough to work.”

“It keeps the big boys out of trouble at the
White House,” Drake interjected. He slipped his arm around
Kennedy’s waist and pulled her to him. “She has a perfect record.
The President himself asks for her by name.” Kennedy glared at him,
but Drake only smiled proudly.

“Just remember,” Kennedy said, turning her
attention back to Larry. “Never deny anything, keep changing the
lead, and always have a diversion.”

Kennedy had lost him again. The utter
confusion on his face told the tale.

She sighed patiently. “When you waltz your
wife across the gym floor on Friday night, you will have your
diversion,” Kennedy promised. “The whole town will be talking about
how you practiced in secret for weeks, even suffered public
humiliation thinking you had been unfaithful just to give your wife
something she had always wanted—a real Ginger and Fred dance with
her husband.”

Larry smiled then. “I do believe you have
something there, Kennedy.”

“That’s why I get paid the big bucks,” she
teased.

Larry hugged her again. Drake seethed. What
was it about another man touching Kennedy that made him react so
fiercely? It was just his protective instincts, he rationalized. If
he hadn’t found out just how vulnerable Kennedy was, maybe he
wouldn’t be reacting so foolishly. She didn’t need his protection,
he argued with himself. She had made it this far without him. What
in the world made him think she needed him now?

“Careful there,” Drake heard himself say in
spite of what he’d just decided. Larry pulled away from Kennedy;
both stared expectantly at Drake. “Hugging is how you got into this
mess,” Drake added sheepishly. Kennedy had the grace to blush.
Larry just laughed, a short, strained sound.

“Thanks, man,” he said then, and slapped
Drake on the shoulder. “You’re a hell of a lucky guy to have
snagged this one.”

Before Drake could respond, Larry bounded out
of the room with renewed purpose.

“Well, that was easy enough,” Kennedy said
with a hint of wistfulness in her tone.

Drake searched her face for some sign of
regret that she had come up with a possible solution to Larry’s
dilemma. He saw 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.