Keeping Kennedy Read Free Page B

three.
    There was always another pretty lady right
around the corner waiting for a good time, but no keepers. No one
who wanted to move beyond the physical. No one who moved him in
that direction. Not that he didn’t enjoy a damned good sex life—he
did. But somehow it wasn’t the same anymore. It just wasn’t quite
enough.
    He had a great career—money, prestige,
travel. But there was something tremendously unsettling, well, lonely about being thirty-three and waking up alone more
often than not. Maybe women didn’t want guys like him for husbands
or fathers. Drake dragged his fingers through his hair and cursed
his nostalgic mood.
    What the hell was wrong with him? His
interest continued to follow Kennedy’s every move. It had never
bothered him before that she looked at him with indifference. Maybe
the problem was too much sun and not enough sleep. That was
probably the answer. He’d be himself after a good night’s sleep,
assuming he ever got one with Kennedy the Tyrant leading him around
by the nose.
    “No, Carol! Tell the senator that he can’t
pretend it didn’t happen,” Kennedy snapped. Her free hand now
planted on one hip, she pivoted and retraced her steps.
    The ivory silk pantsuit she wore clung to her
slender shape in an especially eye-pleasing manner. Kennedy dressed
well, choosing conservative, but always elegant outfits. Her
shoulder-length hair, the color of sand on a sun-kissed beach, was
cut in a swingy style that framed her face and neck, caressing her
peach-colored skin like a lover’s touch. Drake drew in a slow, deep
breath to counter the effect she was suddenly having on him. And
those eyes, more gold than brown, surrounded by long, thick lashes,
could persuade a man to do anything. But Kennedy had never looked
at him with sexual interest—not even once.
    They were pals. Buddies.
    He respected that relationship, no matter how
much his more primal instincts protested. Kennedy was his friend. A
good friend. He could always count on her. And now she needed him.
No way would he let her down or screw up their friendship.
    Still deeply engrossed in her phone
conversation, she tunneled her fingers through her hair and down to
massage her neck. Her fingers trailed over the smooth skin near the
base of her throat and his groin tightened. He wondered how she
would taste right there—where that pulse pounded rapidly beneath
satiny skin.
    “Don’t waste your time, sir.”
    Ripped away from his forbidden fantasy, Drake
turned to Edward. “What?”
    “Ms. Malone never mixes business with
pleasure,” the clerk assured him.
    “Excuse me?” Drake’s temper flared. What was
the man insinuating?
    Assuming a knowing look, Edward elaborated.
“Ms. Malone often brings her clients to this shop for”—the older
man gave Drake a cool once-over—“makeovers, shall we say?” He
leaned slightly closer and lowered his voice. “Many have tried, all
have failed.” He nodded conspiratorially. “Ms. Malone is a true
lady. Money, power, good looks…None of it fazes her. I doubt you
will be any more successful than the others.”
    Drake clenched his jaw against the retort
that sprang instantly to mind. “Thanks for the tip, Edward,” he
said instead. “I’ll bear that in mind.”
    Edward thrust a large white box at him,
followed immediately by another, then a garment bag. “Just wanted
to save you the embarrassment, sir,” he explained in his most
helpful tone. “It’ll take a special man to win Kennedy Malone,” he
added in a stage whisper. His admiring gaze lingered on the woman
in question for a long moment. “A special man, indeed.”
    Drake had never been accused of setting out
to snag a female. He’d never had to. And he had no intention of
starting now.
    “All set?” Suddenly standing right in front
of him, Kennedy beamed a professional smile of approval in his
direction. His traitorous pulse reacted.
    Before he could answer, Edward, his friendly
adviser, responded, “Oh, yes, Ms.