“She might have tried. I might have tried to pretend it didn’t happen.”
A frown comes and goes on both our faces—hers in tribute to her fickle sister and mine due to the fact Kennedy has a way of being loose with the facts.
Once Ken told me where she was headed this morning, I made a point to move up the research I had planned on doing down at Yeats. Turns out, people didn’t have the best things to say about Kennedy. She didn’t exactly leave a positive impression on her peers. There were a few common threads that resonated among those I spoke with, and mostly that had to do with her integrity. I’ll admit a red flag went up, and I can’t figure out how the hell to lower it. I don’t need my clients to be saints, but something in me has always seen Kennedy as flawless. I’m not ready to have the white flame that burns for her in my heart be tainted. I’m not sure it can be.
“I think that’s enough talk about family.” Her lashes flutter, and she dips her finger in her drink, stirs it slow and seductive. She touches it to her lip and licks away an amber drop with a quick scoop of the tongue.
My body aches just witnessing the event.
That sugar high only Kennedy can induce starts to set in, and I change the subject before things get too out of hand. “I have an appointment to speak with Keith.”
“What?” She lurches forward. Her forehead breaks out in a series of worry lines as if I just told her I tossed a sack full of puppies out my car window.
“It’ll be okay, I promise. He actually made the appointment to see me. It’s an odd move. I’m not sure his attorney realizes this. Anything rogue or unexpected that his client might do will only benefit us. We’re going to get those sick videos down. We’re going to get Keith to cooperate, and things should start moving our way.”
“You can’t speak to Keith.” She swallows hard making her neck jump. My mouth waters just looking at that long, slender pillar. “I forbid it.”
I let out a dull laugh, the soft buzz from the scotch just kicking in. The band starts up, a somber rhythm that’s rich with lyrics riddled with country grief.
“Come on.” I pull her up by the hand without offering her an out. “Let’s get one song in before we hit that movie.”
“What is it with you and the dance floor?” She manages to look repulsed by the idea of boot scootin’ with the best of them, but I have other plans. I pull her in tight and move my body over hers as if it were the slowest song in the world. There are so many bodies twirling and whirling around us, no one seems to notice that we’re slightly out of rhythm. I take in the sweet scent of her hair, far more intoxicating than a barrel full of scotch. Kennedy holds the scent of wild flowers, of jasmine and gardenia, of every good fragrance that God put on this earth. Memories of her sweetness are what got me through the long, hard months between those magical summers, and the drought years I spent in New York that followed. But I saw Kennedy everywhere. She was in the clouds, a reflection on those mirrored Skyscrapers, a floating image resting on the sea. And she was always laughing. There is nothing better in this world than the sound of Kennedy’s melodic laughter. She is always in on the joke, keeping the rest of the world an arm’s length from discovering what it truly is. I want in on Kennedy’s life.
Nope, we are not out of rhythm.
Not by a long shot.
“I think I’m going to kiss you,” I whisper just above her ear, and I can feel her inhaling deeply, her chest compressing against mine in what I’m hoping amounts to permission.
“Think again.” She scoots her head back until I can see her stern expression, not even the hint of a playful smile. Rejection is something I’m not all that familiar with. Back at NYU I could just as easily wink at a girl as I could land her in my bed, and I often did so exactly in that order. Kennedy has always been the challenge, the ultimate get, the only one I’ve ever laid over my heart like a treasure.
“Not tonight, huh?” And I don’t mean that in any passive aggressive way. Kennedy and I will kiss. Our lips will fuse once again in one, long passionate exchange that will most likely lead to more passionate exchanges where more interesting parts of our bodies fuse in turn. Kennedy is the girl I decided long ago would be worth the wait. I’m not sure what caused me to fall so hard so fast, but I can attest to the fact that no man can resist her chaotic charm. She had me that first night with her wild laugh, her luscious curves. Her striking beauty bleaches the rest of the world to cinder. Everything ceases to exist when Kennedy is around. Everything fades to nothing, most importantly my rat’s nest of problems. Kennedy is the only person on earth who can make me forget about the darkness that hovers around the edge of my existence. “You’re worth the wait.”
“Oh? So you think kissing me is still on the table, huh?” She says it like a dare with her husky, lusty voice that makes the scotch burn bright in my stomach, in my head where it offers all the green lights to whatever my dick desires and, tonight, like all nights, it desires Kennedy.
“Yes. When the time comes I’m going to kiss you.” That’s me talking, not the booze. I mean it. Kennedy and I aren’t done by a long shot.
Her eyes enlarge, and I can’t tell if she’s enraged or amused.
“It will be a deep-throated kiss,” I warn. “My tongue wrestling yours into submission. I’m going to take your clothes off, slowly at first then with a building passion as my tongue finds more interesting places to wrestle.” A breath hitches in her throat as she gives the slightest nod. “I’m going to taste you, Kennedy.” My lids hood low. “I’m going to suck you down, drink you to the dregs, pull my mouth over your body, hot and wild, until you’re soaking wet for me.” My eyes press into hers hard as her chest pumps quickly with her every next breath. “And then I’m going to take you to my bed and show you how a real man fucks.” Her mouth opens with the expletive. “Then I’m going to sit you on my face, and we’ll start all over again.” Kennedy gasps as if she might pass out.
A deep blush glows over her cheeks. Kennedy bites over a smile, her eyes still poised over mine. “Um—wow?” She gives a playful scratch to my chest. “Me thinks you should lay off the hard liquor counselor.” She pulls me off the dance floor with her fingers entwined in mine. “I think we’re late for our movie.”
The movie drones on, and all through those long two hours, Kennedy leans her ear to my lips waiting for another carnal promise. But I don’t give any.
Next time I’ll act them out for her to see.
The week tricklesby with Kennedy avoiding me off and on. Both Warren Senior and Chuck are back from abroad. Chuck had a long talk with me this morning, assuring me that all of Westfield and McCarthy’s resources are at my fingertips. He wants this shut down as much as I do—as much as Kennedy does.
Keith put off his appointment twice, but he’s due in this afternoon, and, now, I’m hoping it’s not the one afternoon Kennedy actually stops in to see me.
Zoey pops her blonde head in. “Keith Stearns is here for you, Mr. McCarthy.” That’s the exact tone she takes when she’s feigning professionalism. Zoey can be as serious as she is entertaining. But right now I’m ready for Keith and any freshman antics he wants to toss my way. In fact, I’m feeling pretty cocky about it.
A tall, thick-framed boy pops his head in before entering fully with his expensive, fresh-pressed suit, his Italian loafers, followed by a heavy fog of cologne. He looks younger in real life than he does in pictures, than he did in the brief footage I allowed myself to witness. I’ve only seen him from a distance otherwise. He’s red-faced, clean-shaven, or at least for the occasion. If it’s one thing I’ve learned it’s that you shouldn’t trust the physical appearance of anyone coming to see an attorney. We’re right up there with weddings as far as exaggerated grooming detail goes.
“Nice to meet you.” He extends his hand and offers a firm shake.
“Take a seat,” I offer. “You want anything to drink? Water? Something stronger?”
