Natural Blond Instincts

“I’ll be right back,” she told him.

Surprising her, he reached out and grabbed her wrist. His fingers were long and strong, just like the rest of him, and she stared down, looking at his big, slightly callused hand on her smooth skin.

If she’d been one to worry obsessively, then she might freak out that one simple little touch could stop her in her tracks. Good thing she didn’t worry obsessively. Much.

“This isn’t a great neighborhood,” he said.

“I’ll hurry.” She pulled free and started up the walk. Sarah’s generosity had been on her mind, and she had a twenty-dollar bill burning a hole in her pocket. Something deep inside was desperately afraid Sarah wouldn’t take the money, which would leave Kenna still in her debt.

Independence had become everything over the past years, everything. Already it had been greatly jeopardized when she’d accepted her father’s job. She knew damn well she couldn’t have gotten such a job on her own merit and experience, not yet anyway.

Then there was the man sitting in his car, looking at her as if she was something between a cross he had to bear and a morsel he’d like to nibble on.

Whether he realized it or not, she owed him as well. To her knowledge, despite how he felt about sharing the position and his doubts about her ability, he hadn’t complained about her to her father, hadn’t done anything other than accept her as is.

Sarah answered her knock and smiled her surprise. “Kenna. How lovely to see you. And to see you looking so well.” Her smile blossomed as she took in Kenna’s long, flowing dress, which, while maybe a tad sexy only because the material clung to her figure, was actually quite modest and definitely very unhooker-like. “I like the new look.”

Courtesy of my old Nordstrom’s discount, Kenna nearly quipped, still amazed that people paid full retail for such things. Instead, she held out the twenty-dollar bill. “I just wanted-”

“Come in. I hope you have time for a glass of iced tea?”

Kenna thrust out the bill once more. “This is yours.”

“Of course it’s not.”

“But it is.” She wagged the bill, because darn it, Sarah wasn’t even looking at it. “Please. Take it. Use it for this place.”

“What I could use, Kenna, if you want to help, is your time.”

“I have this new job, and it takes most of my time-”

“I have a teenage girl in here right now,” Sarah said. “She’s eighteen and already selling herself.”

Kenna’s heart fell. “For drugs?”

“For clothes and food.” Sarah’s smile was gone. “She’s too old for the foster system.” She squeezed Kenna’s hand. “The more people who try to reach her-”

Kenna thought about the girl inside, struggling to survive and her throat burned in shame. Had she ever believed she’d had it tough? My God, how shallow. “I was just having a string of bad luck on the day we met, that’s all, and now I’m embarrassed to tell you how well off I really am.” She held out the money again. “I can’t let you think I can’t pay you back. I’ve told you I’m Kenna. Kenna Mallory. My father owns the Mallory Hotels. All of them.” There was an ache in her chest at the thought of Sarah’s disappointment, a woman giving all of herself to everyone around her, even a perfect stranger.

Never in her life had Kenna felt so selfish. She lifted her head to tell Sarah so, but Sarah was smiling at someone just behind Kenna. “Hello, there.”

“Hello.”

At the sound of Wes’s voice, the ache from deep inside tightened into panic. Her first instinct was to turn around and…and smack him, but she refrained herself. Barely. “I thought you were going to wait in the car.”

“Nope.” He smiled at Sarah and held out his hand. “Weston Roth.”

“I’m Sarah Anderson- Wes?”

“Sarah…wow. I didn’t recognize you. Small world.”

“It is in this neighborhood,” Sarah said with a laugh.

Wes turned to Kenna to explain. “I grew up near here. Sarah lived a few doors down. She worked with my younger brother, helped me convince him to go to college instead of hanging on the streets with the worthless crowd he’d gotten into.” He smiled at Sarah. “Back then your Teen Zone was a couple miles farther south. I didn’t know you had one right here.”

“It’s new.” Sarah looked around her, at the deteriorated street, at the rundown yard full of dried-up, trampled grass and crumbling brick. “Well, new to us anyway.”

Kenna looked around her and thought…Wes. He’d grown up here. Here…

“You’re a friend of Kenna’s, then?” Sarah asked him, and Kenna tensed.

She wasn’t his friend, she was the thorn in his side.

“Yes,” he said, holding Kenna’s gaze captive.

Nope. No way. She didn’t buy it. Or she didn’t want to. “We’ve got to go,” she said. Pulling out the pocket on Sarah’s jeans, she tucked in the twenty-dollar bill. “I’m sorry it’s not more. Good luck.” And she chased her own shadow to the car.

Wes got in behind the wheel as she was buckling up. “What was that about?”

“Just a visit.” And now it was over. She’d go back to her comfy new job, her comfy life and remember daily how very lucky she was. “Let’s go.”

“You gave her money.”

“You’re quick.”

He studied her carefully. Too carefully, and she felt fragile, an inch from shattering. “Look, I repaid a debt, okay? Can we go now?”

“Are you crying?”

She swiped at a tear. “Of course not.” What was wrong with her? Why did she feel so emotional? So on edge?

“Look, I know it’s none of my business-”

“You’re right about that.”

“Kenna-“

Ruthlessly, she swiped at another tear. Her last tear. “Just drive, Wes. Can you do that?”

She felt him staring at her, but she didn’t look over at him, and he let her get away with that. “Yeah, I can do that,” he said after a long moment and, shockingly enough, he did.

Only he didn’t take her back to work, as she’d expected. Instead, they drove up to…a go-kart race track?

She blinked at the two separate race tracks, each equipped with karts that were going very fast. “What is this? What are we doing?”

“Relaxing.” He shoved his sunglasses on top of his head and gave her a look of pure trouble.

It should be illegal, that look, as it was more intoxicating than any drug. “Relaxing,” she repeated, her voice still a little shaky. “Where’s the beach?”

“No beach. We’re doing this my way.”

His way. Holy smokes, with a smile like that, aimed right at her, she’d probably do anything his way. “We’re on lunch break.”

“So we’ll eat after.” He sighed when she just looked at him. “How many hours did you work last week? Like, sixty? We’re entitled.”

They stood in line. Then he was slipping a helmet on her head, tucking her hair in, his fingers brushing against her jaw, his eyes locked on hers. “Ready?”

If that wasn’t a loaded question. “You should know,” she said, so close she could have kissed him. “This is a really bad idea. You and me…we mix like oil and water.”

“I know.”

“So what are we doing?”

“I haven’t a clue.” He stroked a finger over her jaw. “I can’t remember.”

“You said we were going to relax. Your style.”