“Ken?”
“Yeah?”
“I’m scared. You have a weird look on your face.”
She rolled her eyes. “Wait here.” She hit the register and came back with measuring tape. “I need to confirm your sizes. Stick your arms out to the side and hold still.”
He regarded her as if she had asked him to strip naked and dance on the corner of Times Square. “I’ll tell you my sizes.”
Kennedy wielded the tape as a weapon. “I already know you wear the wrong size. Your pants are too big for you.”
“I beg your pardon.”
She tamped down another laugh. He was so damn funny in his own way. “Not around the crotch. The waist.” The words shot out of her mouth, and automatically her gaze lowered. She stopped laughing.
Suddenly, an image of what he would look like naked clouded her vision. Back off, girlfriend. Fantasizing about her rocket scientist was off limits. “Arms out.”
This time, he obeyed. And the whole time, his gaze burned into her. Ate her up. And licked her clean. Her fingers trembled slightly as she wrapped the tape around his waist. His distinct scent hit her nostrils, and she fought the urge to bury her face into his chest and breathe in deep. His muscles jumped under her touch, and stiffened. Kennedy tried to breathe and stay calm. What was going on? She’d never been attracted to a client this intensely—let alone this type of man—in her life. “Thirty.” Her voice came out husky. She eased her way up.
How had she ever thought he wasn’t toned? It must have been the ill-fitting clothes. His actual chest was quite broad and had a delicious hardness underneath the cotton fabric that she itched to explore. What type of lover would he be? All focused and serious? By the book? Or so intent on her pleasure nothing else would matter?
A shudder wracked her spine. “Forty,” she squeaked out.
He stared at her, unblinking, a flare of pure male lust gleaming from his greenish eyes. “Must be all that Zumba working for me.”
Ken bore down and slid the tape up and around his neck. Swallowing hard, she managed to touch the two ends together. Then looked up.
His lips were a woman’s dream. Full, sculpted, with that sexy stubble wrapping them around like a Christmas gift all for her. His features boasted new definition, now that the bulky frames were gone. Sharp cheekbones and a strong jaw gave him a hint of the badass type she’d always been weak for. His shoulders and biceps suddenly seemed massive and meaty, with enough power to lift her and hold her against the wall while he pounded inside her and . . .
Oh, God, she had to move on or she was going to lose it.
“We’re done.” She dropped the tape and scurried back. But his gaze refused to release her, and she waited for him to say something, anything to break the ratcheting sexual tension zinging her like Kate’s touch.
“I don’t think so.” A smile touched his lips. “Not yet.”
This was no timid, nerdy rocket scientist. This was all testosterone and hear me roar male ready to claim a woman. Last week, he’d surrendered and walked away, leaving her alone, frustrated, and sad but knowing she made the right decision. They could never be a couple. Yet here he was, confidence restored, giving her that yummy look like she was a lollipop he was dying to get his mouth on. He wasn’t as meek as she originally thought.
She chose to ignore his words and hope things would return to normal. “Be right back.”
She took a few deep breaths at the register and calmed her racing heart. Time to refocus her intentions and think about his future wife. Who was not her. Kennedy returned with a battle plan, in her mind and heart. No more episodes. They couldn’t possibly lead to anything good.
“Let me give you the ground rules. I’ll hand off the clothes, and when we have enough, we’ll go to the dressing room. No questions, whines, or protests. You try everything on, and if you hate it, we’ll discuss.”
“What about—”
“No questions. Let’s begin.”
She dove for the first rack. Her fingers flew over the hangers, pulling, testing, assessing. She talked to herself under her breath, completely in the zone, and shoved items into Nate’s hands in an endless motion.
“That shirt’s expensive!” Nate tried to show her the price tag, but she ignored it, refusing to break rhythm. “I could get this at Target for half the price.”
“Do you make six figures?”
“Yes.”
“Then you can buy this shirt.”
“But—”
“No talking.”
Waves of frustration beat from him and attacked her, which she resolutely ignored. They moved from casual to dressy, until colors and patterns and textures surrounded her in a cushy glow that gave her a high reminiscent of smoking the joint with Kate and Arilyn. Finally, she could barely see his face peeking over the mound of clothes. “Let’s take a break.”
“You’re certifiable. Think of the starving children in Africa. The factory workers in China. The massive layoffs in our own country.”
She quirked a brow. “The economy is in desperate need of Americans spending money on products and services. I’m just trying to fulfill my patriotic duty here. Follow me to the dressing room.” Kennedy set him up in the front corner and took a seat on the bench right out front. “I want to see everything. Go in exact order, since the pants I picked out work with the shirts. I hung them exactly as they should be tried on.”
“These jeans are worth more than my car!”
“Then you need to upgrade your vehicle. You’re being dramatic—the Tesla is much more than those jeans. Close the door, Nate.”
He shot her a look and closed the door. Kennedy stifled a laugh. It took him a while before he finally shuffled out. Pissed off, he stood in front of the mirror with a sulky expression that rivaled her signature pout. Her gaze took in the total transformation she had been waiting for.
He was hot.
The dark denim cupped his ass like an adoring lover. He was slim hipped, and though not overwhelmingly tall, his stance was powerful. He didn’t slouch or duck his head. He stood in front of the mirror like he owned it. That mysterious male sexuality vibe was hard to teach, and the man actually had the quality all along. It was just covered up by bad clothes and glasses.
The black button-down shirt was fitted, with embroidery down the front and large cuffs. His chest and shoulders filled out the lines nicely, begging a woman to flick open a button or two to see what lay beneath.
Oh, yeah.
Nate Ellison Raymond Dunkle had arrived.
“I’ve never worn stuff like this before. Feels a little weird. Do I look like an idiot?”
“No. You look amazing.” He glared at her in the mirror for using Tracey’s word. “Are you comfortable in this type of outfit?”
“I guess.” He pulled at the cuffs and turned to the side. “Aren’t the jeans too tight?”
She grinned. “No.”
He rolled his eyes. “Hmm, Connor said I had a wimpy ass and to hide it in bigger clothes.”
“Connor was wrong.”
He swung around at her softly spoken words. She cleared her throat and changed the subject. “Speaking of your brother, I did want to discuss a possibility with you.” Her approach had to be flawless or he’d get defensive. “I know you’ve been living together for a while, and I think it’s great. I always wished I had a sister. But I also know how a roommate can affect a new romantic relationship. You want to find your wife. She wants to know you’re serious about a long-term commitment. If she gets the idea you like to hang in a bachelor pad with your older brother, she may get spooked.”
Nate nodded. “What do you suggest I do?”
“My friend Genevieve has a lovely bungalow in Verily. Rent’s pretty cheap. She just moved in with her fiancé but doesn’t want to sell it at this point. She said she’d be willing to allow Connor to move in.”