Falling For Ken (Blueprint to Love Book 2) (7 page)

"Right." Resting his forehead on his arm, he leaned into her, pressing her against the wall. She remained still, barely breathing– praying he wouldn't pass out. Finally, his gaze seemed to refocus and his green eyes locked with hers. "Did I hurt you?"

"I'm fine." As fine as she could be, pressed against his solid, fabulous-smelling, seriously naked body. "Ready for your cane?"

"Yeah." Taking it from her, he slowly pushed off the wall. She held his arm while he steadied himself, then reached for his towel, carefully averting her gaze from his incredible backside. The mirror made that task impossible. Ken fanned herself, grimacing when she caught a glimpse of her overheated face. As soon as Traynor was in bed, she'd need a long shower, too. A cold one.

Chapter 4

Limping back to bed, Harry collapsed with relief, breathing hard with the effort. Resisting the frustrated urge to fling his cane to the floor, he hung it carefully on the bedside table. Clearly, he wouldn't get far without it.

What the hell had just happened? One minute he was teasing Kendall and the next he was fighting to stay upright. He'd nearly blacked out in her bathroom.

Poor Ken had certainly received an anatomy lesson tonight. She was so damn skittish . . . as though she'd somehow managed to reach thirty without ever talking to a man– never mind sleeping with one. Yet, she worked in a male-dominated industry. She ordered her crews around every day. But with him, she seemed to blush every time they talked. Although . . . the naked part probably hadn't helped much.

He watched her shadow move around the bathroom. She still hadn't surfaced yet. Hell, she was probably in there laughing. And if he wasn't feeling foolish enough, he now had even less clothing than he'd gone in with. "Hell." Swinging his legs into bed, Harry jerked the covers over him.

"Ken? I didn't crush you, did I?"

"I'll be right out," she called. "Just mopping up the water."

Kendall emerged a minute later, concern still visible in warm, amber eyes. "Do you feel any better? You gave me quite a scare." She fanned her face. "I shouldn't have run the water so hot."

"Three days ago I could run five miles. Now, I can't walk ten feet without you holding my hand." Harry winced at the bitter sound of his voice. He had no right to complain– and even less right to take it out on her.

"Yet," she suggested. "The doctor said it would be several days before your head feels better. And the rest of you will heal . . . it just takes time." Inching closer to the bed, she switched on the lamp.

"I'm not the most patient guy," he admitted. When he glanced at her, he did a double-take. Ken had pinned her hair up– probably due to the heat. Twisted carelessly, the riot of mahogany waves was secure, except for a few wayward strands. Absently, she tucked those behind her ear as she searched for his pill bottle. Unable to stop staring, Harry swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry. In the glow of the lamplight, her cheeks were flushed pink with exertion, her golden eyes warm with concern. Her mouth- When his gaze traveled to the shadowed gap in her blouse, he jerked back.
Jesus.

"Look how much you've improved in two days," she reminded, oblivious to his sudden realization as she handed him a pill.

Bewildered by his erratic thoughts, he shoved them aside. "Do I have to sleep with this?" Groping for a safe topic, Harry held up his hand, still encased in the plastic bag, waiting for her inevitable chuckle. He'd decided in the shower he liked the rich, smoky sound of Kendall's laugh. Her voice conjured images of an aged, sweet Glenlivet. A shadowy jazz club. Hot, bed-wrecking sex-
Wait– what the fuck?

"I think it's safe now." He startled when she tugged the bag from his fingers. "You should get some sleep. You've had enough excitement for one night."

"You're right." Grateful when she snapped off the light, a jumble of illogical thoughts cluttered his brain.
It must be the concussion
. He released a ragged sigh over the sensible explanation. She was nearly to the door when she turned.

"G'night, Harrison. Call if you need anything."

"Ken?" He waited until she'd taken a step back. "Although it may appear I don't have any secrets left, I'm a little uncomfortable with the idea of becoming your love slave. Any chance I can have some clothes tomorrow?"

She raised a hand to her mouth, her eyes sparking with humor as she remembered his naked state. Her expression made Harry forgot his awkwardness.

"Sorry, Traynor. I forgot."

"You
forgot
I was naked." He smiled. "I'm not sure my ego can take much more of this."

As expected, her cheeks bloomed with color. "I didn't say I forgot what I saw."

He chuckled when her eyes widened, as though she'd revealed something she hadn't intended. "Maybe the love-slave thing is the excitement I'm missing."

Winged brows drew down in a frown. "I'll check the spare room. My dad sometimes leaves stuff behind when he visits."

Relaxed in a way he couldn't explain, Harry listened to her footsteps fade down the hall. With something close to amazement, he acknowledged Kendall was pretty. Why hadn't he seen it before? Freckled from the sun, her nose was damned cute. Full, red lips that were nearly always curved in a smile. Even her voice had changed. He'd noticed in the shower. Behind the curtain, the husky, sensual tone was not what he'd remembered. The discovery raised more questions than it answered. How would she sound when she moaned? Instead of nails on a chalkboard, the smoky rasp had scorched along his nerve endings– leaving certain things obvious in his naked state. It was a good thing she'd been too shy to look.

"Here we are."

Kendall drifted back into the room, her slender body framed in the light from the hall. Her face in shadows, she had several items of clothing draped over one arm.

"I'm not sure about the fit, but these should help you feel less . . . exposed. I'm washing a load of clothes tonight, so you'll have clean underwear when you wake up."

"As long as they aren't female, they'll be fine." Setting the pile on the foot of the bed, she turned for the door.

"Goodnight, Kendall."

"Night, Harrison. See you in the morning."

His last thought before drifting into a peaceful, drugging sleep was a memory of a soothing angel in white. Calling to her, he hoped she would visit again. Soon she appeared, drifting through the mist. Remembering the serenity of her smile, he wanted to see her face again. When she finally drew closer, his eyes widened with surprise. The angel's face belonged to Ken.

***

Unable to sleep, Kendall closed her eyes, concentrating on the instrument, not on notes or composition, but the feel of the flute in her hands. The melody was haunting and wistful, as though searching for something out of reach. Whatever she yearned for was unattainable in a way even she was uncertain why.

Time drifted away as she gave herself over to the sensation of peace, the flowing echo of her instrument vibrating from her fingertips straight into her soul. She loved when this happened, when every worry, every puzzle, every problem trickled from her mind like rain and washed away with the music. Wink purring melodically at her feet, she played forever, until the notes slid away and she returned to the shadowed room. Releasing a sigh of sheer pleasure, she finally opened her eyes.

"That was incredible."

Ken didn't startle, didn't feel surprised. Although she hadn't heard Harrison slip into the spare bedroom, she'd known he was near. The clarity of his presence had been overwhelming. And a little disturbing.

She didn't want to like him too much . . . didn't want her mind conjuring stupid fantasies of a man like Traynor. Kendall knew her limitations. And he was so far beyond what was attainable it was laughable. That thought brought a quirky smile to her lips as she returned to earth. Perhaps her music was the mournful wail for all things impossible– in this case, the out-of-reach Harrison Traynor.

"What are you doing up? Are you hungry?" He'd slipped on a tee shirt and a pair of her father's shorts. But Harrison didn't look anything like her daddy. The faded cotton stretched tight across his chest, sculpting to muscular shoulders. Swallowing, she wondered how he'd managed to squeeze into it.

He pushed off the doorframe. "That arrangement– I don't think I've ever heard it before."

"I made it up."

"Y-you wrote that?"

She shrugged off his astonishment, inwardly cursing the tiny flicker of joy sparking in her heart.

"But you didn't look at any music. Your eyes were closed."

"I don't like writing it down. I just play and the melody comes." Playing from sheets of music took the fun out of it.

"You could play professionally." He took a step closer. "How long have you played the flute?"

"I started in high school." Suddenly grateful for the darkness cloaking them, Ken wondered how long he'd been listening.

"I have season tickets to the symphony."

"Me, too," she admitted, annoyed that the first thought in her head was whether she could muster the courage to suggest attending together.

"I always wished I could play an instrument. Piano and flute," he mused. "What else do you play?"

"I- um . . . play the cello a little." And any other instrument she could get her hands on. When Harrison took a cautious step toward her, her senses flared with warning. Ken didn't like the shivery feel on her spine, or how wonderful his sleep-husky voice sounded when it floated through the shadows, praising her. There was intimacy here in the dark, one they didn't share in the light of day, one they could never hope to share.

"You have one here?"

"Have one?" Instead of fantasizing about Harrison, she should be paying attention.

"A cello?" At her nod, he smiled. "Can I hear you play?"

In the dim light, she couldn't tell whether he was serious. "I don't usually play in front of people."

"It's just me, Ken."

"I-I'll think about it." Her heart tripped nervously at the thought of playing for him. She'd never been comfortable with an audience– but alone in a room, she was fine. "Why don't you play?"

"My parents gave me lessons in grade school, but after seven years, Bucky insisted I sounded the same as when I started. He made me stop."

"Bucky?"

"My dad– his name was Buchanan. We called him Bucky."

"To his face?"

Harrison smiled. "Very intuitive of you. He wasn't crazy about the nickname."

"I'm sure you couldn't have been that bad after seven years."

"Wanna bet?" He raised a brow in challenge. "Easy to say when you're gifted."

"What'd you play?" Her mind refused the words of praise, but her stupid heart wrapped around them, holding them close.

"Saxophone."

"Sax is pretty difficult." Kendall surprised even herself when she gave him a slow, appraising perusal. "You don't strike me as someone who'd have much stamina for it."

His mouth lifted in a smirk. "I've never heard that complaint before."

She refused to be drawn in. "Seriously Traynor, it's pretty difficult. I'm sure you would've been great at one of the other horns. They handle easier in your mouth."

"Are we still talking about the same thing?" His smile told her he was enjoying himself.

Ken dissolved in laughter. Never any good at flirting, she doubted her skills had improved with age.

Smiling, he edged a step closer. "I don't know whether to take that as a compliment."

"Trust me, you need good pipes and great lips to handle-" Heat crept into her cheeks. The expression in his eyes was one of barely contained amusement. "Never mind," she stammered. "I'm sorry I woke you. I didn't think the sound would carry." Distracted, she set the flute on the table and would have turned on the lamp but hesitated. She wasn't sure what message would be written on her face.

"I was awake anyway. The sound floated down the hall." Harrison leaned heavily on his cane, shifting from bad leg to good. "I heard you last night, too. The music was so soothing, I figured I must be dreaming."

The reverence in his tone had panic throbbing through her. "You should get back to bed."

"Another minute won't hurt. Why do you play so late at night? Can't sleep?"

"It relaxes me." She needed sleep to handle all the problems daylight brought, but the problems of daylight made her too edgy to sleep.

"Sometimes I have trouble. Not lately, though." He stifled a yawn and bent to pat Lurch's head. "Your bed is very comfortable."

Her dog hadn't left his side since Harrison had arrived, a show of solidarity for a fallen brother. She tried not to care that her loyal friend had abandoned her for Traynor.

"I can't believe you hobbled all the way down the hall."

"I told you I was going to snoop through your stuff," he reminded. "I'm

just a little early."

"You should be resting," she admonished. "I'm not taking you home until someone can look after you."

"I'm battered, Ken, not broken." He scowled, his stance that of an edgy warrior.

She brushed past him through the doorway. "I'm not insulting you. Three days ago you were half dead."

He released a sigh of frustration. "I didn't mean to jump you. My whole life, all I heard was the pretty boy stuff," he explained, his voice irritated. "My father never missed the opportunity to remind me I wasn't good enough at football. So, I tried out for soccer. But making that team wasn't good enough, either. I was supposed to be the best. No matter what I did, I couldn't shake his image of who I was supposed to be."

Stunned, she was unsure how to respond. Reluctant to break a spell the night had woven over them, Ken's first reaction was compassion. She knew what it was like trying to please someone and failing. But Harry wasn't a man who would appreciate sympathy.