New and…Improved? & Andrew in Excess (9 page)

Shock took him aback for a moment, then he let out an unsteady laugh. “
Carried away.
Quaint term. Is that what happened last night, Becca? We got
carried away?
”

Though his embrace wasn't exactly tender, she slipped her arms around his neck and kissed his hard jaw, wanting to relax him, wanting to give him something of herself, wanting…wanting so much she couldn't even put words to it.

“You knocked my world off its axis,” he whispered hoarsely, his voice thicker than it was before. He stroked his hands over her. “I still haven't recovered.”

She felt breathless already. And she could hear his own ragged breathing.

“Dammit, maybe I didn't want this,” he said roughly. “But even I can admit the truth. It's more than merely ‘carried away'.” He lifted her chin. “Say it.”

If she did, she would have to admit the rest, she'd have to tell him she'd fallen hopelessly in love. Instead, she dropped kisses over his neck.

He groaned when she darted out her tongue and touched his earlobe, but didn't lose track of the conversation. “Say it!”

Their gazes met, hot and tense and needy.
Mirrored souls.
The thought came from nowhere and shook her into seeing the truth. “It's more,” she admitted on a serrated sigh.

His eyes glittered. His hands, hot on her, tightened. Then he let go of her, slammed the lock of his office door into place, and came back to lift her onto his desk. Looking at her from dark, dark eyes, he took the pencil she had behind her ear and tossed it over his shoulder. “Hand over the rest of them,” he said, holding out an open palm.

With a little laugh, she took another pencil from her breast pocket.

“Only two?” He tsked while she laughed nervously. “I know better than that.” Playfully he
patted her down, raising a brow in triumph when he found one in her side pocket. “I don't want to get stabbed anywhere…vital.”

“That was it,” she promised and he drew her close, seeking her mouth. His lips were warm and firm, his tongue coaxing as he ran it over hers. He nibbled and urged and she felt her pulse go crazy. “Kent.”

While he held her gaze safe in his, his filled with a terrifying combination of protectiveness and possessiveness, he slid his hand up her thigh, beneath the hem of her dress. His fingers found her and in a barely there touch, slid over her. Again, but beneath the edge of her panties.

She gasped and her head fell back as she shamelessly, urgently opened her legs wider and arched her back. “Here?”

“Oh, yeah. Here. Right here.” He punctuated each word with a hard, sexy kiss to her mouth.

A thrill raced through her. “Now?”

Again, his fingers teased, coaxing a low moan from her lips before she could hold it back. “Now.”

 

T
EN MINUTES LATER
, she was severely air challenged. There was a file beneath her hip, a stapler
stabbing her back and the delicious weight of a sated man slumped in her arms.

Her leg tightened, threatened to cramp, but she wouldn't have shifted him to save her life. As she sacrificed her own limb, Becca listened as the racing of Kent's heart slowed and came back to normal, and she knew the startling truth.

He was right.

“Carried away” didn't begin to describe what was between them. “Fine” didn't cover it, either.

Not even close.

S
UMMER'S
P
LACE
was still open when Kent drove up, as he knew it would be. It was a Thursday evening, which meant the weekend was looming. Incline Village, for the most part, consisted of a wealthy, eclectic group of people. Properties were expensive, so were the resorts. The women liked to look good.

In light of that, the salon was hopping. There was a new receptionist—a small, petite, twenty-something young woman with green hair, black fingernail polish, at least ten earrings and a pierced eyebrow, who gave him a smile and the serious once-over. “Welcome.”

“I'd like to talk to Summer.”

Even with her pierced brow, she managed a look of regret. “I'm sorry, she's busy with a client. But we aim to please here. Can I help you?”

Her smile told him she wasn't necessarily referring to any service the salon could provide.

There'd been a time in Kent's life when he
would have jumped all over that promise in her eyes. But things were different now, both the times and himself.

He still enjoyed women, no doubt. But suddenly all he could think about was one woman—Becca. And though the thought still brought an abrupt and terrifying change to his pulse, he couldn't just ignore it.

“I'd really like just a moment with Summer,” he said to the young woman. “I can wait.”

She frowned slightly, an expression exaggerated by her black lip gloss. “She'll have another client waiting after this one—”

The phone rang, and Kent listened as she reluctantly accepted the cancellation of Summer's next client.

“Well, then,” Kent said with a smile, when she'd hung up. “Summer will be free soon.”

“Sure.” Cool now, she folded her hands and looked at him. “For a client.”

He gave her his best I'm-so-charming smile. “I just need a moment.”

“Sorry. If you want to talk, you'll need to make an appointment. How about a cut and style? Or a manicure?” Her gaze ran over his body, past the dark polo shirt tucked into even darker jeans. “Massage?”

“You're kidding me.”

“Obviously you've never had one. Here—” She bent and took out a deep green robe from a drawer. “You just strip down to the buff and—”

“I don't think so.”

“We have a male masseuse, if you'd prefer. You know, for modesty's sake.”

Kent couldn't believe it. “You're telling me that in order to talk to Summer, I need to let someone put their hands all over me?”

“Yep.” Her smile turned a bit naughty. “Of course, if you're shy, or…whatever, you can always just have your hair done.”

Oh what the hell, his reputation was already shot thanks to Mrs. Fritzle. What more could one little beauty salon treatment cost him? “Fine. Haircut.”

“And style,” she added, penciling him into Summer's schedule. She lifted her triumphant, laughing gaze. “Name?”

“Kent Wright.”

Her pencil froze. Slowly she lifted her gaze to stare at him. “
Dr.
Kent Wright?”

“Yes.”

She laughed, revealing a pierced tongue. She tucked that tongue into her cheek. “Heard about
what happened with the police. And the—” She leaned close and whispered,
“—panties.”

Perfect. He hadn't been nearly humiliated enough here. “It was makeup,” he corrected wearily. “Not panties.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Look, why don't I just wait over there for Summer?”

Before he could turn to the reception area, his green-haired torturer asked sweetly. “Are you sure you wouldn't like a beauty treatment as well? Maybe a facial?”

“Just get Summer,” he said through his clenched teeth.

 

“S
O
…
EVERYTHING BACKFIRED
on you, I heard.”

It was difficult for Kent to reply since he lay stretched out, his neck on the edge of a chilly sink, his head in that sink getting “the full treatment.”

Above him, Summer shook her head. “At least you didn't get arrested.” Squirting some conditioner into her hand, she slowly massaged it into his head. Despite feeling silly and uncomfortable, he couldn't prevent the distinct uncurling of his toes as she kneaded his scalp.

“Good?” she asked, working more magic with her fingers.

He shrugged nonchalantly. “It's okay.”

Summer snickered. “Liar. You're positively melting.”

“I never melt.” Well, not quite. He melted over Becca's smile. Over her kisses, her touch. He melted every time she so much as looked at him.

Which really threw this just-fun theory all to hell.

“Why is it so hard for a guy to admit he likes being pampered?” Summer wondered. “Look, I could have told you breaking and entering Becca's wasn't exactly the smart route to take.”

“Well thanks for coming up with something better.”

Summer started to rinse him out. With cold water. He sucked in a breath.

“Sorry,” she said sweetly, and the water magically warmed.

“And I didn't break and enter,” he corrected. “I was already
there.
”

Abruptly, the water flipped off. Summer's face appeared above him, creased in a frown. “Already there? Doing what?”

“None of your business.”

Their eyes met and Kent waited while Summer assessed, decided. Then smiled. This time, when
the water came on, it was deliciously toasty. “You love her,” she breathed.

He made a noise that he most definitely meant as a denial.

“You do.”

He snorted and pushed out of the chair as soon as she'd finished. “By the way, thanks ever so much for that help you offered.”

“Hey, don't blame me, you said you had it all figured out.” But she sighed. Bit her lip. “And I did help.” She sighed again. “Today. If you're interested.”

“I'm interested.”

She looked him solemnly in the eyes. “I love what I did for her,” she said quietly. “The makeup, the clothes, especially the okay to go for it. It'd been a long time coming. But I'm also the first to admit she took it wrong. She honestly believes it's all that extra stuff that finally caught your attention.”

“I couldn't care less about that extra stuff.”

Summer gave him a long, thoughtful look. “Does
she
know that?”

He shifted uncomfortably. “I thought she might when I tossed away her stuff.”

Summer looked disgusted. “
Words,
Kent. Women need words.”

“This was supposed to be just casual,” he muttered.

“And is it?”

Yes.

Hell, no.

When he didn't—couldn't—answer, she led him through the busy salon, where he was subjected to more than a few whistles. They made Summer laugh, and made Kent grit his teeth.

Then, finally, they were in her office.

On her desk lay a garment bag, filled with clothes.

“Becca's new clothes,” she whispered, even though they were alone. “She hasn't even worn these yet.”

“You went breaking and entering too?”

At his surprised and delighted laugh, she lifted her chin. “No. But the dry cleaner owed me a favor. And I figured if you
loved
her enough to do it, I did too.”

He cringed as if struck. “Would you stop flinging that word around?”

She blinked innocently. “What word?”

Kent unzipped the garment bag and tried to ignore both her and that funny feeling deep in the pit of his belly, not easy to do when he was deathly afraid she was right.

The
L
-word just might be involved here.

“Not ready to talk about it?” she asked, tsking sympathetically. “Don't worry, Dr. Dreamboat, this will all work out.”

“So glad you think so. You're not the one on notice at the police station.” He fingered the stack of elegant clothes, the same ones he'd seen on Becca for the past few weeks. “Tell me you left her nothing but—”

The knock on the open door surprised them both.

So did Becca as she walked in. “Well hello there,” she said with a genuine smile for both of them. “What's this?”

Kent froze. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Summer do the same.

“Sorry, did I startle you?” Becca asked. She wore a soft blue sweater over a matching skirt that managed to be sophisticated yet sweet and still show off her lush body. Her eyes sparkled, her skin glowed. When she turned to look at him, her hair danced over her shoulders in a way that made his fingers long to touch.

But it wasn't the physical attraction that jolted him now. Her smile twisted at him, warmed him from the inside out. Not for the first time, he was struck hard by his feelings for her, by the very
strength and depth of them. He just didn't know what to do with them. If he went with the flow, and things didn't work out, he'd lose her. There'd be no more daily chats, no more laughter and shared jokes. No more easiness, or affection, and he'd miss her with all his heart.

But if he didn't go with these new emotions, if he backed off now, he'd lose her anyway.

Screwed either way.

There was still a smile of greeting on her lips. Her laughing, bewildered eyes took him in, from the black smock he still wore, to his wet hair dripping down his back.

“Becca…” Summer shot Kent a warning glance and smiled at her sister. “Hon, what happened? I thought you had school tonight.”

“I had a bit of an attitude.” Her gaze met Kent's. They'd made love on his desk only hours before and yet none of the need had faded, it was a tangible thing between them. So was affection and overwhelming tenderness. Helpless against the pull of that last emotion, he found himself moving closer to her.

“Well it's great to see you,” Summer said brightly. Too brightly. “But I'm right in the middle of giving Kent a great new ‘do'—” She moved toward the door, her arms outstretched, trying to
shoo everyone out, especially Becca. With one nervous glance at the stack of clothes on her desk—
Becca's
clothes—she said quickly, “Let's go on out there and you can give me tips while I work.”

But Becca ducked beneath Summer's arms. She was still looking at Kent, with a sweet, baffled smile. “I didn't know you were going to get your hair cut. Here.”

It was a clear question, and he opened his mouth, but before he could say a word, she turned to Summer's desk.

And saw her clothes.

Kent groaned silently.

Summer groaned, not so silently, and made a move to stop her sister.

Avoiding Summer's hand, Becca evaded and rounded the desk, then touched the open bag. As she flipped through the clothes one at a time, her jaw tightened. Her expression darkened. “What's this?”

Summer's smile faltered. “Uh, hon? Remember yesterday when you didn't press charges against panties-man here?” She bit her lip. “Think you're going to be that generous today too? Jail time really wouldn't suit my schedule.”

Kent sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger.

Becca let out a sound of disbelief. “What's going on?” She glared at Kent. Crossed her arms. Cocked a hip.

Waited.

And basically looked so damn irresistible he had to slip his hands into his pockets to keep them off her. “Yeah, about the clothes…” He peeked at Summer, who had apparently found something fascinating on the ceiling to stare at.

“
You
stole them?” Becca asked him incredulously.

Kent again looked at Summer, expecting her to jump in and explain, but she still studied the ceiling intently, as if counting the squares were of utmost importance.

“How could you?” Becca asked him, hurt.

He'd had no intention of dropping a dime on Summer, really he hadn't. But she was humming nonchalantly, looking amazingly innocent, while he was sinking fast.

And the woman he was hoping to coax back into his arms—soon—was sending him a withering look, and this time, dammit, he'd done nothing wrong!

Carefully he weighed his options, but he had
none. “Summer stole your clothes. And if I were you, I'd sic Mrs. Fritzle on her.”

“Snitch,” Summer hissed beneath her breath.

“But…why?” Becca asked Summer.

Inhaling a deep breath, Kent reached out and took Becca's hands, then drew her resisting body closer.

“It's the makeover,” she said quietly, still angry. “Isn't it? It's how I pushed you into…” Hesitating, she blushed, then looked at Summer.

She covered her ears and turned her back to them. “I'm not listening,” she said, sneaking a peek over her shoulder. “Unless it's good.”

Becca sighed and returned her attention to Kent. “It's because of how I pushed you into sleeping with me, when you didn't want to.”

“Didn't want to?” He laughed incredulously. “Is that what you think?”

“I don't know.” She lifted a shoulder, her misery barely masked by her coolness. “Since you rarely tell me what you're really thinking.”

Gently he lifted her chin. Kissed her. For a second she remained impassive, but he persisted, giving, urging, desperately trying to reach her.

Only when her fingers curled into his shoulders, when she made that soft, helpless sound of awak
ened desire, did he lift his head. “Did that feel like something I
had
to do?”

Her eyes were luminous. And sad. “I want the words, Kent.”

“Well, duh. I told you that much, Ace,” Summer broke in helpfully.

When they both glared at her, she covered her ears again, and also closed her eyes. “I'm not even here,” she assured them. “Unless you need me.”

“You've done quite enough,” Kent muttered.

“I'll take my clothes,” Becca said to Summer, backing away from the both of them. “And you might as well tell me the truth. There never was a contest for the makeover, was there? It was just a way of roping me in.”