Stripped Raw (6 page)

She keeps talking about the different fabrics, colors, and textures she plans to use. I have no idea what she is saying, but marvel over what I’m seeing—corsets and bustiers, vests with garter belts, bras, and G-strings. I love that these ideas, these fantasies, came out of her mind. She is so much more than she thinks, so much more than the girl next door.

Kenzie flips to another sketch, this one of a navy bra and panty set with stockings and heels. That will look perfect on her—especially bent over my office desk. My cock throbbing, I take a deep breath and try to focus on what Kenzie is saying. My eyes search the catalog pages for anything to distract me. “What’s this?”

“Cuffs,” she says, “like on a man’s dress shirt. But these double as handcuffs.”

Okay, that’s it. The arts-and-crafts show is officially driving me crazy. My dick is rock hard now, and I can’t take it anymore. I pull her in my arms and lift her on her work table, grinding my hips into hers and claiming her mouth. There is no hesitation this time, no more wondering how far I should go. I know just how far I want to go, and I won’t be satisfied until I’m balls deep in her. I give her hair a little tug and her head arches back, granting me access to the smooth skin of her neck. She lets slip a sweet little moan as her leg hooks around my waist. Grabbing her ass, I pull her harder into me. The heat between her legs is begging for me, and a low, deep groan escapes. I want more, all of her.

My hand slips under the back of her pajama shirt and traces along her silky skin. She feels incredibly warm, melting into my touch. I reach to pull her shirt over her head, but Kenzie pushes back slightly and locks eyes with me, her hands at the bottom holding it down. I was right the first time. This girl isn’t interested in a booty call. Deacon proves again to be a total idiot.

“Um,” she says, “maybe it’s a bad idea for us to look at lingerie together.”

“Right,” I say, willing my dick to stand down. “Show me the rest of your place.”

She reaches for my hand and leads me out of the workspace and through a tiny hallway. I look down at our joined hands. It’s the first time she reached out for my hand, and while I wish we were still on the table, her simple gesture means a lot, and my heart cracks wide open. All the pain and crap I’ve been carrying around the past couple of years falls to the side. It’s time to put all that down. I guess I really am ready for something new. She pushes open a door and leads me inside what must be the smallest studio apartment in the world. And just my luck, the bed is the focal point of the room. It’s going to be a long night!

Several racks of clothes and shoeboxes line one wall. There is one chair, a nightstand, and a small TV resting on a rickety stand. There’s also a small playpen in a corner for the baby. In the kitchen, there’s only a two-burner stove, refrigerator, and microwave. She pushes open another door to a bathroom, which has just a shower, not a tub.

“Nice,” I say.

“I like honesty, remember?”

“Okay, it’s a depressing dump,” I say, chuckling.

“I know, but it’s only temporary,” she says, giggling. “Kenzie Lingerie is going places. I just know it is.”

“I believe it,” I say and walk to the wall with the shoe boxes, rows and rows of them stacked four feet high, each box with a photo of the shoe on the front.

“I like shoes.”

“They’re all categorized by color?”

“It’s easier that way.”

I look down at her perfectly manicured toes. Wonder how
she’s
manicured? Not that it really matters. Just a little tip, ladies. Men don’t really give a fuck how you’re shaved. Landing strip versus totally bare—either way, it isn’t going to be a deal breaker. Of course, all men have a preference. Mine? Totally bare. I can’t get stuck thinking about how she may or may not be groomed, but I can’t quite resist the temptation. My ex-wife grew pretty lax in that area. It didn’t bother me, but I haven’t seen a woman totally bare in what seems like forever.

“What’re you thinking about?” she asks, seeing my mind was a million miles away.

“Nothing. I, uh, I was expecting you’d have a lingerie collection, not a shoe collection.” That was a nice save!

“I’ve got that, too,” she says. “But the only thing close to nice lingerie is shoes. No other single item of clothing can change a woman’s whole attitude like the right bra or the perfect stilettos.”

“So when you’re in a bad mood, I’ll suggest panties and pumps,” I say.

“Exactly.”

“Now, as your lawyer, I have to ask you a personal question.”

“Is this something you ask
all
your new clients?”

“Not all of them.” I look her square in the eyes, like I’m cross-examining a witness in a hundred million dollar lawsuit. “Do you keep your vibrator in the bathroom or here in the bedroom area?”

“Oh, my God! Kane!” Kenzie gently punches my shoulder before hiding her face in her hands. “I can’t believe you heard me say that!”

It’s fun to tease her. She turns so red, and I’d almost forgotten how fun it can be to flirt. Dropping to my knees, I playfully look under the bed. “Not too many places to hide it!”

“Kane!”

I get back up. “Do you have it in a box, maybe mixed in with your shoes?”

“My lips are sealed!”

“Can you give me a hint? What color is it?” I run my hand along a few boxes and open a few others. “Is there a photo of it on the front of a box?”

“You’re crazy! I would never do that! You’ll never find it!”

I rub my chin, and my eyes land on the nightstand next to her bed—the obvious place for her to keep it.

Kenzie jumps in front of it. “Don’t you dare!”

I step towards her, my body pressing into hers. “You need a better hiding spot.”

“No guy’s ever been back here before.”

And I plan on making sure that no other guy ever will!

*

KENZIE

It doesn’t matter
how late it is. All I know is, I don’t want my time with Kane to end. Laughing, flirting, kissing, the way his blue eyes light up when he’s looking at me, it’s addictive. And I swear he hasn’t taken his eyes off of me. Even when my back is to him, I can still feel him looking at me. It’s sexy and protective, but there is something else behind the way he looks at me—like he’s afraid to miss something.

“I think it’s pretty brave what you’re doing, starting your own business, going on TV, handling so many customers now,” he says.

“Then why am I so freaking scared?” Oh, my God, why would I admit that? I need to grow a filter.

He puts his arms around me. “I think that’s perfectly normal. It’s all about how you handle it. Just don’t show your customers you’re scared. You didn’t show it this morning on TV.”

I nuzzle into him and exhale. He doesn’t really have a smell, but his body is warm, and I fit perfectly into the nook of his side—like I belong there. “It’s not fair. No matter how far women come in the world, no matter how much feminism is alive and well, a girl still wants a man to be a man. When we feel tiny and scared, a man’s arms always make us feel better, protected. How do you do that? I mean, I don’t even know you!”

“What do you want to know? I’ll tell you anything.”

“Hmm, you know about my horrible sense of direction and that I’m not a morning person. Tell me one of your little vices—a flaw. Besides the fact that you are a Cowboys fan.”

“Don’t people usually try to hide their flaws on first dates?”

“Amateurs,” I say. Hopefully, he’s not so full of himself that he can’t think of anything.

He bites his bottom lip. “Christ, it could take forever to list them all.”

“Just a little one.”

“My car. I don’t like anyone driving it but me. I don’t even like to let valets park it.”

“What kind of car is it?”

“Porsche SUV.”

“Fancy.” Okay, he’s slightly obsessive about things he loves. I can deal with that. I’m the same way. Just look at my shoes. “Tell me about your family.”

“My dad died when I was little,” Kane says, “and my mom worked two or three jobs to support us. The first time she introduced me to James, my stepdad, she told me this needed to go well and to be on my best behavior. He was wealthy, and while she loved my dad, she wasn’t going to marry again for love. It was weird to hear her say that. Thank God that James is such a great guy, but I always knew I didn’t want to screw it up for my mom. So I was well-mannered, behaved, made the best grades.”

“How did Deacon take it?”

“Hated it.”

“I bet. How on earth he got a job on television, I have no idea!”

“It’s his father’s TV station.”

“Your stepfather owns the station? I didn’t know that!”

“For over thirty years now,” he says. “Tell me about your family. I’ve met Tessa, and you mentioned Sawyer. . . .”

“My dad left my mom right after I was born. I’ve only seen him a couple times my whole life. My stepdad is alright, I guess. He and my mom married when I was about ten. Tessa was twelve at the time, and we immediately became best friends. Sawyer was about five.”

“I know you lost your mom when you were young, too.”

“When I was fifteen,” I say. “A mugger killed her, and they never caught him. Tessa and Sawyer lost their mom to breast cancer; it was tough on them. No one should have to lose a mom, and they lost two. And my stepdad, Michael, lost the two loves of his life. When my mom died, I remember lying awake at night, worrying I’d have to go to foster care because they weren’t my real family. A part of me feared if I was bad, then they would send me away.”

“Why would you think that?”

“Michael never said it to my face, but I overheard him talking to his lawyer a few weeks after my mom died. He was asking if my dad could take me. I think Michael was overwhelmed at the time, suddenly a single parent, trying to raise his own kids, Tessa and Sawyer.”

“Did you ever go live with your biological father?”

“No.” Never should have brought that up. Kane gives me a little squeeze. “Anyway, I didn’t want to be a burden or give Michael any reason to send me away, so I always behaved myself and did my best.”

“Sounds familiar,” I say.

We go on talking about anything and everything, our likes and dislikes. Somewhere between telling Kane my favorite food is Chinese and blabbing about the time Tessa and I snuck out of Michael’s house and drove to the Arkansas-Texas border just to say we did, we relax down onto my bed. My head rests on his hard chest and a little yawn escapes. I try to stop it. I don’t want the night to end, but I know it has to. I’ve got work in the morning, and so does he.

“I should go,” he says. “It’s late.” He tilts my chin up and kisses me tenderly, parting my lips, his tongue circling mine. This man takes his time, no rush. He’s obviously not the “fuck and run” type. My body relaxes, and I slip my hand under his shirt. The warm muscles of his back ripple under my fingertips, and my legs slightly open. He takes it as an invitation, one I honestly didn’t mean to send.

“I can stay,” he whispers and reaches under my shirt.

Quickly, I sit up and flatten my shirt. “I don’t do this! We just met today! I’m not a girl who does this, like this!”

“We actually met yesterday,” he says, grinning. “It’s past midnight now.” I give him my best eye roll as I pull him to his feet and walk him towards the front door. “Do me a favor,” he says. “Make sure you lock the door after I leave.”

“I will,” I say.

He tucks my hair behind my ears and kisses me long and slow. “One more favor—keep your little toy in that drawer.”

“Jealous?”

“Absolutely.”

KENZIE

Like every other,
I start this morning making three phone calls—the first to the director of a breast cancer clinical trial, the second to a specialist in New York, and the third to a clinic in Switzerland. And like every other, each call ends the same way—rejection. It’s been the same routine for many months.

But I’ll continue it tomorrow morning, and the one after that. I’ll keep calling until someone gives me the right answer. Quitting isn’t in my DNA, and I’ve seen too much of it before. My father quit on my mother; Brandon quit on Tessa; my stepfather and ex-boyfriend aren’t any better.

I stick my earbuds in and start to sew. “Baby Got Back” by Sir Mix-a-Lot starts playing. I love it, but I know I don’t have that song on my iPod. Sure, I have “All About That Bass” by Meghan Trainor—it’s my theme song—but what’s up with the one playing? I look down, seeing that a new playlist has been created. Tessa! It’s all songs about butts: “Bootylicious” by Destiny’s Child, “Back Dat Ass Up” by Juvenile, “Thong Song” by Sisqo. There’s at least twenty more. I crack up laughing. Only Tessa would do something like this.

So shaking my booty, I start in on the day. Come on, ass, it’s time to get busy.

There are orders to process and more on the way. I feel like I am three months behind, but the smile across my face makes up for the stress. I put on my best Texas twang to sing out “Honky Tonk Badonkadonk” by Trace Adkins. Despite the weight on my shoulders and lack of sleep last night, I feel like I can run a marathon. A hot guy has a way of bringing that out in a girl.

My skin heats up thinking about Kane—how we talked and talked, how his body felt when he pulled me close, how sexy he is. I don’t know where this is heading, or what Kane has in mind, but the whole thing was over-the-top sexy—showing up at my place after hours, propping me up on my work table, and kissing me like he might never get another chance.