New York Times bestselling author Gena Showalter introduces the Original Heartbreakers—about sexy bad boys each meeting their match—with a special prequel novella!

In small-town Oklahoma, reputation is everything, and Kenna Starr will do anything to overcome hers. The supposed bad girl is determined to walk the straight and narrow, a seemingly impossible task when Tall, Dark and Sexy shows up...

Rich and powerful, Dane Michaelson is every woman’s dream. When he returns to Strawberry Valley after a sixteen-year absence, he is unprepared for the redheaded girl he’s never been able to forget. She’s all woman now—and he’s never wanted anyone more. But to have her, he’ll have to break through her defenses...and surrender his own.

Look for the next books in the Original Heartbreakers—The Closer You Come, The Hotter You Burn and The Harder You Fall—from Mills & Boon Books!

The One

You Want

Gena Showalter

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Dedication

A huge thank-you to Susan Mallery,

Lori Foster and Bella Andre.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Title Page

Dedication

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

About the Author

Copyright

CHAPTER ONE

“YOU’RE LATE.” A harried man wearing a suit that could have graced the cover of a high-fashion magazine stepped into Kenna Starr’s path, stopping her. “All staff enters at the back. Be a good girl and hurry.”

Humiliation burned her cheeks as his identity clicked into place. Timothy Calbert Jr. She’d practically grown up with the guy, and though he’d left town years ago and must have returned only for this special event, the fact that he was her boss’s son meant she couldn’t correct him the way she had as a child: a slap to the back of the head.

“I’m not staff,” she muttered. Not tonight, at least. Usually she did work events just like this one. And, granted, she was wearing a dress similar to the one gracing every female serving hors d’oeuvres to the engagement party guests.

By “similar,” of course, she meant “the exact same.”

But every cent she made went to bills and there was never anything left over for extras. So she’d gone with Plan ABG. All Baby’s Got. Her uniform.

Sure, it was far too short and so tight breathing was nothing more than a pipe dream, but it had one redeeming feature—it cost zero dollars.

Resourceful gal that she was, Kenna had tried to set herself apart by tying a sheer white scarf around her neck, letting the ends hang between her cleavage and fall all the way to the dress’s hem.

Clearly #WardrobeFail.

No! Bad Kenna! No mentally using Twitter tonight. “I’m a guest,” she added. “An honored guest.” Kind of. Maybe.

Okay, probably not.

Junior’s lips pursed with irritation. “Name?”

Seriously? She told him, trying not to be further humiliated.

He checked his clipboard. After a blink of surprise, he gave her a disapproving once-over. “Through there.” He pointed to the left, but made no effort to move out of her way.

Head high, she skirted around him and came to the foyer’s edge. The party was already in full swing, the spacious sitting room crowded. Her heart hammered against her ribs as she studied face after face she didn’t recognize. With the glitter and shine radiating from flawless skin and perfectly made-up features, these people had “city” written all over them.

And she was just supposed to mingle with them? The cream of Oklahoman society? With Dane Michaelson, who was expected to be here?

#ThisSucks!

He’d moved away from Strawberry Valley sixteen years ago. Though his parents had kept their home, he’d never returned. Not even for a short visit. But the town had never forgotten him and, according to gossip, he’d recently taken over his father’s crude oil and natural gas business.

Natural gas, she thought, snickering.

I am not a child. She quickly smoothed her features into a prim-and-proper expression. I am a good little robot.

She scanned the crowd again, but found no sign of Dane. A man rumored to go through supermodel-like beauties as if they entered his bedroom on a conveyor belt—and exited that way, too. In his spare time, he raced fast cars, played golf and sailed, and attended the occasional charity gala. Rich-boy luxuries a country girl like her would never experience.

Did he spend any time thinking about her? Remembering her—hating her?

Can’t worry about stupid Dane Michaelson and his stupid feelings. I’m going to have fun. For once.

#LiesITellMyself.

Desperate for a distraction, she took a step forward. Finally she spotted a few locals. In Strawberry Valley, everyone knew everyone else, so it was only a matter of time before someone noticed her and waved her over....

Andy fetch me a scotch and this time don’t be stingy Teegle skipped his gaze right over her. Caroline I’ll know if you spit in my food Walloby pointed to her empty champagne glass, expecting a refill.

All I’ll ever be to these people is a waitress.

Kenna’s best friend and roommate, Brook Lynn Dillon, who was serving tonight, noticed her and made a funny face. Kenna laughed, wishing she could sidle up to her friend and stay put for the rest of the evening. To near the girl was to enter her force field, becoming invisible to everyone everywhere. Men especially couldn’t see anything but Brook Lynn’s fall of curling blond hair and big blue eyes.

As if he hoped to prove it, an older male wrapped his beefy fingers around Brook Lynn’s arm. The girl jolted, and the tray she held wavered. Champagne sloshed over the rim of the glasses, and the women around her stepped away as if she’d just contracted a deadly virus—while all of the men moved closer in an attempt to help her.

She tried to wave them off.

They kept talking to her, patting her with napkins to blot up what had spilled.

One rescue, coming up. Kenna hopped off the dais and strode forward, determined to free her friend from the grabby hands. But as more and more partygoers moved away from the chaos, a path beside the girl opened up, revealing the group of people Kenna hadn’t yet noticed. At the center of them was the most beautiful man she’d ever seen. So beautiful he couldn’t possibly be real.

The moisture in her mouth instantly dried. He was tall and leanly muscled, with bronzed skin and hair a rich jet-black. His features looked chiseled from granite. Strong, sculpted. Hard. His eyes, a smoldering gold, were stunning and somehow familiar, perfectly offsetting his blade of a nose. A nose that would have been considered too severe if not for the luscious contrast provided by the only point of softness he possessed—his lips. Even his jaw was hard, a square shadowed by the hint of a beard.

He wore danger and excitement as well as he wore his pin-striped suit, as if everything had been perfectly tailored to fit him by magic fairies. Kenna shivered. He was every woman’s fantasy made flesh...and he was staring right at her, his glass lifted midway to his lips, as if he’d been frozen in time.

Electricity crackled in the air between them, a new experience for her. One she didn’t understand, and didn’t like. But as ensnared by him as she was, she didn’t realize she’d bypassed Brook Lynn completely to stop directly in front of him...until it was too late to back away without causing a scene.

What have I done?

Chin up. Shoulders back. Smile.

“Um, hi,” she said, then cursed herself for being lame.

The chesty blonde at the man’s side flicked her an irritated glance, only to brighten. “Oh, good.” She handed Kenna an empty glass. “I’d like another. Thanks.” Then, with her profile to Kenna, she returned to her story about a recent trip to Italy and all the fun she’d had.

Welcome to my nightmare. Kenna’s cheeks heated.

Sadly, I doubt this will be the last time I’m embarrassed tonight.

Mr. Fantasy slowly lowered his glass. His eyelids appeared heavy, long black lashes shielding all that smoldering gold. “Kenna Starr,” he said, unrepentant as he interrupted the blonde—who then faced Kenna with darkening interest. “It’s nice to see you again.” His voice was as heady and seductive as the rest of him. Low, with a raspy quality, like melted honey drizzled over warm chocolate chip cookies.

Then his words penetrated her awareness of his masculine charm. See her...again?

He must have sensed her confusion, because he added, “And in the same spot we first met, no less.”

Realization was like a punch in the gut. The same spot. There was only one person she’d met in this house...no, please no...but there was no denying it. She’d just stumbled upon Dane Michaelson.

He looked to be the right age. Around twenty-nine. He had the right hair and eye color. But he didn’t have a mess of scars on the left side of his face—surgery?—and he wasn’t peering at her with hatred, wasn’t calling her awful names.

You’re stupid and ugly and trash!

Those were the words he’d spat at her during their last “play date.” She’d been seven, and he’d been thirteen, and before that moment, she’d loved spending time with him. Which was funny, considering he’d ignored her every time they were thrown together, never deigning to speak with her until those final minutes. But she’d wanted a friend so badly she’d somehow convinced herself she could win him over.

Now, looking back, she knew how impossible that would have been. At the time, he’d known what she hadn’t. Her mother and his father were having an affair.

Kenna wanted to hide under the covers every time her mind drifted back to the day of discovery—when she remembered Christine Michaelson, Dane’s mother, walking in on the couple.

How could you do this to me? I’m your wife. And you. You’re nothing but trash. A cheap whore!

The very next day, the Michaelson family had moved into the city, about an hour and a half away. Kenna often wondered if Dane realized the affair had continued despite the long distance. Roanne Starr’s “me vacations” to “rest and recharge,” despite the fact that she had never worked a day in her life, had given her away. And—

Everyone is watching me, Kenna realized with dawning horror. They were waiting for her to respond to Dane.

“You grew up,” she blurted out. Oh, wow. State the obvious much? Way to rack up the fails tonight. You don’t even deserve a mental Twitter account.

“I know a few people who would agree with you,” he replied easily, those amber eyes glittering. “But not many.”

“Well,” the chesty blonde said, running her well-manicured hand down his tie. “I happen to know for a fact that you’re a big...big boy.”

O-kay. Going there, are we?

Dane frowned at the woman.

“Darling!” Roanne’s voice registered, saving Kenna from having to say anything else.

A slender arm wrapped around Kenna’s waist and tugged her none too gently from the group. “Excuse us, please.”

“I guess this is goodbye,” Kenna said with a wave.

Dane’s frown landed on her and deepened.

Roanne drew her away, managing to maintain a smile as she whispered, “I asked you not to embarrass me, and you show up like this?”

Ah. Motherly love and unconditional acceptance. Can’t ever get enough.

They stopped in a shadowed corner. At forty-five, Roanne was still one of the most beautiful women Kenna had ever seen, with a thick mass of red waves and green eyes that rivaled the most expensive of emeralds, two features Kenna had inherited. But while Roanne had flawless porcelain skin, Kenna was covered in freckles.

“It’s like you go out of your way to hurt me.” Roanne removed Kenna’s scarf and tucked one end along the bust of her dress.

“What are you doing?” she asked, standing still and just letting it happen, whatever it was. Fighting would do no good.

“Making you somewhat presentable. You should have let me buy you a dress.”

Roanne had been living off Henry Starr’s insurance money for about two years. He’d died of cancer after an eight-month battle; actually, he’d died of a broken heart long before that, hating Roanne for her betrayal, but never leaving her. Why he’d stuck around, Kenna had never known. It certainly hadn’t been for her. He’d actually disowned her right before her seventeenth birthday, and he’d made it clear his money wasn’t to be spent on her, so despite her mom’s seemingly kind offer—always comes with strings—Kenna would never take a dime.

“You know Daddy would have rather I wore last season’s garbage bag,” she said.

“He’s dead. What he wants doesn’t matter anymore.”

“That’s so cold.”

“It’s also true.”

Maybe, but all Kenna had ever wanted was to make her father proud and happy.

And I failed in every way.

Motions clipped, Roanne threaded the scarf between Kenna’s breasts, draped the material along her middle, then wrapped the ends around her waist. To make sure everything stayed in place, she then used a diamond-crusted broach to pin those ends at Kenna’s lower back. The final result was shockingly effective, making the dress appear almost Grecian.

Roanne looked her over, nodded. “That’ll have to do. Now, don’t be a wallflower,” she said, patting Kenna’s cheek. “Get out there and have a good time. Or not. Probably not. We don’t want a repeat of...you know.” Her mother flittered off, calling, “Hannah! Darling, you are utterly radiant! I’m so glad you could join us.”

Deep breath in...out...

Kenna concentrated on the beauty of her surroundings, wondering where to go next. The room was decked out with an incredible assortment of hand-carved stones, exotic woods and colorful marbles. Every piece of furniture provided a perfect complement, seemingly plucked straight from some Victorian palace. But her favorites? The intricate mosaics and the magnificent frieze ceiling.

“Champagne?” Brook Lynn approached her, holding out her tray.

Kenna gazed longingly at the offering, but shook her head. “I wish. It would certainly make the time tick by faster.” She made sure to enunciate each of her words, so that Brook Lynn would have an easier time reading her lips. Her friend had a rare inner ear disorder that made her hear everyday sounds at an unbearable volume. Even something as simple as a cat’s meow used to send her into screaming fits of pain. The implants in both of her ears were supposed to regulate volume somewhat, or, when even that proved to be too much—as it always did at big social gatherings—render her temporarily deaf.

“It would also energize this dud fest,” Brook Lynn said.

“True, but I can’t risk it.” Even a few sips of alcohol turned Mild Kenna into Wild Kenna. She danced on tables, sang too loudly, even performed strip teases. Once, she’d slept with a boy she hadn’t known—which was exactly how she’d ended up with the horrible reputation she’d never been able to shake.

“Oh, all right,” Brook Lynn said. “But if one more drunken old fart grabs my bee-hind, I’m going to do what Rick did to that biker and rip out his throat—with my teeth.”

Rick from The Walking Dead. Kenna and Brook Lynn always watched the show together, and then discussed their survival plans for a zombie apocalypse afterward. An apocalypse guaranteed to happen. It was just a matter of time.

“No throat ripping today.” Kenna lifted the hem of her dress, revealing the small weapon strapped to her inner thigh. She rarely left home without some sort of protection. “I brought a mini-ax. I’ll defend your honor.”

“Hey! That ax is supposed to be reserved for zombie kills.”

“Um, I’d say these people are close enough. Wouldn’t you?”

Brook Lynn chuckled, and as always, drew the attention of every man nearby. Unfortunately, “every” included their boss, Mr. Calbert, who stood in a far corner watching his employees, making sure everyone did what they were supposed to do. He scowled at Brook Lynn and made a shooing motion with his hands. Grumpy businessman speak for go back to work or you’re fired.

“I’ll stay till the bitter end and help clean up,” Kenna said. “That should pacify him for this little noninfraction infraction.”

“No way. You won’t be paid for it. And you need to get home to Norrie.”

Norrie. Kenna’s daughter, and the light of her life. The reason she pushed herself as hard as she did, working full-time and going to school part-time, with the dream of becoming a teacher. “She’s staying the night with a friend, so no more protests. I’m helping and that’s that.”

“Okay. I accept and you’re a doll.” Brook Lynn kissed her cheek before sailing off.

Kenna meandered through the crowd. A few feet away, a guy held out his empty glass without looking away from the man he was conversing with, expecting the wait staff to see and take it. Afraid he would drop it and cause a scene, garnering Mr. Calbert’s displeasure with his employees, she bounded forward and claimed the glass. Then the man beside him handed over the glass he’d just drained.

After she placed the empties on a passing tray, she circled the room, pretending to be a happy guest. The richest of women from Strawberry Valley were decidedly chilly with her, but then, that was nothing new. Some even drew their men away from her to stop any kind of interaction.

Chin up. Shoulders back. Smile. They’d never know how deeply their treatment wounded her.

She’d done penitence for her sins for seven years. She’d done penitence for her mother’s sins for far longer. No one had wanted to cast blame on Thomas Michaelson—or anger him by turning on his lover. But they’d needed a target. And there I was, painting one on my chest.

The city folk were more than happy to chat with her, but they yammered on about things she didn’t understand or even care to know. NYMEX. U.S. Energy Information Administration. Untapped oil and natural gas fields in Alaska and the continental United States. Finally she planted herself in a corner for a brief respite...and like a creeper, watched Dane.

The blond bombshell stayed at his side ninety-five percent of the time, clinging to his arm. No matter whom he spoke with, male or female, he received constant, eager nods, as if every word that came out of his mouth was the long-awaited answer to world peace.

He was polite to everyone, including the serving staff—which surprised her, because it was such a rare thing among the elite—though she noticed he avoided any interactions with his father and her mother, going so far as to steer his date in the opposite direction.

Jessica Kay Dillon, Brook Lynn’s older sister and Kenna’s other roommate, as well as a former Miss Strawberry Valley beauty queen, stepped in front of Kenna and offered her a stuffed mushroom from the tray she was circulating.

“Have you seen Dane Michaelson?” the girl whispered. “I really hope he’s into orgasm donation. I would do him so hard he wouldn’t walk right for a week.”

Of course, that was when Dane deigned to look at her again. While she was blushing from Jessie Kay’s words, reeling, imagining all the ways he was probably adept at giving those orgasms. Can’t think of him that way. Ever. Because...

Say it. Make peace with it.

Unable to turn away from him, she whispered, “He’s going to be my stepbrother.”

After all these years, Mr. Michaelson had finally divorced Dane’s mother to marry Roanne, and the two were throwing this fabulous engagement party to celebrate. Everyone seemed overjoyed to be a part of their happiness. Everyone except Dane and Kenna.

“What does that matter?” Jessie Kay asked. “He’s not your real brother.”

“He’s still off-limits.”

A gorgeous guy claimed Dane’s attention, and finally he broke eye contact with Kenna. She released the breath she hadn’t known she’d been holding. Considering the way she reacted to him, it would be in her best interest to stay far, far away from him.

CHAPTER TWO

“THE REDHEAD IS...WOW.”

Dane followed his friend’s gaze, knowing whom he’d find at the end of the line. Kenna Starr. “She is,” he admitted.

But she was also a complication.

He hadn’t been prepared for the effect she would have on him. Seeing her for the first time after so many years away had been like falling into an oven after being trapped in a deep freeze. He didn’t know whether to bask in the heat, curse or crawl out and toss in a bomb.

Lincoln West rubbed two fingers over his stubble-dusted jaw, saying, “The women here don’t seem to like her much.”

“There are rumors suggesting she’s a man-eater,” Dane said. “It’s even been debated whether or not she consumes her prey whole or spits out his bones.” He’d also heard she only ever slept with married men, and dumped the poor saps as soon as they were ready to divorce their wives.

What’s more, she supposedly had a daughter, though no one even knew the father’s name.

Dane would never admit this aloud, but he’d made a point to talk with every party attendee currently living in Strawberry Valley. After a while, he’d stopped trying to be stealthy with his questions, and just flat out demanded answers. Everyone had been more than happy to tell him everything they knew about her...only to pepper every bit of information with all the reasons he should leave Oklahoma City, where’d he’d spent the past sixteen years, and return “home.”

He’d return for good in...never.

“That sweet little morsel a man-eater?” West gave him a light tap on the arm. “I’m not buying it. You’ve seen her busing drinks to help the staff same as I have.”

Dane didn’t want to believe the gossip, either. To say he was disappointed by what he’d heard was the equivalent of calling an ocean a puddle. But...if she was anything like her mother...

Yeah. It all came back to that. Even though he knew better than most that a kid shouldn’t be blamed for the mistakes of the parents. Which was actually why he was here. Not to support his dad’s idiotic decision to marry the woman who had helped destroy their family, but to apologize to the little redheaded girl he’d hurt all those years ago.

He’d never forgotten the way her freckled face had washed with pain and fear as his mother had screamed at Roanne the day she’d discovered the affair. Or how Kenna’s little body had trembled. Or how, despite all that, she’d tried to comfort him, even though he’d called her all kinds of nasty names.

It’ll be okay. You’ll see. Everything will be okay.

He had expected her to grow into a pretty woman. After all, it was her mom’s pretty face that ensnared and obsessed his dad. But Dane had not expected this. A beauty more delicate than a fairy-tale princess, with the body of a porn star. Not stick-skinny as society worshipped, but lush and round and soft. A woman’s body.

From the moment she’d stepped into the sitting room, he had been unable to tear his attention away from her. She had a cascade of stunning red hair that possessed the barest hint of a wave. Large eyes shaded with different colors of green were fringed by spiky lashes of jet-black. Plump pink lips formed a heart in the center, surely the epitome of sin. And her skin...damn. A mix of porcelain and silk with the most adorable freckles scattered throughout.

He’d never been a freckle man, but she’d already converted him. He was pretty sure his inner frat boy would have traded his right nut for a chance to trace a path from one of her freckles to the other—with his tongue.

His hands balled into fists. Desire a Starr woman like his father? No. Humiliate his mother further? No, again.

But whatever Kenna’s past—or present—she still deserved that apology.

“I think I should get to know her better,” West said, and Dane’s fists automatically tightened. He wasn’t sure why. “I could use a friend when I move to Strawberry Valley.”

The guy had been looking for a remote place to settle down. He’d never voiced his reasons, but Dane had his suspicions.

West had had a rough upbringing, bouncing to a new foster home every six months or so. Then he’d gotten into some trouble with drugs and pissed away a full ride to MIT. A cautionary tale, yes, but one with a happy ending. The guy had gotten clean a few years ago and gone on to create a programming system Dane had purchased for eight figures.

Having never had a permanent home, West had to be looking for someplace to put down roots. He probably thought a small town where everyone knew your name—and your business—was a little slice of heaven.

He’d soon learn better.

But he wouldn’t be learning with Kenna. Because she’s soon to be my sister. No other reason—truly. “I’m your friend.”

“You aren’t moving back here. She can show me around.”

“I’ll show you around when I visit.”

“But you won’t get naked with me.”

His eyes narrowed as he said, “I will if you insist, but she’s off limits. She has a kid.” Maybe. Probably.

“So?”

“So, you don’t do mothers.”

“Always a first time for everything.”

Irritation nearly choked him. “You’ll have to pick someone else.”

West arched a brow at him. “You staking a claim?”

“No.” He didn’t do mothers, either. Hell, he didn’t even do commitment. With so many options on the buffet, there was no reason to settle for a single entrée. He would never be like his father, making promises to one woman while lusting after another.

Always better to keep his options open.

“I just don’t want her getting hurt,” he said. “Consider me on big-brother duty and drop it.”

A bark of laughter sounded. “You? Looking out for a woman’s feelings?”

“It’s not that hard to believe.”

“You forget how long I’ve known you. I’ve witnessed the pulverization of your business rivals. I’ve watched you send your assistants into hysterics with a single look, and your dates into bouts of tears with a single word. You, my friend, are what’s called an asshat.”

“And you seriously suck.”

Jada, Dane’s companion for the evening, returned from the bathroom. “You ready to go, baby?” She scraped her nails down the center of his tie, a promise of things to come.

Go? His gaze snagged on Kenna—again. She was dressed like the servers, only the outfit was particularly indecent on her, her every dramatic curve on display. Curves that her scarf couldn’t hide. But despite the boldness of her dress choice, she appeared almost...shy as she conversed with those around her. Definitely awkward.

When she thought no one was looking, she would bend down and rub her feet. Blisters? When she walked the room after standing for a bit, she would teeter on her high heels. And her smile was clearly fake, practiced rather than natural. A few times, she’d hidden behind potted plants. And yet, when single men leered at her and presented her with a phone number on a napkin, she displayed no surprise or feminine affront, just accepted the “gift” and said something to make the male laugh—before discreetly disposing of the napkin later on.

The contrasts of her intrigued him.

West was right. She couldn’t be a man-eater.

“Dane.” Jada stepped in front of him. “Are you listening to me? I asked if you were ready to go.”

“Not yet.”

She stood on her tiptoes and whispered, “Even though I’m so hot for you my panties are melting?”

He patted her hand, tried for a charming tone. “Even though.”

“Dane,” she said, stiffening. “You’ve barely even looked in my direction this whole night.”

“I’m just certain that’s not true,” he replied—his gaze still fixed on Kenna.

Jada reached up to touch his face, but he jerked away before contact. Scowling at her, he said, “You know better.”

Paling, she dropped her arm to her side.

West patted him on the shoulder. “I’ll leave you two to your...yeah.” Off he went—directly to Kenna. The two chatted easily for a bit, and with a quick, unrepentant smile thrown in Dane’s direction, West wrote something on a napkin and handed it to her. His number, no doubt about it.

Bastard.

Dane tossed back his champagne and placed the empty glass on a passing tray. He wanted Kenna out of his mind. And he could think of only one way to make that happen. Apologize, as planned, concluding their business.

Easy enough.

“You’ll be fine without me for a few minutes,” he told Jada. It was a command, not a question.

She latched on to his wrist. “But, bay-bee.”

He hated when she drew out the word like that. Added an intimacy to their relationship that wasn’t really there. Yes, they’d slept together. Yes, they would sleep together again. But that’s all they had, all he wanted.

“I’m here to spend time with you,” she said. “No other reason. I’m ready for us to get closer, reach the next level.”

Scratch that. They wouldn’t be sleeping together again. Wanting more had always been, and would always be, the final nail in any of his romantic involvements. He’d be ending things with Jada tonight.

He pried her loose and with a muttered, “Stay,” took off, closing in on Kenna.

Along the way, person after person stepped into his path. At first, he was polite. Chatted a bit before excusing himself, all the while watching the object of his fascination. She’d been uncomfortable and distant most of the night, but now, as she spoke with a beautiful blonde server, different emotions played over her features. Amusement. Delight. Irritation. Longing.

The longing made his chest ache.

Why?

By the fifth interruption, he was downright rude, snapping, “I don’t care,” and stalking away with determination. Anyone who’d ever spent any time with him knew about his volatile temper, and expected it.

Finally he reached his prey. Close enough to smell the sweetness of her perfume. He breathed in deeply, savoring the scent of vanilla and sugar; some primitive part of him seemed to stretch and wake up, insisting he grab her and cart her away. To bed. Now. Before she got away.

To bed? Hell, no. Where had that come from?

Get this over with. She’d moved on from the server and was now speaking with Bart Chumley, the middle-aged, recently divorced owner of the two biggest gas stations in Strawberry Valley.

“—so kind of you to offer, but I have to work,” she said. “Not to mention school.”

She was a student? What did she study? And why wasn’t she done? She was...twenty-three now, he thought.

Chumley had trouble looking higher than her succulent chest. “You’re breaking my heart here, Kenna. Surely there’s a day that you’re free.”

“I’m scouring my mental calendar,” she said, “but I’m telling you, all the dates are full.”

“Kenna, honey,” Dane said, his low, intimate tone at odds with the murderous glare he directed at Bart. She’s going to be a part of my family, and I protect what’s mine—don’t make another play for her.

The male must not have understood the implied threat, because he brightened. “Mr. Michaelson! It’s an honor, sir. I’ve been hoping for a chance to talk with you. You see, I’ve got this idea, and I knew you’d be perfect for...”

His voice faded from Dane’s awareness. Kenna had stiffened the moment he’d spoken, and now she slowly turned to face him. Her eyes were as wide as saucers, her cheeks flushed a deep rose. A flush that traveled past the bustline of her dress and—damn it! He was as bad as Chumley.

“I’d like a moment of your time,” he said.

She opened her mouth, closed it, then took a step away from him. He got the distinct impression she meant to refuse him, which amazed him. Women more often than not did whatever he asked. Of course, they either worked for him, so he was paying them, or they were dating him, so he was screwing them.

“Please,” he added, and the word felt foreign on his tongue.

Her shoulders slumped just a little. “Oh, all right.”

He almost grinned. Almost. “Your enthusiasm is heartwarming.”

They made it out of the overly crowded sitting room without interruption, Chumley forgotten, and stepped into the library blocked off from guests. It had been so long since he’d been inside this room, and he had mixed feelings about being there now. A bittersweetness. As a child, it had been his favorite place to play, but also where his world had crumbled.

He and his younger brother, Daniel, used to build forts in here while their dad worked, but when Daniel had died about six months before Thomas and Roanne began their affair, Dane had come in here to cry. To be alone with his shame and guilt.

He was surprised to discover nothing had changed. Same oak paneling on the walls, the shelves stacked with countless books. Same paintings by Lucas Cranach the Elder, Pieter Brueghel the Younger and Van Goyen. The triptych above the door still depicted the biblical story of Abraham and the holy sacrifice of his son Isaac.

“Sit,” Dane said to Kenna, and motioned to the couch. At the wet bar, he poured himself three fingers of whiskey. When he turned, Kenna was standing just where he’d left her, nervously shifting from one foot to the other. Wasn’t going to trust him or relax. Okay, then. He leaned against the edge of the desk, unwillingly snared by her loveliness. “I want to apologize for my behavior the last time you were here.”

“Okay. Wow. I kind of expected to be ice picked.” She toyed with the top of her scarf, causing it to shift, revealing even more of that freckled cleavage. “But an apology? Not even a blip.”

He felt as if he was falling back into that oven. He was hot, sweat suddenly trickling between his shoulder blades. His heart pounded erratically, as if trying to escape his chest. His hands itched, and damn if his slacks didn’t tighten, nearly choking the life out of his favorite appendage.

“If you can forgive me—” he began.

“Which I haven’t,” she interjected.

“But if you did—”

“Though I probably won’t.”

“Yeah, but if you did, I would—” The teasing glint in her gorgeous green eyes shut him up. “Are you laughing at me?”

“Only a little.” A smile lifted the corners of her lips, brightening her entire face. Suddenly she glowed, and he realized he wasn’t just falling back into the oven, but rather he’d already been cooked.

Stick a fork in me. I’m done. Charred all the way to the bone.

He must have been radiating heat, because the air between them began to sizzle. She lost her smile, her features dimming. He cursed the loss. Other women must have glowed like that, surely, but as he racked his brain, he came up empty.

“Sorry,” she said after clearing her throat. “I couldn’t help myself. You were just so...intent. And really, there’s no need for you to apologize, Mr. Michaelson.”

“Dane.”

“You were a kid,” she continued. “You were reacting to the horror of the situation.”

“You didn’t react to the situation.”

Her next smile was slower to come but no less bright. “That just means I’ve always been more intelligent than you.”

Smart mouth.

Gorgeous mouth. How did it taste?

Stop. Stop!

What kind of rare creature continuously teased the big, bad ruler of the Michaelson fortune? A golden unicorn at the end of a rainbow? It was new to him. But...he liked it, he realized.

Was this how she’d stolen the hearts of all her lovers?

He stiffened, hating the thought. Earlier, he’d convinced himself that West was right...that Kenna was just a sweet girl caught up in the falsity of rumor. He suspected, perhaps, that he hadn’t wanted to believe it, that he hadn’t wanted her to be just like her mother. But here she was, charming the uncharmable, stoking fires of a jealousy he’d never before experienced.

“Do you have a kid?” The question left him before he could stop it.

Her features shuttered, hiding all emotion. “Yes.”

Well, then. If one rumor was true...

“She’s six,” Kenna added. “But don’t strain yourself doing the math. I’ll just tell you. I got pregnant at sixteen and had her at seventeen.”

Something about her tone bothered him. He heard affection and love, sure, but also sorrow and pain. “Is the father—”

“Now, just hold on a sec, Mr. Michaelson.”

“Dane.” Her insistence on calling him Mr. Michaelson frustrated him.

A lot of things are frustrating me tonight.

“I’m not discussing that part of my life with you,” she said.

Fair enough. The fact that he’d even broached the topic stunned him. He, one of the most private people in existence, often refused to answer the simplest of questions about himself, and he always despised those who dared to ask, and yet here he stood, grilling Kenna about the most intimate details of her life. As if he had a right to know.

He should walk away from her. He’d done what he’d set out to do. He’d apologized. But he was loath to leave things so strained between them. They would be seeing each other again, after all.

Yeah. That’s why. Not for any other reason. “I heard you say you’re a student. What are you studying?”

Leery, as if she expected him to laugh, she softly admitted, “Elementary education.”

Admirable. “When do you finish?”

“Two years. I hope.”

“Why the late start?”

“My daughter.”

Reminded of the child, he frowned. “The girl whose father you refuse to name.”

She pushed out a heavy sigh. “We’re not going to get very far like this, so I retract what I said about not discussing that part of my life. What is it you really want to know? If her dad was married to someone else when she was conceived, as rumor claims? If I’m a husband-stealing whore?”

A muscle clenched in his jaw. His gaze slid down her body, noting again how the dress hugged each of her delicious curves. She had gorgeous legs any man would kill to have wrapped around him, with her hooker heels digging into his back.

“Are you?” he asked.

Her eyes narrowed, dark lashes fusing. While she had glowed with her amusement, she crackled savagely with her anger. What this girl felt, she really felt. Emotion affected her soul-deep.

“I was seventeen when I gave birth to Norrie. I was a kid myself. That’s all. But now I will never give you a chance to get to know who and what I have become,” she said. Up went her chin. Back went her shoulders. She pasted that fake smile on her face, one that definitely didn’t glow. “Would my past make me any less of a person with feelings capable of being hurt now?”

Hate myself. “No,” he said. “You’re not a whore. I had no right...Kenna, I—”

“Don’t bother. You heard the gossip and judged me guilty. That tells me all I need to know about your character. Goodbye, Mr. Michaelson.” She walked out of the library, and she never once looked back.

CHAPTER THREE

THE NEXT DAY was business as usual for Kenna.

Though it was saturday, she’d risen early in the morning to read the lectures that had been posted for her online courses, and to complete as many of the upcoming homework assignments as possible. Now she was spending the afternoon with her greatest source of joy, Norrie, before her evening would be dedicated to her job at Two Farms.

She pushed Dane Michaelson and his cruel accusations to the back of her mind...as well as the memory of his hard body pressed against her long-neglected one as he’d led her away from the party, the heat of him pulsing around her, driving her mad, the scent of him—testosterone and what could be referred to only as manflesh—thrilling every fiber of her being. She didn’t allow herself to worry about his bad opinion of her. Really. She didn’t. Or wouldn’t.

Starting now.

She and Norrie walked to Strawberry Park, where Brook Lynn, who worked at Rhinestone Cowgirl every morning, making jewelry, was to meet them. It was late spring, the air cool and fragrant, the small hills and meadows covered with wild strawberries, one of God’s finest creations. The plants were spread low across the ground, remaining in small clusters. The flowers had five white petals and yellow centers, the leaves divided into three rounded leaflets with toothed edges.

The wild berries were smaller than ordinary strawberries, bright red and amazingly delicious. She should have been tired of the fruit, as many as she’d eaten throughout her life, but no. She was pretty sure she’d one day die of an overdose.

“Aunt Brook Lynn!” Norrie squealed, running to throw herself into the blonde’s open arms, her hair a red stream waving behind her. “Did you bring me one of your special necklaces? Huh, huh, did you?”

“Hey, baby girl. I sure did.” She handed Norrie a small box. Brook Lynn and her over-the-top designs were responsible for turning the jewelry store into one of the town’s biggest tourist attractions. Not that Edna Mills paid her appropriately.

After the little girl had oohed and aahed over the sparkling strawberry pendant that glistened with all the colors of a rainbow, she said, “Guess what? I promised my momma I wouldn’t talk to strangers, because they might want to touch my private places, and that would be bad. Oh, good! There’s Sara!” Norrie rushed to the swing set.

Kenna and Brook Lynn shared a smile. They’d both gotten used to Norrie’s inability to keep anything secret.

“Come on.” Kenna led Brook Lynn to a nearby bench. Along the way, her cell phone rang. She groaned when she spotted the familiar number. “It’s my mother. Probably calling to tell me everything I did wrong at the party.”

A look of yearning flashed over Brook Lynn’s face. The girl had lost both of her parents years ago, and would have welcomed a little parental nitpicking.

She kissed her friend’s cheek before she stepped away and answered. “Hello, Mother Dearest.”

“You know I hate when you call me that,” Roanne said on a sigh.

“I could encourage Norrie to call you Granny. Like that better?”

Roanne hmphed. “Listen, I want you to come to dinner tonight.”

“I can’t. I have to work.”

“But...won’t you cancel? For me?”

“I’m sorry, but no. I kinda like being paid.”

Roanne murmured under breath, her exasperation clear. “What about tomorrow night?”

Kenna’s one night off. She usually spent it with Norrie, cooking one of her daughter’s favorite meals. Always a toss-up between macaroni and cheese, grilled cheese sandwiches and cheese pizza. But deep down, Kenna was still a needy little girl, craving time with her own mother.

“All right,” she said. “Norrie and I will be there.”

“Wonderful. Bring a date. Dane will be there with his. Kisses,” her mom added in a rush, before Kenna could protest.

Click.

For several long moments, Kenna sat in a daze. Dinner...with Dane. And his date.

Date. Crap! Whom was she supposed to take? She had no prospects, because she had no social life. Despite what everyone thought, her last relationship—her only real relationship—had happened two years ago with a guy who’d used to spend the summers here. Paul Bramland. Her age, cute. But she’d refused to spend an entire night with him or introduce him to Norrie, and while he’d dealt with those quirks without much protest, he hadn’t been able to deal with her refusal to be seen with him in public. She’d explained her reasons—gossip—but he hadn’t cared. He’d left town and never come back.

Guess I have that effect on men.

Though other guys asked her out, she always said no. She had so little to give, and besides, she knew she’d have to endure looks and whispers if ever she gave in. Why even bother?

“Everything okay?” Brook Lynn asked.

No. No, it wasn’t. But rather than dump all of her problems on her friend, she said, “Do you ever just...I don’t know...cut loose? Seize the day? Have fun?”

“Um, did you forget who you were talking to? No. I never do those things.”

“Well, we’ve got to do something about that. We’re too young to be so...”

“Curmudgeonly?”

“Exactly!” She chewed on her bottom lip as she pondered ways to rectify the problem. Whatever they did, it would have to be discreet. Kenna’s reputation was bad enough. And totally undeserved! She waited on men for a living. They came to the restaurant where she worked, and she served them. If one of them happened to announce he was getting a divorce soon after, well then, some people just assumed Kenna was at fault. Like mother, like daughter.

Not that she’d ever explain the truth to Dane. The guy she wasn’t going to think about anymore.

“Maybe we could, I don’t know...try every flavor of Ben and Jerry’s ice cream,” she said. “Text I hid the body to a random number. Dress up like Cinderella and actually go out in public. Eat a real Krabby Patty. Get a tattoo.” Once she started, she couldn’t stop. “TP someone’s house. Solve a case with Sherlock and Watson. Discreetly ask out a boy. Oh, screw it. Boldly ask out a boy, ignoring gossip.”

Catching her excitement, Brook Lynn said, “We could throw a drink in someone’s face. Gulp blue Gatorade out of a Windex bottle. Skinny-dip. No, no, that’s too cliché. We could jump into a body of water with all of our clothes on. Spy on someone. Speak with a fake accent for an entire day.”

“Yes, yes, yes!” She clapped. Then, testing out her fake accent said, “Wez should doz it. Allz of it.”

Brook Lynn nodded enthusiastically. “I’m in! It’z will be soz, well, funz.”

“If an opportunity arises and we’re not together, we have to try to get video proof so neither of us misses anything.”

“Deal.”

“Momma, Momma,” Norrie called, rushing over. Her cheeks were flushed a bright red, almost a perfect match to her hair. Like Roanne, her skin was unmarred by the freckles Kenna had inherited from her father. “Sara said there’s a baby growing in her mommy’s tummy and when she asked how the baby got there, her mommy said her dad gave her a special seed. Is that true? Did my daddy give you a special seed?”

Oh, sweet hairy balls. Kill me. Kill me now. Norrie knew nothing about her father because Kenna knew nothing. Well, she knew a little. He’d been a few years older than her, a college student, and he had not been married. “Let’s go home and I’ll explain about this, uh, special seed.”

Brook Lynn chuckled behind her hand. “This is where I say goodbye.”

* * *

THE NEXT DAY was not business as usual for Kenna.

Yes, she did her schoolwork. Yes, she spent time with Norrie, and even took her to church. But rather than go to work afterward, she spent the time stressing and scouring her closet for an outfit to wear to The Dinner from Hell. And she didn’t know why she bothered. The contents hadn’t changed in years. Mostly threadbare T-shirts and jeans with holes.

“What do you think of this?” she asked Norrie, who sat on her bed. She held up the blazer she’d purchased at a thrift store to interview for her job at the restaurant. She’d had to rip the shoulder pads out—that’s how old the thing was—but it had obviously impressed Mr. Calbert, so...

Norrie giggled and shook her head no.

In the bedroom doorway, Jessie Kay said, “If it’s true a girl has to dress for the man she wants to catch, then you’re about to catch an eighties heartthrob. Congrats.”

Fine. She discarded the jacket and grabbed her favorites. A T-shirt that read “Free Contradictions Cost $1.00,” and a pair of denims that weren’t even good enough to be given away, and called it good.

“I love it. Total rebel,” Jessie Kay said. “Besides, it’s you. Fancy-shmancy isn’t.”

And that wasn’t a bad thing, she told herself. I’m comfortable, dang it. “Norrie, sweetheart, are you sure you don’t want to go with me?” Kenna asked.

“So sure. Me and Aunt Jessie Kay are gonna watch TV.”

Brook Lynn was working at Two Farms tonight, but like Kenna, Jessie Kay had the night off. It wouldn’t be the first time she’d let the wild girl watch Norrie on her own, but just like every time before, she was a bit nervous.

At least she had found a date. West, one of the men she’d met at the engagement party, had given her his phone number. Actually a lot of guys had, though none but West had seemed to care about getting to know her. They’d wanted an in with the Michaelsons.

West didn’t live in town. Yet. If she was remembering correctly, he’d mentioned that he planned to move here. He was in his late twenties, and was almost as gorgeous as Dane, with dark hair, sinful brown eyes and the cheekbones and jaw of a fallen angel.

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