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"Always eat ice cream. It's a beautiful thing to watch."
She held her breath. Waited.
He clenched his jaw, muttered something under his breath, and rose from the chair. "Come on. I'll walk you to your car."
This time, he didn't take her hand. Stung but determined not to show it, Kennedy didn't let herself think of the loss of his touch or the kiss that hadn't occurred. They walked back in silence until they reached her vehicle.
"Good night, Ken. Drive safe."
He disappeared down the street, but she refused to look back.
Absolutely refused.
six
KENNEDY STUDIED HER client as he crossed the room. She'd texted him to meet her at the Tuck-N-Pack gym, but it took a few rounds back and forth to get him to agree. Guess working out wasn't his thing. His T-shirt and sweat shorts were the closest to normal clothes she'd seen him in. His legs held nice tone and his six-foot frame wasn't overbearing and fit his body type nicely. His shoulders and biceps were pretty cut. Could he have possibly gotten those arms from golf? Nah, impossible: that was the wimpiest sport in the world and did nothing. Amazing how his whole persona changed with just a haircut, polish, and normal skin tone. Her Eliza was blooming in front of her eyes.
Kennedy had tossed and turned all night, thinking about that almost kiss, and finally came to a conclusion. Their relationship would now be strictly business. No ice cream cones, hand holding, or confessionals. It was perfectly normal to begin developing a bond when working so closely. Arilyn had struggled with the line many times; Kate had ended up with one of her clients, for crying out loud; and now it was her turn. But when morning finally came, and she climbed out of bed from a sleepless evening, she committed to the path. No more diversions.
He stopped and looked over his thick frames with pure suspicion. "Hey."
"Hi. How was work?"
"Wayne got blocked, so I had to talk him off the ledge."
"Your lab partner?"
"Yes. I hate these places. What idiot names a place the Tuck-N-Pack?"
"I thought it sounded creative. You seem cranky."
He glowered. Kennedy fought a smile. Her scientist looked kind of adorable with his newly waxed brows drawn down and his jaw clenched. "Let's get this over with. What are we doing? Weights? Bike? Treadmill? Or do you just want me to put you on my back while I do one hundred pushups for your entertainment?"
"Not today. You've got great biceps. And legs. Do you run?"
"No. It's from golf."
She snickered. "Yeah, right. We're taking a class today to stretch your boundaries. Have you ever danced?"
Something akin to horror flickered in his eyes. "Have you ever golfed?"
"Guess not. A man comfortable with dancing owns his body. Dancing brings grace, balance, and a certain sensuality. You live mostly in your head. You're missing a connection to your actual physical form, and I think this will do the trick. It's also a great workout."
His glasses slipped a few inches down his nose. He shoved them back. "What class is it?"
She turned on her heel and headed toward the smoked glass door in the back. Her fingers curled around the handle. "Zumba." With a grin, she opened the door and stepped through.
He froze to the spot and the door swung closed in his face. She waited, but he remained still, refusing to move. Kennedy held back a sigh and peeked back out. "Nate, trust me on this."
He waited a beat. Two. Then walked away. Kennedy leaped out in front of him. "Is there a problem?"
Nate lowered his voice to a dark hiss. "Do you know what gym class was like for me? I still have nightmares, and now you want to humiliate me in another group setting? Stomping around to a bunch of bad music with a cheerleader-type instructor is not my idea of a decent workout."
She jerked back. God, she hadn't anticipated his bringing up awful memories of high school gym. It seemed like they had suffered the same woes of adolescence--it had taken years before she'd been strong enough to go into a gym with her head held high and work out without wondering if she'd hear the chants of fat girl. She grabbed his hand and squeezed tight. "I'd never do anything to humiliate you. Never. Everything I do has a higher purpose, and that's to find you a wife, Nate. Your wife. I send all my clients to this gym, and no one judges them. Just try it with an open mind. Please."
She held her breath for his decision. An odd sort of heat flooded through her from the intense way he studied every inch of her face, as if probing beneath her skin to find all the stuff hidden. He had a way of making someone feel she was the most important person in the world under that stare.
"Are you sure Zumba will get me to my wife?"
"It's an important piece in the puzzle. Each step brings you to the next level."
He returned the pressure of her fingers. Funny, it was like they fit perfectly together. Almost like being home. The thought skittered through her, and she quickly tugged her hand away. Business. Just business.
"Fine. I'll try."
Giddiness flooded her. "Thank you. You won't regret it."
"I don't believe you, but I'll try anyway," he muttered.
She dragged him into the studio before he had time to change his mind.
The cool air hit her full force and pebbled goose bumps on her bare arms and legs. The room was half-full, and she guided him toward the back corner. Large screens were set up so the instructor could be viewed from every angle, and most of the students were warming up with gentle stretches. Nate crossed his arms in front of his chest and surveyed the room with disdain. She leaned over. "First off, no one's looking at you. No one cares. Try to let yourself go for once in your life and forget controlling the outcome. Don't rationalize the moves. Have some fun, and take an hour off from results."
He stiffened, but the perky brunette bounced to the center stage and spoke into her earpiece. "Is everyone ready to ZUMBA?"
The crowd roared. "Yes!"
"Well, let's turn it up, people!"
The music boomed from the walls and ceiling, wrapping them in a Latin-type rhythm that perked up the heartbeat and warmed the blood. Kennedy concentrated on their model, enjoying the back-and-forth steps of the warm-up, and watched Nate in the mirror under half-lidded eyes. He stomped back and forth with deliberate movements, his nose wrinkled in concentration. She knew it would be a big test for him to admit he may not get the steps, but it was important to dive beneath the control barrier he kept up. No woman wanted a perfectionist as a mate, or someone judgmental. She needed to scratch past his rigid mental structure and get him to feel.
The warm-up transitioned to grinding hip-hop. Kennedy missed many of the steps, but made up for it in enthusiasm and the swing of her hips. Another glance in the mirror showed the gleam of sweat on Nate's brow, the slip of his glasses down his nose, and the frustrated grimace of his lips. She almost caught the smoke from his head steaming out as he tried to mimic the instructor's rapid pace. As soon as he nailed one routine, she switched to another rocketing foot dance that seemed to have no rhyme or reason. It was exactly what Kennedy wanted him to experience.
"Let's work the hips, people! One, two, and three. Slide on four. Bump and grind, baby, that's what I'm talking about!"
Forty minutes into the class, Nate Ellison Raymond Dunkle surrendered.
It was a fascinating breakdown to watch. Kennedy knew the exact moment he decided he couldn't do it. No matter how hard he tried, the dance slipped away from him, always out of his grasp, leaving only the raw tempo of music, the scent of sweat, and the stamp of feet on the bare floors. The lights spun and threw him into a greenish silhouette.
Kennedy prided herself on breaking down the male species. Arilyn usually helped target the exact hurdle her prey needed i
n order to strip down boundaries. Kennedy wasn't educated as a counselor, but she enjoyed witnessing growth in a person. Lord knows she'd dealt with tons of angst in her own past. Still, pain built character. Growth helped love. Being stagnant and fearful only blocked any of the good vibes in a healthy relationship.
At least, that's what she always believed.
He stopped dancing. Stared at the move of bodies, flowing and ebbing, some in tempo and most not. She never stopped in her own routine. This was his journey, and his choice. She could only lead him in the right direction. Kennedy turned, bent, then did a rotation, a hip thrust that made her feel naughty and powerful. Again. And again.
Nate narrowed his gaze, taking in the scene, and did the one thing she'd swear the man was incapable of.
He danced.
He spun, lowered, rotated, and thrust. Worries over looking stupid, or not copying the exact movements, or the horror of his high school gym class all seemed to drift away. He missed most of the steps but never stopped. He gave up and gave in, and his body took over.
She couldn't tear her gaze from him in the mirror. His cotton shirt slipped up and she caught a glimpse of a nice rack of abs. The innate stillness he owned radiated outward into a flow of almost poetic grace, his feet sliding across the floor, his hips rocking with a power that left her a bit breathless. Like a caterpillar catching flight as a butterfly, in that instant he dove into the moment and owned it. An almost sexual energy emanated in waves and mixed with the earthy tempo, turning him into a man radiating sheer command. For one second, her skin tingled and her breath caught. For one second, she was completely and utterly attracted to him.
The music changed; slowed. Cool-down began, with gentle glides and simple arm movements. The moment passed and faded, already seeming like a weird dream. Class ended and students lingered to guzzle water, chat, and speak with the teacher. A proud grin curved her lips as she walked over to her profusely sweating client.
