Gena Showalter - The One You Want

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.