Stolen Kisses, Page 3

  Checking to see if Kenzi had received his gift would open a door that was better left closed. He’d only sent the iPod because he couldn’t get the last thing she said to him out of his head. She was obviously a troubled woman. Clay saw it as clearly as he had. Whatever had happened to her, or was happening to her, was none of his business. She certainly wasn’t alone in the world. Hell, she had more family than most women had shoes.

  Still, he was restless in the face of her unhappiness, and it was distracting him. He wasn’t a man who sent presents, not even to women he dated, but he’d wanted her to know he’d heard her.

  Ridiculous.

  She probably wants to forget her drunken ramblings as much as I wish I could.

  Dax sat down at his desk and glared at his phone. Is a fucking thank you so hard?

  He opened the file on his desk that contained her contact information and a brief background check on her. There was no great tragedy leaping off the pages. Nothing.

  He slammed the file shut.

  Forget about her. Focus on the resort and Poly-Shyn.

  Nothing else matters.

  Chapter Three

  Kenzi caught her reflection in the glass that flanked the door of her parents’ home and paused. Her makeup matched her attire, subdued elegance. Silk blouse and matching slacks both tailored to a classic rather than a trendy cut. Her hair was neatly tied back. With armor fully in place, she forced a smile she’d cultivated from early childhood. Her oldest brother’s fiancée¸ Emily, loved game night and her father said that was part of the reason her mother was doing so well.

  So suck it up, Kenzi. Look happy.

  Her father, Dale, opened the door. “Kenzi, we were starting to think you’d fallen off the planet.”

  Kenzi greeted her father with a kiss on the cheek. How she felt wasn’t his fault either. He was just as much a prisoner of circumstance as she was. He’d given up a career for her mother, Sophie, but his love for her was one thing Kenzi never doubted. “I meant to call you back. Sorry. Things came up and I . . .” Her voice trailed off when she met her father’s eyes. She’d never been good at lying to him. “I needed a few days on my own.”

  Dale closed the door behind her and took her coat. “You know how your mother worries when she doesn’t hear from you.”

  Kenzi forced a placating smile to her lips. “I’m here now and ready for a night of Monopoly or charades.”

  Dale studied his daughter’s face for a moment. “Is there something upsetting you?”

  Kenzi almost said yes, then she reined her honesty back. Her father didn’t want to know the truth. Wait for it. Wait for it.

  He continued, “Because your mother is so happy lately. Let’s have a peaceful night.”

  And there it is, the reason he asked if I’m okay. Not because he wants to know how I feel, but because he doesn’t want me to ruin game night with messy emotions or inconvenient anger.

  One kind of lie came easily because it had been told so many times. “I’m fine, Dad. I wouldn’t be here if I weren’t.”

  Dale pressed his lips together as if he wanted to say something but changed his mind. Then he said, “Game night is fun, isn’t it? It’s good for you to be spending time with your brothers and laughing.”

  Gotcha: don’t forget to laugh. She linked arms with her father and started toward the living room with him. “Is everyone here already? And what’s on the calendar? Cards? Scrabble? A piñata?”

  Her father paused and looked at her for a long moment.

  Kenzi gave herself a mental shake. Whoops. Sorry, didn’t mean to let my feelings show there.

  “Kenzi—”

  “I know, Dad. Sorry.”

  They started walking again and, as they entered the living room, Sophie rose and rushed over to hug her warmly. “Kenzi, I’m so glad you’re here.”

  She wasn’t angry, and that added to Kenzi’s guilt. Kenzi might hate the circumstances that had changed Sophie; she could resent how fragile tragedy had left her mother and what that meant for their family—but Sophie herself? She was the single kindest, most loving person Kenzi had ever met. Hating her would be like hating a puppy for wanting to cuddle on your lap. “How could I miss game night?”

  Emily waved from the couch. Kenzi waved back. Asher nodded from where he was standing, talking to Ian.

  Lance, the brother closest to her age, came over and put an arm around her shoulder. “You’re on my team tonight. Have you ever played Scattergories? Looks like that’s the poison of the evening.” Kenzi’s eyes flew to his. He quickly said, “I’m kidding; it sounds fun.”

  Whether he meant it or had said it to appease those who were listening, Kenzi didn’t know. It didn’t matter either way. The line between truth and forced reality had blurred a long time ago. “Does it matter which game we play as long as we kick a little ass?”

  “Kenzi—” her father said in soft reprimand at her curse.

  Asher laughed and said, “That’s the spirit, Kenzi. I knew there was a scrapper in you. Tell us how you really feel.”

  Kenzi looked around the room at the happy expressions on everyone’s faces and imagined how quickly the evening would change if she actually said what was bubbling within her.

  You want to know the truth?

  I hate that you do whatever you want no matter what I say.

  I hate that you canceled my show.

  I hate that I can’t tell you how angry I am.

  Why can’t we ever talk about how we feel?

  I want to say his name.

  I want to tell you I’m not the perfect daughter or the perfect sister you think I am. I want to lay all my ugly secrets at your feet and see if you still love me.

  Kenzi took a deep breath and pushed those thoughts away. Stop being selfish. No, they didn’t love her the unconditional way she yearned for, but they weren’t bad people. Maybe they, like her, were surviving the only way they knew how.

  Was game night good for them?

  If we suffer through enough of these, like bad-tasting medicine, will we come out on the other side healthier?

  After years of gathering for holidays and during their annual April week of denial, they were now gathering at least twice a month with the goal of simply enjoying each other’s company. Kenzi looked at Emily who was smiling warmly at her. Instead of feeling threatened by her, Kenzi told herself she should be grateful to her.

  Find the good. Focus on that. Emily makes Asher happy. She makes my parents happy. She’ll probably be a wonderful mother for my nephews and nieces when they come.

  I can do this. I can leave well enough alone.

  Kenzi squared her shoulders and shook a fist playfully in the air. “I feel victory coming, that’s all I feel. Let’s get this game started.”

  A laugh spread through the room, and they all sat down to play. As Emily explained the rules of the game, Kenzi pushed herself to enjoy the evening until she had almost convinced even herself she had.

  She claimed she had an early morning the next day and left her parents’ home after the second round of Scattergories. It had been a successful evening measured by the level of happiness it had brought Sophie. They would get together again in a couple weeks and by then Kenzi was determined to be in a better state of mind.

  She said good night to Josh at the door of her apartment, walked inside, and kicked off her shoes. She plopped onto the couch, leaned forward to pick up the iPod, and hit play. She sat back against the cushions and let the soothing sound of waves wash over her.

  A small part of her felt guilty for not calling Dax Marshall to thank him for the gift. She could hear her father’s voice telling her he’d raised her with better manners than that. Calling Dax, though, would have forced her to face why he’d sent her the gift in the first place.

  I can only imagine what I must have said to him for him to send this.

  She’d considered throwing away the gift to help wipe that night completely away, but she couldn’t. There was something about the
message he’d sent along with the gift that made her feel less alone. It wasn’t only the sound of the ocean that soothed her; it was the fantasy that the man who’d sent it to her cared about her and how she felt.

  He’d heard her.

  She wasn’t ready to replace that fantasy with whatever truth she would discover during an actual conversation with Dax. He could have sent it out of guilt over something he’d said to her. Guilt was a powerful motivator. It always made her otherwise independent and powerful brothers drop everything when their father called. It was why Kenzi had moved back to Boston.

  Not guilt. I like my version better. She held the iPod to her chest and closed her eyes, savoring the memory of Dax. Memories of the night were sketchy, but she would never forget how strong his arms had felt when he’d held her against him. The light scent of his cologne. It was one she recognized, and normally mildly liked, but on Dax it was heavenly. Her body hummed with excitement from the memory of being near him. It wasn’t like that most of the time. Usually she couldn’t put the past behind her long enough to think of a man that way.

  I should thank him.

  For the gift, not for my wayward thoughts.

  She picked up her phone and did a quick Internet search. He had offices in several cities. She randomly chose one of them and decided to send him something small along with an acknowledgment that she’d received his gift.

  No need to talk to him. No need to face the truth. Just a quick thank you, and it’s done.

  Another week passed and Dax had mostly pushed Kenzi out of his head. He’d stopped waiting for a response from her, stopped wondering why she hadn’t contacted him, and had taken two different women out on dates to prove to himself that he didn’t care if she ever did.

  Oddly, the evenings had consisted only of dinner.

  No sex, even though both had shown interest.

  Kate buzzed in on his desk intercom. “Mr. Maxwell Andrade is on line one. Should I put him through?”

  “I’ll do it.”

  Work, the perfect cure to all ailments. Dax hit a button on his telephone and said, “Max, I was just looking over your offer.”

  “Good,” Max said in the crisp tone that was his norm. “But that’s not why I called.”

  “Really?” Dax leaned back in his chair. Their conversations to that point had revolved solely around the island property. “How can I help you?”

  “I met with Trent Davis, and he mentioned speaking to you regarding Poly-Shyn.”

  “He did.”

  “Circumstances have changed since he spoke with you.”

  “They certainly have. The company isn’t worth nearly what they were asking.”

  “Poly-Shyn is no longer going to be sold. The youngest son wants it.”

  “Dean Henderson? He’ll lose it in a card game if he gets it. The family should consider anything I give them a gift if that’s their plan for it. What’s your interest in this?”

  “My family protects its own. The Hendersons are friends of the family.”

  Dax drummed his fingers on the table.

  Max continued, “It would mean a lot to my family if you turn your attention elsewhere.”

  Dax could have told him that his interest in the company was at the preliminary stage, but he didn’t like Max’s tone. “I’m afraid that’s not how I do business.”

  “Let me make this clearer. If you do anything that adversely affects the Hendersons, you’ll quickly regret it.”

  “Is that a threat?”

  “It’s a promise, and consider my bid for your resort retracted.”

  “Do what you need to do. Shame about the Bahamas. It had Andrade written all over it.”

  “I don’t think you understand how ugly this could get.”

  Dax dismissed the final threat. “Ring me if you change your mind.” With that, he hung up.

  The loss of a buyer for the property hadn’t fazed him. What Max Andrade had not yet learned was that no matter how good a person or an opportunity appeared, they were always replaceable. Always.

  The conversation, however, had sealed the fate for Poly-Shyn.

  He could profit from taking over countless other teetering companies—each with less chance of being a professional landmine—but Dax’s course was set. If Max hadn’t laced his request with a threat, who knows, maybe Dax could have been swayed. Instead, Max had hit him on his Achilles heel.

  No one told him what to do.

  He had worked too hard to put himself in a position where no one could.

  A shadow of a memory from his childhood surged within him, and he slammed a fist on his desk. His father had lived large, partied hard, and died before his time while flying his fourth wife to Europe for cosmetic surgery, leaving a young and angry Dax in the custody of an uncle who thought discipline was best delivered with a fist. He’d had no respect for how Dax’s father had lived and had said it was his duty to make a man out of Dax.

  Dax had never known his mother, and his uncle said she didn’t matter. People who left didn’t matter. Having been part of stepfamilies that had come together during his father’s brief marriages only to dissolve after divorces, Dax didn’t need much convincing that his uncle was right. Even though his uncle’s love had been brutal, Dax told himself it had been necessary. If Dax had never felt powerless, he would have remained as weak as his father. Instead, he’d learned to channel his anger and protect himself.

  When his uncle had died suddenly from a heart attack while Dax was away in college, that event, too, had shaped the man Dax had become. The inheritance he’d received from both his uncle and his father had bankrolled his first company takeover and set him free.

  No one controlled Dax now.

  No one ever would again.

  Dax turned in his chair and stood. He’d anticipated the Barringtons coming to the defense of the Hendersons, but the Andrades were a surprise. He hadn’t realized the families were that close.

  Normally, he knew better than to let business become personal, but that’s what this deal had become. Dax ran a hand through his hair before returning to his desk. He was frustrated. Angry. Is this about what Max said or the fact that I haven’t heard from a woman I’d be better off forgetting? I need to get her out of my head. He stretched and turned his attention to his email.

  The next day was more of the same until Kate walked into his office and announced, “Mr. Marshall, there is a package here for you.”

  “Put it aside; I’ll look at it before I leave.”

  “You may want to see it now. It was sent over from the Boston office. It says it’s from Miss Barrington.”

  Dax surged to his feet. “Bring it in.”

  Kate placed it on his desk with a smile. She looked as if she expected him to open it in front of her. Dax cleared his throat, and she said, “Oh, I’m sorry. I’ll be at my desk if you need me.”

  He raised an eyebrow in question.

  She smiled wider. “In case you need her phone number or to send her something else.” Looking far too pleased with herself, she closed the door behind her.

  Once alone, Dax picked up the small box and bounced it in his hand. It had been nearly two weeks since he’d sent Kenzi the iPod. What would she have sent him?

  He read the note attached to it: Thank you for your kind gift. Kenzi Barrington.

  Polite. Impersonal. Disappointing.

  Impatient, he tore the wrapping off the gift and frowned at the contents. She’d sent him a bottle of his favorite cologne.

  It was an oddly intimate and exciting gift. It instantly brought back a memory of how delectable she’d smelled and how he’d tried to deny his attraction to her when he’d carried her in the elevator. She’d buried her face in his collar, and he’d chastised his cock for confusing her nuzzling with foreplay. Apparently not even a little vomit and a few crazy outbursts could kill the boner he’d gotten from being near her. It wasn’t something he was particularly proud of.

  Nor was he happy with the fact that his co
ck was twitching with excitement at the idea that she might be remembering how it felt to be in his arms. Remembering his touch, his scent. Wishing, as he did, that the evening had ended differently.

  He kept the bottle of cologne in his hand and paced his office. He could call her, but a check of his watch confirmed it was still early enough in London that Kenzi would probably still be sleeping.

  In bed. He remembered how beautiful she’d looked in her panties and bra when she’d stood and stripped her dress off on the beach. He imagined how those perfect breasts of hers would look loose beneath a silk nightgown or bared to him as she arched them toward his mouth.

  The front of his pants tightened again. He returned to desk, put the bottle in one of his drawers, and tried to return his focus to his email. He somewhat succeeded, and the next few hours quickly passed.

  The door of his office flew open and Clay barged in with a flustered, apologetic Kate at his heels. “I tried to get him to wait.”

  Dax stood and waved her away. “I know. Close the door behind you.” He motioned for Clay to take a seat and sat across from him. It was easy enough to see that his friend wasn’t happy. “What are you doing on this side of the pond?”

  “I had business in New York. Lucky for you I did. I met with Max Andrade. What the hell, Dax? He was just about to sign. Now Hurd pulled back his offer. Didn’t even lower it. Just pulled out. What happened?”

  Dax folded his arms across his chest. “Max wanted me to back off of the Poly-Shyn deal.”

  “I didn’t realize the Andrades even knew the Hendersons.”

  “I didn’t either.”

  “So, he called in a personal favor. For the kind of money you were about to score on the island it might have been worth it.”

  “He warned me off it.”

  “Oh, boy. I know that tone.” Clay stood, walked over to the bar in the corner of the office, and poured himself a shot of whiskey along with one for Dax. After downing his and returning to his seat, he said, “So, let me get this straight: you’re going to take on three of the most powerful families on the East Coast—why? May I remind you now about your philosophy of always following the profit and not getting emotionally involved?”