Stripped Raw (3 page)

I put on running shorts and a tank top then head out of my tiny apartment to my usual spot, my design table. My head falls to the top with a thud. I don’t have any appointments scheduled today, and Lord knows, I won’t be getting any random walk-in customers, not after what just happened. Maybe I’ll just close and spend the day eating a whole carton of ice cream and whatever else I can get my hands on.

My career just went up in flames in front of the whole world. Thanks, Deacon Barnes.

I allow myself a few minutes to wallow, but that’s it—a few minutes. People are depending on me. I can’t give up. I never do. I’m not that kind of girl. My mom used to call me her little
yes girl
. I’m the type who pushes through. I remind myself of that. It’s hard to convince myself right now, but I’m trying real hard. Midway through my pep talk, the phone rings.

“Let the machine get it,” my stepsister says, coming out of a back room with my baby niece strapped to her chest.

I look at the baby’s bald head, a little pink bow sliding into the few blonde hairs she has. Then I look up at my sister’s bald head. “I’m sorry, Tessa. He made a pass at me before the interview started and then was so obnoxious and when he put up your picture. . . .”

Tessa gives me a sideways hug. “Watching you hand Deacon Barnes his balls made my entire year, outside of giving birth to Zoe, of course.”

“I’m adding Deacon to the list of men I hate.” I’m in a serious man-hating phase, and not just Charles and my own father, who long ago abandoned my mother and me. No, it’s way beyond that. I’m questioning the motivation of most all men on every continent. And I’ve got a long list going—like two pages already filled up, single-space, front
and
back.

“Not all men are bad,” Tessa says, tickling her seven-month-old as the phone rings again. “Machine again.”

“I don’t know how you, of all people, can say that,” I say. “Brandon left you while you were pregnant and fighting cancer.”

“You know there’s more to it than that,” Tessa says.

I roll my eyes, but I know there is. Still, I can’t stand to listen to Tessa defend Brandon, who’s sitting pretty at the very top of my list. “Look, I can’t deal with this right now. How bad is it? How many orders have cancelled since this morning? Just tell me.” I fire up my computer to check.

Tessa smiles. “Are you kidding? The phone’s been ringing non-stop. We’re getting tons of hits online, too. The orders are piling in from everywhere.”

“What?” I gasp as the phone rings once again.

“Your interview has gone viral! Women are calling from New York to California! The national media picked up the story! Kenzie Lingerie just exploded!”

I’m in a state of shock. The phone keeps ringing all morning. Never thought I’d be grateful for a man behaving like a total prick, but thanks, Deacon Barnes!

I answer as many calls as humanly possible and let the others roll to the answering machine. Tessa helps as best she can, but for all practical purposes, Kenzie Lingerie is just me. I don’t have any staff and can barely keep up with orders on a regular week. As great as this is, I’m starting to panic a little, and I’m feeling overwhelmed. My back also hurts from leaning over my design table, writing down order after order and monitoring the online activity, but I’m not complaining one bit.

I look at the clock. I’ve been up forever, but the morning has flown by. I’m mentally calculating how much fabric I’ll need to fill my most recent order when the door behind me suddenly opens, and I turn around to find an intense pair of royal blue eyes staring at me. The man is completely sexy—tall, tan, and muscular, with a head of thick, dark hair and dressed in a suit that probably cost several thousand dollars. What is it about a man in a well-fitting suit? I saw a meme once that said a suit does for women what lingerie does for men, and looking at this guy, I’d have to say I agree.

My mouth drops open, and before I drool, I quickly close it. I need to say something, to greet the man in some way, but I can’t think of a single word in the English language because my mind and heart are racing. The only thing coming to my mind is that M&M’s commercial. You know, the one where the little candy dudes say
they do exist
?

Because men who look like this guy do
not
exist.

He runs his thumb across his bottom lip. God, that’s so hot! I’m sure I’m drooling now. How did I not notice those lips before? Who is this sexy beast of a man? What is he doing here? Is he a customer? Most importantly, have I ever seen anyone so gorgeous? I hope he’s not some crazy who saw me on TV this morning and decided to stalk me or something. It would be so disappointing if he was a crazy. He can’t be. He’s way too gorgeous.

Actually. . .

Is it bad that I’m not sure I’d mind the crazy? He’s
that
hot.

The phone rings, snapping me out of my lust-induced stupor. “Can I help you?” I ask.

“I think I’m lost,” he says.

“I figured,” I say. His voice sounds familiar, but I can’t place it. “You don’t look like our usual client.”

“Do you need to get the phone?”

“My stepsister will get it in the back, or the machine will get it. It’s fine,” I say. “Where you heading?”

He lowers his eyes for a split second. “Fleming’s Bar and Grill.”

I’m about as good at giving directions as I am at getting up at dawn, but I’ll give it my best shot for this guy. Actually, I think I’d do most anything for this guy—get on my back, my knees, my stomach, stand on my head.
Focus
!

I know I’ve seen the place he’s talking about a dozen times. I start to explain where I think it is then realize I am dishing out directions with my arms moving around like a chimpanzee in heat.

Once I get my monkey arms under control, I realize I’m not giving him the right directions. I have absolutely no sense of direction and no idea what I am talking about. I’m just blabbing. I look up at him, certain that I’m ten different shades of red, and find him smiling down at me with his head tilted a little. He looks amused, maybe. “I actually haven’t lived in Dallas for very long. Let me draw you a little map. I’m a designer. I’m better at sketching things out.”

“Whatever works for you.”

I pick up a pencil and start drawing lines and landmarks. Ah, that’s better. I get lost in my drawing for a second but worry I don’t have him headed in the right direction. Just bury me now! I’m making a fool of myself. Offering an apologetic smile, I say, “Sorry, I don’t think I can help you. It’s been a really crazy morning. And I’m obviously terrible with directions.”

“No need to apologize. It occurs to me,” he says, pulling out his phone, “that I could just use this.”

Our eyes lock on each other. The heat coming off of him is making my whole body tingle, and dare I admit my panties are soaked? I hope he can’t tell the effect he’s having on me. If he can do that to me with just his eyes, I can’t imagine what he could do with his mouth, or his. . . . The phone rings again. I remind myself that good-looking and rich didn’t work out so well last time.

“The phone?” he asks.

“No, it’s been ringing all morning.”

I hear shuffling by the entrance to the living area and watch as Tessa walks in with Zoe in her little pouch. My visitor’s eyes go to Tessa’s bald head. He quickly diverts them, but I’m sure he can see how sick she is. She’s incredibly thin. I wish the bald head was some fashion choice, but it’s not.

“Tessa,” I say, “this gentleman is trying to find Fleming’s.”

“Please, my name is Kane,” he says, smirking. “I’m not sure I am a
gentleman
—at least not all the time.”

God, I hope not! “I’m Kenzie. This is my sister, Tessa. She can give you directions.”

“To Fleming’s?” Tessa asks. “Seriously?”

I hand Tessa my map of the world. “I was trying to help him.”

“Kenzie, you were sending him to Oklahoma!” Tessa shakes her head. “Kane, you go out the door, turn right, and it’s right around the block.”

“Really?” I wonder aloud. “That’s where it is?”

“Thank you, Tessa. And Kenzie, thank you for trying,” Kane says. “I guess I’ll be on my way now.”

A twinge of disappointment settles in my chest, though I know it shouldn’t. I don’t have time to date or get involved with someone—not with work, not with cancer ravaging Tessa, not with young Zoe in the picture. I’m not sure I want to get involved, anyway. I’ve been burned by too many men. Always the one to give more than I take in the relationship, I can’t afford to do that anymore. And neither can my heart. Still, it’s been fun to flirt a little.

His voice is so familiar. I know I’ve heard it before somewhere. I wish he’d keep talking to give me more time to place it, but he’s turning to go now. Oh well, it will eventually occur to me. Just as Kane turns for the door, Zoe reaches out for him and lets slip some strange baby noise—half-human, half-alien.

Kane turns back and smiles at her. “Hey, Dimples, I guess I should’ve introduced myself to you, too.” He reaches out a hand, and Zoe grasps his thick finger.

Tessa raises an eyebrow to me. I know what she’s thinking. He’s too good to be true. Zoe sticks his finger in her mouth. “Oh, God! I’m so sorry!” Tessa cries.

“It’s fine,” Kane says, letting the baby slobber on him. “What’s her name?”

“Zoe.” The moment I say the name, his whole body tenses for a second. He’s probably completely disgusted by the baby’s saliva, now dripping down his hand and onto the cuff of his designer dress shirt.

“How about I call you ‘Dimples’?” he asks, and Zoe gurgles in reply.

I can’t believe Kane is letting my niece slobber all over him! Where did this guy come from? I hold out a tissue, and he removes his hand from Zoe’s mouth, his fingers grazing my hand. My knees go weak, and my whole body trembles. Did he feel it, too?

An awkward silence fills the room before the phone rings again. Kane clears his throat then stares at all three of us girls for a second. “I know you guys are busy today. Thank you for the directions.” He extends Tessa and me one last drop dead gorgeous smile before he is out the door.

“Do you think he’d fuck me as my last dying wish?” Tessa asks.

“Don’t joke like that,” I say.

“I should’ve asked him. I missed an opportunity. I shouldn’t do that. I mean, who knows how much time I’ve got?”

I’m not going to respond to that. I hate it when Tessa talks about dying. I haven’t given up, and I won’t. And I don’t want to discuss it. I never do.

“On second thought,” Tessa says, “you should probably take him, Kenzie.”

“A man like him wouldn’t be interested in me.”

“All men are interested in sex.”

“Oh, is that what I’d be good for?”

“Partly,” Tessa teases.

“I’ve got a vibrator for that.” My stepsister’s eyes bulge to the size of golf balls. Actually, they may even be bigger than that. They seem to be growing, too. “What? Does that really surprise you that much? That I have a vibrator?”

The golf balls turn into tennis balls. I’ve obviously sent Tessa into some kind of horrible shock. When Tessa closes her eyes and hangs her head, I suddenly feel like I’m the one about to get shocked. I hear a man clear his throat behind me.

Is there a hole I can crawl into? Complete and utter embarrassment fills me. I mouth “Oh, my God!” to Tessa and feel my face flush. I slowly turn to find Kane standing in my shop with a huge grin on his face.

“Kenzie, can I take you to lunch at Fleming’s?” he asks. “It would be a shame if you didn’t know how to get there.”

What? I can’t speak. I just talked about my vibrator. Vibrators are women’s dirty little secrets. Men aren’t supposed to know we actually have them. Words have failed me, and he’s still smiling at me. Tessa’s foot lands on my butt, but the only thing I can think to do is smooth my hair. Maybe that will spark my brain into action. My eyes trail over my workout clothes. I’m hardly dressed to go out with a guy wearing a suit.

He takes a small step forward. “You look perfect.”

Tessa nudges me towards him, and somehow my legs start to move. I grab a hoodie and wrap it around my waist. Kane opens the door for me, and I turn to the left.

“It’s the other right,” he says and captures my hand.

Of course it is. That’s what Tessa just said. Why did I turn left? Damn, my sense of direction is terrible. His thumb lightly runs over my knuckles, and I lift my fingers to release his hand, but he squeezes mine a little tighter. “Can I ask the last name of the man who won’t release my hand?”

“Hunter,” he says, continuing down the street. “Kane Hunter.”

“Are you interested in my last name?” I ask.

He stops and looks down at me, appearing a little lost himself. “Is Kenzie your real name?”

“MacKenzie. But I’ve gone by Kenzie forever. Never Mac.”

He leads me around the corner. “Okay, Kenzie—never Mac—what’s your last name?”

“Scott.”

“Looks like Tessa pointed us in the right direction.”

“Your voice sounds so familiar,” I say. “Are you on the radio or something?”

“No, I’m an attorney,” he says, pointing to a sign overhead. “We’re here.”

This place is so close to my shop, he must think I’m a moron not to know where it is. Releasing my hand, he opens the door, and I mentally award him bonus points for being a gentleman. I peek my head in cautiously. The place looks like a biker bar—dark and smoky with televisions on each wall, pool tables in the corner and not a woman in sight. It fits perfectly in my crappy neighborhood.

His hand goes to the small of my back, ushering me inside, and an old man yells out that we can seat ourselves. Kane leads me to a booth, and I hear the cracking of peanut shells under our feet. He waits for me to sit, takes off his coat, and sits across from me.

“You said you’re a designer,” he says. “What do you design?”

“Lingerie.” I always hate telling new guys that. They seem to immediately imagine what I have on under my clothes—Deacon!—or assume it makes me some sort of sex expert—which I’m not.

“That’s. . . .”

“Yes?” I say, watching his thumb slowly slide across his bottom lip again. I want to take a video of that, so I can watch it in slow motion over and over and over again—with my vibrator, of course.