Searching for Perfect (Searching For 2)

She walked with purpose into the vision center and spoke to the woman at the front desk. "Dr. Murphy is just running a little late. Can you take a seat?"

"Sure." She led Nate to the waiting area, but he didn't sit. Just paced back and forth. "Geez, a bit over the caffeine limit today?"

"I don't like eye doctors."

She laughed, then realized he was dead serious. A panicked gleam lit his eyes, barely visible from behind his thick frames. "She's not going to hurt you. I just want to make sure she fits the contact lenses correctly."

"No contacts."

She studied him. The stubble sculpted his jaw and lined his upper lip, giving him an edge. His brows were now perfectly separated, and the slight wave in his hair set off the hint of blond, warming his skin. But her piece de resistance would be the glasses, and she needed to address his concerns. "Why not?"

His jaw tightened. "I don't like them."

She remained patient. "Why?"

He leaned in and hissed out the words. "I don't like anything in my eye, okay? I am not sticking my finger at my eyeball. Forget it. Let's just get out of here."

She bit back her smile. "I hear you. Everyone has something--mine happens to be the GYN. I see stirrups and shudder."

"TMI, Ken."

She laughed. "Sorry. Look, just go through the exam and we'll talk. I don't want to make you do something you hate, but the types they have nowadays are really different. Will you promise to try? If you hate it, we'll get you new frames and forget it."

He let out an aggravated breath. "Fine. But I won't like it."

"Nate Dunkle?"

He shot her a glare and followed the doctor into her office. The exam was short, and they were set up at the counter to try some contacts. A pretty woman in a white coat lined up some supplies. Her eyes were a startling blue green that contrasted dramatically with her black hair. She introduced herself as Tracey and went into her spiel about the way to wear contacts, the kind the doctor recommended, and how to maneuver them.

"What are the statistics on eye damage from contact lenses?" Nate asked.

"Umm, I'm not sure, but as long as you follow the instructions for care, it's pretty low."

"How low?"

Kennedy slid her hand over the counter and squeezed his hand. Hard. "Nate, most of the population wears them. Give it a try."

Tracey seemed to sense his fear and smiled brightly. "You'll look amazing. Your current frames are a bit outdated."

"How many instances have occurred with the lenses scratching a person's cornea and causing blindness?"

Tracey blinked. "Umm, I'm sure I can find out for you if I Google it."

Kennedy squeezed again. "Just try it. Now."

He muttered something under his breath and took the lens. Tracey guided him through the procedure, until both were safely in his eyes. He blinked madly and stared into the mirror. "How do they feel? They look amazing," Tracey said.

It took a while for him to answer. "Not bad. Actually, I can't even feel them."

The assistant lit up. "See, I told you. Why don't you wear these for the day, and if they work, we'll order a three-month supply."

He kept staring in the mirror as if fascinated by the technology. "Damn, everything's so clear. I can see better than with glasses."

Tracey nodded with enthusiasm. "The frames actually limit your line of vision. I'm so happy you like them. You look amazing."

Kennedy stifled her giggle. The woman seemed to know only that one word--amazing. But what the hell. She seemed enchanted by Nate. Another good opportunity to see if he'd learned a few lessons. "Doesn't he?" she cooed. "Wait till the females get a look at you."

Tracey looked confused. "You're not married?"

"No, Nate's free and single."

Tracey sharpened her gaze. Took in his hair, face, and new eyes. Kennedy noticed she winced at his outfit but was able to overlook it for now. "How wonderful. Well, Nate, I'd be glad to give you my number and you can call me anytime with your questions."

He was so intrigued with his reflection, he didn't answer. Kennedy nudged him again. Harder. "Oh! Yes, sounds good. I guess they make color contacts, too. I like the ones you're wearing."

Tracey shook her head. "Oh, I'm not wearing contacts; this is my real eye color."

"You have beautiful eyes," Kennedy offered.

"No, they're contacts. I can see the lines around her pupil. Her real eye color is brown."

Tracey stopped smiling. "You must be mistaken."

Uh. Oh.

"No, I'm not. Just like your hair, it's obviously not black since I can see the roots coming in. How come you changed it? I like brown hair with brown eyes."

Tracey froze. Her voice dripped icicles. "I'll write up your bill, Mr. Dunkle. If you have a problem, you can call the customer care center." She stalked away, hair swishing, and Kennedy dropped her face into her hands and groaned.

"What? What'd I say?"

Kennedy wondered if another dog collar session with higher electrical shock capacity would make a difference. "You broke the cardinal rule again. Again. I thought you read Cosmo!"

"I do. I never said a word about her body. Or her weight, or age. I gave her a compliment."

She lowered her voice to a hiss. "Some backhanded compliment. You mentioned her roots. And called her a liar. Yeah, that'll get you to the first date."

His mind clicked for a few moments. Finally, he groaned. "Crap, I did. Sorry, I was distracted by being able to see so clearly. It's intriguing how sharp the world looks."

"Forget it. Let's get out of here and get you some new clothes."

She averted the stores with loud rap music and teen clothes, and started in J.Crew. She wove in and out of the Saturday crowds with the ease of an expert.

He stumbled behind her, trying to keep up, muttering "Excuse me" to a bunch of people before reaching their destination. The buzz of adrenaline lit up her blood, and she needed to breathe deeply to remain calm. God, she loved shopping. Everything about it revved her up. The limitless possibilities of sales, new looks, confidence, and hope. And shoes. Oh, my, the shoes . . .

"Ken?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm scared. You have a weird look on your face."

She rolled her eyes. "Wait here." She hit the register and came back with measuring tape. "I need to confirm your sizes. Stick your arms out to the side and hold still."

He regarded her as if she had asked him to strip naked and dance on the corner of Times Square. "I'll tell you my sizes."

Kennedy wielded the tape as a weapon. "I already know you wear the wrong size. Your pants are too big for you."

"I beg your pardon."

She tamped down another laugh. He was so damn funny in his own way. "Not around the crotch. The waist." The words shot out of her mouth, and automatically her gaze lowered. She stopped laughing.

Suddenly, an image of what he would look like naked clouded her vision. Back off, girlfriend. Fantasizing about her rocket scientist was off limits. "Arms out."

This time, he obeyed. And the whole time, his gaze burned into her. Ate her up. And licked her clean. Her fingers trembled slightly as she wrapped the tape around his waist. His distinct scent hit her nostrils, and she fought the urge to bury her face into his chest and breathe in deep. His muscles jumped under her touch, and stiffened. Kennedy tried to breathe and stay calm. What was going on? She'd never been attracted to a client this intensely--let alone this type of man--in her life. "Thirty." Her voice came out husky. She eased her way up.

How had she ever thought he wasn't toned? It must have been the ill-fitting clothes. His actual chest was quite broad and had a delicious hardness underneath the cotton fabric that she itched to explore. What type of lover would he be? All focused and serious? By the book? Or so intent on her pleasure nothing else would matter?

A shudder wracked her spine. "Forty," she squeaked out.

He stared at her, unblinking, a flare of pure male lust gleaming from his greenish eyes. "Must be all that Zumba working for me."

Ken bore down and slid the tape up and around his neck. Swallowing hard, she managed to touch the two ends together. Then looked up.

His lips were a woman's dream. Full, sculpted, with that sexy stubble wrapping them around like a Christmas gift all for her. His features boasted new definition, now that the bulky frames were gone. Sharp cheekbones and a strong jaw gave him a hint of the badass type she'd always been weak for. His shoulders and biceps suddenly seemed massive and meaty, with enough power to lift her and hold her against the wall while he pounded inside her and . . .