Searching for Perfect (Searching For 2)

Her girly parts flamed to life and begged for relief.

Nate Dunkle was gorgeous.

The dark blue pinstripe was a lean cut and accented the strength and grace of his body. The bright red tie gave him a flash of style, and the crisp white shirt was unmarred and showed off the toastiness to his now normal skin tone. He wa

s pure deliciousness wrapped up for one lucky woman she was about to introduce him to.

"Perfect. You look . . . perfect."

The salesman fussed with the fabric and beamed in the mirror. Nate stared at his reflection and caught her gaze in the mirror.

"We'll take it," he said.

He stepped off and walked back to the dressing room, closing the door behind him. She let out a shaky breath and clenched her hands into tight fists. The transformation was complete. He was ready to meet the woman of his dreams.

She ignored the strange bolt of pain that pierced her heart and chalked it up to indigestion. Nate was right. Too many salads.

She forced him into the shoe store, where she bought three pairs for him, and one for her. He lifted the bags and groaned. "I'm starving. And exhausted. My arms hurt from all the packages. Can we eat now?"

Kennedy let out a laugh. "You have no stamina, golf boy. Women do this for hours without a break or a sip of water."

"I surrender. How about pizza?"

"How about the deli? I can get something healthy."

"Done." They ordered, found a table in the food court, and began to eat. Nate spread out a bunch of napkins first and lined the white Formica tabletop before resting his elbows on the edge. A group of teens lingered in the corner, tattoos, heavy makeup, and various piercings pegging them as the rebels. Or maybe that was the cool group now. Thank God, she was out of school. "Did you live at the mall when you were in high school?" Nate asked, taking a bite of his roast beef sandwich.

She shrugged and picked at her perfectly rolled oven-roasted turkey breast. She was so sick of lean meat. She eyed Nate's club roll with longing. Maybe a pickle would help liven up her taste buds. "Didn't most kids?"

"Nah. I went once on a Friday night and tried to fit in. Got beat up in the parking lot. Then they swiped my video game I'd saved months for."

Kennedy looked up. He told the tale with no emotion, as if reciting a narrative from a book, but something deep inside her lunged up from the darkness and clawed for the light. "Were you bullied in school?"

"Yep." He bit into a potato chip. "Can't blame them. I'd skipped a grade, so I was younger and much smaller than the majority. The teachers loved me and always set me up as an example to the class. And I was a walking social disaster. If it hadn't been for Connor's protection, something bad could have happened. Kids are vicious."

Hey, fat girl. You be nice to us, and we'll be nice to you. Got it?

The pickle fell from her fingers. She wiped her clammy hands on her designer jeans. "Yeah."

He pointed to her half-eaten turkey. "How can you enjoy that without a roll? Here, take the rest of mine. And some chips." He pushed them over to her. They sat in her line of sight, taunting, reminding her again and again if she didn't stay skinny, people wouldn't love her. Reminding her of all the times she looked in the mirror and hated who stared back at her. Trapped in a body she despised and a mind that screamed for help.

The anger flooded past the dam and snapped her chin up. "Stop pushing your crappy food on me," she hissed. "Just because you can eat anything doesn't mean the rest of us can."

His brows lowered in a frown. "I don't understand. You looked like you wanted them. It won't hurt you to have a few bad things, Ken. Your body is perfect."

"I'm not perfect!" she ripped out. "You want to know what I was doing while kids hung out at the mall? I stayed home with a bunch of pizzas, soda, chips, and anything else I could fit in my mouth. A drive-through to me meant two Big Macs, super-size fries, and a shake. And I still wanted more. I couldn't shop at the mall because I needed a special fat person's store since regular sizes never fit. I was tripped, tortured, abused, and reminded every fucking day that I was ugly. That I was fat." Her hands shook with rage, but the words spewed out of her mouth like vomit, dark and ugly. "I conquered that problem pretty fast. Decided to stop eating. I starved off forty pounds and then I had lots of friends. Boys wanted me. Everything was great. Until I realized I had dropped so much weight my ribs showed, and my period stopped, and I was disappearing just like I always wished." Completely spent from her emotional tirade, she blinked furiously to keep her eyes dry. "It took me a long time to climb out of the pit. I went to therapy, learned how to eat and work out, for balance. Now, I can look in a mirror again. Remind myself I'm a successful, healthy woman. But I haven't forgotten. Sometimes food drags me back into hell. And I sure as hell am not perfect."

The full realization of what she had just done hit her like a karate kick to the head. My God, what had she told him? She had just spilled the venom in her soul to her client in the fast-food court. How could he continue working with her? How could he ever respect her for such an admission? Now he knew she was a complete fake--a mirage in the world of the flawless and fabulous. Humiliation choked her, but she raised her head and looked him dead in the eye.

Pride.

Those deep moss green eyes were filled with a fierceness that froze her in place. He reached across the table and snagged her hand. Warm, strong fingers interlaced with hers in a sign of friendship. Support. And something else. Something deep and beautiful and so very fragile that she sucked in her breath, afraid it would disappear like a curl of smoke.

"I'm sorry. I didn't know. I see you light up when you let yourself go a bit and think you deserve to be happy. But I get it." He leaned in. "I know because I've been there. You fought, survived, and flourished. You gave the world a big fuck-you and didn't let them break who you were. That's perfection, Kennedy. Sheer perfection."

She blinked, unable to pull her gaze from his. The touch of his skin on hers made her crave more. His thumb rubbed the sensitive pulse point on her wrist, massaging, pressing. Her nails dug gently into his palm, and a low sound came from her throat, a slight whimper of need and want she'd never experienced before. It took all her willpower not to get up, cross over to him, and slide into his lap. Drag his mouth to hers and finally take what she wanted, his taste and essence on her tongue. Filling her body.

A loud clatter of a tray dropping to the floor broke the spell.

She jerked back and pulled her fingers from his. Kennedy spent the next few minutes organizing her trash and recapping her water bottle. She dumped the garbage. He never moved, just sat and stared at her, as if not knowing what to say. An awkward silence dropped between them.

"I think we can call this a successful trip," she said lightly. "Ready to go?"

"Not yet." His eyes gleamed with purpose. "Let's dump the bags in the car first."

"Then what?"

He smiled slowly. "Then it's my turn to collect on my favor."

NATE GUIDED HER INTO the computer simulator and prayed for focus. As much as he hated malls, this one boasted a huge indoor playground that included a roller coaster, video games, bowling alley, and an updated golf simulator. He rarely used them anymore, but he didn't want to drag Kennedy onto a course without teaching her the basics first and getting an idea of her swing.

Usually golf calmed his mind when he was feeling overstimulated, and he desperately needed a distraction. So did Kennedy. The humiliation on her face after her confession shredded his control, until he ached to hold her in his arms and make her feel safe. Her strength and sheer force of will took his breath away, but her truth and vulnerability destroyed him.

He was crazy about her.

A loud sigh drifted toward his ears. She wiggled her ass and shifted on her heeled black sandals. Her toenails were scarlet red, and strings of rhinestones were encased across her foot. The famous toe ring shone brightly and dared him to do something naughty. "Do we really have to do this now? It's too crowded."

He pushed her gently to the front of the line. "I need to know your natural swing ability so I can help you develop when we get on the course. It'll give you great feedback."

"Sounds like work, not fun. Why are you intent on torturing me with something I hate?"

He grinned at her playfully. "Payback's a bitch."

They wen

t into the room. She took in the large screen on the far wall, the row of clubs hung to the side, and the computer set up in front. "Oh, yay. A dark, airless room so I can swing a ball at a fake movie screen. Sign me up."

He ignored her and picked a beginner's course from the screen. "What have you told me throughout our sessions? Have an open mind. Trust you. Be willing to stretch boundaries."

She snorted. "Fine. What does this thing do anyway?"

"When golfers want to analyze and fine-tune their swing, they can get feedback from the computer. It calculates speed, angle, distance, spin, trajectory, et cetera. There are radar and light sensors around the ball and screen."

"Hmm, more advanced than a Wii, huh?"

"Yes." He tried a few clubs, picked one, and handed it to her. "We'll use this. Get a feel for it first and take a practice swing."

She grasped the club in her hands, lifted it back, and swung through. "There. Can I do it for real now?"

"No. I need to show you the proper stance and hold. Come here."

She stepped over, and he positioned himself behind her. Dragging her tight against him, he brought his arms around her waist and wrapped his fingers over hers. Her body stiffened. "What are you doing?"

"Trying to show you the correct way to tee off." He bit back a groan when she did another wiggle. The lush curve of her rear pressed against his dick. Her scent swarmed him, a touch of tangerine and sandalwood that made his mouth water. The silk of her hair brushed his cheek. Nate yanked his mind off his body and ran through mathematical sequences until he was able to refocus. "Hands placed over each other. Index fingers pointing down. Choke up on your grip."

He adjusted, then drew her arms back behind her head. "This feels awkward," Kate remarked.

"It should at first. This is about where you want to stop. Now, shift your hips back. Your power is going to come from the hips and legs." Her denim-clad thighs slid past his and ripped a groan from his lips.