Searching for Perfect (Searching For 2)

Her victory of sane speech was short-lived. Those thumbs stroked under her jaw and began to trace the lines of her mouth. The fascinated, intense look on his face thrilled her. Had a man ever looked at her so . . . hungrily? As if he craved to feast on her for hours without end? A shiver bumped through her.

"Eliza and Professor Higgins hooked up at the end of the movie."

What was he talking about? Her heart beat so loudly she heard it over the raging storm. Oh, My Fair Lady. "You saw that movie?"

His mouth quirked. "Of course. I watched a bunch of so-called chick flicks and classic musicals to study the female mind and what she may find romantic."

Holy crap, she couldn't make him up if she tried. She dragged her tongue across her dry lips and watched his eyes light up with intent. Uh-oh. "They were terrible for each other. He didn't respect her enough."

"Yes, he did. Once she woke him up to the possibility of a match, he was done. He loved her from the first. He just didn't know it yet."

Oh, she was in trouble. She clawed for sanity, but his thumb pressed against her now damp lips and slipped inside just an inch to touch the tip of her tongue. The move was so damn sexy she forgot her clever response to his statement. She was an accomplished flirt, dated a wide variety of men, and knew every maneuver to block an unwanted kiss or touch like a black belt. Yet, here she stood outside of Mugs like a helpless virgin, waiting for him to do something she didn't want.

"Ken?"

"Huh?"

"I want to kiss you."

"Don't think that's a good idea."

"Agreed." He lowered his head so his breath struck her mouth. "Don't care."

His kiss broke all barriers without violence, urgency, or crazed passion. He simply claimed her mouth completely without question. His big hands cradled her face and his tongue slipped inside like he belonged there. Whisper-soft lips melded to hers and sipped at her essence, savoring every smooth thrust, exploring each hidden corner and bestowing sweet pleasure. She moaned under the sensual assault and asked for more. His fingers tangled in her hair and tipped her head farther back while he drank, tasted, demanded, gave. Her head spun and her knees weakened, and in that one moment, Kennedy fell completely under his spell.

He retreated slowly, nipping at her lower lip before pulling completely away.

Kennedy gripped his arms. Whoa.

Just . . . whoa.

Most men would've gone for the jugular and pushed past her temporary weakness to their advantage. Nate waited patiently while she got her bearings. He studied her face as if committing every feature and angle to memory, and once again she got the sensation of being wrapped in a cocoon of security and warmth. "You okay?"

"Yep. That was a mistake."

"We learn from lots of mistakes. Can we do it again?"

A tiny laugh escaped. The last of the fog drifted away, and the rain slowed to a lazy drizzle. Kennedy dug deep for composure. She fought the urge to duck her head, and instead met his heated gaze head-on. "No. I don't date clients."

"I'll quit Kinnections."

"Absolutely not. You don't want me, Nate. I don't do forever. I'm not looking for marriage or security or children right now. I just do . . . now."

"I like now."

A genuine smile curved her lips. She hadn't actually liked a man in a long, long time. She forgot how good it felt. "No. Sometimes the lines get blurred with matchmaking, but I won't let it happen again. We followed an impulse, but now it's over. And I'm going to find you a wife. Someone you can love forever. Someone perfect."

He seemed to analyze her words, picking them apart, studying, then sliding them all back into place to discover the full puzzle. Finally, he took a step back and nodded. "I won't push. I respect your decision. But I won't apologize."

"Good, I wouldn't want one." The heat surged again between them but she was prepared this time and able to ignore it. "The rain stopped. I better go. Don't forget to meet me at the salon tomorrow night. Six sharp. I emailed you the address."

"Okay. Good night."

He gave her freedom and she took it. By the time she reached her car and turned on the ignition, she looked back and he was gone. She made the short drive home and finally stepped into her trendy apartment. The silence soothed her raw nerves, and she went room by room, switching on the lights so there wasn't a slither of darkness. She kicked off her heels and dug her feet into the plush carpet. Rich wood floors were the new style, but she had no pets or children, and enjoyed the feeling of the cushioning on her bare feet. The deep vanilla cream matched the walls and contrasted nicely with the ice blue furnishings. She always enjoyed a clean, clutter-free environment, and structured the modern glass and cherry wood tables to balance the vivid watercolor paintings she preferred.

She grabbed a glass and filled it with water from the stainless steel fridge. She liked to cook when she had the time, and the bold steel blue granite counters, custom cabinets, and antique wine bar reflected the image and woman she always craved to be. Beautiful. Smart. In control.

Kennedy sipped her water and thought about Nate. Big mistake. It may have been the best kiss of her life, but she'd seriously overstepped her boundaries. Funny: she'd dated numerous men, slept with many, and never had the feeling one saw her clearly. The way Nate stared at her with unblinking eyes warned her of his intentions. His kiss allowed her to hold back nothing, like an unstoppable force urging her to surrender. He devoured her with his gaze and swallowed her whole. The real danger with Nate was in his ability to see beyond her surface polish to the truth.

A shiver worked down her spine. Silly, of course. He'd spot nothing she didn't want him to find. After all, her entire life was about remaking herself into the person she'd always dreamed to be. As if drawn there by a higher power, her gaze turned to meet her own in the silver heirloom mirror. She'd bought it for decoration, but it was her nemesis. A reminder. A warning.

"Hey, fat girl." The slithery whisper turned her stomach and chilled her blood. She looked around the empty hallways, but there was no one. She tried to take a few steps back, but the voice turned hard and mean. "Run from me now and I'll find you later. Then it'll be worse."

She swore she wouldn't cry or show fear. Heart pounding, she stepped into the staircase.

He smelled bad, of cigarettes and alcohol. He was a senior, got suspended a lot, but always seemed able to find her. "I have to go to the office. They're waiting for me."

Her voice trembled and he grinned. "Come here. Won't take long. Aww, did you get dressed up for me? Or are you trying to show off your big tits to catch a boy?"

Tears burned in the back of her throat. Her fingers clumsily tugged down her nice new blouse she'd saved up money for. She'd always loved clothes, and would pore over all the fashion magazines, marking her favorites. When she saw the top at the mall, she imagined how she'd look in the frothy, feminine creation. Black and lacey, extra long to hide her stomach, she thought she looked sexy. Now she watched the way he stared at her breasts and hated it. Her lower lip shook. "Leave me alone."

"Show me your tits and I will."

Horror flooded her. She turned to run, but he grabbed her wrist and twisted hard. His rancid breath hit her face. "I'm trying to help you, fat girl. You can't get a boy when you're fat and ugly. But boys like tits and ass. The more you show them, the better they like you." His other hand tugged at her neckline and tried to pull the elastic down. Humiliation writhed inside her, and his fingers were like cold, oily snakes against her skin. She gulped back the tears and pushed him away.

"Don't touch me!" He grabbed her breast and squeezed hard enough to make her sob, but she managed to push him away and stumble back. His low laugh echoed in her ears as she bent over to hide her chest and ran toward the girls' bathroom.

"See you later, fat girl. I'll be waiting . . ."

Kennedy shuddered, and slowly reached up t

o touch her face, reminding herself she was grown up. He had tortured her all year, until every morning she'd vomit, imagining what he'd try to do to her. The pushing and bullying and insults were nothing compared to the deathly stillness of the stairwell, either after school, or in between periods, or lunch. Then he began waiting for her after school, and nowhere was safe. No one ever helped her.

He'd forced her, over and over again, to humiliate herself in front of him under threats that it could get much worse if she didn't do exactly what he wanted. So she did. But it didn't matter.

Things got worse anyway.

How long did it take her to realize she began losing weight because she stopped eating? Food had always been a comfort, but now it was the enemy--the weapon used against her. She never voluntarily tried to lose the weight. Food slowly became something that would lead to more abuse and torture, so it was easy just to stop.

She embraced the empty ache in her body until it was the only feeling she was comfortable with. Maybe she'd become invisible, drifting away to a shimmer of her former self, finally safe from the boy and his crew.

Her mother celebrated Kennedy's loss of forty pounds, which hurt Kennedy the most--the knowledge her own mother would now parade her around to charity events and society friends, where before she pretended she didn't have a daughter. Every time Dad tried to get her to eat, her mother clucked her tongue and waved him away in dismissal. She even encouraged the starvation diet, insisting all women did it because the female body was their most powerful weapon. Not brains.

Her hand dropped from her face. Kennedy turned from her reflection and beat back the remnants of the past. She hated thinking about it, though her therapist always reminded her that scars were the sign of battles fought and won. Even wounds that couldn't be seen on the skin. Suddenly, the silence seemed deafening and full of low whispers. She grabbed the remote, and turned on the television, pumping up the volume. No more. She had worked hard to find a healthy balance and enjoy the body she now proudly owned. It had taken years to fight the demons and be able to see her actual reflection in the mirror, and not the distorted image of an overweight young girl. But the mirrors still mocked, taunted, screamed. She never knew when the woman in the mirror would appear disfigured. Fat. Alone.

The droning noise of a talk show soothed her ears. Kennedy finished her water and changed into her favorite hot pink pj set in comfy cotton. She laid her head on one of the plump pillows, closed her eyes, and slept with the lights on and television blaring.