Free Keeping Kennedy by Debra Webb Page B

“All
right,” he grumbled.
    Relief flooded her when he started up the
tree to rescue her. Thank God. She flexed the fingers of first one
hand and then the other. Her fingers were numb from holding on so
tightly. He pulled himself up beside her.
    “Climb onto my back,” he ordered.
    “I can’t do that.” He had to be joking.
    “Dammit, Kennedy, get on my back and I’ll
climb down.”
    She started to protest but his look stopped
her. “Fine.” She edged closer to him. “What do I do first?”
    “Put your arms around my neck and then wrap
your legs around my waist.”
    Kennedy’s mouth gaped in disbelief.
    “Do it,” he snapped.
    After the third attempt, she finally slung
one leg around him, then grabbed him around the neck before looping
her other leg around his waist. Her cheeks burned red-hot with
embarrassment.
    “Now,” he said as he positioned himself for
their descent, “hang on.”
    His concern with the limbs being able to hold
them suddenly rang in her ears. “What if we break a branch?”
    “Then we’re screwed.”
    Survival instincts kicking in, Kennedy clung
to him as if he were the only thing that stood between her and
certain death. With one last fleeting look at the ground below, she
decided that maybe he was.
     
    ~*~
     
    “A barmaid,” Kennedy huffed again. “I cannot
believe the audacity of that woman! Obviously she selects
characters the same way she designs scavenger hunts—without the
slightest consideration for taste.”
    Drake trudged up the stairs. His wet,
mud-splattered clothes had partially dried, and were growing
stiffer by the moment. Between the precarious climb down the tree
and Kennedy’s constant complaining, he had just about had his fill
of fun today. How could a woman as savvy and smart as Kennedy be
such a wimp surrounded by a few trees and a little mud?
    “Cassandra lives to make me miserable,” she
grumbled.
    “Give it a rest, Kennedy,” Drake said
impatiently. “Don’t let her get the best of you. You’ll make a
great barmaid.” The memory of the long, toned legs he had seen this
morning when Kennedy had been wearing nothing but an oversized
T-shirt ricocheted through his mind. Oh, yeah, she would make a
hell of a barmaid.
    Kennedy paused long enough to wave her arms
magnanimously. “You would say that,” she all but shouted. “You get
to be a pirate.”
    He summoned the last of his patience.
Irritation was quickly filling the remaining void. “You know what,
Kennedy? I’m going to take a shower. I don’t care about being the
pirate. I only care that I get a shower now. And since
taking that little swim and hauling your” he held up his hand to
halt anything she might say until he composed himself “butt down
from that tree was a favor I did for you, I would appreciate it if
you would just allow me some peace and quiet.”
    Before she could respond, he turned sharply
and continued toward the bathroom. No one, no one, ever pushed him
this close to the edge. Why did he let Kennedy get to him like
this? The woman was driving him crazy in more ways than one. And he
seemed completely incapable of regaining his footing where she was
concerned.
    To make matters worse, she followed him into
the bathroom despite his pointed request. Beyond caring, he jerked
at the buttons of his shirt.
    “I’m sorry,” she murmured contritely. “I do
appreciate everything you did today.”
    He glowered at her. She moistened those
damned tempting lips and lowered her head a bit, making him feel
like a class-A jerk.
    “It’s just that Cassandra always somehow
managed to make me feel inadequate.” She shrugged, and Drake’s gaze
followed the movement, then fell to the breasts outlined by her
still damp T-shirt.
    “I guess I haven’t outgrown the immature need
to prove I’m good enough.”
    Why did she have to look so vulnerable, all
soft and needy? Her hair was disheveled in a very appealing way, as
was the rest of her. The look was totally out of character