Under Pressure(8)
The gun safe was one of the few things she’d left when she’d cleaned out their house.
Kennedy crossed her arms over her chest. This up close and personal it was difficult to ignore the way her breasts rounded higher, pressing against the tight confines of her shirt.
The erection he’d been sporting earlier roared back to life, pounding incessantly behind his zipper.
“The next time you call me cupcake, I’m going to shove one in your face. Fair warning. And if you think I’m going to just walk away from this and pretend everything’s okay, you have another think coming. This is my project, Asher. My job. Work with me here.”
She wasn’t going to leave this alone. He’d known Kennedy long enough to realize that when she sank her teeth into a problem, she didn’t let go until it was solved. Her single-minded determination was both frustrating and admirable.
Nothing stood in her way. In some ways, Kennedy reminded him of his grandmother. That woman hadn’t pulled any punches, literally. She’d been a true Southern matriarch, willing to cuff him upside the head for being disrespectful, only to follow up the deserved punishment with the warmest, biggest hug on the planet.
She’d never hesitated to put him in his place when he’d needed it, and as an angry, scared, hurting adolescent, he’d needed it often. She’d had the highest hopes for him, expecting him to do her and the memory of his father proud.
When his father was killed in action and his mother abandoned him, his grandmother had given him a safe place. So he’d wanted desperately to make her proud. His every decision growing up had been for that one purpose.
But the pressure he’d felt to live up to the glowing ideal of his father and make up for his mother dumping him on her doorstep had been huge. Difficult for a child to shoulder.
Right now, he felt the same weight as Kennedy stared up at him expectantly.
“I’ve got this,” Asher forced out.
“Obviously not, or you wouldn’t have run from that room like someone had tossed in a grenade.”
Kennedy pressed closer. Asher countered with a single step backward. He would have gone farther, but his back collided with the solid plane of the wall. Damn the small room.
She crowded him, glaring up out of those mesmerizing eyes, golden and fierce.
“You’re not going to g-give up on this, are you?”
“No.”
He stared down at her, his mind spinning and his body in turmoil—his need for her intertwining uncomfortably with the fear that surfaced each time he thought about standing in front of those damn cameras.
“Fine. Then why don’t you come up with a solution to a problem I’ve been dealing with since I was six.” Asher crossed his arms over his chest, placing a physical barrier between them.
Her mouth opened and then shut. She stared up at him. Asher could practically see the wheels turning behind her eyes. God, he loved watching her mind work. She was observant and intuitive. She was good with people, which was a skill he’d had to fight tooth and nail to develop.
Her lush lips tightened. Her shoulders straightened. And tiny grooves crinkled the spot right between her eyes as she gave him a little frown. “I’m sorry, Asher. I didn’t mean to imply that you couldn’t handle the problem.”
“Oh, I think you did. I get that this project is important to you. But I’m the one in f-f-front of the camera.”
She shifted, resting a soft hand on his arm. The heat of her palm soaked through the thin layer of the dress shirt, sending a zing of need ripping straight through him.
“Okay, so the cameras make you nervous?”
“The cameras. The people. The idea of stuttering in front of an audience. I don’t know what I’m doing, Kennedy, and stress makes the stutter worse.”
“I’ve seen you in stressful situations before without any sign of a stutter.”
“Sure, because I was trained and prepared, knew I could handle things. I’m not ready for this.”
A smile bloomed across Kennedy’s face.
Asher blinked, unable to look away. Kennedy was gorgeous in a girl-next-door kind of way. But when she smiled, true happiness or excitement shining from those tempting golden eyes...there was nothing more appealing.
“I think I have an idea.” She cocked her head to the side. “I’m going to see if I can work some magic. Meet me in my room in an hour.”
She turned to leave but paused just inside the doorway, her eyes raking over him from head to toe. Every molecule in his body felt the weight of her gaze.
“Leave the shirt and slacks on.”
And then she was gone.
* * *
KENNEDY WAS OUT of her element, but that didn’t faze her. She’d figure it out.
Hunting down one of the cameramen, Neil, she hauled him off to a quiet corner of the ship.
“I need to borrow your camera.”
He blinked. “Uh...what?”
“I need to borrow your camera.”
“Not just no, but, hell no.”
Kennedy wasn’t stupid. She’d known it would take some cajoling to get what she wanted. She’d once been told her brother was a brilliant strategist. She wasn’t so bad herself.
Glancing down, she sauntered closer, tipped her lips into a sultry smile and then looked up at Neil through her lashes.
“Neil, do you like your job?”
The man was young, probably only a couple of years older than she was. A junior member of the team. Someone she’d immediately picked out as a weak link.
“Yes.”
“Well, so do I. We have a problem. I’m trying to fix it. But in order to do that, I need to borrow your camera.”
“It’s an expensive piece of equipment, Kennedy. If I give it to you and something happens, I’m responsible for it.”
“No, you’re not. First, I won’t let anything happen. Second, if something does, I’ll accept responsibility, and Trident will cover the cost of the camera.”
Neil swallowed hard. “Okay.”
She gathered the equipment she needed, grateful for the semester she’d worked as an intern at the local TV station.
The camera was only a foot or so in length and light enough to be handheld, with a large fuzzy mic protruding out the far end. It was portable, although she set it up on a tripod in the corner of her room. She needed the camera running but didn’t have enough hands to operate it.
The rest of the time she spent with her fingers flying over the keyboard of her laptop as she took a crash course in everything she could find on stuttering.
They had a problem; she was going to solve it. Because this project could not get delayed. Not when Seattle was the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow.
A little over an hour later, she had a plan of action. Distraction seemed to be a key component for stuttering therapy. Stutterers often found that their issue became a self-fulfilling prophecy. High-pressure situations made them worry about stuttering, which often led to an increased occurrence of the stutter. Based on what Asher had told her, that sounded exactly like what he was experiencing.
She was fiddling with the camera, making sure all the wires were connected correctly, when a voice sounded behind her.
“What’s all that?”
Kennedy let out a startled squeak and jumped, spinning to find Asher standing next to her bed. She hadn’t even heard him come in.
“A camera.”
He’d left the clothes on as she’d instructed, and she was struck again by just how amazing he looked.
“I can see that. Why?”
Shoving his hands into the pockets of his slacks, he rocked back on his heels.
“We’re going to put you in front of it and see if we can figure out something that’ll help you get through the next couple weeks.”
Kennedy turned away, continuing to fiddle as she spoke to him over her shoulder. “I thought a session with just me and the camera might help you feel more comfortable tomorrow, take away some of the stress so you’re less likely to stutter.”
Satisfied everything was working, she turned back to Asher and stopped dead in her tracks.
With nowhere else to sit, he’d chosen her bed. But he hadn’t been content with perching on the edge. Nope. At some point he’d toed off his shoes and sprawled out, making himself completely at home. Propped up on one elbow, there was something wicked and unapologetic about the way he gazed at her like a lover waiting patiently for her to rejoin him in bliss.
Kennedy cleared her throat.
His arm bulged against the rolled shirt cuff. The fabric gaped against the tanned skin of his chest, giving her a little glimpse of his muscled pecs beneath the starched cotton.
Nope. She wasn’t going there. Forcing her gaze away, she grumbled, “Sit up,” smacking at his leg to make her point.
Moving back behind the camera, she focused it. Asher in all his masculine, larger-than-life, charismatic glory filled the small screen in front of her face.
She hit Record, watching as a red light blinked several times before going solid.
Not only had Asher ignored her direction, he’d rolled over on to his back and was staring at the ceiling.
Kennedy opened her mouth to argue with him, but shut it before she could say anything. If that was the first step he needed, then she’d give it to him. They had to start somewhere.
“What do you want me to d-do?” he asked, directing his question to the ceiling.
Kennedy could feel the gentle sway of the ship beneath her spread feet. Hear the distant hum of the engine as it vibrated through the room. Somehow the normal background noise made Asher’s reluctance even more pronounced.