by Lisa Jackson
“What can I say?” Diane rolled her eyes. “L.A. born and bred.”
Kimberly sighed. “Well, if you ever get tired of the warm weather, sunshine and beaches . . .”
“Don’t count on it,” Scott said with a chuckle.
“So, how’re things with you?” Diane asked, her smile replaced by sudden concern.
“Same as ever.”
“And Jake?” She motioned to the path where Jake was standing.
“He’s very concerned,” Kimberly allowed. “I think he’ll do a good job.”
“I know he will,” Diane said, squeezing her arm. Then she smiled again. “And admit it, he’s not too hard on the eyes.”
“Who isn’t? Me?” Scott asked, picking up on the tail end of the conversation.
“Only you, darling,” Diane deadpanned.
“Come on, you’ve got to meet Frankie and Paul. . . .”
The thunder rumbled over the hills, and Kimberly moved on, allowing other guests access to the bride and groom.
Kimberly glanced back to the path, but Jake had moved, had walked farther up the cracked old bricks to the cemetery. He stood, shoulder propped against the rough bark of an ancient cedar, his face trained toward the sea of weathered white tombstones. Hesitating only a second, she took off up the path, gathering her skirts in one hand so that they wouldn’t drag in the pools of standing water and mud.
His back to her, Jake shoved a hand through his hair. The wind played havoc with the branches overhead and tossed his hair back across his face.
Kimberly stopped behind him. “The rest of the party’s going on inside,” she said.
“What?” He turned quickly, and his expression was grim, his eyes dark and remote, as if he were caught in some private hell.
“I’m sorry—I didn’t mean to intrude—”
“You didn’t.” He forced a smile. His lips, thin and sensual, curved wryly, and his eyes glinted with silvery interest. Lightning sizzled across the dark sky.
“It’s not safe out here.” With a large hand on her shoulder, he drew her away from the protection of the leafy branches of the cedar tree until they stood beneath a weathered arbor, where rose vines, now only skeletal brambles, still clung to the latticework.
“Maybe we should go inside,” she whispered, suddenly breathless. She was all too aware of the warm palm against her shoulder, the tips of his fingers leaving hot impressions on her bare skin.
He glanced to the heavens as thunder rumbled again and electricity charged the air. It was late afternoon, but the day had turned suddenly dark as midnight. Rain started to fall, thick drops splattering against the ground. Instinctively he held her closer. One arm slid around her waist, offering the slight protection of his jacket. She was pressed against his body, hard and lean, and the scent of aftershave mingled with the fresh, rain-washed air.
His expression grew tender. Absurdly protective, and his eyes turned to quicksilver. Intuitively she knew he was about to kiss her, and she swallowed hard. Her hammering heart nearly fell to the rain-spattered bricks, and her breath was lost somewhere between her throat and lungs. She could see her own reflection in his eyes as he lowered his head, pulling her to him, crushing her against him. His lips slanted over hers for such possession, she couldn’t think, could do nothing but feel—the strength of him, the warmth of his mouth on hers, the sensual touch of his hands splayed across her back.
Her pulse skyrocketed. She closed her eyes and kissed him back. A few solitary raindrops slid down her neck to tingle already electrified skin.
Her lips parted willingly, and he kissed them, causing a shudder to pass through her. Her knees went weak.
Groaning, he lifted his head. His heavy-lidded gaze delved deep into her. “Oh, God, Kimberly,” he whispered against her hair. “I shouldn’t have—”
“No, don’t.” She couldn’t stand an apology. Not now. She didn’t want to think about a kiss filled with so much passion that her fingers still trembled in its aftermath. She forced a smile. “A few nights ago, you helped me.”
His mouth quirked. “So it’s payback time?”
“You looked like you could use a friend.”
“Thank you.” The sadness in his eyes disappeared. “I do. Is this how you treat all your friends, Ms. Bennett?” he asked.
Laughing, she shook her head. “Only very special friends.”
Thunder cracked again, and the rain began in earnest, slanting persistently downward. Jake grabbed her hand and started back to the reception hall just off the chapel. Half-running to keep up with him, her skirt bunched in one hand, she dashed down the brick path to the reception hall.
Inside, the party was in full swing. Most of the guests had already convened in the softly lighted room. Candles, their flames quivering, graced long linen-clad tables, and flowers filled the hall with the delicate fragrances of rose and carnation. Floor-to-ceiling windows glowed with the reflection of the candlelight as bejeweled guests clustered in small groups.
Jake poured them each some champagne. She watched the raindrops bead in his hair. She couldn’t deny the physical attraction she felt for him and wondered what she could do about it. She wasn’t in the market for a man, and this man, the man representing her, was the last person she could get involved with. Whatever happened, it was important that she keep his objectivity in the custody case.
He offered her a glass. “To Diane and Scott?” he said, holding his glass aloft.
Kimberly nodded, glad he hadn’t said “To us.” There could be no “us.” She clinked the rim of her tall glass to his, then stared through the paned windows to the murky Willamette River as it rolled slowly northward.
The door burst open, and Diane and Scott stepped into the room. Laughing gaily, they shook rain from their hair and suffered good-naturedly through the rites of the newly married. Together they managed to slice the three-tiered cake, feed each other a gooey, frosting-laden piece and, with arms entwined, drink champagne from the engraved silver cups.
“Barbaric ritual, isn’t it?” Jake joked.
Kimberly laughed, relaxing a little as Diane tossed her bouquet of roses, baby’s breath and carnations high into the air. The beribboned flowers landed squarely in a young girl’s hands, and she squealed in delight.
“You should have tried to catch it,” Jake said. “It’s lucky.”
“Or unlucky, depending on how you look at it,” Kimberly replied.
“Uh-oh, that sounds a little cynical, Ms. Bennett.”
“Just judging from experience.”
“So, don’t tell me you’ve given up on the institution of marriage.”
“Not for everyone,” she replied. “Just for me.” She eyed him over the rim of her champagne glass. “And what about you?”
“Once is more than enough,” he agreed.
“No need to have a wife serve your every whim—wash your floors, scratch your back, clean your Porsche?”
His eyes flashed. “You applying for the job?”
“No.”
“Good, ’cause I don’t have a Porsche. But I think you deserve a consolation prize.”
“For what?”
“Not catching the bouquet. Here . . .” Reaching with his free hand, he plucked a long-stemmed white rose from a basket overflowing with blue and white flowers. “For you,” he said, his voice husky, his eyes bright.
“Don’t you think Diane will mind?”
“Diane owes me.”
“Funny, that’s what she says about you.”
“Ha! But I’m paying off my debt.” His eyes glinted. “Besides, I think Diane’s too wrapped up in Scott to notice one flower.”
Kimberly accepted the fragile flower.
From a corner near a broad bank of windows, tuxedoed musicians tuned up. As the soft notes of the anniversary waltz filled the room, Mr. and Mrs. Scott Donaldson danced together for the first time as man and wife.
“Shall we join them?” Jake asked, cocking his head toward the dance floor. Flickering can
dlelight reflected in his sable-brown hair.
She glanced at her watch. “I really should be going . . .” But she felt the glass being lifted from her fingers, and then she was swung gracefully onto the shiny patina of the dance floor, joining Scott and Diane and a few of the braver guests.
She hadn’t danced in years, but Jake made following the strains of the waltz easy. His strong arms wrapped comfortably around her waist, and his body, hard and lean, pressed intimately against hers.
He gazed down at her, his eyes sparkling from the candlelight, his breath whispering through her hair.
Though the room was filled with guests, she didn’t notice anyone or anything but Jake and the central power of his embrace. He pulled her even closer, so close that her breasts were crushed against his chest and her thighs pressed intimately against his. One of his hands splayed possessively across the small of her back.
The fragrance of rose and carnations filled her nostrils as she closed her eyes to sway still closer to him. Though a thousand voices in her mind screamed “beware,” she didn’t heed one of them.
His gaze, dark with passion, drove deep into hers, and she shivered, not from cold, but from the tingle of electricity that swept up her spine.
This couldn’t be happening. It couldn’t. She was feeling like a teenager again, thrilling to this man’s touch when he was the last man in the world she should be attracted to.
The dance ended and she stepped out of his arms. “I really have to go,” she said, reaffirming the notion to herself.
“The party’s just begun, and I think we could have fun,” he persuaded.
She was tempted, but knew in her heart she couldn’t get entangled with him. “Really. I have to get back. Arlene’s got Lindsay and she’s probably already waiting for me.” Forcing a smile and still holding the single white rose, she turned to leave before she did something brash like change her mind and stay with him.
His brow knit in frustration, Jake stared after her, watching her escape—for that’s what it seemed to be. Her mahogany-colored hair billowed away from her face, and her silky gown shimmered as she dashed through the door.
Just like Cinderella at the stroke of midnight, he thought furiously, his fists clenched as he shoved them into his pockets.
He wanted to follow her. There was something about her that challenged him—something that touched him in a way he’d never been touched before. “You’re imagining it,” he told himself as the band started playing a lively pop tune.
He stared through the windows, saw her sidestep the puddles of the parking lot, her slim legs moving quickly, the wind catching in her hair. A jagged flash of lightning illuminated her face—a beautiful face that was fierce with determination one second, only to melt into sensual invitation the next.
He wondered if there was another man in her life, but discarded the idea. He’d felt her respond when he’d kissed her so impulsively. That was a decided mistake. Kissing Robert Fisher’s ex-wife, for God’s sake. What’s gotten into you, McGowan?
She drove out of the lot, and another car, a white station wagon, pulled away from the curb at the same time. Jake had caught only a glance of the driver when Diane nudged him on the shoulder.
“So—I see you’re getting along well with your new client?” She tried to hide a smile and failed. Her blue eyes danced, and Jake felt as if he’d been conned.
A waiter carrying a silver tray passed by, and Jake reached for another glass of champagne. “Don’t tell me this is another one of your feeble attempts at matchmaking, Dr. Welby.”
“It’s Donaldson now—remember that,” she warned. “And it didn’t look so feeble to me. Besides, she needs your help.”
“Both of you keep saying that.”
Diane’s eyes lost their mischievous sparkle, and she grew serious. “I shouldn’t have to explain to you about the fear of losing a child.”
Jake stiffened as if to protect himself.
“And you could help her, you know, and get back at Robert Fisher at the same time. Kill two birds with one stone.”
Jake’s head snapped up. “You told her about Daniel?”
Diane shook her head. “Of course not. It’s not my business.” Her blue eyes clouded, and she touched the side of his face. “But I wish there were a way you could lay him to rest.”
“I will,” Jake bit out as Diane, spying Scott across the room, threaded her way back to her groom.
Eventually, he supposed, he’d have to tell Kimberly about his relationship with Daniel. And he’d have to do it before he lost his head and got involved with her.
He took a long swallow of champagne and stared out the window, wondering what to do about her. If he were scrupulous, he’d lay his cards on the table, tell her everything that was going on, admit that he was Daniel Steven’s half-brother and that he didn’t want to get involved emotionally with any woman—especially a woman who had a child and had once been married to Robert Fisher. He’d also have to tell her that he wanted her.
Unfortunately it seemed lately that scruples weren’t his long suit.
CHAPTER SIX
Kimberly hardly dared breathe until she had driven several blocks away from Pioneer Chapel and Jake McGowan. Why had she followed him to the cemetery? Why had she let his bleak look disturb her? And why, dear God, had she let him kiss her?
Sighing, she glanced at the single white rose, now dewy with rainwater, lying on the passenger seat.
Smiling wryly at the bedraggled flower, she flicked on the wipers, then licked her lips anxiously, only to be reminded of Jake and his overpowering kiss. Deep inside her there was a yearning—a yearning she didn’t want to acknowledge.
“Get a grip on yourself,” she warned, glancing at her reflection in the rearview mirror. Her hair was a mess, her cheeks flushed, her eyes unnaturally bright. “Oh, Kimberly, you are an idiot,” she whispered, barely noticing the car trailing after.
Compressing her lips, imagining the feel of Jake’s mouth against hers, she cranked on the steering wheel and ferried her car into the puddle-strewn driveway of her cottage near the park.
Steadfastly Kimberly pushed aside her fantasies of Jake. They were out of the question. He was her lawyer, for God’s sake. He had to remain objective in order to help her keep Lindsay!
Scooping up her purse and the rose, she climbed out of the car and ducked under the dripping clematis clinging to the eaves of the back porch.
The door banged shut behind her.
“Mommy!” Footsteps echoed in the hallway, and Lindsay, her cheeks rosy, her blond hair streaming behind her, nearly slipped as she ran across the kitchen floor and threw herself into Kimberly’s waiting arms.
“Hi, honey!” Kimberly hugged her daughter fiercely, as if in so doing she could erase the black cloud that hung over them.
Lindsay squirmed, squealing happily in her arms. “Oooh. You look beautiful!” Blue eyes studied Kimberly’s dress and the single strand of pearls encircling her throat.
“Where’d you go?”
“To a wedding. And look—here’s something for you!” Kimberly handed Lindsay the white bud.
“I wanted to go, too.” Lindsay pouted, her lower lip protruding in vexation as she took the flower and contemplated the ivory-colored petals.
Kimberly kissed her daughter’s forehead. “Maybe next time,” she promised as she heard Arlene’s brisk footsteps in the hall.
“How was the wedding?” Arlene asked, entering the kitchen.
“Just like the ending of a fairytale. Diane was working her way past cloud nine and headed for ten.”
“Good for her. You could take a lesson, you know.”
“On love?”
“Yes—on love. All men aren’t the same,” she said meaningfully as she untied her apron.
Don’t I know it, Kimberly thought. Lindsay climbed away from her mother and headed down the hall.
Kimberly shook the rain from her hair. “So, how’d it go today? How was Lindsay?”
&nb
sp; “An angel, as usual.”
“Sure.” Kimberly laughed.
“Well, maybe her halo tilts once in a while, but she wouldn’t be normal if it didn’t.”
“I suppose you’re right.” Kimberly found a cup in the cupboard and poured coffee from the glass pot in the coffee maker. She held up the pot to Arlene, but the older woman shook her head.
“Had enough. My back teeth are already floating. Now, tell me every last detail of the wedding.”
Kimberly went through the entire ceremony, and Arlene’s eyes twinkled. “Well, I’m glad you went. You need to go out and have yourself a good time once in a while.”
“I don’t know if I’d call a wedding a ‘good time.’”
“You know what I mean. You need to live a little and kick up your heels. And going out sure beats sitting around here worrying about what—” Arlene glanced nervously at Lindsay, but the little girl was already in the living room searching for her blanket “—that ex-husband of yours has up his sleeve. I tell you, if I ever see him again face-to-face . . .” She let her warning trail off, but her sharp birdlike eyes blazed with indignation.
Despite her fears, Kimberly laughed at Arlene’s militancy. “If Robert only knew, he’d be shaking in his boots!”
“He’d better be! Now, listen, I made a big pot of lentil soup. It’s on the stove. And there are fresh chocolate macaroons in the cookie jar.”
“Oh, thanks. But take some home to Lyle,” Kimberly insisted, thinking of Arlene’s crippled husband.
“Another time, maybe, but not tonight. The last thing we need is something more to nibble on.” She reached for a plaid jacket hanging on a peg near the back door. “Okay, I’ll be back in the morning. If the weather clears up, I’ll take Lindsay over to the park—just to see if there are any ducks who haven’t figured out that they should be in Palm Beach.” With a wave she stepped outside.
Kimberly watched her leave, then lifted the lid of the soup kettle. Tangy, spice-laden steam curled upward in a soft cloud.
“Hey—lookie at me!” Lindsay stumbled into the kitchen. She was wearing a rhinestone tiara in her hair, a long strand of beads around her neck, one of Kimberly’s lace slips and a pair of Kimberly’s satin pumps. “I’m a bride,” she proclaimed proudly, her large eyes meeting her mother’s.