by Sally Felt
It was a really good question. Why had he bothered hiding it? And why come after it after all this time? “I don’t know,” she said. “Maybe he only now needs the money.” It sounded lame.
“Could it be stolen?”
“Stolen?” It would explain so much. She swallowed hard, feeling ill.
When Isabelle suddenly paled, Kim steered her to the loveseat at the foot of his bed. She sank as if in shock. Clearly, he’d triggered something, and she was putting the pieces together.
“He’s been calling me every day,” she said, “saying he needed the money. Last time he called, he actually scared me. But I didn’t have the ring then. I’d flushed it down the toilet.”
Kim sat beside her. “He’s been threatening you? Why didn’t you tell me?” His jaw tightened. His hands were clenching, his body readying for a fight. If Steven were here, size wouldn’t matter.
“What would that have changed?” she asked.
He scowled at her. “A man is threatening you, Isabelle.”
Her stare could have withered plums in to prunes. “I’m aware of that.” Stubborn woman. Was she pissed, or was she just scared?
“You didn’t think it would matter to me?”
“I’m sorry, did we have a contract?” Sounded like pissed.
It stung. It shouldn’t, given the way they’d sparred. But damn it, he’d been there with her when she’d discovered the damage to her house. They’d made love for hours. He bristled. “It was implied. You had me go fishing for the damn ring in your sewer.”
She was clearly unimpressed. “And where, exactly, is it?” Her diction was so sharp, he could have cut himself on it.
“I gave it to y—I mean, it’s—”
His anger ran out of steam as he tried to remember what had happened after he’d found the ring. He’d rinsed it off and sealed it in a small plastic bag so she could take it somewhere to have it properly cleaned. After that, the details consuming his available memory had nothing to do with a ring and everything to do with a steamy bathroom and bare skin and the way she’d made him feel.
He scrubbed his hands through already-dried hair and tried to focus. “Coveralls,” he said. “It’s in the pocket of my coveralls.” He was still trying to remember where, exactly, his coveralls might be, when he heard a welcome if entirely unexpected sound.
Isabelle was laughing.
She didn’t appear to be hysterical. If anything, the crinkling at the corner of her eyes had a most appealing warmth, even if it confused him.
“It’s my fault then,” she said. “I sent it for a spin.” She continued laughing, her hand on his leg. “I put your coveralls in my washer this morning.”
It would probably seem less funny once she saw how easily that big stone and its setting likely had cut through the bag and scratched up her washer, but for now, Kim was glad to laugh with her. Glad she was willing to touch him, a kind of proof her anger was just part of a broadly passionate nature.
It worried him, though. If Steven were involved with stolen goods, he could be more dangerous than either of them had thought. Guessing just how dangerous meant knowing what the ring was worth.
“I need to have it appraised,” Isabelle said, sobering as if she’d read Kim’s thoughts. She looked out the blinds at the fully dark sky. Lightning flashed dramatically. “I suppose I’ll have to wait until morning. It’s after five, and the weather stinks.”
No, she didn’t have to wait. Kim could call Kerry. Kerry, owner of Glassner’s Fine Jewelry, could appraise the ring. Wassily Glassner’s son would be only too glad to help.
Which was why Kim wouldn’t call.
“Stay here tonight, Isabelle.”
“I couldn’t possibly.”
“The weather stinks.”
“And Steven?” she asked darkly.
“Yes. I’ll sleep better knowing you’re safe. What’s wrong with that?” Even if Steven weren’t involved in anything illegal, his threatening Isabelle was more than Kim was willing to overlook. There was going to be a reckoning. But not tonight.
“Yesterday, I said I only wanted to sleep with you,” she said.
He waited for her to continue, but she seemed to think it was an explanation. She stood up and smoothed the front of her slacks as if she were going to leave.
“Okay?” he prompted, uncertain what she was getting at.
Her face fell. “I can’t do that again—wonderful as it was. It’s just not who I am. I’m sorry.” She looked exactly like Kerry had when Kim had dropped out of college, foiling his plans. Saddened. Disappointed. And somehow not at all surprised. She picked up her hat.
If she was saying sex alone wouldn’t satisfy her, this wasn’t over. After all, he wanted more from her too. And if he ever got past the frustrating swinging door of her heart, they could talk about it.
If she left, he’d miss what might be his last best shot. He’d have to let her go. Have to be the relationship-impaired loser Damon had accused him of being and Kerry had proven him year after year with his solo birthday invitations.
It was time for more than guts.
“My brother can help,” he said, though he had to grind the words out.
“What?”
“He’s a jeweler. Glassner’s Fine Jewelry. He can appraise the ring.”
“Your brother can appraise the ring?” Her expression was softening as hope trickled in. Kim felt hope of his own.
“I’ll call him. I’ll sleep on the couch, Isabelle. Please don’t go.”
“You’re begging,” she said, a hint of the lioness returning to her voice. “Not what I would expect from the man who bested the toilet of doom.”
“Desperate times. This is my peace of mind on the line. I’ll do anything I have to do.”
“You’ve already done so much. I feel I’m taking advantage.”
“Don’t worry about it. I wouldn’t offer if I didn’t mean it.”
“Including the couch?”
It wasn’t as big a deal as asking Kerry for help, but he wasn’t going to tell her that. “I’ll sleep in the bathroom if you say so.”
“Now you’re just being dramatic,” she said, nearly smiling.
He offered her his hand. “Desperate times.”
Chapter Twelve
Isabelle took his hand and again sat down next to him on the loveseat, her eyes lit with anticipation and hope. Kim wanted to deliver for her on both counts so badly it drew his shoulders together, made him sit straighter than he had since he was a too-proud child. But there was a big gap between wanting and doing and an ugly monster lived there, a monster with his brother’s face. To help Isabelle, he had to face it. He couldn’t simply refer her to Kerry. He would not be voiceless.
And yet, he couldn’t quite make himself reach for the phone.
“What’s your brother’s name? Glass?”
“Glassner,” Kim said. “Kerry Glassner, son of Wassily the Great. Arrogant, controlling son of a bitch—but good at what he does.”
She frowned. “He’s the one you told me about the other night. The one with all the answers.”
“The same.”
“Oh, Kim.” He hoped her sympathetic tone wouldn’t become yet another offer to leave, this time to spare him having to come through for her.
With a deliberate breath, her expression became more thoughtful than concerned “Kerry and Kim,” she mused.
“My mother has an interesting sense of humor.”
“Any sisters?”
“You mean Keith and Karl?”
She snorted, which helped him relax.
“Kerry and I could never decide whether Mom wanted daughters or whether she loved Johnny Cash tunes and wanted us to grow up tough like the boy named Sue.” That almost made it sound as if he and Kerry were close. Ironic.
“You appear to be able to take care of yourself.” She was paying him another compliment. Funny that it made her seem so shy. Funny that he suddenly needed all the compliments he could get.
&nbs
p; “Appearances can be deceiving,” he said.
She smiled, but the sadness in her eyes made him sorry he’d said it. “Truer words were never spoken.”
He ached to kiss her. He’d just promised not to sleep with her, though, so it probably wasn’t the best timing. “Isabelle.” He touched her lips with his fingertips and hung over the abyss, heart pounding, collecting his bearings in an attempt to protect himself if he fell. He needed to tell her how she made him feel, how beautiful she was, how he seemed to think about her nonstop. But he still had a few things to prove to her. To keep a woman like Isabelle Caine, he needed more than compliments. He needed to keep his promises.
He leaned away before he could give in to the need to kiss her, unclipped and began dialing his phone before he could start doubting his move.
“Perhaps I could use your restroom while you call?” Isabelle asked.
“You passed it coming in,” he said, gesturing. “Glass door.” The phone was already ringing.
She nodded and left him there.
“Hey bro,” he said when Kerry picked up the line, “what’s happening?”
“Who is this?” Kerry said.
“Good one, Kerry.”
“Kim?”
“And another. You’re in rare form.”
“It is Kim. Damn, are you okay?” Kerry sounded genuinely concerned, which pissed Kim off. As if he’d only phone in an emergency.
Of course, that more or less described the situation.
“No broken limbs or financial disasters. I’m fine.” He closed his eyes and forced the words to keep coming. “But I do need your help. Professionally.”
At Kerry’s go-ahead, he described the ring as best he could remember and enough of the circumstances to impress upon Kerry that the need was urgent and that the police may well be interested in his findings.
“It’s at your client’s house?”
“Yes. South Dallas.” He realized Isabelle was still in the bathroom. Nice of her to offer him privacy for this call.
“I can’t come out tonight,” Kerry said. “It’s Operation Science Fair tonight with Last-Minute Ted. I’ll come by your place in the morning. You can show me the way and introduce me.”
“Sure,” Kim said as lightning flashed outside. “We’re not going anywhere tonight anyway.”
“We?”
“She’s staying here tonight in case there’s trouble at her house.”
In the four beats of silence that followed, Kim had plenty of time to kick himself for those words. Kerry knew how small his place was and that any woman staying here would be sharing Kim’s bed. The only question was, would Kerry’s reproach be for sleeping with a client? Or would it be disappointment over Kim having had so many girlfriends? Either way, Isabelle deserved better. “We’re not dating,” he said. Not yet, anyway.
Damn, the things that happened in his gut at those words. Cramping, lonely things. No doubt Kerry thought he was lying. Kim wished he were. And yet, to try to explain would put him at Kerry’s mercy. There was a line between asking for help and surrendering, and he’d blown it every time he’d tried to walk that line. Only so many times a man could fall before he had to move on. Could he fall one more time before Austin?
For Isabelle, he could.
But before Kim managed to pull together words, his brother said, “I’ll be there between nine and ten.” It sounded final. Kim wasn’t about to argue.
“Ann is right here,” Kerry said. “She wants to talk to you.”
“Thanks, Kerry.” He took a deep breath and scrubbed his scalp with his free hand. There was background noise as the phone changed hands at the Glassner household. Television, probably, and the noise of four active children. He smiled to hear Ted yell, “Kimanchee? Lemme talk to him,” but when a voice came on the line, it was Kerry’s wife, Ann.
“It’s so good to hear from you, Kim. The kids are dying to see you. There are some great bike trails out here at the new place and they want to show Uncle Kim every last one.” In the background, Ted let out a war whoop. “Kerry says he talked to you about your birthday?” Ann asked.
“Uh, yeah,” Kim said, unwilling to commit, even to Ann. Damon had hinted the gang was learning to climb, and the idea of seeing his niece and nephews take a rock face teased his imagination even as he remembered to be irritated that Kerry was doing it behind his back. He’d see how tomorrow went. If he and Kerry didn’t come to blows, he’d consider it more seriously. Meantime, he’d pretend he didn’t know the secret. “It would be fun to bike with the kids again.”
Lightning flashed outside, close enough to shake the building. The electricity went out.
He clutched the phone and skidded across the floor to the now-dark kitchen in a sudden shift of priorities. “You okay, Isabelle?” he asked through the bathroom door.
“I’m not afraid of the dark,” she said, and Kim smiled at her offended tone. She added, “Of course, it’s very dark.”
It would be. No window in his bathroom. “Stay put,” he said.
“No hurry” she assured him. “My eyes are already adjusting.”
He turned back to the phone. “Ann? We just lost power. I gotta go. Say hey to the pride for me.” She loved him and they said goodbye as he felt his way through the closet shelf for the gym bag that held his flashlight.
The bag and the light were still at Wall Werx where Damon had dumped them for him after their return from their last Austin climb, Monday night. He skidded back to the bathroom door. “I’ve got candles for just such an occasion,” he promised. “Thing is, they’re in there with you. Are you decent?”
“Yes. I had just been catching up on the best climbing spots in America. Did you see the write-up on Shawangunks, New York? Fascinating.”
Kim laughed. His bathroom reading selection was just that. Selective. “Coming in, then,” he said. She must be giving him room, as he didn’t run into her, but he couldn’t miss knowing she was there. The room felt full. Energized. A faint scent of wild grass hung in the air. He groped along the bathroom vanity and found the jar candle he kept there and had it lit in short order. First thing he saw, of course, was a horror show reflection of himself in the mirror. Isabelle was just off his left shoulder.
“Less dark, now,” she said. She set the climbing magazine down on the vanity top and if her smile seemed a little forced, he was willing to chalk it up to the unexpectedness of the power outage.
Damn, she was beautiful by candlelight.
Focus.
Kim held the candle while he searched the cabinet beneath the sink, finding a couple of unopened packs of pillars he’d stashed and forgotten about.
“Excellent,” she said. “I love a man who’s prepared.”
She followed him out of the bathroom and suggested he group the candles on dinner plates and place them throughout the loft while he felt ridiculously happy to be prepared.
All too soon, they were out of obvious things to do, leaving Kim increasingly preoccupied with the way the golden candlelight played over Isabelle’s creamy skin. He’d called Kerry. He should be able to kiss her. But that wasn’t what this was about. He’d never be entitled to a kiss. And he knew for sure if he did kiss her, he wouldn’t be able to stop there. Not after last night.
“Cable’s out,” he said, nodding at the dark TV screen.
“Yeah.”
“What would you like to do?”
Isabelle’s gaze swept over his bed, which looked particularly inviting as the flickering light gave its overlay an underwater sparkle. Then she looked toward the louvered blinds. Lighting flashed more frequently as rain beat against the windows, a blue counterpoint to the yellow warmth of the candles. What a night it would be, making love with Isabelle Caine while a storm lashed the city.
“It’s great sleeping weather,” she said.
Of course.
“Yes, it is,” he said, summoning enthusiasm. “Let me get you something to wear.” He pulled open his t-shirt drawer. First up was a weathe
red UT shirt. It was orange. It had been washed to chamois softness. It was perfect. He pulled it out. “Would you prefer boxers or sweatpants?”
“The shirt is fine, thank you.” Their knuckles bumped as she took the shirt from him, which seemed to fluster her, though she didn’t back away. “Did you go to Austin?”
For a fraction of a second he thought she’d meant today. He realized she meant, had he attended UT. She knew nothing of his trip, nothing of his plans. As soon as this ordeal with her ex was over, he’d fill her in.
“No. I just like orange.”
She laughed as if she didn’t want to, as if she’d swallowed part of it. Their knuckles were still touching. She still hadn’t turned away. “Thank you,” she said again. He kissed her, a victim of beauty and candlelight and a dangerous need to reassure either her or himself, Kim wasn’t sure which. Seeing her disoriented tonight. Seeing her afraid. He didn’t like it. This fierce lady shouldn’t have to be afraid of anything—certainly not of her own house and a man she’d once loved. So he kissed her, a silent murmuring against her soft lips to say things he didn’t yet have words for. A promise that she’d be okay, that she didn’t have to be afraid, that he wouldn’t cheat on her, that she could love again.
His eyes snapped open. He pulled back. “Sorry!”
She gave a half-smile that could have meant anything, nodded and went into the candlelit bathroom.
She could love again? How did he get from wanting an “atta boy” for calling Kerry to thinking Isabelle Caine could ever love him?
How did he get to wishing she would?
Outside the storm flashed. Inside the candles danced. And within Kim something more dangerous than hope flickered and spat into greedy, unsteady life. Something confusing and frightening and so important, it clutched his throat. Something riskier than the first attempt at red pointing a new crag. Something exhilarating. Uncharted.
Something private. Deeply needy. Wonderful.
Love.
In the bathroom, Isabelle pulled on the t-shirt with shaking hands.
What would she like to do? What a question. What a kiss. She knew what she wanted. She wanted to follow Stacey’s advice. She wanted to get over it, open her heart, and believe Kim might be as wonderful as he seemed.