He paused, his hands still in his briefcase. The look he gave her stunned her with its bitterness.
“You might have all the time in the world to rush off on any goose chase that comes along, but I’ve got other clients here.”
She rose as well. “I know you’re busy, Martin, but this is important! This is Hunter’s life we’re talking about here.”
“You can cut the melodrama, Taylor. I know it’s Hunter’s life. It’s a little hard for me to forget that, when you keep throwing it in my face every chance you get.”
She curled her hands into fists and, after months of placating and appeasing, finally lost her temper. “If you won’t help me prove he’s innocent, maybe I need to find somebody else who will. Somebody who might at least pretend to give half a damn that the state is willing to execute an innocent man. Somebody more concerned about justice than about his billable hours.”
Martin’s face turned an alarming shade of red, and she saw a vein work in his neck.
“You’re too wrapped up in your illusions to face reality,” he snapped. “Your brother is guilty as hell. Why can’t you get that through your head?”
She stared at him. “You don’t believe that.”
“He killed those women in a jealous rage. I know it, the jury knew it, the whole damn state knows it. You’re the only one who’s either too stupid or too loyal to figure out he deserves a needle in the arm.”
Taylor swayed from both the unexpectedness and the brutality of the attack and had to grab the edge of the desk between them to keep from falling into her chair. Her head felt light, woolly, while bike churned in her throat.
How could this be Martin saying these terrible things? The avuncular family friend, Hunter’s own attorney? He was supposed to be her brother’s most valiant, loyal defender! For him to go on the attack like this seemed a betrayal of the worst sort.
She straightened her spine, drawing on whatever low reserves of strength she had left. “I guess I don’t need to tell you you’re fired,” she said, her voice low. Then, with mechanical movements, she gathered her things and walked out of his office.
She made it to her car before the trembling started. She wasn’t sure if it stemmed from anger, shock or dismay—or a combination of all three.
At last she understood why Martin had been dragging his feet all these months on the appeal. Why he dodged her calls and ignored her e-mails—because he didn’t want to prove Hunter’s innocence.
How could Martin believe such terrible things? He knew Hunter, had since Hunter was a child. He had to see what he was—and wasn’t—capable of.
All this time when he had pretended he was right there in the trenches with her, fighting just as hard as she was for Hunter’s life, he hadn’t believed the things he was saying. How much had his opinion about Hunter’s guilt filtered through to his performance in the courtroom during the trial? she wondered.
Her stomach was tangled up in knots of betrayal and hurt and as she sat in her car while a cold November rain pelted her windshield, she felt truly alone.
No. Not completely, she reminded herself. She still had Wyatt, who had provided her unwavering support these past weeks.
Even if he still said he was withholding judgment about Hunter’s guilt or innocence, at least he was keeping the possibility open—unlike Martin, who had apparently made up his mind before the trial ever started.
The need to see him, to soak up that support like the ground welcomed the rain, consumed her. With a quick twist of her wrist, she started her car and pulled out of the parking lot, then turned north toward his condominium.
When she was twelve years old, Dru Ferrin tossed her long wheat-colored hair behind her shoulders and announced to the rest of her seventh grade English class at Huntsville Middle School that one day everyone in Utah would know her name. She would be famous, she promised. Just wait and see.
Dru couldn’t have known during those boastful school days just how right her prediction would prove—or the vicious crime that would…
The doorbell suddenly rang through his comfortable two-bedroom apartment and Wyatt growled a curse.
He thought about ignoring it so he could try to at least finish writing the first page, but the doorbell rang again, this time more insistently, and Wyatt gave up trying to chase after the runaway train of thought.
He hated interruptions while he was working, he thought as he saved the few paltry words and put his laptop to sleep. He could write under a wide variety of conditions—in the mountains, in his truck, even on horseback with a pen and paper—but when he was in the groove, he preferred peace and quiet and a minimum of disturbances.
He was scowling when he thrust open the door, but his irritation disappeared when he found Taylor standing on the other side. He had time only to register her wan features and wounded eyes before she launched into his arms.
He wasn’t one to turn away a warm, sexy woman when she jumped him, but he knew this wasn’t normal behavior for Taylor. Baffled concern washed through him even as he fought awareness of her soft, feminine curves.
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
“Nothing,” she mumbled, burrowing even closer.
How was it that a tall, willowy woman like Taylor could at times feel so small and fragile? he wondered.
“I just needed to see you,” she said in a low voice.
Under other circumstances he might have been flattered, but he knew something was up. It didn’t take a huge leap in logic to make the connection, not when he remembered what had been on her agenda that day. “You were meeting Martin this morning. Did something happen?”
She was quiet for several moments and then, to his regret, she slid out of his arms and gathered composure around her like a sari.
“You could say that. He told me I was wasting my time fighting Hunter’s execution. I believe his exact words were that Hunter is ‘guilty as hell’ and something to the effect that I’m the only one too stupid to figure out Hunter deserves a needle in his arm.”
White-hot rage filled him. Dammit. Now he knew why he had never liked the bastard. Martin was supposed to be a friend, an ally—how could he turn on her like that?
He pulled her back into his arms, wishing there was more he could do to comfort her. “I’m sorry.”
“I fired him, of course.”
“Good.”
She sighed. “Though I suppose technically I don’t have the right to do that, only Hunter does. But since the Bradshaw family trust is footing the bill and I’m the sole executor with Hunter in prison, I guess that gives me some say. So now I need to find another defense attorney and bring him up to speed on the appeal.”
“I know some good ones. I can help hook you up.”
“Thank you.”
She was quiet for several moments, although her body still trembled slightly in his arms. “I lost so many friends after Hunter was arrested, so many people who should have stood behind Hunter and didn’t. I was nearly engaged at the time of the murders, did you know that?”
He had no right to be jealous, Wyatt told himself.
“But Rob didn’t want the taint of marrying a woman whose brother was a convicted murderer,” she said. “He broke things off the day Hunter was charged. Others were the same way, but not Martin and Judy. I thought they had the same faith in his innocence that I did.”
“I’m sorry,” he said again.
“I know,” she murmured, then lifted her gaze to his. “You know, after all those terrible things Martin said, I only had one thought in my mind.”
The emotion pooled in those lovely blue depths stunned him, left him feeling breathless. “What?”
“Finding you. I knew you would help me not to hurt so much.”
Before he could process her stunning words—or figure out why they seemed to peel back every protective layer he had encasing his heart—she wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled his mouth down to hers.
He froze for a moment as shock and need and te
nderness exploded inside him, and then, with a low, strangled sound, he kissed her back.
Chapter 14
Taylor sighed and settled into his arms as if she had been waiting her entire life for just this moment.
She smelled of wildflowers and tasted of coffee and mint. He found the combination incredibly arousing—but then, he found everything about her arousing, from the tiny gold hoops in her ears to the tantalizing glimpse of creamy collarbone through her crisp white shirt to those unbelievably long legs.
Every time they kissed had been intense—an odd mix of tenderness and heat. But something was different this time, he sensed. He couldn’t put a finger on exactly what, but everything seemed richer, more vibrant.
Before, she always seemed to hold something back—or maybe it was him, he admitted—but now she kissed him with an eagerness that sent blood instantly surging to his groin.
She sighed his name and the sound was so powerful that his brain seemed to freeze. He forgot all his reasons not to complicate things between them and gave in to the raging need inside him.
Somehow—he wasn’t sure just how—they made it to the couch. With a low sound of arousal in her throat, she pulled him down until their bodies connected at a hundred pulse points. Ah. Bliss. This was what he craved, what he had been craving for weeks.
No, months, he acknowledged. He had wanted her since those first days in the trial. His desire had been all tangled up, first with those early protective instincts and now with this terrifying tenderness.
Despite all his efforts to keep his distance, he was crazy about her, he admitted to himself. Objectivity, hell. He hadn’t been objective about Taylor Bradshaw since the day he met her.
He sighed and deepened the kiss. On a sexy, breathy little moan, she parted her lips and he slipped inside her mouth, exploring and tasting and savoring.
He was vaguely conscious of her hands tugging his shirt free of his jeans, of those long, cool fingers slipping inside his shirt to splay across the skin of his back, but he was too busy with his own explorations to do more than shudder in response.
“Did I hurt you?” she asked, concern in her voice.
“Mmm” was the only sound he could manage to make as he left her mouth to trail kisses down that long, elegant column of throat to the hollow just below her collarbone.
Her skin was warm and soft, delicious. She arched to meet his mouth and, through the open neck of her shirt, he saw her pulse beat just above her sternum like a frantic little chick.
He kissed that fluttering pulse and was rewarded with a breathy sigh, all the encouragement he needed to explore farther, to slip a button free and press his mouth to the slope of one high, firm breast.
This time her sigh was definitely a moan. With hands he was embarrassed to see trembling, he worked another button free, revealing an erotic glimpse of a lacy peach bra that made him think of hot summer nights and juice dripping off his chin.
She leaned against his hand and he took that as permission to unbutton the shirt completely. His mouth went dry at the erotic sight of her in those sexy tailored slacks and a peach bra, nothing else.
“You’ve been shopping,” he murmured.
“What?” she asked blankly.
He slid a finger under a silky peach strap and tugged a little. “I don’t remember this from our little trip to the mall. If I had, believe me, I doubt I would have been able to sleep for the past two weeks, imagining you in it just like this. Long and sleek and gorgeous.”
“You were there.” Her voice sounded breathless, aroused. “I picked it out while you were busy watching the basketball game on a dozen screens in the electronics department.”
“I missed out on this to watch a stupid basketball game?”
She laughed, and he decided he would never get tired of that sound. He vowed he would try to do everything he could to make sure she had plenty of practice.
“You’re seeing it now,” she murmured. “That counts for something, doesn’t it?”
The heat in his gaze was all the answer she needed. This was right, she thought. She loved this man with all her heart and she fiercely wanted to be with him. She might have to endure heartache later, but for now she vowed to sit back and enjoy the ride.
“The bra is part of a matched set,” she added with a sidelong look. “Just in case you might be interested in seeing the rest.”
He groaned and closed his eyes. When he opened them, they were hot and hungry and her insides trembled in reaction.
Before she could speak, he scooped her up in one smooth motion and carried her into the bedroom. He might look lean, but there were definitely muscles there, she thought as anticipation curled through her like ribbons on a birthday present.
After lowering her to the bed, he reached for the button on her trousers, but her hands stopped him. “No fair. You’re still dressed.”
“I only have on boring blue boxers, not delectable, delicious, de-lovely peach fantasies.”
“That’s a great comfort,” she murmured. “I believe I prefer the idea of you wearing boxers rather than lacy peach thingies.”
He laughed and kissed her forehead, but complied with her wishes and unbuttoned his jeans, then quickly slipped out of them before reaching for her.
That little shopping side trip had been worth every moment, she thought later after, she had slipped out of everything but her lingerie. Wyatt gazed down at her with that hot, hungry look blazing in his eyes.
“I don’t think I’ll ever be able to taste a peach again without thinking of this moment,” he said, then leaned down to kiss her mouth softly.
The poignancy of his kiss brought tears to her eyes but she blinked them away. No regrets. She wanted to savor this moment forever, not ruin it by turning all mushy on him.
With all the passion and emotion bubbling around inside her, she held him tightly to her and kissed him fiercely until their breathing was ragged and aroused.
She arched against him, begging him to touch her. His hands explored her waist, her throat, her arms, and finally—when she didn’t think she could endure another moment of this exquisite tension—his fingers reached the summit of one breast.
For long moments he teased and touched and—blessed day!—finally worked her bra free so he could taste her.
His mouth was warm against her skin, and everything inside her shivered with delight that turned to aching hunger when he drew her into his mouth, his teeth gently scraping her flesh.
She wanted to hold him to her forever, to wrap her arms around him and never let go.
Tension spiraled higher as they explored curves and hollows. Soon they removed the last few scraps of clothing between them. With tantalizing gentleness, his fingers brushed between her thighs and her body cried out for more.
Every nerve cell seemed alive, vibrant, aching. She felt like a tightly strung wire, humming and buzzing and ready to snap.
At long last he knelt above her and entered her. Taylor held him tightly, trying to choke down the words of love bubbling through her. Not now.
He cared about her. She sensed it in the heat of his kiss, that tenderness in his eyes, but she couldn’t burden him with a love he didn’t return. She wouldn’t. Maybe the day would come when she could let it out, but for now she would hold her love safely inside her.
He moved slowly at first—long, deep movements that left her trembling, weak, aching. Nothing existed but their joined bodies, their clenched hands, their tangled mouths.
When she thought she would break apart from this unbearable tension, he reached between them to slide his fingers across the aching center of her desire.
She gasped out his name as her release engulfed her in hot, drenching waves. He kissed her fiercely, swallowing each sound of arousal, then with a ragged cry he found his own release.
“I missed class,” she murmured moments later, after they both came back to earth and found themselves tangled together on his bed with afternoon sunlight streaming through the window
.
“Sorry,” he murmured, though the word was the most bald-faced lie he’d ever uttered.
“You are not,” she accused.
“Are you?”
He was asking more than whether she regretted playing hooky, he realized as he held his breath, awaiting her reply.
She kissed his shoulder, the nearest body part to her mouth. “No,” she said, then he felt the tickle of her facial muscles twisting into one of those rare smiles. “I hate that class.”
“Anytime you want to ditch it, just let me know.”
“You’re a bad influence, Wyatt McKinnon. You were probably one of those mad, bad, dangerous boys all the girls were crazy about.”
His laugh was rueful. “In my dreams, maybe. In reality, I was a shy, awkward geek who could barely remember my own name when I was in the presence of a pretty girl.”
He still wasn’t much better. For a man who made his living with words, he couldn’t seem to find the right ones to tell Taylor how moving he found what they had just shared. He wanted to tell her how much he had come to care about her, but everything he started to say tangled in his throat. Inside, he was still that ungainly kid, all bony elbows and knobby knees and social awkwardness.
“I’m very glad you’re not shy anymore,” she said softly.
She pressed her mouth to the hollow of his neck and to his considerable surprise, his body responded instantly, as if he were that teenager again.
“Not shy at all,” she said with an arch look as she noticed his renewed vigor.
They made love again, this time more slowly, playfully. The laughter faded when he entered her again, replaced by an aching tenderness that shook him to his core.
“You must be starving,” he murmured hours later, when the sun’s shadows on the bed had lengthened.
“I haven’t had a lot of time to think about my stomach.”
Nothing To Lose Page 17