Straight From The Heart

by Janelle Taylor

  “Need some help?” he called.

  “No, just be a male and sit there,” she muttered under her breath.

  “What?”

  “No, thank you,” she called a bit louder.

  Alan had never helped in the kitchen. Once in a while he would invite some people over—someone he wanted to impress—and make his mother’s famed Hungarian goulash. Never mind that it was Kim’s recipe he’d adopted and that she did the prep on the meat and vegetables. Never mind that Alan’s mother was as far from Hungarian as Pluto from the sun. Never mind that Kim was left with clean up while Alan’s guests sat around afterwards over brandy and ribald talk that she found more than mildly offensive. But that was how Alan believed clients should be wooed, and to her disgust, it often worked. Harden Electric contracted for some of the major builders around Riverside, and Alan knew how to schmooze with the best of them.

  With extra fervor she pounded the half-frozen ground round into patties and arranged four of them in a black cast-iron skillet. A few seasonings over the top, and she returned to the living room, ready to create a “gourmet” sensation.

  Her mouth went dry at the sight that met her eyes.

  Stephen Wright was still stretched out in the love seat, his long jean-clad legs slightly apart. He’d taken off his shoes and socks and unbuttoned his shirt, a concession to the steamy heat. His eyes were closed, and his head lolled back against the cushions. His beer was propped between his thighs, forgotten, one hand curved laxly near its neck. He looked younger, less intimidating, his brow relaxed in sleep, his lips fuller, those lines of discontentment bracketing his mouth erased. The curve of his jaw drew her interest as if by a magnet.

  Somewhere deep inside Kim something came alive. Something long dead, or maybe never given birth before.

  Shaking all over, she dropped the skillet on the pine coffee table with a clatter. Stephen jumped up as if he’d been stabbed.

  “What the hell?” he demanded, towering over her as she fought for composure. Then, worried, “Kim, are you all right?”

  Her heart beat in her ears. She couldn’t answer.

  And then he reached a hand out to tip up her chin and stare searchingly at her and Kim, in a state of pure emotion, sensed traitorous tears spring to her eyes. As if that humiliation weren’t enough, her body quivered when, almost in amazement, his thumb captured one tear, and he watched it melt against his own skin.

  Two

  “What is it, Kim?” he asked softly.

  Of all the things Kim could handle, pity and caring were the hardest. If someone was nice to her, that’s all it took to start the waterworks, and Stephen’s concern coupled with her own strange reaction were enough to do her in.

  It didn’t help that he was touching her either!

  “I’m all—right. Just—don’t—”

  Stephen’s eyes searched her flushed face. Quietly, he said, “Don’t what?”

  “Don’t touch me.”

  He frowned. But it was as if her words were an invitation, not a warning, for his hands reached for her shoulders and slid downward until they rested just below the short sleeves of her black sweater. Kim’s breath caught in her throat. He seemed lost in concentration, feeling her skin. Her heart kicked painfully. This wasn’t right. She shouldn’t feel these things!

  Tense as a bowstring, she slowly pulled her arms free of his grasp. For a moment it seemed like he might actually resist her efforts, but then he took a step back. They stood in silence.

  “I don’t want to be here with you,” she heard herself say, the words fast and scared. “I didn’t want any of this. I’m sorry, I just—don’t.”

  “Did I say I did?”

  “I just don’t want you to think—” Kim broke off helplessly.

  “Think what?”

  “That I’m . . . that this is . . . okay.”

  The Stephen Wright she’d feared, the one Alan had threatened her with, the one who had obviously given him his courtroom reputation, suddenly appeared. One moment the man was approachable; the next he was cold as a distant star.

  “What do you mean this? Did you think I was going to kiss you? Make a pass? Put you in some kind of compromising position?”

  “I’m already in a compromising position!” Kim declared. “I don’t want to be here with you. I don’t trust you. And after what you did, I’ll never be able to even like you!”

  “After what I did?”

  She nodded. It took all her courage not to step back, away from him a few paces. His very nearness was intimidating.

  “After what I did?” he repeated again.

  “You tried to take Bobby from me!”

  Silence fell. Her accusation reverberated in shock waves. It almost felt as if she’d slapped him. “You may not have been the courtroom attorney, but you took Alan’s case,” she fumbled on. “And I don’t want to hear that a job’s a job. That’s no excuse. You represented Alan.” Her throat was dry as salt. “And he’s no kind of father, and certainly no kind of husband.”

  Stephen stared down at the petite blond-haired woman who stood in front of him—so small, yet so defiant. He was angry at the weather for stranding him here with her. He was angry at himself for being so susceptible. And he was angry at her for being right.

  His defense sounded pathetic even to his own ears. “I didn’t know what kind of man Harden was when our firm took the case.”

  “When you took the case,” she corrected.

  “I passed on being his attorney,” Stephen reminded her.

  But Kim was having none of it. “Oh, really? That wasn’t Jackson, Wright and Smith representing Alan?”

  “It wasn’t Stephen Wright,” he snapped back, stinging. He wanted to tell her that he’d spent his time in the background, listening to what went on, keeping well out of it. He’d never been particularly concerned that Harden would end up with Bobby; his bid for custody was too weak, especially since Kim appeared to be a model wife and mother. And though he didn’t really like the man personally, he’d found him at least tolerable—until Betsy had let it slip that Alan had struck his wife.

  It had been late in the trial. Betsy, who was generally good about separating her personal life from her professional, overheard Robert Jackson shaking hands and saying good-bye to Alan. Like Mount Etna about to explode, she’d suddenly clenched her fists and turned bright red, literally shaking with the effort to contain herself.

  “What’s got into you?” Stephen asked her.

  “I’d like to wring his lying neck!”

  “Who?” Stephen looked around, then spied Alan Harden’s retreating back through the open door of his office.

  “I know what he did to Kim. She tried to hide it, but I know.”

  Fascinated, he simply waited. Betsy tried to clamp her lips together, but in a rush, she spewed out, “He hit her! Slammed her into a wall. When I saw the bruises I knew what had happened.”

  The rush of emotion Stephen felt was totally out of proportion to the circumstances. Yes, he was infuriated. Yes, he was disgusted and sickened. But the need to comfort and hold Kim and wrap himself around her was an unwelcome yet overwhelming desire. He was left speechless, spent, as if he’d run a marathon. And it took all of his not inconsiderable will to hide the freight train of emotions that rushed through him from Betsy Reed’s knowing eyes.

  But she was too upset herself to pick up the vibes. “If he gets custody of Bobby, it’ll kill Kim.”

  “It won’t happen.”

  “How do you know? Our firm is representing him, for crying out loud!”

  “Harden’s a bad witness,” Stephen responded bluntly. “Robert said as much to the man’s face. He blusters and talks big. The judge would award custody to Kim even if she weren’t the best choice.”

  “You’re sure?” Betsy gazed at him pleadingly.

  Yes, he’d been sure. Certain to the tips of his toes. But it still had been a relief to hear the outcome in Kim’s favor. When she’d blasted him on the courtroom st
eps he’d had no defense of his own. He’d deserved some of it because when Alan had first brought him the custody case, he’d painted Kim out to be some kind of self-serving bitch. Though Stephen had known better, he’d half believed the man. His own experience with Pauleen was partially to blame, and he’d made himself believe it was Kim who’d been lying, not Alan. Still, it was no excuse, and he’d taken Kim’s verbal battering as his due.

  And so, now what? he asked himself, gazing at Kim in the firelight. She’d turned her face away while he’d traveled through this lightning introspection. Now she stared fixedly at the flames, a means of shutting him out and pulling away without physically moving.

  If he were ever going to be given the opportunity to explain himself to her, this was it. Yet, there really was no excuse. He hadn’t taken Alan Harden’s case, but he also hadn’t thrown him out on his ear. And when Betsy had blurted out Harden’s true nature, Stephen hadn’t charged after him and rendered the man serious physical harm (his first, most burning desire). Instead, he’d quietly warned Robert about a rumor he’d heard and let Jackson handle Harden any way he chose. Confronted with his abuse, Harden blustered and whined and denied, and Robert Jackson went ahead with the custody suit.

  It was the way some cases went.

  Still, the whole thing had left a bad taste in Stephen’s mouth, and at some level he’d wanted to clear it up with Kim. And here, here, was the perfect opportunity. So, what was stopping him?

  “I’m not really hungry,” Kim suddenly said. “I think I’ll just go to bed.”

  He had a sudden vision of her lying between the sheets, hair tossed in a silken heap across the pillow, eyes closed, breath soft and even, her expression gentle and sweet. He imagined her naked, her skin smooth and lustrous.

  “You sure you want the love seat?” she asked, her face still averted.

  “It’s fine,” he answered shortly.

  “I’m smaller. It would be easier for me to curl up here.”

  “I’m not interested in sleeping right now. Go ahead. I’ll be perfectly fine.”

  Now, she darted him a look, questions hovering in her eyes. But she was clearly too upset to delve into what was eating at him, and for that he was glad. She was eating at him. He hadn’t wanted any woman since his divorce, though scores had thrown themselves at him as soon as they learned he was unattached. He hadn’t even wanted to date. Pauleen had cured him of that—he’d thought forever.

  But Kimberly Harden got to him. In ways he didn’t want to think about.

  So, now, when she hesitantly said goodnight and slipped away, Stephen found it was all he could do not to let his gaze follow after her, devouring her. The soft click of the door closing brought him back to reality.

  Muttering a few pungent obscenities beneath his breath, he worked his way through the shadowy room back to the kitchen in the hope of finding another beer.

  Kimberly lay on her back with her hands folded beneath her head, staring at the bedroom ceiling. There was no such thing as total darkness. From the window grayish outdoor light threw a square of faint illumination across the foot of her bed and lightened the walls. Shadows danced from the stiff breeze that gusted outside, and rain fell in a steady symphony.

  She couldn’t sleep. Not at all. Her mind was busy, her thoughts fragmented. But her overall feeling was one of, what? She didn’t know. Cautiously, she tiptoed through the mess in her head and suddenly tripped over luscious thoughts of Stephen Wright.

  With a groan of self-loathing, she snatched up the pillow and buried her face in its smothering softness. Then she pounded on it with one fist. You are such an idiot! She couldn’t stand the man. He’d sided with Alan! It wasn’t fair that he was so outrageously attractive.

  Why? Why? Why?

  Removing the pillow, Kim sighed hugely. She’d never been stupid about men. Well, okay, she’d misjudged Alan. She’d fallen for his charms—limited as they now appeared to be—but she could excuse herself because she’d been so young. Now, there was no excuse. She knew the kind of man Stephen Wright was, and he would never be the man for her.

  Still . . .

  She looked across the room to where she’d folded up his clothes and set them atop his bag. She should have pushed the bag outside the door, but there it stood, mocking her. If Stephen wanted anything from it he was going to have to knock on her bedroom door, but so far that hadn’t happened.

  What time was it? she wondered. She’d gone to bed shortly after seven. When was the last time you did that, my girl? And now she was wide awake and wishing for dawn. As soon as it was light she might be able to leave. More wishful thinking, as it hadn’t stopped raining all night, and it was bound to take a while for the floodwaters to recede.

  She tossed and turned for what had to be at least an hour, then finally out of pure frustration and exhaustion, she stopped avoiding the issue picking at her brain and faced it full on: She was attracted to Stephen Wright. Kim actually winced as she mentally said the words. She felt like a traitor to herself. How could she be? How could she?

  Easy. She’d been attracted to him before, why not now? She’d first met him several years earlier; they were loosely involved in the same circle of friends. Betsy, of course, was the main connection, and when she first introduced Kim to Stephen at a barbecue at her house, he’d still been with his wife, Pauleen. Kim, sensitive to her own still-fresh divorce, had eyed Stephen and Pauleen Wright and wondered what kept them together. Sure, they were the quintessential beautiful couple, but Pauleen seemed so stiff and discriminating. The corners of her mouth never lifted, and there was a restlessness about her, as if she couldn’t wait to leave. Her tension was palpable. Stephen, on the other hand, had clearly been having a great time. Kim had warmed to his conversation. She knew he was a lawyer, and she learned that he was acquainted with Alan—Riverside was small enough, and Harden Electric was big enough, that it was almost a given the two men would have met.

  Pauleen had had too much to drink, and that ended Kim’s first meeting with Stephen; he took his tottering wife home. Still, her attraction to him had remained, like a haunting melody. Oh, she didn’t want him then; he’d been married, for crying out loud! But she’d enjoyed the mellow tones of his voice and the amused quirk of his mouth as a woman appreciates any attractive male. Kim had been starved for that kind of easy camaraderie; she’d never really had it with Alan, and it was darn difficult to find. That evening she’d been sorry to see Stephen leave, but then in the course of her frenetic life, she’d dropped him from her thoughts. Betsy brought his name up upon occasion, of course, but one day the word “divorce” was mentioned in conjunction with Stephen Wright. That caught Kim’s attention.

  “They weren’t meant for each other,” was Betsy’s blanket assessment. And then, because she was loyal and true, “He deserves better.”

  Kim had wanted to query her further without seeming overly curious, but Betsy, a friend who generally loved to speculate on people, could sometimes be as closemouthed as a clam. Kim sensed that she was protecting Stephen, which was admirable but downright frustrating! Kim knew her own appreciation of the man could easily turn into an out-and-out attraction. And it would be the first time she’d actually wanted to date another man since she’d met her ex-husband—a lifetime ago!

  But, no . . . Stephen and Pauleen Wright might be divorcing, but he was in no mood for dating; Betsy was clear on that. She then alluded to the messiness of the split up and became like a mother hen clucking over her injured chick. What Stephen thought of Betsy’s concern, Kim never knew, but she decided to keep her interest in him to herself.

  She saw him at several social functions during this transition. Once he’d even had a beautiful woman on his arm, though Betsy, unsolicited, remarked that the woman, Samantha, had clamped onto Stephen when he’d walked through the door and that he was doing his best to disengage her.

  Kim learned this was true when at the hors d’oeuvre table she was suddenly right next to him, and he desperately loo
ked like he needed a rescue.

  “Hey, there,” he said to Kim, the dark-haired beauty still fervently clutching his sleeve.

  “Hi,” was all Kim managed to answer. As far as scintillating conversation went, she scored a perfect zero.

  The would-be girlfriend broke in right there. “Stephen, come over here. I want you to meet a friend of mine. He’s thinking of switching law firms, and I promised that I’d bring you over to him ASAP.”

  “Can’t do it right now,” Stephen answered politely.

  “Oh, sure you can!”

  “I’ll be there in a minute. I’m involved in a conversation.”

  Kim was surprised. After a moment of consternation, the lovely brunette flicked Kim an assessing look, then reluctantly released Stephen’s arm. Stephen gave Kim a sideways glance as he filled his plate. “Sorry I had to use you as an excuse. I know the guy Samantha wants me to meet, and believe me, I can wait.”

  “It looks to me like it’s Samantha who’s wanting a private meeting,” Kim said. As soon as the words were out she flushed with embarrassment. It wasn’t often she unthinkingly betrayed the thoughts that brushed across her mind. Her boldness shocked her.

  Stephen’s head turned to gaze at her sharply. Spying her flooding color, he started to laugh. “You’re right!” he declared.

  “I’m sorry. I—that was uncalled for. I feel like an idiot.”

  “No, no. It’s okay. I haven’t been socializing much these days, and I think I’ve lost the ability to politely get out of sticky situations. I mean, look, I had to depend on you for help.”

  “Depend away. I absolutely hate being trapped in something I can’t get out of without coming off like a jerk.”

  “I can’t believe you ever come off like a jerk.” He gazed into her eyes. He seemed about to say something—a compliment, perhaps?—but then Samantha reappeared.