In a Heartbeat

by Tina Wainscott

  His mouth tightened into a line. “I didn’t.”

  “Well, you’re a tough guy. Big, bad Mitch the bully.” That got him to his feet, hands clenched at his sides. “Maybe we all can’t be as tough as you,” she continued, standing as well. “Paul wasn’t a strong person, but that doesn’t make him a murderer.”

  “I’m not a bully. I just want the truth, and I told you why.”

  She didn’t want to think of his admission, spoken in a moment of vulnerability. “But you’re already convinced Paul is a murderer. Why do you want to convict him?”

  He moved closer, but she didn’t back down. His voice was deadly low when he said, “Why are you protecting him? He lied to you. He got himself killed doing something you didn’t know about. He hid money from you.” Mitch grabbed one of the fax copies and wrinkled it up. “Everything about him was a lie. How can you stand there and defend him? How can you be willing to turn your back on the evidence and go on believing he was some damned saint?”

  Her chest was hurting, and his closeness and anger made it hard to breathe. “Because I loved him!” she shouted back, feeling the strength in those words. She did love him, even now. She still had her memories to hold onto.

  “He didn’t deserve your love.” Something dark laced his low voice. “He didn’t deserve you.”

  To her horror, she felt her eyes watering. “You’re right! He didn’t deserve me. I was a hardship. We wanted children, and I couldn’t give him any. He worried about me all the time, knowing I could die soon. We paid astronomical insurance premiums because of my condition. But he didn’t care! He didn’t run then. He stayed with me and loved me anyway.” You make me a good man. No, no, he was already a good man. “He never complained about any of it! Not when I was too tired to work on the house, or fix dinner, or even make love!”

  All the rage and anger roiled into a fierce storm, and the thunder in her head transformed into the beating of her fists against his chest. “Don’t tell me I didn’t deserve him! It’s you I don’t deserve! I don’t deserve you coming here and tormenting me!”

  Her fists landed with dull thuds against his hard chest, not even pushing him back an inch. But it felt so good to let out some of that pent-up anger, and directing it at Mitch was much safer than directing it at Paul.

  After a few moments he grabbed her wrists and jerked her body against his. Still holding her arms, he leaned down and covered her mouth with his. She couldn’t resist or push him away. Her body went slack against him, and he let go of her wrists to slide his arms over her shoulders. Her heart was pounding, first from her anger and then from his kisses. His mouth moved against hers, fingers sliding up into her hair and tilting her head for better access.

  Why was she letting him do this? Because it feels so right. No, no, it’s wrong! She couldn’t hold onto any of those thoughts, though, as her body melded with his, crystallizing their mysterious connection until they felt like one person instead of two warring factions.

  His tongue slid across the seam of her lips, and her mouth opened to him as though they’d been kissing for years. She heard strange noises and realized they were coming from her throat as she hungrily sought his tongue. Her body crackled with electricity, trembling under the onslaught of desire. His mouth was warm and alive and made her want more. Fingers of heat traveled from her core down her thighs and up to tingle at the tips of her breasts.

  Not strong enough to move away, she tried to conjure up her and Paul’s kisses, tried to tell herself they were more exciting than this. Just as her body could not lie about what Mitch was doing to it, neither could she lie to herself — Paul had never kissed her like this, had never ignited the kind of desire that swept her body.

  She knew she had to stop, but she was beyond control. His mouth was soft and lush, and she wanted to kiss him until the clock on the bookcase stopped ticking altogether. She could feel his deepening breaths, each exhale pressing his chest against hers.

  His movements became slower and slower, and she opened her eyes to find his closed tight. Her head was tilted back, though until that moment she hadn’t noticed the strain on her muscles.

  Slowly his eyes opened. She felt vulnerable, as though she’d been caught doing something bad. And she was! Very, very bad. Yet, she still couldn’t tell her body to move, to get away from him. What was wrong with her? She’d lived without physical contact with a man for so long, and hadn’t missed it until … well, until Mitch.

  “We shouldn’t be doing this,” she said against his mouth. What she really wanted to do was get lost in that mouth again, feel what she had to admit she’d been missing with Paul.

  “I know. I guess I should let you go,” he said in a sexy, hoarse voice.

  “Yes, you should.”

  Neither of them was actually willing to break contact. Finally he loosened his arms, and she took a wobbly step away from him. Thank goodness the chair was nearby, and she held onto the back of it. He leaned against the edge of the desk, bracing his hands on the surface.

  She couldn’t meet his eyes, though she knew he was looking at her. She covered her mouth with her other hand, hoping to still the warm, tingly sensation rippling across it. She had no idea what to say, what to do. She could slap him, she supposed, but she’d been much too willing a participant to blame him fully. If she were a flip person, she could say something sarcastic. Instead, she walked to where the pictures were stacked and placed them along the edge of the desk again.

  I’m sorry, Paul, she thought with each one she replaced. It’s you, and this connection I have with your brother. Isn’t it? Maybe the combination is making everything more intense. He’s sexy and passionate, and I’m responding on one level to that. But he’s your image, and our hearts seem to speak to each other.

  She looked up at Mitch. His eyes were dark as they focused on the last picture she’d set upright. He drew his gaze from her fingers up her arm to her eyes.

  “Do you want some lunch?” she asked, desperate to break up the weight of tension in the room.

  “Lunch?”

  She might as well have asked him if he wanted to go hunting for slugs. “Yes, lunch. Food. It’s nearly noon. You keep saying how you want to put meat on my bones.”

  Fire flared in his eyes as he took in those bones. She swallowed. Perhaps that hadn’t been exactly the right thing to say.

  “I mean, you are hungry, aren’t you?” She closed her eyes, searching for words that wouldn’t trip her up. After a moment she opened them again and said, “I’m going to fix lunch.”

  “You’ve done it again. Put that wall around you.”

  “It’s safer than having your arms around me.” Where was this bluntness coming from?

  He nodded, rubbing that indent beneath his mouth with the side of his finger. “You don’t want to talk about what just happened?”

  “Absolutely not.”

  She walked out of the office, giving him a wide berth in case he got an idea about grabbing her arm and pulling her back. He followed her into the kitchen where she started whacking on another innocent tomato.

  “Don’t you want to hit me or something?” he persisted. “Tell me off? You’re getting pretty good at it.”

  She kept her concentration on the tomato, forcing herself to make nice, even slices. “I am, aren’t I?”

  “I guess it wouldn’t be proper to say that you’re awfully good at kissing, then.” When she shot him a look, he was standing over by the window. “I could apologize.”

  She felt a pleasant warmth wash over her, and mangled the neat slice she’d been working on. Nobody had ever said she kissed good, not that she’d kissed many men. She decided to mangle the bread instead. “You could.”

  After a moment, she couldn’t help giving him a sideways glance. He shrugged. “I could apologize, but I’m not really sure if I’m sorry.” His voice lowered. “On a base level.”

  She turned her attention back to the bread, feeling all warm and prickly. “I’d rather pretend it didn
’t happen at all.”

  He nodded solemnly. “That might work.”

  “I’ve already forgotten. See? Everything’s fine.” Her voice, however, sounded unnaturally high.

  “Would it help if I told you I had no intention of kissing you?”

  He looked like an innocent little boy, although she knew better. “I’d rather forget it.”

  “Okay, fine.” He sat down at the table, picked up the sugar spoon and tapped the porcelain sugar bowl with it. “Can I help?” he asked a moment later.

  “No!” She cleared her throat. “No, thank you. Just stay there … relax, I mean.”

  “It’s not going to happen again. If that’s what you’re worried about.”

  “You’re guaranteeing that?”

  He nodded, looking completely at home at her table. His legs were spread, fingers busily tapping away. “Paul and I made a promise to each other a long time ago that we would never … get involved with a woman whom the other one had once loved.”

  Eager to change the course of the previous conversation, she asked, “And what prompted that?”

  “A woman, naturally.” That easy grin again, the one that made her stomach flip-flop. “Paul brought her out to the ranch one afternoon. Turned out she liked me better. I didn’t know he liked her so much; to me, girls were fun to hang around with for a while, but Paul always did fall heavy. He caught us kissing behind the barn. He was so mad, he threatened to get plastic surgery so we wouldn’t look alike. Instead, we made the promise, a vow sealed in our blood.” He raised his hand, and she saw a tiny line that matched one on Paul’s left palm.

  She realized the conversation had, in fact, come full circle back to the kiss they’d shared in the office. “I have some leftover salmon in the fridge. I can make up a salad with that.”

  He obviously recognized her change of subject for what it was and granted it to her. “Fine. But tonight, I’m fixing dinner.”

  Chapter 9

  Mitch kept forgetting why he’d come to New Hampshire. Oh, it would come to him, and then he’d look at Jenna and … forget. This thing that had been wrapped around his soul for ten years had vanished. What was he really doing there?

  What he was doing was enjoying the way her arms felt around him, the fresh air washing over him, the sound of the engine between his legs, doing something so simple and ordinary as riding to the grocery store. He’d been surprised when she’d suggested taking the bike.

  “We’re only going to pick up a few things,” she’d said in that soft voice that affected him as though he were being called to dinner.

  Like he would have argued with her anyway, her looking a little shy, and him knowing she’d be putting her arms around him. He’d recognized that look of pure bliss on her face that morning, and remembered feeling the same way when he’d taken his first ride at twelve. Then his daddy had whipped him but good for hanging out with “the trash of Ponee.” The very next night Mitch had snuck out just to prove to himself who was boss. That time he hadn’t been caught.

  He parked the bike, lifted himself off the seat and helped her. Just that nothing little touch he hadn’t even thought about shivered through him. Their eyes met, and he told her that this physical contact didn’t count, and she said it sure as hell did, but didn’t reprimand him for it. All this was said without a word.

  They seemed to realize this at the same moment, breaking eye contact and simultaneously busying themselves with removing their helmets. He felt like a teenager again, falling in lust for the first time. This was different, though, more intense. He was aware of every nuance about her, her proximity to him, even an ultra-awareness about his own body.

  Shoot. This wasn’t lust.

  He opened the door for her, and she walked through. Even thin, she filled out her shorts just so. Her hips swayed, not exactly in a sexy way, but enough to fill him with a longing he hadn’t felt in a long time. Maybe not ever.

  What are you saying, Mitch? No way are you in love with this woman. Got that? She was married to your brother, and still loves him. If she’s responding to you, it’s only because you look like the bastard who loved her … and lied to her.

  “Mitch?”

  She said the word in that same way she’d said it at his house, when he’d drifted off in memories outside the front door. But that word on her tongue sent a different wave of warmth through him this time.

  He blinked, realizing he was still standing there with his back holding the door open. “Coming.”

  Oceanside Mart wasn’t what he’d call a grocery store. It was the kind of store you’d see in Mayberry with a little bit of everything and a friendly older lady behind the counter who probably knew everyone’s business. The whole town was like a facade on a movie set, old and quaint marred only by the occasional tourist shop.

  “So, what are we having, chef Elliot?” she asked, a wry smile on her face.

  Damn, she looked beautiful when she smiled. She didn’t do it nearly enough, not that he’d given her much reason. But they’d come to a sort of truce tonight after their kiss. Maybe they’d gotten each other out of their system.

  Hardly. Maybe she’d gotten him out of her system.

  “Good old-fashioned red beef to put some meat on these bones.” As he walked by her, he gave her a pinch just under her rib cage. He was doing it again, like he couldn’t keep his hands off this woman.

  “You’re not a quasi-vegetarian, are you?” he asked, perusing the meat selection.

  “No, I just don’t care for red meat. And no, it’s not because I’m a transplantee.”

  “You knew I was gonna ask you that, didn’t you?”

  “Yup,” she said again, suddenly finding the meat packages interesting. “I’m just like everyone else now, watching cholesterol and fat grams the same way everybody does.”

  “How ’bout some beef ribs?”

  He picked up two packages and went off in search of corn. Disgust washed over him. Here he was, supposed to be finding out the truth, and he was picking out fixings for dinner and getting hot for his twin’s widow. He’d held her in his arms and discovered how right she felt there.

  One thing he was sure about: when he’d kissed her, when he’d had her body pressed up against his, Paul had nothing to do with the way he’d felt. It was all Mitch in there, getting lost in her mouth, wanting to feel all of her, reluctant to let her go. What made him feel even crummier about doing it in the first place was that she was probably dreaming it was Paul. Mitch deserved every ugly thought he was thinking about himself. And they were pretty ugly.

  “I got some butter for the corn,” she said, coming up beside him. “What’s wrong?”

  He’d been standing there holding the stupid package of corn like a zombie. “Just can’t imagine eatin’ any other corn but Texas corn,” he said with a drawl.

  That was another thing he’d noticed lately: his accent was getting stronger.

  That’s because Paul didn’t have an accent, his conscience said.

  With a grunt, he walked over to the beer section.

  “And here I only thought it was the winters that made living in New England so wicked bad.”

  “Don’t you be giving me a hard time, now. When you’re born in Texas, you get used to the best.” He found his gaze involuntarily dropping down over the white fabric of her shirt and the way it molded her breasts. He jerked it back up to meet her eyes. “The best of almost everything.”

  “Oh, my Lordy, my Lordy!”

  They both turned at the woman’s voice beside them, at the sound of her plastic basket hitting the floor and embarrassing old-lady things spilling out. She was itty bitty, about seventy years old, and staring at him as if he were standing there naked as a plucked chicken.

  “Millie!” Jenna rushed to the woman. “What’s wrong?”

  She pointed to Mitch, finger trembling. “It’s … it’s your husband. He’s come back to life.”

  Jenna looked at him, then back to Millie. “Oh, no. No, it’s not
Paul.”

  Her voice dropped to a dramatic hush. “Not Paul exactly, but his … spirit. Oh my, yes, I’ve heard about these kinds of things. You loved him so much, you’ve brought him back. It’s not good for you, dear. You have to get away from him right away.”

  Except for the spirit stuff, that probably wasn’t bad advice.

  Jenna took the old lady’s hands in hers. “It’s Paul’s twin brother, Mitch. He’s very human, believe me.”

  Something else Mitch could agree with.

  Millie walked closer and stared up at him as though he were some Frankenstein creation Jenna had made.

  “Pleased to meet ya,” he said in his heaviest accent yet.

  “This is Millie, the nurse who stayed with me after the surgery. She lives around the corner from me.”

  Millie only nodded, still struck with curiosity. “You said Paul had no family.”

  “He didn’t.”

  “Then how do you explain him?”

  “I mean, that’s what Paul told me. But it wasn’t true.”

  Millie snapped her fingers in front of Jenna’s face. “Snap out of that dazed state you’re in. You have to tell Paul’s spirit to leave you to mourn in peace. It’s no good, I tell you. I had a cousin, her husband died in a train accident. He haunted her for fifteen years afterward. Got to be she’d fix him meals every day. Wouldn’t talk to anyone else but Bill. Went crazy, I say. Take my advice, girl. Get away from him.” And then the woman scooted off, casting a backward glance at them before turning the corner.

  “I never thought about running into someone I knew,” Jenna said, obviously feeling bad for spooking the lady. “We didn’t know that many people, didn’t get out much.”

  “Why did Paul keep you hidden away?”

  She turned back to Mitch, surprise in her face. “What do you mean?”

  “Seems like he hid you away like his little treasure. Didn’t take you out, moved all the time.”

  Her defensiveness pricked at him. “We didn’t feel comfortable in crowds. I wasn’t used to being around people much, and he didn’t make me deal with it. He seemed to like being with just me, and I liked being with just him.”