His Touch

by Mary Lynn Baxter

  Problem was, he didn’t have any money.

  Damn Jessica, he thought again, feeling his rage build and sweat ooze from every orifice. He would get that bitch yet. It was just a matter of time. Right now, though, he had to dismiss the wicked stepmother from his mind and try to make a deal when he didn’t have anything to deal with.

  He’d pulled off other miracles. Why not this one? This time, however, he was playing in a much bigger league. If he messed up with this guy and his cohorts, he might end up dead.

  On the other hand, what’s-his-face just might be a Lone Ranger dealing on his own. He would soon see. Push had come to shove.

  “You Kincaid?” the man asked.

  Make no mistake, Roy cautioned himself; the man’s tone was as dead as his eyes. “And you are?”

  “Never mind. Names don’t matter.

  ” Roy shrugged. “So they don’t.”

  “Let’s see the cash.”

  “Uh, let’s see the goods,” Roy countered in a bluffing tone, feeling his stomach sour.

  The man reached in his pocket and pulled out a bag of white powder, then put it back in.

  Roy licked his lips, already tasting the magic stuff on his tongue. Suddenly he was grateful for Dottie and glad he hadn’t dumped her. After all, she’d introduced him to this new way of life. Now he didn’t know how he’d faced each day without the coke. He couldn’t face many more, that was for sure. That was also the problem. He had to have a fix or he would go berserk.

  “The money.”

  “Isn’t Dottie your friend?”

  The guy’s face hardened even more. “Have you got the cash or not?”

  “Dottie said you’d be willing to—”

  The man suddenly grabbed Roy by the shirt, jerking him forward. Roy panicked, much the same as he had the night Jessica’s stud had manhandled him. Dammit, he was getting tired of being treated like he was dimwitted scum.

  “I said, where’s the money?”

  “Okay, okay,” Roy wheezed. “Let me go.”

  The guy let him go, all right, so hard that Roy stumbled back, barely able to hold himself upright. Then and there, he swore he would join a gym and start lifting weights. He was tired of being shoved around. It was time he learned to do some shoving of his own.

  “I’ve asked twice about the money. Don’t make me ask again.”

  “I…don’t have any.”

  It happened so fast, Roy didn’t see it coming. The man hit him in the mouth, splitting his lip.

  Terrified, Roy cried out, before lifting his hand and using it to stop the flow of blood.

  “Next time I’ll beat the living hell out of you, you piece of garbage. This isn’t a game we’re playing.”

  “Look—”

  The man inched closer.

  Roy shook all over.

  The man poked him in the chest. “No, you look. Next time, if there is a next time, the price doubles.”

  “Please,” Roy all but squealed. “Don’t do this. I have a trust fund that’s worth thousands. When I get my hands on it, I’ll—”

  The man shoved him out of the way. “Go fuck yourself, sonny boy.”

  Why did she have to have on a short skirt? Of all days, when they were confined to a limo.

  Alone.

  With her legs so exposed.

  Long, graceful legs that ended with heeled sandals and vividly painted toenails.

  It was all he could do to keep his hands to himself.

  Brant swallowed, then turned and gazed out the highly tinted window, but he couldn’t see a damn thing. The imprint of those incredible legs blurred everything else.

  Not only were her legs driving him nuts, but her entire face and body seemed lovelier than usual, affected him more than usual, if that were possible. If he didn’t gain control soon, he would get a hard-on. Then where would he be?

  Pissed off in a world of hurt.

  Nothing had changed. She remained off-limits. He could look, but he sure couldn’t touch. He’d made that fatal mistake once, and he wouldn’t do so again.

  They had been to a Chamber of Commerce luncheon, where she’d been the featured speaker. He was certain that was why she’d dressed up more than usual, looked so spiffy. The cream-colored suit was silk, with a vee neck that hinted at the creamy fullness of her breasts underneath. A small diamond stud shone from each delicate earlobe. A watch and bracelet circled her wrists.

  Classy. And elegant.

  She’d done great speech-wise, too, even held his attention. But then, that was no special feat when she was all he thought about anyway.

  Or maybe it was because they were closed up together which forced her up front and in his face. God, he hated tight places, not that the limo was that—far from it. Yet he might as well have been crammed in a tiny, dark hole, with her pressed against him.

  Brant shifted positions in the plush seat. What if she spied his hard-on? He dared not check his crotch. To hell with it, he fumed inwardly. She had to know she turned him on.

  Besides, she wasn’t completely innocent. He had noticed her eyes on him plenty of times with the same intensity.

  That was what was on his mind when he looked at her now, thinking once again how lovely her eyes were, how expressive. Yet he couldn’t read them this moment, at least not the secrets hidden behind the sea-blue color.

  “I enjoyed your speech,” he said, forcing himself to break the smothering silence.

  She seemed surprised, yet she smiled. “Really?”

  He kind of smiled, too. “Really.”

  “Bet you can’t tell me the theme.”

  “How to motivate yourself.”

  She grinned for real. “Ah, so you did listen.”

  He angled his head. “You look good, too.” Now why had he added that? Hadn’t he just warned himself about getting personal?

  Although added color tinged her face, she didn’t seem to take offense. “Thanks,” she said.

  He heard the breathlessness in her voice and realized she was as uptight as he was.

  “What did you and Thurmon talk about?” she asked, suddenly putting things back on a steady footing.

  “You.”

  Her colored deepened. “You love antagonizing me, don’t you?”

  “Sorry.”

  “No, you’re not.”

  He cut her a sharp glance.

  “I don’t think you’ve ever been sorry about much, if anything, in your life.”

  “That’s where you’re wrong, lady.”

  Her lips tightened at the harshness in his tone, but when she spoke again, her tone matched his. “Back to my question. Did Thurmon have any information? As you know, we haven’t had any time to talk.”

  He swallowed a sigh, not really wanting to talk now. “Not anything concrete against the cops, unfortunately.”

  “I guess that’s good. Or maybe it isn’t.”

  “He’s still monitoring Riley, and now your stepson.”

  Jessica gave him a troubled look. “I just wish this would all end.”

  “It will,” he said grimly. “But apparently not as soon as we’d both like. This pervert’s pretty smart, knows how to cover his tracks.”

  “Since he hasn’t really tried to hurt me, physically, I mean, maybe he won’t. Maybe I could—”

  “Forget it,” Brant interrupted. “That’s not going to happen. The second you let your guard down, he’ll strike. Count on it.”

  “It all seems so…so overdramatized.”

  He gave a cynical smile. “Read any newspapers lately?”

  “You don’t have to be insulting. I get the point.”

  “Just so we continue to understand each other.”

  Her eyes were sparking and her lips were wet. Suddenly he wanted to grab her and kiss the fire out of her, hoping to knock some sense into her. She was much too brave for her own good.

  She turned away. That was when his cell rang. Frowning, he answered it, his heart plummeting. It was Marsha.

  A few m
inutes later, he shut it off, white-faced.

  “Something wrong?” Jessica asked, genuine concern mirrored in her eyes.

  “That was my ex-wife, Marsha.”

  “And?” she pressed gently.

  He shouldn’t have let her get by with probing, but he did, especially since he was tied to her apron strings, dammit. “It’s about Elliot,” he bit out.

  “He’s all right, isn’t he?”

  “Maybe and maybe not. You can’t tell with Marsha. She has a tendency to blow things out of proportion when it comes to Elliot. Anyhow, he hasn’t come home from ball practice. She thinks he’s hanging out with this guy who’s on drugs.”

  Brant paused, feeling like he’d been sucker-punched in the gut. “She’s blaming me for his rebellion, said he wouldn’t have done anything like that before I hit town. Now, supposedly he’s confused and out of sorts.”

  “Do you know where he is?”

  Brant’s eyes narrowed. “She told me the address, like I could do something about it.” His tone was bitter, and he knew it. But he didn’t care. As always, when his son needed him, he wasn’t available.

  “But you can.”

  At first what she said didn’t register; then it hit him. “What did you say?”

  “I said, you can do something.”

  “What?”

  “Go there. Right now. In the limo.”

  “You’d do that?” His tone was incredulous.

  “Of course,” she all but snapped. “If your son’s in trouble, then you need to see about him. It’s that simple.”

  He knew he must look like an idiot with his mouth gaping. But he was more than a little taken aback by her generous offer. She didn’t owe him diddly squat. Except maybe a kick in the nuts.

  She leaned forward and knocked on the closed window. “Howard, please take us to this address.”

  A few minutes later, the limo pulled up in front of a large brick home in an affluent neighborhood. Brant reached for the door handle, only to stop when he felt a soft hand on his arm. His heart took a dive. But instead of looking at her, he peered down at the hand, aching to place his over that fragile flesh.

  That was when she withdrew it, sucking in an audible breath. He raised his eyes and met hers.

  Tension crackled.

  “Be gentle,” she cautioned.

  He merely grunted, then got out. Five minutes later he was back with Elliot, who climbed into the limo in front of him. For what seemed an interminable amount of time, silence reigned supreme.

  Then Brant said in a clipped tone, “Jessica Kincaid, my son, Elliot.”

  “Are these your wheels?” Elliot asked in an awed voice, his hostility having momentarily disappeared.

  Jessica’s lips twitched. “As long as I’m mayor.”

  “Wow! This is cool.”

  Brant bit back his retort, deciding to cut Elliot some slack, especially in front of Jessica. Time would come soon enough to bring him back to the real world.

  With a thud, too.

  Twenty

  Jessica frowned at her assistant. “I’m not sure I can handle that right now.”

  They were in her office behind closed doors, with Tony trying to get her day started in the right direction, a hard task of late. Her consciousness of Brant on the other side of the door, and the seething awareness that connected them, kept her on edge.

  “I’m not sure you have much choice,” Tony finally replied, also frowning. “If you’re going to run for reelection…”

  “You know I want to,” she said with more sharpness than she intended. But she felt overwhelmed. Maybe embattled was a better word, like she was being shot at from all directions and couldn’t dodge the bullets fast enough.

  “I’m sorry if I seem pushy,” Tony added, fingering his tie, which had fish swimming all over it. “But time is of the essence here.”

  Jessica barely heard him; her mind was on his attire. The tie was bad enough, but the lavender coat—well, there simply weren’t words to describe the combination. Sometimes she wondered what planet Tony hailed from. At least he kept the place livened up, Jessica thought fondly.

  When she remained quiet, he continued. “Of course you’re right. You’ve had more on your plate lately than you could possibly eat.”

  “That’s one way of putting it.”

  “I’m assuming the e-mails and phone calls are still coming.”

  “In spurts, actually, which is a strange thing. I began to relax and think maybe the sick scenario’s ended, then it starts up again.”

  “Thank heavens for the he-man outside.” Tony made a face, flapping his hand. “I don’t think anyone will try and physically harm you with him around.”

  The way Tony said him forced another weak smile from her. “You’re right about that, which is comforting.” Liar, her conscience mimicked. There was nothing comforting about Brant or his presence. Her life had taken a ninety-degree turn, and she was grasping to get it back on track.

  “I know how set you are on having the retreat,” Tony said, changing the subject.

  Jessica brightened. “And?”

  “It’s pretty much a done deal, but only for the one day.”

  “That’s a relief. I firmly believe all the city staff should have input on the budget.”

  “I’m with you on that. Let’s just hope everyone minds their manners.”

  “Not to worry,” Jessica said with confidence. “Let me look over the agenda when you get the time and place finalized.”

  “You’ll be the first to see it.”

  Jessica fell silent for a moment, then said in a concerned tone, “I wish you’d been here yesterday, when Willie Baker came to see me.”

  “I’m sorry I wasn’t. I really like Willie. He’s one of my favorite people. In fact, he’s at the top of my call list about the reelection campaign.”

  “Nix that.”

  Tony looked stunned. “The call or the campaign?”

  Jessica gave him a pointed look. “Both for now.”

  “I don’t understand. Willie’s your staunchest supporter and always has been.”

  Jessica sighed and toyed with her hair. “He’s not happy with me.”

  Tony’s expressive eyes opened wider than usual.

  “He’s against both the land annexation and the firing of Joe Mayfield.”

  “You’ve got to be kidding? Why would he care one way or the other?”

  “That’s exactly what I asked him.” And she had, immediately after he’d dropped his bombshell. She probably wouldn’t have been quite as blunt if she hadn’t been so shocked.

  “So…?” Tony’s features were pinched with displeasure.

  “I think some of his buddies on the council have gotten to him.”

  “So he hedged?” Tony asked in his blunt fashion.

  “The bottom line was that I’m becoming far too controversial, that I’ve made a lot of people angry.”

  “Well, I’ve never heard such…” Tony said, his voice reaching a high pitch. “Who does that old fart—”

  “Tony,” she interrupted sternly.

  He reddened. “Sorry. It’s just that he’s kicking you while you’re down, and that makes me furious.”

  “I appreciate your loyalty.”

  He shrugged. “Let’s blow him off.”

  “How? Without Willie—” Jessica broke off with a shudder. “He’s always been my backbone, especially when it comes to money.”

  “We’ll just have to get the money elsewhere.”

  “Under the circumstances, that’s not going to be easy.”

  “Are you sorry you fired the chief?” Tony asked suddenly.

  “No, of course not.”

  “What about the land? Are your convictions still strong on that?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “Then he either backs you or he doesn’t.”

  Jessica suppressed the urge to hug him. “Thanks, Tony. I needed your special brand of logic.”

  “What did he say wh
en you told him you weren’t backing down?”

  “Only that I needed to stop and think, to maybe reconsider, at least on the chief, that Porter would never have rattled so many cages at one time.”

  “You’re right, someone’s gotten to him. Lucky he’s not on the council.”

  “Well, J. D. Wymon is, and he’s another one who’s easily swayed.”

  “Maybe he’s stronger than you think.”

  “Maybe, but I doubt it.”

  “I just don’t understand that, especially since he and Porter were such good friends.”

  “I guess we’ll just have to wait and see what happens.”

  “As far as Willie’s concerned, I believe he’ll come around. If not…”

  Tony left the rest of the sentence unsaid, but Jessica knew what he meant. Like he’d already said, they would have to raise money some other way. It could be done, or so she hoped.

  She didn’t kid herself, though. Without Willie’s backing, she would have problems getting reelected. Still, she wasn’t prepared to back down on her decisions, even if they did end up costing her the mayorship.

  But the thought of that happening was shattering. After all, her job was all she had.

  “Are you okay with this?” Tony asked in a strained tone. “I know Willie’s attitude was another blow you didn’t need.”

  “I’ll recover,” Jessica said with forced assurance. “Now, let’s go over the day’s agenda.”

  Thirty minutes later, they were finished. When Tony opened the door, Brant was directly in her line of vision. For a second she indulged herself again, letting her hungry eyes linger on him.

  Perhaps if she hadn’t met his son, seen the remorse in Brant’s eyes when he’d looked at Elliot, keeping her distance would have been easier. After having met the kid, she somehow felt part of their lives.

  And she’d actually liked Elliot, felt sorry for him. It was obvious he adored his dad, though he wouldn’t admit that to himself or to Brant. That adoration was returned, but Brant masked his feelings well, too. As a result, the trip to Elliot’s house had been carried out in a cold and uncomfortable silence.