His Touch

by Mary Lynn Baxter

  It was only after Brant returned to the limo that he’d said anything.

  “Look, thanks again for the favor.” His voice had been low and rough, sounding as though the words were pulled out of him.

  “Any time,” she’d responded lightly.

  She’d felt his eyes on her. “He despises me, you know.”

  That broke her heart. “Oh, Brant, that’s not true.” The fact that she’d used his given name gave her pause. Nonetheless, she took a deep breath and went on. “Actually he cares a great deal about you.”

  He snorted.

  “He’s just confused and angry with life right now.”

  “I wish I could believe that. But Marsha has—”

  Brant broke off, tightening his lips. She sensed he didn’t want to badmouth his ex, at least not in front of her, and she respected that. Yet he couldn’t continue to think Elliot hated him.

  “Elliot’s not on anything, is he?” Jessica asked hesitantly, fearing she had already overstepped her bounds.

  “No, at least I don’t think so. He’s obviously pulling these stunts to get back at me.”

  She sighed. “You can’t give up. He’s such a fine boy.”

  “Yeah, he is,” Brant said with pride.

  “He looks like you.”

  He fired her another quick glance, probing. “You think so?”

  “You know that. All you have to do is look at him, then in the mirror.”

  Brant shrugged, that brooding look falling over his face again. “If you hadn’t told me to take it easy, no telling what I would’ve said to him. But I took your advice and told him we’d talk later.”

  His eyes were probing again as if he was remembering her hand on his arm, the touch of flesh against flesh. That old breathless feeling almost smothered her, completely robbing her of a coherent response.

  “I think he liked you.”

  A safety net. She grabbed it. “I hope so. I liked him, and I’d love to see him again.”

  Brant seemed surprised by that. Yet he was quick to say, “Maybe we could arrange that.” His eyes were on her lips.

  Jessica swallowed, not daring to look at him again for fear of what would happen.

  Muttering a sudden curse, Brant had effectively shattered the moment.

  Suddenly the phone rang and shattered her memory, yanking her thoughts back to the present. Sighing, Jessica lifted the receiver.

  Her day had started.

  “So what do you think, Chief?”

  Gaston Forrester, interim chief, rubbed his chin. “Don’t you think you’re putting the cart before the horse?”

  “Naw,” Wesley Stokes said, displaying his dirty, crooked teeth with a smile. “I’m sure in the end you’ll get the nod.”

  “I agree,” Dick Wells added in an eager voice, his head bobbing up and down.

  Forrester massaged his girth. “I’m not. I’m thinking our mayor has other ideas.”

  “Screw her,” Wesley said viciously.

  “I’ll pass, thank you,” Forrester said with a smirk. “She’s one cold piece of work.”

  “Don’t you mean ass?” Wells asked with a snicker.

  His companions shot him a glance. “Not bad for a virgin,” Stokes said, then laughed crudely.

  Wells gave him a go-to-hell look.

  The men had decided to meet at Forrester’s hunting cabin, southeast of Dallas in the piney woods, where they could discuss a strategy for getting them off suspension. They had been drinking beer since midafternoon. Now they were grilling chicken legs and sausages.

  “If you don’t get the job, my ass is grass,” Stokes said, taking a gulp of beer, then swiping the remains off his mouth with the back of a hairy hand.

  “Trust me, I’m doing everything I can to suck up to the bitch,” Forrester said. “Though I’m not sure it’s going to do me any good.”

  “She doesn’t have the final say,” Wells added. “Keep that in mind.”

  “But she sure as hell swung enough clout to get Joe fired.”

  “And to put us on suspension,” Stokes ground out.

  “My point, gentlemen,” Forrester said, getting up and stoking the fire.

  “No matter, seems to me you have every right to put us back on duty,” Wells said in a glum tone.

  Forrester cut him a look. “Not until I’m appointed officially. Right now, she’s more or less running the force.” Forrester paused and reached for another beer, popping the top. “Trust me, we’re not the only ones she’s pissed off. Rumor has it she’s been getting threats against her.”

  “Couldn’t happen to a nicer person,” Stokes said, following a healthy belch.

  Forrester’s gray eyes narrowed. “You two wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?” He held up his hand. “On second thought, if you do, I don’t want to know anything about it. I have to remain as pure as the driven snow.”

  “We’re behind you all the way,” Stokes responded.

  Wells smiled and raised his thumb.

  “Which means no one can ever know we met, now or any other time.” Forrester’s features hardened. “You got that?”

  Both men nodded vigorously.

  “My only hope is to rack up points with the council behind her back. And with her twat-deep in this land controversy and everything else going on, she won’t survive the shitstorm.”

  “For us, the timing couldn’t be more perfect,” Wesley said. “Kick her while she’s down is what you’re saying.”

  “And make sure she doesn’t get back up.” Forrester smiled a cunning smile. “That way we’ll all win.”

  Wesley tossed his empty can and dug in the cooler for another beer. “Wouldn’t it be justice if she got canned?”

  “Works for me,” Forrester mused, giving both men a pointed look.

  They raised their cans in unison and grinned.

  Twenty-one

  A Saturday at home.

  Several weeks ago that would have thrilled Jessica. But that was before the threats and Brant. In all fairness, though, the day hadn’t been too bad. Surely that didn’t mean she might be getting used to having him underfoot.

  Still, Brant hadn’t bothered her as much as she’d thought. She’d lazed around in her room, worked awhile, then taken care of some chores in the house, all without a threatening call or e-mail.

  Actually she’d seen little of Brant. He’d remained outside most of the day, puttering with her plants on the deck and in the yard, even though she had a lawn service. She shouldn’t have been surprised that he was a master at gardening as well as electric work. Each day, it seemed, another facet of his personality unfolded. But then, she shouldn’t have expected otherwise. This man was an entity unto himself.

  Now it was late afternoon, and her conscience was goading her to prepare dinner. But the thought of sharing another intimate meal with him was as frightening as it was intoxicating. As she walked downstairs into the living room, she remained in a quandary as to what to do. A ringing phone distracted her. It was Roy.

  “I don’t think that’s a good idea,” she said when he asked to see her.

  “Look, I’m sorry I made a fool of myself the other night.”

  Jessica wasn’t sure she believed him. However, she couldn’t judge his sincerity, at least not on the phone.

  “So could we please meet and talk?”

  A pleading note was clearly in his tone, and she hated having to say no to him. Yet she didn’t want to go through what she had the other night, and she had no way of knowing whether he was setting her up again or not.

  She spoke her mind. “Frankly I don’t trust you.”

  Roy didn’t say anything for a moment. “I just want to apologize.”

  “I’ll accept it now, on the phone.”

  “I’d rather it be in person. I made an ass—uh, excuse me, fool—out of myself the other night.”

  “That you did,” Jessica responded without guilt, smiling ironically at his attempt to nullify his behavior.

 
; “All the more reason why we need to make up. How ’bout I take you to dinner?”

  “When?” she asked, stalling. Regardless of when he had in mind, she wasn’t going. But she was reluctant to come right out and say that. Why, she didn’t know. Perhaps because of Porter. He had loved Roy and wanted him to be happy.

  “What about now?”

  “It’s a bit early for dinner.”

  A silence.

  “Look, Jessica, I know you don’t like me, but—”

  “I’d rather not go into that over the phone, either,” she interrupted, her sigh audible. “I—”

  “That’s just an excuse,” he cut in sarcastically. “Why don’t you just come right out and admit you aren’t going, that you don’t want to?”

  “All right, I’m not going and I don’t want to,” Jessica said, calling his bluff.

  “You’re determined not to make this easy.” Roy’s tone had grown hostile again. “Well, that’s just fine with me. I’m tired of sucking up to you and your lofty ideals, anyway. I want what’s coming to me, dammit, and I intend to have it.”

  With that, he slammed the phone down in her ear.

  Biting down on her lower lip, Jessica made her way toward the kitchen, then realized Brant was standing in the room. She gave a start, having thought he was still outside. Obviously not, as he’d apparently just showered. His hair was still damp and looked as though he’d combed it with his fingers, giving him a primitive look. Raw desire weakened her.

  She looked away, then back. “I wish you wouldn’t sneak up on me,” she lashed out, realizing she was taking her anger out on Brant.

  He slightly elevated his eyebrows. “Who was that?” he asked, ignoring her outburst of temper.

  Mollified, but not about to apologize, she said, “Roy.”

  “I figured as much.”

  “How long have you been there?”

  He didn’t so much as flinch under her accusing gaze. “Long enough.”

  She relaxed suddenly. Why take her personal and professional frustrations out on him? Her obsession with him was her problem to work through. He was just doing his job; if spying was part of it, then so be it. But she didn’t have to like it. In fact, she didn’t like it at all. She never knew when he was going to just show up. If he didn’t disturb her so much, she guessed that wouldn’t matter, because she wouldn’t react in such a volatile manner.

  At the moment, his gaze was aloof, as though he couldn’t care less about her or anything else. Damn him.

  “What did he want? More money?”

  “I’m sure. But his excuse for calling was to take me to dinner so he could apologize in person for the other night.”

  “Sure.”

  “That’s exactly what I thought, and I told him so.”

  “Wasn’t he ever told no?”

  “I have no idea,” she said defensively and coolly, feeling the need to protect Porter. She didn’t want Brant to think Porter hadn’t been a good father. Besides, he didn’t have any room to criticize. Look at the mess he’d made with his own son.

  As if he read her thoughts, Brant said, “Forget I said that.”

  “I have.”

  “Just so you’ll know, Roy-boy’s gone up a notch on my hit list. He’s intelligent, something Stokes and Wells aren’t. He’s also computer literate and pissed off, which makes him extremely dangerous.”

  Jessica waved a hand. “Look, since nothing life threatening has happened, I’m about convinced that whoever’s behind this is simply trying to scare me or distract me.”

  “Like I told you, you can’t know that for sure. This idiot could turn on a second’s notice and up the ante.”

  Jessica jutted her chin. “I just don’t see that happening. Since I haven’t changed my modus operandi, he’s apparently losing interest.”

  “Is there a bottom line to this?”

  She felt her face flush and hated that he could do that to her. “No.”

  “Good, because I’m not going anywhere.” Brant’s eyes burned into her, upping her heartbeat.

  Desperate to ease the tension, she said the first thing that came to mind. “Are you hungry?”

  “Yes, what if I treat you?”

  “Take me out?”

  “No.”

  She blinked. “No?” A sudden twinkle appeared in his eyes. “Make you dinner here.”

  “Oh, I don’t think—” The thought of him rummaging around in her kitchen, like he belonged there, was more disconcerting than ever.

  “That’s your problem,” he told her. “You think too much. Just say yes.”

  His logic was so simple, so frustrating. Yet it was hard to argue with. She camouflaged a smile, but his all-seeing eyes didn’t miss it, because his own lips twitched. Getting chummy would not be smart, she warned herself. It would merely add fuel to the already heightened sexual awareness that continually smoldered between them.

  Still, it would be nice to be catered to. It had been a long time.

  “So what do you say?”

  “Oh, all right,” she said with more ungraciousness than she intended.

  Brant grinned briefly. “I won’t disappoint. I’m a mean chef.”

  She rolled her eyes. “What can I do?”

  “Nada. Just relax and go on about your business.”

  “You have no idea where anything is in the kitchen.”

  “Not to worry. I’ll find what I need.”

  “I really don’t want—”

  “Hey, lighten up. I won’t break your prized china or anything else, for that matter.” Humor still lurked in his eyes.

  Knowing she was defeated, she threw up her hands. “Fine. I’ll do the cleanup detail.”

  “I clean as I go. Now, do you have any preference? On food, that is.”

  Actually the thought of eating anything right now was nauseating, but Jessica hid that thought. She would try to be a good sport about this, though it would be hard. Porter used to cook all the time, but there had been nothing threatening about him.

  Brant winked suddenly. “I’ll call when it’s ready.”

  Ignoring her heightened pulse rate, she said in a thin tone, “Suit yourself.”

  She was midway up the stairs when the doorbell chimed. Frowning, she turned and made her way back down. Brant was standing in the entrance to the kitchen, a question mark in his eyes.

  “I wasn’t expecting company,” she said.

  He was all business once again. Gone was the charmer of a moment ago. “It’s probably Roy.”

  “Oh, I don’t think he’d chance taking you on again.”

  “He would if he was high. He’d do anything.”

  Jessica didn’t respond. Instead she made her way toward the foyer, then peered through the peephole, prepared not to open it if it were indeed her stepson.

  It wasn’t Roy, though it was someone almost as annoying. She opened the door, a plastic smile in place. “Hello, Curtis.”

  He grinned, looking as polished and confident as ever as he crossed the threshold, all but thrusting a huge bouquet of flowers into her hands. “Pretty flowers for a pretty lady.”

  His flattery was a bit much—gagging, actually—though Jessica held on to her smile and said agreeably enough, “How lovely. Thank you.”

  “Peace offering,” he commented almost sheepishly.

  “Oh?” Jessica hugged the flowers to her chest, her mind churning. She didn’t want him here, but now that he was inside, there was little she could do, short of being blatantly rude. Why hadn’t he called first?

  Although she didn’t shift her gaze, she figured Brant was lurking, if not visible. Apparently Curtis hadn’t seen him, or she suspected he wouldn’t be so jovial.

  “Are you free this evening?”

  “Did you want to discuss business?” If he were going to apologize for his rudeness the other day, then she would be more receptive to him staying, in spite of Brant preparing dinner. Having Curtis come around to her side in the land deal would improve her day
considerably.

  “No. Actually, I wanted to take you to dinner.”

  “Maybe another time,” she said, smiling. Three dinner invitations in one day. And from three different men. Lucky woman? Or cursed?

  “Have you eaten?” Curtis asked bluntly.

  This time she slid her eyes toward the kitchen. To her relief, Brant still hadn’t appeared. “No, I haven’t, but—”

  “So you have no excuse,” Curtis pressed, taking the liberty of removing the flowers from her arms and placing them on the foyer table. “Those can wait until later.”

  Talk about taking over and making himself at home. Suddenly she wanted to tell him to get out of her house and leave her alone. She couldn’t count on Brant to remain behind the scenes for much longer.

  Showing none of her teeming emotions, Jessica settled for the lesser of the two evils. “Why don’t we do dinner another time and settle for drinks now?”

  “Whatever, just as long as I’m with you.”

  Not at all pleased with those personal words or the warm look in his eyes, she walked into the living room and gestured for him to be seated. “What would you like to drink?”

  He told her, and once she’d served him, she went after the flowers. “Excuse me for a moment while I take care of these.”

  “Don’t bother with them right now. Sit and relax and let’s enjoy our drinks.”

  “After I tend to the flowers,” she said with polite firmness.

  Curtis shrugged. “By the way, where’s your watch-dog?” He chuckled. “I hope he’s in his cage.”

  Ignoring that insulting comment, Jessica made her way into the kitchen, dreading the encounter with Brant. She had no idea what to expect, didn’t even want to contemplate.

  “It’s Curtis Riley,” she said unnecessarily, noticing that he had already prepared a delicious salad and was now starting the main meal, which looked like some kind of Chinese stir-fry. Suddenly she was hungry and didn’t want to miss out on the treat.

  “I know. Want me to get rid of him?”

  Her lips tightened at his high-handedness. “No.”

  “So are you going to invite him to dinner?”

  She couldn’t tell if he was being sarcastic or not, but she rather thought he was. “Would you like for me to?” she asked, meeting his gaze, deliberately trying to provoke him, then quickly wishing she hadn’t.