Something unidentifiable flashed in his eyes, but it disturbed her, nonetheless. Playing any kind of game with Brant could turn out to be more serious than the threats, much more serious than entertaining Curtis. She’d best keep that in mind.
“No, that’s not my intention. However, I’m not going to toss him out on his ear. I need his support if I can get it.” She busied herself getting a vase and attending to the flowers.
“That’s your call,” Brant said in a curt tone, turning his back on her, and an intriguing back it was, too. She stood there for a moment, then, groaning inwardly, walked out, vase in hand.
Curtis was sipping on his drink. Seeing her, he placed it on the coffee table and smiled warmly. “I wanted to make sure our disagreement had left no hard feelings. I wouldn’t want anything to come between us.”
Jessica was taken aback, and she didn’t bother to disguise it. “There was never anything between us, Curtis.” She placed emphasis on the words “between us.”
The warmth disappeared from his eyes, though his smile remained intact. “We could change that.” As if realizing she hadn’t sat down, he stood and stepped toward her.
She forced herself not to back up. “I don’t think so, especially not as long as we remain on opposite sides of the fence.”
He sighed. “We could make this all go away if you’d just listen to reason.”
Though there was no rancor in his tone, Jessica knew this conversation had taken a downward turn. Now was the time to get rid of him, before heated words were voiced. She hadn’t changed her mind about the annexation, and apparently neither had he.
Nothing would be accomplished by him staying.
Without saying anything, she pivoted on her heel and walked toward the front door. He followed suit, but with reluctance, she was sure. His entire face had tightened.
“I guess this wasn’t such a good idea after all.” His bold gaze traveled over her. “Despite what you think, I care about you.”
“Curtis, please, this isn’t the time.”
“Apparently not for this, either, but I don’t give a damn.”
Before she realized his intention, he grabbed her and placed his lips on hers. For a second she was too stunned to react. Then, when she would have shoved him away, he let her go, his eyes triumphant.
“I’ll call,” he said in an arrogant tone, opening the door, then walking out.
Jessica stood there for the longest time, her mind swirling.
“I thought you said there was nothing between you two.”
The sound of Brant’s voice brought her widened eyes around to him. His features were cast in stone. Her heart faltered under his fury. He’d witnessed the kiss. “There isn’t anything between us,” she stressed savagely.
“Really? You didn’t seem to object to him mauling you,” he pointed out, his eyes narrowed to slits as he strode toward her, not stopping until he was within touching distance.
With nowhere to go except against the wall, Jessica remained still as a statue, battling her own fury. How dare he? “He wasn’t mauling me.”
“That’s the way it looked to me.”
“I’m going to bed,” she said tersely.
“What about dinner?”
“I’m not hungry.”
His eyes were dark and smoldering. “Well, I damn sure am. But not for food.”
With that, he reached for her and buried his lips into hers. This time every bone in her body melted as his mouth and tongue turned into weapons that weakened her knees and drove the very air from her lungs.
While his hand kneaded her breast, tugging on the nipple, he drew her lower lip between his teeth and feasted on it until wet heat pooled between her legs. Moaning, she tilted her head to better accommodate him, then dug her fingernails into his shoulders, reveling in the havoc he was creating inside her.
Then he tore his mouth away. “I couldn’t let you go to bed with the taste of another man on your lips.”
Twenty-two
He peered in the mirror and groaned. He looked like he’d been on a ten-day binge. God, he wished he had, Brant thought as he rubbed his jawline, checking for any whiskers he might have missed. He felt none; at least he’d done a decent job of shaving.
Giving his reflection a sardonic smile, he turned away and finished dressing. Lucky for him Jessica had decided not to go into the office this morning.
He’d needed the extra time to pull himself back together. He hadn’t slept a wink. He’d lain awake all night thinking about her, about the stupid stunt he’d pulled. Again.
So much for self-denial.
Full-blown jealousy had been responsible. When Curtis Riley had grabbed Jessica and kissed her, it had triggered his rage. Instead of breathing deeply and letting his temper cool, he’d acted on impulse.
At least she hadn’t slapped him, having definitely been a willing participant in that second adventure down Forbidden Lane. She’d been as caught up in the fiery kiss as he’d been. In fact, they had made love to each other with their lips.
He hardened just thinking about how hers had teased, toyed, cajoled until they were both close to losing control.
Sweet heaven, he had to stop thinking about her or the top of his head was going to come off. Not to mention his dick. It was as hot and hard as a branding iron.
He was in one of the most damnable situations of his life and he had no idea what to do about it. Do without it, his conscience whispered. Put your libido on ice and leave it there.
Brant’s eyes fell on the phone. As an act of desperation, he lifted it and punched out his ex’s number. Maybe talking to his son would put things back in perspective.
So lost in thought was he that when Elliot actually answered, he was speechless for a second. “Hello, son,” finally stumbled out of his mouth.
“Hello,” Elliot muttered.
Would his son’s attitude toward him ever improve? He was beginning to get damned discouraged there, as well. But in defense of himself, he hadn’t had much time to cultivate their relationship since he’d gotten here. He couldn’t be in two places at once. And he couldn’t forsake Jessica. Her need of him was the reason he was able to talk to and see Elliot at all. He guessed he should be grateful for that.
But under the present circumstances, any credit to her came with a high price.
“I’m just calling to see how it’s going, what you’re up to.” Brant knew that must have sounded corny to Elliot. But what else was there to say to a son who wished he would just disappear? He had to take baby steps when he wanted to take giant ones, but patience had never been his strong suit.
“I’m trying to find a job, only Mom doesn’t want me to work.”
At least Elliot hadn’t hung up in his ear. Another crumb. “Why is that?” he asked, but he knew. Damn Marsha. Didn’t she understand how important summer jobs were to kids?
“She’s afraid it’ll interfere with ball.”
“Will it?” Brant knew Elliot was involved in the summer teen league, which would certainly enhance his chances of getting a scholarship. If Elliot had a stellar summer, that was. Yet with or without a scholarship, his son could go to any college he preferred. He had the money to send him. He knew how important it was for Elliot to excel in sports, something worthwhile that would keep him out of trouble.
“Nah, not if I find the right kind of job.”
“Maybe I could help.”
“How?”
He was making more progress, even if it might be in the way of a disguised bribe of sorts. Elliot’s voice had definitely come alive. “I’ll talk to a friend, see if he has anything at his security agency you might do.”
“Cool!”
“Don’t get your hopes up, not until I’ve talked to him. Also, there’s your mother.”
“What about her?” Elliot’s tone had become defensive again.
“She has to approve.”
“Then I’m dead in the water.”
“Not necessarily. Let’s just see
what happens. Speaking of your mother, I hope you haven’t upset her any more by hanging around with that guy, Jerry what’s-his-name.”
“No, thanks to you and Mom,” Elliot responded in a glum tone. “Jerry told me to stay away from him, said he didn’t need my family’s shit.”
Rather than open that can of worms on the phone, Brant took another tack. “When can we get together again, maybe take in a baseball game?” If anything would rekindle Elliot’s interest, that just might.
“Dunno.”
Brant swallowed a sigh. Talking to kids nowadays was like pulling wisdom teeth. “I’ll check the Ranger schedule and let you know.”
“Okay.”
Another crumb. “Good. I’ll also get to work on the job possibilities.”
“You’ll talk to Mom?” Elliot’s tone was both hopeful and leery.
“Both of us will, if it comes to that,” Brant stressed, wishing now he’d kept his mouth shut until he’d talked to Thurmon. However, he felt certain he could persuade his friend to find something for Elliot to do, even if he had to create a summer position.
When Elliot didn’t respond, he added, “I’ll call you soon, son. Meanwhile, take care.” He wanted to add, “And stay out of trouble,” but he refrained. Elliot heard enough of that from Marsha.
Once the dial tone buzzed in his ear, Brant slowly replaced the receiver and rubbed his chin, fighting the urge to jump in his vehicle and go see his son, his job be damned. But he couldn’t do that and live with himself. Even though the situation with Jessica was like walking in a field of land mines, he wouldn’t desert her.
If only he didn’t feel so trapped. He had hoped that by now the claustrophobic feeling would have lessened, but it hadn’t. The city and his situation held him hostage. He resented that loss of freedom.
Correction. He actually resented Jessica and her hold over him more. She’d scrambled his brain, not to mention his libido. He was a mess, and his hands were tied. He couldn’t leave her, and he couldn’t touch her. Rock and a hard place.
His dick was the rock, and she was the hard place.
He didn’t see anything changing any time soon, either. His work with the Secret Service had kept him on the move, while working for Jessica was oftentimes as slow as watching paint dry, especially when she was behind closed doors all day. Those times were the hardest for him, drove him the craziest. Gave him too much time to think. About Elliot. About her.
But unless Thurmon was there, he dared not turn his back on her, even though nothing really traumatic had befallen her. Yet. Until the guy was behind bars, it would be foolhardy of all parties to lower their guards. Just as he kept stressing to Jessica, that was when this kind of sicko moved in for the kill.
He was determined that wouldn’t happen on his watch.
Now, however, he had to force his head back on straight and do his job. His eyes wandered to the table in his bedroom where he’d put Jessica’s monthly schedule. It was crammed full of speaking engagements and appointments, both in and out of the office. The only controversial thing on it had been the parade downtown. Jessica was to serve as the grand marshal.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” he’d told her when she’d given him the agenda.
“You know how I feel. I’m not going to let this jerk rule my life.”
“Flaunting yourself could give that jerk the opportunity he needs,” he’d flared back.
She hadn’t budged. “I’m not going to change my plans.”
“Even if I insist?”
She bowed her shoulders. “Are you? Insisting, I mean?”
“Dammit, Jessica, you’re too stubborn for your own good.”
“Is that a no?”
He rolled his eyes and cursed. “That’s a yes, actually. I want you to cancel. I expect you to cancel.”
They had glared at one another, two immovable objects.
“I’ll consider it,” she said in a lofty tone, a tone that had grated to the point that he’d barely been able to keep his hands off her.
However, she’d said no more, and he’d had to be content with that. But if he was still running the show then, she wouldn’t get in that parade car. Right now, though, he had to see that she got to her office on time.
Brant glanced at his watch as he put it on, realizing it was time to shove off. At noon she was due to speak to a group at a renovated hotel in the heart of downtown Dallas. First, however, she was going to the office.
He paused at the door, his features grim. He had no idea what he was going to say after last night’s stunt. Nothing, he told himself.
What was there to say?
Holding to perfection, Jessica had been a smashing success as the keynote speaker for the Ladies of Distinction luncheon. The participants, including Jessica, had been dressed to the hilt. But more than the simple linen suit she had on, it had been the way she’d handled herself.
She had once again electrified her audience. When she smiled and spoke in that southern drawl of hers, she’d had the participants hanging on to every word.
He’d remained at the back, perusing the audience as well as her. He knew he would never tire of looking at her. Or tasting her.
Finally, though, the speech had ended along with the meeting. Now they were weaving their way through the post-lunch hour crowd. Jessica had opted to walk the few blocks back to the office, despite the climbing heat.
“I need the exercise,” she told him, exiting the building.
“It’s going to be hotter than hell out there on the sidewalk, especially this time of day.”
“I won’t melt.” She cut him a sideways glance. “Will you?”
He shrugged. “You’re the boss.”
“Since when?”
He smiled, which seemed to lighten the moment and make her less uptight. That alone made it harder for him to keep his libido on ice. He could deal with her better when she was pissed at him.
Swallowing a curse, Brant forced his concentration on the people around them, making sure no one appeared threatening.
They walked in silence for a while, weaving their way in and out and around the window shoppers and the people returning to work after lunch.
“By the way, you gave another stellar performance.”
She cut him a glance, though her sunglasses hid her eyes. “I did my best.”
He quirked an eyebrow. “You had the audience eating out of your hand. You must have known that.”
Additional color tinged her cheeks. “I’m never that confident.”
“Could have fooled me.” Then, realizing how his remark might have come off, he went on. “I meant that as a compliment.”
“Thanks. That’s nice to hear from an objective source.”
Mmm. An objective source. He’d been called a lot of things, but that was a new one. “I wouldn’t bet on that,” he muttered, more to himself than to her.
But she apparently heard him, because the color in her cheeks deepened. Or maybe it was the heat staining them a deeper pink. “Brant—”
“Come on,” he said brusquely. “Let’s get across the street while we can.”
Taking him at his word, she somehow managed to get a few feet ahead of him. That was when it happened, the second after she stepped onto the opposite side of the street.
Later, he had no idea what made him look up. Fate? Premonition? Training? Not important. All that was important was that he saw the chunk of concrete come hurtling down out of nowhere.
“Jessica!”
He recognized the sound of his own voice as he dived toward her, feeling his bad leg trying to buckle. Blind panic and sheer willpower came to his rescue and kept him upright. With superhuman effort, he managed to shove her out of the way just in the nick of time. Then his leg collapsed, and they both slammed onto the sidewalk.
Jessica screamed.
Twenty-three
He knew he hadn’t been ready to take on another job. He had tried to tell Thurmon, but he hadn’t listened. Now his wors
t fears had nearly come to pass. Sweat drenched him. As fast as he wiped it off his face and neck, it returned.
Get a grip, Harding, he told himself. She was okay, only a few scratches and bruises to show for the horror that had befallen her. She hadn’t even needed to go to the hospital, although he’d wanted to take her, had insisted. That insistence had gone in one ear and out the other.
“Please, Brant, I just want to go home.”
“Dammit, Jessica.”
“Please.” Her voice had broken.
For a second, he hadn’t known what to do. Then he’d given in, knowing she feared the gossip a trip to the hospital would garner. He figured the media would get hold of it anyway, though that hadn’t been the time to remind her of that.
Once home, she’d headed straight to her room, showered, tended the scrape on her knee, then gone to bed. He’d just gotten out of the shower himself, and put on his comfortable cutoffs and T-shirt.
He wiped another bout of sweat off his forehead, then rubbed the back of his neck. But the image of what had happened wouldn’t go away. While the foiled attempt on the First Lady’s life had been a nightmare, this was worse.
And it hadn’t been an accident, either. Brant had been sure of that even before Thurmon and a couple of detectives had backed him up. Granted, there had been construction around the area—hell, the whole world seemed to be under reconstruction. But atop that particular building, nothing had been going on. That building’s renovations had taken place the previous year.
Someone had been watching and had deliberately dropped that block of cement with the clear intention of harming Jessica. And that someone had almost succeeded, thanks to his bum knee.
Icy rage charged through him when he thought of that. At the time, blind panic had seized him when he’d felt his knee give way. He’d been terrified he wouldn’t reach Jessica in time.
He almost hadn’t.
One second later and she might have been crushed.
“Jessica, are you all right?” he’d asked in a strangled voice, frantic the impact of the hot pavement and his own strong body landing on top of her might have broken multiple bones.
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