His Touch

by Mary Lynn Baxter

  She hadn’t spoken until they had untangled themselves and he’d helped her to her feet. “I’m…okay,” she stammered in a dazed voice.

  “Are you sure?” His eyes scanned her entire body, looking for protruding bones and nasty scrapes. A hole in her panty hose exposing a skinned knee was the only visible damage.

  “I’m…sure.”

  “Come on, let’s get out of here.” That was when he realized they were surrounded by a group of well-meaning people, clamoring to help.

  After thanking them, he’d called the limo driver from his cell and had him pick them up. Once Jessica was safely inside, he’d called the police. Soon the site was teeming with officers. He answered the questions since he was the one who had witnessed the incident. Jessica had had no idea anything out of the ordinary was going on until he’d zoomed at her from behind.

  Now Brant was waiting to hear from both the detectives and Thurmon to see if any evidence had surfaced from passersby or from the top of the building. He would settle for a gum wrapper if it would help nail the son of a bitch.

  The incident had put a whole new spin on things. As he’d feared, the psycho had finally struck. If that block of cement had hit her… Brant refused to let his mind go there. It hadn’t, and that was what he had to cling to.

  Small comfort, he thought with disdain, despising his own weakness. Damn Thurmon and damn himself. He’d known his knee had a penchant for failing him at unexpected times. He should have used that to convince Thurmon to let him off the hook.

  Maybe he’d been out to prove something to himself. Well, he’d proved it, all right. His inadequacies had almost cost Jessica her life. And because that life had been in his hands, he took full responsibility.

  That’s why you have to leave.

  Failure. He hated that word, hated what it represented. But that was exactly what he was—a failure. A pretty damn miserable one, at that. He was washed up as both a bodyguard and as a father.

  Unwilling to dredge up painful thoughts of his son and determined to run from them, he used Jessica as an excuse. He had to reassure himself that she was indeed all right. Ignoring the wrenching in his gut and refusing to ask why, he strode to the door. The ringing of his cell phone stopped him.

  It was Thurmon.

  “Nothing,” his friend said without preamble.

  “Damn.”

  “The roof was clean as a whistle.”

  “You didn’t take the cops’ word on that, I hope,” Brant said.

  “You know better than to ask that.” Thurmon sounded offended.

  “Sorry, just had to be sure.”

  “How is she?”

  “Shaken, I’m sure, though we really haven’t talked.”

  Thurmon’s sigh rattled through the line. “Does Veronica need to come over? She’s been waiting for Jessica to call, but she hasn’t.”

  “Physically, she’s fine. Emotionally, I don’t know.”

  “Well, call if you need us.”

  Tell him, a voice urged. Tell him you’re hauling ass ASAP. “Count on it. Oh, and keep your men on this. Something might turn up yet.”

  “Not to worry. Between us, we’ll get that bastard.”

  “Up the pressure on those two cops. This has their names written all over it.”

  “Consider it done.”

  Once the conversation was terminated, Brant pursed his lips and made his way to Jessica’s room. Surprisingly her door was cracked, which was in his favor. What wasn’t in his favor was that she was awake. The French doors were open, and she was out on the balcony.

  His steps faltered, along with his breath. He didn’t want to leave her. The thought tore at his insides. Even from behind, she was sexy as hell, especially since he could see through the gossamer material of her gown.

  He clenched and unclenched his fists, his eyes feasting on her narrow waist, then moving downward to her rounded buttocks, the cheeks so delicately and perfectly separated.

  His zipper pinched. Hard.

  He winced, barely controlling the urge to close the distance between them, circle that delectable frame with his arms, inhale her scent, then nuzzle her neck before nibbling that creamy flesh.

  “Jessica,” he said instead, not wanting to frighten her. She’d endured enough trauma for one day.

  She swung around. Tears glistened in her eyes. He groaned inwardly. Great. Just great. He could take almost anything from a woman except tears. They got to him every time. Especially Jessica’s. They cut to the core.

  “I’m sorry,” he said lamely, cursing himself for what had turned out to be a screwball idea. He shouldn’t be here. His presence would merely add insult to injury. “I didn’t mean to intrude. It’s just that—” His voice failed him. “Oh, hell, I just wanted to make sure you were all right. I wasn’t convinced,” he finished on that same lame note.

  Though she didn’t remove her gaze, she folded her arms across her chest as if to shield herself from his eyes. Too late. His gaze had already homed in on the pointed thrust of her nipples.

  His zipper pinched again. Harder.

  Brant fought for a decent breath. “Is there anything you need?”

  “I’m…okay.”

  Liar, he wanted to shout, but he didn’t. As it was, the tension was as draining as the humidity outside.

  “Did you find out anything?” she asked softly, her composure wrapped around her as tightly as her arms.

  This woman had all the right stuff, no doubt about it. She had never whined or complained about her narrow escape.

  “No, not yet,” he finally managed to get out. “Whoever pulled that stunt left no trace.”

  “You were right,” she responded, a slight tremor in her voice. “He’s either getting braver or more desperate.”

  “Both, I would imagine.” Brant forced himself to stay put. But it was hard. It was one of the hardest things he’d ever done. “I also suspect time’s running out.”

  “What happens next?”

  “Find the son of a bitch,” Brant said harshly. “And put him out of his misery.”

  “Thanks for checking on me.” Jessica took a breath, pulling her lower lip between her teeth.

  Brant steeled himself not to react to that sexy gesture, though his insides quivered like Jell-O. “You’re welcome.”

  The tautness in her was hard to disguise. “Good…night,” she whispered at last.

  He cleared his throat. “There’s something else.”

  A question flared in those grave eyes.

  “I put you in jeopardy today, so I’m leaving.” He knew he had been unnecessarily blunt, but that was the only way he could handle it. “Thurmon will find a replacement.”

  Her expression was incredulous and anxious. “I don’t understand. You…saved my life.”

  “Just barely,” he confessed bitterly. “My leg gave way, and I almost didn’t get to you in time.”

  “But you did, and that’s what counts.”

  “No, that’s not what counts,” Brant stressed in that same harsh tone. “Next time I might not make it, and it could cost you dearly. Your life. I can’t take that chance.”

  “Isn’t that my call?”

  “Not this time,” Brant said wearily.

  “I disagree,” she said with renewed strength in her tone.

  “Jessica, please, don’t argue. I’ve made my decision, and it’s nonnegotiable.” He hadn’t expected this sudden curve. Emotionally he wasn’t prepared for it. Considering the circumstances, he’d figured she would gladly hand him his walking papers.

  “You…want to go?” she asked, the tremor back.

  He groaned openly. “No, dammit, I don’t, but—”

  “Then stay.” A tear broke loose and trickled down her face.

  He groaned at the same time that two long strides closed the distance between them.

  Later, he didn’t know which one of them made the first move. All he knew was that his arms were coiled around her trembling body and his face was buried in
her sweet-smelling hair.

  Then, wordlessly, they lifted their heads and stared at each other, the atmosphere so charged that Brant felt an imminent explosion. Of the heart.

  “Jessica…” His voice, filled with agony, dwindled to nothing. What was there to say, anyway? Wasn’t this what he’d wanted since he first saw her? To hold her? To taste her?

  To make love to her?

  “Kiss me,” she whispered, her breath caressing his lips.

  He groaned again and sought her mouth, angling his head to make their lips a perfect fit. Once their tongues united, then warred, breathing became impossible. Finally he dragged his mouth off hers, leaving her lips parted and succulent.

  Then, deliberately and boldly, and without shielding his yearning for her, he eased the straps of her gown off her shoulders, completely exposing her breasts. The cloudless, moonlit night allowed him the privilege of basking in the beauty of her naked flesh.

  His breath deserted him.

  He ached to touch.

  Not yet, he warned himself.

  Savor the moment.

  Then, slowly and with more boldness, he eased the material further down until it pooled at her feet. This time she sucked in her breath and stared wild-eyed at him.

  Perfection.

  No other word fit.

  “Touch me,” she pleaded, reaching for his hand and placing it on one full breast.

  His blood thundered through his body as his callused palm surrounded that soft flesh. It was only when his fingers made their way downward that she swayed toward him.

  Unable to restrain himself a second longer, Brant lifted her and carried her to the bed. Then he rapidly disposed of his clothes. When she saw his hard, distended penis, a look of sudden shock crossed her face.

  “I won’t hurt you,” he said in a broken tone, kneeling on the bed beside her.

  “I know,” she said in a like tone. “It’s just that—”

  “Now it’s your turn to touch me,” he rasped, taking her hand and placing it on him.

  Her eyes widened still further while her thumb massaged the tender end of his shaft. He was dying from the sweet pain of that gesture, but still he held back, wanting her to be sure this was what she wanted.

  “Love me.”

  Those words, spoken in a broken whisper, were all Brant needed. He sank his lips onto hers once again, drinking greedily. Still, that wasn’t enough to quench his lust. Leaving her mouth, his lips roamed at will until they reached the curls nestled at the juncture of her thighs.

  When he parted them and eased a finger inside her, she cried out and bolted. “Did I hurt you?” he asked anxiously, stilling that finger.

  “No,” she said wildly. “I’ve…never—”

  He didn’t give her time to finish. Instead he bent his head and thrust his tongue in that same spot. Her hips bolted higher; then she began to thrash about the bed. Only after she climaxed did he rise above her and push himself inside her, which was no easy feat.

  She was tight.

  Glove tight.

  But hot.

  “Don’t stop, please!” she cried, reaching for him.

  He thrust further, riding her hard and fast. Only after her cries mixed with his did he collapse on top of her, burying his lips against her damp neck.

  And listened to her muted sobs.

  Twenty-four

  Jessica’s heart raced. At first she didn’t know why. Something was not quite right. A feeling of sudden terror gripped her, leaving her weak. She gazed around the room before her eyes settled on the bed, on the rumpled sheets next to her.

  She fell back against the pillow, filled with both relief and another kind of terror. At least no one had invaded her premises again. Only Brant. Her every nerve tensed. And he was leaving. Panic filled her.

  No. Please, he couldn’t go, not like this, not like a thief in the night. Suddenly the immediate hammer of panic subsided as she convinced herself he hadn’t left her alone in the house. Yet she dreaded what would follow, what was inevitable.

  He would leave.

  Brant was not a man who made idle threats or promises. In the moments before they had both tasted the forbidden fruit of each other’s body, she recalled the look of agony on his face, heard the contempt for himself in his voice. He blamed himself for that awful day yesterday.

  And what an awful day it had been, too, though she’d been oblivious to the menace until it had happened. Her body went rigid. What if he hadn’t been behind her, hadn’t looked up and seen the falling chunk of cement? She might have been dead or seriously maimed for life.

  He had truly saved her life. She just had to reassure him of that. She refused to let him leave thinking he hadn’t done his job. Yet she was loathe to face him, especially after last night.

  Last night. The most incredible night of her life.

  A sense of awe came over her that was followed by a sense of shame. Dear Lord, she couldn’t believe how she had thrown caution and sound judgment aside and indulged in a sexual marathon. She had never let herself go to that extent. With anyone.

  Porter jumped to mind, deepening her shame. He had never had free rein over her body. She had always held that part of herself aloof. Yet he had never made such demands, either, never touched her in the places Brant had touched her.

  Secret places. Forbidden places.

  Not to Brant. She hadn’t known she was capable of such passionate abandonment. Her mother had instilled in her that she should always hold herself at a distance, never let a man get too close to her or use her for anything, especially as a sexual toy.

  Sexual toy.

  Jessica felt color blister her cheeks. Was that how Brant saw her? That was exactly what she’d been last night. Her mind struggled for a reason, an excuse, something that would justify letting him make her come with his mouth. More than once, too.

  What had made her behave so brazenly? The heat of the moment? Relief at being alive after the attempt on her life? The emotional upheavals of late? Her attraction to him? None. All cop-outs. The simple truth was that she had wanted him.

  So maybe it wouldn’t be the worst case scenario if he did leave. Like he’d said, Thurmon would replace him. Shivers shook her body. Automatically she reached for the sheet and draped it over her nude body. But the shivers wouldn’t go away.

  The truth was, she couldn’t bear the thought of him forsaking her. Better the devil she knew than the one she didn’t.

  Unable to remain with only her tortured thoughts for company, Jessica tossed back the cover and, with a heavy heart, headed toward the bathroom. On her way, she glanced out the window and noticed dawn was breaking.

  A new day. New opportunities. A fresh start?

  She was in the process of turning on the shower when she heard her cell phone ring. A frown marred her brows. Who would be calling her this early? Tony? Veronica? Or the pervert?

  Jessica padded back into her room, grabbed the phone. After recognizing the city’s main number, she gave a puzzled frown, then answered it. The loud music that assaulted her ears was bad enough, but the lyrics of the rap song were loud and vulgar.

  And threatening.

  Her blood turned to ice as the color drained from her face. Dropping the cell, she sank onto the side of the bed, fear and disgust lumped together in her stomach.

  Just when she’d thought her situation couldn’t get worse.

  The shower felt good, except that it washed away Jessica’s personal scent as well as the scent of their lovemaking. Brant’s hands stilled on the soap. An emotion he couldn’t begin to identify weakened him for seconds on end.

  He wondered if Jessica was awake and going through the same gut-wrenching. Or perhaps she was still curled up in bed, her lovely limbs all loose and pliant, an image that suddenly made him hard again.

  An even more enticing vision was of her in the shower. He would love to be washing her, exploring those magnificent curves, lathering them with soap, then shoving her wet and slippery body back a
gainst the tiled wall, hoisting her up and taking her on the spot.

  Brant cursed, telling himself that he couldn’t possibly be hungry for her again. He’d lost count of the times he’d been inside her or loved her with his mouth and tongue. Enough to satisfy any man, he told himself.

  Only he still wanted her, dammit.

  Insanity had consumed him, robbed him of the ability to make rational decisions, which strengthened his case for leaving, his physical inadequacies aside.

  Don’t you mean deserting her?

  Feeling his agitation build despite the soothing effects of the hot water pounding his skin, Brant shut off the shower and climbed out. Would his conscience truly allow him to desert her?

  Yes, if he thought it was in her best interest. But was it? Witnessing the sheer panic in her eyes and face, hearing it in her cracked voice, had cut him to the quick, had made him have second thoughts.

  Too, he’d never backed down from a challenge, and he saw this sicko as just that. His determination to best the man was palpable. Yet he no longer had the physical tools to pull that off; his leg giving out on him bore testimony to that.

  So where did that leave him?

  If he took the gamble and stayed, he might further jeopardize her, though the real problem, the knock-’em-in-the-gut kind of thing, was his feelings for her. If he gave in to them, whatever the hell they were, she would break his heart.

  A permanent relationship with her was out of the question for obvious reasons. His only true goal in life was to regain the love and respect of his son, then return to his life of solitude where his nerves were no longer frayed. And Jessica had her own goals, goals that didn’t include him. She thrived on the limelight of her career, city life and people.

  He abhorred all three. He’d been there and done that. That type of existence no longer interested him.

  But after tasting her body, he didn’t know if he had the courage to walk away, not that he would ever get the opportunity to touch her again even if he stayed. Still, he wasn’t a quitter, and she had asked him to stay.

  The time it took him to dress didn’t lessen his anxiety about seeing her. Perhaps he wouldn’t have to worry. If her fears were as real as his, then she might have changed her mind. Maybe now she wanted him to go.