His Touch

by Mary Lynn Baxter

  As Brant watched the workers, he was tempted to shove them aside and take over the operation, positive that, with his expertise in electronics, he could repair the problem in nothing flat. But then, he wasn’t in the good old U.S. of A. where he felt comfortable throwing his weight around. If he had been, he wouldn’t be nearly as frantic.

  “Is there any way I can speak to her?” Brant demanded, watching carefully as one of the men worked on the tiny wires, his hands fumbling much more than they should.

  If all mechanical endeavors failed, he would get her out even if he had to crawl up the guts of the lift himself.

  “No, sir, there isn’t.”

  “Is anyone else in there with her?” Brant asked, close to losing what little patience he’d had to begin with.

  “Not that we know of,” the manager said.

  “Great,” Brant muttered. “Just great.”

  “We’re doing all we can, sir. It won’t be long and we’ll have the matter corrected.”

  Not with that idiot electrician working on it, you won’t, Brant responded silently. Finally, when the man continued to fumble, Brant’s patience ended. “Look, let me have a shot at it.”

  All eyes riveted on him, followed by a stark silence. Then the manager spoke again. “That’s against hotel policy, sir.”

  “I don’t give a shit about policy,” Brant lashed back. “I want Mrs. Kincaid out of that elevator ASAP. So I suggest you take some help where it’s offered.” Or I’ll sue your ass, he was tempted to add.

  He didn’t have to. The man obviously got the message. The electrician looked at his boss, who nodded his consent. Shrugging, the electrician moved aside and handed Brant his tools.

  Although there was nothing wrong with the hotel’s air-conditioning, Brant sweated profusely as he worked on the tiny wiring in the switch. Finally he flipped the switch and waited. The lift buzzed and coughed to life.

  He pushed the basement button and waited, his heart in his throat. If he’d screwed up and it didn’t work… It would work, dammit. It had to.

  Though it seemed like an eternity, his task was completed, and the elevator finally whirred to the bottom, the doors sliding open. Jessica, pale and trembling, stepped straight off into his waiting arms.

  Brant held her as though he would never let her go.

  “I can’t thank you enough.” Jessica heard the husky edge to her voice, which made her sound like she was a heavy smoker.

  Instead she’d been crying, something she rarely did. Only when her father had left and Porter had died had she shed so many tears.

  “You’ve already thanked me,” Brant pointed out in a gentle tone, his eyes holding hers. “Countless times.”

  “I know, but—” Jessica broke off and bit down on her lower lip. She wouldn’t allow herself to cry again, though her nerves were shot. The experience in the elevator had taken her to her limit. Her emotions had taken too many blows.

  Though the incident had happened several hours ago, she was still rattled, though she hated to admit that. While confinement in the small place had been terrifying in itself, walking off into Brant’s arms had been even more so.

  That particular terror was what was haunting her now. His strong arms, his hard body, had been a haven to her battered spirits. He’d clutched her so closely that she had felt every ribbed muscle and bone. She hadn’t cared. The fact that her breasts were crushed against his chest and his lips buried in her neck was all that counted.

  Once they reached the room, she had locked herself in the bath and soaked in the tub, willing herself to relax. That had helped, but it hadn’t relieved her anxiety completely, especially after she was dressed in her night attire and returned to the room.

  Sanity and reality had returned with a vengeance.

  Now, as she looked at Brant, sitting on the sofa, one booted foot crossed over the other, his eyes closed, her heart raced much like it had when she was trapped in that elevator. He appeared so relaxed, but she knew better. As he had been so many times before, he was coiled tighter than a rattlesnake, prepared to strike at any time.

  Jessica drew in a shuddery breath, then sat on the side of the bed and removed her robe.

  “Are you okay?” he asked in a deep, thick tone.

  Chills feathered her skin, especially when she realized the lamp beside the bed exposed her bare shoulders. Swinging around, she stared at him. Sure enough, his gaze was fixed on her. The heat lighting his eyes claimed her next breath.

  “I’m…just tired,” she whispered, licking her stiff, dry lips.

  He groaned, then stood and began removing his shirt. Feeling color rush into her face, Jessica averted her gaze, then turned off the lamp.

  Although she knew he slept bare-chested and in his cutoffs, she had made it a point not to look at him when he was partially undressed. Tonight, however, her eyes seemed to have a will of their own. They watched him unbutton each button, which seemed to take him an unusually long time.

  Her heart clamored to get out of her chest as she finally got under the sheet and lay rigid. In a moment his side of the bed gave way under his weight. She held her breath, hoping he wouldn’t say another word or make another move.

  Her hope died instantly.

  “He hasn’t followed you over here.”

  She knew exactly who Brant was referring to. “I keep telling myself that, but it’s hard.”

  “I’m so sorry that elevator shit happened.” His voice sounded tight and strained. “You’ve been through too much.”

  His sympathy proved her undoing. Tears seeped from under her eyes at the same time that another sob escaped her lips. She felt his head turn, felt his eyes on her.

  “Don’t cry, please.”

  “I’m not crying,” she denied.

  “Come here,” he muttered savagely, then reached for her.

  At first she resisted. But when he ignored that resistance and circled her body with the comforting warmth and shelter of his arms, her insides turned loose and she sagged into him. Instantly, his erection pressed against her.

  Jessica’s senses swam, while her mind revolted, demanding she break his hold and move to the other side of the bed, where she belonged.

  She couldn’t move a muscle. In that moment she thought she couldn’t live another second if he didn’t hold her. If he didn’t make love to her. She wanted to crawl inside his skin.

  That truth shook her to the core, though not nearly as much as his lips claiming hers in a moist, sucking kiss that literally took her next breath. Her mind emptied of everything except him. Only him. With the same reckless abandon as before, she let her feelings take over. All rational thought was expunged.

  “Oh, God, Jessica,” he said, tearing his mouth off hers, “this is what I’ve wanted, what I’ve ached for.” He paused, his breathing so ragged he could barely talk. “To hold you again, to love you again.”

  “Me too,” she admitted brokenly and without shame.

  His lips were everywhere, on her eyes, on her cheeks, her neck, both breasts, leaving a trail of fiery heat in their wake.

  She moaned under the onslaught, especially when he pulled back so that he brought her breasts close enough together that he could almost suck both swollen nipples simultaneously.

  “Oh, Brant, Brant,” she murmured, wet and aching between her legs.

  “Don’t hold back,” he told her, as though he sensed she was about to climax.

  That was when she ran her hands brazenly down his back to his buttocks, then squeezed those firm cheeks of flesh.

  Brant groaned out loud and stared at her out of glazed eyes before burying his tongue in her naval. There he laved, stroked in and out, purposely using his tongue as though it was between her legs.

  Jessica’s inside turned to mush, though she managed to find the strength to part her legs, giving him access to all of her. Wordlessly he reached down with one hand and gently parted that delicate seam and rubbed, all the while watching her.

  She moaned, anot
her orgasm striking her.

  “You’re even more beautiful when you come,” he rasped, then shoved his hardness inside her softness.

  She gasped, feeling him fill her to capacity and then some. For a timeless moment he didn’t move; then he rolled over, taking her with him.

  “Ride me,” he begged, his breath hot against her ear.

  “Brant, I—” She couldn’t go on, especially after he tenderly eased her into a sitting position so that she straddled him, his throbbing penis like a stake, high and hard inside her.

  “You’ve never been on top before, have you?” he ground out, his eyes glazed.

  “No,” she whispered, thinking about all the times she and Porter had made love, and never once had he changed or varied their positions. With Brant, a whole new sexual world was emerging.

  Then he began to move her hips, slow, then faster, until she was indeed riding him fast and furiously until orgasms pounded them, their satisfied moans puncturing the silence.

  This time, when she awakened, the place beside her wasn’t empty, as it had been every other morning. Brant had used an elbow to prop his head up and was staring at her.

  Unwittingly she smiled. The troubled look that darkened his features disappeared. Smiling in return, he ran the back of a knuckle down one side of her cheek.

  “You know this is insanity in its highest degree.”

  “I know,” she responded in a breathy tone.

  “But I’m not sorry.” His expression had turned fierce.

  “Me either.”

  He smiled again, though it was short-lived. “So where does that leave us?”

  Her features clouded. “In the here and now.”

  “I’m making no promises to keep my hands off of you in the tomorrows to come. I feel I have to tell you that.”

  “Fair enough,” she said, swallowing hard, realizing she had taken another step toward digging her own emotional grave.

  “Do you still love him?”

  Brant’s out of the blue question stunned her. “No,” she finally answered. “I’m not sure I ever loved Porter, at least not passionately.”

  “I guessed that.” Brant’s finger grazed her cheek again.

  “I didn’t realize how inexperienced I was…” Her voice faded on an embarrassed note.

  “Hey, you were perfect.” His eyes were warm and tender. “I’m humbled I was the first to indoctrinate you into the world of sexual pleasures.”

  “No man has ever touched me like…” Again her voice faded.

  “Like this,” he said huskily, a hand parting her legs and cupping her mound.

  The breath swished out of her. “Like…that.”

  He didn’t work that hand, though; he just left it there. “I don’t think I ever really loved Marsha, either, though I thought I did.” He paused, his eyes filled with pain. “After Elliot was born, I was the happiest man on the earth. I had a son.”

  “What happened to change that?”

  “I wish to God I knew. I guess I was so busy trying to keep Marsha in the style of living I knew she wanted that I sacrificed the most important thing—my son.”

  “What about your marriage?”

  “I’ve never really missed her, only Elliot.” Brant paused, then added, “What about you?”

  “What about me?”

  “Why did you marry a man old enough to be your father?”

  Jessica gave him a troubled look. “A shrink would say it was because my dad deserted us at an early age.”

  “I know that must’ve been the pits.”

  “It was. It broke my heart, and for years I was never able to glue it back together.”

  As if feeling her pain, he clutched her tighter. “But Porter glued it back together, right?”

  “In many ways,” she admitted with an audible sigh. “Though I never let him get inside my heart. I’ve never let anyone do that, especially when it came to—” She stopped, unable to go on.

  “Your sexual needs,” he said, reading her mind.

  She nodded.

  “Like I said, I’m glad,” he said thickly.

  “What about you? Was Marsha your one and only?”

  “As far as a relationship went, she was, though it was Elliot who proved to be my one and only love.”

  “How is he? Have you talked to him since you took him home?”

  “Once, but he still wasn’t receptive, I’m sorry to say.”

  “He’s just going to need more time.”

  “Something I don’t have,” Brant said bleakly.

  The same fact suddenly and brutally slapped her in the face, launching her back to reality, back to the indisputable fact he would soon walk out of her life, never to return. Even so, she was reluctant to break the delicate euphoria of the moment.

  As if he read her mind again, Brant’s probing gaze sought hers, and he groaned before lowering his head and reclaiming her lips. “Enough of this soul-searching talk.”

  Sighing, she parted her lips and circled her arms around him.

  Thirty-one

  “Have you made a decision yet?”

  Brant’s direct question concerning the chief’s job forced her to face him, something she had been avoiding. Following their return from Europe two weeks ago, the tension between them had escalated.

  Even now, in the spacious limo, she felt cramped, claustrophobic. The added anxiety resulted from that last night in Switzerland, even though he hadn’t touched her once since arriving home.

  The first few days she had wondered if he would attempt to kiss her, touch her, make love to her. He hadn’t. Once they boarded the plane, Brant had reverted back to his old, controlled self.

  She didn’t know if she was affronted or relieved by his standoffishness. However, she wasn’t fooled by it. She’d caught him staring at her with hungry eyes. And while those looks had reduced her insides to a quivering mass, she had purposely not met his gaze, fearing the repercussions.

  Her work had been her only salvation. With so much going on in the office, she’d felt caught in a whirlwind. Included in that whirlwind had been the daylong budget retreat, which had been even more successful than she’d hoped.

  In addition, she’d worked with several other mayors concerning the proposed interstate highway. And by far the most important, she and the city manager had begun interviewing for a chief of police.

  And during those hard-driving days, the e-mails and phone calls kept on coming, had escalated. That in itself had had an effect on her work and her temper. She knew Brant felt the same way, driving Thurmon relentlessly to come up with something, anything, that would point to a culprit.

  Her only saving grace was that she’d been spared another disaster akin to the credit card debacle. But in the scheme of things, and under the heavy burden she carried, that now seemed a small mercy.

  She was no longer in control of her life or her time, and she resented that. Would it ever end? She’d begun to fear Brant was destined to become permanently attached to her.

  “Jessica?” Brant said, shattering the lengthy silence.

  “Sorry,” she said a trifle breathlessly. “My mind was a million miles away.”

  “That’s an understatement.” His eyes were narrowed on her.

  “To answer your question, yes, I’ve made my decision.”

  “It’s obviously not Forrester, the acting chief.”

  “You’re right, it’s not.”

  “So when do you break the news to the council?”

  “At the next meeting.” She paused. “I guess we’ll see how strong a leader I am.”

  “And nothing’s changed on the land deal.”

  “Absolutely not.” Jessica paused again, tightening her lips. “Nor am I budging on my decision to seek reelection.”

  “A woman who knows what she wants and goes after it.”

  Somehow, she didn’t think Brant meant those words as complimentary, and that stung. “You don’t agree?”

  “I didn’t say that,” he
countered easily. “You’re good at what you do, and I admire that.”

  She still wasn’t convinced of his sincerity, but it didn’t matter. He didn’t matter. He would soon leave her and Elliot, and return to the wilds of Arkansas.

  Thinking of his son made her ask, “How’s Elliot?”

  Brant sighed audibly. “Still struggling.”

  “It’s not easy being torn between your mother and father.”

  “Do you think I did a bad thing? Coming back into his life, that is?” Brant’s voice was riddled with guilt.

  Jessica chose her words carefully. “No. As his father, you have that right. Still…” She hesitated, unsure how to venture further, since she was stepping into foreign territory.

  “Still, what?” he pressed. “I value your opinion. Hell, you’ve been on that side. Would you have wanted your father to come back?”

  Even though she didn’t want to revisit that dark place in her heart again so soon, expose the pain to the light of day, she answered with honesty. “Yes, though I’m not sure it would have been the best thing.”

  Brant expelled a breath.

  “I know that wasn’t exactly the answer you wanted,” she said softly. “But that’s a hard call.”

  “To say nothing of putting you in a hard place.”

  “I’m used to that,” she said with a resigned smile.

  His lips twisted bitterly. “It’s just that with Marsha’s hatred of me, I don’t see much changing.”

  “You’re not giving up, are you?”

  “Not as long as I’m upright and breathing.”

  “Do you think Elliot would like to go for a boat ride and do a little fishing?” Once she’d issued that invitation, Jessica knew she’d made a mistake. She had no idea what had prompted her to take such a bold step, involve herself to such an extent. Perhaps it was that pain again, that frustration Brant wore like a second skin when he talked about his son.

  Now, however, he looked as stunned as she felt. “Probably,” he said, his eyes piercing, and his tone cautious. “Why do you ask?”

  She looked away, then back; swallowing a sigh, she blurted out, “You know I have a boat. It’s time it was either sold or driven or something.” She spread her hands. “Oh, just forget I asked. I—”