Hard To Resist

by Kylie Brant

  She directed her next words at Delgado. “Think you can skate on the Patterson case? That Paquin’s going to get you off with a restraining order and a slap on the wrist? I’m going to do my best to prevent that. But even if by some stretch of the imagination he’s able to accomplish that, you’re going to be facing multiple murder charges, of which Dorsey is only one. Do you have the money to pay him for those defenses, too?” She let a derisive smile curl her lips. “Or do you think your last employer will be willing to keep footing the bill?”

  Paquin’s face had gone thunderous. “By God, Jacobs, I’ll bury you for this. You can’t come in here and threaten us.”

  Satisfied with his reaction, she sat back calmly. “Threaten? I came to offer a deal, just like I told you on the phone.”

  “You ain’t mentioned a deal.” Delgado stared at her expressionlessly. “What’ve you got?”

  “We’re not going to waste any more of our time, Paul.” Paquin rose, directing his client to do the same. Delgado remained seated, gazing at A.J. with his peculiarly emotionless eyes.

  “It seems as though your client is a bit more interested than you are, Joel.” A.J. made the observation with no little satisfaction.

  Paquin sat back down, put his head close to Delgado’s and began whispering furiously. There was a short, vehement discussion, and she knew what the outcome would be before the other lawyer ever raised his head again.

  “My client wants to indulge you, so we’ll let you spin out this fairy tale you’ve concocted before we leave. But the first phone call I make when we leave here will be to Judge Holley.”

  Brows arching, she invited, “By all means, go ahead. By that time she should be able to contact the state office and get all the details.” Fuming, the defense attorney folded his arms, deliberately not attempting to take notes. A.J. began, anyway.

  “Nothing we suggest will impact the Patterson case. Your client still faces those charges, and I’ll push for the maximum sentence.”

  “If you win,” Paquin inserted.

  A.J. ignored him. “Charges are currently being filed charging your client with murder and conspiracy to conceal in the Dorsey case. We’ve got two witnesses who can testify that he gave Gellar the murder weapon and bloody shirt for the purpose of incriminating Benson. And Benson also gave us eyewitness testimony about the murder of another inmate in Leavenworth.”

  There was a flicker of expression in Delgado’s eyes before they went blank again.

  “Our investigators will round the other eyewitnesses to that homicide, and once they do, your client will face those charges, as well.” She shifted her attention to Delgado. “You’re going away, Mr. Delgado. It’s up to you for how long. We know you’ve hired out as an assassin for the past ten years. We figure Benson and Patterson were only two among your many targets. I want names and evidence. We’re not interested unless you have proof incriminating your employers. Paquin just might get you off the kidnapping charges.” She said the words, all the while swearing to herself she’d never allow that to happen. “Can he help you dodge these additional murder charges, as well?” Tossing her notebook in her open briefcase, she stood and locked it. “Think about it, gentlemen.”

  “This is outrageous!” Paquin’s face was turning a curious shade of purple. “I’ll have you disbarred for this, Jacobs.”

  She laughed; she couldn’t help it. “For what, doing my job? You’re welcome to try.” Stanley rose and they prepared to leave. Once they reached the door. she turned back to the two men. “Oh, and Joel. These bruises?” She pointed to the colorful marks on her face. “You’re right. They’re from my last battle. And that guy’s in jail, too. I hear he needs a good lawyer.” She closed the door on whatever comment he would have made.

  For the first time Mark spoke. “Are you sure that wasn’t premature, A.J.? New charges haven’t been filed yet. The Dorsey thing may well yet fall apart under further investigation.”

  She refused to let his warnings bother her. She was just feeling too darn good. “You heard Beardmore this morning. He okayed everything I presented today. Connally is preparing his report even as we speak.” Together they walked down the hallway, away from the cells.

  “It doesn’t look too promising,” Mark observed. “Paquin didn’t seem willing to deal.”

  “It may not be up to him.” She certainly hoped that was true. “Delgado is the one facing charges. He’ll be the one ultimately making the decision.” She could only wonder whether Mannen would be involved in the decision-making process, as well.

  Anticipation ran parallel to nerves when her doorbell rang that night. The second emotion was expected; the first was not. One would think she had never gone on a date before. Had never spent extra time getting ready for a special evening. The truth was, if she had, it had been too long ago to recall clearly.

  Her doubts were somewhat allayed by the satisfying look of male appreciation on Dare’s face as he painted her with a slow gaze.

  “Honey, you do wonders for that dress.”

  It was his tone as much as his words that sent a warm glow jittering through her. She didn’t socialize much. That fact had been borne home when she’d contemplated the dismal contents of her closet earlier. But there was the annual Bar Association banquet, and the odd museum exhibit or play she attended. And every woman, despite her social calendar, knew the value of a having a little black dress on hand.

  While liquid warmth shot through her, she assessed him critically. “Well, well. There is something in your wardrobe besides Hawaiian shirts and jeans. I’m…surprised.”

  “And I’m glad I won that bet.” He winked at her, a vision of masculinity in dark trousers, a charcoal suit coat and a collarless, light-colored shirt. “You look a heckuva lot better in that dress than I would have.”

  His nonsense soothed, as it was meant to. Her stomach was still jittering, but her earlier misgivings were allayed for the moment. As she closed and locked the door behind her, she could feel his gaze sweeping over her, and it seemed to leave a trail of heat in its wake.

  “The shoes complement the dress.”

  More from necessity than habit she tucked her hand in the arm he offered and made her way carefully down the steps. “These shoes are an open invitation to a sprained ankle.”

  “That’s where I come in. You can lean on me all you want. Take shameless advantage. Please.”

  She was still chuckling when he got in the car on the other side and pulled away from the curb.

  “What did you do all afternoon?” The question that had played at the back of her mind all day fell off her tongue without her conscious permission. She wasn’t used to wondering about a man; his whereabouts, his actions. She wasn’t used to missing one, nor to looking forward to seeing him hours later. The experience had been unfamiliar but not altogether unpleasant.

  He took the exit ramp onto the freeway as he answered. “Talked to my editor. Did some research. Made some notes for my next column.” Mostly, though, he’d thought of her. Images had filtered across his mind despite the task or level of concentration required. Visual pictures of Addie, her beautiful face twisted with the desire they ignited in each other. That catch in her breath when he’d mounted her, found again the sweet moist clench of pleasure as she closed around him.

  With some effort he returned to the original thread of conversation. “It’s a long shot, but I’m following up on the rest of that list we started on. We got lucky once, we might again. How about you?”

  “Oh, I offered a deal to Paquin and his slimy client.” Her voice held a hint of smugness. “Immunity from the Dorsey murder charges in return for the proof of who ordered it, as well as whoever hired him in the Patterson case.”

  Dare was jolted by the enormity of her words. Not the implications for nailing Mannen, although that would register later. But the matter-of-fact way she’d shared the information with him, in an easy manner that suggested confidence. Trust. Two qualities that had always been noticeably absent from
their relationship.

  It hit him like a blow to the chest, landing somewhere in the vicinity of his heart. It was such a little thing, really. The kind of how-was-your-day-dear conversation shared between two lovers. It shouldn’t have meant so much. And it wouldn’t have if it had been anyone other than Addie. She didn’t slip and hand out confidential information to anyone, regardless of the relationship. Two years ago—even two weeks ago—she would have been afraid he’d take the information and print it.

  He reached for her hand, sent his thumb skating over her knuckles. “There’s a whole avenue of leads that Connally and Madison alone aren’t going to be able to follow up on. Be interesting to find out if the other eyewitnesses to that prison murder will finger Delgado for it, and if they’ve had any contact with him since his release.”

  Her pulse was jumping, but her hand remained in his. “I’m not sure this case will cover that broad an investigation. More than likely we’ll hand our information over to the various law enforcement agencies across the nation affiliated with those unsolved knife killings we compiled. Then we’ll turn those leads over to the original officers to follow.”

  Concentrating on her voice as much as her words, he nodded, and they drove in silence for a while. Despite the way the case was coming together, despite the fact that his long pursuit of Mannen seemed to be paying off, finally, it was the woman beside him who claimed his attention. His focus was spending time with her. And making it count.

  “What are we doing?”

  “We have to stop at my place first.” He kept a casual grip of her hand as they took the elevator to the apartments and then to his floor. He didn’t release it as they strolled down the hallway, as he distracted her with an amusing anecdote about his landlord. He unlocked the door, then ushered her in, watching her face carefully.

  She stopped just inside the door and took a deep breath. “Something tells me we’ve arrived at our destination for the evening.”

  Taking a quick glance around, he let the door close behind him. The place was just as he’d left it. Candles flickered on a cozy table for two he’d set up in the living room before the sliding glass doors. He’d had some romantic notion of a roomful of candles—women liked that sort of thing, didn’t they?—but since he’d had none himself, he’d been reduced to borrowing two elegant tapers and holders from his neighbor next door.

  But the music playing softly through the stereo speakers was his own, classical pieces that were at once elegant and seductive. The catered dinner he’d had specially prepared was aromatic, just waiting to be warmed up for serving. Rarely had he gone to such lengths for a woman. But this was for Addie. All of it.

  It occurred to him then, in a blind moment of panic, that she might not regard his preparations in the same light he did. That she might consider it a jaded stage set for seduction. An unusual sense of uncertainty speared through him. “We could go out, if you’d rather.”

  His doubts were soothed a moment later, when she looked at him, her eyes soft. “I’d rather spend our date here.”

  Lungs easing, he led her to the kitchen and set her to work pouring the wine while he placed the food in the oven to warm. It was all too alluring to watch her there, performing the routine task, and to pretend that this was where she belonged. Where she would stay. He already knew that once she was gone, her image would linger. It was an image guaranteed to give him many sleepless nights.

  The black dress she wore clung to her curves and was held in place by two tiny straps on her otherwise bare shoulders. Those straps crossed in back, and were the only things holding the dress together around her narrow spine. The sheer creativity of the thing gave a man a renewed interest in the laws of physics and gravitational pull.

  He accepted the flute of wine she handed him, giving her long bare legs an appreciative glance. Wearing the sandals he’d given her, her shining blond head was only a couple of inches shorter than his own.

  She was, quite simply, stunning. That golden hair and creamy skin against the sleek black fabric of her dress was a guaranteed fantasy. The swelling on her bruises had perhaps receded a bit, but their colors were even more brilliant than before. Rather than being self-conscious about them, as another woman might have been, she seemed bothered by them only when other people expressed sympathy.

  He’d never met anyone in less need of it.

  “From the look of those cartons I’m not going to be at the mercy of your dubious culinary talents.”

  “I could have made something,” he protested. He took a swallow of wine, his gaze meeting hers across the rim. “If you don’t mind egg sandwiches and soup.”

  Her nose wrinkled, although she smiled. “Your skills match my own.”

  “I think we match, Addie, in more ways than you’d like to think.” He watched as she digested his meaningful phrase and then switched subjects before it could alarm her. “Shall we take our wine out on the terrace?”

  He was gentlemanly enough to allow her to precede him, male enough to appreciate the view when she did. She sat gracefully in the chair he offered. “Your view is spectacular.”

  He would have agreed, but he doubted they were talking about the same thing. The skyline couldn’t begin to compare with the breathtaking woman before him. “If I remember correctly your old apartment had a view to match it.” It still puzzled him that she’d chosen to move. Her new place couldn’t be nearly as convenient to her work.

  Her fingers tightened just slightly on the globe of her wine glass. “My mother’s care is very expensive. My new home is adequate, and a great deal cheaper.” She gave a shrug. “I’m rarely there, anyway. I spend most of my time at work or at her hospital.”

  Although her unusual candor surprised him, he made sure it didn’t show. “Your mother is lucky to have you.”

  “She’s mentally ill.” He could tell what the admission cost her. “Doctors, medication, therapy…it all adds up.”

  “And how much can Leo be depended on to help?”

  “Leo is…unpredictable. I’m happy that he’s managed to hold on to a job this long. Continuous employment was a condition of his release.”

  He could read her answer in the one she hadn’t given. Her brother contributed nothing to their mother’s care, and since a father hadn’t been mentioned, it had all fallen on A.J.’s slender shoulders.

  Recognizing the flicker of discomfort in her expression, he sought a topic guaranteed to relax her. “Where did you go to school?”

  “Various places. We moved around a lot. I’ve always lived in Chicago, though. Attended a lot of inner-city schools.”

  “Ah, that’s right.” He raised his glass, drank. “You mentioned tough neighborhoods.”

  “War zones would be a better word for some.”

  “Learn to roll your own cigarettes?”

  She accepted the hint of challenge in his voice, topped it. “We learned to cure our own tobacco.” She enjoyed the sound of his laugh, low and husky. He laughed and smiled easily, but he wasn’t nearly as uncomplicated as she’d once thought. There was a layer of toughness beneath, and the affability disguised it much as she disguised parts of herself from the world. The similarity was disturbing to contemplate.

  “Is the wine all right?”

  Self-consciously her gaze dropped to the untouched glass in her hand. “I don’t drink much. I’m sure it’s fine.” As if to emphasize her words, she brought it to her lips, sipped.

  Still studying her, he observed, “I’ve seen you order at Brewster’s.”

  “Tonic water.” Her lips curved. “It shouldn’t surprise you that I don’t like having my senses dulled by alcohol.”

  Realization flashed through him. No, she wouldn’t be one to give up control so easily, and by not letting anyone besides the bartender handle her glass, she could ensure that her drink remained exactly as ordered. The level of control she demanded of herself was daunting.

  She shifted a bit under his perusal. “You’re staring.”

  “
Because you fascinate me.”

  She flicked a long nail at the glass she held. “I’m not particularly intriguing.”

  Giving a short laugh, he rose, waited for her to stand and guided her inside again. “You have no idea.”

  For a few moments she watched him carry dishes from the kitchen to the table before she asked, “Shall I get silverware?”

  He gave her an easy smile. “We won’t need any.”

  And they didn’t. He’d chosen finger food, whether for ease or for the seductive pleasure, she wasn’t certain. There was broiled shrimp, tiny hard rolls, seasoned scallops. Whether it was the food or the atmosphere, she didn’t think she’d ever tasted anything so heavenly.

  “Try a scallop,” he urged.

  She reached for the morsel he was holding out to her, but he moved forward, brought it to her mouth. Hesitantly her teeth closed over the succulent piece. The sudden gleam that leaped to his eyes made it difficult to swallow.

  Several times during the course of the meal she lost track of the thread of their conversation. They talked of mundane things, the very ordinariness contrasting to the intimate meal. One time she reached for a shrimp to bring to her lips and he closed his hand over her wrist, steering it to his mouth instead.

  The sensuousness of the act torched her blood and flushed her cheeks. She was uneasily aware that her reaction was too apparent to him. But disguising her response seemed beyond her.

  Once they’d finished the meal, Dare went to the stereo. After adjusting it to something moody and sultry, he crossed to her again, held out a hand. “Dance with me.”

  It was more an invitation than a demand, one she was helpless to deny. She put her hand in his, allowed him to help her rise, and stepped into his arms. When they closed around her, she was enclosed in a world that held only the two of them.

  He danced as he did everything else, with an almost effortless ease. Their bodies brushed with every movement, making her supremely aware of him. There was nothing to set her nerves to alarm. He was holding her close, but not uncomfortably so. Just near enough that she could smell the soap he’d used that evening, the scent of his aftershave. She thought of that with a sense of wonder—of Dare spending as much time getting ready tonight as she had, and the thought was appealing. He’d gone to a lot of effort, and she found herself curiously touched. She didn’t remember anyone going to such trouble for her before.