by Lisa Jackson
“And you’ve never gone out with him again?”
“No.” She sipped from her water glass.
“Why not?”
“No reason to fan the fires of gossip. I’ve got enough problems being the only woman trust officer without having to be known as the boss’s ‘woman.’”
“And Compton—he’s accepted this?”
“He doesn’t have much of a choice.”
Jake stared at her. “Anyone else?”
“No one serious.”
Silence stretched uncomfortably between them, and Kimberly wished she’d never agreed to meet him here. The small table was too intimate, and Jake was too close, his stare too intense. She could feel his gaze on her as he sipped his wine. She watched his throat work as he swallowed. That small motion, so natural, was sensual in the dark room. She dragged her gaze away from his throat and stared through the window. The lights of Portland twinkled in the distance.
“Tell me about Lindsay,” Jake whispered.
Kimberly’s head snapped up. “What about her?”
“Everything. She’s what? Five?”
“Yes. Robert and I had been married a little over a year when she was born.” Kimberly felt suddenly self-conscious. “When I found out I was pregnant, I was ecstatic.”
“And Robert?”
“Suggested an abortion.” That had been the start of the end, she knew now. “I wouldn’t hear of it, and we argued a lot. During the last part of the pregnancy, he seemed to change his mind and became interested until she was born.”
Jake’s eyes were penetrating, the hard angles of his face illuminated by the single flickering candle. “What went wrong?”
“He wanted a boy.” She smiled sourly. “Archaic, right?”
A shadow passed over his eyes. “Very.”
She pushed the remains of her meal around on her plate, then let her fork drop. “He never seemed to care about her. Don’t get me wrong—he was never cruel or anything, just inattentive. And he lost interest in me, too.”
“So you wanted out—”
“Oh, no.” Surprised that it was so important that he understand, Kimberly said, “He wanted the divorce. I fought it at first.”
“Why?”
“Because we were parents. We had this wonderful baby, and I wanted to create this perfect little family unit.” Her lips twisted cynically. “You know the image, right off the front pages of the old Saturday Evening Post.”
“And he didn’t feel that way?”
“By that time he’d found someone else,” she said, the pain as real and cold as it had been the night he’d explained about Stella. “And then I started paying more attention to the rumors and innuendos in the papers.”
“And believing them?”
“No—yes—I don’t know. I believe where there’s smoke there’s fire, but I never saw or heard anything that would confirm all the speculation about him.”
She finished what she could of the dinner and pushed aside any lingering thoughts of Robert and their short, unhappy marriage. Jake turned the conversation away from the painful subject, and soon he had taken care of the bill and escorted her through the double doors.
“You know,” he said once they were outside and darkness surrounded them, “we’ve got a problem.”
“Just one?” she teased, flashing a smile in the clear night air.
“Believe me, it’s enough.” He took her hand in his, and his fingers were warm. A thrill raced up her arm.
Her heart began to beat against her ribs. “What is it?”
“You and me.”
“What about us?”
“I’d like to see more of you, Kimberly,” he said, the admission obviously difficult.
“I think we’ll see a lot of each other in the next couple weeks.”
He plowed stiff fingers through his hair. “I know. But the trouble is, I want more. More than just a business relationship. I know it’s crazy and off-limits, but that’s the way it is.” His eyes darkened with the night, and her pulse was pounding in her head.
“I don’t think it’s wise—”
“I know it isn’t. But we can’t deny what we feel.”
“Oh, Jake, don’t—”
He cut her off. “Don’t deny it, Kimberly.”
Her throat tightened as he drew her close.
“I asked you those questions in the restaurant for two reasons. One was for the case. The other was for me.”
Her pulse quickened. Unconsciously she licked her lips, and his gaze drifted down to her mouth. “I—I think we’d better keep this professional,” she said, her voice unfamiliarly husky.
“I agree—but I don’t think I can.” He stared at her with such honesty, she nearly melted inside.
“I have a daughter to think about.”
“I know.”
“And . . .” She slowly pulled her hand from his. “And sometimes I feel you’re holding back. That you’re not being completely honest.”
His expression turned guarded. If he were going to share any secrets with her, it wouldn’t be tonight.
Disappointed, she turned away, only to feel his fingers clamp on her shoulders and turn her quickly. “I know it’s crazy, but I can’t help it,” he grounded out before his lips descended on hers and he kissed her with that same raging fire she’d felt before. She couldn’t stop him, and kissed him back. Swept away in a rising storm of passion, she clung to him.
When at last he lifted his head, he stared at her with a hint of amusement. “Now, just how’re we going to ignore this, Ms. Bennett?”
“I’ll find a way,” she teased back, her equilibrium shattered.
“You think so?” His grin slashed white in the night. “I wouldn’t count on it if I were you.” He dropped his arms to let her go, but she lingered a second.
“I just don’t think I can get involved with anyone right now. Not until this is all over.”
“I wonder if that’s possible.”
“I don’t know,” she whispered, turning to her car, not trusting herself alone with him another minute. She climbed into the Mercedes and took off.
She drove home automatically, guiding the car by instinct. Though she tried not to think of Jake’s handsome face or enigmatic, off-center smile, his image seemed to loom in her mind’s eye. He was her lawyer, for crying out loud. She’d convinced him to help her, and that was that. She touched her mouth softly, remembering the firm lines of Jake’s lips as they had covered hers with a possession so demanding, so vibrant that she could still feel the pulsing desire that had swept from his body to hers.
“Stop it,” she muttered, cranking on the wheel as she turned into the driveway. Angry with her wayward fantasies, she cut the engine and dashed up the back steps.
Stepping into the kitchen, she spied a pajama-clad Lindsay standing on a chair. Her heart wrenched at the thought of a future without Lindsay’s precocious remarks and bright eyes.
A huge lump filled her throat. Lindsay was watching Arlene as the older woman bent over a bowl and stirred slowly. The scent of lemon filled the room.
“Baking again?” Kimberly asked as she dropped her purse onto the table.
“Mommy!” Lindsay scrambled out of her chair and to Kimberly’s waiting arms. “You’re late!”
“I know, I’m sorry.”
“I missed you,” Lindsay pouted.
Arlene clucked her tongue. “Don’t you fuss,” she warned, glancing fondly at Lindsay. “I told you she called.” Arlene resumed her stirring and nodded in Kimberly’s direction. “Just give me a minute. Lindsay wanted lemon pie.”
“But we still have cookies!”
“So eat ’em.”
Kimberly slid out of her coat. “Really, Arlene, you didn’t have to go through the trouble—”
“No trouble at all,” Arlene said, chuckling. “It kept her busy, and lemon’s my favorite, too.”
“Arlene says I can stay overnight with her.”
“Oh?” Still balancing her
daughter on her hip, Kimberly crossed the kitchen and peeked into the kettle of simmering lemon pudding.
“Next weekend, if it’s all right with you,” Arlene verified.
“Are you sure?”
“Positive. Besides, it’ll do Lyle a world of good to watch this little one.”
Lindsay clapped her hands together. “We are going to make you a Christmas—”
“Shh!” Arlene said, grinning. “It’s a surprise. Remember?”
“Oh!” The child looked positively stricken.
Kimberly touched her blond curls fondly. “Okay. You can spend the night, if you promise to be good, brush your teeth and go right to sleep when Mrs. Henderson tells you to.”
“I’m always good,” Lindsay proclaimed, crossing her little arms over her flannel-covered chest.
“An absolute angel,” Arlene said, smothering a smile. “Okay, here we go.” She poured the lemon filling into a warm piecrust, then spoon fed globs of shiny meringue on top. Lindsay couldn’t stand not being part of the action. She squirmed from Kimberly’s arms, climbed back on her chair and promptly stuck a finger in the cloudlike meringue.
Kimberly tried to stop her daughter. “Don’t—”
“It’s all right,” Arlene said. “Half the fun of baking is testing, isn’t it, sweetheart?”
Lindsay cast Kimberly an I-told-you-so look over her small shoulder. A dot of meringue stuck to the tip of her nose, and Kimberly had to laugh.
“I think we better wash you up and get ready for bed.”
“Not yet—”
“Come on,” Kimberly insisted. “It’s after eight.”
“But I’m not tired.”
“I don’t believe that for a second,” Kimberly remarked, noting the blue smudges beneath Lindsay’s bright eyes and the fact that her thumb kept slipping between her small lips. “Come on, angel, I’ll read you a story.”
“But I want—”
“Shh.” Kimberly carried her protesting daughter to the loft, which served as Lindsay’s bedroom. Tucking the child between the covers, she lay beside her, opened a book of favorite nursery rhymes and began reading. Within minutes Lindsay drifted to sleep, her lips moving slightly, her blond head resting on a plump pillow, while she clutched her favorite stuffed animal, a fuzzy raccoon.
Kimberly’s throat constricted as she stared at her sleeping child. No matter what, she couldn’t lose Lindsay.
Listening to the sound of the rain drumming against the roof, she placed her arm around her daughter’s waist and Kimberly closed her eyes. Somehow, she vowed silently, she’d find a way to keep Lindsay with her. And Jacob McGowan would help.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Eric Compton knocked twice, then shoved open the door of Kimberly’s office. A tall, striking man with thinning black hair, straight nose and brown eyes, he offered her his well-practiced smile. “Glad I caught you,” he said, glancing at his watch. “I thought you might need the tax file on the Juniper estate.” He dropped a manila folder onto the corner of her desk.
“Thanks.” She took the file and tossed it into her basket. “Have you got a minute?”
“For you? At least one—maybe even ten.”
She grinned. “Good.”
He dropped into a chair near the desk. “Shoot.”
“Okay. I got a little flack about this one,” she said, tapping the closed file with a fingernail.
“From Zealander. I heard.” Eric frowned and ran his fingers through his receding hair. “Bill came flying into my office the other day. He thinks I favor you.”
“Do you?”
Eric smiled. “I’d like to. But not by giving you plums in the office. I’ve always tried to keep my private and professional lives separate.”
“Good. So have I,” she said.
“I told Bill the same thing.” He plucked at the crease of his slacks. “However, I’m not sure he believed me. But—” placing his hands on the arms of his chair, he pushed himself up, “—that’s his problem. Now, anything else?” he asked without the usual double entendre.
“Not that I can think of.”
His well-oiled smile faltered a little. “Good. You know, Kim, I’d like to take you out. I’ve got tickets to the symphony next Friday.”
Kimberly sighed and shook her head. “I don’t think so.”
“Another time?”
“Maybe,” she said, then winced when she recognized a gleam of hope in his eye. “But probably not. As long as I’m working here, I think it would be better not to date bank employees.”
“Even the boss?”
“Especially the boss,” she said, offering a dimpled smile.
He shrugged. “Okay, but this is a warning. I’m not giving up. Just let me know when you change your mind.” He started for the door, then paused and glanced over his shoulder. “By the way, I saw a man hanging around the parking lot late last night. Be careful, will you? There’ll be a memo sent to all the employees, but I’m telling everyone in my department personally.”
“You think he’s dangerous?”
“Probably not, but we can’t be too careful,” Compton said as he closed the door firmly behind him.
Kimberly stared at the closed door. She thought about the man she’d seen lingering at the lamppost near her house and shivered. Though she’d nearly forgotten the incident, Eric’s warning brought it all back into sharp focus.
She tapped her pencil on her desk as the intercom buzzed.
“Ms. Bennett? Mr. Juniper’s here to see you,” Marcie announced just as the door to her office burst open again and Henry Juniper, a small, round man with a red face, strode up to Kimberly’s desk. She started to rise.
“My sister’s trying to cut me out of the estate, isn’t she?”
Kimberly was dumbstruck. “There’s no way she could. I thought I explained all that.”
“Oh, sure,” Henry said, his blue eyes flaming. “Where there’s a will, there’s a way. Especially if you get a greedy lawyer involved.”
“Why don’t you slow down and tell me what you’re talking about.”
“It’s Carole,” he said in exasperation. “She’s hired some hotshot attorney and now she wants more money! This guy—what’s his name—Kesler—he’s out to bleed me dry!”
Kimberly’s heart dropped to the floor. “Ben Kesler?”
“The shark himself. I’ve heard he’s a barracuda, that he never gives up. Just keeps biting at you!”
Kimberly, shaking inside, held up a hand. “The terms of your father’s will were very clear. There is nothing Mr. Kesler can do to change that. Anything he tries will just be smoke and mirrors. The will is cut and dried.”
He calmed a little and nearly fell into the chair recently vacated by Eric Compton. His fingers tapped nervously together. “You’re sure about this?”
“Positive.”
“And there’s never been a case where one heir has been able to squeeze out a little more?”
“I didn’t say that. It depends upon the circumstances, of course—”
“Aha! I knew it.” His hands flew into the air. “Father lived with Carole for a while, you know, while he was convalescing after his hospital stay. I suggested a nursing home, but oh, no, she wouldn’t hear of it. Wouldn’t hear of it, I tell you!” He leaned closer. “Wanted to get on his good side, don’t you know. I think she was trying to get him to change his will the entire time he was with her. It didn’t work, and now she’s going to charge the estate for his care—and then there’s Kesler’s attorney fees and God-only-knows what else!”
“Slow down, Mr. Juniper,” she said. “The head of our department, Mr. Compton, is an attorney himself, and he’s worked very closely with the attorney for the estate. I assure you that everything’s in order.”
“Oh, great, just what we need! A couple more attorneys involved. That’s what got us into this mess in the first place!”
* * *
She spent the next half hour going over the account and settling him down. By
the time six o’clock rolled around, all she could think about was going home to dinner with Lindsay, a hot bath and a good book.
She tossed a few files into her briefcase and frowned at the pink memo in her in-basket—the memo reminding everyone to be careful in the parking garage.
As she swiped her coat from the hall tree, the phone rang. Balancing purse, case and coat in one arm, she grabbed the receiver quickly. “Kimberly Bennett.”
“Jake McGowan.”
At the sound of his voice, her heart somersaulted.
“I know it’s late, but I thought we could catch a movie, then have a late dinner.”
“I thought we had an agreement.”
“No, lady, you had an agreement.”
“Jake, this isn’t going to work—”
“What if I told you we have work to do?”
She smiled, forgetting about the hot bath and book. “I still can’t go out. Arlene’s busy tonight.”
“You don’t have another sitter?”
“None that I can count on.” She was surprised at how her heart seemed to drop to the floor in disappointment.
“Then I guess we’ll have to forgo the movie and get right to it. I could drop by your place, and you could make me dinner.”
She laughed and threw caution to the wind. What could one night hurt? “All right, counselor, you’re on. I owe you that much.”
There was a long, nerve-wracking silence on the other end of the line. “You don’t owe me anything.” His tone was dead sober.
“Okay, don’t consider it a debt. In fact, you can bring the wine.”
“White or red?”
“Surprise me.”
“I’d love to,” he said silkily.
Kimberly’s heart tripped.
“I’ll see you between seven-thirty and eight.”
Kimberly stood rooted to the spot until she heard him hang up. Then she dropped the receiver. Clutching her bag, briefcase and coat to her breast, she muttered, “You’d better get moving.”
She took the elevator to the basement lot, which was as poorly lighted as ever. The hairs on the back of her neck raised a little and she felt as if unseen eyes were boring into her back. “Don’t be paranoid,” she chided herself, but nearly jumped out of her skin when she heard the scrape of a shoe behind her.
