WHEN A MAN LOVES A WOMAN

by Bonnie K. Winn

  "Is that what you call it?" he questioned, his voice husky.

  "Sounds silly and sentimental, doesn't it?" And totally out of character, she realized. But there had been a time…

  "Sounds nice to me," he answered quietly.

  She smiled, testing his sincerity. He was so smooth and sophisticated, she doubted he dated women who'd made quilts with their grandmothers and still held on to them. She smoothed one hand over the material. "There's a scrap from my grandmother's trousseau here, my own christening dress, my mother's best party gown – even the first pair of blue jeans we convinced my mother to buy."

  "A lot of history. You're lucky."

  Laughing, she dismissed the comment. "Just like any other family."

  Glancing up, she caught a shaft of pain crossing his face and wondered if his own family life had been an unhappy one. He'd never discussed that part of his life. She was about to ask, but he drew her closer, tangling her legs next to his, one arm draped around her.

  "It's going to get pretty cool tonight," he commented, drawing the quilt up over their legs.

  She couldn't have proved it with her blood temperature. It must have been soaring up to the boiling point. "You could have chosen an indoor concert," she pointed out. "I'm sure something's going on in the Delta Center."

  "And miss all this?" he asked in mock horror. "Here, you'll have the stars for a roof…"

  "And damp grass for a floor," she pointed out, not unkindly.

  "You going to give me grief all night?"

  "Would you expect any less?" she countered.

  A grin curled his lips before he angled his head, tilting it toward hers. Both their smiles dissolved under the kiss. She could feel everything more acutely as though a high-intensity switch had been clicked on inside her. There was the hard line of his body against hers, the yielding expanse of the grass beneath her. There was the heat of his lips against hers, the cool mountain air that sang around them.

  She could taste, as well – the lingering flavor of the wine as their tongues tangled together. Then there was the hotter, darker flavor that was his flesh. More encompassing, yet harder to recognize, was the taste of her own passion. It overwhelmed the neat categories of her life, the tidy ideals she clung to.

  Yet she didn't pull away. Even when his mouth left hers to search out other susceptible passion points. Grazing the bare, sensitive skin of her neck, the hollows at her throat, he found them. She felt the hunger in his touch, imagined how it would be when completely inflamed.

  Driven by the desire to reciprocate his touch, respond to his hunger, she let her hands explore. But the contact did nothing to satisfy her, instead, it increased her hunger, fed her passion.

  Technicians testing the stage lights made the surrounding lights flicker. The play of light sent the stark planes of Kenneth's face into relief. Something inside her nudged, then struggled to be heard. But his lips were descending on hers again, blotting out that niggling thought.

  For a magical moment, she imagined that she had recreated a night with Billy, that she had been granted her wish. Then it hit her.

  Billy had been a boy. Kenneth Gerrard was most definitely a man.

  And he defied comparisons.

  Just being with him had removed the heavy cloak of her responsibilities, lessened her need to be in control. It occurred to her that this could be an elaborate plan to undermine her ability in court. But why would a litigator of his stature and expertise need to take such measures?

  And she knew she didn't imagine the heated breath that met hers, the accelerated beating of his heart pressed close to hers. And she suspected that if they weren't in such a public place, there would be further evidence of his arousal.

  The warm-up band was beginning to play and people seated farther down the hill were singing along. Dusk etched the sky as lights from the ski resorts blazed trails across the mountains. Enchantment filtered from the surroundings to color their mood. And it was a collective mood. She and Kenneth weren't the only ones snuggling beneath a blanket, enjoying each other as much as they did the music.

  As darkness crept over them, she began to believe. That perhaps she did have another chance. That she could recapture that happiness she'd once lost. Kenneth pulled her close and she let her heart thaw another fraction. Maybe it was time to trust again.

  * * *

  Chapter 8

  «^»

  Humming, Barbara danced up the steps of the courthouse. Despite the late hour that she'd arrived home the night before, her spirits were high, her energy boundless. It occurred to her, frequently, that she'd failed miserably at staying away from the opposition. But it also occurred to her that she still wanted to win. Despite her attraction to the opposition.

  Because, regardless of the unexpected feelings Kenneth stirred in her, the case was important. That hadn't changed.

  Reaching up, she touched the hair that brushed over her shoulders. It was the first time she'd worn her hair down to court. While getting dressed that morning, it had seemed right. She hadn't relinquished her carefully chosen power suit, but the blouse was a touch softer than usual, and she'd given up the bows for good.

  Feeling lighter, most assuredly younger, she swung around the corner, not squelching the lilt in her steps.

  It was the shouting that halted her.

  Her client, Pete Delight, and Alexander Matthews, chairman of the Bakewell Corporation, were squared off in the hall. Pete's face was florid with anger and Alexander's rock-hard jaw was set in a threatening position.

  "You always were a dishonest SOB," Alexander snarled.

  "This from a man who sends in spies to steal!" Pete hollered in return.

  "Gentlemen, gentlemen—" Barbara tried to intervene.

  But they ignored her.

  "I should have known the first minute I laid eyes on you," Alexander retorted, his voice rising to match Pete's. "You started by stealing my girl. Now you think you can walk off with Bakewell's profits. Not this time!"

  "Lila was never your girl!" Mr. Delight shot back. "She was mine then. She's mine now."

  "You don't know what's yours," Alexander countered.

  Barbara listened to this ancient history with interest. It explained a lot of things – like why these men were willing to spend millions squabbling in court. Mr. Alexander had apparently once been in love with Pete Delight's wife, Lila.

  "And I never should have sold you my dirty laundry, much less a fine recipe that you massacred—"

  "Massacred?" Alexander roared. "This from someone who bakes cardboard brownies!"

  "Only because you used up all the sawdust in the state baking your rip-offs!"

  A crowd was gathering and Barbara knew the fighting would only generate bad press. But neither man wanted to listen to her reasoning.

  Desperate, she knew she had to exert some control before Kenneth showed up on the scene and took over, looking like a white knight rescuing a helpless lady who couldn't control two obnoxious buffoons. It would push the pendulum of advantage in his favor.

  Knowing there was little else to do, Barbara sucked in her breath, then jumped in between the men, facing her client. Surprise lined his face before his intent to push her clear surfaced. But she acted first.

  Shoving her briefcase in his side, she watched him gasp with surprise as the air left his lungs. Caught off guard, he allowed her to link her arm with his and lead him away. "Normally, Mr. Delight, I don't assault my own clients, but you were about to appear on the evening news—" she steered him toward the courtroom "—in a most unfavorable light, I'm afraid. We want press, but we want it to be to our advantage, when we've timed things properly. That debacle had you looking little like lovable Mr. Delight of Delightful Cookies."

  Mr. Delight cursed colorfully and explicitly.

  She didn't miss a step. "At least you've got your wind back. Now, are you ready for another day in court?"

  Not giving him time to answer, she swung open the door and guided him inside. A backward
glance at Alexander Matthews showed the blunt red stain of anger written on his face. It was clear from the rapid conversation between Kenneth and Mr. Matthews that her opponent wasn't ready to end the argument either.

  Determined to remain cool, she sat next to her fuming client, acting as though nothing amiss had happened. Making copious notes on her examination for the day, she concentrated on her performance. She couldn't let the opposition know that the encounter had bothered her – it would look as though she considered it damaging.

  Which she did.

  She could cheerfully choke Mr. Delight, who was proving to be anything but a delight. It always amazed her. A client, who wouldn't consider performing his own surgery after consulting a doctor, thought nothing of jumping on the legal bandwagon. And Mr. Delight, whose victory rested on showing his good character and intentions, had leapt on that wagon and nearly made the horses bolt and run.

  She glanced at the defense table. Kenneth, too, was making notes and Mr. Matthews was staring straight ahead, his cheeks still ruddy with the remnants of anger, but he was silent. Kenneth glanced up, caught her eye, and she saw a brief, undistinguished flare of admiration. So, he had seen her intervention out in the hallway.

  Pleased, she returned her own attention to her notepad. She suspected it took a lot to impress him. She just hadn't counted on breaking up a brawl to win his admiration.

  The day slid by rapidly. Barbara spent the entire noon hour break closeted with her client, hoping to convince him not to engage in petty arguments with Bakewell's chairman.

  When she finally emerged outside on the courtroom steps, she glanced around casually. But Kenneth wasn't anywhere in sight. Swallowing her disappointment, she tried not to look as deflated as she felt.

  Dani bounced down the step behind her. "Jeez, you look like you lost your best friend." Then she halted her skipping stride as she glanced around. "I get it. Gerrard didn't stop and beg you to go out tonight."

  Barbara considered righteous anger, then dismissed it. Dani was right. She'd come to expect him to be asking her out at every opportunity. A strange sense of loneliness blanketed her when she realized he must have already left without trying to see her that night. She shook away the thought. After all, she'd been single her entire life. She could certainly handle a dateless evening.

  "I have big plans tonight, Dani. I need to organize my notes, clean out my briefcase, set up some files—"

  Dramatically Dani flung one arm against her chest. "Be still, my heart. I just hope the rest of the jet set can keep up."

  "It's just a cross I'll have to bear," Barbara replied, falling in with Dani's theatrics. "I know that Di and the gang will be jealous, but sometimes I just have to be me."

  Dani grinned. "Nice to see you back in the human race, Barb. Catch you in the morning."

  Barbara waved as her friend loped away. It was great to be feeling human. There was just one drawback. Humans could get awfully lonely.

  * * *

  Barbara considered dinner. Without checking the kitchen, she knew her choices consisted of frozen entrées or a tuna sandwich. Neither appealed to her. Instead she made a cup of chamomile tea. Now that should be soothing. After brewing the tea she glanced down at it sadly. One cup on the counter seemed rather pitiful.

  Get a grip, she cautioned herself. Pretty soon you'll be singing sappy golden oldies and digging out the yearbooks. Just because Kenneth Gerrard had occupied all her evenings since meeting him didn't mean she couldn't be perfectly content on her own. After all, she'd managed for years. Still, an image of his grin lurked in her mind, teased her longing.

  Resolutely she carried her solitary cup of tea down the hall into the den. There was plenty of work there to keep her busy. Not to mention a desk full of papers that had been ignored for too long. She'd always prided herself on her meticulous organizational skills. Stepping into the room, she glanced at the desk and realized she couldn't make that claim anymore. The place looked ruffled and neglected.

  Puttering around her den, she picked up piles of papers, then replaced them without rearranging a single page. Finally she settled in a comfortable wing-back chair and tucked her feet beneath her legs, her tea forgotten as her thoughts wandered toward Kenneth again.

  To distract herself, she popped a tape into the VCR, watched it play a few minutes, then ejected the tape. Flipping through the channels, she watched a few infomercials and considered ordering a machine to work on her abs, or another one to chop vegetables. Nothing held her interest more than a few seconds. Disgusted, she snapped the set off, hating to admit that she couldn't concentrate on anything. Her home should be her haven, her safe harbor. Instead, she itched for something … someone…

  There were a million things she should be doing. But all she could think about was Kenneth. What was he doing tonight? Was he reinventing his strategy in the case? Was that what had taken him away tonight? Or had he simply tired of pursuing a woman who persisted in keeping him at arm's length?

  It had been for the best, she told herself. She had to remember that line separating personal and professional. And she couldn't forget how important this case was, regardless of how she felt about Kenneth. Pushing him away had been the right thing to do.

  Then why was she sitting here consumed by him?

  She thought of the previous evening, her own floundering emotions, how she had almost agreed to a different sort of ending to the evening, then fled alone into the safety of her apartment instead. Perhaps he thought she was becoming too attached.

  Was she?

  The most important case of her life was coasting along, and instead of spending every waking moment concentrating on it, she was devoting the majority of her thoughts to Kenneth Gerrard. Would the partners in her firm be disappointed to learn that Calculating Callister had, quite literally, turned to mush in the opposition's hands?

  The remembered moments brought a flush to her cheeks even now, the heat warming her cheeks to what she suspected was a rosy glow. It had taken every ounce of self-control she possessed to say no the previous evening. And truth be told, doing so had shredded her.

  "This is ridiculous," she said aloud.

  But the empty apartment seemed to echo her words back.

  When had she felt so rootless, so anxious? She refused to believe that a woman wasn't complete without a man, yet there was no denying how solitary her apartment seemed.

  The doorbell pealed suddenly. Unbuckling her legs, she dashed toward the door, knocking over the magazine rack and a pile of papers in the process. She ignored both.

  Flinging open the door, she caught her breath at Kenneth's grin.

  "Evening, Counselor. I was hoping I'd catch you home."

  She schooled herself not to fidget and give away her eagerness. Casually she smiled and leaned against the doorjamb, disguising her breathlessness. "Actually, I was just working, but—"

  "I don't want to interrupt." He backed up a step. "I thought you might be free…"

  Impulsively she reached out to grab his arm. "It'll wait," she explained too eagerly. "I was just thinking of opening some wine," she improvised, glad that when she had been meticulously organized, she'd put in a good stock of wines.

  Feeling ridiculously happy that he was here in her apartment, she knew she shouldn't allow herself to become so dependent on another person, especially this man. But she realized he added another dimension to her life, one she'd only begun to sense had been missing when he'd started to fill that empty space.

  Kenneth walked with her to the wine rack. Picking up a bottle, he read the label, then offered it up for her approval.

  Nodding her agreement, she handed him a corkscrew and found herself staring at the strength in his hands as he expertly pulled the cork, wondering how those hands would feel on her body. Weakening as she remembered how close they'd come the previous evening before she'd put on the brakes. Wishing she hadn't applied those brakes, now as she stood close to him, feeling the unresolved sizzle in the air.

 
Ridiculous, she reminded herself, even though she didn't move her gaze away, instead handing him two delicate goblets, seeing the desire in his eyes – wondering if that same desire was mirrored in her own.

  Deep burgundy liquid filled the glasses and she tipped hers back, emptying it quickly in her nervousness.

  Kenneth's eyebrows winged upward in question, but he didn't comment as he refilled her glass. The warmth of the wine replaced the anxiety in her stomach and she found herself relaxing a fraction.

  "I wondered about you tonight," she blurted out, regretting the words as soon as they were out of her mouth.

  His eyes flared. Then he banked the emotion.

  Relieved not to see cocky assurance in his expression, she lowered her glass and smiled. "I'd hate to think you starved to death alone."

  "Or had to climb a hillside by myself?" he suggested.

  Nervously she spun around, turning blindly toward the kitchen, knowing it wasn't wise to think about the previous evening, the intimacy they both craved. "I'm sure there must be something to eat in here."

  But his hands reached out to trap her. "Why don't you let me take care of that?"

  "Another heart-shaped pizza?" she asked, feeling the heat from his hands.

  "Don't think I can come up with something as original again?"

  "It's okay. I'm not keeping score." But the heart-shaped pizza had been too original to duplicate.

  He tipped up her chin and she felt the tremors radiate from his touch. "Oh, but you should."

  She tried to laugh, but the sound died away as he cupped her head and drew her close. His forehead touched hers, his chin nudged hers; then he let his lips linger over hers. It was a casual, studied and therefore lethal move.

  And when he released her, Barbara held tightly on to the kitchen counter for support. But he'd already moved away. Forgotten were the reasons why she needed to separate herself from him. Instead, all she could think about were reasons to disregard that logic.

  Then he whipped back around, pulling a bandanna from his pocket. "Something more original than heart-shaped pizza, huh?"