He studied her as he sipped his drink while she carefully avoided looking at him. Her poise and complete lack of interest in him only made her that much more fascinating to Blane. She took in the room, her eyes drifting over the other tables and bar before she finally seemed to sense his gaze on her.
“Why do you keep staring at me?” she snapped, her eyes narrowing.
Blane thought fast, giving her his best disarming smile. “My apologies,” he said easily. “I suppose I was just waiting for you to go into hysterics.” Which was total bullshit. If Kathleen hadn’t lost her shit when a man’s knife was at her throat, she wasn’t going to lose it because of Jimmy.
“Why would I go into hysterics?”
Blane shrugged. “It’s been my experience that hysterics would be the typical female reaction.”
“Well, I’m not your typical female,” she said, arching a delicately curved eyebrow.
Blane couldn’t help a smile now. “I can see that.” If she had been, he’d have taken her directly to her home.
“Why would Jimmy feel it necessary to threaten me?” she asked.
That protective instinct again. Damn. What was it about this girl that had made that part of Blane go into hyper-mode? “It wasn’t anything personal. It was just Jimmy being Jimmy. He’s not happy unless everyone in the room is terrified of him.”
She frowned at this. “Who were those men anyway?”
“Frank and Richie Santini. They’re brothers and they run that local union we’re defending against election fraud.”
Thankfully, Greg came back just then. Kathleen glanced over the menu before ordering a bowl of soup, and that was all. Was she not hungry? Maybe doing that ridiculous girl thing of pretending she didn’t eat? Blane was aware of a pang of disappointment. She’d been so against-type until now. He ordered himself a steak, medium-rare.
“You sure all you want is soup?” Blane asked her, just to be sure. She nodded and Greg went on his way.
“You’ve had a busy day,” Blane continued, deciding to out himself and the firm. “In one day you’ve had someone using you as a hostage, and someone else threatening you.” He couldn’t help himself from reaching across the table to tug open the collar of her shirt to expose the bandage covering the wound at the base of her neck.
Blane was taken aback at the strong, sudden urge to brush his fingers against her throat. His skin was dark against the pale ivory of hers, which only made his thoughts go tripping down a path that imagined what the rest of her looked like.
“Excuse me,” she snapped, jerking backward out of his reach. Her blue eyes flashed.
Blane took another sip of his drink, trying to cool the surge of heat in his blood. She had a bit of a temper, which he liked, but now he needed to mollify her, much like soothing a hissing cat.
“Where did you learn to get away like that?” he asked, pretending he hadn’t noticed the flash of anger.
“My father,” she said, calmer though her gaze was still suspicious.
Blane waited for her to continue but she looked away, fidgeting a little before taking another nervous sip of her manhattan. Perhaps Blane did have an effect on her after all, though why that produced a surge of satisfaction, Blane couldn’t say. He hardly knew the girl.
“What else did he teach you?” Getting information out of her was about like interrogating a suspect.
She thought for a moment, then said, “The fine art of making a proper whiskey drink, as any good Irishman knows. How to shoot, and more importantly, how to hit what I’m shooting. Not to trust what people say, but only what they do.”
Okay, that was hot, though Blane thought it was unintentional. She was just being bluntly honest. Another unusual trait for a woman. He took another drink.
“How did you find out about today?” she asked.
“I was there,” Blane said. “He was my client. On trial for embezzlement. Couldn’t handle the pressure. I had no idea he’d do something like that, though, I swear.”
His confession had an odd effect on her. Something like disappointment flitted across her face and was gone, then she drank the rest of her manhattan down in one practiced swallow.
Greg arrived before Blane could question her further, setting the food down in front of them. By the longing gaze she gave his plate, Blane realized she was hungry, but just hadn’t ordered food. Didn’t want to eat in front of him then? He heaved an inward sigh at the quirks of women.
Blane then had to revise that opinion as she scarfed down her soup as though it might run away any moment. She sat back in her stool and drank the second manhattan Greg had brought, eyeing his steak in such a way that Blane briefly considered offering her a bite.
She seemed content to let dinner pass in silence, but Blane had a thousand questions running through his mind. He’d been tired earlier but now he was wide awake, his mind analyzing everything she’d told him and what she hadn’t, creating a picture inside his head of who she was. He was anxious to know how close or far it was from reality.
“Why did you come to Indianapolis?” Blane asked.
“Just needed a change,” she said.
Her answer was as vague as he’d expected, though that didn’t make it any less frustrating.
“So how’s the embezzlement guy?” she asked, unsurprisingly turning the conversation away from herself.
“He’s going to be all right,” Blane answered, leaving out how close the guy had come to being very far from ‘all right’ if it had gone how he and Kade had silently planned. “We’ll press for a psychiatric evaluation once he’s recovered.”
“The insanity defense,” she said. “A bit cliché, really.”
“Not something I would have encouraged him to do,” Blane said, wondering if she’d realized yet that she could sue the firm. She didn’t appear to be dumb. He was sure she’d figure it out, and he wasn’t disappointed.
“I’m not going to sue the firm,” she said, her tone one of let’s-cut-the-bullshit.
“I didn’t think you were,” he lied. The look she gave him said he wasn’t fooling her one bit.
“C’mon,” she said with a disbelieving snort. “Like I don’t know what this is about.”
Blane leaned forward, wondering if she could feel the electricity between them like he could. He watched her throat as she swallowed more bourbon, her eyes locked on his. Her lips shone wetly with a sheen of liquor and Blane had the insane urge to lick them clean.
“I’m glad you’re not going to sue the firm,” he said, “and we’re grateful for your loyalty. We’d like to offer you compensation for what you had to endure today.”
She blinked, as though she had to process what he’d said. “Are you trying to pay me off?”
“Of course not,” Blane lied again. “It’s just what I said. Compensation for hardship endured under our employment.”
Her eyes flashed again. “How much?”
Blane’s stomach sank and he leaned back. They were all the same, especially when money was involved.
“Five thousand,” he offered, though in a lawsuit, she’d probably win four times that.
“Five thousand?” she squeaked.
“Or ten,” Blane said, with a shrug, “if you feel that would be more appropriate.”
Her eyes were wide as saucers and Blane knew what would happen next. She might hem and haw about how she really shouldn’t, right before asking how soon she’d get the check.
“Forget it,” she said. “I don’t want your money.”
“What do you mean, you don’t want the money?” Was this her version of hemming and hawing?
“I don’t want it,” she said, even more forcefully, and Blane didn’t think she was playing a game. Interesting.
Greg came by with the check and Blane tossed some money down on the table, though the focus of his attention was on Kathleen. A flash of relief crossed her face as she noted him paying the bill and realization struck Blane. Ah. That’s why she hadn’t ordered much to eat.
Now Blane felt slightly chagrined at having taken a woman to dinner without making it clear he was taking her to dinner. His mother would have been sorely disappointed in his manners.
The urge to make it up to Kathleen made him reach a hand toward her to help her down off the too-tall stool. She seemed reluctant to take it, but finally did. The bones of her hand felt fragile inside his grip. She was breakable, too much so.
Blane opened the car door for her and she slid inside. When he got behind the wheel, he asked, “Where to?” She gave him an address and he headed that way. He was as excited as a kid at Christmas that he finally got to see where she lived.
Unfortunately, his excitement waned as he neared the address Kathleen had told him. The area of town was one often reported on the news, and not in a good way. Did she live alone? She said she could shoot, but did she own a gun? Maybe she had a live-in boyfriend who kept her safe. That thought made Blane’s hands tighten their grip on the steering wheel.
He opened his mouth to ask her, but noticed she’d fallen asleep. The streetlights cast an orange fluorescent glow on her face every few seconds.
A warmth spread from Blane’s stomach outward. She trusted him enough to sleep, knowing he’d get her home safe and sound. Even when he pulled into her parking lot and turned off the car, she still slept.
The opportunity to observe her undetected was irresistible to Blane. He moved close to her, studying her in the faint light.
She was beautiful, in a classic, elegant way. He took in the arch of her brows, the delicate tilt of her nose and full lips, parted a fraction in sleep. Her hair tumbled in waves over her shoulders and Blane’s fingers itched to touch it. This close, he could smell her perfume again.
Blane hadn’t ever felt drawn to a woman, not like this. Appreciating the shape of a woman enough to take her on a date or two and fuck her was different. This was deeper, like something inside recognized a kindred spirit and wanted to latch on.
Before he realized what he was doing, his palm was cupping the velvety softness of her face, his thumb brushing over her cheekbone.
This was bad. Very, very bad.
Her bleary eyes fluttered open while he was touching her, and he froze.
Awareness struck and she jerked upright. Blane’s hand fell away.
“Sorry I fell asleep,” she said breathlessly. “Thanks for the ride.” She practically fell out of the car in her haste to get away.
“I’ll walk you,” Blane offered, though he didn’t consider it optional.
Watching her hips gently sway as she walked up the stairs made Blane feel like a horny teenager, but he couldn’t help it. His eyes were riveted to her ass until they reached the top floor of her two-story building. She walked toward the door on the left which was also the closest to the street.
Blane glanced around, taking in the scene. His arousal was forgotten as he assessed her apartment’s location and probability of being breached. The second floor was better than the first, but there were bushes and trees planted next to the building and stairs, giving a possible haven to criminals out to do her harm.
He didn’t like that. Not a bit.
She unlocked the door and turned to face him. Obviously an invite to come inside would not be forthcoming. Blane looked over her head into the darkened apartment, wishing there was a light on so he could see inside.
“Do you live alone?” he asked. He was worried about her safety, that was all.
Right.
“Yes.”
She’d begun nervously fiddling with her keys, the metal jangling loud in the night.
“What are you going to do about your car?” Blane asked. She might not remember, but she had no transportation.
“I guess I’ll call a tow truck,” she replied with a shrug.
“Do you have any family here?” Maybe she had a brother who looked after her, kept her car running, and made sure men like Blane didn’t get too close. But she shook her head.
“Boyfriend?”
Negative, Ghostrider.
This was going from bad to worse. She had no one to take care of her, and no one to protect her from . . . him.
Blane moved closer, forcing Kathleen to tip her head back to look at him. Her eyes widened and her keys jangled faster. Blane hid a smile. Closing his hand over hers, he stilled the keys. The pulse at the base of her throat was beating wildly. Blane reached up, doing what he’d wanted to do in the car, and traced a long lock of her hair, curling its soft wave around his finger. He could swear she stopped breathing for a moment.
“I’ll take care of it,” he said.
“Take care of what?” she breathed, her gaze dropping to Blane’s mouth.
He nearly groaned. The urge to kiss her, back her into her apartment and show her how very, very well he could take care of her, was nearly overpowering.
But instead, he smiled. She was his employee. She was off-limits. He could no more sleep with her than he could sleep with his sister, if he had one. Blane reached for his sadly-lacking control.
“Your car,” he said. “I’ll take care of your car.”
Her eyes jerked back up to his and Blane could see her blush in even this faint light.
“You don’t have to do that,” she weakly protested.
“It would be my pleasure,” Blane said, wishing he was just talking about the damn car. His gaze dropped unwillingly to her mouth. She licked her lips and he nearly forgot his resolve not to touch her.
Time to go.
“I’ll need these,” he said, slipping the key ring from her fingers. “Good night, Kathleen.”
She seemed too dumbfounded to say anything, though her throat worked as she swallowed. Blane stepped away, reluctant to leave. But if he stayed, he knew what would happen. He’d have her naked and in bed before she could slip off her shoes. But he’d regret it tomorrow, and likely she would, too.
He felt her eyes on him as he walked down the stairs.
It was the matter of a phone call to get someone out to tow Kathleen’s car and replace the battery. The cost wasn’t much, a couple hundred dollars, but Blane thought that might not have been a paltry sum to Kathleen and he was glad he’d happened to be around when her car broke down.
Blane agreed to meet the towing company at the firm, which was fine with him because although it was a Saturday, he still had work to do in the office.
He didn’t know why he suddenly swung into the hardware store as he drove by, having them make an extra set of keys from the set he’d taken from Kathleen. It was early, the store had just opened, and Blane was the only one there. He stood by, impatiently waiting, wondering what the hell he was doing.
Blane was briefly tempted to take the car by himself once it was fixed, but he had work to do and really needed to stay away from Kathleen for his own peace of mind. His dreams last night had showcased a woman with blue eyes and strawberry blonde hair, and he’d been doing things to her that he was pretty sure were illegal in at least a dozen states.
With that decision made, Blane got to work, losing himself in his cases until his stomach growled, reminding him it was time for lunch.
He was eating a sandwich one-handed from a local shop that delivered while he flipped through files with his other hand when his cell rang.
He glanced at the caller ID before answering.
“Kirk,” he mumbled, swallowing down a mouthful of turkey and swiss on rye.
“Yo, Cap’n, how’s it hangin’?”
Blane snorted at his friend Todd’s idea of urban slang. “What are you? Fucking fifteen? Talk like a man, for chrissake.”
Todd just laughed. “I figured with all the lowlifes you hang with, that’d make you feel more comfortable and shit.”
“Fuck off,” Blane said without heat, taking a swig of the Coke he’d gotten from the vending machine downstairs.
“What’ve you got planned for tonight?” Todd asked.
Blane thought a moment. For once, nothing, which sounded just fine to him. God,
was he getting old when staying at home on a Saturday night was something to look forward to?
“Nothing,” he answered. “I’m at work now. I might stay late.”
“You broke up with Queen Bitch, right?”
“Kandi,” Blane corrected, not bothering to reprimand Todd’s pet name for her. None of his buddies liked her and he didn’t see that changing anytime soon. Not that it mattered anymore, he supposed.
“Whatever. She’s out of the picture, right?”
“Yeah, why?”
“I need a favor man.”
Blane’s eyes narrowed in suspicion. “What kind of favor?”
And that’s how Blane found himself on a blind date with Todd, some girl named Jenny, and her best friend Tory. Todd had met Jenny at the grocery store and they’d supposedly hit it off. However, Todd didn’t want to do the first date alone in case she was psycho or had their children’s names picked out by dessert.
Tory was easy on the eyes with curves in all the right places, shown off to best advantage in a dress that fit her like it was painted on. Her makeup was bold and thick, her eyes outlined in black while her lips were outlined in red. Tory said she was an “aesthetician” which seemed to mean she did manicures and pedicures all day with an occasional massage thrown in.
When he’d heard that, Blane had shot Todd a look as they let the girls precede them into the restaurant.
“You should be thanking me,” Todd hissed, clapping him on the shoulder. “She was a gymnast in high school.”
“And when was that?” Blane hissed back. “Six months ago?”
But Todd ignored him, hurrying after Jenny and sliding into the chair beside her.
Conversation with Tory was mind-numbing, Blane feigning interest in something she was saying about a reality TV show she was obsessed over. He took another sip of his drink, eyeing Todd and Jenny. Todd was feeding her a bite of his pasta, then leaned forward to kiss her.
Turn On A Dime - Blane's Turn (The Kathleen Turner Series) Page 4
