His lips by her ear, Blane breathed in a nearly silent whisper. “Are you awake?”
She gave a tiny nod.
Fuck.
But this was also interesting. She was awake, but not moving. Neither encouraging or discouraging him. If she was upset, she’d have started yelling by now, Blane was sure, slapped him or jumped up or something. But she wasn’t. Of course, neither was she doing anything to signal she wanted him to continue.
Hmm.
Still, better to think with his head and not with his dick.
Regretfully, Blane removed his hand, but he couldn’t resist the slow slide of his skin against hers from her breast, down her stomach to the tops of her panties, then up to the gentle curve of her hip. He stopped there, his thumb whispering across her skin as his fingers settled into the bend of where her thigh met her hip. He could hear her breathing, fast and shallow. Did she want this?
One last try. “I should go,” he rasped. All Kathleen had to do was say one word, make just one hesitation, and Blane would do all he could to convince her that she wanted to wrap those legs around his waist and let him give her fabulous breasts the undivided attention they deserved.
To his disappointment, she nodded, still without moving any other part of her body or speaking.
It suddenly occurred to Blane that she might be afraid. Maybe her breathing and rapid pulse weren’t from arousal, but from fear. He was just as much a stranger to her as she was to him, and here he was touching her without her permission. Yes, she’d been amenable to him entering her bed last night, but he had been comforting her. Maybe she was thinking he now believed she owed him this. And he was her boss. Did she think he’d fire her if she turned him down?
That certainly had a dousing effect on the heat in his blood, propelling Blane up and out of the bed. In the living room, he grabbed his jacket and tie, glad the sobering thought that he might have scared Kathleen had taken care of his hard on. Nothing like the idea that a woman feared she was moments from being raped to take the wind out of those particular sails.
She’d followed him, he saw as he pocketed his wallet and cell. Thankfully, she’d put on a pair of shorts first. Or maybe that was a shame? Her arms were crossed protectively over her chest, which definitely was.
“Thanks for coming,” she said as their eyes met.
Blane shoved his gun into the small of his back and picked up his keys.
“And for staying,” she added. Her fair skin was flushed, turning even rosier as he looked at her. Her hair was tousled in a just-fucked way that most women could only achieve after an hour and an entire can of hair spray.
At least it didn’t sound like she was going to sue him. “It wasn’t a problem,” Blane finally said. “I’m sorry about your friend. I’ll let you know if I find out anything.”
She nodded.
“If the police contact you, call me,” he continued. “Don’t talk to them without me there.”
“Okay.”
Blane hesitated. Should he say something? Apologize? Or just pretend it hadn’t happened?
He went with the latter, heading out the door and down to his car. She was still outside, watching him leave, when he pulled out of the lot.
Kade was waiting for him when he got home.
“Decided not to stay for breakfast?” he asked with a smirk and a cocked eyebrow when Blane walked into the den.
“Says the man who never bothers to learn their name,” Blane retorted, tossing his jacket and tie onto a nearby chair and heading for the sideboard. Was it too early to drink? Without a doubt. But he wanted to burn away the feel of Kathleen’s body pressed against his, the weight of her breast in his palm, the trust in her clear blue eyes.
Kade was sprawled on the leather sofa, his long legs stretched out in front of him, ankles crossed. He wore his usual black boots, jeans and black shirt, and had tossed his leather jacket over the back of the couch.
“Did she try to sink her claws in?” Kade joked, eyeing Blane’s drink. “Or was it so bad you’re trying to forget?”
Blane shook his head, taking another swallow. He didn’t want to talk about Kathleen. Best to just forget about last night, or this morning, really. “It’s five o’clock somewhere, right?”
Kade just snorted.
“There was a murder last night,” Blane said. “I think it might have been someone related to Mark.”
“The snitch?”
“Yeah.”
“Is he still alive?”
“No clue. I’ll try to get a hold of him,” Blane said. “In the meantime, can you see what you can find on James Gage’s possible involvement?”
“I’ll have to break into his office.”
“Fine. Just don’t get caught.”
“Please,” Kade scoffed. “You forget who you’re talking to.”
Blane half-smiled. Kade was good, he had to give him that.
“So what are you doing here anyway?” he asked. “We have to keep me and you on the down low, especially if I’m being watched.”
“No one saw me come and I promise, no one will see me go,” Kade said, rolling his eyes. “Mona texted me, said she was making waffles.” He grinned. “So I came.”
Blane huffed a laugh. “She always could bribe you with food.”
“Damn straight.”
Monday was cloudy and cold, not that Blane noticed. He buried himself in work and tried not to think of Kathleen. That hadn’t worked out so well yesterday, when he could still smell her on his clothes.
He wasn’t about to hunt her down. He’d already made too many mistakes with her. Staying away was the absolute best decision.
And then he turned the corner and saw her sitting in a chair, talking with Clarice.
His memory hadn’t done justice to how pretty she was. He was abruptly reminded of her body pressed into his.
Then he heard what she was saying.
“ . . . James asked me out.”
“James?” Clarice asked. “James Gage?”
“The very one,” Kathleen answered. “We’re going out to dinner tomorrow night.”
Blane stepped into view. Both women glanced up at him in surprise.
James Gage was bad news. Blane knew it, even if Kade had yet to find the evidence. And now Kathleen was going on a date with James? No way in hell.
Whatever the look on his face was, it must not have been very friendly because Kathleen immediately jumped to her feet.
“Did you have any deliveries for me?” she asked Clarice, her tone switching from friendly to no-nonsense.
“No, not today, thank you,” Clarice answered, turning back to her computer.
Kathleen made to pass him by, but Blane reached out to grasp her arm. “Can I see you for a moment, Kathleen?” It wasn’t really a question.
“Um . . . sure,” she said.
She followed Blane into his office where he closed the door behind her. Even as he tossed the files he was carrying onto his desk, Blane wondered what the hell he was doing. Hadn’t he been berating himself all day for getting involved with her? He had to stay away, and instead, here he was ordering her into his office.
Leaning against his desk, Blane crossed his arms over his chest and surveyed her. She wore a bluish sweater today that made her eyes seem two shades darker. The soft fabric clung to her curves, the demure turtleneck only serving to make her innocence more tempting. A headband pulled back the long strands of strawberry waves that brushed past her shoulders, accentuating her youth. Blane wondered how she’d gone this long without attracting James’s attention.
“How are you doing?” Blane asked, hoping she hadn’t had more nightmares last night.
“I’m fine.” Her stoic reply belied the sudden brightness in her eyes, but her gaze didn’t waver from his. “I was wondering if you’d been able to track down anything on the person Sheila had been seeing.”
As if he was going to tell her. “No, I’m afraid not,” Blane replied with a shake of his head.
&nb
sp; Kathleen’s face fell, her disappointment obvious, as if she’d thought it would only take him a day to solve her friend’s murder. Her faith in him was astounding, and an aphrodisiac.
Blane couldn’t resist coming closer, her soft scent drifting to his nostrils as her head tipped back to look him in the eye. Her pupils dilated and the pulse underneath her jaw jumped.
“I’ll keep trying,” he said. Reaching out, he snagged a long, wavy lock of her hair, the silky strands sliding through his fingers. Her throat moved as she swallowed.
“I managed to get Sheila’s cell phone,” she said. “I was wondering if maybe the person who killed her might have called her. Or, at least, there should be a call on there from the person she worked for. Maybe I could get in touch with her. Or him.”
Shit. It was just Blane’s luck that she’d have a brain. It’d been so long since he’d bothered with caring what a woman had between her ears, he’d nearly forgotten what it was like to be with a woman who didn’t just do as he told her. This one wouldn’t. He was sure of it.
“Why don’t you bring it to me?” he suggested, careful to phrase it as a question. “I can get the numbers run and see who they are.” Logic should work. Kathleen wasn’t stupid.
She hesitated, seeming to consider his offer before replying, “I’d better put the phone back,” she said, “but I’ll write down the numbers first and bring them in.”
She was lying. Blane could tell. But he didn’t call her on it. He was much more interested in why she was lying to him.
“Okay. Good idea. Bring them to me tomorrow.”
Blane stepped a bit closer, wanting to test a theory. Judging by how she was looking at him and how shallow her breaths had become, his nearness was having an effect on her. The same effect he’d had on many, many other women. Kathleen was attracted to him, which meant she might be amenable to breaking her date with James.
“What’s tomorrow night?” Blane asked, his tone more seduction than curious.
She looked completely befuddled. “Um . . . Tuesday?”
Obviously she was so looking forward to her date with James that she couldn’t even remember it. Blane couldn’t help the smug twist of his lips. “Yes, Tuesday,” he said. “I meant, what were you telling Clarice about tomorrow night?”
Her eyes dropped as though she were embarrassed. “James asked me on a date.”
Blane waited until his silence forced her to look up. “I don’t think that’s a good idea,” he said, hoping his influence and opinion would convince her to ditch James. In favor of me, he thought. But her response wasn’t anything he would have guessed.
“I’m not good enough for him, right?” she retorted, stepping away from him.
Okay. Hadn’t seen that one coming. “I didn’t say that—”
“You didn’t have to. You think I don’t know that you see me as some hick that’s far beneath the notice of someone like him?” Her blue eyes flashed with anger and hurt.
Blane bit back the words he wanted to say, that James wasn’t good enough to lick her shoes, because if he said that, she’d know. She’d know she’d gotten under his skin, that this was personal. That he wanted her.
“James at least respects me enough to ask me out on a date! You just groped me in my bed and left!”
Sometimes Blane hated being right. He’d known that would come back to bite him in the ass. He should’ve apologized . . . or had sex with her. Though she didn’t look like either of those was really an option right now.
Turning on her heel, she was through the door and out of his office before he could even think what to say, how to rectify the situation.
“Kathleen, wait!” he called, but she was already at the stairwell door and didn’t look back. It clanged shut behind her.
Well, fuck.
Blane’s gaze caught Clarice’s, who was staring at him with her mouth hanging open in shock. He gave her a “Don’t ask” look, then went back into his office, slamming the door shut behind him.
Seventeen Years Ago
The place wasn’t bad, Kade had to give him that. He’d never been in a house like this. The guy had so much shit, no way he’d miss a little of it.
Kade inspected his haul so far, pulling the items out of his backpack, munching on the apple he’d smuggled at lunch. A heavy, silver paperweight, a gold-plated letter opener, a men’s watch he’d seen on the kitchen counter and pocketed when no one was looking. All of it would be easy to sell.
He didn’t entertain the thought even for a second that they’d let him stay here for long. The novelty of “saving” the long-lost little brother would wear off soon and the guy would want to get back to his picture-fucking-perfect life. It was a good idea to be prepared for when it did, because no way was Kade going back to that orphanage. He’d decided that the moment he’d left to come here. He’d rather live on the streets than go back.
You knew what you were getting on the street. Kade had managed to disappear for a while when he’d run away before. It was everyone for themselves and they made no bones about it. Not like at the orphanage where childless couples came to scrutinize him, warily eyeing his worn clothes, too long hair, and unsmiling face before deciding that maybe they weren’t cut out to adopt an older child after all. As much as he fought it with everything he had, each time a tiny spark of hope would light in his mind, only to be crushed again and again.
No one wanted him? That was fine with Kade. They could all go fuck themselves. He’d take care of himself.
The last item Kade pulled from his bag was the switchblade. He’d seen the guy empty it out of his pockets along with his keys and wallet, dumping everything on a desk. That knife would come in handy, that’s for sure. Too bad he hadn’t had it at the last foster home he’d been in. He’d have cut that fucker’s dick off for what he did to Branna—
The thought of the little girl with the jet black hair and sad, sea-green eyes made Kade go still. She hadn’t been there long, just a temporary thing, but the mom had gone out of town to visit family, leaving Kade and Branna with the husband, Joe.
Kade had seen the way Joe eyed Branna, had seen that look before in the gazes of men who looked at little girls when they thought no one was watching. Had seen that look aimed at him, and knew what followed. Kade had watched him all week and so far he hadn’t done anything. The wife came back tomorrow, thank God.
Branna had been oblivious, even now as she sat eating her bowl of macaroni and cheese in front of the television. She’d only been there two weeks and Kade didn’t think she’d said more than ten words the entire time.
Kade hovered that night, sitting on the couch while Joe drank too many beers and yelled at the game on T.V. Branna eventually got up, taking the worn doll that never left her side and disappearing upstairs into the bedroom set aside for her and Kade.
“Make yourself useful, kid,” Joe slurred to Kade. “Get me another beer.”
Kade did as he was told, hoping he’d get drunk enough to just pass out. He’d never called Kade by his name, he was just “kid.” When Kade came back from the kitchen, he looked Joe in the eye as he handed him the beer.
“Leave the girl alone,” Kade said.
Surprise flitted across the guy’s face, followed quickly by shame, then anger. “What the fuck are you talking about, you little shit?” he snarled, giving Kade a hard shove. “You’re lucky I even let you live here, you creepy ass kid.”
He backhanded Kade, who’d expected just such a reaction and braced himself. It still knocked him to the floor. It took a moment for the room to stop spinning, then Kade got to his feet. Joe was ignoring him, drinking the beer while he watched television.
Kade resumed his seat on the couch, pulling his skinny knees to his chest. He wished with a longing born of desperation that he was bigger, stronger. His head throbbed and his cheek ached, but he said nothing, did nothing. So long as he sat here, maybe Joe wouldn’t do anything to Branna.
Eventually, Joe fell asleep, his snores vying with t
he television for dominance. Kade’s head drooped, but he kept jerking awake. He had to stay awake, had to keep watch. But finally, the hour proved too late and exhaustion overtook him.
A sound made Kade’s eyes pop open and he realized with a start that he’d fallen asleep. In the next instant, he realized Joe was no longer passed out in the chair.
Kade heard the sound again, faint but unmistakable. Branna.
He launched himself off the couch and ran upstairs, his heart in his throat. The door to the bedroom where Branna lay was half-open and Kade pushed inside, then nearly threw up.
Joe was laying half-on, half-off Branna’s bed, his pants down around his ankles, the light from the hallway falling onto his bare ass. Kade couldn’t see Branna, but he could hear her muffled whimpers.
Kade flew at the man in a blinding rage, hitting him as hard as he could and yelling. Joe threw him off, but Kade just came back. His fists were too small to do any real damage, so Kade picked up the lamp off the bedside table and slammed it against the guy’s head. That got his attention and he finally released Branna. Kade saw her crawl to the far corner where the bed met the wall and huddle there.
“You fucking piece of shit,” Kade snarled. “What’s the wife gonna say?”
As he’d hoped, that got Joe’s attention and he jerked his pants up before turning the full extent of his fury on Kade. Kade had endured beatings before and he focused on surviving the next few minutes. The important thing was to draw the guy away from Branna.
A blow to the side of his head sent Kade careening into the wall. Tears stung his eyes, but he bit his lip until he tasted blood. He would not cry. He never, ever cried.
“You tell my wife anything, it’ll be the last thing you ever do,” Joe threatened.
Kade turned to see he was holding a baseball bat. He swung and Kade narrowly dodged, the bat hitting the wall and knocking a hole in the sheetrock. Backing out of the room, Kade watched with bitter satisfaction as Joe followed. He leaped for Kade and this time Kade wasn’t fast enough, the guy’s fist colliding with his face and pain exploded in Kade’s eye.
Turn On A Dime - Blane's Turn (The Kathleen Turner Series) Page 7
