His Touch

by Mary Lynn Baxter

  Jessica heard a sound and leaned over the railing slightly, peering down. Immediately, her heart almost stopped beating. Someone was there. She leaned farther, but whoever it was had gone.

  Brant? Had he been outside? Or had her imagination been playing tricks on her? Instead of thinking about him, she forced herself to peruse the vibrant annuals, their colors bursting from the various pots spaced around the area. But her thoughts refused to cooperate. Then she heard that sound again.

  With her heart thumping at an even faster rate, Jessica moved slightly, then peered down once again. Brant in the flesh. Her breath caught, and every nerve in her body jumped to high alert.

  He stood unmoving with his hand shoved into his pocket, staring into the twilight. Instead of the slacks he’d worn today, he was dressed in jeans and a T-shirt. Not sloppy, but definitely comfortable.

  Jessica swallowed hard, feeling her heartbeat move from her chest to her throat, where it seemed to pound without mercy. She was behaving like an idiot, like someone totally out of control. She fought to remove her gaze. Nothing doing. It was like her eyes had been welded to him, embracing everything about him, from his tanned muscled arms to his powerful thighs. It hit her suddenly what the problem was: he was simply too male to suit her.

  A dose of trouble wrapped in a sexy package.

  She wondered how he perceived her, especially when those eyes seemed to touch every part of her body when he looked at her.

  Jessica shivered.

  That was when he turned and looked up. In the remaining light, their gazes met and held. Her cheeks blazed, and her mouth went dry. Words she would ordinarily have no problem speaking jammed in her throat.

  This would never do.

  “Nice evening,” he commented, then raked his long fingers through his dark hair.

  His voice had just enough harsh strength in it to further assault her senses. She couldn’t tell if he was being sarcastic or if he really meant it. It wasn’t important. It wouldn’t be wise to enter into a light, bantering conversation with him. Ever. That in itself would be asking for trouble. Strictly business. The less she knew about him, the better off she would be. He, on the contrary, seemed to think everything about her life should be an open book.

  But this mess she’d gotten herself into for whatever reason wasn’t his fault. She had to remember that and not take her mounting frustrations out on him.

  She didn’t know much about him. But she knew enough to realize he didn’t take orders nearly as well as he gave them.

  “It’s lovely,” she finally forced herself to say, though she barely got the words past her dry lips.

  He didn’t respond for a second, but he didn’t stop looking at her, either. “Hopefully we’ll nail the bastard and I’ll be out of here ASAP.”

  Jessica flushed at his uncanny ability to read her mind. “I hope so, too,” she responded, not about to apologize for anything, including her attitude.

  “Try and get some sleep,” he said, following another moment of strained silence.

  “Do you need anything?” She hadn’t planned on continuing the conversation, but a myriad of hidden emotions seemed to be driving her to say meaningless, irrational things.

  “I’m fine. You don’t need to concern yourself about me.”

  Something in his tone further irritated her. “I’m not,” she said coldly. “It’s just that you are in my home.”

  His lips turned into a smirk of sorts. “Trust me, I’m aware of that.”

  Her flush deepened. “Good night.”

  She didn’t know what his response was to her abrupt words or departure. Moreover, she didn’t care. If that conversation was anything to judge by, this was going to be a worse ordeal than she’d first imagined.

  Only after she was back in the sanctuary of her room did Jessica breathe a clear breath. As Brant had said, she could hope it wouldn’t take long to find the pervert, then both of them would be out of their misery.

  Although she wasn’t sleepy in the least, Jessica slipped out of her clothes. That was when her stomach rumbled and she realized she was hungry. She supposed she could wander downstairs and grab a quick snack. Or not. She might cross paths with Brant again.

  So what if she did?

  If not tonight, then certainly in the morning and all during the day, she reminded herself, slipping into a caftan. Still, she didn’t move toward the door. Instead, she grabbed a folder out of her briefcase and headed for her desk, where she turned on the computer.

  Her first instinct was to check her e-mail, but, as usual these days, she hesitated, choosing to finish her work first. If she had a frightening or degrading message, it would upset her and detour her concentration.

  If only the phone would cooperate. As if compelled by the same magnet that had drawn her to Brant, her gaze sought the beige instrument. In the process her eyes caught on Porter’s picture, which sat beside it. For a moment a wave a despair washed through her.

  How dear and gentle he had been, and how she missed him, despite the fact that passion had never really figured in their relationship. Even though she’d shared his bed, he had never stirred the embers of her emotions. Oftentimes she’d wondered if she was capable of feeling such stirrings. Having been reared to distrust men, she’d been a virgin when she’d married Porter.

  Because of that, her husband had treated her like a fragile piece of porcelain in bed. Out of the bedroom, however, he’d treated her like an equal, which had become the strength and underpinnings of their solid marriage. It had been through him that she had overcome so much pain, making her strong-willed and resilient, strengths she knew would get her through this latest ordeal.

  Yet when she’d told her mother she was getting married and to whom, Opal Cannon had been outraged.

  “Have you lost your mind?” she’d asked, a frown adding unflattering years to her otherwise unlined face.

  Jessica had stiffened. “That’s a hurtful thing to say.”

  “I don’t care,” Opal declared with a sweep of her pudgy hand. “I thought I’d done a better job of rearing you than that.”

  “Oh, Mother,” Jessica said, her tone brimming with sadness. “I wish you could let go of the past. What Daddy did has almost ruined your life.”

  “And you’re about to do the same thing.”

  Jessica shook her head adamantly. “Not all men are like Daddy. Contrary to what you think, some have sticking power.”

  Opal’s frown deepened. “And you think Porter does?”

  “Without question.”

  “What about that son of his?”

  Jessica stiffened. “What about him?”

  “If you think he’s going to put you before that kid, think again. You’ll always be second.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Even if he hated his own flesh and blood, you’re still making a big mistake. Why, he’s old enough to be your father, for heaven’s sake.”

  “That’s all right.”

  “Is that what you’re looking for, huh? Someone to take his place?”

  “Of course not. How can you say that?”

  “Because that’s what it looks like from the outside. You’re a successful attorney with a bright future in front of you, with the sky as the limit.”

  “Marrying Porter’s not going to change that.”

  “That’s what you think,” Opal countered scornfully. “Before you know it, you’ll be dancing to his tune.” She paused, her breathing becoming more labored by the second. “What about your desire to go into politics?”

  “He’ll support me.”

  “Dream on, honey.” Opal’s tone was tainted with bitterness. “He has political aspirations of his own, if I’m not mistaken.”

  Jessica crossed her arms over her chest as if seeking protection from the sharp blows of her mother’s criticism. “That he does, and I’ll support him one hundred percent. If need be, mine can wait.”

  Opal threw up her hands. “For all the headway I’m making,
I might as well be talking to a brick wall. You’re as obstinate as that sorry daddy of yours.”

  Jessica winced visibly. It seemed her mother took delight in taking her own hurt and anger out on her just because she’d been close to her father and had even been willing to forgive and forget, if only Farrell had made the effort to make amends before his death. Of course, he hadn’t, which made the pain of his rejection that much harder to bear. But she had managed. Unlike her mother, she’d moved on and grieved over the loss of her dad, silently, in the darkest corner of her heart.

  “I’m sorry you feel that way, Mother. However, I’m not asking your permission to marry Porter.”

  “Then what are you asking?”

  “Your blessings, actually.”

  “I’m sorry, but I can’t give them.”

  That cut to the core. “What happens when Joan decides to get married? Will she be subjected to the same lecture?”

  “No because she won’t make that mistake. She has better sense.”

  “Sure, Mother,” Jessica responded, making an effort to hide her smile and her disdain. Her younger sister had had numerous boyfriends, a fact that she’d hidden from their mother. One day, though, Joan would meet Mr. Right and marry him. Jessica would be curious to see her mother’s reaction to her favorite child’s rebellion.

  “You go ahead and take the leap,” Opal said into the silence. “But mark my words, you’ll be sorry.”

  Needless to say, she and her sister both had defied Opal, and both marriages had been successful. Joan, fortunately, was still married, with three children whom Opal doted on. As for herself, she had never been able to completely forgive or forget her mother’s hurtful words or hostile attitude.

  Suddenly the phone rang. The caller ID identified her mother’s number. Was that mental telepathy or what? She hadn’t heard from Opal Cannon in over a month, something that wasn’t out of the ordinary.

  Since her mother had remarried—a shock in itself, considering her attitude toward men—and moved to Florida, she and Opal had drifted further apart.

  “Jessica?”

  “I’m here, Mother.”

  “I was just thinking about you,” Opal said in the hesitant tone that was usual when she spoke to her elder daughter. “So I decided to call.”

  “I was thinking about you, too, actually.”

  “Oh.”

  Jessica heard the surprise in Opal’s voice and felt the old sting of guilt. Her mother had tried throughout the years to patch things up between them, but it never quite worked. Jessica had decided long ago that the blame rested equally between them, which lessened her penchant for beating up on herself.

  “Are you and Chris all right?” Chris was Opal’s husband, a good man and a good provider, for which Jessica was thankful. Long after her father had deserted them, leaving her mother to support two young children on a teacher’s salary, Opal’s resentment had continued to fester. She had sworn she hated men and would never have another.

  She’d vowed to make it on her own. That endeavor had been difficult, especially financially. Yet Opal had done remarkably well. It was in the emotional arena that she had failed.

  “We’re fine,” Opal acknowledged into the silence. “How ’bout you?”

  “All right,” she lied. “Busy as usual. I’m about to jump-start my bid for reelection.”

  “That’s a plus. But are you sure everything’s all right? I read where you’re embroiled in a controversy, something to do with the police force, if I recall.”

  Jessica smothered a sigh. “Your recall is on target. The investigation is still ongoing, but it’s nothing I can’t handle.”

  “Well, you were always the strong one in the family.”

  Jessica thought she heard a note of envy in her mother’s voice, but maybe she was mistaken. Anyway, it didn’t matter. Her mother’s opinion, good or bad, had ceased to sway her one way or the other.

  Sad but true.

  “When are you coming to Florida?”

  “Oh, Mother, I have no idea.” She wanted to invite Opal to visit her, but right now was not a good time. Her mother’s presence would only complicate things, not help.

  “Is there perhaps another man in your life?”

  Brant Harding’s face suddenly came to mind. Horrified, Jessica gripped the receiver until she had no feeling left in her hand. “Absolutely not.”

  “It wouldn’t hurt, you know,” Opal said in a slightly offended tone. “Porter was more of a father than a husband. Now that I’ve married Chris, I know what it’s like to have a real man and a real marriage.”

  “As I’ve said before,” Jessica told her in a tight voice, “I’m happy for you. But I’m not interested in remarrying—now or ever.”

  “Whatever.” Opal’s tone was resigned. “Joan and the kids send their love.”

  “Give them mine, too. Look, as soon as things settle here, I’ll try to get to Florida.”

  “We’d all love that.” Opal’s voice had perked up considerably. “We’ll talk again soon. Meanwhile, you take care.”

  “You, too.”

  Once the receiver was back in place, it hit home one more time that no “I love yous” had been exchanged. An even sadder fact.

  She was grateful for the sudden noise that pulled her out of her reverie. Realizing it was her stomach rebelling once again, Jessica decided to raid the kitchen or she could forget about sleeping. Besides, she figured by now he was in his room asleep.

  Wrong.

  The instant she entered the kitchen, she pulled up short, her eyes widening.

  Brant.

  Her pulse rate soared. He was kneeling, his back to her, rummaging through the cabinets. That in itself was no big deal. Like her, he was apparently hungry. The big deal was the way he was dressed.

  Only in jeans, which rode low on his waist.

  Her gasp must have alerted him that he was no longer alone. He turned slowly, and for the second time that evening, their eyes met and held.

  Ten

  Sparks.

  No, actually, her insides felt like rockets erupting on the Fourth of July. This kind of reaction to Brant had to stop. Somehow she had to maintain control when she was around him. The constant awareness of him as a man was wearing thin.

  Discipline. It boiled down to that. Nothing more complicated than that.

  Only it was.

  The way she reacted to him in a physical sense made it very complicated. She couldn’t get past this absurd need to touch him. Jessica felt her face flame. For heaven’s sake, how could she feel this way about a man almost as frightening, in his way, as the pervert interfering in her life?

  “Hello again,” Brant finally said, relieving the smothering silence while rising slowly to his feet.

  Jessica swallowed and forced herself to smile, though she knew it fell far short of genuine. “Are you looking for something to eat?”

  She might as well cut to the chase so she could get back to her room. But for the moment it appeared she would have to carry on a cordial conversation whether she wanted to or not.

  “Actually, I was looking for a lightbulb, then I was going to make some coffee.” He paused, massaging his slightly shadowed chin. “I hope you don’t mind.”

  She gave him an incredulous stare. “Not about the coffee, certainly. But why on earth are you looking for a bulb?”

  “The light’s out in the small hallway next to my room.”

  His room?

  Jessica swallowed the hysteria bubbling in the back of her throat. “I know it is. But it’s not the bulb. Something’s wrong with the electrical system, and I just haven’t had it fixed.”

  “No problem. I can take care of it. I’m a whiz at that kind of work. I wired my entire cabin.”

  She couldn’t believe they were having this conversation. “That’s not your job.”

  “I know, but I don’t mind.” He paused and angled his head. “Unless you do, that is.”

  “Not at all,” she said lightly
. It suddenly dawned on her that underneath her caftan, she was nude. Could he tell?

  “Why don’t I make the coffee?” he said, once again breaking the silence.

  Jessica shook her head, venturing farther into the room, suddenly feeling like a stranger in her own house. Renewed resentment welled up inside her. She curled her nails into the palms of her hands, wincing against the sting of the pain.

  “I’ll do it, but thanks, anyway,” she said, sounding out of breath.

  He shouldn’t be here. More to the point, he shouldn’t look so damn manly and attractive, half naked, standing in front of her. In all fairness, bare chested hardly qualified as naked. Still, he should have on more than a ragged pair of jeans and no shoes.

  Maybe at the root of her dismay was the fact he exhibited what she’d always envisioned as the perfect male “bod.” Hairy chested, but not too much hair. Tanned skin. Flat abs. Muscled, but not too muscled. Even the scar that jig-jagged down one side before disappearing beneath the waistline didn’t detract. In fact, it made him appear that much more rugged and manly.

  In a nutshell, perfect.

  And he acted like nothing out of the ordinary was happening, that it was his God-given right to parade around her home as he pleased, dressed any way he pleased. That galled her. It should have occurred to him that she just might appear unexpectedly.

  Apparently that was no big deal to him.

  Or was it all an act? Was he as cool and comfortable as he appeared, or was he as rattled inside as she was? For some perverse reason, she hoped for the latter, which was ludicrous, of course. She didn’t want him to think about her except as just another assignment. That way he would remain objective and in control at all times.

  The perfect bodyguard.

  “Is something wrong?”

  Jessica moved her tongue against the back of her teeth. “No, why do you ask?”

  He shrugged his wide shoulders. “You’re just standing there, not saying anything. If you resent me being in your kitchen, all you have to do is tell me.”

  Jessica stiffened, but she forced her voice to remain calm and cordial. “You have to eat.”

  “So do you,” he said roughly.

  “I wasn’t hungry earlier.”