Jessica knew better. Nothing escaped this man. He seemed all knowing and all seeing.
“I’m sorry,” she said, for lack of anything better to say.
“Yeah, me too.”
“Maybe things will change.”
He grimaced. “They have to.” He didn’t say anything else for a moment, then went on, “In some ways, you’re fortunate not to have kids.”
“That was my choice.”
“They sure know how to step on your heart.”
“And your pocketbook.”
“You sound like you know about that from experience.”
“I’ve dealt with my husband’s son. Money’s all he thinks about.”
“I guess you’re lucky he doesn’t come around.”
She picked up on the despondency in his tone and for a second was tempted to reach out and touch him, to try to comfort him. As if he sensed that, he caught her eyes.
Heat leaped between them.
Brant cleared his throat, then said in a thick voice, “About the other night—”
Suddenly the doorbell chimed. Both seemed to freeze.
A frown formed a vee between Brant’s brows. “Expecting company?” he asked harshly, obviously unhappy at the interruption.
Jessica felt the panic that had flared inside her immediately subside. The other night’s episode wasn’t something she wanted to discuss with him, especially not now, not when she was feeling so vulnerable. “No,” she said tersely.
“Let me get it.”
“No,” she said again.
Brant’s features darkened. “Don’t forget to ask who it is before you open the door.”
“That goes without saying,” she said in a cutting tone. “Give me credit for having some sense.”
“It’s not you I worry about, Mrs. Kincaid.”
Feeling sufficiently chastised, Jessica got up, skirted past him and made her way to the front door. After peering though the spy hole, she breathed easier, then opened the door.
Big mistake. Roy stumbled past her, his eyes glazed. He was either drunk or high.
“Who the hell are you?” he demanded, almost diving headlong into Brant, who was blocking the way into the living room.
“I might ask you the same thing,” he responded in a calm but deadly tone, his eyes swinging to Jessica.
“It’s Roy, my stepson.”
Brant’s features turned to stone.
Seventeen
“What do you want, Roy?” Jessica asked, the door still open.
Roy, looking like hell, blinked his eyes between Brant and her. “I want to talk to you,” he slurred, trying to steady his gaze on her.
“Since you’re obviously not in any condition to talk, I suggest we make it another time.”
“I second that suggestion,” Brant put in, holding staunch to his position, his arms folded across his chest.
Jessica gritted her teeth as she flung Brant a look. The last thing she wanted was a confrontation between the two men. But if Roy didn’t leave, that was exactly what would happen. She realized her stepson wasn’t drunk but high on drugs. Dangerously high, she suspected.
In this condition, he didn’t even resemble himself. He had lost more weight than he could spare, making him appear ill. His color wasn’t good, either. His skin was pasty, and his eyes—well, besides being glazed to the point of bugging out, they were red with dark circles under them.
He was a wreck. Such a shame, too. When he was himself, Roy was a nice-looking young man, tall, with jade-green eyes and dark blond hair. His only drawback was that his full lower lip often protruded, reminding her of a petulant child. Also, his manner in general left something to be desired. If he didn’t get his way, he could be abrupt and surly.
Though Porter had been tough when necessary, Jessica had always thought he let his son run roughshod over him. But she’d kept that thought hidden and her mouth shut. As long as Roy didn’t interfere in her and Porter’s business, she hadn’t cared.
With Porter gone, Roy had targeted her for his greediness, then tried to use her for a whipping boy when she didn’t dance to his tune.
Jessica clung to the knob, then finally shut the door after Roy showed no signs of leaving on his own. She just hoped Brant wouldn’t say anything else, adding more gasoline to an already raging fire. Still, she realized her stepson couldn’t stay, especially if he held on to that nasty attitude.
Roy suddenly switched his scrutiny back to Brant. “Get lost.”
Jessica’s breath caught, robbing her of an instant comeback. She didn’t have to worry. Brant didn’t need any help from her. He was perfectly willing to take on the likes of Roy.
“Say what you have to say, then leave,” Brant told him in a firm but easy tone.
Jessica wasn’t fooled. Nothing about Brant was easy. He was on high alert himself, ready to pounce like an angry panther at a moment’s notice. But not on her stepson, for god’s sake. Surely it wouldn’t come to that.
No wonder he had made an excellent Secret Service agent, Jessica told herself. He didn’t miss a thing. His eyes moved at all times, even though his body remained still as a piece of stone.
Jessica shuddered inwardly, fearing the situation was about to get worse, if the snarl on Roy’s face was any indication. Under the influence of drugs, he was apparently feeling his oats, thinking he could say and do anything he pleased.
“I don’t know who you are,” Roy said in a sneering tone, while his gaze, filled with disdain, traveled up and down Brant’s lean frame. “But I bet I can guess.” He snickered. “Her lover, right?”
Jessica dared not look at Brant, though she felt color invade her face. “Roy, please—”
He went on as though she hadn’t spoken, his bleary eyes holding fast on Brant. “I want to speak to my stepmother alone. So get lost.”
Jessica turned to Brant. “Maybe it would be better if I talked to him alone.”
“I’m not going anywhere.”
Brant hadn’t raised his voice or moved an unnecessary muscle.
Jessica opened her mouth, only to close it. Now was not the time to argue with him. That would also aggravate the already highly charged atmosphere, something she couldn’t afford to do.
Refocusing her attention on Roy, she said, “I’m listening.”
“Got anything to drink?”
Great. Just great. Jessica’s gaze rested on Brant for just a second. He wasn’t looking at her, however. His eyes were narrowed on Roy, as if just waiting for him to make one wrong move. Just one.
“No, I don’t,” Jessica finally said, forcing her attention back on her stepson.
Roy laughed, an unnatural laugh that sent chills feathering down her spine. “You’re lying. My old man always had booze on hand. I betcha it’s still here.”
“You’ve had enough of whatever it is you’re drinking or using.” This time Jessica’s tone brooked no argument.
Roy laughed again, cocking his head toward Brant. “Wonder what dear old Dad would say about lover boy here. Wonder if he’d approve of you having such a stud in your bed after his shriveled up old body.”
Jessica gasped, feeling a new invasion of color flood her face, wanting suddenly to throttle Roy or stuff a sock in his mouth, anything to shut him up. “Enough,” she snapped, her eyes sparking. “You’re in no condition to be here.” She continued to keep her eyes off Brant. “You need to go home and sleep this off before you get into real trouble.”
“Ah, don’t sweat it, Mama dear, I’m gonna be just fine.” Roy’s slurred words were as insulting as his tone. “Why, I’m feeling finer than I’ve ever felt, except for one thing.”
“And what is that?” Jessica demanded tersely. She knew, but she also knew if he didn’t have his say, he would never leave on his own.
“Money. I’m broke, but then, you knew that.”
Jessica curled her hands together and squeezed. “It’s not time for your monthly—”
“Allowance,” Roy broke in with a h
arsh sneer. “Was that what you were about to say?”
“If that’s the way you choose to phrase it, then so be it.”
Roy bared his teeth. “Listen here, you bitch, I want some more money, and I want it now.”
“If keeping those teeth is a top priority, then I suggest you watch your mouth.”
Oh, dear, Jessica thought, her heart upping its beat. Brant’s voice was no longer easy but cold and hard. He had also moved nearer to her, his closeness enveloping her with a feeling of safety and well being.
Only not for long. As soon as Roy was gone, that closeness would overwhelm her, make her heart beat out of sync and that funny feeling invade her stomach. Make her crazy with a longing she didn’t want to feel.
Now, though, she was glad to have him there, fearing her stepson for the first time ever, which was not a good feeling.
“And I suggest you go to hell,” Roy slurred, blinking several times at Brant.
“I’m not going to give you any more money, Roy,” Jessica said quietly.
Roy’s face contorted and his voice shook. “You…you have to. I can’t wait until the first of the month.”
“You have no choice.” Though her heart was breaking for him and the state he was in, she had to use tough love. If she gave in now, she would only enhance his problem. Without money, he couldn’t buy more drugs. Unless he used more drastic measures. She shut that thought down, not even wanting to contemplate it.
“For chrissake, Jessica, don’t you have a heart?”
“Yes, that’s why I’m not indulging you or your habit.”
“Sell the boat. That way you won’t have to dip into the trust. You hate the damn thing, anyway.”
She felt Brant’s questioning eyes on her. She ignored him and went on. “That’s not the answer, Roy.” She paused and drew a shuddering breath. “If you want to talk about treatment, that’s a different matter. I’d gladly sell the boat and whatever else it would take to cure you.”
He laughed again, that ugly, unnatural laugh she’d come to abhor. “Treatment. That’s crazy. I’ve just been to a party, having fun. But that’s something you wouldn’t know anything about—having fun, that is.”
“Go home, Roy, and sleep it off,” Jessica said wearily, sensing Brant’s growing impatience for this whole sick scenario. Roy was beyond reasoning with; she was merely wasting her time and her breath.
“Not until you give me some money, you bitch.” He leaned toward Jessica.
That was when Brant moved behind Roy, grabbed him by the collar and literally lifted him off the floor.
“Get your hands off me, you bastard!” the younger man yelped, kicking his legs and struggling like a crazy man.
All for naught. Brant might as well have grabbed a pussycat by the neck for all the effort it took to hold Roy. Though she had suspected Brant was strong, she’d had no idea he was capable of lifting a grown man and immobilizing him in such a manner.
Would this man never cease to amaze her?
Wordlessly Brant opened the door, shoved Roy out, then slammed it shut. “I should’ve done that from the get-go.”
Trembling, Jessica wrapped her arms around herself. “I know I should thank you, but somehow…”
He held up his hand, his deep-set eyes appraising her with disturbing intensity. “It’s okay. You’re upset, which is understandable. But there’s nothing else you can do for Roy, at least not tonight. You might as well try to get some sleep.”
With a sob in her throat, Jessica nodded, turned, then made her way to her room, knowing his eyes were tracking her every step.
The night air was suffocating; the humidity caused her gown and matching robe to stick to her skin. Yet she was loath to go back inside. She couldn’t stand the confines of her room. Despite the busy day ahead of her tomorrow, she hadn’t even tried to sleep, knowing the effort would be futile.
She couldn’t shut her mind down. She felt as if she was on one of those dizzying rides at the fair that continuously went in circles. Even her stomach heaved. Although she took a deep breath, Jessica failed to pull any air through her lungs. None existed. It was one of those cloyingly steamy Texas nights movie moguls tried to depict in movies but rarely could.
A night for lovers.
A night to be naked.
A night for forbidden passion.
With those scorching thoughts came the image of Brant, standing naked in front of her, his shaft hot and extended.
Waiting.
For her.
Touch me, please, came his silent plea.
Jessica’s knees buckled, and if it hadn’t been for the railing, she would have crumpled to the cement. Oh, dear Lord, she cried inwardly, where had such thoughts come from? They had never haunted her until…
Brant.
He was to blame. But why him? Why this particular man? Why not countless other men who had tried to worm their way into her life and into her pants? With them, she’d never even been tempted.
Jessica clung to the railing, unable to ignore the wetness that pooled between her thighs. She knew it wasn’t from the temperature but rather from her erotic and vivid picture of touching him there, then him leading her to the bed, where he thrust himself inside her, making her come over and over.
To her shame, she didn’t even know if she’d ever had an orgasm.
Or maybe that was what she was experiencing now, this knee-buckling sensation that was reducing her limbs to putty and making her breathing come in short spurts.
Suddenly Jessica forced her wobbly legs to move back inside. The blast of the air-conditioning hit her in the face like a splash of cold water. It didn’t help. She couldn’t remain there. She had to get out, away from the room, away from the bed, away from the computer.
Away from herself.
Fleeing, she made her way to the kitchen. There she poured a glass of milk, then warmed it, hoping something in her stomach would calm her. With glass in hand, she strode into the living room, only to pull up short, so short the milk splashed on her robe, leaving a wet spot at the side of one breast.
She gasped.
At that moment Brant uncoiled his frame and stood. Their eyes locked instantly.
Out of the frying pan, into the fire, Jessica thought inanely, reaching for anything that even resembled sanity as she’d once known it.
“Sorry,” Brant muttered, his gaze unabashedly targeting the wet spot on her robe and lingering.
As she felt her pulse take an unwanted leap of excitement, Jessica’s hand automatically went to her throat, and she stared at him out of apprehensive eyes.
After several beats of shocked silence, he made another apology. “Didn’t mean to frighten you.”
“Well, you did.”
“Are you okay?”
“No,” she replied in a small voice.
“Are you still upset over Roy, or did you get another e-mail?” His tone had hardened.
She shook her head no, finding speech difficult. At least he had all his clothes on. Hysteria was close to bubbling up the back of her throat.
“Jessica?”
“It’s… Roy,” she finally got out. And you. Terrified he might read her thoughts, she lowered her head.
“I should’ve known,” he added on a harsh note.
“I’ve never seen him like that.”
Another silence, awkward and heavy, fell between them.
“Look,” Brant said, his voice taking on an even harsher edge. “I know I’m the last person you want to talk to right now, so I’ll get out of your way and let you drink your milk in peace.”
She couldn’t figure out if his mouth was curved in a smile or a smirk. No matter. She sat down, her eyes tracking him to the door. “Don’t go.” Although she knew she’d spoken those words, she didn’t know where they had come from. Perhaps from the depths of her soul. But she didn’t want to retract them. She slowly released her breath. “Please.” That last word was barely audible.
Fool, have you no shame?
“Are you sure?” he asked in a low, raspy voice.
“I’m sure.”
He walked to the closest chair across from her and sat down, once again pinning her with that disturbing gaze. “You look like you’ve had it.”
Jessica worried with her lower lip. “I’m worried about Roy.”
“He’s in way over his head.”
“Cocaine, right?”
“Hooked.”
Jessica shook her head. “That’s something I never expected out of him. I’m glad Porter’s not here to witness this.”
“I’m sure you are,” he said in a noncommittal voice.
“I hope you never have to face this situation with your son.”
Brant leaned his head to one side and didn’t speak for a moment. “Me too. But you never know.”
“I have no idea what to do about Roy, how to handle him.”
“Like you said, he needs help, but he isn’t about to get it.”
“There’s got to be something I can do,” Jessica said on a plaintive note. “I just can’t sit back and watch him destroy himself and his life.”
“Yes, you can.”
Her eyes widened. “How can you say that?”
“He’s a grown man, Jessica.”
The use of her given name was like a shot of added adrenaline through her system. Somehow it put them on another level, a more intimate one. As if he noticed, too, he swore under his breath, then shifted his gaze.
“There just has to be a solution,” she said, purposely switching her thoughts.
“There is. Face the fact that your stepson has a problem, a problem that only he can solve.” Brant paused, as if for effect, then continued. “You also have to know he’s a walking time bomb.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning he’s not only a threat to himself but to you, as well.” As if he sensed her chaotic feelings and her growing dilemma, he suddenly relaxed his stiff guard and softened his voice. “I have no choice but to add him to the suspect list.”
Jessica’s initial response was to deny that, to make him understand that no way would Roy actually harm her, despite his abusive manner. Yet the words wouldn’t come, her instinct telling her she couldn’t discount what Brant had said, that it had merit.
His Touch Page 13
