His Touch Read online

  He sighed visibly and peered at her through knowing eyes which sent color surging into her face. Averting her gaze, she went about the task of making coffee.

  “Mmm, that smells good,” he said, cutting a glance at her.

  “You never answered my question,” she said, ignoring the tightening in her chest, latching on to a cup.

  His eyebrows raised. “What question?”

  “Whether you were hungry or not.”

  “Are you offering anything?”

  Another surge of color stung her face, and she gritted her teeth. Innocent enough, so why did it sound so suggestive? She had to get a grip. “Soup and salad.”

  He thought for a moment. “The soup.”

  “Have a seat and I’ll heat it.”

  She felt his eyes on her from start to finish. She wondered if he could see through the thin material of her caftan. If so, he was having a field day. Just the thought made her pulses hammer. Still, she managed to get through the ordeal without dropping or spilling anything. Under the circumstances, that was a miracle.

  It had been so long since she’d had a man in the house, watching her putter in the kitchen, or anywhere else for that matter, that she had forgotten what it was like.

  “Need any help?”

  “No, I’m fine,” she said without turning around.

  “I could’ve scrounged something up on my own.”

  This time she faced him, two bowls of soup in her hands. He stood and reached for them. Only after she was seated across from him did she answer. “It’s okay. I didn’t…don’t mind.”

  He was silent while eating. Suddenly she felt his gaze on her, a question in his eyes. “Aren’t you going to eat?”

  Jessica lowered her head, mortified that she’d been caught staring. Although she’d made the soup from scratch the other day and knew it was good, the thought of eating it now almost turned her stomach. His presence had taken her appetite.

  “Man, that was good,” Brant said, after draining his bowl and pushing it away.

  “There’s more. All I have to do is heat it.”

  He rubbed his stomach, which instantly drew her eyes. “Thanks, but no thanks. I’m full as a tick on a fat dog.”

  Unwittingly that corny analogy made her laugh. “I’m glad you enjoyed it.”

  “Did you make it?”

  “I did.”

  His eyebrows shot up.

  “You’re surprised,” she said, slightly miffed and letting it show.

  “Actually, I am. I never would have pegged you as the domestic type.”

  She knew she should have let that barb slide and moved on to more secure ground. But the remark rankled, and she spoke before she weighed the consequences. “Oh, and just what type am I?”

  This time he smiled, though it never reached his dark, brooding eyes. Still, it changed his demeanor, easing the strain on his face and adding to his appeal.

  “I didn’t mean that as an insult, though you apparently took it that way.”

  “It doesn’t matter,” she said, dodging his piercing gaze and clamping down on her anger.

  He sighed. “Are you always this sensitive, or is it just me?”

  “It’s everything,” she admitted honestly. “Especially right now.”

  His lips thinned. “I know what you mean.”

  Jessica stood and removed their bowls. She had sat still as long as she could, especially in front of him. “I have dessert, also,” she added from in front of the sink, purposely changing the subject.

  “I’ll pass. I’ve had enough, especially since it’s so late.”

  She swung around. “With that in mind, I think it’s time I tried to get some sleep.”

  “Not so fast.”

  She paused in her tracks. “Excuse me?”

  The room suddenly vibrated with suppressed tension.

  “Look, we have to talk,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck.

  She released a shallow breath. “I don’t think this is the time.”

  “I do,” he countered, the roughness back in his voice.

  “Talk about what?” she asked, her tone filled with suspicion.

  “Scheduling, for starters.”

  Jessica knitted her brows. If that was all, she could handle that. She told him about the upcoming week.

  “I don’t want you ever going anywhere by yourself.”

  She gave him an astounded look, her sense of relief fading. “That’s not possible.”

  “Oh, I think it is.”

  “Do you plan on literally dogging every step I take?” she demanded. “Surely not?”

  “Absolutely. That’s what you’re paying me big bucks to do.”

  “If that’s the case, maybe we should end this right now.”

  A closed look came over his face before he stood. Then he lifted his shoulders in that nonchalant shrug of his. “It’s no skin off my back, Mrs. Kincaid. It’s your life that’s been threatened. If you say stay, I’ll stay. If you say go, I’ll go.”

  Although there was a definite period at the end of the sentence, she realized the subject was not finished. And that was no accident, either. He was deliberately trying to frighten her without spelling out the possible consequences of her decision. The worst part about his ploy was that it worked. It also fueled her growing agitation.

  She’d been called many things, but stupid wasn’t one of them. If she wanted to put this nasty, disruptive part of her life behind her, she had to set her mind and abide by rules she didn’t agree with.

  Why her? she wanted to ask. But she refrained. Not only wasn’t she stupid, she wasn’t a whiner, either. Still, in all his years as a public servant, Porter had never encountered a situation even close to this one. What was the difference? Perhaps it was the fact that she was a woman, perceived as an easy target.

  “So what’s it going to be?” Brant demanded with obvious impatience.

  Unable to meet his steely gaze another second, Jessica shifted her eyes and groped for composure, something that heretofore had been second nature to her.

  Not around him, unfortunately.

  “I’ll play by your rules as long as I can.”

  “Wise choice.” He paused. “If it’s any consolation, I’m not thrilled with this arrangement myself.”

  She held steady. “I’m aware of that.” There was something else she was aware of, too. She wasn’t going to let him dog her every step; he would have to keep his distance for the sake of her privacy, both professionally and personally. Some lines she would not tolerate him crossing. If he couldn’t accept that, then she would tell him to leave and not look back.

  “So are you already having second thoughts?” he asked with an unmasked smirk.

  “No,” she declared tightly.

  “Look, I won’t deny that we’ll clash, both being as strong-willed as we are. But for this to work, we have to find some common ground. Agreed?”

  “Agreed,” she said wearily, toying with her lower lip.

  Suddenly there was a softening of his features as his eyes seemed to home in on the moist lip she had been gnawing. Or was that intimate softening another figment of her imagination? Brant was a hard one to read, even for her, and she took pride in her intuitiveness.

  “Good night, then,” he said, that rough edge back in his voice. “Call if you need me.”

  Jessica nodded, then turned and left the room before she shuddered in front of him, his words ringing in her ears.

  Call if you need me.

  God forbid that should ever happen.

  Eleven

  Roy Kincaid strode out of the bath into the bedroom and stared at the young woman splayed across the bed sound asleep. The light from the two lamps allowed him to peruse her painfully thin body.

  He could see her protruding hip bones under her heavily tanned skin, skin that had been burned in swimming pools and tanning booths to the extreme, almost to a crisp in several instances. Her dark hair was in almost the same sad shape. It was short and
choppy and looked baked, though he had no clue how that had happened. He only knew that women were always messing with their hair, if nothing else changing the color.

  He didn’t know why he let Dottie hang on, disrupting his life with her constant whining about what she needed and wanted. More to the point, what she expected from him.

  Money. And drugs.

  With her, the two went hand in hand. But he had no gripe coming; he put up with her on a daily basis. In fact, she’d practically moved into his apartment since she’d gotten in the bad habit of bouncing from job to job.

  In a way she was attractive, or could be, if she would take the time to fix herself up. But she apparently couldn’t care less, even though she worked as a girl Friday in an office building. All Dottie cared about was having enough pot or coke on hand to satisfy her growing hunger for the stuff. He had to be careful; he was close to sinking into that same dark hole. Maybe he was already there.

  So what? He enjoyed the hell out of the way drugs made him feel. The powder never failed to pep him up when he was feeling down-and-out, and it gave him the courage to face his mundane job as a sales representative for a computer company, a position he felt certain wasn’t good enough for his high-minded stepmother.

  A grin spread across Roy’s lean face. She thought he ought to be some mucky-muck rich attorney, like herself, someone who ran in her circles and who wouldn’t be an embarrassment to his father’s memory. Roy’s grin spread, taking the edge off the gauntness of his own features.

  His dad was probably rolling over in his grave at the mess Roy had made of his life. But it was his life, and if he chose to mess it up, so be it. Now that his old man was dead and he’d gotten a taste of freedom the past four years, he’d finally made peace with himself.

  As long as he had drugs.

  Roy’s gaze settled on the bag of coke sitting on the table, just waiting for him and Dottie to snort it. They had partaken far into the night, then screwed their brains out into the wee hours of the morning. Now it was time for him to get to work. Maybe he wouldn’t go. Hell, he hadn’t missed in a while. If the boss fired him, he didn’t care.

  He’d found this job. He would find another one if he had to. The only problem was, his drugs and his money were getting frighteningly low. Dottie was to blame. She couldn’t hold on to either. When his trust check was cut every month, it didn’t take long for it to disappear. By the time he paid his rent and bought drugs, it was gone.

  Roy’s gaze remained on the bag of white powder. When that was empty, there wouldn’t be money to buy more. He was flat broke. It was only the middle of the month, and nothing would be coming in until the first, nearly three weeks away.

  Roy’s insides rebelled, and he felt himself panic. For a second he thought he might be sick. Out of money; out of drugs. It was that simple. Only it wasn’t simple. It was damned complicated, especially since he didn’t have free access to the money his old man had left him. To all intents and purposes it was his mother’s money, to be exact.

  His panic suddenly turned into blinding anger. The bitch. How dare his stepmother think she could continue to jerk him around like he was a puppet on a string? Some way, somehow, he had to get control of that trust fund. She had to relent, dammit. So far, though, when it came to budging her, he’d slammed into a brick wall.

  He should blame his old man for not trusting him. And he did. But since Porter had given that bitch power over his money until he was thirty-five, two years from now, he was at her mercy.

  At first, when he’d run short of cash for whatever reason, Jessica had given permission for extra. The last few months, however, she had outright refused.

  Her refusal to see him the other night had pissed him off royally. He had no intention of letting her get away with it anymore. He’d lost count of the times they had fought verbally over his trust. In his mind, the conversations never seemed to change.

  “It’s your money,” was always her comeback. “I never said otherwise. But this is the way your father set up the trust, and I have to abide by it. And even if I wanted to, I couldn’t change it.”

  “Don’t be too sure of that,” he’d retaliated. “Nothing in this world is ever set in stone. Laws are broken every day. You ought to know that, you being a lawyer and all.”

  “Do whatever you have to,” Jessica responded, “but it won’t change things. I’m not backing down, nor is the bank. Look, Roy, you and I have always gotten along. I loved your dad, and because I loved him, I also loved you. And I still do.”

  “Hogwash.”

  “Think what you like, but your attitude doesn’t change anything. My hands are tied. You’re just going to have to learn to live within your means, like other responsible working Americans.”

  “We’ll see about that. I’ll get that money. It’s just a matter of time.”

  And it was. Unfortunately for him, time and coke were synonymous. When the coke was gone, he was in trouble. His trust was his only hope. He had no place else to turn. He was already in debt to a friend of his. Big-time debt.

  Jessica would come through. It was just a matter of time. In the end, she wouldn’t best him. She might see him as the stupid stepson, but he wasn’t. Far from it. Sweat popped out on Roy’s forehead, and he let an expletive fly.

  “Something the matter, honey?”

  Roy swung around. Dottie Walters was propped up in bed, the covers tossed back, displaying her nude body. He felt himself harden, which was a miracle, considering the amount of time they’d spent screwing. But he wasn’t complaining. Lately, after they’d been using for several days straight, he hadn’t been able to get it up, something that scared him shitless.

  He could do without drugs if he had to, but he damn sure couldn’t do without his dick.

  “Roy?”

  “I was just thinking,” he muttered.

  “About me?”

  Another selfish bitch. “Not this time.”

  “Then why’s your dick harder than a baseball bat?”

  Having been caught red-handed, he grinned. “Even though you’re too skinny, baby, you still have what it takes.”

  “You’re one to be talking about being skinny,” she muttered petulantly. “You’re right there with me.”

  He shrugged, not interested in discussing their bodies. He had much more important things on his mind.

  “How ’bout snorting a little more before we get up, along with one more good lay?”

  “Can’t,” Roy said, though his gaze rested on the powder with longing. “Gotta go to work.”

  She quirked a finger at him, the nail painted with chipped hot-pink polish. “To hell with work. We’ve got some serious business to take care of first.”

  “I told you no,” he said in a hateful tone. “What is there about that word you don’t understand?”

  She made a face. “You can be mean when you want to.”

  “Then go shack up with someone else.”

  Tears welled up in her makeup-streaked eyes. “You don’t mean that, do you?”

  “No, not now. But if you continue to piss me off…” Roy let the words trail off. She got the message, though. She stopped whining. “Get up and get dressed.”

  “When can we use again?” she asked, her tone tentative.

  “Tonight. And nothing in between, you hear me?”

  The tears returned. “You mean I can’t—”

  “No, dammit, you can’t,” he interrupted. “That’s all the stuff we have left.”

  “You’ll get some more. I’m not worried.”

  “It’s not that simple. I’m out of money.”

  “Then go to see your stepmother, our mayor.”

  The way she said that last word made him think Dottie had just stepped into something nasty. “Shut up and get dressed. You’re beginning to get on my nerves again.”

  Wordlessly Dottie did as she was told. Once she had disappeared into the bathroom, he put on his clothes, not caring if they were rumpled or not. Right now, he did
n’t care about anything but returning to the coke on the table and forgetting the world existed.

  “Get the lead out of your ass, Dottie. We gotta go.”

  She’d been behind closed doors for over an hour. Brant didn’t mind that. He knew exactly where she was and who she was with, several women from the Dallas Beautification League. He had no idea when the meeting would end, but that didn’t matter, either.

  He had nothing but time.

  “Would you like another cup of coffee, sir?” Brant leveled his gaze on Millie Ford, the young receptionist who occupied the desk in the outer office, and who served as gofer for both the mayor and her assistant, Tony.

  “No thanks, Millie. I’m about to float away as it is.”

  For some reason, she colored, as though embarrassed he was giving her his full attention. He almost smiled, thinking how innocent she appeared, much like he envisioned his son, though she was a few years older than Elliot. Still, the innocence was refreshing, something that was rare these days.

  “If you change your mind,” she added hesitantly, “I’ll be glad to get you another cup.”

  “I know you will, and I appreciate it.” Brant made himself smile in order to put her at ease. He sensed she was uncomfortable with him being underfoot. From time to time he would catch her peering at him from under thick lashes, as though she was trying to come to terms with the sudden and drastic change in the office. Just another in a long line of many, he figured cynically.

  Realizing her questioning eyes were still on him, he added, “You don’t have to wait on me. If I want something, I’ll get it myself.”

  Millie’s flush deepened; then she said in a rushed voice, “I don’t mind.”

  When he didn’t respond, she ducked her head and went back to work. If his presence made her nervous, she would just have to get over it. Dismissing the girl from his mind, Brant turned his attention back to the window, shoving his hands into his pockets. That was when he saw Thurmon walking across the parking lot, heading into the building.

  By damn, for once luck was smiling on him. Talking to his friend had been high on his priority list. After returning to his room last evening, he’d wanted to call Thurmon. He’d actually picked up the phone a half-dozen times, only to slam it back down. He’d never liked discussing something important on the phone. Better face-to-face, though what he had to tell Thurmon wouldn’t set well with him no matter how he presented the news.