Straight From The Heart Page 5

  “He just got his driver’s license, and he thinks he’s ‘The Best’ and ‘The Coolest,’” Stephen said with affection. “All he wants to do these days is run to the grocery store, so that I don’t have to.”

  Kim smiled. “How thoughtful of him.”

  “Yeah, isn’t it, though? It couldn’t have anything to do with the car.” His expression grew sober. “Pauleen wants him to come live with her. She wants to send him to a private school.”

  “Oh.” Kim tried to read his thoughts. “So, that’s what you’re going to do?”

  “Over my dead body.”

  She could feel the roil of emotions just below the surface of this conversation. She understood the tension. “Your divorce wasn’t so amicable, was it?”

  He hesitated, his gaze narrowing on her face as if he were considering whether to trust her or not. Kim, who’d managed for months to make him out as some kind of monster who’d tried to steal her child from her, had picked up on the vibes of his own shredded marriage. Her lips parted; she wanted to say something, an apology perhaps? But Stephen’s gaze dropped to her lips and stayed there, searing in its intensity and driving whatever she’d planned to utter right out of her head.

  “I don’t want to talk about my ex-wife,” he said flatly. “We stayed together for too long, for all the wrong reasons.”

  “I understand. I don’t know why I stayed with Alan. I was just too afraid, I guess, you know, to make a change even though there was nothing there. Nothing left.” Kim heard herself babbling, but couldn’t stop. Stephen was watching her in that intense way that seemed to reach down inside and yank on her emotions. “I had to get out, and I finally did, and then I was alone and it was okay. Except for Bobby. Just the two of us, you know.”

  “But then Alan sued for custody,” Stephen put in when Kim suddenly stopped.

  That stopped her cold. She blinked several times, unable to speak. Stephen set down his coffee cup and came to stand over her chair. He squatted down, so close she was enveloped by the clean spicy scent of his soap and the heat of his skin. “I didn’t know he hit you,” he said softly. “Betsy told me after Robert took Alan’s case.”

  “He didn’t really hit me. He pushed me,” she said quickly, still too mortified over the event to talk about it openly.

  “Same difference. I . . . met with Robert about Alan . . .” Stephen admitted.

  “Robert knew, and he still represented him?”

  “Robert had a client whom he couldn’t really trust. He suggested Alan give up the idea of custody. He knew he’d lose. But Alan was hell-bent on going to court.”

  “I hate hearing about it,” Kim said bitterly.

  “Then let’s not talk about it anymore. But for the record, Alan Harden deserves to be strung up.” Stephen was deadly serious.

  Kim gazed at him, her eyes burning with unformed tears. It wasn’t meant to be an invitation. It wasn’t meant to be anything. But her expression shimmered with gratitude, and Stephen, used to a woman who drank and belittled and trampled over emotions, couldn’t resist this trusting, sincere beauty. Before Kim could respond, she was surrounded by a pair of strong, sinewy arms, her face pressed against his muscular chest, her ears deafened by the thunder beat of his heart. Her mouth opened against his skin, a whispered “thank you” in her mind. But her tongue encountered warm skin and crisp whorls of chest hair, and her brain shut down completely.

  He kissed her crown. His palm caressed her face. One hand slid down her back and pulled her upward until she slid from the chair against him, and they tumbled together to the pine heartwood floor, neither conscious of anything but the feel of the other.

  For Kim, it was complete abandonment, something she’d never experienced before. She went with it, letting his hands discover her, letting her own wanton fingers travel over him, pulling him tight. One moment they were talking, the next they were writhing in each other’s arms, the transition so quick that conscious thought simply couldn’t catch up.

  His mouth found hers. Kim’s lips parted wantonly. His tongue discovered the warmth inside, stabbing delicately until small mewing sounds that would later bring a hot flush to her cheeks issued from inside her. Her fingers moved down the firm muscles of his back, reveling in the taut feel of sinewy flesh. The weight of his body was deliciously hard against her, and though her experience with men was limited, she reacted as if she were a slave to desire.

  Their kissing grew in intensity until Kim was breathless with aching need. She wanted to be totally possessed. She wanted to block out the world and wallow in sensation. And she wanted Stephen Wright.

  His hand traveled down the small of her back and over her hips. She was conscious of his heat and hardness and quickness of breath.

  And then fingers slid beneath her shirt and tugged upward, and his hand covered her breast, massaging through her bra. Melting with weakness, she would have given in right then and there if a spark from the fire hadn’t popped out, live and hot, landing on Stephen’s arm.

  He jerked reflexively, laughed, brushed it aside. “Damn,” he muttered, gently pushing Kim aside as he got to his feet and kicked the glowing ember back toward the hearth. Kim watched through desire-drugged eyes, but when he turned back to her, reason had returned.

  “I can’t do this,” she whispered again, pulling her knees up to her chin. Stephen stretched out beside her, an open invitation.

  “Why not?”

  “I’ve never been with anyone but Alan.”

  “Good grief, Kim. It’s high time you started living.”

  She looked at him squarely. At his sexy mouth and cool green eyes and burnished muscles. “By having an affair?”

  “Starting a relationship,” he amended. “I’ve been attracted to you since the moment we met,” he added softly.

  She wasn’t secure enough to admit she’d felt the same way. “I don’t want to do something I’ll regret.”

  “How do you know you’ll regret it?”

  “Oh, believe me, I know.” Her lips twisted as her mind spun ahead to various scenarios: Stephen, telling her how wonderful she was in one breath, breaking off their relationship with another; Stephen slowly stopping calling her; Stephen, another lovely beauty on his arm, catching sight of Kim and making a point to just say hello. Men like Stephen Wright married women like Pauleen, whether they were compatible or not, but they chose unsophisticated women like Kimberly Harden for “nice” affairs.

  “What’s going on in your head?” he asked, reaching forward to twist a thick strand of her blond hair around his finger.

  “I don’t want to be a number.”

  “A number?”

  “Yeah . . . just a number.”

  His brow furrowed. He pulled her closer, and Kim was unable to resist. She watched his lips target hers until they were just a whisper away. Then his breath caught. “You mean a notch on a bedpost?” he asked, his voice revealing his displeasure.

  Kim didn’t answer. He pulled back, waiting. She could see she’d irked him. “We live in the same town.”

  “So, first I’m the evil attorney that tried to take your son, and now I’m the heartless love-’em-and-leave-’em sex fiend?”

  “That’s not what I meant.”

  “The hell it isn’t!” he growled.

  “Okay, it is what I meant,” Kim answered recklessly. “I don’t want any of this.”

  “Fine. Neither do I, anymore.” He jumped to his feet.

  Kim, disconcerted, did the same. “I’m . . . I’m . . .” She tried to apologize and couldn’t find the words. He didn’t bother to turn around anyway, just strode furiously toward the bedroom. Her bedroom.

  Blast the man! Somehow this was his fault. “I’m leaving,” she tossed out, following after him to make certain he heard her.

  She practically slammed into him just inside the bedroom door. He was pulling a shirt over his head.

  “The roads are closed,” he bit back, as if she were a complete moron.

  “Maybe
they’re open now. How do we know? We’re cut off from communication.”

  “I wouldn’t count on the roads being passable until electricity’s restored.”

  “Well, how do you know?”

  “Educated guess,” he told her flatly.

  It didn’t help that the jade green of his casual shirt made his eyes all the more sensual and mysterious. She tried to concentrate on his rock-hard jaw instead, and the anger that made it that way.

  Just to be contrary, or because she was a glutton for punishment, Kim didn’t know which, she said breezily, “I think I’ll check it out for myself.”

  “If you get stuck, don’t expect me to come after you.”

  “I won’t!”

  With that she sailed past him into the bedroom, threw her gear into her bag, and headed for the door. Stephen was once again standing in front of the fire when she reappeared. As she hauled her suitcase from the room he shook his head at her as if she were a naughty girl.

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” he started, but that just ticked Kim off.

  “Somebody has to do something,” she snapped, “and it might as well be me.”

  “Then, I’m going with you.”

  “I’m not helpless!”

  “You’re just stubborn, then?”

  She glared at him. Now, he was really irritating her. “If I wanted your help, I’d ask for it.”

  “I’m coming with you,” he stated in that masculine way sure to infuriate any woman.

  Since arguing with him wasn’t working, Kim simply hitched up her suitcase and headed into the rainy morning. She slogged toward her car. Stephen made one aborted attempt to take her bag from her, but when she held on with a death grip he gave up. They reached the car together, and Kim unlocked the door. By the time she managed to stow her suitcase in the backseat and had struggled behind the wheel, she was thoroughly soaked and out of breath. Apart from rain dampening his hair and shoulders, Stephen Wright looked cool, calm, and capable.

  With a twist of her wrist, Kim turned the engine. Her little compact started up eagerly. Putting the car into reverse, her toe touched the accelerator. The engine revved but nothing happened. She tried again. The memory of that loud ka-bang when she arrived made her nose wrinkle.

  “Are we stuck?” Stephen asked.

  “I’m stuck,” Kim answered shortly.

  “Oh.” He rubbed his nose with his finger, and Kim eyed him suspiciously. Was he hiding a smile? A moment later, he asked, “Want to try my Jeep?”

  I’d rather walk! “Yes,” Kim muttered with ill-grace, which seemed to strengthen his need to rub his nose. He was smiling. No, he was flat out grinning!

  “Let’s leave your suitcase for now and just check it out,” he said reasonably, and Kim, who knew she’d been behaving badly, nodded and followed him to the red Jeep.

  He started the engine and slowly backed away from the cabin. Rain washed the windshield, the wipers flailing wildly in an attempt to keep the glass clear. In silence they slowly worked their way down the rutted, muddy track to the two-lane road that was the main highway down the mountain. Stephen turned on the radio, and before they’d traveled one mile they heard the report: The roads were still closed.

  In silence, he brought the Jeep to a standstill. They sat in the middle of the road, wipers beating furiously, news reporter blabbering on about the weather. Stephen turned to her and arched his brow in silent query.

  There was nothing to do but head back.

  Kim felt like an utter fool. Nothing seemed to be going right. Worse, as they approached the cabin, it felt like fate was leading her inexorably into a romantic trap.

  “When do you think the roads will be open?” she asked.

  “Anybody’s guess.” He pulled the Jeep up next to her compact, climbed out, and started around the back to open the passenger door.

  Kim pushed open her door, avoiding his efforts to help her from the car. Why all these tiny things should matter baffled her a bit, but instinctively she knew she was fighting the battle of the sexes.

  Or maybe her own rampant desires . . .

  He watched her tiptoe around muddy puddles. The rain had abated to a light drizzle, but Kimberly felt it soaking her nonetheless.

  “What are you doing?” she asked as he leaned inside the Jeep.

  “Gotta get something.”

  She could see him digging in the glove box. With a shrug she hurried to the cabin door, dodging the worst of the rain puddles. In the safety of the threshold she glanced back.

  He was carrying a cell phone.

  “What?” she demanded as he eased past her, pushing a series of buttons. “You had that all the time!” She followed him inside.

  “I think the battery’s dead.”

  “Was it dead yesterday when the lines went out?”

  “Probably not,” he conceded, unruffled.

  “I can’t believe you! All this time we could have been in touch with civilization!” Kim was beside herself.

  “What was the point of calling then? We’d gotten hold of Betsy. Nobody could do anything about us being here.”

  His reasonableness drove her crazy. “I could have talked to Bobby,” she said.

  That remark struck home. He seemed about to say something, then clamped his lips shut. “Maybe the battery isn’t completely dead,” he said after a moment, attempting to dial.

  She waited in silence. She was fast losing patience with him and herself and everything. Normally she was so much more in control, but these were not normal times.

  After a couple of minutes he shook his head and put the phone on the mantel. His serious face made her wonder if he were growing as anxious to leave as she was. The idea bothered her a great more than it should.

  The silence stretched uncomfortably. Kim traversed the room several times before flopping into the overstuffed chair and picking at a loose thread on one of the pillows. Stephen spent a great deal of time stoking the fire until the room was absolutely sweltering. Kim determined she would not complain no matter what, so they both suffered in the heat.

  Eventually Stephen took the tub of water into the bathroom and poured it into the bathtub. “You can use it, if you want,” he said, and Kim, deciding to take him up on it, grudgingly thanked Stephen as she locked the bathroom door behind her.

  It felt wonderful to luxuriate in the warm water. Downright sinful. A half hour later, when the temperature had cooled too much, Kim stepped from the tub and brushed her hair in front of the misty mirror. She eyed her reflection and wondered what to do. Dragging on a pair of denim cut-offs and a cream sleeveless Polo shirt, she stepped back into the living room.

  Stephen was nowhere in sight, but she heard an engine running outside. Looking through the window, she was amazed to see that her little compact was turned nose out.

  “How did you fix it?” she asked when he came back inside, rain- and mud-spattered.

  “It was really just stuck. You were just afraid to punch it.”

  “Oh. Thanks.”

  “You’re welcome.” A glint of humor lightened his eyes.

  Once more they fell into silence. Kim debated about fixing something to eat but couldn’t think of what that might be. Finally, she could stand it no more. She opened her mouth to say something, but Stephen beat her to the punch.

  “Do you believe in fate?”

  She stared at him in surprise. “Do you?”

  “On the whole, no. I think you make your own opportunities.”

  “I’d say I feel the same way.”

  “But once in a while, something happens. Something unexpected. An unexpected opportunity,” he clarified. To Kim’s continued silence, he added, “And when that happens, I think you should grab it, go with it.” He shrugged. “Some people might call that fate.”

  Kimberly nodded.

  “That’s what we have: an unexpected opportunity. Fate. A chance to know each other.”

  His gaze was direct, full of promise and expectation. Kim’s heart began
a dull, hard beat.

  “We’ve got a few hours left here together. I don’t want to waste them.”

  Mouth dry, she asked, “What do you mean by ‘waste?’”

  A pause. “Don’t you know?”

  “Spell it out for me. I don’t want to misunderstand.”

  He smiled faintly. “I want to touch you and talk to you and make love to you. I want to spend hours in your arms. I want it so badly that I can’t think of anything else. Is that spelled out enough?”

  Kim’s gaze fell to his open shirt neck. She watched his throat work as he spoke. Inside, she quaked with nervousness. He was waiting for her answer. Waiting for her to choose. He was offering her an affair. The start of a relationship. No, a weekend out of time. Completely removed from real life. His voice was an aphrodisiac. She was powerless. She wanted him. She couldn’t speak.

  But he was waiting.

  “Kim . . . ?”

  Four

  Breath held, Stephen waited for what felt like the proverbial eternity. Kim couldn’t meet his eyes. Her fists were clenched, and her slim body shook a bit. Clearly she was taking his offer as a serious one, which it was meant to be, but he was afraid she would overthink it—something he refused to do. He wanted to run with emotion. He was tired of all the years of pent-up feelings, worry, and doubt.

  “Kim?” he asked again.

  “It’s so hot in here I can’t think.”

  “Come here.” He didn’t wait for her to protest; he didn’t listen when she finally did. He led her to the back of the cabin and a covered porch where rain beat a tattoo on the slightly listing roof, and puddles danced with bouncing droplets.

  His hand was on her arm. He ached to pull her close. Shooting a sideways glance at her, he noticed the lushness of her pink lips and the thick curve of her lashes. Her skin shone with health. He longed to reach over and run a finger down the hill of her cheek.

  “Tell me about Pauleen,” she said unexpectedly.