An Irresistible Impulse (12 page)

Stunned by the simplicity of Patsy’s solution,
Abby closed her mouth and exhaled loudly. Futilely seeking her fortune at the bottom of her teacup, she swirled the last drops, sipped them, then replaced the cup on its tray. “You mean…I should sleep with him.” Her gaze met Patsy’s and the fair-skinned woman blushed in apology at the bluntness.

“Yes,” she murmured. “If…you love him.”

“But I
don’t
love him, Patsy! At least I don’t think I do.” She threw up her hands in frustration. “It’s so difficult to know anything under these crazy circumstances! The situation here is totally unreal.”

“Is it?” Patsy countered, again more solemnly. “Is it all that unreal? Or is it simply different? After all, we can never know what the future will hold. Adaption is the name of the game, but love is the one thing that stays the same, regardless of how the game board changes.”

“And you know you’ll love Bud, and he you, despite other…men?”

“But it’s not that way…. I mean, what you saw yesterday was…harmless….” Suddenly uncomfortable, Patsy moved from the bed again. “And there’s something else,” she began more softly, “I think that we’re all given tests now and then. For Bud and me, these three weeks are a kind of test of our
love.” She faced Abby abruptly. “Maybe so for you and Ben.”

“It’s different for us, Patsy. We’ve just met. And we’re
not
in love!”

But Patsy wasn’t about to accept defeat. “The buds are there,” she teased. “I can see them in your eyes whenever mention of the man is made.” She cocked her head and frowned pensively. “You know, there’s always the chance that, even in spite of the wall he’s built, Ben could change…particularly if you work on him from the inside. Break a few of your own rules here and there. Give in. Accept what he offers and get under his skin. Who knows,” she added on a tempting note, “the prize may well be worth it!”

She didn’t see Ben again until dinnertime Sunday night, and then he was pleasant, albeit detached. He wore a calm, studied expression, betraying none of the nervous flutterings his presence caused
her
. If she
hadn’t known better, she would have sworn he’d spent the day fortifying that psychological barrier he’d built; he seemed utterly immune to her.

He politely inquired about her day, then patiently gave a general sketch of his own. Both had been quiet—reading, writing, trying to relax. A small group of jurors had gone to a private movie showing; both Abby and Ben had opted out. Sean had called again, as had Alexandra. Nothing had changed.

Abby’s dilemma weighed heavily on her mind. She seemed to vacillate: I love him, I love him not. On the one hand was good sense telling her she couldn’t possibly be falling in love. On the other was her heart’s gentle palpitation at the very thought of Ben.

She began to regard Monday morning’s resumption of the trial as a welcome rescue from this personal quagmire. When the judges had been seated and the prosecutor stepped forward, however, she had second thoughts.

For Greta Robinson took the stand, commencing an emotionally draining three days of testimony—the young woman’s own account of what had taken place.

Guided slowly, one question at a time, she systematically related the circumstances of her introduction to Derek Bradley three years before, the building of their relationship,
their eventual decision to live together. She obediently described her own background, then the lifestyle they’d shared during the year they were together.

Her composure began to slip when she told of having thought she’d been in love but of having been increasingly disillusioned by a host of unkept promises, not the least of which was that of marriage. Recalling the escalation of tension between them, she was clearly shaken. Occasionally sipping from a cup of water, she described the disagreements and arguments that had led to her eventual decision to leave him. That had been three weeks before the alleged abduction.

Nor had those three weeks themselves been quiet ones. The witness testified that the defendant had called her regularly, badgering her, demanding that she return to him. But, having been hurt, she’d been vehement, refusing even to see him.

Very carefully in light of her obvious stress, the prosecutor led her through the course of that day when she’d been forced into Derek Bradley’s car on her way home from work and taken to the cabin in the woods.

It was here that the worst of the ordeal began for Abby as well. Hands clenched tightly in her lap, she listened to what had to be a painful story for any woman to tell, much less
have experienced. There were endless days of being bound to a bed while her captor stalked about before her, of being fed bare rations while he ate in style. There were times when she was alone, when he’d disappeared for a full day, leaving her tied and locked in, helpless, terrified. There were threats and there were beatings; she’d finally come to fear for her life.

And what had Derek Bradley wanted? He’d wanted her complete submission to his every wish.

Abby was totally engrossed throughout the testimony, so much so that at one point on Tuesday, when Ben reached out to put a warm hand over her own cold one, she jumped.

“Take it easy,” he whispered soothingly, then shot a glance toward the lawyers momentarily gathered at the sidebar. “Just concentrate on the facts. Remember…the prosecution is counting on your emotional reaction.”

“But Ben, that poor woman is absolutely distraught! How can you not believe her?”

“I’m not saying I don’t. But there’s always the possibility that she’s worked herself up for our benefit.”

“That’s a terribly cynical view.”

“It’s a realistic one. Think about it.”

Hurt by his seeming lack of feeling, Abby looked away. But she did think about what
he’d said, and she had to admit, albeit begrudgingly, that he was right. In fact, the more she thought of it, the more she was appalled at herself. Of course each side would try to convince the jury of its own case! And what
better
way than through an intense emotional portrayal?

It was late Wednesday when Greta Robinson finally left the witness stand. Even the facts alone seemed to have won her the support of the jury, whose drawn looks and very obvious disturbance expressed what words could not.

Counsel for the defense hadn’t spared a thing in its cross-examination, posing one leading question after the next designed to paint the witness as a woman with a history of love affairs gone awry. In Abby’s mind the tactic backfired, possibly because of the lack of conclusive evidence to suggest that the victim had either been consistently troublesome or unnecessarily provocative, more probably because of the way Greta Robinson maintained a humble dignity beneath the defender’s relentless onslaught.

Even Ben seemed deeply affected by the time her testimony finally drew to a close. But much as Abby ached to talk with him, she didn’t dare. For one thing, it was against the judge’s decree. For another, she simply didn’t have the courage to approach him.
Shyness…uncertainty…fear…kept her at a safe and objective distance. The resultant sadness was her own very private burden.

Fortunately for the defense, court recessed for the day in the middle of this damaging procession. Fortunately for the jurors, the sheriff’s department had arranged for another movie showing that night. This time, fourteen people jumped at the opportunity for diversion.

Unfortunately for Abby, the movie was a love story of the four-tissue type—just what
she didn’t need. But it had been this…or brood alone. She’d really had no choice.

She’d taken a seat toward the rear of the small theater; most of the others had scattered nearer the front. It seemed a pattern, she mused in the several moments before the movie began. Deprived of the ability to discuss the case with each other, the jurors often withdrew into themselves. It was a pattern she’d come to understand and accept, even to share. There was only one person with whom
she
wanted to talk when the weight of the trial bore down on her…and that she couldn’t do for more reasons than one.

He
sat several rows behind, slouched in his seat, deep in thought with his hands fisted against his chin. Abby wondered about his feelings but could read nothing in his masked expression.

Patsy, on the other hand, was an open book, more resilient than the others and in this instance more enthusiastic. She’d accompanied Abby into the theater but had settled in a seat near the aisle, in apparent deference to her friend’s pensiveness, when Abby had chosen to move further along.

The lights dimmed and the movie began. Abby found herself easily swept up in the story, a tale of love and betrayal, danger and tragedy in war-torn London. The first of her
tears fell for the hero and heroine when they were torn from each other after falling passionately in love. She drew the second tissue from her purse when the horror of war, felt through the personal losses of these two characters, set in. Then, when happiness seemed finally within the grasp of the lovers, only to be cruelly wrenched from them once more, she pressed the third tissue to her lips in grief. At that moment Abby detected movement beside her. Within instants, a comforting arm circled her shoulders.

She recoiled on reflex, but Ben held her firmly, tucking her head back against his shoulder, smoothing tears from her cheeks.

“I’m so embarrassed,” she whispered unevenly.

“Don’t be,” he returned softly but said nothing more.

Nor did she. For whatever reasons he’d chosen to come forward, she selfishly accepted his attention. No promise of fictitious happiness on the silver screen could rival the peace she felt just now.

His strong arm about her was protective; his warmth seeped slowly through her. Little by little it grew harder to concentrate on the movie. Closing her eyes, Abby savored Ben’s nearness. It was as if the dark of the theater allowed for such lapses; she felt no guilt at all.

When Ben’s cheek moved against the crown of her head and his lips brushed her forehead, she opened her eyes to the inevitable fire. It was there; she didn’t need light to see it. It was in the strength of the arm around her, in the ardor of the fingers that spanned the line of her jaw to turn her face upward.

“Abby…” he whispered, then kissed her with every bit of the desire she felt inside herself.

She met him halfway across the buffer zone they’d found. Here, in the darkness, there was thought neither of love nor promise, reason nor impulse. There were only the two of them, incredibly attracted to one another, grasping whatever they could before they’d be wrenched apart again.

“If only we could stay this way,” Ben breathed against her ear.

Unable to answer him, Abby settled for pressing soft kisses to the chiseled line of his jaw. Then, skimming inward along the firm plane of his cheek, she met his mouth for another duel of desire that left them both breathless.

“Oh…babe….” His fingers surged through the thickness of her hair and straddled her ear to hold her still. His lips explored every gentle curve of her face. When his work brought a smile of delight to her
mouth, he traced its gaiety with his tongue before plunging into warmer, darker recesses. Then, chest laboring beneath the splay of her fingers, he reluctantly drew back.

“We’d better watch,” he whispered, still holding her but now turning to face forward. Following his lead, Abby focused on the large screen. It held her attention for all of a minute before she grew distracted by the hand that gently caressed her shoulder. Reaching up, she drew it to her mouth and kissed its long, lean fingers one by one. When she released them, they fell against the firm swell of her breast.

Tempted beyond endurance, Ben gave up all pretense of concentration. He faced her again and kissed her quietly, deeply, drawing her as close as the theater seats would allow. Turning her in to him, he stroked the delicate line of her neck, then let his hand inch lower until it found her breast.

It was Abby’s turn to moan then, for his fingers slid over her fullness, teasing her nipple until passion’s current sizzled from that taut peak down through her body to her loins. But satisfaction was impossible. In a moment of frustration, she clamped her hand over his to still the torture.

“You’re right,” she whispered raggedly. “Maybe we’d
better
watch the movie.” Her
body throbbed in testimony to the crisis.

Ben was in a similar state. Straightening with an unsteady sigh, he left an arm as her headrest and took her hand to his lap. “What’s happening?”

“Shhhhhh….”