An Irresistible Impulse (9 page)

Then they were off, gliding through the mirror stillness of the water toward the far
side of the lake. “Are you sure this is okay?” she called over her shoulder. “Won’t they worry that we’ll get away?” There was something delightfully free about slipping through the water as smoothly and sound-lessly as they were doing.

Ben chuckled. “You can be sure we’re under surveillance, but then, that’s their job. I understand there’s a motorboat…just in case.”

Abby nodded, feeling decidedly light-headed. It was a glorious early evening, with the reds and golds of sunset lingering to strew a vibrant path across the water. The air was still, the only sound the swish of the boat and its paddles as Abby and Ben stroked in tandem. To speak would have been to contaminate nature’s silence; Abby wouldn’t have dreamed of doing it. Besides, she felt safe this way. After all, what could possibly happen in a canoe?…

With Ben’s stronger paddle setting their direction, they cut across the center of the lake before veering to the right and returning by a route that hugged the shore more closely. The shadows had grown deeper now, those spatters of red and golds having given way to the blues and purples of dusk. Seeking the last of the light, Ben headed them back toward the center of the lake.

Abby felt totally at peace. When, at a simultaneous
moment, they stopped paddling to sit still and absorb the serenity, she thought there was nothing more natural. When she felt a jostling of the canoe, however, she twisted quickly around.

“What are you
doing?”
she cried out in alarm.

“Moving up.” Crouched as low as possible, that was exactly what he was doing. Having safely stowed his paddle, he held carefully to the gunnels on either side.

“Ben! You can’t move. We’ll capsize!”

His attention was focused on balancing himself as he spanned another cross-plank. “Shhhhh. I’m concentrating.”

“But Ben…”

Having reached the section directly behind where she knelt, he settled back onto his shins. “Turn around,” he ordered softly, taking the paddle from her hands and stowing it by his.

“What—”

“Turn around,” he repeated the command. “Just stay as low as possible.”

“This is crazy—” But his hands were on her waist, moving her when she hesitated. Totally engrossed in turning without tipping the boat, she didn’t speak again until she was on her knees and sitting back on her heels to face him. Then, hands gripping the gunnels and heart thudding loudly, she
yielded to bewilderment. “What in the world are you doing?” she cried, looking up at his darkened features. He took her face in his hands before she could think to pull back.

“I’m going to kiss you right here, where no one can bother us and you can’t run off.”

“But Ben—” She motioned futilely toward shore.

“They’re behind me.” Sure enough, he’d positioned the boat so that the broad expanse of his back ensured their privacy. “And as you said, it’s getting dark….”

He held her face still, denying her escape. Then, waiting no longer, he lowered his head and captured her lips.

“Ben—” she forced a muffled protest. “Please…don’t…”

But he refused to listen. His kiss was the gentlest, most intense of caresses—a slow and steady persuasion. It took every bit of her resolve to clamp her lips tightly together. This wasn’t what she’d wanted when she’d agreed to canoe with him…and to think she’d thought herself safe from temptation!

When she tried to turn her head aside, his hands were firm and unyielding. Soft sounds of pleading came from the back of her throat, but he ignored them to stake his claim. When she took her hands from the gunnels to push him away, the canoe rocked dangerously, and she found herself clinging to his shirt instead.

And still he kissed her, caressing her lips with a warmth she found to be pervasive. It melted her insides and curled her toes, leaving her breathless.

Then, with a soft moan of pleasure, he moved to place gentle kisses on her cheeks and eyes. “Kiss me, Abby. It’s all right.”

“But it’s not,” she gasped, eyes closed now, fighting a need to acquiesce. No longer could she smell the fragrance of autumn; rather the rich, male scent of Ben filled her nostrils.

When he moved his hand to trace the line of her jaw with his lips, a slow, sweet lethargy stole over her. Her fingers relaxed their hold on his shirt, her palms flattened against the muscular swell of his chest. The rapid hammer of his heart seemed to echo through her.

“This is insane,” she whispered with a last breath of reason. Ben pressed another kiss to each eye.

“If it’s insane,” he growled, “why can’t we stop? We’re both creatures ruled by reason, aren’t we?”

She had no answer for him. Much as she could voice one feeble protest after another, she couldn’t keep her lips from aching for his again. It was a torment—his kissing her everywhere else—and she turned her head in an instinctive quest. When he finally gave her what she sought, it was his gain as well.
For her lips were open and welcoming as she sighed a blissful surrender.

Abby had never in her life been as fully intoxicated as she was at that moment. It suddenly seemed impossible to recall why she’d been hesitant, when her body tingled so delightfully. And she returned Ben’s kiss with an enflaming passion, subconsciously urging him to even greater heights.

“That’s it, sweetheart,” he murmured as his hands fell to her shoulders, then her waist, and he lifted her higher against him. With a low groan, he buried his face against the soft curve of her neck. “You always smell so good.”

She’d been thinking the same about him. “I told you—”

“No, it’s you, Abby. You’re more of a woman than anyone I’ve ever held in my arms.”

“Don’t say things like that,” she cried. It was bad enough that her body seemed beyond her control, that he made her feel precious beyond belief, but to hear his words and have to fight them as well…She didn’t think she could do it.

She was almost relieved when he kissed her again and she opened herself all the more in reward. It seemed only natural that his tongue should slide past her teeth to seek
its mate, just as it seemed only natural that its mate should respond.

Her fingers disappeared into the thickness of his hair, reveling in its vibrancy as she held him closer. With surrender had come an insatiable hunger; her whole body ached for more. Mindlessly she arched against him, resentful of the thin wood plank that separated them. If the canoe swayed, she was too swept up in passion to notice.

While his lips continued consuming her, his hands freely roamed the length of her spine. When Abby moaned in satisfaction, he grew bolder. His fingers spanned her sides and slid upward, grazing the sides of her breasts until she nearly cried aloud. Then, as though sensing her torment, he moved to cover her breasts, gently caressing their rounded form with a stroking that reverberated deep within her. She leaned closer, ever closer.

“It’s good, isn’t it, Abby?” he murmured against her cheek. She nodded, too breathless to speak. If Ben was bent on eradicating reason, he certainly had the tools, she mused through her languor. His lips knew how to incite fervor, his hands to kindle desire. And the sturdiness of his body was a haven when one’s own trembled madly.

His thumbs tipped up her chin. “Speak to me,” he ordered huskily. “I want to know what you feel.”

Slowly opening her eyes, she met his. “I feel…I feel as if I’m somewhere else…as if I’m
someone
else….”

His fingers worked lower on her neck, those thumbs now tracing lazy circles near the hollow of her throat. Her open-necked shirt presented no barrier. Nor did a remnant of reason. She only knew that she wanted him to touch her more.

“Is it that unreal?” he asked, resting his lips against her forehead for a minute before looking down at her again. His fingers had slipped beneath her collar to explore the skin of her shoulder.

She closed her eyes to the delicious feeling and let her head fall gently to the side. “Yes, it’s unreal. I’ve never felt like this….” His fingers moved lower and she felt herself swell toward them. When she moaned, he kissed her softly, barely disguising his work of releasing a first, then a second button. A little sound of excitement came from the back of her throat when he spread the shirt and touched her.

“Abby…Abby,” he rasped deeply. His hands circled her breasts then cupped them fully. She felt the warmth of his fingers moving across her nipples, drawing on them until they stood hard through her bra’s sheer fabric.

“Yes,” she whispered, entranced. “Oh,
yes, Ben. So good…” The intimacy brought a pleasure-pain that surged through her with lightning-sharp brilliance, illuminating longings she hadn’t known existed. Her own hands moved along his hard man’s body with growing impatience, wanting to feel him, to touch him too.

It wasn’t to be, however. From a far, far distance away came an intruding noise, a voice echoing strangely across the water. “Ben…Abby…?”

Their bodies froze; their minds struggled to understand the intrusion. “Damn!” Ben muttered, his voice hoarse, his breathing labored. “The bullhorn…”

As confusion gave way to comprehension, Abby gasped loudly. “Oh, no…”

“Abby…Ben…?” The summons came again.

He clutched her to him, burying her face against his chest. “We’re coming!” he boomed back over his shoulder, then swore again more softly.

Abby took deep, shuddering breaths in an attempt to recover her composure. It was a nightmare if there ever was one—having to face reality again. But was reality
this
, this sequestered life with twelve other people and Ben? Or was
that
reality, that other life awaiting her after the trial? And where did the passion she’d just shared with Ben fit in?

“I’m sorry, Abby.” She heard his voice, thick and muffled against her hair. “Talk about demoralizing…to be on top of the world one minute…and then hauled down by a…a…chaperone the next.…Well, for a man who likes to think he has a handle on things…I feel positively…impotent!”

If only her own emotions were as centralized, she mused as she took a final breath before pushing back from Ben’s chest. Head down, she slowly rebuttoned her blouse.

“Abby?” He tipped her chin up with his forefinger. “Are you all right?”

“Yes,” she whispered but quickly averted her eyes for fear he’d see the extent of her confusion. “I’m fine.” She wasn’t ready for an on-the-spot analysis of what had happened. There would be plenty of time for soul searching later.

“Listen, Abby—”

“Ben Wyeth…?” The bullhorn blared again, breaking the still of evening.

“Yes!” he roared angrily, turning to face the shore. “We’ll
be
there!” Then he carefully moved backward, retracing his steps to the stern, where he picked up his paddle and began to turn the canoe. Abby shifted around and followed his lead. Between them—and the excess energy that had no other outlet—they made it back in record time.

Nothing further was said; the mood had
been lost. Ben was quiet, Abby similarly subdued when they rejoined the others and prepared to leave. Fatigue from the day’s outing offered them a convenient excuse for saying little. And there were mercifully no comments as to the goings-on in the middle of the lake. Either Ben’s back had indeed protected them, or the light had grown too dim, or they’d been just far enough from shore…or their fellow jurors were indeed very tactful.

Whichever the case, Abby was too preoccupied to care. Very little penetrated her consciousness…beyond the image of Patsy running from the shadows beside the lodge, where the figure of a man remained. Patsy…whose adored ski bum awaited her. Patsy…lively, fun-loving Patsy. Had she felt the pressures of captivity? Was this her way of coping? For that matter, was it Abby’s? Is that what her attraction to Ben was all about?

The darkness was a godsend, hiding her bewilderment from her companions during the ride back to the inn. Once there, she went directly to her room to try and make sense out of what had happened. She needed the solitude; in Ben’s presence she couldn’t think straight.

But solitude eluded her. She’d barely
crumpled into the cushioned armchair when a firm knock brought her to her feet. There was no doubt in her mind as to who it would be. Ben Wyeth wasn’t one to accept…impotence…for long, she mused. Nor would he accept evasion gracefully. With a myriad of doubts and a deep, deep breath, she slowly walked to the door and opened it.

“I don’t know…I…” Before she could produce a response, he’d walked into the room, leaving her to close both the door and her mouth. She turned to find him standing before the window, his back to her, his hands thrust in his pockets. At a loss for words, she waited.

Finally he turned and her heart flip-flopped. His gray eyes held a hint of apology. His grin was decidedly sheepish. “I just…uh…felt like company. Saturday night and all.”

In that instant it seemed to make perfectsense. “I know,” she said softly, then hesitated.
“What…what would you do on a normal Saturday night?” If it was a repeat of the afternoon’s discussion, it had a keener edge to it.

“Oh…take in a show…go out to dinner. Sometimes nothing special. Saturday nights are great times to get into a good book…then stay up until four in the morning reading, knowing you can sleep late….”

She nodded, understanding and agreeing. Hadn’t she done the same herself on many a Saturday night? Sean hadn’t cared for such quiet times, had gone off in a huff mumbling something about laziness. But he’d always been back, full of forgiveness by Sunday afternoon.

“Uh…speaking of books,” she grasped at the diversion, “how are your ideas coming for one on
this
experience?” For lack of a better place, since Ben stood right by the armchair, she’d let herself down onto the edge of the bed. When he turned and eyed her intently, she wished she’d remained by the door.

“The experience of serving on a jury?” he asked.

As opposed to the experience of seducing one of its members, she returned in silent response to his arched brow. “Yes,” she answered pointedly.

“The ideas are…coming. It’s a fascinating phenomenon.”

She tipped her head. “With your background and the type of book you’ve written in the past, I’d think you’d write more of an overview—you know, the jury system in America, a jury of one’s peers, the process of deliberation—that type of thing. Am I warm?”

“Kind of.” He smiled for the first time and leaned back against the sill. Abby felt herself relax accordingly. “Actually I’m keeping an open mind on the thing. You’re right; a psychological study of the dynamics of a jury would be a change for me. And it might be very exciting.”

“Are you getting much from…from the others?”

“They’re opening up. It’s slow.” He grew more pensive. “The initial division into groups seems to have been based more on age and occupation than anything else. For example, Bernie, Richard, and Phil spend a lot of time together. A restaurant owner, an employee of the state tourism bureau, and a realtor—they’ve got a common interest. And they’re all in their fifties.”

Abby listened closely. “It’s been the same way with the women. There are fewer of us—five to your nine—but Anne Marie and Louise are close, as are Patsy and I.”

“What about Joan?”

“Joan?” she asked, her expression as enigmatic as her tone. “I’m not sure just
where she fits in. She keeps to herself most of the time—a real loner. I know that she’s never married. And even though she’s close in age to Anne and Louise, they’ve each got husbands and grown families. Perhaps she feels left out.” She shrugged. “She seems pleasant enough. And it’s not that she hasn’t accepted the situation. It’s just…that I can’t quite get through….”

“I know the feeling,” Ben returned. “Brian is much the same way.”

“Brian’s a great chess player,” she burst out on impulse.

Shifting to cross his arms over his chest, he scowled. “Now that would make great material for a book. ‘Brian Kent is a great chess player.’ ”

Abby recalled what Patsy had said that morning about Ben’s having observed her participation in that game.
Was
he jealous? His eyes were certainly dark enough now, she mused. Yet here, in the intimacy of her room, she didn’t dare force the issue. “I really don’t know him—other than through running and chess. He’s one of your big question marks?”

“Well put,” was his terse reply.

“What…what’s wrong with him?”

“Nothing wrong really. He’s got this kind of macho streak in him. It’s as though he’s constantly got his guard up. I think he may
be the hardest to crack. Seems to feel that it would destroy the image to open up and talk about what he’s feeling.”

“Is that what you’re doing—trying to find out what each of us feels about being a juror?”

He shook his head, his features softening again. “There’s more to it than that. I want the general feelings, yes, but also feelings about day-to-day things. For example, how did you feel when the defendant was led into the courtroom that first day?”

Abby thought for a minute. “I think I was…intimidated. It’s a very different thing to see pictures of a man in the paper, even to see him sitting in court during the jury selection process, but to
be
part of the jury and see him led in by guards…and to know that I’ll be asked to judge his guilt or innocence…” She paused to catch her breath. “Yes. Intimidated.”

“You see now,” he grinned, “that’s interesting. You’re not the only one who’s told me that. The others may not have put it quite as eloquently…”

“Baloney!…But what about you, Ben? What were you feeling then?”

“You really want to know?”

“Of course.”

He looked her straight in the eye. “I kept
asking myself how a guy who should have so much going for him has managed to blow it.”

“But…that’s implying he’s guilty!”

“Not necessarily. I simply look at him and see a whole lot that other people can never even hope to have. It’s too bad. You know…the dreams of money and power.”

Something caught at her throat. “Is that what you dream of, Ben?” she whispered.

He held back a minute, knowing that to share this part of himself was to allow Abby closer than most had ever been. When he spoke, his voice was infinitely softer. “I used to. I grew up with nothing. My parents worked their tails off for every cent we had. They died before I could share my own success with them.” He shifted to stare out into the dark. “As for money, I have all I need. Power likewise. My demands aren’t great on either score.”

“And are you happy?”

His gaze grew more distant and again he hesitated. “…I thought I had it all once. Then it was snatched from me for no apparent reason.” He clenched and unclenched his fist as though struggling to let go of that old dream and its pain. Then he drew in a long breath. “Happiness is relative, I suppose. I’ve been lucky enough to find it in other things….” His voice trailed off and he
rubbed his brow. “At any rate, I look at Bradley and can’t help wondering. He must have had every advantage in the book.”

It took Abby a minute to catch up; she’d stalled on the mention of his wife. That had to be it, she reasoned. He’d mentioned her once before with the same sound of anguish in his voice, the same distant look in his eye. He must have loved her very, very much.

“It’s interesting…what you’ve said,” she picked up gently. “You see Derek Bradley from the point of view of your own life’s experience. I suppose we all do it.”

“It’s inevitable. Take our friend today in the eggplant purple shirt.”

She grinned, as much in relief at the return of Ben’s humor as at its garish cause. “You mean George?” George of the wake-up green jacket that first night. “
You
take him.
You’re
the one writing the book.”

The corner of his mouth twitched. “I wouldn’t take him far in that get-up. But think of what
he
must think of Derek Bradley, who walks into court every day looking as if he’d just come from his private tailor.”

Abby chuckled. “I see your point. For that matter, Louise has a daughter about the age of Greta Robinson. It must be hard for her to look at the defendant and see anything but a rapist.”

“There,” Ben declared. “You’ve made my point.”

“Then…what about justice? How can he possibly have a chance?”

“He’s got a high-powered legal team for starters. And you can bet he’s gathered together a slew of favorable witnesses. Then, of course, he’s got twelve people. Not one. Twelve. Each of whom has sworn to make a decision based solely on the evidence presented in court.” If she’d earlier doubted his impartiality, the chiding gleam in his eye settled the matter. He went dutifully on. “It takes a unanimous decision to find for either side. If one person sees things his own way, it’s up to the other eleven to convince him otherwise.”

“Or vice versa.”

“That’s right.”

“And…if it doesn’t work either way?”

“Then we’ve got a hung jury and the whole three weeks will have been for naught.”

Abby felt the disappointment as if it had actually occurred. “That would be awful. For that matter, two of us
will
be excluded from the final deliberations.
That
would be awful!”

He shrugged. “It happens. But I agree; it’d be a real letdown after having gone through
the entire trial.” Yet as Abby gazed across at him, she sensed that the trial’s end would bring a letdown regardless.

“It’s an odd thing,” she began in an attempt to express her thoughts without saying too much, “to be thrown together with perfect strangers for an experience like this. I…I assume that permanent friendships are bound to emerge.”

“I assume.” He wasn’t making it any easier. For that matter, his expression had grown shadowed. Straightening from the sill, he thrust his hands into his pockets once more and wandered idly around the room. Abby could do nothing but sit and watch, wishing all the while that this were anything but a
bedroom
. Her imagination was far too active.

He moved slowly, weighed down by a private burden. When he finally came to a standstill directly before her, his features were nearly taut as his voice had been when first he’d appeared at her door. She sensed that they’d come full circle.

“Abby,” he sighed, “what do you think is happening…between us?”

Looking down, she studied the way her fingers lay against her denim jeans. She’d avoided the question for far too long. Perhaps Ben was her conscience. “I…I suppose
that…well, what with the situation and all…it’s only natural…” Even as she hated herself for her hesitancy, she couldn’t seem to do anything about it. How did one say “You turn me on!” in a refined sort of way? More importantly, how did one say it without inviting consequences that one wasn’t sure one wanted?

“
What’s
only natural?” he asked evenly.

“That we should…that there should be this…attraction.”

“Attraction?” He chuckled. “Isn’t that putting it a little mildly?”

Abby shrugged. “I suppose so.”

Cupping her chin, he urged her gaze upward. “I know so, Abby. It’s much more than a simple attraction that can be satisfied by a few stolen kisses. I need—”

“Ben—” she tried to interrupt, but he put a finger against her lips.

“I need you, Abby,” he growled, seeming to begrudge the fact even with its blunt acknowledgment. “It may be in part the situation…sitting so near you, sleeping,
trying
to sleep, so near you.” He raked a hand through his hair. “I don’t know. But I haven’t been able to think of anything except making love to you.”

“You shouldn’t—” she began, thinking of all those reasons against but unable to voice
them. For the look of tenderness that suddenly softened his features did strange things to her insides.

“I have to. I lie in there at night,” he tossed his head toward the wall abutting his room, “and think of you.”

“It’s pure circumstance,” she argued weakly. “Once the trial’s over and we’ve gone our separate ways—”

“But what about now, Abby? We’ve got another two and a half weeks ahead of us. What about now?”

Her pulse raced wildly. “What about it?” she asked, softly, unsure. Her eyes never left Ben’s as he lowered himself to sit beside her. One hand slid beneath the hair at her nape, the other tucked a loose mahogany strand behind her ear and stayed to trace its delicate curve.

“I want you,” he rasped. “We’re both too grown up to be satisfied with anything less than fulfillment. I want to make love to you. Here. Tonight.
All
night.”

Abby was stunned, in part by the suddenness of his proposition, in part by her inability to reject it curtly. When he drew her closer and kissed her, she was equally helpless.

If only he’d been rough in his hunger, she’d muse later. Then she might have put up a fight. But his lips were gentle in their aggression, instantly evoking memories of
the afternoon’s passion. Now the flames burst back to life, blinding her to everything but their glorious heat.

Then the phone rang.

“I don’t believe it,” Ben snarled. “Let it ring.’ ”

“They’ll only come for me,” she gasped. “Don’t forget, I’m not supposed to be ‘out for the evening.’ ”

It rang a second time. Abby was singed by the heated gray of Ben’s gaze, daring to reach for the phone only when she felt the hands at her shoulders slacken their hold. Then she scrambled to the far side of the bed where the intrusive instrument rang again. Intrusive…protective…which was it?

“Hello?” she asked, then glanced quickly over at Ben. “That’s all right…Yes, he’s here.…Downstairs?…He’s on his way.” Replacing the receiver, she exhaled a breath. “It’s for you. A call downstairs. They’ve been trying your room and took a chance….” Clearing her throat, she looked up. “It’s an Alexandra Stokes. She says it’s important.”