No Turning Back (5 page)

"Um," I hesitated, skimming the menu for a dish I knew. "Do you have any soup?" I asked hopefully. Soup was good. Soup was universal. Every place had soup.

"Of course," Greg said. "Our Chef's soup of the day is celery-root soup with bacon and green apple."

Okay, not what I had been expecting but it had bacon, how bad could it be? "I'll take that," I said, handing him the menu. Greg and I looked expectantly at Blane. That smile was tugging the corners of his mouth again and I tried to ignore the fluttery feeling it gave me in the pit of my stomach.

"I'll have the strip, medium-rare," Blane ordered. Well. That sounded good. Crap. I should've ordered that instead. Except I wasn't a hundred percent sure he was buying. He probably was but, just in case, it would be really embarrassing to be stuck with a check I couldn't pay. I didn't have a lot of cash on me and I used my one credit card for emergencies only.

"You sure all you want is soup?" Blane asked me. At my nod, Greg left again.

"You've had a busy day," Blane said. "In one day you've had someone using you as a hostage, and someone else threatening you." I blanched. I hadn't realized he'd found out about the incident at the courthouse.

Reaching across the table he tugged slightly at the open collar to my shirt, exposing the bandage at the base of my neck. I was so surprised I didn't immediately react. His eyes were on mine, then moved down. I jerked backward.

"Excuse me," I said, my voice frosty. I didn't like where this was going. Was this the reason he'd brought me here? Did he think I was going to demand workman's comp or something over what had happened today?

"Where did you learn to get away like that?" Blane asked, taking another sip of his drink and completely ignoring my reaction. He leaned toward me, folding his arms on the table.

"My father," I said, sitting back slightly. His gray-green eyes were focused intently on me and I had to look away. Blane made me nervous, my fascination with him notwithstanding. The energy that always seemed to float around him was nearly palpable. My surreptitious observance of him over the past few months had shown me that he was intense in everything he did. Now, apparently, I was his focus. I fidgeted under his steady gaze, taking another swallow of my Manhattan.

"What else did he teach you?" he asked.

I thought for a moment, then decided to be truthful, no matter if I came across as oddly different from Blane’s usual companions.

"The fine art of making a proper whiskey drink, as any good Irishman knows. How to shoot, and more importantly, hit what I’m shooting. Not to trust what people say, but only what they do."

I had been hoping to set Blane as off balance as I was, but his face gave nothing away. He took a sip of his drink so I took the opportunity to pose a question of my own.

"How did you find out about today?" I asked.

"I was there," Blane answered, setting his glass back down on the table. "He was my client. On trial for embezzlement. Couldn't handle the pressure. I had no idea he'd do something like that, though, I swear."

My lips pressed together. In all the commotion, I hadn’t seen him in the crowd, but obviously he had been there, and this dinner was about me possibly holding the firm accountable. I felt a weight in the pit of my stomach. I hadn't realized that I’d been hoping, just a tiny bit, that it might have been something else. I downed the rest of my Manhattan. Blane's eyes narrowed as he watched me.

Greg arrived with our food and I was grateful for the diversion, though my little bowl of soup looked pretty paltry next to the slab of beef he set before Blane. I looked longingly at his plate, then back at my soup which was a pretty light green. It reminded me of the color of Blane's eyes, which just made me cranky.

I picked up a spoon and dug in, hoping the bacon would make it taste better than it had sounded, and was pleasantly surprised. It was pretty good. I hadn't realized until I started eating how hungry I was since I had skipped lunch. I finished the soup too quickly. Probably not the most ladylike thing to do, wolfing down my food, but I knew this wasn't about Blane being interested in me so I didn't care.

When I finished, I realized Greg had brought me another Manhattan. I was still hungry, but the soup had taken the edge off. I took a deep swallow of my drink, eyeing Blane's steak as he ate.

Greg appeared again, taking my bowl. "Would you like anything else?" he asked me. I shook my head and Greg went away.

"Why did you come to Indianapolis?" Blane asked.

I didn't really want to talk more about personal stuff with Blane, but didn't want to be outwardly rude. I cleared my throat, buying some time. "Just needed a change," I finally said vaguely. No need for Blane to know my life history or how I'd wanted to be a lawyer someday. It would sound too much like "Gee, I wanna be like you when I grow up!"

"So how's the embezzlement guy?" I asked, taking another sip of my drink. Blane finished off his steak and pressed the snowy linen napkin to his mouth before answering.

"He's going to be all right," he finally said. "We'll press for a psychiatric evaluation once he's recovered."

"The insanity defense," I said. "A bit cliché, really." I might have been able to appreciate it more had I not been the target of choice to prove how crazy he was.

"Not something I would have encouraged him to do," Blane said carefully.

I decided to just get it out in the open. Playing games wasn't really my thing. I much preferred honesty.

"I'm not going to sue the firm," I said, letting him know I was on to him. The stress of the day and the alcohol was getting to me. He was right, this hadn't really been my typical day. I couldn't wait to get home, take a nice hot shower and climb into bed.

"I didn't think you were," he said, and I just looked at him, disbelief etched on my face. Did he think I was an idiot as well as a hick?

"C'mon," I said with an unladylike snort, "like I don't know what this is about."

He leaned forward, his eyes narrowing. I felt a flutter in my stomach and nervously swallowed some more bourbon.

"I'm glad you're not going to sue the firm," he said quietly, "and we're grateful for your loyalty. We'd like to offer you compensation for what you had to endure today."

I blinked slowly. "Are you trying to pay me off?" I said bluntly.

"Of course not," he said. "It's what I just said. Compensation for hardship endured under our employment."

They were paying me off. "How much?" I asked, angry now. I thought I saw the slightest glint of disappointment in Blane's eyes. He leaned back in his chair.

"Five thousand," he said, watching me carefully. My eyes widened slightly. Holy crap. That was a lot of money.

"Five thousand?" I repeated, my voice squeaky.

"Or ten," he said with a shrug, "if you feel that would be more appropriate."

Ten thousand dollars. That would go a long way toward paying off the debt I was in from my mom's medical bills. I got lost for a minute in imagining how freeing that would be. I could quit my other job and maybe find a nicer place to live. Go back to school even. Then I shook myself. It wasn't going to happen. There was no way I was going to take money from them. It just felt wrong to take that much money, regardless of the fact that it was to buy my silence and cooperation. Blane buying dinner was one thing; taking ten thousand dollars from him was quite another.

I shook my head. "Forget it," I said regretfully. "I don't want your money."

Now I'd surprised him. "What do you mean, you 'don't want the money?'" he asked, looking quizzically at me.

"I don't want it," I repeated, more forcefully this time. I didn't want him or the firm to have that much power over me. I wasn’t naïve enough to think that kind of money didn’t come with strings attached. But I didn't say that.

Greg came by then with the check and I watched with relief as Blane tossed some money down on the table and stood. I felt like I had to be on my guard with everything I said and it was wearing on me. Blane held out a hand to assist me down from the stool and I reluctantly took it. The last thing I wanted to do was touch him, but falling on the floor held little appeal either. I was anxious to return our relationship to a distant employer/employee one. A very distant one.

His hand was large, warm and surprisingly rough for a man who worked a white collar job. My hand was swallowed in his. When I reached the floor, he took hold of my elbow. He led me to the car where, once again, he held the door open for me until I'd climbed inside. I couldn't fault his mother for teaching him manners.

"Where to?" he asked, once he'd gotten in and started the car. I gave him my address and he headed that way. The bourbon had relaxed me and I settled back and closed my tired eyes. The seat was warm under my thighs and I smiled a little. Heated leather seats.

The next thing I knew, a warm hand was touching my face. I slowly opened my eyes and blinked blearily. Blane's face was very close to mine and it was his hand that was cupping my cheek. Coming awake quickly now, I jerked upright. His hand dropped but he didn't move away. I looked outside. We were in the parking lot of my apartment building.

"Sorry I fell asleep," I said breathlessly. "Thanks for the ride." I opened the door and saw him get out as well.

"I'll walk you," he said. I grimaced. It's not that I was embarrassed about where I lived, exactly, but it certainly wasn't one of the nicer places around. I really didn't need any other reminders tonight of the complete disparity between Blane and me.

I climbed the stairs, my senses overly heightened to Blane behind me. I could hear the soft sound of his jacket move as he walked and fancied I could feel his presence behind me as well. We reached my door and I turned to find him glancing around curiously. I noticed Sheila's lights were off. She must be out.

Grabbing my keys from my purse, I unlocked my door and turned to face Blane again.

"Do you live alone?" he asked, looking over my head behind me into the darkened apartment.

"Yes," I answered. I fiddled nervously with my keys. Surely he wasn't waiting to be invited in?

"What are you going to do about your car?" he asked. He made no move to try and come in as I stood awkwardly in the doorway.

"I guess I'll call a tow truck," I said. At times like these, I really missed my home town. There I had at least known neighbors and friends who could help with things like car trouble.

"Do you have any family here?" he asked, and I shook my head. "Boyfriend?" I shook my head again.

Blane was quiet then and he moved a bit closer. I had to tip my head back to look at him. I was still fiddling with my keys, their jangling the only noise. His hand closed over mine, stilling my fingers. My heart started beating faster and I couldn't look away from him.

His hand came up to touch my hair, tracing a long lock before gently wrapping its wavy length around a finger. I didn't move.

"I'll take care of it," he said softly. I didn't know what he was talking about and I felt like I couldn't breathe. His chest was inches away from me and his eyes intently gazed into mine.

"Take care of what?" I finally managed to say, my voice much more breathy than I would have liked. My eyes drifted unwillingly to his mouth.

The corners of his perfectly carved lips tipped upward. "Your car," he said, and I jerked my eyes back up to his. "I'll take care of your car."

Oh. Okay. Of course I knew that had been what he meant. "You don't have to do that," I protested.

His finger tugged my hair lightly. "It would be my pleasure," he said, his lips still curved in a smile that was part friendly, part wicked. I unconsciously licked my lips. His gaze dropped to my mouth before returning to my eyes.

"I'll need these," he said, gently removing the keys from my hand. "Good night, Kathleen." He released my hair and stepped away. My vocal chords were no longer functioning properly so I didn't get a chance to say anything before he was gone.

Shakily closing and locking the door, I flipped on the light switch. The lamp next to my mother's old couch turned on and I sank down into the familiar cushions, trying to catch my breath. No wonder he had women falling all over him. Being near him and experiencing his full attention was enough to make me forget all the reasons for staying far away from Blane's magnetic appeal.

I rubbed the back of my neck. I could feel a headache coming on. Heaving myself to my feet, I headed back to my bedroom. Too tired to take a shower, I just brushed my teeth, changed into a t-shirt to sleep in, and fell into bed.

A pounding at the door woke me. Glancing at the clock on my bedside table, I saw it was after ten in the morning. Grabbing a pair of knit shorts, I pulled them on and hurried to the door. I looked through the peephole and saw a man standing there with a clipboard. He had on a pair of navy overalls with his name stitched on them. "Larry," it proclaimed in red letters. I opened the door.

Larry's eyes widened when he saw me. I self-consciously smoothed my rat's nest hair. "Yes?" I asked.

"Are you," he checked his clipboard, "Kathleen Turner?" He looked back up at me dubiously. I cleared my throat and gave up on my hair.

"Yes, I am," I confirmed.

"Well, your car is done," he said, shoving the clipboard at me. "It's down in the lot. I locked it for you."

I took the clipboard and tried to look beyond him at the lot. "What was wrong with it?" I asked, scrawling my name on the sheet.

"Needed a new battery," he said, taking the clipboard from me and handing me my keys which Blane had taken the night before.

"How much do I owe you?"

He shook his head. "Already been taken care of," he said. "Have a nice day."

He left and I closed the door. Well. I guess Blane had been as good as his word. He had taken care of it. I breathed a sigh of relief. Most women probably would rather have flowers or jewelry – I was grateful to have a new battery for my car.

Since it was Saturday, I didn't have to work until this evening when I had to go in for my shift at The Drop. It was a nice bar, not a dive, so wasn't a bad place to work and I enjoyed it. The customers were usually middle to upper class professionals so the tips were good. I made a pot of coffee and showered while it brewed.