Point of No Return (12 page)

There were people walking by, also clad in black, so I refrained from saying anything as I got out of the car. Blane offered his arm and we walked up a sloping hill to where a large number of people were gathered.

We stayed toward the back and a little bit apart from the others. Though Blane had been cleared in Kandi’s murder—the real killer had confessed and was now behind bars—I could tell he was trying not to draw any attention to us.

Another freshly dug grave was nearby, and I realized it was for Kandi’s father. I couldn’t feel remorse for his death. He’d tried to kill Blane, had nearly killed Kade instead.

The service started, though we were too far away to hear the words spoken. After a while, someone began playing a melody on a flute. It sounded ethereal and lonely, a stark contrast to the sunny day and the flowers that dotted the lush, green landscape. Members of Kandi’s extended family passed by the casket, placing pink roses on top.

Blane stood stiffly beside me and I reached for his hand, lacing our fingers together. He said nothing, but his grip was tight.

When the service was over, we turned to go, but someone blocked our path.

“You’ve got some balls, Kirk, showing your face here.”

I sucked in a breath. It was James. He was also dressed in a black suit, and he looked livid.

“I’ve known Kandi all her life,” Blane said evenly.

“It’s because of you that she’s dead,” James spat.

Blane gripped my hand so tight it hurt. “Every time I speak to you, I find fewer and fewer reasons for you not to be in a grave, Gage.”

“Speaking of which, so sorry to hear about your buddy Dennon getting shot,” James retorted in mock sympathy. “Was a close call, wasn’t it?”

Blane lunged and I shoved myself between them. “No, Blane!” I said, trying to push him back. It was like trying to move granite. “Not here!”

“Better listen to her,” James sneered. “Tell me, does she screw both of you at once, or does Dennon fuck you in the ass while she watches?”

I spun around, my fist coming up and crashing into James’s nose. There was a crunching sound, a look of shock on James’s face, then blood began pouring. He stumbled back, his hands flying up to cover his nose.

Blane grabbed my arm and hauled me none too gently back to the car, moving so fast I had to run to keep up. In no time flat, we were in the Jaguar and speeding away from the cemetery.

I glanced at Blane, trying to read his expression. Shit. He was pissed.

“Listen, Blane—” I began, wanting to apologize. Well, not really. James had deserved it. Maybe I couldn’t shoot him, but apparently I had no qualms about punching him. Yet I’d made a scene at Kandi’s funeral and that was just wrong.

“That was fucking incredible,” Blane interrupted. “You’ve got one helluva right hook, Kat.” He shot me a grin.

I laughed, relieved he wasn’t angry.

“So were you defending my honor?” he teased.

I thought about it. “I guess so.” Huh. “James is disgusting,” I said. “He deserved it.” And now maybe he’d finally leave me alone.

“Couldn’t agree more,” Blane said. “How’s the hand?”

I realized that my hand was killing me. “Hurts like hell,” I said. “But worth it.”

Blane drove us back to his house, opening the car door for me when we arrived. His hand settled on my waist as we walked up the drive.

He led me to the den, then went to the kitchen. When he reappeared, he was carrying an ice pack wrapped in a thin dish towel.

“Come sit down,” he said, and I perched next to him on the sofa. He took my hand, gently laying the ice on my aching knuckles. I hissed a breath. I’d seriously have to rethink it if I ever wanted to punch someone in the nose again.

Blane raised his head and our gazes met, his eyes a stormy gray, the green mere flecks now. The black suit he wore was expertly tailored, like all his suits, encasing his wide shoulders in the expensive fabric. He still wore his tie, silver-and-black-striped silk knotted perfectly at his throat. His blond hair didn’t have a strand out of place. He was so perfect, I was momentarily without words as I studied him. When had I started seeing Blane as ordinary? When had I begun taking him for granted?

Discarding his jacket and tie, he crouched down to remove my heels, then sat next to me on the sofa. Wrapping an arm around my shoulders, he drew me toward him until I was nestled comfortably against his chest.

Blane reached for the remote and flipped on the television, clicking through the channels until he hit a movie. We’d both seen it already, but it was one of those you can watch again and again and still enjoy it. My knuckles were numb now, which was better than how they’d felt before, and I set aside the ice pack. Blane’s fingers combed idly through my hair as we sat comfortably in silence, watching TV. I tucked my legs beneath me on the sofa, releasing a deep sigh. My eyelids grew heavy.

I woke slowly, too comfortable to jerk awake. I’d slid down and now my head rested on Blane’s lap. The television was muted and I saw that the movie was over, something else now playing. It was dark outside and I realized I’d slept for a while.

Blane’s hand rested in the curve of my waist and I twisted a little to see his elbow braced on the arm of the sofa. He’d been staring off into space, but now glanced down at me, his lips tipping up in a tiny smile.

“Feel better?” he asked. His hand stroked a stray lock of hair back from my face, then rested lightly on my head.

“I’m sorry I fell asleep,” I said, moving to sit up. I was a little embarrassed to have used him like a pillow.

“It’s fine,” Blane said, pressing lightly on my stomach to still me. I looked up at him. “You’ve been exhausted the past few weeks,” he said. “You deserved a nap.”

My stomach chose then to complain loudly that I hadn’t eaten since breakfast. My face got red and I groaned with embarrassment. “Sorry,” I muttered.

But Blane only chuckled. “Sounds like it’s time for dinner,” he teased. “Why don’t you go freshen up and then meet me in the kitchen?”

I nodded. “Okay.”

I changed out of the dress I’d worn to the funeral, pulling on a pair of shorts and a T-shirt, which were much more comfortable. I washed off my makeup and ran a brush through my hair, then headed back downstairs.

I expected to see Mona and Gerard in the kitchen with Blane, but it was just him.

“Where’s Mona?” I asked.

Blane was chopping vegetables on a cutting board.

“It’s their anniversary,” Blane explained. “Gerard took her to dinner to celebrate.”

“Oh. Okay. Well, can I help?” My cooking skills were notoriously lacking, which Blane was quite aware of, though he’d never seemed to mind.

Blane set down the knife and wiped his hands on a dish towel. “Yes, you can,” he said. Then he grabbed me around the waist, picked me up, and set me on the counter. “You can keep me company.” His gray eyes twinkled at me.

I laughed. “I get it. I wouldn’t want me around a hot stove, either.”

Tigger nosed around Blane’s legs, probably hoping for something to drop, while Blane resumed chopping vegetables. A pot of water was boiling on the stove.

Blane had fixed dinner for me a few times before, though it was rare. He usually came home from work between six and seven, and if Mona was off for the evening, it was just easier to go out. His days at the office were often ten hours or more, so I could see why he wouldn’t want to cook dinner when he got home.

“What are you making?” I asked, watching his hands deftly use the long, sharp knife.

“Pasta primavera,” he replied. “Thought you could use something healthy.”

His thoughtfulness made me smile. He glanced at me.

“What?” he asked. “Do I look funny chopping zucchini?”

I laughed. “No. I was just thinking how different you are from what I’d first imagined you to be.”

“Oh no, here we go,” he said with a grin. “Dare I ask?”

“All the girls at the office are in love with you,” I teased. “They like to watch how you move.”

“How I move?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

I couldn’t hold back a laugh. “Yeah. They’d watch you walk across the lobby to the elevator. It was like a morning ritual. Then we’d all discuss what suit you were wearing that day. We named them, you know, kind of like how Elvis named his suits.”

Blane stopped chopping. “You named them?”

“Well, not me personally,” I said. “It was kind of a
. . .
group activity.”

Blane frowned. “I have over two dozen suits,” he said.

“I know.” I nodded sagely. “It was a very serious endeavor, especially if you were in a hurry and we didn’t get that good of a look.”

Blane shook his head as he again resumed chopping. “So now I’m curious. What were some of the names?”

“Okay, I’ll tell you, but you have to promise not to let on that you know,” I said, pointing sternly at him.

Blane stopped again and just looked at me.

“I mean it,” I insisted. “I’m breaking the Woman Code by telling you any of this.”

He snorted. “Fine. I promise I won’t tell anyone that you broke The Code.”

I grinned. “Okay, well, you know the gray pinstripe? I think it’s Dolce and Gabbana?”

He nodded. “The wool and silk one? Yeah.”

“Well, that one’s called
Coming for You
.”

“That’s not too bad,” Blane said. “I expected worse.”

I hid a grin. “That Armani light-gray stripe?” Blane nodded. “That’s
FML
.”

“Fuck My Life?” Blane asked.

“Nope.
Fuck Me Later
.”

His brows rose and his lips twisted. “I see.”

“And let’s not forget one of my favorites,” I continued. “The double-breasted three-piece Tom Ford. The one that’s so dark gray it’s nearly black? Yeah, that one’s called
The Panty Dropper
.” I giggled. It was funny and ridiculous to be telling him these things.

Blane shook his head, but he was smiling, too. He dumped a box of pasta in the water, then put a big cookie sheet filled with chopped veggies in the oven and set the timer before heading my way. Reaching around me, he grabbed a bottle of wine that he’d opened. He was very close for a moment and I breathed in the scent of his cologne.

Refilling his glass, Blane said, “So did you ever name one of my suits?”

The heat flooding my cheeks gave me away before I could say a word. Blane chuckled. “Okay. Give. Which one and what’s the name?”

Although I knew I shouldn’t answer, I found myself saying, “The single-breasted charcoal Tom Ford.”

Blane gave a slow nod, his gaze turning calculating. “I wore that suit the first time I kissed you.”

As if I needed reminding. “Yeah, I named that one.”

He cocked an eyebrow. “And?”

I hesitated. “I called it
Leave Me Breathless
.” Which actually was exactly how I felt at the moment.

Blane took a slow drink of wine, his eyes still locked on mine. “So tell me something,” he said at last.

I raised my eyebrows in silent question.

“The night Sheila died, the night I stayed with you in your apartment, you had a nightmare, remember?”

I nodded. I remembered that night vividly, not only because of Sheila’s horrible death but also because of Blane’s comforting presence.

Blane leaned one hip against the counter next to me. “So the next morning, when we woke
. . .
”

My pulse sped up. That morning was burned in my memory. Blane’s eyes were a stormy gray and I couldn’t look away from them.

“
. . .
I had my arm around you,” he continued, his voice lowering. “And I was touching you. You didn’t fight me, didn’t tell me no, and I always wondered if it was because you were scared, or if you thought you owed me something—that I was your boss, something like that. Or if you didn’t say anything
. . .
because you didn’t want me to stop.”

Memories came flooding back, making my heart twist inside my chest.

“I’ve always wondered,” Blane said with a soft smile and a shrug. “Thought maybe you might put my curiosity to rest.”

I swallowed before answering. “I was scared, a little,” I admitted. “But mostly
. . .
I didn’t want you to stop.”

The air was thick in my lungs and neither of us moved. With me on the counter, we were the same height, and he’d moved closer. His gaze dropped to my lips and my mouth went dry.

The oven timer buzzed, shattering the spell woven around us. I jerked back, tearing my eyes away from him.

Blane. More potent and dangerous than the most addictive drug. The pull between the two of us was still there, no matter how heartbroken I was over Kade leaving.

Kade.

The thought of him was like a bleak cloud settling over me and I didn’t say much as we sat down to dinner. Blane was a good cook and I was ravenous, a combination that meant I cleaned my plate and snuck another helping. Okay, two more helpings, but they were on the smallish side.