Like Silk

“Come on and I’ll make us some breakfast.” He had to do something to ease the tension, needed to keep busy. His insides felt ready to explode.

Once he had freshly dripped coffee on the small kitchen table, along with bowls of oatmeal and plates of toast, he finally sat down across from her. He kept his eyes averted for fear she would pick up on his raw and growing hunger for her, which could only make the situation even more uncomfortable.

He grimaced, then focused his attention on the oatmeal. It reminded him of a glob of cement. He almost got up and dumped it into the sink. If only he hadn’t given in to the urge to play the Good Samaritan.

“When can you take me home?”

The sound of her soft, Southern voice pulled him up short. Oh, boy. His grimace deepened. “I can’t. At least, not today.”

Her face lost what little color it had, making her eyes appear deeper and darker than before.

“The bridge is impassable,” he added flatly.

Her lower lip quivered, which was almost more than he could handle. “What if…” Again her voice faded into nothingness.

“I know what you’re thinking, but it’s supposed to clear. As soon as it’s safe, trust me, we’ll be out of here.”

Brittany bit down on that deliciously plump lip, stopping the trembling. Though she didn’t say so, he sensed she was terribly upset by the turn of events. Hell, so was he. But he couldn’t do anything about it, and neither could she.

“I have to get back to my job.”

Her dark brown eyes implored him, and he stifled a curse. “I’m sure you do, but that’s not going to happen. Not today.”

“There’s…nothing you can do?”

He shoved the bowl away, dropping all pretense of eating. “Nope, except wait.” He paused, angling his head. “Where do you work?”

“At a travel agency in Haven. I’m also taking classes at the college. Tonight, however, I have to be—” She stopped midsentence. “Never mind. It’s not important.”

He frowned. “If there’s someone you need to call, feel free.”

“It doesn’t matter,” she said in a forlorn voice. “I can’t go to the diner looking like this anyway.”

“Diner?”

Her chin seemed to lift a notch as she met his gaze. “I work on weekends as a part-time waitress.”

A waitress.

He didn’t know why that bothered him. There was nothing wrong with that job. Maybe he was more of a snob than he realized.

Finally collecting himself, he said, “Like I said, make any calls you want.”

“Thanks,” she said tightly.

He wanted to bombard her with questions, asking why the hell someone who looked like her had to sling hash. More to the point, he wanted to know everything there was to know about this lovely creature who had dropped into his life.

But his throat felt suddenly paralyzed, especially when that lower lip started to quiver again. For a long moment he couldn’t take his eyes off it, imagining his tongue running across its soft inner lining.

“Don’t.”

He gave another start. “Don’t what?”

“Look at me like that,” she said in a slightly cracked voice.

Distress spilled from her eyes, which made him feel more like a heel than ever. Realizing he was on the verge of falling off a very high cliff, he stood and muttered roughly, “Sorry.”

When she didn’t respond, he added, “Look, stay and finish your breakfast. I’ve got work to do.”

Rupert Holt slammed the paper down on the desk in his study so hard that his cup rattled in his saucer. Coffee sloshed on the wood. “Damn!”

He ignored the mess his burst of temper had made, continuing to seethe. Let one of his maids clean it up. He paid them enough.

The last thing he wanted was for Collier Smith to get that appointment to the federal bench. No son or stepson—it didn’t matter—of Mason Williams would succeed in any political arena if he had his way. And as long as he had the money to back up his mouth, he usually got what he wanted.

But then, so did Mason. He had as much clout, prestige and money as Rupert himself had. Yet Rupert was determined to best him. Besting his contemporary had become one of his most sought after goals. He felt justified, too, since the law firm of Williams, Smith and Rutledge had represented him on a lawsuit that had gone sour, costing him a bundle of money.

While that was bad enough, Mason’s superior attitude rankled just as much. The fact that he hailed from an old Southern family, with roots going back before the Civil War, didn’t make Mason any better or his shit smell any sweeter.

Rupert would have given his left ball to have the same social clout Mason and his family had, but no matter how much money he made, no matter how many of the rough edges he whittled off his personality, his efforts never seemed to be enough.

In the social circles of Haven and the surrounding county, he was always going to be one down simply because he didn’t have a family tree of distinction.

A crock of crap. That was his thought on the subject. He had news for the snobs: he could hold his own when push came to shove. And with this federal appointment wide-open, the shoving had started.

Hell, he was a staunch Republican, in good standing with the party muckey-mucks, and he had his own man in the race for the judgeship, a man who was much more qualified than Smith.

Before he could mount an attack against the William and Smith armies, however, he had to fix a more pressing problem—Brittany Banks. Somehow he had to make up for the damage he’d done to her before she returned the favor and damaged him.

Sweat dampened his shirt as the ramifications of his poor judgment hit home. He couldn’t remember when he’d gotten that drunk or lost control so completely and so quickly.

But when she’d told him no and looked at him as if he was some reptile that had just crawled out from under a rock, he’d lost it. He remembered slapping her hard at least once. What happened after she cried out remained fuzzy, except for when he shoved her out of his vehicle.

If she blabbed and his wife found out… Sweat covered Rupert’s entire body as he suddenly lunged up from the table and walked to the window. The grounds of his mansion were a sight for any eyes, especially when the leaves were at their peak. Now the beauty of his estate held little fascination for him. His mind was too cluttered with neutralizing the damage.

He’d already ordered two dozen long-stemmed red roses to be sent to the travel agency that afternoon if Brittany showed up for work. Suddenly his entire system threatened to shut down.

What if she was dead?

Although it hadn’t been freezing last night, it had been cold and raining. And he’d just dumped her on the side of a highway like a piece of garbage. Someone could have come along and run over her, or worse.

His sweat turned into a chill, making him shake. He’d already called the local hospitals to see if she’d been admitted. So far, so good. If she didn’t show up at work in a few days, he would have to hire a private eye to find her. If she was dead…

He almost lost the contents of his stomach. He shouldn’t have gotten so stinking drunk. He knew he couldn’t handle it. Angel, his wife, would have his head on a platter, not to mention what would happen to his position in the company. She would strip him of all power. He thought he’d conquered his drinking problem, or at least had it under control, but apparently he hadn’t.

The thing was, he hadn’t wanted a woman in a long time. And he couldn’t remember ever wanting one as badly as he wanted Brittany, even if she was trailer trash.

And to think she’d rejected him. No one thwarted Rupert Holt and got away with it. This time, though, he feared he’d taken his rage and vindictiveness too far. Until he knew for sure, he had to back off.

His only hope was that Brittany was a survivor. Considering what she’d been through already, she would bounce back. When she surfaced, he would make amends, take care of the problem. Her brother was her Achilles’ heel, so he’d keep hammering on his willingness to help Tommy. Before long, he would wear her down and get back into her good graces. She would never say a word to anyone.

Suddenly feeling better, Rupert turned his attention back to Collier. He eyed the cordless phone on the buffet and reached for it. Might as well start the dice rolling against Smith.

He punched out a number and waited.

Five

Would this mess ever end? The rain had been falling all day and into the night, which meant the bridge was completely submerged. They were truly marooned.

It had to quit. It just had to. The day had been long and not really profitable, though he’d remained in his room for most of it. When he was lucky enough and got a respite from thoughts of Brittany, he’d actually gotten a little work done. Not nearly enough, however. He’d used most of his energy debating what to do about her.

Absolutely nothing, his common sense had told him. As soon as they were able to get back to civilization, Brittany would no longer be his responsibility. So why did he feel so responsible? Go figure.

It was apparent she’d wanted to avoid him as much as he had her. Still, he’d forced himself to knock on her door a couple of times and ask if she was all right, telling her to help herself to anything in the kitchen she might want. Once he’d heard her rummaging around in there and been tempted to join her, but he hadn’t. He knew he wasn’t playing the gracious host, not anywhere close to it. But this entire situation was so bizarre that he had no real idea how to behave.

Brittany Banks made him uncomfortable. That was the stark truth. She made him want something he couldn’t have. Her. Every time he was around her, he got a hard-on. He wasn’t proud of his urges, but he was proud that he’d stayed away from her.

As it was, she’d been to hell and back. He had no intention of sending her back there again, which was what would happen if he touched her. Just that thought knotted his stomach even tighter. He wasn’t thinking like a rational man but like a teenager in heat.

Actually it was worse. Instead of tending to business, he’d spent his time lusting after a woman who, under normal circumstances, he wouldn’t have looked at twice or given the time of day.

Well, maybe that was going a bit too far. He probably would at least have noticed her. With her beauty, all she had to do was walk into a room and heads would turn. Especially men’s. She transmitted sexual signals with her every move, yet she seemed totally unaware of them.

That was what made her so intriguing.

Enough, Smith. Brittany Banks had taken up enough of his time. He had to forget her and turn his attention to what counted in his life. Tomorrow. Surely the rain would cease then and they could leave. She would go her way and he would go his. If she chose to let that scumbag who attacked her get away with it, then so be it. He wasn’t going to beg her to do the right thing and turn him in.

Now all he had to do was get through the remainder of the night.

Collier shifted his gaze toward the bed bathed in lamp-light. While it certainly looked inviting, he knew that once he lay there, his eyes would stay wide-open as if they had been glued.

What would his mother’s advice be? His insides stilled. Why had the late Hannah Smith Williams come unexpectedly to mind? The answer was a no-brainer. He missed her. Despite the fact that she had died when he was only thirteen, he remembered every detail about her.

She was the prettiest, sweetest woman he’d ever known. And she always smelled so good, like roses. Maybe that was why Brittany’s scent had captivated him. Hannah had been perfect in every way, or at least he’d thought so. And still did.

Unwittingly his mind slid back to that awful day when he’d come home from school and rushed into the parlor where his mother would wait for both him and Jackson. On that particular day he’d been alone, with something important to tell her.

Hannah had been sitting in her usual chair, close to the fireplace, where the burning wood hissed pleasantly in the hearth. Her eyes had been closed, and she’d looked peaceful and beautiful, even more so than usual. He’d dashed to her side, expecting her to open her eyes, smile, then hold up her cheek for a kiss.

“Hey, Mom, I’m home.”

No response.

“Mom!” he called again, kneeling beside the chair and poking her. “Wake up.”

Still no response. He shook her shoulder gently, grinning, thinking she was playing a trick on him. “Come on, I know you’re just playing possum.” He shook her harder.

When she didn’t respond, he frowned, rose to his feet and hollered for Maxine, the housekeeper, who was like a second mother to him. She stormed into the room. “What on earth, boy? You’re yelling like a banshee.”

“It’s Mom!” he cried. “She…she won’t wake up.”

He moved aside as Maxine ran to Hannah and began to shake her gently. “Miz Hannah, wake up. Collier’s home.”

She placed her fingers on his mother’s throat, feeling for a pulse. It wasn’t what Maxine said afterward but rather the sudden terrified expression on her face that told him something was wrong. Horribly wrong.

“What’s the matter with Mom? Is she sick?”

“Come with me,” Maxine said, not looking at him. “Let’s go into the other room and call your dad.”

“No, I’m not leaving Mom.” Collier’s tone was belligerent. “She’ll want me here when she wakes up.”

“Please do what I say.”

Collier stiffened. “Why?”

“Because your mother’s not going to wake up,” Maxine blurted, then covered her mouth with her hand, as if she knew she’d spoken out of turn.

Collier’s eyes suddenly filled with tears, and he backed up toward his mother. Once there, he whipped around, dropped to his knees beside her and placed his palm against her face. “She’s not dead!” he sobbed in a fierce tone. “Don’t say that!”

“Collier, please,” Maxine whispered, touching his shoulder.

He shrugged her hand away. “No! I have to make her breathe again. You have to help me.”

“Collier, don’t,” Maxine whispered again in a broken voice.

“No!” he screamed, leaning over and beating on Hannah’s chest. “Wake up, Mom. Please don’t die. Please don’t. Please.”

But no amount of pleading on his part had changed the hard, cold fact that his mother was indeed dead. What happened immediately afterward became sketchy. Until this day, he couldn’t remember the details of Mason’s arrival, the funeral or the days following. All he remembered was knowing that his life as he’d known it was over, that nothing would ever be the same again. And it hadn’t been.

Hannah had been his greatest protector, his biggest champion and his fiercest disciplinarian. For the longest time after she’d died, he had been so angry with God and everyone around him that he’d been unbearable. Looking back, he actually felt sorry for Mason, who had been left with two teenage boys to rear alone.

Mason had married Collier’s mother when he had been only two years old. Mason’s son, Jackson, had been six. Both his mother and Mason had been divorced. Collier’s birth father hadn’t wanted anything to do with him after his mother had caught him with another woman and left him. Even so, as a result of the nasty divorce that followed, his father had refused to give his permission for Mason to adopt him.

Despite that, Mason was the only father Collier had ever known. And while Mason had been good to him, certainly treated him like his younger son, Collier knew that he wasn’t and nursed deep insecurities.

That feeling had worsened after his mother’s death. Hannah had represented the softer, gentler side of the family. Mason was hard-edged and expected too much from his sons. That worsened, too, once they became his total responsibility. He hadn’t a clue how to handle the needs of two boys. A succession of nannies was the order of the day.

Yet he and Jackson had survived those difficult years, both becoming successful attorneys any father could be proud of. Even so, Collier felt he hadn’t quite made the grade yet, that he still had more hurdles to jump.

In many ways, though, he was just like Mason despite the fact that no blood linked them. Collier was smart, ambitious and driven, all the attributes that had launched Mason to the top of his profession and earned him the bucks and respect that went with it.

Despite the similarities, Collier continued to feel that he still didn’t measure up, that he had something more to prove. That was why he had to get that appointment to the bench. Maybe then he would finally feel like Mason’s son in every respect.

If Jackson hadn’t had that accident, he wouldn’t feel quite as much pressure. It wouldn’t dog his every waking moment, this need to succeed because the eldest son hadn’t. Too, he yearned to take away some of the pain that Jackson’s misfortune had put in his father’s heart.

Mason harped constantly on the injustice of it all, making closure impossible. He grieved daily over Jackson’s unwillingness to continue to practice law. Instead Jackson seemed content to simply sit in his room at the mansion and nurse his bitterness and anger. And become weaker by the day.

As a result, Collier often felt pangs of guilt for remaining upright and whole, something that Jackson would never be again. He had always idolized Jackson, positive he was smarter, wittier and more likely to succeed. When the accident occurred, Collier had felt his own heart and spirit break.

Now, however, though Jackson refused to make a new life for himself, Collier refused to give in to his brother’s despair. He was determined that sooner or later Jackson would be productive again. On that point, he and Mason were in total agreement.

Thinking about his mother’s untimely death and his brother’s plight left him more depressed than ever. “Ah, to hell with it,” he spat aloud, crossing to the bed and plopping down on it. Perhaps if he lay there long enough, he would fall asleep, regardless of his restless mind and heart.

He awakened with a start, totally disoriented for a moment, then realized where he was. He couldn’t identify what had interrupted his sleep. He peered at the clock. Midnight. His rest had certainly been short-lived.

Collier heard the noise then. This must be what had awakened him, and this time he recognized it. Someone was sobbing. Brittany was sobbing. Before he had time to think, he lunged off the bed and headed for her room. Without hesitation, he opened the door, then eased onto the side of her bed, scared shitless that she had internal injuries only a doctor could fix.

“Brittany,” he whispered, hearing the note of panic in his voice but unable to control it.

The small lamp burning in the corner gave him access to her face. When she gazed up at him, the stark sadness in those eyes opened an emotional floodgate inside him. It was all he could do not to grab her and hold her tightly, aching to absorb some of that pain.

Instead he ignored that need and concentrated on his fears, growing more alarming by the second. “Are you in pain?” he rasped.

She blinked back tears. “No. I…guess I was dreaming. I’m sorry I disturbed you.”

“Hush,” he said gently.

As if they had a will of their own, his hands began wandering over her body, searching for broken bones, signs of something, anything, he might have missed.

Only after a sob suddenly caught in her throat and her big brown eyes locked on his did he pause, realizing one hand was covering her breast.

For the longest time, neither one of them moved. The feelings clamoring through him were so raw, so all-consuming, so terrifying, that he could only stare back at her while her nipple budded in his palm.

“Collier,” she breathed, placing a hand on his cheek.

Further indulging himself in this moment of madness, he lowered his mouth to hers. At first he simply grazed her lips. But when she answered his groan and pressed her mouth closer, his need increased to a feverish pitch. He drank from the sweetness she offered him, kissing her with a deep and frightening intensity.

All the emotions that had been smoldering inside him since that first night exploded. Only after he had no more air in his lungs did he let her go and pull back.

Mutual shock seemed to paralyze them both for several seconds, the sound of the rain barely drowning out the rapid beat of their hearts.

“Dear God,” Collier said in a strangled tone before easing her back onto the pillow, horror washing over him.

Before she could respond, he got up, turned and walked out the door.

Six

“What on earth is going on?”

Brittany tightened her grip on the phone. “You did get my message, didn’t you?”

“Yes,” Sissy Newman, the owner of the travel agency, responded. “But I didn’t like the vibes I got. You sounded different, like something was wrong. Is it?”

“Yes,” Brittany admitted, “but I can’t go into it right now.” She had left a generic message and the phone number on Sissy’s machine after Collier had given her permission to use the phone. She had called the diner, as well. She hadn’t wanted to lose either of her jobs.

“As long as you’re okay.” Sissy paused. “I’m assuming you’re not coming in today.”

Sissy sounded a bit out of sorts, since Brittany often worked on Saturdays, but Brittany took no offense. The older woman was her friend and had been for years. She knew Sissy had her well-being at heart. She was the only person Brittany felt like she could count on in a time of crisis.

But because Rupert was Sissy’s biggest client, his involvement made for a sticky situation. While she couldn’t entirely keep what had happened from Sissy, she wasn’t about to go into it on the phone or tell her who had hurt her.

“No, I’m not,” Brittany hedged.

“When are you going to tell me what’s going on? It’s not like you to miss work.”

Brittany willed the tears back. “I know.”

“Are you sick? Why don’t you just say so?”

“Please, Sissy, I’ll explain later. I promise. Just trust me, okay?”

“All right,” Sissy said with a sigh. “I know when to back off. You take care now, and let me hear from you.”

Once the phone was back in its cradle, Brittany sat still for a minute. That was when she realized how quiet it was. Had it stopped raining? Crossing to the window, she opened the blind. Peeping out from behind the clouds was the sun. Relief washed through her.

Did that mean they could leave? She dared not get her hopes up, but she couldn’t help it. After what happened between her and Collier Smith last night…

For a second her mind simply closed down and she couldn’t get enough air through her lungs for a decent breath. Feeling dizzy and slightly queasy, she tried not to think about that soul-depriving kiss.

Crazy.

That was the only word for it. She was shocked and mortified at her own behavior. Long after he’d lurched off the bed and torn out of the room, she had lain awake, thinking that the trauma she’d suffered had affected her mind, made her so weak and vulnerable that she hadn’t known what she was doing.

Liar. She’d known, all right.

Not only had he kissed her, but she’d kissed him back. This time fresh tears burned her eyes. Furious with her inability to control her frayed nerves, she made her way into the bathroom, flipped on the light and looked in the mirror.

She still looked the part—an abused woman. Another sick feeling washed over her. If there was a positive note to this, at least only one side of her face had born the brunt of Rupert’s fist. She dug her nails into her palms, not even wincing against the pain.

Damn him. Damn herself for letting him do this to her. He shouldn’t get away with it. He should have to pay. Collier was right about that. But turning him in wasn’t the answer, either. She knew Rupert and his connections. He would find some way to make everything her fault, deal her more misery than she could handle. With Tommy, two jobs and college, her plate was full.