An Irresistible Impulse (6 page)

As she’d only suspected earlier, facts that seemed crystal clear one minute were easily clouded the next with the introduction of a second side, a second point of view. Despite oaths to tell “the whole truth and nothing but,” there were any number of different perceptions and interpretations of the truth. This was what the jurors would have to wade through before their own ordeal was over.

If Abby had hoped to gain courage from Ben during the ninety-minute lunch break, she was to be disappointed. For he was somehow separated from her during the walk
downstairs, and she found herself eating lunch with Patsy and Louise.

All three were subdued, as indeed were the others. With the morning’s testimony fresh in their minds, there was much to consider, little to discuss. The meal was brought in to the jury room and was a soup-and-sandwich-to-go affair that would set precedent for the days ahead. The room itself—the same one in which Abby had sat yesterday, the same one to which the jury had been brought first thing this morning, the same one in which their break had been held earlier—was T-shaped, with straight wooden chairs, side to side, lining every wall, and a large central table on which the food was set.

“Thank heavens the chairs upstairs are more comfortable,” Patsy murmured as she tried to balance her lunch on her lap while squirming to get comfortable.

Abby grimaced. “I’ll second that. But it looks like we’ll be spending plenty of time down here too.”

“Do they always take so many breaks?”

Louise leaned forward, her voice a whisper. “They wouldn’t want us to go hungry, would they? After all, the show’s being put on for our benefit.”

Relieved that there seemed no bitterness in Louise’s quip, Abby smiled. “I hadn’t thought of it quite that way before, but you’ve got a
point. When it comes right down to it, each lawyer will try to do his best to sway us to his way of thinking.”

“And the facts?” Louise interjected more grimly. “Shouldn’t they be able to speak for themselves?”

“I’m sure they do sometimes,” Abby reasoned aloud. “Still…when the facts are hazy…” Her voice trailed off as she verged on the forbidden. The others understood.

“Hmmmph,” Patsy grunted, but good-naturedly this time, “I’d cast my vote for whoever can do something about these chairs.”

Abby smiled. “It’s because you’re so slim, Patsy,” she teased. “Now if you had a little more padding in certain spots…”

“Look who’s talking,” the blonde quipped.

“You’re
both
crazy,” Louise said as she took a large bite of her sandwich, but Abby was sure she’d seen the beginnings of a smile, and she was satisfied.

Between bits and snatches of light conversation, she found herself relaxing more. By the time she’d finished eating, the morning’s events seemed safely put in perspective. Unfortunately, though, with this gradual release came a renewed awareness of Ben, who sat at the far end of the room, engrossed in quiet discussion with one of the other men.

There were so many questions she suddenly wanted to ask—about his work, his
travels, his aspirations. What was it that drew them together? Sheer diversion? The buds of true friendship? Or…or…was it that same something that made her tremble as she recalled how he’d been that morning, all tousled and sweaty and breathtakingly masculine?

When she could take no more of her self-induced torment, she stood and turned her back to stare out the window. The leaves had already begun to turn and would be reaching their peak during the next few weeks. Autumn had always been one of her favorite seasons, a time for coming in and bundling up and setting the first of the logs ablaze in the fireplace. Even now, she could smell the fragrance of dry birch and pine. There was nothing more romantic….

“Penny for your thoughts.”

Abby looked quickly up at Ben’s warm features, then returned to the less dangerous sight of the green beyond the courthouse. “I was just thinking about fall. It’s a beautiful season.”

“That it is. Football…chestnuts…the smell of burning leaves.” He inhaled deeply. “I don’t know, though. It smells different this year. Sweeter…more sophisticated.”

Abby gave him a gentle nudge in the ribs. “That’s my perfume,” she chided, but caught
her breath when she felt his lips by her ear.

“I was wondering what was driving me crazy all morning. You did it on purpose, didn’t you?”

“Who…me? But I always wear it….”

“Then I’m in big trouble.” He lengthened the “big” for emphasis.

She shrugged. “You seemed to find the perfect solution just now. All you have to do is to stay on the far side of the room.”

“You missed me,” he said softly, and she knew she had to do something to redirect his thoughts.

“Actually,” she began, turning to lean back on the window sill and face him, “I was looking forward to hearing about this book you’re going to write.”

“Which one?”

At his look of utter innocence, she sighed. “…The one about the jury process.”

“Aaaaaaah…
that
one.”

She waited, but he said nothing more. “Come on, Ben. That
is
one of the side benefits to serving on this jury, isn’t it?”

He raised a speculative brow, then let it fall. “Perhaps.”

“You mean to say you haven’t already begun to do research? Wasn’t that what mixing last night at dinner was about…and lunch just now?”

A spark of silver flashed in his eyes. “You did miss me. I think you’re jealous.” He seemed eminently pleased at the possibility.

“Jealous?” she asked, swallowing hard. “Not on your life,” she lied. “I’d just like to know what’s for the sake of research…and what’s for real.” Until she’d said it, she hadn’t quite thought of it that way. But it was the truth. There was a tiny part of her that feared
she
was part of his study, and the thought hurt.

Ben’s eyes held hers, reading her emotions. When he raised his hand to her cheek, his touch held only tenderness. Again she felt it…that same something that surged between them each time they were together. She could almost forget where they were, that there were others around, that they’d soon be returning to the courtroom. She could almost forget…almost…but not quite.

“Ben…Abby?” Grace broke into their mindlock as gently as possible. “They’d like us back upstairs now.”

Slowly dropping his hand, Ben took a deep breath and straightened. “Later, Abby, later,” he murmured as he stood back to let her pass.

But just as courtroom issues were shady at points, so the question she asked herself had no easy answer. On the one hand, she wanted Ben to tell her of his thoughts, to reassure her that the spark between them was real, to kiss her and hold her in proof of its existence. On the other hand, she wanted him to say nothing further, to be as detached and self-contained as the other jurors appeared to be. For one fact simply couldn’t be denied. She and Ben were members of a jury impaneled to make an important decision in the days ahead. The thought of a love affair in the process was preposterous.

It was a war between emotion and reason with no truce in sight. Shifting restlessly, she looked toward the wall…his wall. What was he doing now, thinking, wearing? Would he really write a book on his experience as a juror? And who had he spoken to last night on the phone just before she’d received her call from Sean?

Bolting upright in self-reproach, she threw herself into the chair, snatched up a notebook and pen, and began to record what had happened in court that day. It was something she’d decided to do when she’d first been impaneled, something she felt might make the restriction the judge had imposed on discussion
of the trial easier to bear. True, it was a personal outlet of sorts. But having passed a full day in court, she saw another benefit. Given the abundance of details introduced into evidence, her notes might well be of help to her when the time for deliberations arrived.

Writing quickly, she re-created the events of the morning, then moved on. The afternoon’s session had commanded concentration as intense as had the morning session. This time, the witness had been the police officer who had tracked down and finally rescued Greta Robinson. The testimony had been tedious, laced with dates and times and locations. There had been a missing person’s report and a subsequent search, then the appearance of the witness who claimed to have seen the abduction. There had been lead upon lead, one falling flat on the next, until a pair of hikers had returned from a wooded area far north with reports of a locked cabin…and a woman’s cry from within.

A soft knock on the door made her jump. Catching her breath, she laid her pen and paper on the table and went to answer it. On the other side stood Ben, wearing a plaid shirt, jeans, and sneakers, looking handsome enough to shake her breathing all the more.

“You weren’t sleeping?” he asked by way of apology, only then taking in her own sweater and jeans.

“No, no,” she offered with a wave toward the table. “I was just making some notes for myself…but I could use the break. Things get very dramatic, even in hindsight.”

“I know what you mean.” He hesitated. “How about a walk?”

Was this the “later” he’d promised? “Can we?” she asked, her eyes alight. “I mean, are we allowed out, uh, on our own?” For some reason she felt foolishly young just then. She couldn’t decide whether it was the need to get permission to go out…or her giddiness at the thought of going out with Ben.

“I’ve checked with the desk, and they say we’re allowed to walk by ourselves…as long as we stay within sight of the inn.”

Both recalled the morning’s run, when they’d ventured much farther than that. Ray had been with them then. Now, though, neither of them particularly wanted his company.

“Sounds fine.” She turned toward the closet. “Just let me get something for my feet.” Kneeling, she retrieved her sneakers and sank into the chair to put them on.

Ben had stepped forward to lean against the doorjamb. “Your room’s very much like
mine,” he observed as his eye skirted it. “Different colors perhaps, different artwork…and of course,” he pushed himself from the jamb and walked toward the dresser, “there isn’t a bottle of perfume in sight.”

Abby watched as he lifted the decorative bottle, unscrewed its cap, and inhaled deeply. Then, as deliberately, he set it down and turned to her, his mien suddenly more alert, his features tauter. His eyes told the story though, warm to the point of smoldering.

At a strange loss for words, she snapped back to tying her laces. When her fingers stumbled, she had to start again; the simple process seemed to take forever. When she straightened, Ben was directly before her.

“Don’t look at me that way,” she half-teased, but her voice was shaky. “
I
didn’t tell you to walk in and smell the stuff.”

“But you’re sitting there so damned appealing…” he said in a tone that held its share of accusation. Reaching down, he drew her up. She couldn’t have thought to resist the gentle strength of his arms. It seemed that she’d wanted him to touch her all along.

Her eyes met his, and once more she felt that same silent force. She tried to remind herself of the time and place, that they were two people thrown together for an intensive
three-week trial. But nothing could cool the heat she felt radiating from him, into her, and back.

Slowly he lifted his hands to frame her face. His fingers wove into her hair, savoring its dark luxuriance. His thumbs lightly explored her lips before falling back to clear the way. Abby heard the catch in his breath, felt its warmth against her mouth. Yet he held back, not quite kissing her, sampling the excitement to be gained from the waiting.

She’d never known such sweet anticipation. It was as though they had all the time in the world to enjoy the small pleasures of life. Perhaps it was the situation; perhaps the thought of pain between man and woman, the trial’s main concern, had given them a greater appreciation of something each had taken for granted before. She didn’t know for sure. But she surrendered to the pure delight she felt as he grazed her cheeks, her chin, the tip of her nose. It was only when her lips parted in warm invitation that he finally gave in to his own ardent need.

His kiss was full and rich, as heady as any wine she’d ever drunk. It seemed to consume her, to draw her into him just as his gaze could always do. Weak in the knees, Abby clung to him, unaware that she’d touched him until her arms met each other at
the nape of his neck. She moaned against his mouth when she felt him complete the embrace.

“Oh, Abby…Abby…” Tearing his lips from hers, he crushed her against him. “Why here…why now?” he rasped against her hair.

But she had no answer to the anguish in his voice, nor did she fully understand it. And she was too overwhelmed by her own emotions to do much more than tremble silently against him.

Gradually the ragged tempo of his heartbeat eased, and she felt his tautness relax. Only then was she able to look up at him. “What happened to that walk?” she whispered hoarsely, her own pulse still erratic.

Ben cleared his throat. “Good thinking…. That walk.” In a deliberate motion he set her back, then raked his hands through his hair, looked down at the rug and frowned. “Look, Abby—”

“No, Ben,” she began, holding up a hand for his silence. “Please don’t say anything.” Some tiny part of her wasn’t sure she wanted his apology. That would imply he was sorry he’d kissed her…and
she
wasn’t.