It's in His Touch (13 page)

The way her girly parts turned flips when Blake was within shouting distance had her quaking in her little black patent leather slip-ons. Even more frightening was the fact that he made her heart skitter and thump. The fact that she wanted to wrap herself around Blake every time she saw him was the problem. It would lead to taking off her shirt with him in the room, because resisting his touch, resisting the desire in his eyes, was wearing her down and quickly becoming impossible. Terror settled in her gut and nearly paralyzed her.

“I—” Her voice was cut off by her own strangled gasp for air. “I can’t do this,” she finally managed to eke out.

He took a step toward her. “Angelique.”

“No!” Her feet moved her another step backward. She turned and darted for the bathroom.

Angelique locked the bathroom door and stood in front of the mirror, the music dulling behind the closed door.

“You. Are. Suchanidiot,” she seethed at herself in the mirror. “Get your act together.”

A knock sounded on the door as she rolled her head around on her shoulders. She stared at herself again in the mirror.

The knocking turned into a pound, but not in a rhythm like most people would knock. It was more like an odd bang, boom, bump.

She took a deep breath, went to the door, unlocked it, and plastered a smile on her face before stepping out into the hallway, where the music overwhelmed her senses again. And she came face-to-face with a life-size inflatable pink ribbon and a poster girl for breast cancer. The fortyish woman with a curly bob was dressed in Pepto-Bismol pink from the top of her pink cowboy hat, to her flouncy pink square dancing dress, all the way down to her pointy pink boots. She struggled to drag the mammoth ribbon toward the dancehall but lost her grip on it.

Angelique’s head snapped back to avoid getting slapped in the face by the runaway ribbon.

“Oh, sorry! This darned thing got away from me and kept hitting the bathroom door,” Pepto Cowgirl said. “And every time I bend over to grab it, this silly dress hikes up and shows too much of my behind. Not a pretty sight, you know what I’m sayin’?” She moved to the other side of the ribbon to get a better grasp on it. “What we do for a good cause, right?”

Was there no escaping the cursed ribbons? They were even stalking Angelique in the ladies’ room.

“Hey, where’s your ribbon?” blurted Pepto Cowgirl.

Before Angelique could make an excuse, Pepto Cowgirl pulled a ribbon from the pocket on her dress and pinned it to Angelique’s sweater.

Angelique looked at the ribbon on her chest like it might bite her. “I don’t—”

“It probably just fell off, sugar. Just let me know if you lose it again.” She patted her pocket. “Plenty more where that came from.”

Angelique gasped for air because it had suddenly become scarce. An anger as deep and vast as outer space welled up inside her until she thought she might implode. She reached up and fisted the ribbon in her hand. But before she could rip it off and tell this . . . this . . .
person
to watch who she went around pinning disgusting ribbons onto, a voice sounded at the entrance of the hallway.

“Hey, Donna.” Blake came up beside them.

Just his voice soothed the ache in her heart and the knot in her chest.

“I see Red River’s postmaster is working hard for the cause.” He spoke to Donna, but his warm eyes and knowing smile stayed firmly on Angelique. “Let me get you some help for that thing.” He turned and whistled through the entrance to the dancehall, and two young men bounded over to pick up the ribbon.

“I need some fresh air.” He smiled at Donna. “It’s getting stuffy in there.” Then he turned to Angelique. “You’re looking a little pale, ma’am. Want to join me outside for a few minutes? You look like you need to cool off.”

Yes, please.
Anything to get away from all the pink before it suffocated her.

She nodded.

“Thanks, Doc,” said Donna, and she flounced into the dancehall in pursuit of her giant ribbon.

They were just silly little ribbons. Why did they hold so much power over her? But they were like pink kryptonite, and she hated them. Hated herself for hating them.

Angelique looked up into his glittering eyes, and oh . . . my . . . God. Her resolve crumbled on the spot, because understanding gleamed in them. Something she’d never gotten from Gabriel. She’d just
succumbed to Blake’s charm
, because really, how could she not? She sent him a silent thank-you with a blink and a smile because he really was pretty amazing for rescuing her again. If he hadn’t intervened, she’d most certainly have said something she would’ve regretted to one of Red River’s obviously dedicated and hardworking civil servants who had done nothing wrong except try to be friendly to a stranger.

His gaze wrapped around her like a warm quilt that she could curl up and stay in . . . forever. Her heart stuttered.

His smile broadened and those baby blues twinkled, like he could read her thoughts. God, he was sex on wheels. Angelique traced her bottom lip with the tip of her tongue.

A middle-aged man pushed through them, muttering, “Excuse me,” and entered the men’s room.

He reached up and unpinned the pink ribbon from her sweater dress. “I can walk you back to your table if you’d prefer.” His gaze searched hers.

She shook her head and swallowed. “I can’t go back in there.”

He placed a hand on her hip and rubbed with the palm of his hand. His breath smoothed over her cheeks, warmed her soul. She put a hand on Blake’s chest, and for a second, she thought he would kiss her. She wanted it. As much as it terrified her, she still wanted him.

Blake’s gaze shifted over her shoulder to the back door. “Let’s go out the back way.”

C
hapter
E
leven

The back door of Cotton Eyed Joe’s swung shut with a thud, but Blake didn’t look back. Instead, he veered right and pulled Angelique along the back side of Joe’s, her fingers twined with his.

He was crazy. Or stupid. Or both. But when he walked into the hallway to find the men’s room and saw a mixture of emotions colliding in Angelique’s expression while she gripped that pink ribbon, Blake’s protective instinct had engaged.

Blake didn’t slow his pace. He still wasn’t thinking. Didn’t know exactly what he was doing or where he was going. All right, maybe he did. He wanted to be alone with Angelique and have it out once and for all. Or slide his mouth and his hands all over her. Either was fine by him.

Tugging backward, she stopped him. “Wait. Where are we going? My parents and Kimberly are inside.” Foggy breaths swirled around them in the frigid night temperature, and she bundled into herself against the cold air.

He pulled her a few more steps, a dim street lamp on the far side of the parking lot helping him find his way on the shadowed walkway against Joe’s. “Send them a text. Tell them I’m bringing you home. Later.”

She stopped them again and looked up at the clear night sky, stars twinkling down on them. Shivering against the cold, she rubbed her upper arm with her free hand. “I . . .” She looked at him again. “It’s not a good idea, Blake.”

That one word, his name whispering through her lips, was his undoing. He wanted to hear it tumble out of her mouth when she orgasmed with him deep inside her. Pulling her into him, he anchored one hand around her hip and the other at the nape of her neck. He eased her up against the back red brick wall of Joe’s. One knee slid between her thighs and coaxed them apart. She trembled in his arms, and her small, balmy gasp brushed across his cheek. Her warmth curled around him, and he pinned her hips with his. Warmth turned to heat as she responded to him, her hips pressing against his erection.

His pants had grown two sizes too small the second he stepped through the door at Joe’s and felt her presence before his eyes even found her. When he scanned the crowd and snagged her with his gaze, he’d grown granite-hard instantly.

When he pressed his hips into hers, she gasped again. A little deeper this time, and he suddenly felt very overdressed. Wanted to peel every piece of clothing off both of them and feel the heat of her bare skin against his.

“Call me Blake again,” he whispered against her lips, the tip of his nose caressing hers. Their rapid breaths engulfed them in a cloud of fog.

“What?” she panted out when one of his hands found the hem of her dress and slid under it, fingers flexing into her thigh.

His other hand caressed the side of her neck, traced her jawline with his thumb. “You’ve never called me Blake. Except when you introduced me to your ex and pretended I was your boyfriend, so that doesn’t count.”

“You’re still not my boyfriend.”

He nipped at her bottom lip, and it separated from the top, quivering. “Say it.” Moonlight glinted off her black pupils.

She swallowed. “Blake,” she finally whispered in a small voice.

It drove him insane with need because
Dr. Holloway
was just another case to her. A legal rival. Blake was a man.

His mouth closed over hers, not slow, not cautious. Just raw desire as his tongue sought out hers, and a sexy little noise escaped from the back of her throat. Blake groaned and sank against her, an ache starting somewhere below the belt and spreading through his entire body. He’d wanted her all night. Couldn’t control his need for her, even though he’d tried. Now, pressing her hard against the brick wall, he wanted to get rid of her dress and see if she felt as soft, as good as he’d imagined she would. Remove the soft layer of fabric that dulled her blazing heat against him. When the tension in her body finally softened and she sank into the kiss, threading her arms around his neck, he wanted to take her right there against the wall.

But no. Not in a dreary back parking lot with the stench of Joe’s garbage a few feet away.

When his mouth left hers to feather kisses along her neck, her skin pebbled under his mouth. Short, desperate breaths ruffled his hair, nuzzled his ear, sending a convulsive charge straight through him to his aching prick. She whimpered out his name again, and his cock roared, the roughness of his pants all the more bothersome. His fingers traversed up her thigh to cup her ass, and oh yeah, she had on a pair of tiny panties that weren’t as big as the span of his palm. The soft lace tickled his fingertips.

“I don’t think I’ve had the pleasure of seeing this pair.” He smiled against the soft curve of her neck. Just enjoyed the feel of her in his hands, her tall frame fitting so perfectly against his. “Sarge is disappointing me.”

The back door of Joe’s opened, and he froze, her fevered body flush against his, her hot, wet breaths feathering across his neck. He turned, shielding her with his body. Cheesy fluorescent light and a catchy Rascal Flatts song poured into the parking lot. A couple seriously under the influence sloshed out along with the light and the music and staggered in the opposite direction toward the inn across the street.

When they were out of earshot, Blake looked down at her. “Send the text.”

She hesitated. “My phone’s inside.”

He reached into his back pocket and withdrew his. He handed it to her.

It took her a few moments to decide. Seemed like an eternity to Blake. But just when he thought she’d push him away and walk back inside, she surprised him and reached for the phone. Typing in a message, she looked up at him a second before hitting Send, her eyes glassy with lust and worry.

Blake stroked her cheek with the back of an index finger. “You’re beautiful, Angelique. So beautiful.” He traced her bottom lip with the pad of his thumb, and her lips parted for him. Called to him. God, he wanted her. Even if it wasn’t forever, he’d take whatever time she was willing to give him.

She dragged in a ragged breath, and her eyes clenched shut. “It’s just that . . . they’re . . . they’re not—”

He placed a finger against her lips, silencing her. “I know.”

They’re
not real. He’d known that was a possibility after finding out she was a survivor. Figured it was likely because of the way she’d reacted the first time he touched her breast. He didn’t care. It didn’t matter to him, but it mattered to her. Would matter to any woman. She’d lost part of herself. The part that most defines a woman’s femininity and mental self-image.

His lips grazed hers. “Hit Send.”

Pulling a plump lower lip between her teeth, she did what he asked.

Besides the neon beer signs in Joe’s front windows, darkness shrouded Main Street as Angelique let Blake lead her toward his office. In the thick silence, Angelique could swear her heartbeat was audible. She wasn’t ready for this, was she? But Blake’s hands touching her, his mouth on hers, and the way his eyes had devoured her all night had made her feel like a desirable woman again. Something she hadn’t felt in a long, long time.

His phone beeped, and he glanced at it. “It’s for you.” He handed the phone to her, and they stopped in front of his office door.

She read Kimberly’s text as Blake fumbled with his keys. A Jeep turned onto Main Street, flicking on its high beams. Blake turned to the light and found the right key.

Go, girl! I’ll take parents home.

You kids have fun!

XXOO ;-)

Angelique responded with
I won’t be out long
, because hell’s bells, how much time could they really spend in his office?

A few seconds later another text popped onto the screen.

Damn sure better be out late. HAVE FUN!!!

;-)

After a few jiggles, the sticky lock turned with a click, and Blake pulled her through the doorway. A small security light illuminated the interior just enough to get her bearings, while he locked the door behind them. Grabbing her hand, he grazed the back of it with his lips, and then led her down the hall and into his private office.

“This way.” He led them through a door in the far corner of his office, then up a narrow wood staircase. The ancient wood creaked under their steps.

“What’s up here?” She felt her way along the wall through the dark. Her grip tightened around his hand.

“My old apartment,” he said as they reached the landing. “I lived here for a couple of years before I bought the cabin.”

“Do you own it?”

He turned the doorknob and it opened, unlocked. “Yeah, I own both floors. For now.”

Angelique drew in a sharp breath and closed her eyes. “Me coming here. It doesn’t change anything.”

“I didn’t expect it to.” He stepped aside and let her enter.

Shutting the door, he flipped a switch, and light flooded the small kitchen behind him.

The studio apartment was old, seriously in need of renovations, but sentimental with a warm feel to it. Original wood floors, scarred with age. Brick walls, old style like back in her parents’ old neighborhood in Brooklyn where they used to visit family. The single-paned windows had rattled when he shut the door. No furniture, except an old velour recliner that had seen better days and a tube television with rabbit ears.

“I kept the bare minimum here when I moved to the cabin. Comes in handy when I need to take a break between patients.”

Angelique walked to the window and took in the grand view of Red River’s historic business district, small house lights dotting the foothills, and the silhouette of Wheeler Peak soaring in the distance with a full moon hanging over it. The computer-drawn sketches of the new resort didn’t compare to the nostalgia of what was already here. Of what would no longer exist if her clients got their way. The whole thing, the apartment, the lofted view that it offered of Red River and Wheeler Peak—it was . . . It was . . .

Totally. Freaking. Gorgeous. Just like the owner.

With some renovations, the apartment would be exquisite. “I never knew Red River was so beautiful at night. Seeing it from up here gives it a totally different perspective. It’s amazing.”

“I planned to remodel both floors after I paid off my student loans. Medical school was expensive.” He tossed his keys on the counter that separated the den from the small kitchen. They skidded across the butcher block laminate. “If I’m still here by then.”

Guilt threaded through her, because he wouldn’t be.

She turned around to face him. Dread and regret beat at her chest for what she had to do to this town. “You know if I don’t do my job, they’ll just find another attorney who will.” Her voice shook, each breath becoming a little heavier. She had to convince him, wanted him to know why she had to finish her work here. Recusing herself from this case wouldn’t stop the resort developers from getting what they wanted. Only one thing could stop them. One tiny little thing that Blake’s incompetent attorney hadn’t discovered yet. That’s why her clients wanted her to push the deal through before someone found the loophole in the law.

“It’s not over ’til it’s over.” He kept advancing on her. “Do you really want to talk about it right now? Because I don’t. I don’t really want to talk at all.” He stepped into her space. “Unless you’re going to say my name again. Preferably in the form of a scream coupled with the words
yes
and
more
.”

A shudder raced through her. Earthy maleness wafted off of him like testosterone in overdrive.

The Land of the Dead between her legs was now very, very much alive. Coaxed out of its tomb like Lazarus. Her entire body and soul reverberated with desire. She wanted him. Wanted him to touch her and make her feel like a real woman again. But . . .

There were so many reasons why this was a bad idea. Countless, in fact. Her lawyer brain kicked in, making a mental list, building a case.

His gaze roamed over her heated face, and he lifted one hand to trail a finger down her neck. Her breath caught.

Reason One:
Conflict of interest, dummy.

“You’re so beautiful.” His index finger lingered at the notch between her shoulder and neck.