It's in His Touch (20 page)

She and Blake stared at each other for a second.

“You called me
babe
,” said Blake.

“You called me
yours
,” Angelique countered. “No one’s ever defended me like that.”

Blake stared at her. “Do you want to be? Mine, that is?”

Yes
. Yes, she did. She swallowed, her hand moving to the sash at her waist. She tugged on it until the bow untangled and fell free. His eyes glowed with a new flicker of desire. Fear sent razor-sharp spasms straight to her heart, but she couldn’t stop.

She refused to look away, even though she was scared of what might register in his dreamy sapphire gems. Revulsion? Pity? Before the weed of doubt racing through her could take root, she brushed it off. With a miniscule sway of her shoulders, the robe slid off and pooled at her feet with a swish.

Blake’s lust-filled gaze sank to her chest, and his lips parted. Then his stare slid down her flat tummy to the black triangle below her belly button, then up to her breasts again.

“I don’t know why you’re so self-conscious.” His voice had gone all husky like he had gravel in his throat. “You’re perfect.”

Stepping free from the robe, she walked to him. Gently, she took both of his hands in hers and guided them to her breasts. Instinctively, his palms cupped them, his fingers flexing and kneading.

“Take me upstairs,” she whispered.
Because yes, I want to be yours.

Unfortunately, people didn’t always get what they wanted.

Something long and wet poked at Angelique’s lips. Eyes closed and brain still misty with sleep from the long night of perfect lovemaking, she pushed the probing thing away and snuggled deeper into the covers.

“Not again, I’m too tired.” She barely got out the words before sleep started to overtake her again.

The cold, slippery shaft nudged at her lips again.

Without opening her eyes, she smiled. “You liked that, hmm?”

A restrained bark had her cracking one eyelid. She lunged away from Sarge’s slimy nose and long snout, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.

“Blah!” She tried to spit the dachshund’s germs from the tip of her tongue, and then she glared at him. “Really? That’s the wake-up I get?” She looked around the empty bed with its rumpled sheets, still heavy with the scent of sex. “I was hoping for something”—she looked at Sarge’s nose and smiled—“longer.”

Because the object she’d been dreaming of just a moment ago was talented in a way that most women fantasized of but few actually experienced. The way he’d made love to her, stroked her, brought her to climax time after time was . . . a natural wonder. Yes, a seven-inch wonder of the world.

Rubbing sleep from her eyes, she looked around the room. Blake’s clothes were gone, but a note sat on the bedside table. She reached for it, seeing his handwriting scrawled across the front. He’d addressed it “Babe,” not “Angelique.”

She pulled her bottom lip between her teeth, drew her knees to her chest, and unfolded the note. It said he had early patients and didn’t want to wake her. Sarge had been walked but not fed. The last sentence was an invitation to come to his cabin after work where they could further explore how best to use the words
more
and
yes
.

She laughed.

And he’d signed it “Dr. Tall, Dark, and Hot-some.” Angelique drew in a sharp breath. How did he know she and Kimberly had dubbed him that? She narrowed her eyes at the note. That rascal. Gossip really did travel at lightning speed in this town, and the trees must have ears.

Sarge scampered across the bed and settled next to her. She scratched him on the head, and he rolled onto his back, legs straight up in the air.

“I know how you feel.” She looked down at him and thought of how she’d laid herself open to Blake, both physically and emotionally. Every time he’d touched her last night, she’d practically fallen on her back and spread her legs in anticipation. After the way Blake had defended her, challenged Gabriel, then made love to her all night, she couldn’t help but respond to every touch, every breath, every delicious word he whispered while he brought her to . . .

She counted on her fingers. Seven, if she remembered correctly.

Yep. A smile spread across her face, and warmth spread through her chest. Dr. Tall, Dark, and Hot-some was the seventh wonder of the world in her estimation. Maybe she should call Guinness World Records, because really, the man needed some sort of award for his mad skills between the sheets.

A beep sounded, and her phone vibrated on the nightstand. She snagged it and read the reminder that was displayed on the screen. Her appointment with Blake’s attorney this morning at ten o’clock. Right. Dream over, back to reality.

The warmth in her chest turned to ice, and her arms and legs, which had felt limp from a full night of heady sex, went rigid. She fell back on the pillow and threw an arm over her face.

Blake’s affection, his gentleness, the powerful hold he had over her seemed to seep away like a thick fog burning off under the scorching rays of a full sun. Could Gabriel be right? Could Blake have manipulated her heart to gain an advantage? As ruthless as Angelique could be in the courtroom, she’d never slept with someone to win. But she wasn’t stupid. Or naïve. She knew it happened.

She lay there, settled into the sheets that still held the scent of their lovemaking, torn between a career that she’d worked for her entire adult life and a love that might not last forever.

C
hapter
S
eventeen

Angry clouds hung in the sky, a winter storm threatening to roll into the Red River Valley several weeks too early as Angelique made the forty-minute drive over to Angel Fire to meet with Blake’s attorney. She eased her SUV into a gravel parking lot in front of the old stucco building labeled “Angel Fire Public Library” and parked in between an old Chevy in need of a new paint job and a beat-up stepside truck.

She’d done this a thousand times, faced down an adversary of inferior skill. Today was no different. Except that it was.

Turning off the engine, she surveyed the smattering of buildings that made up the village of Angel Fire. If she’d thought Red River was a one-horse town, Angel Fire didn’t even have an old donkey to ride. If you blinked, you’d miss it. But it was safer to meet here than in Red River where everyone would figure out she was the evil attorney sent to modernize their town.

The opposing attorney had communicated with her via e-mail, claiming his cell phone was lost and his landline was temporarily out of order due to a mix-up with the phone company. She suspected he just couldn’t afford one. Slow to return her e-mails, he finally admitted to using a computer at the public library because he didn’t have his own. More excuses were offered, which Angelique assured him weren’t necessary.

She retrieved the Red River Resort Development file from her briefcase one more time. Thumbing to the second page, she memorized the attorney’s name.

Mr. Fred Tipton.

She pulled out the document titled New Mexico Historic Preservation Division that listed detailed instructions on how to preserve land and buildings by having them listed on the New Mexico State Register of Cultural Properties. After studying it for a moment, she sighed and closed the file. This would’ve been so easy. So easy to dispose of this poor guy like a used Kleenex and go back to Albuquerque where the firm would’ve been waiting with open arms and a corner office.

If only she hadn’t let Red River’s sentimental beauty wiggle its way into her hardened heart. If only she hadn’t let Red River’s hospitable citizens inject enough tenderness into her heart that it doubled in size like the Grinch in her favorite Dr. Seuss story. If only she hadn’t let Red River’s country doctor—who looked like a
GQ
model and had the charm and personality of a Peace Corps volunteer—completely own her heart.

“If onlies” were for people who lost.

She chewed on her lower lip and stared at the front door of the old library building. Her partnership was waiting right inside. All she had to do was walk in and take it. Then the case would simply be about pushing the paperwork through until the business district was safely owned by the resort developers and they broke ground on the new facility.

Propping an elbow against the door, she bit her fingernail. Blake was a good man. The best she’d ever met. As scary as it was to take another chance, terrifying to put her heart in someone else’s hands, she cared too much for him to finish her work here. She’d blown into town, intending to keep to herself during the three months it would take to help her clients dismantle Red River. Instead, it had taken a fraction of that time for Blake and the rest of the townsfolk to dismantle her killer courtroom instincts and cast-iron will.

Letting go of the partnership she’d worked so hard for wouldn’t be easy, but maybe it would be worth it. And there was that whole clear conscience thing. Even if she and Blake couldn’t clear the multitude of hurdles in their way to have a future together, she could leave Red River knowing she’d done the right thing. A clear conscience might be nice to have since she’d have nothing else left.

Returning the file and the document that would sink her case and her future at Riggs, Castillo & Marone to the briefcase, she got out of the car. Dressed in a black pencil skirt, a white button-up blouse, and a wool houndstooth blazer, Angelique walked across the parking lot, gravel crunching under her expensive black heels. Her normal work clothes seemed foreign and uncomfortable now, and she adjusted the waistband then pulled on the lapel of her blazer. When had these shoes started to pinch? She blew out a breath and reached for the door. Probably about the time Red River started to feel like home, and the Merrell hiking boots she’d bought at the Red River Mercantile shop became her daily choice of footwear.

Pulling open the glass door of the old library building, she squared her shoulders, ready to deliver the final blow to her career.

With few windows, the interior was dark and eerie. A moldy smell hung in the air, the dusty shelves adding a staleness to the atmosphere. The few bookshelves that lined the walls were ransacked and disorderly. An elderly woman read a book behind the front desk and didn’t look up.

Angelique moved her Oakley sunglasses to the top of her head, cleared her throat, and stepped up to the desk.

“Hello,” she said. “I’m here to meet a Mr. Tipton.”

The old woman pointed to a back room without looking up.

“Thank you.”

Angelique headed in the appointed direction, maneuvering around several scarred wooden tables, and stopped just outside of the cracked door.

She drew in a breath, planted a professional but cool smile on her lips, and charged into the room with an air of commanding authority befitting a CEO of a Fortune 500 company. Or a Secret Service agent about to take a bullet for the president. She had to at least play the part, even if she was about to give up her ace in the hole.

Angelique’s steps faltered, and she wobbled on her black stilettos, nearly falling right on her face. Blake and his attorney rose to their feet, and Blake stepped around to help her. She backed away and smoothed her skirt.

“You all right, babe?” Blake used the term of endearment so easily. So smoothly. As if he had no idea that it would undermine her professionalism.

The other man—if she could really call him a man—smoothed back his greasy comb-over. His leer slid over her, then settled on her chest.

“Are you a peace offering from the other firm?” Mr. Aqua Velva’s bloodshot eyes dropped to her crotch.

“What are you doing here?” she asked Blake, unable to hide her shock.

Blake’s expression blanked at her steely tone. “Uh, trying to save my town and my livelihood. You know that as well as anyone.”

Aqua Velva’s brown suit was a few sizes too small, the buttons of his dress shirt strained against his midsection, and a double chin jiggled when a smile slid over his puffy lips.

“The resort people.” Aqua Velva rubbed his hands together. “Trying to buy us off, huh?” He licked his lips.

A fire hotter than Three Mile Island lit in her pitching stomach and burned through every ounce of charity she’d felt a few minutes ago. The stench of cheap cologne stung her nose and throat, and she had to swallow twice to force out more words.

“You weren’t supposed to be here. You said you had patients,” Angelique said to Blake, her teeth grinding.

“I decided to reschedule them, and I have every reason to be here.” Blake stuffed both hands into his khaki dress pants, his blue eyes clouding to gray.

“You lied.”

“No, I didn’t, and it’s my ass on the line, Angelique. Why wouldn’t I do everything I can to save my business and the life I’m
trying
to build here?”

Her breath hitched. “Is that what last night was about? Softening me up so you’d have an edge?”

Blake’s jaw went slack. He shook his head and blew out a fake laugh.

“I have to say it’s tempting, Dr. Holloway,” Aqua Velva interrupted.

Blake’s forehead wrinkled. “Someone care to tell me what this is about, because obviously I’m missing something.”

Angelique shook with a burning rage that threatened to incinerate everything in the room. Gabriel may have been right. Blake just might’ve used her to help win his case. He had
lied
. Made love to her like she was the center of his universe, then
lied.
The element of surprise was a powerful strategic weapon in any battle—be it in the courtroom or in warfare—and often garnered a sizeable advantage for the person savvy enough to wield it.

She almost laughed at the irony. That’s exactly what she would’ve done a few weeks ago before Blake, with all of his compassionate country doctor charm, had her surrendering her career, her common sense, and her heart.

She zeroed in on Aqua Velva. Something hard stabbed at her chest, and all the air was sucked right out of the room. The dank surroundings melted away, and only the prey in her crosshairs remained. This blemish on the butt of society was the enemy, and she was going to drop him like she would big game on a safari. One shot. Fast and clean.

Blake said something, but it didn’t process through the correct neural pathways that were short-circuiting with rage. His voice was distant and fuzzy, drowned out by the blood pounding in her ears. With slow, decisive steps, Angelique walked to the table. Her voice low and dangerous, she chose each word carefully.

“I’ll tell you what this is about,
Dr. Holloway
.” Her granite stare never wavered from Aqua Velva.

Blake went still as she stared his attorney down. The poor lighting glinted off the beads of sweat across Aqua Velva’s receding hairline.

“I don’t do business with slime,” Angelique said through clenched teeth. Then she
did
turn her stare on Blake.

Aqua Velva sputtered.

“And I don’t play fair with someone willing to stab me in the back.”

“That’s really rich, Angelique. You work for people who are trying to screw
you
over, and yet here you are still doing their dirty work while accusing me of not playing fair.” He crossed both arms over his chest, his voice grown steely. “You’re a smart woman and a good attorney. How can you work for scum like that?”

“Wait.” Horror slid over Aqua Velva’s pasty face. “There’s no bribe?”

“A bribe?” Blake’s confused stare went from Angelique, to Aqua Velva, then back to Angelique.

A ruthless smile turned up the corners of Angelique’s lips before her gaze slid back to Aqua Velva. “Unfortunately for you, I’m not your perverse fantasy come true.” Her tone was formal and razor sharp. “However, I am your worst nightmare.” She donned her granite mask. “I’m going to destroy you in the most painful and humiliating way possible. So why don’t you go home and fantasize about that.”

“You weren’t kidding, were you? You really will do anything to win.” Blake’s tone had gone low and hollow.

Her nuclear stare stayed firmly planted on Aqua Velva. “The hounds of hell couldn’t pull me off this slimy bastard before I tear out his jugular.”

She turned on her heels and strode to the door. Blake called her name, but his callous tone didn’t resemble the sweet, smooth voice that had slid over her like hot fudge just last night. This voice bit at her ears and sliced across her skin like razor blades.

She kept walking. Long, sure strides carried her away before he could hear the sob that she was trying so hard to choke back.

She hurried across the parking lot. Her eyes stung with hot tears. Blake called to her from behind. She broke into a run, stilettos and all, unlocked her SUV with the remote, and peeled out of the parking lot with Blake’s arms flailing in her rearview mirror.

The road blurred through Angelique’s steady stream of tears until finally she pulled onto the shoulder and dialed Kimberly’s number.

“Hey!” Kimberly practically yelled into the phone. “I was just about to call you. I’ll be in Red River late Friday night and we can start our baking mission early Saturday. Plus,” Kimberly rattled on, “a baking class is on the bucket list, so we can mark that off.
And
”—Angelique was getting dizzy—“fencing or alligator wrestling is next on the list. Take your pick. I actually found an alligator farm close to the Colorado border.”

“Kimberly,” Angelique said, her voice breaking.

“What is it, sweetie? Really, alligator wrestling isn’t that dangerous. It’s mostly for show. They’re like giant lizards trained to let the customers win.”

“Blake’s attorney is the guy from the casino. The one who thought I was a prostitute.” She choked, her throat closing up.