Turn To Me (6 page)

“No, of course not,” I stammered in protest, pulling away from him.  “I meant...you know...the Senator...and his wife,” I finished.  His eyes glittered in the shadows as he watched me squirm.

“Is that why you left?” he asked.  “Because I was dancing with her?”  His voice had taken on that flat edge which made me nervous.  When I didn't answer, his fingers lightly grasped my chin and lifted it so our eyes met.  I cringed at the anger I saw there.

“It was unavoidable,” he explained tightly, “and meant nothing.  I would have told you that if you'd asked, rather than leaving and nearly getting yourself killed.”

“Sometimes I can be a little...spontaneous,” I weakly defended myself, relieved to hear that the dance hadn't been something more.  I told the little voice in my head to shut the hell up.  I held my breath as I waited to see what he'd do, then relaxed when his lips finally twitched in an almost smile.

“Impetuous, you mean,” he said dryly.

“Perhaps,” I agreed without malice.  “Am I forgiven?”  I cuddled back into the warmth of his arms which came up automatically to wrap around my waist and pull me onto his lap.  Pressing my nose into the crook of his neck, I inhaled, the remnants of his cologne still lingered on his skin.  His hand rose to cup my breast, his thumb brushing against the nipple through the thin cotton of my t-shirt.  My body tightened in response, already conditioned to his touch.

“You owe me,” he said, his voice rougher now.  “And don't think I won't collect once you're feeling better.” 

I shivered at the promise and threat in his voice.  “You know, for a knight in shining armor, you're not very gallant,” I teased.

“Knights are overrated,” he replied, picking me off his lap and putting me back down on the pillows.  He straightened and I sat up again as well, reaching for his hand.  His warm, callused fingers engulfed mine.

“Stay tonight?” I asked.  We didn't make a habit of staying over at each other's places.  I guess I was still a bit old-fashioned in some ways, but I felt he should have his home and I should have mine.  However, tonight I wanted him here. 

“Of course,” he said, placing a kiss on the top of my head before gently pushing me back down on the mattress.  I watched as he stood and stripped off his stained shirt and slacks before sliding into bed with me.  He pulled me back toward him spoon-fashion, draping an arm over my waist.  I threaded my fingers through his and sighed contentedly.

“Are you feeling alright?” he asked, his warm breath brushing my ear.  “He didn't hurt you badly, did he?”

I shook my head.  “I'm fine.  A little sore, that's all.”

His grip tightened on my hand, but he didn't say anything else.  My mind drifted and I sleepily wondered if this was what it would be like to be married.  I immediately scolded myself for even thinking such a thing - we'd only been dating for a short while. Fact was though that I really liked having someone to be with, someone to talk to about my day, someone to hold me at night.  I don't think I'd realized how lonely I'd been before Blane. 

It had really meant something to me to have people to spend Thanksgiving with this year.  Usually, I just heated up a TV dinner and watched the Macy's parade.  This year, Blane's housekeeper, Mona, who had also been Blane's nanny growing up, had made a fancy turkey with all the trimmings.  Although it had just been Mona, her husband Gerard, Blane and myself, it had been homey and nice.  Remembering it put a smile on my face.

When I woke, Blane was no longer in bed with me.  I stretched, hearing the sounds of the shower running.  I winced at a few aches and pains, but overall I felt better than I had last night.  Rolling out of bed, I shivered in the cold air and quickly pulled on a pair of sweats, shoving my feet into hot pink fuzzy slippers.  Stopping to glance in the mirror, I grimaced at the livid purple and blue bruise on my cheek.  The scrape on my cheekbone had scabbed over as well.  Lovely.

Thankfully, Blane had already made coffee.  I poured a cup and carried it to my living room.  Looking out the window, I was delighted to see that it was snowing.  I disliked the cold but loved the snow.  Go figure.  Too bad you couldn't have one without the other.

I sipped my coffee for a few minutes, watching the thick flakes settle on the ground outside, already blanketed with what looked like two or three inches.  The trees had turned into works of art, their dark branches now starkly outlined in white.  Even the grunginess of the neighborhood in which I lived seemed briefly washed away by the curtain of falling snow.

I heard Blane come out of the bathroom and felt him behind me.  His arms slid around my waist in a light hug and I leaned back against him. We watched the snow falling outside my window.

“Good morning,” he said, squeezing me lightly. 

“Good morning to you,” I replied with a contented sigh.  “Thanks for making the coffee.”  Blane knew that my morning priority was always getting my hands on that first cup.  Seriously.  Don't even speak to me until I've had my coffee.

It was a nice moment and I was loathe to ruin it, but I had questions, things Blane and I needed to discuss.  I steeled my resolve and shook off the compulsion to just ignore what had happened last night and pretend everything was okay.

“When were you going to tell me about the trial?  James?  Running for Governor?  The Senator?” I asked, my gaze still fixed outside.  “Were you going to tell me at all?”

Blane stiffened.  I tensed as well, unsure how this was going to play out.  He could very well call it quits at this point, after all, that was his M.O. - women were a diversion and none of them were allowed to get close.  I knew what I was asking, but after last night, I realized I wanted to be a part of his life.  I wanted to know what worried him, what he cared most about, what kept him awake at night.  I wanted more than just great sex and a dinner companion.  I just wasn't sure if he was willing to offer it.

  After a few tense moments, he answered me.  “It's not like I've been hiding the trial from you, Kathleen,” he said reproachfully.  I winced.  He was using my full name, not a good sign.  “It's been in the news.  I just haven't spoken about it much.”

So he had expected me to know about it, probably thinking I was a featherbrained idiot for not knowing.  My face heated, but I came back at him.  “And James?  You didn't think it significant to tell me you were up against him?  You know how crazy he is and he's obsessed with beating you.”

“I didn't want you to worry,” he said calmly.  “I can handle James.”

“I care about you,” I said stiffly.  “Of course I'm going to worry.”

He turned me around, his jaw locking tight when he saw my bruised face.  The backs of his fingers gently brushed against my skin and his eyes glittered with an unnamed emotion.

“Likewise,” he said softly.

I softened at this.  Blane didn't often put his feelings into words – he was more a man of action – so I treasured it when he did.

“You know what your apartment needs?” he asked briskly, changing the subject, and I shook my head.  He'd filled it with everything I could need and then some, so I had no idea what he was thinking.  “A Christmas tree,” he said, as if it were obvious. 

I broke into a wide smile.  “Really?” I asked.  “You'd help me get a tree in here?  A real one?”  I hadn't been able to get a real tree by myself and usually put up the little fake four-foot tree I'd had growing up.

“Absolutely,” he said, his eyes, made even greener due to the hunter green sweater he wore, twinkled at me.  “We'll pick it out and cut it down ourselves.”

“That sounds perfect,” I enthused.  I loved holidays and Christmas was no exception, though the past few had been more sad and poignant than I wanted to think about.  But this year would be different – I'd have someone to share it with.  Since Christmas was less than two weeks away, today would be perfect to get a tree and decorate it.

“But where in Indy are there places to cut down trees?” I asked.  It's not like there was a tree farm in the middle of the city.

“There are a few places south of here,” Blane said.  “We used to go to Tower's in Columbus when I was a kid.  You'll like it.”

I hurried to get ready, throwing on jeans, a long sleeved shirt and sweater over that.  Tying my hair back in a French braid, I added a little mascara and lip gloss.  Surveying the bruise on my face in the mirror, I grimaced. I concealed it the best I could with foundation and powder.  I threw on some socks and boots and I was ready to go.  Blane had already eaten so I grabbed a bagel, fed Tigger, and we headed out.

Before we left, I knocked on my neighbor Alisha's door.  She was twenty-five, only a year older than me, and lived by herself.  She worked in the library at Duke University.  It was good to know your neighbors, especially if you both were young, female and lived alone.  Alisha had been living here for only a few weeks, but we'd hit it off from the first.

She answered the door wrapped in a blanket and holding her dog, a little Daschund named Bacon Bits.  I had known I'd like Alisha the moment I'd learned her dog's name – bacon should have its own food group along with Rocky Road ice cream.

“Hey,” I said by way of greeting.  “We're going out to get a Christmas tree.  Do you need anything from the store or something?”

She pushed her glasses up her nose before answering.  “I'm good, but thanks.”  She glanced at Blane.  “Did you measure?” she asked him.  “Because you don't want to be like Chevy Chase in National Lampoon's Christmas Vacation and have it be too big.  And make sure there aren't any critters hiding in it.  You'll have sap everywhere, you know, and needles.  Make sure you cut off the lower branches before you bring it inside or you'll really have a mess.  And don't forget to drill a hole in the trunk so it can draw more water.”

I grinned.  Alisha acted older than her years and was the queen of telling people what they ought to do and the myriad consequences if they did not.  She had what some might call eccentric advice on everything from what kind of fabric softener I should use to how to properly make coffee (“never use the tap in the bathroom – that's toilet water”).  If she wasn't so genuinely good-hearted and sweet, it would be annoying.  As it was, I found it humorous, especially since many times her advice turned out to be correct, except the toilet water thing – I didn't buy that.  She was a little odd, a lot obsessive-compulsive, and very genuine, and I had liked her immediately.

Blane just sort of stood there in stunned silence at this rapid-fire litany of advice.  I bit back an even bigger smile and decided to save him. 

“You bet,” I said seriously, “we absolutely will do that.  Catch you later,” I said, tugging on Blane's hand.

“Drive safe,” she called out to us, “and try to get behind a plow truck if you can.” 

“Okay,” I hollered back, giggling a little as I made my way through the snow on the stairs.

“Is she always like that?” Blane asked. 

I laughed again.  “Yeah.  She means well, she's just very opinionated, that's all.  I don't mind.”

It looked like Blane had exchanged his Jaguar for a Range Rover last night, as he led me to the large black SUV in the lot.

“How'd you know to get this?” I asked, as he helped me step up and into the vehicle. The interior was freezing and dark, all the windows covered with snow.

“I watch the weather,” Blane said dryly, a smirk on his face.  I rolled my eyes.  Smartass.  He knew I hated watching the weather – I preferred to be surprised.

He shut the door and rounded to his side, starting the engine and getting the defrost going before scraping the windows clear.  I huddled inside, flicked the heater for the leather seats on, and watched him, something I never tired of doing.  The windows were tinted so I could see him but he couldn't see me. 

We stopped by his house so he could grab a stand for the tree, then we headed south on I-65.  The snow had stopped falling and the highways were clear, though not very busy.

“I liked Senator Keaston and his wife,” I said after a while.

“I'm glad,” he said.

“Vivian was very nice.”  I paused for a moment before adding, “I didn't realize you were related.”

“Robert is my grandfather's brother,” he said.  “He was around a lot when I was growing up.”

“I was surprised they knew about Kade,” I said, not really wanting to bring him up but curious just the same as to what he'd say.

“Robert and my father were very close,” Blane explained.  “Robert helped him out of some of the messes he got himself into.  I'm sure he knew about Kade long before I did.”

I thought for a moment, wondering if I should say what I was thinking.  “Kade told me about how your dad wouldn't take him in,” I said hesitantly.  “How you wanted him to and that you went to find him after your dad died.”

Blane's eyes swiveled to mine, his gaze shrewd.  “Did he, now,” he said. 

I swallowed nervously.  Kade had told me a lot of things about their family, and I wasn't sure how much Blane would have wanted me to know.  “Is that a problem?” I asked.

“Of course not,” Blane replied, looking back at the road.  “I'm just surprised.  Kade doesn't usually tell his life story to people.”

“He didn't tell me his life story,” I quickly contradicted.  “I just wanted to know how you found each other, that's all.”

“Kade was in state custody when I found him,” Blane said.  “He'd run away from foster home after foster home, living on the streets and stealing to get by.”

“Why did he run away?”

Blane shook his head.  “He never would tell me.  Maybe not all the people they put him with were bad, but enough of them were.  When I brought him to stay with me he had nightmares - talked in his sleep.  He was only six when his mother died.”

“Did things go okay once he came to live with you?”

Blane let out a little huff of laughter.  “Hardly.  I was only eighteen and they wouldn't grant me guardianship, even though I was his brother.  Robert had to step in and pull some strings.  Kade was scared, defiant.  He ran away a few times.   But I tracked him down and brought him home.  I think it finally got through to him that I wasn't going to leave him.  But it took time and patience.  He'd learned not to trust.”