Turning Point (The Kathleen Turner Series) (21 page)

The next morning, I awoke with a headache that reminded me of how stupid I’d been the night before. Glancing blearily at the clock, I saw that it was barely after seven. I was alone.

Everything I’d said and done came back with a rush and I groaned, mortification making me want to crawl under the bed. I’d come out, but not until they invented those light thingies to make people forget, like Will Smith used in
Men in Black.
Then I’d point it at Blane.

“Never ever, ever, ever going to drink again,” I muttered to myself as I made my way to the bathroom. I chose not to think about how many times I’d said that same phrase in the past.

I had absolutely no wish to run into Blane this morning, so I ignored my headache, brushed my teeth, and splashed some water on my face. I shoved my feet in my shoes, scoured the closet for an old shirt of Blane’s to throw
on over my halter, and hightailed it downstairs. I vaguely remembered that Blane had tossed my purse into the backseat of his car. Since my car was still at the bar and I knew Blane had the SUV, I felt no compunction against grabbing the keys to his Jag off the sideboard. Okay, maybe a little, but not enough to stop.

Throwing open the front door, I stopped in my tracks.

Charlotte was standing there, her hand poised to knock.

We stood in stark silence. I took in her perfect hair and makeup, skirt, heels, and overcoat, while she took in my jeans, Blane’s shirt, bedhead, and last night’s mascara smeared under my eyes.

The very last thing I’d expected this morning was to have to do the walk of shame in front of the newest lawyer at the firm of Kirk and Trent.

I cleared my throat and pasted on the best smile I could manage. “Hi, Charlotte,” I said. “How are you?”

It took her a moment to recover from her surprise, then she said, “I’m wonderful, thank you for asking.”

I stood awkwardly before saying, “Um, would you like to come in?”

“Yes, thank you.”

She entered the foyer, looking around interestedly.

“Um, why are you here?” I asked bluntly.

“Blane texted me,” she said. “He has some documents I need. I offered to drop by and retrieve them since he said he was going to be late this morning.” She gave me another once-over from head to foot, and I tried not to squirm in embarrassment. “I didn’t realize you and Blane were… together.”

“We’re not,” I blurted, then flushed as her eyebrows rose.

Great. So I’d just told her that Blane and I weren’t in a relationship, we were just sleeping together. Or worse, I was a one-night stand.

To my horror, Mona appeared from the kitchen. “Kathleen!” she exclaimed in delight. “How wonderful to see you!”

If possible, Charlotte’s eyebrows climbed even higher.

“Hi, Mona,” I said with a tight smile. “I’ve got to go. Have to get home, and get… to work.” I stammered, my heart hammering in my chest as Blane appeared at the top of the stairs, decked out for work in a suit and tie. His eyes met mine, but I couldn’t read his expression.

“I’ll see you later,” I said in a rush before hurrying out the door.

“Kathleen, wait!”

I heard Blane call out, but I was already climbing into the car. It roared to life immediately, and I took off. In the rearview mirror, I saw Blane standing in the drive, staring after me.

M
y head pounded as I drove, but it didn’t begin to compare to the embarrassment crawling over my skin as memories of last night played through my mind. I remembered everything; the only part that got fuzzy was after I’d fallen asleep at Blane’s.

Had I really told Blane that I was “just using” him for sex? I groaned aloud. I remembered the hurt and anger I’d felt last night—I’d wanted to retaliate after Blane’s inadequate proposal, to hurt him back. I liked to think I wasn’t that sort of person, but I also didn’t want to lie to myself. I’d not only treated Blane badly, but I’d also been cruel to Kade. He’d just been trying to help me outside the bar.

I hated feeling this way, hated the regret and guilt that washed over me like a thick, oily pool. I sighed. Well, there was nothing for it. I was just going to have to put on my big-girl panties, suck it up, and apologize. After all the times I’d insinuated or accused Blane of just toying with me until something better came along, I’d been no better last night, using sex as a means to an end rather than as a natural off-spring of our relationship and how we felt for one another.

Never once had Blane made me feel like a tramp or a slut—no, I’d done that all on my own.

To top it off, I was sure Blane was just thrilled that Charlotte had been there this morning to witness the sordid morning after. I snorted. So much for trying to keep a professional appearance at work.

And then there was what had to be the last straw—I’d taken Blane’s Jag.

Okay, I had to be honest. I knew I shouldn’t have taken it—more guilt to add to my already heaping pile—but wow, was it incredible to drive. The miles to my apartment flew by easily and before I knew it, I was pulling into my parking lot while still self-flagellating over everything I’d done and said the night before.

Tigger was glad to see me, and I felt another stab of guilt that he’d been alone for so long yesterday. I fed him and gave him a scratch behind his marmalade ears before I jumped in the shower. He complained long and loud about my lack of attention while I got ready for work.

Striving for a professional look today, though I doubted anything would erase the picture Charlotte had of me from this morning, I dressed up in nylons, heels, a formfitting black pencil skirt, and an ivory silk blouse. I pulled my hair back in a French twist and applied minimal makeup. Gulping down a cup of coffee, I grabbed a granola bar, my coat, and my purse, and headed out the door.

It was impossible to drive the Jag properly in heels. Slipping them off, I drove barefoot, wondering how I was going to get my car back. Maybe Clarice would take me, if she had time.

I was able to get some things done at work, the stack of files on my desk higher than normal since I’d been out a lot the past few days. At some point, I knew I’d have to go
upstairs and return Blane’s keys, but I put it off, cringing in embarrassment when I thought of looking him in the eye after last night.

Finally after lunch, I knew I couldn’t put it off any longer. I had to leave soon to make it to Xtreme for my shift. Scooping up his keys, I headed for the elevator.

It felt like I was headed to my execution rather than just going to see Blane, and I swore to myself that I was never, ever, ever going to drink again.

Ever.

Really.

The elevator doors swooped open, and I was disappointed to see that Clarice was not at her desk. Damn. Blane’s door was closed, which made me hesitate. I definitely did not want to make things worse by interrupting an important meeting.

Just as I was debating leaving the keys on Clarice’s desk and forgoing seeing Blane altogether, his door swung open.

My breath caught in surprise to see Blane ushering out Senator Robert Keaston from the state of Massachusetts. The senator had been in Congress long enough that his name was spoken with reverence and awe. A powerful and intimidating man, he reminded me of Blane, which was fitting since he was Blane’s great-uncle. I’d met both the senator and his wife, Vivian, a few months ago.

It seemed the eyes of both men fell on me at the same time. The senator seemed momentarily surprised, and Blane’s gaze shuttered immediately, leaving his expression an unreadable mask.

Oh God—he was mad, disappointed, disgusted. Any one of a hundred possibilities, each more discouraging than
the last, ran through my mind. Tearing my eyes from his, I forced a smile.

“It’s nice to see you again, Senator,” I said.

Senator Keaston seemed to have recovered himself, the politician’s smile I’d seen too many times on Blane’s face now gracing the senator’s face. “Likewise, my dear,” he replied.

My smile faltered slightly at the tone of his words. Though polite on the surface, they held an undercurrent of disapproval. Before I could say anything more, he’d turned back to Blane, effectively dismissing me.

“Remember what we talked about,” he admonished.

Blane gave a curt nod. The senator passed by me on his way to the elevator, not saying anything further, and I watched until the doors closed behind him before reluctantly turning to face Blane again.

He hadn’t moved from his spot in the doorway. He emanated danger, no less lethal for being encased in a dark suit and tie. I fancied I could feel the magnetic pull of his presence, even though he was several feet from me. I fidgeted for a moment, meeting his steady gaze before glancing away.

“I… um… brought back your keys,” I finally stammered when the silence became too much for me to take.

He didn’t reply, so I blundered on. “Listen, I… um… I’m really sorry.” Gathering my flagging courage, I raised my chin to look him in the eye.

“You can borrow the car anytime you want,” he said with a shrug.

My face heated at his misunderstanding. Now I was going to have to be more specific. I forced the words out. “I meant, I’m sorry for… for doing that. In the car. And for
what I said at your house. I… wanted to get back at you, which is wrong… and I’m sorry.”

Guilt and shame washed over me, making me want to cringe, but I refused to give in to the impulse. I harshly reminded myself that this wasn’t about me feeling bad for what I’d done; I should feel bad. It was about apologizing to someone I’d hurt.

Blane pulled me into his office and closed the door. Cradling my face in his hands, he said, “Are you kidding me? You’re apologizing for the best car ride I’ve ever had?”

My mind reeled in confusion. “What?”

Blane laughed lightly. “Kat, anytime you want to get drunk and horny, I’ve got no problem with that. Just so long as it’s always me you call.”

“You’re not mad?”

His fingers brushed my cheek. “I’m mad at myself, for hurting you. I’m mad that I’ve done things, said things, that have pushed you away, made you feel you couldn’t talk to me. But am I mad at you? No.”

I shook my head. “Even if you’re not, I was wrong. My intentions were wrong.”

“You mean you didn’t want me to touch you last night?” he asked. His voice was lower now, and it sent a shiver through me. His eyes flared green in their depths and I couldn’t look away. Somehow he’d drawn even closer, our bodies nearly touching. “Didn’t want me to stroke you, make you come? Didn’t want me in your mouth, on your tongue? Because I’ve got to be honest.” His lips were by my ear now, and my eyes slipped shut at the brush of his warm breath. “That’s a memory I’ll take to my grave.”

My heart was hammering in my chest now, my embarrassment and guilt forgotten in light of his words. Our eyes locked again and his gaze dropped to my mouth. I nervously wet my lips, feeling as anxious as though he were about to kiss me for the first time.

The crackle of the intercom made me jump, and Clarice’s voice had me scurrying a step or two away from Blane.

“Sir, your two o’clock is here.”

Blane rounded the desk and pressed a button on the phone. “Give me a few minutes, please, Clarice.”

“Yes, sir.”

Our eyes met and I swallowed. Sexual tension notwithstanding, we needed to talk. I was suddenly grateful for the polished walnut desk separating us.

“I’m still upset about the other night,” I confessed, “and I know you apologized, and I accept that. It’s just… going to take me some time to get over it.”

He studied me. “Understood.”

I took a deep breath, then said what had to be said. “I haven’t changed my mind about the Summers case. I want you to drop it.”

“I can’t do that.” Blane’s gaze was steady, his tone flat.

I’d expected that response, but had hoped for another. “Blane, I don’t care how much he’s paying you or what he’s offering you for your career. It’s not right. And what if he does it again?”

Blane’s face darkened, but he didn’t raise his voice. “I understand how you feel,” he said flatly, “but I won’t be dropping the case.”

I tried a different angle. “Kade said you and he were working on this together. To take down his uncle, that he’s the one you’re after. Maybe I can help.”

“If you want to help,” Blane countered, “you’ll tell me who the guy was in your apartment. The same guy that tried to drag you across the parking lot of that club last night. The man who knows you well enough to call you ‘Strawbs.’”

“How’d you—” I started, then stopped. Of course. “Kade told you.”

“Who is he, Kat?” Blane persisted. “And why are you protecting him?”

The urge to tell Blane the truth was strong, but I didn’t dare. Chance thought Blane was twisted, hated the fact I was involved with him. God knew what he’d do if he found out I’d told Blane who he was. Not that I even knew why I couldn’t tell him, only that Chance had told me not to.

When I didn’t answer, Blane sighed, the look he gave me one of resignation. “After everything, you still don’t trust me?”

“It’s not that,” I denied. “And isn’t that the pot calling the kettle black. You won’t even tell me what you and Kade are planning.”

“The less you know, the better in this case,” he retorted.

“Isn’t that always the case with you?” I shot back. “At least Kade doesn’t treat me like I’m twelve years old.”

I knew the instant the words were out of my mouth that I shouldn’t have said them. Blane went utterly still, pinning me with his steely gaze.

“Is that so,” he said softly. “How does he treat you? Do enlighten me.”

The anger underlying his words made my skin go cold. I’d done what I’d said I wouldn’t. Had said something to compare one brother to the other, pit them against each other.

“Nothing.” I backtracked. “Forget it. I didn’t mean anything by it. I should go.”

I tried to head to the door, but my way was blocked by Blane, who’d risen and rounded his desk.

“What happened, Kat? Has he stepped out of line? Touched you? Hit on you?” The questions came in a barrage and I instinctively recoiled.

“N-no, of course not.” There was no way I was going to say a word to Blane about all Kade had said and done.