Turning Point (The Kathleen Turner Series) (30 page)

I stared at him. “You gave up your career in the FBI to help Blane?” A part of me was shocked. But another part of me, the part that seemed to know more about Kade than I wanted to acknowledge, that part wasn’t surprised at all.

“Not a big deal,” Kade said with a shrug. “But I gave Blane some song and dance about wanting to fly solo.”

“Why didn’t you tell him the truth?”

“Because he doesn’t need to know. He carries around enough guilt for both of us. So if you feel like sharing that with him”—he turned to look me in the eye—“don’t.”

His tone left no room for argument. I gave a jerky nod and closed my eyes.

When I woke again, it was light outside and I was pressed snugly against Kade, who appeared to be sleeping soundly. Alarm shot through me at the position of our bodies, and I prayed Blane wouldn’t suddenly walk through the door.

Careful to not wake him, I eased out of Kade’s grasp, rolling out of bed and slipping out of the room. Once I was in the hallway, I let out my breath.

It was early, but my pressing need for the bathroom had me heading to the closest one, in Blane’s room. He wasn’t in there, so I assumed he was already downstairs. The bed had been made and the curtains on the windows pulled back to reveal a sunny day, the snow already melting from the few areas it had covered last night.

The bathroom smelled of his soap and cologne. I took a deep breath, a pang echoing inside my chest. I missed him. It didn’t seem to matter, the arguments we’d had or my pushing away his overprotectiveness. I needed him, wanted him.

I showered, towel-drying my hair the best I could. I didn’t want to wake Kade by rummaging around in my room for different clothes, so I wrapped myself in Blane’s robe, which I knew he never wore. The hem came down past my knees, and I rolled up the sleeves. My hair was a damp, tangled mass of loose curls and waves, but there wasn’t anything I could do about that, since my brush was in the other bathroom.

When I came out, I found Blane sitting in the chair by the window, his elbows resting on his spread knees, his
hands loosely clasped. He was dressed casually, in jeans and a long-sleeved shirt. He sat up and our eyes met.

“How’s your head?” he asked.

I walked over to him. “It’s all right. Just a bruise and a small cut.”

Taking my hand, he tugged me to stand between his thighs so he could inspect the sore spot at my temple. I winced as he lightly touched the raised bump.

“You’re lucky,” he observed. “He could have shot you instead.”

There was nothing to say to that—it was the truth—so I changed the subject. “Why didn’t you tell me about Summers blackmailing you about what happened with Avery?” It was hard to look him in the eye, knowing that he now knew the lurid details of that night.

“Why didn’t you tell me what Avery did to you?” Blane responded with a question of his own.

“It was done. He was dead. What was the purpose in telling you?”

Blane just looked at me for a moment, the sadness in his eyes making me squirm uncomfortably. “To share it with me. To let me comfort you,” he said. “You were hiding it, weren’t you? The marks. The day we came back and we made love, it hurt when I touched you, but you wouldn’t let me see.”

I looked away, unable to meet his penetrating gaze.

“Why, Kat?” The hurt in his voice was my undoing.

“Because I didn’t want you to think less of me.”

“Why would I think less of you?”

“Because. Because I couldn’t stop him. Because of how he made me feel. Because of how I was afraid you’d—”

I cut myself off.

“Afraid I’d what?” he prompted.

“Afraid you’d see me… differently,” I finished.

Blane pulled me down onto his lap, cupping my chin and forcing me to look at him. We were nearly eye to eye. “I would never use anything that happened to you against you, or as a reason for not being with you. It wasn’t your fault. You’re not weak.”

His thumb brushed my cheek, and his lips settled gently over mine in a kiss that was pure and sweet in its tenderness.

When he finally pulled away, a piece of my heart seemed to finally accept that what he felt for me was real. Maybe I could trust this intangible thing between us, binding us together.

“I never thought,” he said softly, “that I’d feel this way, that I’d want to feel this way, about someone. I’ve spent so many years turning off my emotions, believing they made me weak. I was better, stronger, without them. Being a SEAL taught me that.”

I barely breathed, listening to him, afraid that if I moved too much, breathed too hard, he’d stop talking.

The corner of his mouth lifted. “Then you came along, squeezed between the fissures, and cracked me wide open.”

Any words I might have said seemed desperately inadequate for the situation, so I wrapped my arms around him, hugging him tightly. I was gratified that his grip around me was just as solid.

“I love you, too,” I said, my voice husky with emotion.

“I have something for you,” he said, reaching into his pocket. Taking my hand, he turned it palm up before depositing what he held.

My mouth fell open in surprise. A shimmering strand of pearls rested in my palm, spilling between my fingers.

“Blane, I… I don’t know what to say,” I stammered.

“Turn around,” Blane said, taking the strand from me.

I did as I was told, lifting my hair out of the way as his hands moved to fasten the necklace on me.

“They say pearls are the moon’s tears,” Blane said quietly. “Or that maybe they’re from angels’ wings, moving through a cloud. They’re beautiful in their purity, striking in their innocence, humbling in their integrity.”

The pearls lay warm against my throat and I dropped my hair, turning back to face Blane.

“Just like you,” he said simply.

I couldn’t help the stupid smile on my face. “That’s the most romantic thing anyone’s ever said to me.”

Blane’s lips twitched, as though he were thinking about smiling, and there was no mistaking the warmth in his eyes. “Does that mean you’ll have dinner with me tonight?”

“Without question.” My hand rested on the perfectly matched pearls. “It appears I can be bought.”

Blane laughed, the rumble in his chest making my smile even wider. “I don’t know if you’re interested, but some buddies of mine are in town. They wanted to meet up tonight. I’d like you to meet them.”

“I’d love to. Who are they?”

“Some guys I was in the Navy with, other SEALs. Eric will be there. You know him.”

“Dr. Sanchez?”

Blane nodded.

“Absolutely,” I said, looping my arms around his neck. “I’d love to meet your friends.”

I felt like this was a big step in our relationship. While I knew people at the office, Mona, Senator Keaston and his wife, and, of course, Kade, I hadn’t met people who knew a different side of Blane. The people who had gone to war with him, who’d had his back in life-and-death situations—those people I had a burning curiosity to know.

“I need to get home, Tigger’s going to be mad at me if I’m gone much longer, but you can pick me up tonight.”

“Sounds good. I have to go in to the office today. Charlotte and I need to prep for court tomorrow.”

I buried the niggle of jealousy that comment produced.

“But I will pick you up at seven,” he continued. “And in the interest of staying in your good graces, I have a favor to ask.”

I raised my eyebrows in silent question.

“Do something fun today. Go get Alisha and go shopping, get a massage, have lunch. Here, take my card.” Reaching inside his jacket, he pulled out his wallet, extracted a credit card, and handed it to me.

I handled the plastic gingerly, looking at him as though he’d lost his mind. “You want me,” I said in disbelief, “to go shopping, and spend your money doing it.”

“Hard to believe, but yes,” he said, his tone dry.

I forced back the grin that threatened. “Don’t be silly,” I admonished him. “I’m not going to go blow your money on clothes and getting pampered. I’m a working girl. I need to go job-hunting.”

“Forget the job thing,” he interrupted me. “Just for a few days. Do this for me. Go, have some girl time, be unproductive for once, and don’t worry about it, okay?”

Blane was very earnest about this, which seemed odd.

“I guess,” I said reluctantly. “If that’s what you want?”

“I do. And I’ll pick you up at seven.”

“All right.” I straddled his lap, pressing my knees on either side of him. “But don’t be late.”

“I will promise not to be late,” he replied, “if you promise to model the pearls for me after dinner.”

“Of course I will.”

“
Only
the pearls.”

Several images went through my mind, making me shiver. Then he was kissing me until I couldn’t think straight, his hands pulling open the sides of the robe, baring my body for his strokes and caresses.

“I can model them now if you want,” I breathed, my heart racing.

Blane groaned. “Don’t tempt me. I have to go or I’ll be late. Charlotte’s probably waiting at the office for me.”

His hands seemed reluctant to leave my skin, but after a moment he’d risen from the chair, putting some space between us.

“I could get used to this,” he said. At my questioning look, he continued. “You being the last person I see before I leave for the day and the first person I’ll see when I come home.”

I was absurdly pleased with that statement.

“Then I’ll try to make it worth your while tonight,” I teased.

“Have fun. Stay out of trouble,” he said, running a hand through his hair to straighten the mussed locks. His lips were wet and slightly swollen, which only made him look more appealing.

I straightened the robe so I was once again covered, trying to ignore the claws of the little green monster digging in at the thought of him being with Charlotte all day.

“Blane,” I began hesitantly. “What are you going to do? About Summers? You’re not going to get him off, are you? Do you and Kade have a plan?”

The thought of Blane being blackmailed into defending Summers because of something that had happened to
me
made me sick to my stomach, much less the possibility of Blane succeeding in a not-guilty verdict.

His jaw tightened. “I’m working on it.”

I nodded, and before I could decide whether or not to press the issue, he was gone.

Going to the window, I watched until I saw him get in his car and leave.

“There you are.”

I started in surprise. Kade was standing behind me, dripping wet and wearing nothing but a white towel.

“Barney Fife’s been blowing up your phone,” he said, holding the offending object out to me.

I frowned in confusion before I realized he meant Chance.

“Nice,” I hissed, grabbing the phone. He only smirked.

“Hello?”

“Strawbs, it’s me,” Chance said.

“What’s going on? Did the cops take care of those women last night?”

“Yeah, they’re fine, and my cover’s not blown, thank God,” he answered. “Hey, I could use your help today, if you’ve got time.”

I thought Kade would leave, but he remained in the room watching me as water dripped from his body onto the carpet. The towel concealed little, especially when damp and wrapped so low around his hips. I was surprised it hadn’t yet fallen off. My face heated at the thought and I quickly turned away, focusing on Chance’s voice in my ear.

“Sure. What do you need?”

“A babysitter.”

I
scooted past Kade and headed to the other bedroom. I needed clothes if I was going to babysit Lucy’s son for a few hours today. Chance hadn’t told me why they’d needed me and I hadn’t asked. If I could help, I would.

“What did he want?” Kade asked, and I realized he’d followed me.

“I’m trying to get dressed,” I said crossly. “Do you mind?”

“Not a bit,” he drawled, crossing his arms over his bare chest and leaning against the wall.

I rolled my eyes and stepped inside the walk-in closet, pulling the door closed behind me.

“You were telling me what he wanted,” Kade said loud enough for me to hear him through the door.

I shrugged out of the robe, dropping it to the floor, then abruptly realized there were no underthings in the closet. Well, damn it.

“He, uh, wants me to babysit today,” I answered, cracking the door a smidge. “Hey, get me some…” I faltered. “You know. Out of the drawer. Behind you.”

My cheeks turned hot at his smirk and I glared at him until he turned to rummage through the bureau.

“Whose kid are you watching?” He alternatively held up scraps of satin and lace before discarding them.

“One of the dancers—her name is Lucy—she has a little boy,” I explained, impatiently waiting as he perused the choices. “Will you just pick something?”

“Got it,” he said, returning to stand much too close to the door. “Open up.”

“Just give them to me,” I said, exasperated.

He huffed an exaggerated sigh and pushed his hand through the opening. I snatched the fabric dangling from his finger.

“Thank you,” I said, then immediately reconsidered the sentiment in light of what he’d given me—a tiny lace thong in the palest of pinks with a matching bra. Nice.