Читать книгу Like Silk - Mary Baxter Lynn - Страница 9

Would this mess ever end? The rain had been falling all day and into the night, which meant the bridge was completely submerged. They were truly marooned.

It had to quit. It just had to. The day had been long and not really profitable, though he’d remained in his room for most of it. When he was lucky enough and got a respite from thoughts of Brittany, he’d actually gotten a little work done. Not nearly enough, however. He’d used most of his energy debating what to do about her.

Absolutely nothing, his common sense had told him. As soon as they were able to get back to civilization, Brittany would no longer be his responsibility. So why did he feel so responsible? Go figure.

It was apparent she’d wanted to avoid him as much as he had her. Still, he’d forced himself to knock on her door a couple of times and ask if she was all right, telling her to help herself to anything in the kitchen she might want. Once he’d heard her rummaging around in there and been tempted to join her, but he hadn’t. He knew he wasn’t playing the gracious host, not anywhere close to it. But this entire situation was so bizarre that he had no real idea how to behave.

Brittany Banks made him uncomfortable. That was the stark truth. She made him want something he couldn’t have. Her. Every time he was around her, he got a hard-on. He wasn’t proud of his urges, but he was proud that he’d stayed away from her.

As it was, she’d been to hell and back. He had no intention of sending her back there again, which was what would happen if he touched her. Just that thought knotted his stomach even tighter. He wasn’t thinking like a rational man but like a teenager in heat.

Actually it was worse. Instead of tending to business, he’d spent his time lusting after a woman who, under normal circumstances, he wouldn’t have looked at twice or given the time of day.

Well, maybe that was going a bit too far. He probably would at least have noticed her. With her beauty, all she had to do was walk into a room and heads would turn. Especially men’s. She transmitted sexual signals with her every move, yet she seemed totally unaware of them.

That was what made her so intriguing.

Enough, Smith. Brittany Banks had taken up enough of his time. He had to forget her and turn his attention to what counted in his life. Tomorrow. Surely the rain would cease then and they could leave. She would go her way and he would go his. If she chose to let that scumbag who attacked her get away with it, then so be it. He wasn’t going to beg her to do the right thing and turn him in.

Now all he had to do was get through the remainder of the night.

Collier shifted his gaze toward the bed bathed in lamp-light. While it certainly looked inviting, he knew that once he lay there, his eyes would stay wide-open as if they had been glued.

What would his mother’s advice be? His insides stilled. Why had the late Hannah Smith Williams come unexpectedly to mind? The answer was a no-brainer. He missed her. Despite the fact that she had died when he was only thirteen, he remembered every detail about her.

She was the prettiest, sweetest woman he’d ever known. And she always smelled so good, like roses. Maybe that was why Brittany’s scent had captivated him. Hannah had been perfect in every way, or at least he’d thought so. And still did.

Unwittingly his mind slid back to that awful day when he’d come home from school and rushed into the parlor where his mother would wait for both him and Jackson. On that particular day he’d been alone, with something important to tell her.

Hannah had been sitting in her usual chair, close to the fireplace, where the burning wood hissed pleasantly in the hearth. Her eyes had been closed, and she’d looked peaceful and beautiful, even more so than usual. He’d dashed to her side, expecting her to open her eyes, smile, then hold up her cheek for a kiss.

“Hey, Mom, I’m home.”

No response.

“Mom!” he called again, kneeling beside the chair and poking her. “Wake up.”

Still no response. He shook her shoulder gently, grinning, thinking she was playing a trick on him. “Come on, I know you’re just playing possum.” He shook her harder.

When she didn’t respond, he frowned, rose to his feet and hollered for Maxine, the housekeeper, who was like a second mother to him. She stormed into the room. “What on earth, boy? You’re yelling like a banshee.”

“It’s Mom!” he cried. “She…she won’t wake up.”

He moved aside as Maxine ran to Hannah and began to shake her gently. “Miz Hannah, wake up. Collier’s home.”

She placed her fingers on his mother’s throat, feeling for a pulse. It wasn’t what Maxine said afterward but rather the sudden terrified expression on her face that told him something was wrong. Horribly wrong.

“What’s the matter with Mom? Is she sick?”

“Come with me,” Maxine said, not looking at him. “Let’s go into the other room and call your dad.”

“No, I’m not leaving Mom.” Collier’s tone was belligerent. “She’ll want me here when she wakes up.”

“Please do what I say.”

Collier stiffened. “Why?”

“Because your mother’s not going to wake up,” Maxine blurted, then covered her mouth with her hand, as if she knew she’d spoken out of turn.

Collier’s eyes suddenly filled with tears, and he backed up toward his mother. Once there, he whipped around, dropped to his knees beside her and placed his palm against her face. “She’s not dead!” he sobbed in a fierce tone. “Don’t say that!”

“Collier, please,” Maxine whispered, touching his shoulder.

He shrugged her hand away. “No! I have to make her breathe again. You have to help me.”

“Collier, don’t,” Maxine whispered again in a broken voice.

“No!” he screamed, leaning over and beating on Hannah’s chest. “Wake up, Mom. Please don’t die. Please don’t. Please.”

But no amount of pleading on his part had changed the hard, cold fact that his mother was indeed dead. What happened immediately afterward became sketchy. Until this day, he couldn’t remember the details of Mason’s arrival, the funeral or the days following. All he remembered was knowing that his life as he’d known it was over, that nothing would ever be the same again. And it hadn’t been.

Hannah had been his greatest protector, his biggest champion and his fiercest disciplinarian. For the longest time after she’d died, he had been so angry with God and everyone around him that he’d been unbearable. Looking back, he actually felt sorry for Mason, who had been left with two teenage boys to rear alone.

Mason had married Collier’s mother when he had been only two years old. Mason’s son, Jackson, had been six. Both his mother and Mason had been divorced. Collier’s birth father hadn’t wanted anything to do with him after his mother had caught him with another woman and left him. Even so, as a result of the nasty divorce that followed, his father had refused to give his permission for Mason to adopt him.

Despite that, Mason was the only father Collier had ever known. And while Mason had been good to him, certainly treated him like his younger son, Collier knew that he wasn’t and nursed deep insecurities.

That feeling had worsened after his mother’s death. Hannah had represented the softer, gentler side of the family. Mason was hard-edged and expected too much from his sons. That worsened, too, once they became his total responsibility. He hadn’t a clue how to handle the needs of two boys. A succession of nannies was the order of the day.

Yet he and Jackson had survived those difficult years, both becoming successful attorneys any father could be proud of. Even so, Collier felt he hadn’t quite made the grade yet, that he still had more hurdles to jump.

In many ways, though, he was just like Mason despite the fact that no blood linked them. Collier was smart, ambitious and driven, all the attributes that had launched Mason to the top of his profession and earned him the bucks and respect that went with it.

Despite the similarities, Collier continued to feel that he still didn’t measure up, that he had something more to prove. That was why he had to get that appointment to the bench. Maybe then he would finally feel like Mason’s son in every respect.

If Jackson hadn’t had that accident, he wouldn’t feel quite as much pressure. It wouldn’t dog his every waking moment, this need to succeed because the eldest son hadn’t. Too, he yearned to take away some of the pain that Jackson’s misfortune had put in his father’s heart.

Mason harped constantly on the injustice of it all, making closure impossible. He grieved daily over Jackson’s unwillingness to continue to practice law. Instead Jackson seemed content to simply sit in his room at the mansion and nurse his bitterness and anger. And become weaker by the day.

As a result, Collier often felt pangs of guilt for remaining upright and whole, something that Jackson would never be again. He had always idolized Jackson, positive he was smarter, wittier and more likely to succeed. When the accident occurred, Collier had felt his own heart and spirit break.

Now, however, though Jackson refused to make a new life for himself, Collier refused to give in to his brother’s despair. He was determined that sooner or later Jackson would be productive again. On that point, he and Mason were in total agreement.

Thinking about his mother’s untimely death and his brother’s plight left him more depressed than ever. “Ah, to hell with it,” he spat aloud, crossing to the bed and plopping down on it. Perhaps if he lay there long enough, he would fall asleep, regardless of his restless mind and heart.

He awakened with a start, totally disoriented for a moment, then realized where he was. He couldn’t identify what had interrupted his sleep. He peered at the clock. Midnight. His rest had certainly been short-lived.

Collier heard the noise then. This must be what had awakened him, and this time he recognized it. Someone was sobbing. Brittany was sobbing. Before he had time to think, he lunged off the bed and headed for her room. Without hesitation, he opened the door, then eased onto the side of her bed, scared shitless that she had internal injuries only a doctor could fix.

“Brittany,” he whispered, hearing the note of panic in his voice but unable to control it.

The small lamp burning in the corner gave him access to her face. When she gazed up at him, the stark sadness in those eyes opened an emotional floodgate inside him. It was all he could do not to grab her and hold her tightly, aching to absorb some of that pain.

Instead he ignored that need and concentrated on his fears, growing more alarming by the second. “Are you in pain?” he rasped.

She blinked back tears. “No. I…guess I was dreaming. I’m sorry I disturbed you.”

“Hush,” he said gently.

As if they had a will of their own, his hands began wandering over her body, searching for broken bones, signs of something, anything, he might have missed.

Only after a sob suddenly caught in her throat and her big brown eyes locked on his did he pause, realizing one hand was covering her breast.

For the longest time, neither one of them moved. The feelings clamoring through him were so raw, so all-consuming, so terrifying, that he could only stare back at her while her nipple budded in his palm.

“Collier,” she breathed, placing a hand on his cheek.

Further indulging himself in this moment of madness, he lowered his mouth to hers. At first he simply grazed her lips. But when she answered his groan and pressed her mouth closer, his need increased to a feverish pitch. He drank from the sweetness she offered him, kissing her with a deep and frightening intensity.

All the emotions that had been smoldering inside him since that first night exploded. Only after he had no more air in his lungs did he let her go and pull back.

Mutual shock seemed to paralyze them both for several seconds, the sound of the rain barely drowning out the rapid beat of their hearts.

“Dear God,” Collier said in a strangled tone before easing her back onto the pillow, horror washing over him.

Before she could respond, he got up, turned and walked out the door.