Mary Baxter - Like Silk

And she did. Yet there was always a first time. Still, she wanted to believe him—for her own sake as well as his. “Oh, dear Lord, Tommy, what are we going to do?”

“Make this go away, sis,” he sobbed. “You always make things right. I know you won’t fail me now.”

But she had failed him, and miserably, too. Because she’d had no means to hire adequate counsel to represent him, Tommy had been assigned a court appointed attorney who failed to substantiate his claim that he’d been drugged. As far as she could tell, the man had hardly bothered to try. That was why, when Rupert had offered to champion her cause with an attorney, she’d dropped her guard.

Never again.

Deciding she’d wallowed in self-pity long enough, Brittany forced her sore limbs to move into a sitting position, then upright. Soon she would be dressed and on her way home.

Stranded.

No other word adequately described the situation. During the night, the rain had come down in buckets. Without even having to walk outside and take a look, Collier knew the bridge was impassable. Whether he liked it or not, he wouldn’t be taking his guest anywhere. And whether she liked it or not, she wouldn’t be going anywhere.

Through the years, Mason had kept saying he was going to do something about the bridge, get a crew up here to rebuild it, so this kind of problem wouldn’t rise every time the water did. But he hadn’t followed through. Collier figured it was because the retreat wasn’t used all that much anymore, which was a shame, since it was a great place for R & R.

And work.

He began to pace the floor again, as he had been on and off for hours. Good thing the floors were hardwood; otherwise, he would have worn a trail in the carpet. Lord knew he’d tried to work—all night, in fact. Yet he hadn’t made a dent in the case. Instead he’d been consumed with thoughts of the woman in the next room and his bid for the judgeship.

Though far apart in reality, they seemed closely related in his disjointed mind. He shouldn’t be holed up in this cabin with a lovely woman with an obviously shaded past. With secrets. The worst kind of woman to get involved with.

The hell of it was, he wasn’t involved. So why was he getting himself all worked up over something he hadn’t done? Loaded question. Loaded answer. When he’d touched Brittany Banks, it had been like tossing gasoline on an open flame. And that flame was still smoldering in his gut.

He’d never reacted to a woman as strongly, certainly not Lana. He could go for days, even weeks, and not touch her, and it wouldn’t bother him.

But he knew the woman in the nearby room was a different story. He would bet that underneath her aloof exterior were seething emotions that, when tapped in the right way, would run as hot as molten lava. Of course he would never find out. He didn’t intend to touch her again.

If only he could stop thinking about how good she’d smelled, as if she’d just bathed in a tub of roses. How her soft bare flesh had felt under his fingers, how he’d ached to caress her full breasts and suck her dark, pink nipples.

Collier drew air through his dry lungs, once again feeling that unwelcome tightening of his groin.

He’d been tempted to check on her during the night. Thank heaven his good sense had overruled that crazy thought.

He needed to get out of here. He needed to get her out of here. If she knew how he felt, how he had reacted to her body, she would be more petrified than she already was. He froze. Had she guessed? Had she picked up on the raw hunger gnawing inside him? Had she seen it in his eyes? He hoped not, for both their sakes.

She must never suspect how deeply she affected him. When she awakened, he would be the perfect gentleman and host—cool but polite. And accommodating. Somehow they would get through this day. Hopefully, by tomorrow morning, the rain would have stopped and the bridge would be passable.

Until then, he had to think with his head and not his libido.

His thoughts suddenly brightened when he turned them back to the judgeship. He still couldn’t believe his good fortune. However, he wasn’t going to rely on his hopes, because nothing was certain and plenty could still go wrong. Granted, he had a lot going for him. He was a prestigious attorney who rarely lost a case, and he came from a family that was highly visible in the political arena. When it came to working for and contributing to the party, he could hold his own.

“No one has the record or the credentials you have, boy,” Mason had said when the call came from one of the senators. “You’ll be a shoo-in.”

“Now, Dad, don’t count the chickens before they hatch.”

“The hell you say.” His father’s white bushy eyebrows drew together, forming a frown. “As much time, energy and money as this family has poured into Washington’s coffers, you should be a sure thing.”

“Well, I’ll do my part. You know I want this appointment as badly as you want me to have it. But then, so do the other guys who made the cut to the final four.”

“I’m not worried about them,” Mason said with his typical air of self-confidence. “You’re the best man for the job. No doubt about it.”

“You wouldn’t be a bit prejudiced, now would you?”

Mason almost smiled. “Maybe, but it’s the truth. Because I’m so sure of it, I’m going to have a precelebration party.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Why the hell not?”

“What about Jackson? He seems more depressed than ever.”

“That’s one of the reasons I’m going to do it,” Mason countered fiercely. “Maybe it’ll get him out of that room of his.”

“Don’t bet on it.”

“You let me worry about your brother. You just worry about keeping your nose clean and not stepping on anyone’s toes.”

As much as he would have liked to do that, Collier feared he’d already pulled the pin out of one grenade when he’d agreed to defend the energy company on the sexual harassment charge. That could become a real sticky situation if some feminist got in on the action. But he’d given his word, and he had no intention of backing off, regardless of whether his dad approved or not.

As far as Brittany Banks went, no one would ever know that he’d been alone up here with her. She would remain a secret. He hadn’t done anything wrong—not yet, anyway—which meant he had no reason to feel guilty. Still, to the press and anyone else interested in probing into his life, a sure thing with the potential appointment, someone would make something of the matter, especially with Lana and her high-profile family in the picture.

Hearing a sound, Collier paused in his thoughts and whipped around. She was standing just barely inside the room. Their gazes met, and an unwanted jolt went through him. “Good morning,” he managed to say through a throat that sounded like it had been shredded with razors.

“Good morning,” she responded, her voice sounding soft and a bit uncertain. The side of her face seemed more swollen this morning, the bruising more pronounced. His blood boiled hot again. Damn that bastard. One of these days…

He reined in his renegade thoughts and asked, “Did you sleep okay?”

“Actually I did, which surprised me,” she said, moving deeper into the room. “I guess I was totally wiped out.”

“I’m sure you were.”

Suddenly an awkwardness fell between them, followed by a tense silence. Maybe it was because when she moved her robe had loosened far enough that the upper portion of one breast was exposed. He groaned inwardly, his breath spiking.

As if she sensed where his gaze was targeted, she flushed and pulled the sash tighter. “I looked for my clothes, but…” Her voice trailed off, and she swallowed hard.