Mary Baxter - Like Silk

The thing was, he hadn’t wanted a woman in a long time. And he couldn’t remember ever wanting one as badly as he wanted Brittany, even if she was trailer trash.

And to think she’d rejected him. No one thwarted Rupert Holt and got away with it. This time, though, he feared he’d taken his rage and vindictiveness too far. Until he knew for sure, he had to back off.

His only hope was that Brittany was a survivor. Considering what she’d been through already, she would bounce back. When she surfaced, he would make amends, take care of the problem. Her brother was her Achilles’ heel, so he’d keep hammering on his willingness to help Tommy. Before long, he would wear her down and get back into her good graces. She would never say a word to anyone.

Suddenly feeling better, Rupert turned his attention back to Collier. He eyed the cordless phone on the buffet and reached for it. Might as well start the dice rolling against Smith.

He punched out a number and waited.

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.