Johnston - Heartbeat (13 page)

“Jack, I can’t get involved with anyone.”

“Fine. We won’t get involved.”

She made a sound that was half laughter, half a plea for mercy. “I wish I could believe you.”

He kissed her again, claiming her mouth with his, coaxing her to give in to the pleasure. For a brief moment she did. It was wonderful. Her blood thrummed. Her skin heated where he touched her. She felt more alive than she’d felt in ten long years. She could leap tall buildings. She could soar over mountains. The future was an open book, and all she had to do was rewrite it to include Jack Kittrick.

Maggie tore herself from Jack’s embrace. “No! I won’t let this happen.”

Jack’s eyes narrowed, and his brows lowered. “Won’t let what happen? It’s just sex, Maggie. We’re two consenting adults. Where’s the harm?”

“I’ve never been with any man except my husband,” she admitted breathlessly. “I’ve never done this when I wasn’t in love. It feels . . . I don’t know . . . wrong.”

His eyebrows rose halfway to his hairline. “Your husband died ten years ago. You mean you haven’t once—”

“No, I haven’t,” she interrupted.

His lips curved in a satisfied smile. “I see.”

“What is it you see, Jack?” she said, afraid he saw way too much.

He backed away and picked up his Pearl from the bar where he’d left it. “You need a little time to get to know me. That’s fine. To tell the truth, I’d be more comfortable if we prove you’re not a serial killer before we hit the sack.”

Her jaw gaped. “You mean you were considering making love to me even though you think I might be a murderer?”

Jack shrugged. “I was willing to give you the benefit of the doubt.”

“But you’re not entirely convinced I’m innocent?”

He hesitated, then shook his head.

“This is insane.” Maggie crossed to the bar, opened the bottle of Jack Daniels black label, and poured an inch into a glass. She stood with her back to him, contemplating the liquor.
She had nearly made love to a man who believed her to be a child killer. She still wanted him, was still vulnerable to his kiss, to his touch. He made her feel . . . everything . . . again.

Maggie wanted not to feel anything. She wanted not to have to make any choices. It was tempting to seek oblivion in a bottle. Sorry to say, it wasn’t the prospect of being a murder suspect that bothered her, so much as the fact she didn’t seem to be able to let herself enjoy sex with a man she didn’t love. It wasn’t fair.

Jack came up behind her close enough that she could feel the heat of him, smell the scent of fresh-cut evergreens in his cologne. “If you’re taking that drink because of me, don’t. I’ll leave if you want me gone.”

She grasped the edge of the bar and held on for dear life. “I haven’t had a drink in over nine years,” she said. She turned to face him, her lips curved in a self-deprecating smile, wanting desperately to lean on somebody—on him—but knowing she had to stand on her own two feet. “I suppose I can resist another day. That’s how it’s done, you know. One day at a time.”

He was standing too close, invading her space as a lover would, and he seemed to realize it, because he took a step back. His eyes searched her face, and she wondered what he was looking for.

“You’re an alcoholic?”

He said it like he wanted her to deny it. Unfortunately, she couldn’t. “Afraid so. When my sons drowned and my husband died all in the same week, I wanted to die myself.” She hesitated, debating how much to tell him.
As little as possible,
a voice warned. At last she said, “I couldn’t face life without my family, so I lost myself in a bottle. That’s where I stayed for nine long months.”

“What turned you around?” Jack asked.

She managed a smile. “Uncle Porter gave me a reason to come back from the dead. I’ve managed to stay sober ever since.”

“What happened just now?”

“This isn’t the first time I’ve been tempted to take a drink, Jack,” she said. “So far I’ve managed to resist.”

“What happens when you can’t?” he asked.

“I hope I never find out.”

He played with his beer bottle, but he didn’t drink from it again. “My mother was never able to quit for very long.”

“You mother’s an alcoholic?”

“Was,” he corrected. “She started drinking for the same reason you did, I expect—loneliness after my dad was killed in the line of duty. She died about two years ago. The liquor finally ate up her liver.”

“I’m sorry.”

“So am I,” Jack said. “When I was a kid . . . . ”

He didn’t finish the sentence, but Maggie could fill in the blanks for herself. His mother had most likely embarrassed him in front of his friends, maybe even mistreated him. Drunks were an unreliable bunch. She felt sorry for Jack but knew he wouldn’t appreciate an offer of sympathy. “A lot of folks don’t make it back to sobriety, Jack,” Maggie said. “I have.”

“But it’s a constant struggle, isn’t it?” Jack prodded.

“Of course. Alcoholism doesn’t go away.”

“Hypothetically, you could fall off the wagon at any time.”

He was pushing her, challenging her. “I suppose it’s possible,” she conceded.

“I just watched you pour yourself a drink, Maggie. It’s more than possible.” He sounded angry. His jaw was taut, his gray eyes dark as an East Texas thunderstorm.

“What’s the problem, Jack?”

“I don’t have much use for alcoholics, Maggie. They’re doomed individuals.”

“What about reformed alcoholics?”

“I don’t know any.” His features were rigid, his muscles taut. “Isn’t it about time we got out of here?”

Maggie picked up her stole from the sofa and slipped it over her bare arms. She stood silently while Jack adjusted the black, satiny fabric around her shoulders. She felt tight inside, sick to her stomach. She understood where his lack of tolerance came from, but there was nothing she could do to change the facts. If Jack wanted her, he was going to have to accept her, flaws and all. At least now they both knew where they stood.

Jack watched Maggie’s face as the attendant brought his Chevy pickup
to
the front of her condominium but didn’t see any signs that she was upset he hadn’t come in a car. He opened the door for her and helped her up into the truck, then scooted around the hood and got in himself.

He couldn’t think of anything to say, and she didn’t speak. In silence they headed out onto the MacArthur Freeway toward downtown and Alamo Plaza, where the outdoor gala was being held.

He probably should have kept his mouth shut about his mother’s alcoholism, Jack thought. It was none of Maggie Wainwright’s business. But he’d been shocked to discover she was an alcoholic. His mother’s alcoholism had made his childhood hell—between the fear that she would die and leave him alone, the humiliation when his friends saw her drunk, and the shame that he was ashamed of his own mother. He had sworn on her grave that he’d never put himself in a situation where an alcoholic could hurt him again.

What he ought to do was get as far from Maggie Wainwright as he could as fast as he could. But that wasn’t possible, because she was a murder suspect. And because he wanted her more than he could ever remember wanting a woman in his life.

It dawned on him that it shouldn’t have mattered one way or the other whether she was an alcoholic, if all he wanted from Maggie Wainwright was sex. In fact, now that he thought about it, he’d made love to a few women over the years who drank to excess. So why did it make such a difference with Maggie?

Jack didn’t have time to answer the question, because they had arrived at the Rivercenter, an indoor mall and hotel near the Alamo, where the gala attendees were supposed to park. The Cancer Society Gala was spread out on the paved courtyard directly in front of the Alamo. Tables had been set up, and a small orchestra played in the gazebo on the square.

The weather was beautiful, clear and cool and calm, with a full moon above. Jack took the parking stub from the valet and went around to help Maggie out. He had to hand it to her. She managed the most graceful exit from a truck he’d ever seen by a woman in an evening gown.

He offered his arm, and as they walked the short distance to the Alamo said, “Have I told you how beautiful you look tonight?”

She stumbled, and he slipped his arm around her to keep her upright. She glanced back as though to see what had tripped her, but there was nothing but flat sidewalk. She avoided his eyes as she replied, “Thank you for the compliment. You look very nice, too.”

“I usually clean up pretty good.”

“I should have trusted you—”

“I rented the tux from Anthony’s,” he said at the same time.

She flashed him a startled look, then laughed, a silvery sound that made the hairs stand at attention all over his body. Her eyes looked bright and excited, and all he could think of was taking her somewhere dark and private and finishing what they’d started.

“I hope you won’t mind sitting with a bunch of lawyers,” she said. “You already know Roman and Lisa. You’ll also meet—”

She cut herself off as they reached the greeting line established on the south side of Alamo Plaza. “Good evening, Victoria,” Maggie said. “I don’t believe you’ve formally met Jack Kittrick. Jack, this is my mother-in-law, Victoria Wainwright.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Kittrick. Margaret’s told me so much about you.”

There was a great deal of innuendo in Victoria Wainwright’s voice. Enough to make Jack uncomfortable and to put a dusky flush on Maggie’s cheeks.

“I’m glad you could come this evening,” Victoria said. “It’s always nice to have attractive people attend these events. It helps increase the newspaper coverage.”

Jack couldn’t quite believe what he’d heard. He wasn’t sure what reply to make, and thankfully he didn’t have to come up with one. The curtness of Maggie’s voice when she excused them from the line said it all for him.

“I’m sorry,” Maggie said, as soon as they were far enough away that Victoria couldn’t overhear them. “Among society women like Victoria, charity fundraising is a fiercely competitive sport. It’s a game to see who can raise the most money, who garners the most important people, the most coverage of the event in video and print. Victoria lives for it. And she seldom loses.”

“What did you tell her about me?” Jack asked.

Maggie stopped abruptly and turned to face him. “Not enough for her to insinuate more.”

She met his gaze directly, even though he could see, with help from the decorative red, white, and blue lights hung all around them, that her color was still high. “Victoria would be happy to run my life. I’m happier running it myself. Can we just forget about her and enjoy the evening?”

“That’s fine with me,” Jack said.

Maggie led them through the milling crowd of socialites dressed in World War II fashions to their numbered table, which had been set up far enough from the gazebo that they could hear themselves talk over the orchestra. Jack was glad to see the table had already filled up with people. He didn’t want to be alone with Maggie right now, because he was tempted to throw caution to the wind and suggest they forget about the gala and get a room at the Menger, next door.

When they reached their table, the decision was taken out of his hands as Maggie began introducing him to everyone. She started with Roman and Lisa, probably because he already knew them.

He thought Lisa looked great in a strapless gown that revealed a great deal of cleavage. She had dressed for a man, but her body language announced that the man she had dressed for was her husband. Jack noticed the surprised look she gave the doctor when he slipped his arm protectively around her shoulder.

With his attention focused on Roman and Lisa, Jack missed the next few introductions. It was a change in the tone of Maggie’s voice to something warmer, more intimate, that made him look closely at the man she was introducing.

“This is Tomas Sangamo, our newest partner,” she said.

Sangamo appeared to be in his mid-thirties, of Latin descent, with black hair and brown eyes that had long black lashes most women would have envied. The guy could have been a model or a movie star. Tomas stood graciously to shake Jack’s hand, his grip brief and firm. His gaze was open and friendly without being intrusive, and his voice was a pleasant baritone.

Jack glanced at Maggie, then back at Sangamo, and wondered why they hadn’t been lovers. They obviously shared a deep affection. He waited for Maggie to introduce him to Sangamo’s date, or his wife, but the man had come alone. Had Sangamo expected to spend the night dancing with Maggie? He could think again.

Jack smiled and slipped a possessive arm around Maggie’s waist. “Nice to meet you, Tomas.” He wasn’t so different from good old Roman, Jack mused as he met Maggie’s startled gaze. He kept his eyes on hers as he tightened his hold on her waist, drawing her closer.

From the corner of his eye, Jack saw eyebrows rise and astounded looks exchanged around the table.

They’re not used to seeing her claimed by a man in public,
he realized.
Or at least, not used to her accepting that sort of advance.

He waited for Maggie to give him some sign to let her go, but it didn’t come. So he held on. It was male instinct that had caused him to stake his claim on her and pleasure that made him keep her hip pressed against his own. She felt delicate and womanly, and Jack started thinking of a dark room and a soft bed again.

Before he could stop her, Maggie settled in the vacant chair next to Tomas. He pulled out the last empty chair, which happened to be next to Roman.

Lisa leaned across Roman and said, “We’re having a picnic and Easter egg hunt tomorrow afternoon at our house. You’ll have to compete with our daughter, Amy, for eggs, but there’ll be plenty of good food. Maggie will be there, and Tomas and Roman’s nurse, Isabel Rojas. I hope you can join us.”

Jack saw Maggie roll her eyes at Lisa, obviously deploring her matchmaking techniques, but he wasn’t about to give up the opportunity to spend more time with Maggie and, of course, observe the doctor and his nurse. “I’d like that,” Jack said with a smile.

“We live in Alamo Heights. Maggie can give you directions,” Lisa said.