Turn on a Dime - Blane's Turn (22 page)

By the seventeenth hole, James had stopped playing, electing to sit in the cart and drink. Jake and Andrew didn’t seem to care, though, as Blane kept them entertained with stories from when he was deployed in Afghanistan.

“You’re shitting me,” Jake said. “The kid had a grenade?”

“Yep,” Blane said. “Couldn’t have been more than nine or ten.”

“What’d you do?” Andrew asked.

Golf was forgotten. Their attention was fixed on Blane.

“I did the only thing I could,” Blane said with a shrug. “I jumped out the window. Luckily, there was a steaming heap of garbage for me to land in. I took some shit for that one, let me tell you. For a while I thought I was going to be permanently nicknamed Dumpster Dive.”

Jake and Andrew looked in disbelief at Blane before they burst out laughing.

“Holy shit, I can’t believe you jumped out a friggin window!” Jake said before heading to the tee.

“Gotta say, you’ve got balls, Kirk,” Andrew added, shaking his head.

Back at the clubhouse, Jake and Andrew gave a friendly farewell to Blane and polite nods to James before leaving together. Blane smiled and watched them go, but when he turned to face James, the smile was gone.

“You’re an asshole,” James spat at him. “You know I wanted those guys to pony up some cash for my campaign.”

“Of course I did,” Blane said, his disdain obvious. “You’re an amateur at this game, James.” Moving close, with contempt coating each word, he said, “I doubt they even remember your name.”

James face turned mottled red and he swung at Blane, who could have stepped aside, but didn’t. The hit landed on his jaw without much force, but now Blane had the perfect opening and he took advantage of it, landing several punishing blows to James’s face and ribs before James collapsed groaning on the floor.

They’d gathered an audience by now, most of who had seen James throw the first punch. No one intervened. The men gathered took note of what happened and who was on the floor before quietly melting away, their voices a low hum. Blane knew the story would spread quickly of how James had started a fight and gotten his ass handed to him.

Crouching down, Blane grabbed James by the collar and hoisted him upward a few inches.

“That’s for what you did to Kathleen,” he hissed in James’s ear. “Next time I give you a warning, I suggest you heed it. Touch Kathleen again and I won’t go so easy on you.” Giving him a rough shove, Blane rose and headed for the door. A man intercepted him on his way out.

“Mr. Kirk,” he said, hurrying to keep up with Blane. “I’m Randall Jennings, the manager here, and I must extend our apologies for Mr. Gage’s behavior today. I hope you realize that we don’t tolerate violence in our club and Mr. Gage’s membership will be revoked forthwith.”

“I would hope so,” Blane said as the valet pulled up with his car. “I came here today for a relaxing round of golf, not a fistfight.”

“Yes, sir, I completely agree,” Jennings said. “I guarantee, this won’t happen again.”

“See to it,” Blane said before climbing into his Jag and driving away.

Looking in the rearview mirror, he saw Jennings hurrying back into the club and a satisfied smile curved Blane’s lips.

When Blane walked into The Drop that night, he didn’t like the scene that met his eyes.

The bartender from the other night was working with Kathleen again, only now he had her cornered and was standing much too close. Blane stood in the shadows, watching. After a moment, Kathleen smiled and reached up, brushing her fingers through the guy’s hair.

Jealousy reared its head, its claws digging in deep and Blane clenched his fists and took a breath. Beating the shit out of that guy wasn’t going to earn him any favors with Kathleen.

She turned then and spotted him. A huge smile spread across her face, easing the strangling possessiveness Blane was feeling. He slid onto a barstool just as Kathleen set a Dewar’s and water in front of him. Her gaze seemed caught on his hands and Blane wondered what she was thinking, if she was remembering this morning. Seeming to catch herself staring, she glanced up at him, her cheeks rosy.

“Who is he?” Blane asked, nodding toward the guy.

“Scott,” she answered. “We work together a lot.”

So he’d noticed.

“You’re here early,” she continued.

“I wanted to see you,” Blane said. No sense lying to the girl. Reaching forward, he lightly grasped her chin, turning her cheek toward the light. She’d skillfully applied a thick layer of makeup to cover the bruise, but Blane could still see its shadow under the surface.

Kathleen moved back slightly, enough so Blane had to drop his hand.

“James won’t be bothering you anymore,” he said.

“Why? What happened?”

“I spoke with him and was able to convey how . . . displeased I would be if there was a repeat of his behavior yesterday.”

Kathleen seemed to take a moment to digest this and Blane really hoped she wasn’t going to be all anti-violence and shit, not after what James had done to her. To his relieved surprise, her next question was all about him.

“Won’t that make things difficult for you at work?” she asked.

“No. I’m a partner. Since I’m an owner, I actually have more of a say in that business than James does, regardless of his family connection.”

“You warned me about him,” Kathleen said. “How did you know?”

It didn’t take a rocket scientist to know James was a piece of shit. A misogynist at heart, it was a wonder any woman went out with James. Plus, Blane had heard rumors occasionally of James’s proclivities in the bedroom, something Kathleen, in her innocence, most likely hadn’t heard and perhaps wouldn’t know what to make of if she had.

“I’ve heard things,” Blane said evasively.

Someone called her name then and Kathleen had to get back to work. Blane watched her as she talked to customers and filled orders. Too many men eyed her in a way Blane didn’t like, not that he could blame them. Her hair was pulled back in a jaunty ponytail that bounced when she walked. The deep blue of her shirt matched her eyes and was snug enough to cling to her curves. Add to that her innate friendliness and kind smile and you had a sweet, desirable package that caught and held Blane’s attention.

Blane’s phone buzzed and he dug it out of his pocket. The screen showed a text from Kandi.

I need to see you.

Shit.

Kandi was the last thing he wanted to deal with tonight, but he had no choice. He couldn’t ignore her, there’d be hell to pay if he did. It was easier to just go by and see what she wanted.

Blane finished his drink just as Kathleen came back over to him.

“Did you want another?” she asked, but Blane shook his head. Pulling out his wallet, he tossed a twenty onto the bar to pay his tab.

“I’ve got something to do first and then I’ll be back,” he said. Blane felt a twinge of guilt knowing what was coming when she left, that she was going to be scared, but Kade wouldn’t hurt her. Probably. Most likely. No, he wouldn’t. Hell, maybe he should rethink this whole thing . . .

Kathleen was staring at him as he stood, her eyes undressing him from his shoulders to his thighs. It didn’t take much to imagine what she was thinking and Blane’s dick was hard in seconds. He cursed, leaning across the bar to grab that damn ponytail that had been taunting him for the past hour. Blane tugged on it, making Kathleen lean toward him.

“Keep looking at me like that and I won’t be held responsible for my actions,” he said. She wet her lips and Blane obliged the silent request. The kiss was brief, but intimate, his tongue lightly stroking hers before he pulled away.

“I’ll be back,” he said.

Kathleen looked a little dazed and Blane hid a smile as he left the bar.

The streets were moderately busy for a Saturday night. The air had the wet, crisp chill of November in it. Blane dug in his pocket for his keys as he approached his car.

A tingling on the back of his neck, a sixth sense he’d learned to never, ever dismiss, gave him a split second’s warning.

Blane spun around, throwing himself to the side just as a knife came whizzing by his shoulder. It crashed against the brick wall behind him and Jimmy Quicksilver stepped out of the shadows.

Blane reached for his gun, but froze when he heard the scuff of a shoe behind him and felt the cold press of metal to his back. Glancing over his shoulder, he saw a man he didn’t recognize.

“I wouldn’t so much as blink, if I were you,” the guy rasped.

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” was Blane’s dry reply before glancing back to Jimmy, who’d approached and now stood quite close. “Jimmy,” Blane said. “Do your bosses know what you’re getting up to? Or is this freelance?”

“I was sent to give you a message,” Jimmy said. “You still haven’t recovered what that guy said he had.”

“And neither have you,” Blane said.

Jimmy shrugged. “My ass isn’t on the line. Yours is.”

Blane didn’t reply as Jimmy sauntered closer, playing with another blade he’d pulled.

“You know, I don’t think you hanging out in a bar and making out with the hot bartender is really doing us a lotta good, ya know?”

Blane stiffened and his eyes turned cold. Threatening him was one thing. Bringing Kathleen into it was quite another. That protective impulse that jumped into hyper-mode where Kathleen was concerned blazed to life. “You should mind your own business, Jimmy,” he hissed, ignoring the guy with a gun to his back as he got in Jimmy’s face. “And tell Frank to keep you on a tighter leash lest he find his attack dog’s been neutered.”

They stared daggers at one another and Blane spoke again. “Now tell your buddy here to point the gun somewhere else before somebody gets hurt,” he ordered.

Jimmy looked at him for a long moment, then gave a curt nod to the other guy, who stepped away.

“Frank wants to talk to you,” Jimmy said. “Pronto.”

“I’ll be sure to give him a call,” Blane said. Turning his back, he walked to his car and got in. He glanced out the window before he pulled away, but Jimmy and the guy had already melted back into the shadows.

It took twenty minutes to drive to Kandi’s home, a grand two-story affair that oozed old money. Her parents lived nearby in an even bigger home, but Kandi had insisted on her own place a few years ago and daddy had obliged.

Blane knocked on the door and waited. After a minute or two, the door opened to reveal Kandi. As he’d expected, she was dressed in expensive lingerie. The champagne silk nightgown had tiny straps over her shoulders with a lace bodice, the deep V neckline revealing a lot of cleavage. The fabric floated around her ankles as she backed up, beckoning him in with a smile.

“Glad you could make it,” she said.

“Your text said you needed to see me,” Blane said, careful to keep some distance between them once he’d shut the door.

“I do,” Kandi said, walking down the hall to her parlor. She went to the sideboard and poured two drinks, offering one to Blane. “I hear you’ve been slumming lately.”

Blane took the drink, frowning at her. “What are you talking about?”

Kandi took a healthy swallow before answering. “I know about the bartender. The redhead that looks like she graduated high school yesterday. A little young, don’t you think?” Bitterness laced her voice. “I mean, I know men like women younger and younger now, I just didn’t expect you to be like other men.”

Blane sighed. “I didn’t break up with you because of your age,” he said. “You’re a beautiful woman.” Which was true. Kandi was in her early thirties but looked like a woman in her twenties.

“Then why?” Her plaintive tone made guilt twist in Blane’s gut. “It’s supposed to be you, us. We’ve planned it forever. Why are you doing this to me?”

Blane shoved a hand through his hair in frustration. God this was so fucking hard. It was easier when she was pissed and mad, but when she was like this, it just killed him to hurt her. Setting his glass on a nearby table, he walked over to her, resting his hands lightly on her upper arms. She tipped her head back to look at him and tears made her eyes bright.

“Please, Kandi-cane,” he said, calling her the nickname he hadn’t used in years, “please listen to me. I love you, you know that. And you love me. But we’re not
in
love with each other.”

Tears spilled down her cheeks and Blane brushed them away. “We’ve become a habit, you and me. You don’t deserve that and neither do I.”

“You’re my best friend,” Kandi whispered. “I can’t lose you.”

“Shh, you won’t lose me,” Blane said, pulling her close and hugging her. “We just need to step back. We tried to make it work, but we’re meant to be friends, and that’s all.”

Blane leaned back so he could see her again. Her face was pale, but she’d stopped crying. “Soon you’ll meet someone that makes you feel like you’ve never felt before,” he said. “And you’ll fall in love and you’ll be glad we called things off. I promise.”

Kandi pushed against him and Blane let her go. “You have no idea, do you,” she accused with a bitter laugh. “You are such an arrogant bastard, Blane.” She was crying again as she seethed at him.

Well, so much for consoling her. It didn’t seem to matter what he said. Short of getting back together, she was going to be pissed no matter what.