Turn To Me (2 page)

Blane Kirk was my boyfriend, although the term was at once both too adolescent and too committed to actually describe him and our relationship.  Blane was a high-profile lawyer in Indianapolis, with aspirations to public office. A former Navy SEAL, he was over six feet of male perfection complete with dirty blond hair, a square jaw and eyes a tantalizing mix of gray and green, drifting more one or the other depending on what he was wearing.  Women had been an interchangeable accessory to Blane and I wasn't sure that wouldn't be the case with me.  Blane and I had started dating about six weeks ago, right after Halloween.  I know that doesn't sound like very long, but considering how often Blane usually changed girlfriends I was cautiously optimistic.  Optimistic of what, well I wasn't sure of that either.

Considering who he was and who I am, it was difficult most days to believe that Blane would choose to be with me.  As the daughter of a housewife and police officer from Rushville, Indiana, Kathleen Turner - yeah, that's me – wasn't a name people knew.  I take that back.  People knew the name, but I wasn't THAT Kathleen Turner.  Turner was the family name and choosing a celebrity to be named after was the tradition.  Just ask my dad, Ted Turner or my grandma, Tina Turner.  Except neither one was with me any longer so I alone was left to carry on the Turner tradition or curse, depending on your point of view.

I'd moved to Indianapolis eight months ago and had taken a job working as a runner for Blane's law firm.  It took both gigs to make ends meet and I hadn't given up the day job, even though I was sleeping with the boss.  Incredibly tacky of me, but I needed the job.  We kept it discreet because while Blane didn't care at all what people said, I did.

Blane had asked me to go with him to a victory dinner/fundraiser tonight for someone he knew that had been re-elected to Congress in the last election.  I'd seen in the paper that plates were seven thousand dollars each.  I'd swallowed hard and hoped the food was really good for that kind of price tag.

After my Saturday shift, I had dashed home, hopping into the shower to quickly wash my hair and shave my legs.  I had time to blow my long, strawberry blond hair dry, pin it up and throw on some makeup before I heard his knock on my door.

I'd learned a hard lesson a few weeks ago about checking the peephole in my door and I remembered that tonight.  I checked first before opening the door and my breath caught, as it nearly always did, when I saw Blane.

My doorway was filled with wide shoulders encased in a charcoal gray suit jacket that tapered to lean hips.  A white shirt peeked from beneath his jacket and tie.  Currently, a hand was braced high against the jamb of my door, opening his jacket enough for me to see the gun tucked into the holster against his side.  Indiana was a conceal state and Blane had a permit to carry, which he always did.  That habit had saved my life once.

“You're early,” I said, smiling and opening the door wider to let him in.  He unfolded his tall frame from where he'd been leaning and came inside, closing the door behind him and stepped into my personal space.  The whole apartment seemed smaller with him in it, not that it was very big to begin with.  He took in my appearance, still wrapped in a towel from my shower, and the gleam that came into his eyes made my heart beat faster.

“How early?” he asked, his voice a low rasp as he moved even closer, his hand coming up to trace the top edge of my towel.  Words failed me when his lips and tongue touched the bare skin of my shoulder.  I tipped my head to the side, my eyes fluttering shut.  He sucked lightly at the juncture of my neck and shoulder and I inhaled deeply, the scent of his cologne enveloping and enticing me.  When I felt him loosen the towel and it dropped to the floor, I found my voice.

“You'll mess up my hair,” I managed breathlessly as his hand slipped between my thighs.  I clutched at his shoulders for support, his fingers moving with practiced ease and causing my legs to tremble.

“There are ways to avoid that,” he whispered in my ear, sending a delicious shiver through me.  And indeed, there were, as he proceeded to show me.

Half an hour later, I was slipping on my dress and repairing the damage done to my lip gloss.  True to his word, not a hair of mine was out of place, though my skin now had a telltale flush.

My dress was a deep, midnight blue and I thought it brought out my eyes, since they were nearly the same shade.  It was a long, satin sheathe with a sweetheart neckline, the straps reaching over the outer curve of my shoulders.  The cut emphasized my cleavage, something I'd been blessed with plenty of.  A long slit ran up the side, shifting and revealing my legs as I walked.  I stepped into a pair of silver heels that helped make up for my sad lack of stature and surveyed myself with a critical eye in the mirror.  The dress demanded a necklace, but jewelry – even the costume sort – was an unnecessary expense when I worked two jobs just to pay the bills.  I'd found a pair of rhinestone earrings which now dangled from my ears and sparkled when I turned my head. 

“You forgot something,” Blane said, surprising me as he stepped into the mirror's reflection.  I looked at the couple we made and was gratified at the sight.  We looked good together, I thought.

My eyes widened as I watched his hands come up to place a necklace on me.  As he did the catch, my jaw dropped at the sight of the large, oval sapphire pendant now nestled between my breasts.  Surrounded in diamonds, it glittered brightly as it hung from a long double-chain.

“I'll let you put on these,” he said, his arm reaching around in front of me.

I glanced down to see he was holding a velvet jewelry box, opened to display a set of matching diamond and sapphire earrings.  I reached out cautious fingers to touch them, the movement causing them to sparkle in the light.

“Blane,” I began, “I...I don't know what to say.  It's too much.”  I was stunned.  I had never been given something like this.  Tears pricked my eyes and the earrings swam in my vision.  I blinked them back.  It would totally ruin the moment if my mascara ran.

“Say you'll wear them,” he cajoled, his lips at my ear as his other arm slid around my waist to pull me back against his chest.  “The stone reminded me of the color of your eyes.  I want you to have them.”

I put on the earrings as he watched me in the mirror and left the rhinestones on my bureau.  A thought occurred to me and my eyes flew to his in the mirror.  Was this my “going away” present?  Blane always gave a gift to his girlfriends when he broke up with them, though usually they were chosen by his secretary, Clarice.

“You're beautiful,” he complimented me, the warmth in his eyes easing my worry.  The heat from his hands seeped through the thin satin and I berated myself for thinking he had other motives for the gift.

He glanced at his watch.  “We'd better go.”

I grabbed the silver clutch bag I'd gotten to go with the dress and headed for my apartment door.

“Wait,” Blane said.  “Where's your coat?”

I grimaced.  I hated wearing coats and usually only did so when Mother Nature forced the issue by spreading snow on the ground. 

“You have to wear a coat,” Blane insisted, going to my tiny coat closet and pulling out the long, black trench coat he'd given me a few weeks ago.  “It's freezing outside.”

I reluctantly let him put it on me, though I didn't think it went with my dress at all, and locked my apartment door on the way out.  I lived on the top floor of a two-story apartment building in an area of downtown Indy where you made sure you locked your car at night. 

Blane took my hand as we went down the stairs and I was grateful for his solid presence next to me, unpracticed as I was in walking in heels this high.  It's not like I went many places where I had cause to dress up - except church occasionally, but somehow I didn't think silver strappy sandals with a four-inch heel were Sunday morning Baptist attire.

He helped me into his black Jaguar which, let me say, was difficult to get into in the getup I was wearing.  As he watched me carefully swing my legs into the car, Blane let out a chuckle.

“What?” I said, my voice testy.

“I was just wondering if you were going to emulate Britney again,” he said, propping his arms against the door as he leaned toward me.  My cheeks grew warm as I realized he was referring to my beloved pop princess, Britney Spears.  I was a huge fan and could do a dead-on impression of her singing, which I'd had cause to do this past Halloween when all the girls at The Drop dressed up as pop divas for the holiday bash.  In this instance, I didn't think Blane was referring to Britney's singing so much as her inadvertent flashing of some very private areas when climbing into and out of cars.

“You're assuming I'm not wearing anything under my dress,” I said breezily, deciding to give as good as I got.

“Are you?”  I noticed the gleam was back in his eyes as they dropped to where the cut of my dress had opened to expose the length of my thigh.

“If you're lucky, you might find out later,” I teased.  His lips curved in a wicked grin and he stepped back, shutting the car door.

A few minutes later, we arrived at the hotel.  The fundraiser was taking place in one of the large ballrooms of the nicest and most expensive hotel in Indy.  A valet took the keys and Blane helped me out of the low-slung car.  I emerged as gracefully as I could without exposing anything I shouldn't.  Offering me his arm, we went inside, where Blane checked our coats, pocketing the small ticket for retrieving them.

I was really nervous.  This was the first public function I'd been to with Blane.  He'd taken me to dinner and other casual dates, but this was the first time I was his “plus one” at something relating to his job.  I knew Blane was ambitious; his career was on the fast track to public office, though he hadn't said which one.  He came from a family of lawyers and politicians with a grandfather who had been a Senator and a great-grandfather who had been on the Massachusetts Supreme Court.  Blane had a falling out with his father when he was only fourteen, then cemented the divide when he joined the Navy, but politics was still in his blood. 

There would be a lot of people here tonight he'd want to connect with to increase his network of contacts, people who could help or hinder his future plans, whatever those might be.  I didn't want to embarrass him in any way, though I felt far out of my element as I observed the ballroom and foyer full of people.  They milled around in groups chatting, most with a cocktail or glass of wine in their hands.  I swallowed hard, my palms clammy from nerves.

“Don't worry,” Blane whispered to me, settling his hand on the small of my back.  “You'll be fine.  I promise, I'm the only one who'll bite you.” 

I smiled, my eyes catching his, and breathed easier.  His attempt to tease me, make me smile, had bolstered my courage.  I nodded, took a deep breath, and didn't resist when he led us to a group of people nearby.

“Kirk!  There you are!  We wondered when you'd be arriving.”  The greeting came from a man who looked to be about Blane's age and height, but was much slighter of build.  He had dark hair and eyes and was holding a highball glass with a clear liquid inside.  A woman stood next to him, as tall as he, wearing a black velvet gown that wrapped around her torso and legs before flaring at mid-calf.  I wondered how she was able to walk in it.  Her dark hair was piled in loose curls on top of her head, a few escaped coils trailing down her ears and neck.  The darkness of her dress and hair accentuated the fairness of her skin.  She held a glass of champagne in one manicured hand.

“George, good to see you,” Blane replied, shaking the man's hand.  “And I see your wife, Sarah, is looking as lovely as ever.”  Sarah smiled back at him, giving him a quick once-over.  Blane had his politician's smile firmly in place.  I called it that because it was wide and friendly, but never really reached his eyes.  “Congratulations on your win,” Blane continued, returning his attention to George.  “But that was never in doubt, was it?”

George laughed, clapping Blane on the shoulder.  “I never lose, my friend.  Something you should keep in mind when you decide to stop keeping secrets and tell me what office you want.”  George's gaze flicked to me and I pasted on a bright smile. 

“I'd like to introduce Kathleen Turner,” Blane said, his hand moving to rest lightly on the small of my back.  “Kathleen, this is George Bradshaw.  He is the campaign manager for the Senator.  This is his wife, Sarah.”

“Pleased to meet you,” I said, politely grasping hands with first George, then Sarah.  Sarah's fingers barely brushed mine before she dismissed me, turning back to Blane.

“Likewise,” George said.  I noticed he took in my appearance with a calculated gaze, his eyes lingering on the pendant Blane had given me.  At least, I hoped it was the pendant though it could have just been my cleavage.  “And what do you do, Kathleen?”

My smile grew forced.  I hadn't thought about this part.  I should have known someone was bound to ask that question.  My face flushed as I realized I had only two answers to give, neither of which I wanted to say. 

“She works at the firm,” Blane smoothly interjected.

“A fellow lawyer,” George said, assuming what my job was.  “Always knew Blane would find a like-minded woman.”  He lifted his glass as if to toast me.

“Not...exactly,” I stammered, not wanting to lie.  Lies always came back to bite you in the ass.

We were interrupted by another man stepping into our small circle.  He was an older man with silver hair who carried his age well though he had to be in his sixties.  About Blane's height, he stood straight and tall in a dark suit and tie.  He vaguely reminded me of Blane, exuding a palpable presence and energy that made him the center of attention.  George and Sarah stepped back in deference as the man clapped Blane on the shoulder and grasped his hand firmly.

“Knew you wouldn't let me down, Blane,” he said, smiling warmly.  I watched as Blane responded in a much more natural way, grinning broadly and giving the man's hand a firm shake.

“I know better than to do that, sir,” he replied with a twinkle in his eye.  “Let me introduce you,” Blane said, and just like that, my nerves were back.  I could tell this was someone Blane genuinely liked.  I just hoped he wouldn't ask me what I did for a living.