From the Heart

quick jolt that says maybe, just maybe. There’d been no spark with Slade, she mused. There’d been an eruption. Annoyed, Jessica shook her head. She shouldn’t be thinking of Slade now, or of the two turbulent times she’d been in his arms. It was only right that she concentrate on Michael, on how to say no without hurting him.
    Before coming into the room, Slade stopped to watch her. Always moving, he thought, but this time there were nerves beneath the energy. She was wearing a very simple, very sophisticated black dress with her hair caught in a braid overone shoulder. Looking at her, Slade had a moment’s sympathy for Michael. It wouldn’t be easy to love a woman like that and lose. Unless Michael was a total fool, one glance at her face was going to give him her answer. She’d never have to open her mouth.
    “He’s going to survive, Jess.” When she whirled, Slade strode over to the liquor cabinet. “There are other women, you know.” He was deliberately off-hand, deliberately cynical, knowing what her reaction would be. Even with his back to her, he thought he could feel the sudden blaze of heat from her eyes.
    “I hope you fall hard one day, Slade,” Jessica retorted. “And I hope she thumbs her nose at you.”
    He poured himself a Scotch. “Not a chance,” he said lightly. “Want a drink?”
    “I’ll have some of that.” She walked over and snatched the glass from his hand, then took a long sip.
    “Dutch courage?” he asked when she swallowed, controlling a grimace.
    She gave him a narrow look while the liquor burned her throat. “You’re being purposely horrid.”
    “Yeah. Don’t you feel better?”
    With a helpless laugh, she shoved the glass back in his hand. “You’re a hard man, Slade.”
    “You’re a beautiful woman, Jessica.”
    The quiet words threw her completely off balance. She’d heard them dozens of times from dozens of people, but they hadn’t made the blood hum under her skin. But then, compliments wouldn’t roll easily off the tongue of a man like Slade, she thought. And somehow she felt he wasn’t only speaking of physical beauty. No, he was a man who’d look beyond what could be seen and into what could only be felt.
    Their eyes held, a moment too long for comfort. It occurred to her that she was closer to losing something vital to him now than she had been on the beach that morning.
    “You must be a very good writer,” she murmured as she stepped away to pour a glass of vermouth.
    “Why?”
    “You’re very frugal with words, and your timing with them is uncanny.” Because her back was to him, she allowedherself to moisten her lips nervously. The clock on the mantel gave the melodious chime that signaled the hour. “I don’t suppose you’d like to write me a speech before Michael gets here.”
    “I’ll pass, thanks.”
    “Slade . . .” Hesitating only briefly, Jessica turned to him. “I shouldn’t have told you everything I did out on the beach this morning. It really isn’t fair to Michael for you to know, and it isn’t fair to you that I dropped my life’s history on you that way. You’re an easy person to confide in because you listen a bit too well.”
    “Part of my job,” he muttered and thought of the endless stream of interviews with suspects, witnesses, victims.
    “I’m trying to thank you,” Jessica said shortly. “Can’t you take it graciously?”
    “Don’t be grateful until I’ve done something,” he tossed back.
    “I’d choke before I’d thank you again.” She dumped a splat of vermouth in her glass as the doorbell rang.
    Neither man was pleased to be sharing a meal with the other, but they made the best of it. The general conversation eased slowly toward talk of the shop.
    “I’m glad you went by for a few hours, Michael.” Jessica poked at the shrimp Dijon rather than eating it. “I don’t think David’s really up to a full day’s work yet.”
    “He seemed well enough. And Mondays are usually slow in any case.” He swirled his wine, giving his dinner little more attention than Jessica. “You worry too much, darling.”
    “You weren’t here last week.” She shredded a roll into tiny pieces.
    Saying nothing, Slade passed her the butter. Glancing down, Jessica saw the mess she’d made and picked up her wine.
    “He was well enough today to sell the Connecticut chest to Mrs. Donnigan,” Michael commented after noting the exchange.
    “David made a sale to Mrs. Donnigan?” Initial surprise