There was no way he could actually get involved with London. She was an escort for Christ’s sake. He had no interest in a woman who made a living by lying to men. Telling them the things they wanted to hear. Yes baby. Like that baby. You’re the best baby. He shuddered imagining it all. Derek Ambrose wanted his women wet, willing, and brutally honest when they fucked him. Call him crazy, but he needed to know that when he thrust and they screamed it was for real.
No, he wanted London Sharpe, but as a man, not ever as a client. He wanted her to want him back. He didn’t want to have to worry that she was faking anything between them. But he couldn’t have that, so he sat around and fixated while sporting wood.
“That’s the ‘things aren’t going my way’ face,” Kamal said from the doorway as he sauntered into Derek’s office unannounced.
“I need to fire my secretary apparently,” Derek answered, leaning back in his chair.
“Well, in all fairness I brought her flowers.” Kamal sat in the chair in front of Derek’s desk and grinned.
“If she lets everyone who brings her flowers into my office it will be the new Union Station,” Derek grumbled.
“She is popular,” Kamal answered. “Although a little young for my tastes.”
“Mine as well. But not my brother’s if I’m reading the situation right.”
“Really? Marcus is interested in Renee?”
“He claims he isn’t, but I can tell. I’ve been watching the kid chase skirts since he hit puberty. All the signs are there. I told him I’d kick his ass back to Penn if he doesn’t stay away from her. It took me ten years to find a good secretary, I’m not going to lose her because my little brother can’t keep it in his pants.”
Kamal chuckled, then went for the kill. “And how about you? Can you keep it in your pants around our lovely Miss Sharpe?”
Derek glared at his oldest and best friend. “She’s not our anything, and I’m not even going to justify that with an answer,” he spit out.
Kamal put his hands up in the universal sign of surrender. “Just asking. I’ve seen you chase a few tails as well, and I’m not blind. You were enjoying the little ruse quite a bit at the press conference.”
Derek sighed, a feeling of defeat washing over him. “You didn’t see anything other than she’s gorgeous, and I’m male. It’s no big deal.”
Kamal didn’t look like he bought the brush off, but he let it pass. “I’ve got some information on who might have started the rumors with the press.”
Derek sat forward, alertness sparking every nerve in his body. This is what he needed to get his mind out of his pants, the thrill of the hunt, the scent of blood. When he found out who had fucked with him he was going to tear them into a million tiny pieces and feed them to the White House press corps.
“Tell me,” he instructed Kamal.
“Teague called in some favors with his firm’s investigators, and Scott’s had his ear to the wall at the Capitol. The two of them have heard one name in common during the last week.”
“And?” Derek’s nails dug into the desk in front of him.
“Ryan Williams, Chief of Staff to Senator Donovan.”
“Donovan, who has been making noise about running for President, but hasn’t announced yet?”
“Yes.” Kamal shifted his weight and stretched his long legs out fully. “Williams has been talking a lot of crap about Melville, and also hired a firm to do a background report on him.”
“And you think somehow in that report they found London?”
“If he had Melville followed, he could have seen the meeting between our Ms. Sharpe and the Senator, correct?”
Derek sighed and ran a hand through his hair as he gazed at the ceiling, wishing it held the answers he was looking for. When nothing appeared in the pristine paint he looked back at Kamal. “If someone were watching Melville really closely they certainly could have seen her go into his hotel room.”
Kamal nodded. “How do you want us to proceed?”
Derek stood and paced the length of his ample office, five hundred-dollar dress shoes sinking into the plush carpet. “We need a way to get to Williams. What do we have on him?”
Kamal pulled out a folded piece of paper from his inside jacket pocket, obviously having anticipated Derek’s question. “You should probably take a look at this.” He handed the paper to Derek.
Derek scanned it quickly then looked at Kamal from under his brows, a devilish smile playing across his hard features.
“Well, well, well. Never thought the White House Christmas party would be of so much use.”
Kamal chuckled. “Yes, finding Williams screwing his boss’s wife in a bathroom stall was a true stroke of luck.”
Derek leaned over the desk and tapped the intercom button on his phone. “Renee. Get me all the information you can on Ryan Williams. He’s in Senator Donovan’s office.”
He leaned back against the solid piece of furniture, feeling like he had control of his life again for the first time in days. “Looks like we’ve got ourselves a lead,” he told Kamal.
“Looks like Donovan’s not going to be running for president,” Kamal answered.
The event was cocktail attire, and Derek filled out his dark suit admirably. Washington was replete with men in suits, but few in London’s memory looked as good in one as her new ‘boyfriend’.
As she stood in the corner of the ballroom she watched him making the rounds, shaking hands with one man, kissing a woman on the cheek before laughing at something that had been said. He was everything polished and charming. And she was surprised at how much she wanted to pretend he was hers even though she knew full well he wasn’t—and never could be.
She turned her attention back to the congressman’s wife who was trying to recruit her help for a children’s charity.
“I think you and Mr. Ambrose would make such striking ambassadors for the program,” the stocky Mrs. Bunker said, smiling broadly at London.
“Why thank you,” London replied, thinking about just how striking Derek would be in his red tie and very little else.
She gave herself a small shake and tried to concentrate. “If you’ll give me your card I’ll be sure to discuss it with Derek. I’m not sure what philanthropic events his firm is participating in this season, but I’ll make sure one of us gets back to you.”
Mrs. Bunker leaned toward London. “And I must tell you, dear, I’m so interested in hearing about your former profession. Just what was it like with all those—” The woman stopped and looked over London’s shoulder. “Oh! Were your ears burning Mr. Ambrose,” she giggled.
Derek gave London a peck on the cheek as his arm slipped around her waist. It felt entirely too natural and good. She gritted her teeth and fought the urge to shift away in self-preservation.
“What terrible things are you two lovely ladies saying about me?” He looked down at London with so much devotion she wondered if he’d been an actor in a previous life. She silently repeated the mantra, it’s only pretend, before answering him.
“Nothing but the best, dear,” she answered, playing her own role to the hilt. “We’re discussing a possible charity activity. I have all of the information and I can give it to your office tomorrow.”
Derek grinned and continued to small talk with Mrs. Bunker for a few minutes, giving London time to take a breath. So far she’d had three people mention her prostitution. Two had been like Mrs. Bunker, well-meaning busy bodies. One had been a minister who made sure to tell her that God approved of her new path in life. Things had actually gone better than she might have anticipated, and Derek treated her like a queen. He had to have taken acting classes in college, she almost believed he really was in love with her.
When Mrs. Bunker excused herself to go visit with the Ambassador to Venezuela, Derek turned his back to the room and pinned London with a bemused expression.
“You didn’t tell me you’d studied how to be a political wife.”
She laughed, noticing the way his e
yes sparked as his gaze dropped to her cleavage for just a moment. A shiver of awareness ran up her spine. “Actually, I stay as far away from politics as possible,” she answered.
“Well, you knew all the perfect things to say. I couldn’t have asked for a lovelier date.” His hand came up to her elbow and he caressed her arm briefly, sending her pulse shooting up even though she knew damn well it shouldn’t.
Someone bumped into Derek from behind, causing him to stumble as his drink splashed onto the front of London’s dress and down into her cleavage.
“Shit,” he growled as he turned to see who had collided with him.
London’s eyes see-sawed between her damp dress and the man behind Derek’s shoulder as she tried to wipe the droplets running between her breasts. She immediately recognized the perpetrator and cringed. Congressman Frederick Foster was a well-known D.C. face, and held the position of Minority Whip in the House.
Foster’s eyes narrowed in on London. His face was red and puffy, and she could tell he was drunk before he even spoke.
“Ambrose! Sorry, didn’t mean to knock you there,” Foster slurred as he drew up and faced Derek.
Derek’s smile was tight and his voice rough. “It’s actually my date you owe the apology to Congressman, I imagine the dress you’ve ruined wasn’t cheap.”
Foster’s face broke out into a leering grin. “Well, that makes sense, since I well know that she’s not either…” he paused and gave her a very obvious once over, “but while my whiskey might not have done much for the dress, it looks like it made her even tastier.”
London’s whole body stiffened while gritting her teeth and preparing to set Foster in his place, but before she could open her mouth Derek’s hand shot out lightning quick. The next thing she knew his fist was full of the front of Foster’s shirt and he shook the smaller man hard once.
“What the hell did you just say about my girlfriend?” Derek snarled.
Foster shoved at Derek ineffectually. “Please Ambrose,” he slurred, “you really going to keep up this charade? She’s a whore. Whatever floats your boat, but don’t try to act like she’s a real date.”
The words were barely out of the bastard’s mouth before Derek’s fist connected, and blood shot out of Foster’s nose and lip.
“Derek!” London screamed as he grabbed the drunk again. Foster’s eyes rolled back in his head, and Derek gave him another hard shake before shoving him away.
As Foster collapsed on his hands and knees to the floor Derek shook his hand. “Fuck,” he hissed.
Several men, including Senator Melville, appeared as if from thin air, and London’s head began to throb with what she knew was further humiliation on the way.
“Derek?” Melville questioned, looking at his campaign manager like he’d grown two heads.
A hotel security member stepped into the fray. “Is there a problem here, Senator Melville?”
Derek grimaced. “Not anymore, but could you please escort this—” he gestured with his foot at a mumbling Foster, “off the premises. He’s had one too
many.” He looked up at the curious faces. “Sorry. My mother raised me to defend a lady’s honor.” He shook his hand out again and straightened his cuffs.
As the security staff hoisted Foster from the floor and half-carried him away, Melville smiled at the onlookers. “No need to disrupt your evening, everyone. Nothing to worry about. One of the guests had a little too much to drink. I guess my speech wasn’t as entertaining as I’d thought.”
The cluster of people chuckled and one of Melville’s aides subtly began directing them away. Sweet relief flooded London’s body as she watched the remaining gawkers move on.
“What the hell, Derek?” Melville hissed. “Decent recovery, but they all saw you lay him out. What’s gotten into you?”
Derek threw Melville a dark look and shook his head. “It doesn’t matter, just go back to the event. You need to press the couple from Chicago. They’re about ready to commit, and he was talking a bonus donation if you get the nomination.”
Melville’s eyes flicked to London, and she gave him a tight smile in return. She could feel her face burning. All she wanted was away, as fast as she could get there.
“You’re leaving soon?” he asked in a tone that indicated he thought it would be for the best.
“Consider us gone,” Derek answered.
Derek’s hand hurt like a bitch. He knew how to throw a punch, boxing for exercise and all, but he hadn’t slugged anyone bare-knuckled since his days as a college soccer player.
He thought back to the look in Foster’s eyes as he leered at London, and rage coursed through him again. Bastard deserved a lot more than he’d gotten. If Derek hadn’t been at a formal function he wouldn’t have stopped until Foster was in the back of an ambulance. He remembered the look on London’s face when Foster insulted her and his stomach roiled again. She tried to cover it, but she’d been mortified, and hurt.
And since they’d reached the car she hadn’t spoken. Not one word. She sat on his expensive leather seats and looked out the window, her face turned away from him.
“Are you okay?” he asked, his voice rusty and thick.
“I’m not the one who was in a brawl in the Grand Esquire ballroom,” she snapped back. “Why wouldn’t I be okay?”
He ran a hand through his hair and weaved in and out of traffic as he tried to avoid a slowdown heading into Georgetown.
“He insulted you. Some women would have been upset by that.”
London huffed out a bitter laugh. “I’m hardly like the other women you know.”
Derek glanced at her, taking in her long neck and elegant profile. “No. You’re not,” —you’re so much better— “but that doesn’t mean he didn’t upset you.”
“I’m fine. And the whole scene could have been avoided if you’d just let me handle it.”
She couldn’t seriously mean that? What the hell kind of man did she think he was? No way would he stand by and let a woman in his company be verbally assaulted by a drunken pig.
“I don’t allow other men to insult my dates, no matter what kind of function I’m at,” he responded.
She turned to him, and her face was flushed, her lips trembling. “I’m not a real date, Derek. Have you forgotten that this is a ruse? You don’t even know me. And if you think that I’d rather have you defend my honor like some barbarian than handle the matter quietly myself, then you really need to get a few things straight. If you’d thrown a punch at every person who said something inappropriate to me tonight you’d have done nothing but that. I knew this would happen, I was prepared for it, and all you did was draw even more unwanted attention to me.”
Derek gripped the steering wheel until his knuckles ached. As he reached London’s townhouse he whipped the small car into a vacant space on the street.
Shifting it into Park, he turned to her, heat pouring through him. “How can you say that a man demanding people respect you is worse than one insulting you to your face? Whatever your job might be, you deserve to be treated with basic respect. If I’d had the slightest idea anyone was mistreating you tonight I’d have put an end to it immediately. There’s only one way to deal with people like Foster. You show them who’s the boss and send them on their way. You’re too good for men like him, London. You’re too good for all of it.”
Her eyes rounded and her mouth fell open to a little ‘o’ of shock. She stared at him and he saw her throat work up and then back down as she swallowed.
When she finally spoke her voice was dry and quiet. “So that’s what the fistfight was about,” she whispered. “You think you can save me?”
She chuckled to herself, but there was no mirth in her tone. “I would never have pegged you for the savior type, Derek.” She shook her head. “How did I miss that?”
“What are you talking about?” he asked as she opened the car door. He put his hand on her arm but she shook it off, exiting the car and heading to her front door. He leaped from the
driver’s side and jogged to catch up with her.
“London!” His voice was sharp, and for reasons he didn’t fully understand, panic was welling up inside of him, adrenaline spiking in his chest.
She rounded on him, her beautiful eyes sparkling with moisture. Something inside of him tore, the pain shooting through places so deep he couldn’t identify them.
“I don’t need your help. I don’t need to be rescued. This isn’t a Julia Roberts movie. I’m a strong, independent woman. I chose my job, I chose my lifestyle, I take care of my own problems and I take care of people like Frederick Foster however I see fit. The last thing I need is an overbearing master manipulator catering to his savior complex by trying to make me into someone I’m not. I spent the first seventeen years of my life being manipulated and told I was someone I’m not, and I will never live that way again.”
Frustration made it hard for Derek to think clearly. “I’m not trying to save you. You don’t need saving. I just couldn’t stand by and listen to that bastard talk about you like that. What was I supposed to do?”
“Why?” she asked, silence falling on the tail end of her question.
“What?” He clenched his fists at his side, on the verge of losing control completely. No woman had ever pushed his buttons like this one. She was the most ungrateful, confusing female he’d ever known.
Her chin tipped up and her eyes flashed with defiance. “Why couldn’t you let him talk to me like that? He didn’t say anything that wasn’t true. In fact, he seemed to insinuate that I’m pricey as hell. It was actually quite a compliment. So why couldn’t you stand to hear it?”
She cocked her head at him and pursed those luscious lips. His heart lurched hard once, and before he could think about it he had reached for her, yanking her against his chest.
“Because I kept picturing him touching you and I couldn’t stand the thought of it,” he growled before he brought his lips down on hers hard.
She tasted like champagne and cream. Smooth, rich, decadent. His lungs felt as if he’d just run a marathon and when she melted into his hold he plundered her like his very life depended on it. His tongue stroked along her teeth, her lips, her tongue. She nipped at his bottom lip and he growled in warning. He felt her smile against his mouth and he moved a hand to grip her ass and shift her up, pressing her against his raging hard-on. The need to sink into her soft, warm flesh clouded any other thoughts and wiped away all the events of the night.
The Kingmaker (Powerplay #1) Page 7