by Lita Lawson
“Oh. You know, you might be a little young to be his friend.”
“I think we are since he said he’d be back to take me for a ride on his motorcycle.”
Closing her eyes, Christine fought to keep her apprehension at bay. Sammy’s own father disappointed him enough; now she worried that JT might let him down.
She wasn’t sure when JT would be back to give Sammy a ride. Surely the man was busy doing whatever security guards or bikers did. It probably involved staying out late and kissing half the girls in Charleston, to boot.
As she scowled at the image of his lips pressed to some other woman’s, jealousy wiggled within her. Instead she imagined his lips next to hers. Imagined what it would be like for his firm mouth to take hers—
“Mom!” Sammy yelled.
“Hmm? Sorry.”
“Where were you, a zillion miles away? I was asking you a question.”
“What is it, honey?” She chastised herself for not giving her son her undivided attention. His father ignored the boy enough for the both of them. Sammy only had her to rely on, and she couldn’t, wouldn’t let him down.
“Can I call JT and ask him when he’s coming to take me for a ride?”
His blue eyes hadn’t shone with excitement in a long time, far longer than Christine was comfortable with.
“Sweetie, I don’t have any idea what his phone number is.”
Disappointment washed over Sammy’s face, returning it to the crestfallen expression she’d seen for too long since his dad had moved out. She vowed her son wouldn’t be disappointed.
She needed to get JT’s business card in case she noticed anything unusual. Not wanting to call Tad to get the information, she made a mental note to get the info next time JT stopped by.
“I’ll see if I can find JT and figure out when he’s planning to come over. Okay?”
As Sammy smiled once more, relief flooded through her.
Besides having to go to the office to check on her next round of campaign appearances, she now had to figure out how to find a man who’d just reappeared in town after being gone nearly fifteen years.
Fifteen years. How life changes.
• • •
Stepping out of her SUV, Christine tugged at her skirt; it was tighter than she liked. She was going to have to resist her favorite treat, double mocha ice cream, and spend more time on the treadmill than trying to mend her broken heart with cold calories.
The temperature was already high for a late September morning, and the humidity had quickly turned her carefully constructed upsweep into a limp, frizzy disaster. Already regretting wearing the turquoise linen jacket, she wanted desperately to be out of it. But all she had on underneath was a sleeveless shell of thin silk, and she couldn’t very well campaign to conservatives while revealing too much of herself. The one thing she knew about her target constituency was that they were wealthy, older, and tended to be a bit prudish. She couldn’t appear too casual, or heaven forbid, show too much skin. It could risk losing their votes.
I wonder what they’d think if they’d seen me sipping lemonade with JT Morris?
For her son’s sake, she needed to find JT and get him to take Sammy for a ride so he wouldn’t be disappointed. Again.
Surely a leather-clad biker wasn’t a suitable male figure for an impressionable young boy. Nor would him hanging around be good for her campaign. It could give a wrong impression since she was representing a conservative party.
Her opponent was the incumbent, and her party claimed young blood was what they needed. When party leaders assured her that her established family background and good name would balance her opponent’s experience and incumbency, she agreed to run for mayor against him, knowing it would be a close race.
Everyone convinced her she was the only option in the mayoral race. In their eyes, her family’s status in the community and her ex-husband’s federal position made her their only viable choice to defeat the incumbent. Her seat on the city council didn’t hurt; she’d already proven she could win citywide elections by attaining it. They brushed aside her concerns about Tad’s compromising position with his aide, insisting her embarrassing experience made her a more sympathetic candidate, especially to women voters.
She hadn’t wanted to run, even with her family badgering her to do so. But feeling obligated to do what was best for the community, and knowing her finances were tighter with the impending divorce, she’d caved. Now she wished she hadn’t. Her parents were taking a vacation in Europe, and she doubted they’d be back in time to help with the election.
On the one hand, she was grateful for that. Her mother could be a bit controlling, and her father would constantly remind her of what she should be doing, when she should be doing it, and with whom in order to win. If she won, she wanted it to be on her terms, with her views.
Glancing at her watch, Christine noted she had about fifteen minutes before the cameras were set to shoot her campaign ad. Sitting down at her metal desk, she got on the Internet and did a search for “JT Morris.” Skimming through the results, she was disappointed, noting there weren’t any that she could say matched him.
Sitting back in her chair, she giggled inwardly at herself. She was acting like she was in high school, researching her latest teen crush. Was she seriously going to Internet stalk him to satisfy her curiosity about what he had been up to since high school?
Yes. She was.
When she added West Virginia to his name and tried again, there were results with cached listings from Facebook postings. Several had to do with motorcycle groups, fundraisers, and alumni ads. One stood out for private security.
Before she had a chance to open it, her campaign manager, Brad Evans, was at her side, letting her know it was time to face the bright lights and cameras.
• • •
JT walked in, largely unnoticed by the occupants of the campaign office. As a bodyguard, he didn’t like that at all.
Scanning the room, he quickly surveyed the layout. Besides the door he had just entered, there was a wide plate-glass window that faced the street. A poster proclaiming Yeager for Mayor was plastered across it, at least providing some privacy from prying eyes outside.
The open room layout consisted of two core areas. One had six old metal desks arranged in a haphazard order with no partitions for privacy or separation. The other area was a back corner where everyone seemed to be gathered, including Christine. Several bright lights were set up around a bookcase, a plant, and a chair, faced by a video camera on a tripod. Apparently they were filming something.
Momentarily forgetting his mission, he focused on Christine. She was seated on a stool, a large white towel draped around her shoulders to protect her clothes from the makeup being applied. The artist moved to one side, and JT was rewarded with a full view of Christine, her shapely legs crossed at the knee. He couldn’t help but smile at the sight of one of her high heels dangling from her toes as she gently rocked her foot back and forth.
Her blond hair was swept up neatly with the exception of a stray tendril now being forced into compliance by a hairdresser. A few wisps fell across her forehead, and a pair of simple round gold earrings completed the picture. The turquoise suit accentuated her figure, draping over her full breasts.
As the makeup artist dusted Christine’s face with a brush, the hairdresser stepped back. JT watched as she removed the towel and Christine opened her eyes. Her blue eyes seemed brighter, probably due to the bright blue clothing she wore. Whatever the cause, the effect made him wish he was alone with her on her front porch.
She was beautiful. He thought of how she’d looked so natural when he’d sipped lemonade with her. But now with the makeup, she looked polished and sophisticated, like someone you would vote for. Someone you could trust.
JT didn’t trust many people, but he had a feeling he could trust her. He leaned against a desk, settling in to observe for a while.
• • •
Christine was glad when they were
done fussing over her, uncomfortable with people doing things for her. When she opened her eyes, she found herself unexpectedly gazing into JT Morris’s seductive gaze.
Suddenly, the shoe she’d been bouncing fell off her foot. Before she had a chance to get down off her stool, the hairdresser picked up the shoe and handed it to her. Breaking eye contact with JT, Christine slipped it back on her foot, feeling like a fool. She’d been bouncing the thing for nearly fifteen minutes and as soon as she looked into his eyes, she’d lost her rhythm.
Realizing she could give up her Internet search for him, she wondered what had brought him here. Curiosity filled her as her campaign manager walked over and shook hands with JT. She watched as they spoke, and Brad returned to where the shoot was taking place.
“Okay, folks. Time is money.” Brad circled a hand in the air, ordering everyone to action. “Chris, you’re on.”
Christine slipped off the stool and walked toward the circle of lights. Taking her seat in the leather upholstered chair in front of the bookcase, she rehearsed her lines once more in her head.
“Okay, on the count of one, you’re on. Three, two, one . . .”
“Hello. I’m Christine Yeager. I’ve lived in Charleston all my life. Some of you might remember me as Christine Anderson.”
As she mentioned her maiden name, she couldn’t help but think back to that day in high school when JT had come to her rescue.
“I’ve served our community as a city councilwoman since I graduated from college, and as an officer of the Charleston local school district PTA. I believe I’ve proven my ability to represent our community responsibly, and I hope you will support me in my run for mayor.”
“Cut!”
“Do we need another take?” Christine asked.
A little uncomfortable, she wanted to delay the moment she had to speak to JT, knowing she’d be self-conscious in her current surroundings. It was one thing to sip lemonade with him on her porch, but it was another to talk to him in front of her campaign workers. Dressed in all black, he stood out among the staffers who all seemed to be dressed casually in khakis with cotton shirts. JT’s leather jacket and black jeans made him suspect. She was afraid that when she talked to him, she’d be suspect as well.
“You did great,” Brad said to assure her. “The videographer will cut and paste the other still shots we have into it. We should be able to see the final cut by the end of the week. Hopefully, the first commercial will be on the air in two weeks.”
Christine was happy to have Brad as her campaign manager. They had been in the debate club together in high school, and he was actively involved in their local party’s organization.
He hadn’t changed much since high school. With the exception of a neatly trimmed moustache, Brad’s honest face made him look like the proverbial boy next door. He was a real estate agent now, and though Christine felt he’d be a natural politician, he had no desire to be in the limelight. Had he not been willing to be her manager, Christine doubted she would have accepted the challenge of running for mayor.
“Chris, there’s someone here I’d like you to meet.” Brad commandeered her elbow and led her to where JT stood.
“This is JT Morris,” Brad said by way of introduction. “JT, this is our next mayor.”
She felt a slight blush creep into her face at the optimistic words, but reached out to shake JT’s offered hand.
“We’ve met before.” JT’s large hand was warm as it cradled hers. His touch was personal, intimate, and she felt an immediate connection.
“You have?” Surprise tinged Brad’s words.
“Yes. JT went to high school with us.” Christine broke the contact, afraid the connection she felt was noticeable to others in the room. But she would have liked to keep her hand in his longer.
“He did?” Brad looked at Christine, and then turned to JT. “Really? I don’t remember.”
“I was a few classes ahead of you guys. We didn’t exactly hang in the same circles.” The beginnings of a smile curved JT’s lips. “I was president of the mechanic’s club.”
Christine suppressed a smile at his attempt at humor that was lost on her manager.
Oblivious to the subtext, Brad said, “JT’s here to check out security at the office and your other public events. He came highly recommended.”
Christine nodded. “That’s great.” Smiling at JT, she couldn’t miss the amusement she saw in his eyes.
• • •
JT could tell his being there flustered Christine. She must have thought he’d never come back to take her son for a ride and she’d never see him again, but she was wrong. He always kept his promises. He rarely, however, made promises to women, especially one as pretty as Christine.
“Brad, phone for you.” A young man in a crisp button-down and khakis held out a cell phone to Christine’s campaign manager.
“Excuse me. I’ll be right back.” Brad walked away, talking into the phone.
Christine looked pretty. Even with all the heavy makeup on, it couldn’t hide her natural beauty.
Pinning her blue eyes with his, JT said, “We can talk later about what my security services entail.”
“Sure,” she said in a soft voice. “That would be nice.”
As the sweet scent of her flowery perfume filled his senses, JT prepared to take his leave, deciding he’d better get out while the getting was good. Otherwise he might insert one of his boots in his mouth again, and he didn’t want to alienate his client before he even started the job.
Christine reached out a hand to stop his exit.
“JT, I hate to ask this, and I normally wouldn’t ask, but my son, Sammy, has been having a rough time since . . . well, since his dad and I split up. He really is looking forward to that ride you promised him.”
He could tell by the way she asked the question that she wasn’t used to asking favors. “I hadn’t forgotten. Just haven’t had time to get a helmet for him yet.”
“I can buy that. There’s no reason for you—”
JT held up a hand, stopping her from offering the money. “I just have to borrow one from a friend. I’ll stop by one night this week. That okay?”
“Yes, that would be fine.”
When JT saw the hesitation in her eyes, the doubt in the arms folded protectively across her chest, he said, “I always keep my promises, Christine. You can take that to the bank.”
Chapter 3
Christine took pleasure in the setting sun casting a golden hue on her lawn while she prepared dinner. A gentle breeze lifted the white curtains and helped cool the warm kitchen.
It had been a very hot and humid early October day. Slicing the potatoes into thick wedges for French fries, she let her thoughts drift to other hot things, like JT Morris. Thinking back to his visit at her campaign headquarters last Friday, she indulged herself in fantasizing about him standing behind her as she peeled potatoes for their dinner. She was curious to know what it would feel like to be encircled in his arms, to have his lips possessively press against hers, and whether his touch would feel as gentle as this evening’s breeze.
The hiss and pop of the oil in the deep fryer pulled her thoughts back to the chore at hand. Gently releasing the potatoes into the hot liquid with one hand, she drummed the fingers of her other hand on the granite countertop.
Even though she’d been separated for almost a year from Tad, their intimacy had waned several years before that. And Christine wanted—needed—to remember what it felt like to be touched by a man.
Never mind love; she wasn’t ready for that. But she’d like a man’s touch to remind her she was desirable and alive. And JT was quite a man. She couldn’t imagine him desiring someone like her when wherever he went, women probably threw themselves at him.
Looking at her reflection in the microwave door as the fish sticks rotated inside, Christine decided she was still attractive at thirty. There were a few laugh lines around her eyes that hadn’t been there in her wedding pictures, but she decided the l
ines just showed character and the fact she liked to laugh a lot.
She stood on tiptoe to see more of her reflection, pulling her yellow T-shirt tight and pushing her upper arms inward to lift and improve her cleavage. Not bad. It was possible JT could want her.
A roar of an engine made her jump. She released the grip on her shirt and lifted the fries out of the oil before she dropped them into a brown paper bag.
The microwave beeped, followed closely by the sound of Sammy running down the stairs.
“Sammy, dinner’s ready.” When she heard the slam of the front door, she sighed, realizing she was talking to herself.
Christine sprinkled salt and pepper into the bag. Shaking it to remove as much grease as possible, she turned around when Sammy yelled for her.
“Mom. You’ll never guess who’s here!”
“Who, honey?” As she looked down at Sammy, Christine heard the sound of heavy boots on the hardwood hallway floor.
Before Sammy could say his name, Christine looked up to see JT leaning nonchalantly against her kitchen doorway. She stopped shaking the bag and couldn’t catch her breath. He was wearing black leather pants that clung to his muscular thighs, and a white T-shirt molded his chest. His dark hair was loose and hung just below his shoulders, not reined in by the ponytail he had worn to her office.
Christine didn’t know if she could bring her gaze to his face or resume breathing, afraid she might blush or stare like some tongue-tied teenager. Relief washed over her when she saw dark sunglasses covered his tempting eyes. If she didn’t look directly into them, perhaps she could keep her composure.
Her luck ran out. JT’s darkly tanned hand pulled the shields off his eyes, and Christine’s heart missed a beat as his gaze met hers.
“How’s it goin’?”
His voice was just as seductive as the rest of him, and Christine felt the kitchen’s size shrink. No man she had met before had such a magnetic pull about him. His charisma had a physical presence all its own.
“Hello,” she barely got out as she resumed shaking the French fries. “I was just getting dinner ready.”