“Wait till one of my colleagues gets a picture of you slipping out of my house and it lands on the front page. You’ll be wondering why you did something so risky.”
“No one saw us.”
“No?” She waved a hand toward her living room, from whence came the ominous sound of wobbling, as though bodyguard Number One had bumped her end table and almost knocked over one of her expensive lamps. “Those two saw you.”
“Those two have signed a confidentiality agreement and are paid very well—by me personally—to keep their mouths shut.”
“Really?” Lacing her voice with every ounce of sarcasm in her body, she raised one eyebrow. “What about if they get subpoenaed? Will they keep their mouths shut then?”
“Is there some investigation pending that I don’t know about?” he drawled.
No, actually. There wasn’t.
And all her colleagues no doubt thought he was safe at home, enjoying a rare night off from the campaign trail and relaxing with friends or some such. If so, he was lucky he’d gotten away with it this time, and she meant to let him know it. She opened her mouth to continue her rant—he could never do something this dangerous again—but something in his expression stopped her.
“What are you doing here?” she asked instead.
“I told you. Visiting. I thought we could watch a movie.” Rummaging in the pocket of his jacket, he produced a DVD and held it up for her to see.
“Rocky?”
“It’s my favorite.”
“What are you doing, Senator?”
This subtle emphasis on his title had exactly the effect she’d hoped for, and he flashed a warning frown. “My name is John.”
“You are a senator and a candidate for president of the United States,” she said, determined that at least one of them should acknowledge this crucial fact even if they both wished they could ignore it. “Have you forgotten?”
Before he could answer, they were interrupted by heavy footsteps. With a nasty start—how could she have forgotten they weren’t alone?—Liza took a quick step backward and tried to look casual.
The two bodyguards emerged from the living room and headed for the back door. “It’s all clear, Senator,” one said as they left. “We’ll wait outside.”
“All clear,” Liza echoed, acid dripping from her voice. “I feel so much safer now.”
The senator let out a snort of laughter but didn’t seem the least bit amused. “I spend a lot of time wanting to strangle you. I should be running as fast as I can in the other direction.”
“Feel free.”
“No, thanks.”
Thoroughly baited, which was probably his point, she raised her chin. “Tell me something, John—how many other women have you snuck out to see on these nocturnal visits?”
His face twisted. Judging by the way his nostrils flared and his fists clenched, he really did want to strangle her. But beneath his obvious anger he looked affronted, as though he might demand an apology for this unforgivable slight to his honor.
“None.”
None. Oh, how she wanted to believe it. Melting when she needed to be strong, she forced herself to smirk. “None?”
“Yeah,” he said. “None.”
There was a rough new note in his voice that was raw and primitive and much more dangerous than anything he’d said since arriving. Startled, she took an involuntary step away, but there was no hiding from him, no safe corner in her own kitchen. The counter hit her in the back, cutting across her kidneys, and she was trapped.
He crept closer, his eyes bright with purpose. “You’re special to me, in case you hadn’t noticed. Do you think I make a point of meeting the father of every woman I see?”
“We’re not seeing each other and I—I don’t do relationships,” she stammered. “I’ve already told you. And I don’t know what you think you’re doing, but you’re wasting your t—”
“You know what I think, Liza?”
“N-no.”
He drifted closer and settled into place, hands braced on the counter on either side of her. He neither smiled nor touched her, but she found herself breathless and wet anyway, teetering on the edges of both hyperventilation and sexual meltdown. He leaned in and she looked up. Within half a second, she was drunk on his scent, heat, size and masculinity, intoxicated by the bottomless desire in his glittering eyes. He had the longest lashes, the smoothest skin. The keen intelligence and strength of will that were the biggest aphrodisiacs of all.
The images, never far from her mind these days, came, fast and hot. Him touching her. His big hands sliding over every inch of her body; his lips and tongue lingering on the pulse at the base of her throat, her nape, her belly button…and lower; his absolute possession, which would be ruthless, demanding and unforgettable.
Swallowing hard, unable to look away from his gleaming eyes, she tried to remember what was at stake here. Her career. The anchor chair. Prestige, permanence, history. She tried to recall how the set looked the last time she did the evening news, how it’d felt to interview the president a few months ago, the weight of one of her Emmy awards in her hands.
She couldn’t remember any of it.
Only one thing was real in her world now: the phantom glide of his sweat-slicked body over hers and the need to make it a reality.
“I think,” he said slowly, “that this is exactly the kind of bravado your father warned me about a minute ago. I think you’re scared to death.”
“I am NOT scared.”
Outrage trumped her fear and gave her the courage to utter the ridiculous lie. She was scared—more scared than she’d ever been in her life—but he didn’t need to know that.
To her amazement, he didn’t call her on it. Instead, dropping his voice, he spoke to her in the soothing tones a man might use with a small child.
“Shh, darlin’.” Slipping under his spell, she felt comforted and hopeful and terrified, all at the same time. “It’ll be all right. You don’t need to be afraid of me.”
Liza gaped, disbelieving and yet wanting to believe.
They stared, unsmiling, at each other. A long time passed; it felt like hours to Liza, maybe an entire lifetime. The connection between them tightened and grew—Liza didn’t want it to, but it did—and it had nothing to do with sex. At last the corners of his eyes crinkled, and he held up the movie again as he wheeled away. “Let’s go. Time’s a-wasting, and there’s a movie to watch.” He disappeared into the living room, calling back over his shoulder. “Got any popcorn?”
They sprawled on various sofas and chairs, ate snacks, watched Rocky and had a grand old time. Actually, the senator, the Colonel and Jillian had a grand old time and Liza sat in shell-shocked silence. She couldn’t have imagined a stranger collection of visitors to her house than the presidential candidate, the retired army colonel and the first lady of Virginia.
Maybe she should make up a joke: So these three people walk into a bar…
The senator talked with her father about politics, the military, football and every other topic under the sun. Liza couldn’t think when she’d last seen the Colonel so animated about anything. The two men sat on a sofa across the room and largely ignored Liza, who lapsed into a full-fledged sulk. She was tempted to go do her laundry because she doubted either man would notice her disappearance. Glowering, she watched the men pump their fists and cheer during the fight scene and wanted to throw them all out of her house.
She didn’t.
Weird thoughts crept through her mind the whole time the senator and Jillian were there.
How nice it was to hear laughter in her house, for one. She’d never noticed the lack of laughter in her house before, so why was she thinking about that now?
How great it was to see the Colonel having fun, for another. How the senator and Jillian had made themselves right at home and seemed to belong here. Only they didn’t belong here and never would.
How the whole house felt more exciting when a man was here. Big whoop-de-do. She didn
’t need a man and didn’t want a man—especially this one. The house would feel more exciting if she brought in a live crocodile, but that didn’t mean she was going to go out and get one of those, either.
What did the senator think he was doing? What was he playing at? Why was he toying with her emotions and, worse, her father’s? Was this all a game to him? What did he think could possibly happen between him and Liza?
As though he knew he had her brain buzzing like a fly in ajar, he caught her gaze just then. By the flickering light of the screen, he shook his head at her, amusement bright in his eyes.
Liza, Liza, Liza, he seemed to say. Stop thinking so much.
She couldn’t stop.
When the movie ended, they all got up and stretched, and Jillian, who Liza was beginning to suspect was on the senator’s payroll, took the Colonel’s arm again and lingered with him in the living room while Liza ushered the senator to the back door.
Boy, did she mean to let him have it. Fuming, she squared her shoulders and pointed a finger in his face, but he spoke first in a clear attempt to disarm her.
“You’re a good daughter, Liza. The Colonel’s lucky to have you taking care of him. There’s a lot of love in this house.”
This compliment was so unexpected that she floundered, taking a few beats to work up a response. Oh, he was good. He was very, very good—hitting her at one of her most vulnerable spots, telling her the thing she most wished was true.
She didn’t deserve the compliment. The senator wouldn’t say that if he knew how much she traveled and that she didn’t spend nearly as much time with the Colonel as a good daughter should. He wouldn’t say that if he knew how guilt ate at her for putting her father in a facility when he hadn’t wanted to go, even if it was the best care arrangement for him. He wouldn’t say that if he knew how she had to remind herself that the Colonel wasn’t in his right mind, how she resented the Colonel’s increasing memory lapses, neediness and occasional dementia-induced nastiness.
“I—I should do more,” she stammered, flushing. “I’m not that great.”
The senator stared at her with such understanding shining in his eyes that she felt another layer of the protective wall around her heart crumble to dust.
“We’ll have to agree to disagree about how great you are.”
Liza blinked and reminded herself that no matter how sweetly this man complimented her or how he touched the shriveled remains of her heart, he was still the enemy—still the man who represented the kind of emotional and career danger that she needed to avoid at all costs. Shoring up her defenses against him, she reclaimed her outrage and pointed that finger again.
“Don’t try to get me off message here, okay? It’s not going to work. You’d better not try a stunt like this again, mister.”
“Stunt?”
There was that wicked amusement again, glittering in his eyes and curling his lip. “Showing up bearing gifts,” she cried. “Cozying up to my father. Bringing your sister. Trying to show us all what a swell guy you are. Giving me compliments I don’t deserve.”
His raised eyebrow only fueled her outrage.
“I’m not going to have an affair with you and commit career suicide, so you can just knock it off, okay? Find some other object for your affections.”
“Yeah,” he said. “I don’t think so.”
“Why not?” she demanded.
In one of his presto-chango mood shifts, he lost all his amusement in a single blink and became, just like that, a predatory competitor determined to win his prize—Liza—through charm, attrition or whatever other means he deemed necessary. Restrained power and passion vibrated through his big body, and his eyes glinted with the keen intelligence of a hawk.
“Because you are the woman I can’t get out of my head, and that makes you the object of my affections. No one else.”
Chapter 11
Chapter 11
O h, God. The senator could stop her heart in a way no other man had ever done, but that was not the point. Why would he not listen to reason? Why was he doing this to her when he could have any woman in the entire world he wanted? For kicks?
Well, her heart was not in play here and never would be. Liza wasn’t jeopardizing her career for sex, and she was done with relationships forever. Kent had cured her of that.
“If you can’t get me out of your head, Senator, you should try harder.”
“I don’t want to try.”
His face wore the same uncompromising expression she’d seen him wear while fighting for a bill on the Senate floor. Negotiating with a man who looked like that wasn’t an option, and neither was diversion. A man with that kind of determination gleaming in his eyes was going to get what he wanted or die trying.
“Where do you think this is going?” she demanded, furious.
“You’re not ready for that information, Liza.” His implacable gaze never wavered. “And you should have thought about these issues before you kissed me. You created this situation. Not me.”
A full-blown rant was right on the tip of her lips—how dare he blame her when he was the one who’d been flirting and whatnot that night, looking at her with hot eyes—but he cut her off with an impatient wave.
“I’m not going to waste precious time arguing with you, Liza. There’s one more thing I came here to do.”
Feeling mulish at being silenced in her own kitchen, she jammed her hands on her hips and jerked her chin up. “What?”
“This.”
In a sudden flash of movement, he caught her around the waist and, ignoring her surprised gasp, brought her up against him until they were molded together, breasts to chest, belly to belly and straining erection to aching sex. For good measure he slid one of his hands over the low-riding elastic waistband of her yoga pants to her butt, which he kneaded, and the other up her torso to one throbbing breast, which he caressed.
The shock of this unexpected contact was so electrifying and complete that Liza’s body gave an involuntary surge, an arch away from him that brought her hands up by her ears, but he held her tighter and ducked his head until his glittering brown eyes were all she could see.
“This time,” he told her as his mouth claimed hers, “I’m going to kiss you.”
Liza had never known that a person could kiss with his whole body, and there was no preparing for the senator’s sensual assault. All she knew was that they were somehow all over each other and she had her arms wrapped around his neck in a death grip and her legs wrapped around one of his strong thighs. And he gave her an endless kiss that tasted of tart wine and earthy man and vibrated with his excitement and crooning passion.
For several precious seconds he gripped her butt and held her, unmoving, as he thrust against her, and growing ecstasy clouded her vision and fogged her brain. Then both his hands were skating over her arms and back, caressing her nape, angling her head and sinking into her hair.
A sound of some kind pierced her consciousness, a voice or a laugh, she couldn’t tell which. The next thing she knew, the senator robbed her of his thrilling mouth and thrust her away from his supporting arms until she had to clutch the counter or risk falling to the floor in a haze of sensual dizziness.
Dazed and blinking, panting now, she registered his smooth and unhurried movements as he took his jacket, used it to casually cover what she personally knew to be a huge erection and turned to greet the Colonel and Jillian as they wandered, arm in arm, into the kitchen.
Forcing herself to recover, Liza took a deep breath, smoothed her hair and prayed her burning face wasn’t as bright as it felt.
“Thank you for coming.”
She aimed this stiff farewell at both the senator and Jillian, who was trying to repress what looked like a knowing smirk. Unfortunately, the senator wasn’t paying the slightest attention to Liza and didn’t seem to notice that she’d hurried to open the door to speed his departure. He shook hands with the Colonel, all business now and serious as a proposed tax hike.
“Pleasure
to meet you, sir.” Only two conspicuous patches of color on his cheeks gave any indication that they’d just engaged in ten seconds of foreplay that was more thrilling than any sex Liza had had in her life.
The Colonel squinted at him and cocked his head. “I know I’ve seen you on the TV. Are you one of those chefs on that cooking channel?”
Liza cringed but the senator smiled with utmost patience, as though he were prepared to have this same conversation a million more times if the Colonel needed it.
“I’m running for president.”
The Colonel’s expression cleared. “That’s right,” he said. “You’re running for president. I saw you on the news. Don’t let Senator Fitzgerald whip your ass now, you hear?”
“I’ll try not to.” One corner of the senator’s mouth spasmed with repressed laughter. “And you try to remember who I am, okay? Hopefully you’ll be seeing a lot more of me.”
“On the TV?” asked the Colonel.
“No.” The senator’s penetrating gaze shifted to Liza and locked with hers long enough to send delicious shivers skittering up and down her spine. “Around here, with Liza.”
Super Tuesday finally came, several nights later.
At the massive rally in New York City, Liza pressed the bud deeper into her ear, clutched her microphone and stared into Brad’s camera, hoping all the while that she wasn’t making a complete idiot of herself on live TV. It took a major effort to tamp down her exuberance, but she managed to restrain her grin until it was no more than the pleasant smile that the audience at home expected her to wear.
“I’m having a tough time hearing you, Kevin,” she said to the anchor back at the studio. It was pretty hard to have an intelligent conversation and analyze the day’s news when you couldn’t hear the questions.
Behind her, on the convention center floor, roared a crowd of about 20,000 cheering, chanting, clapping, banner-waving people, none of whom showed any signs of going home any time soon. It didn’t seem to matter that Senator Warner had already given his speech and left the building or that it was nearly ten o’clock on a school night. Adrenaline levels were running high, and the crowd apparently wanted to be a part of this historic moment for as long as possible.
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