Senator Jackson Quinn Formally Announces White House Run.
I’d been expecting the news any day now, but seeing it in print like that suddenly made the scenario feel far more real. Actually, what it really felt like was a punch to the gut, not the least because I’d expected Jackson to call all of us to give us a heads-up before he made his announcement. For all I knew, he had contacted my parents in Santa Barbara, and expected them to pass on the pertinent details.
“It’s not really that much of a surprise,” I said as I looked up from the paper. My voice sounded almost too calm, but that was better than the alternative. “Do you think it changes anything?”
“I’m not sure.” Then, his eyes narrowing slightly, he added, “This is the first you’ve heard of it, though.”
The words weren’t phrased as a question. My shoulders lifted. “In this family, I’m usually the last one to hear anything. I suppose my mother would have been in touch after she and my father were back in town.” Silas still wore a faint frown, so I said, “Obviously, no one thinks I’m that important. I haven’t had reporters camped out on my doorsteps or anything.”
It might have been my imagination, but I thought I detected a softening of his expression. “I think you’re important.”
“Oh?” I managed, but I didn’t have the chance to say anything more, because he’d moved toward me, his arms going around my waist so he could bring me closer to him, could bend down and touch his lips to mine.
This was what I’d been hoping for, to feel the strength of his body, taste the richness of his mouth. I let myself melt into his embrace, lost myself in him. It was even better than the day before, if such a thing was possible. We kissed, and I forgot about the news the paper contained, the worry about my sister — everything except the way I felt in his arms.
At last, though, he lifted his mouth from mine, even as he pushed back a stray strand of hair that had escaped the scrunchie and fallen across my cheek. “I should have stayed away,” he whispered. “But I couldn’t.”
“I don’t think you should’ve stayed away,” I replied, a thin thread of worry moving through me at the pain in his voice. “I’m glad you’re here. I want you to be here. Why should there be anything wrong with that?”
“Because….” He let go of my waist and took a step back. “Because if I’m this close to you, then I might make mistakes. I might allow my judgment to become clouded.”
“You don’t seem very cloudy to me,” I quipped, but the joke fell completely flat. He stared down at me, unsmiling. “Anyway, if we’re — if we’re involved, it seems to me that would make you even more concerned about protecting me.”
“It’s not concern that’s the problem.” He stopped there and made an odd gesture with one hand, as if he’d intended to wave it in denial, then stopped himself partway through.
“Then what is?” I tilted my head up at him, trying to read something more of the expression he wore. Yes, he appeared troubled, but I still couldn’t quite figure out exactly what was the source of his worry. “Are you going to be in some kind of trouble with the people who assigned you to protect me?”
“Not the kind of trouble you think,” he remarked cryptically.
“Silas, you’re not making much sense right now.”
“I suppose I’m not.” He shoved his hands in the front pockets of his jeans, his gaze moving away from me to the front-page section of the L.A. Times where it still lay on the dining room table. “This — this just adds an extra layer of concern, though. Suddenly, you’ve become that much more valuable.”
“To Lucius Montfort.”
“Yes, but also to others who are very mortal.”
“I really don’t think I have that much to worry about,” I protested. “Like I said, I haven’t seen a single reporter. No one cares about the siblings of a candidate, or even really the President. Okay, if Jackson tried to make one of us Attorney General or something, maybe, but — ”
This time Silas did actually crack a smile. “No, I suppose he wouldn’t do something like that. But still, there’s far more visibility involved with being the immediate family of a presidential candidate rather than a senator.”
I couldn’t really argue with that statement. When Jackson was running for Senate, I actually was tracked down by a few reporters, ones who were doing more lifestyle sorts of pieces, who wanted the skinny on what it had been like to grow up with my brother. Problem was, with such an age gap between us, I didn’t have a lot of those stories to tell. By the time I was old enough to really engage with Jackson, he was off to college. I’d given a few feel-good anecdotes that might have been true, and that was the end of it. But now? I really didn’t know what to expect.
Struck by a sudden thought, I said, “Well, if you’re really that worried about them tracking me down here, why don’t we leave?”
“Leave?”
“Yes, get out, go somewhere else. Maybe you could show me your place?”
From the way his brows pulled together, I could tell he wasn’t terribly thrilled by that suggestion. “My place?”
“Yes. Let’s go downtown. Take me out for sushi or something. You’re right next to Little Tokyo, aren’t you?”
“Well, yes, but — ”
“I’d need to change, though. I spent most of the day cleaning the house, and — ” I broke off there and sort of waved at my ensemble of T-shirt and yoga pants. “Anyway, it was just a thought. If you really don’t want to — ”
“It’s fine,” he said. “You’re right. You should come over. It’s certainly no place that a reporter would come looking for you.”
“Just give me fifteen minutes,” I told him, even as I mentally added, Or twenty….
“However much time you want. It looked like it wanted to rain, though, so you might want to bear that in mind.”
My leg had already given me advance notice of the approaching storm. “No problem.” I flashed him a smile, then hurried upstairs, already plotting out what I should wear. Downtown Los Angeles on a Saturday night. A good pair of jeans, probably, and the knee-high lace-up Børn boots I’d gotten on clearance but hadn’t had much of a chance to wear. A thin black sweater, my favorite dark green leather jacket. That would get me through the rain, if it arrived after all.
I hurried with my preparations, putting on quickie nighttime makeup of lots of mascara and a dark-stained mouth and not much else. The increased humidity had kind of fluffed up my hair, so once I shook it out of the scrunchie and ran my fingers through my wavy locks, they looked more or less presentable.
By the time I headed downstairs, it was nearly five and the world outside was growing dark, daylight saving time still a few weeks away. Silas stood at the dining room table, staring downward as he read an article in the front-page section of the Times — although not the one about Jackson. As I entered the room, Silas looked up. While he didn’t exactly smile, I thought I saw a spark of admiration in those dark eyes.
“I hope this will work,” I said.
“Oh, it will. Shall we?”
I nodded and went to retrieve my purse, then followed him to the front door. I set the alarm for “away,” and locked up.
Yes, I truly was going “away.” I couldn’t wait to see Silas’ place.
Chapter Thirteen
Rain began to fall as we were halfway down the 110 Freeway. I didn’t mind; there was something cozy about the weather, about being together in the cab of Silas’ truck as the raindrops pattered against the windshield. He turned on the wipers, then said, “It’s a little early to eat. Should we go to my place first? We can have a drink there and head out after that.”
“Sounds perfect.”
Which it did. Maybe a little loosening-up time at his loft, just so he could get used to the idea of me being there. Dinner, and then…? I wouldn’t lie to myself — I wanted to go back to his place afterward and have him make love to me. His kisses were divine, so I could only imagine what it would be like to feel him against me, in
me.
The wave of heat that passed over me then was so intense, I was surprised it didn’t fog up the truck’s windows. I swallowed, and told myself that I needed to back off until I could know for sure which way the evening was trending. It wasn’t like I’d packed an overnight bag or anything, although I always carried a little travel toothbrush in my purse, just in case I wanted to freshen up after a meal out. Something my mother had taught me, although I didn’t exactly go out on the town very much.
Well, I was definitely going out on the town tonight.
L.A.’s skyscrapers grew larger, shimmering, blurred through the rain. We jogged onto the 101 Freeway briefly before getting off at Alameda. This was an area I didn’t know very well. I’d been downtown, of course, but to places like the Disney Concert Hall and the Ahmanson Theatre. Little Tokyo lay south of there, in an area of mixed high-rises and what looked like warehouses but could have contained lofts.
We passed what I thought was a museum of some sort, although I didn’t have time to read the signage, and then headed down a narrower street. It wasn’t as well lit here, the sort of place I wouldn’t have felt comfortable going if I didn’t have someone as obviously capable as Silas with me. However, when he pulled up to what must have been his building, a sprawling multi-story structure that looked fairly new, I felt myself relax somewhat. We entered a parking lot with a remote-controlled gate, then headed down into an underground parking garage. This might have been a loft complex, but it obviously wasn’t some converted warehouse.
After he parked in a numbered space that must have been assigned to his loft, Silas got out of the truck, and I followed suit. We went up a flight of stairs, then through a sort of courtyard, with pathways leading to the front door of each unit. His was down at the end of the row, which meant he would have corner views. And, as we entered the loft, I realized how spectacular those views were, since the unit faced north and west, so I could see a good chunk of downtown, lights shimmering in the rain. On a clear day, Silas could probably see all the way to West Hollywood.
He flicked on the lights. The place seemed all hard angles to me, concrete walls and huge banks of windows, although the pale oak floor did warm things somewhat. And although I didn’t go for that ultra-modern kind of style, I still was impressed, both by the spaciousness of the loft and the realization that a place like this had to have cost a chunk of change. So much for Candace’s theory that Silas was after me for my money.
“You like sake?” he asked as he pulled a small bottle out of the gleaming stainless refrigerator.
“Sure,” I replied, although I’d only drunk it a handful of times. Regular wine worked better for me, but if we were going out for Japanese food, it was probably better to stick with the same kind of alcohol all night. I tilted my head at him, watching curiously as he poured some of the sake into a pair of small ceramic cups he’d retrieved from one of the cupboards. “Aren’t you supposed to drink it warm, though?”
“Not this kind of sake,” Silas said. He came over and handed one of the cups to me. “You might find that you like this kind better.”
“Did I sound that lukewarm about drinking it?”
“Possibly.” While he didn’t exactly smile, I noted the way his eyes crinkled at the corners as he looked down at me.
I lifted the cup of sake to my lips and allowed myself a cautious sip. The liquid was cold and slightly tangy, and yet at the same time smooth, slipping easily down my throat. Much better than the stuff I’d tried at a few frat parties in college, where, if memory served — some of those parties were now a little hazy in my mind — the sake had been nuked in someone’s microwave.
“Good?”
“Yes,” I said. “You were right, of course.”
Some guys might have tried to rub that fact in. Silas only asked, “Why don’t we sit down?”
I nodded, and followed him into the living room area, where a large leather sectional faced the huge window that took up almost one wall. Off to one side was a large metal staircase that clearly led to the second floor.
“It’s an impressive place,” I said, my gaze moving toward the window. The view outside was so mesmerizing that it was hard to keep from staring at it — even when I had someone as stare-able as Silas Drake seated on the couch next to me. “How long have you lived here?”
“A few years. The central location is useful.”
I supposed it would be. Living here in the heart of L.A., he could head out in almost any direction and be there soon enough — or at least as soon as the dreaded Southern California traffic would allow. Even when the freeways were clogged, any local worth their salt knew all the goat paths to get around town. It might take a while, but I knew how to travel all the way from San Marino to Santa Monica without ever getting on a freeway.
Or I used to, back when I wasn’t afraid to drive.
“I like it,” I said. “It has an interesting energy. And I love the feeling of space.”
He seemed to consider me for a long moment, cup of sake held in his hand, although he didn’t seem terribly interested in drinking any of it right then. “I’m curious — your family has a great deal of wealth. But your townhouse seems rather modest, in the grand scheme of things.”
That it was. Oh, it was certainly adequate for my purposes, and I’d redone the kitchen and the bathrooms before I moved in, but I could have afforded a lot more. That is, my parents could have…and wanted to. “My choice,” I replied after I’d taken another swallow of sake. “We had quite the battle about it, actually. My parents wanted to buy me a house in San Marino, someplace where I wouldn’t be too far from them. But I didn’t want them to do that. I already felt completely beholden to them, knowing that these visions, these episodes, would keep me from ever having a real job, any way to support myself. So I put my foot down. I didn’t want a million-dollar house somewhere. And the condo has actually been a very good investment — its last appraisal put it at about fifty thousand more than my parents paid for it, so they can always pass it off as an asset, instead of the place they bought for the daughter who’ll never amount to anything.”
“Serena.” Silas’ tone was gentle, but reproving. He set his cup of sake down on the slate and iron coffee table, then moved closer to me. “You shouldn’t say such things about yourself.”
“It’s true, though. I’m not looking for sympathy,” I added. “The last thing I want to be is some clichéd poor little rich girl. But don’t try to tell me that the accident didn’t prevent me from doing what I wanted with my life.”
“I wouldn’t presume to do that.” His hand settled on my knee, and, despite the turn our conversation had taken, a thrill of desire went through me. It felt so good to feel him touch me like that — even through my jeans, I could sense the warmth of his touch. I wanted more of that.
So much more.
“But,” he continued, “I also think it’s very possible that you were thwarted in your initial goals because you had an even more important destiny before you.”
“‘Destiny’?” I repeated, not bothering to keep the disbelief from my voice. “You don’t really believe in such a thing, do you?”
“Of course I do,” he said calmly.
“So you don’t believe in free will?”
“That’s not what I said.”
I raised an eyebrow and took another sip of sake. Even though the liquor was cool, it did have the slightest pleasant burn as it worked its way down my throat.
“You think having a destiny and possessing free will are two mutually exclusive things?” Silas settled against the back of the couch, removing his hand from my knee as he did so.
Was that a sign he was displeased by my question? I couldn’t tell for sure, since his expression was almost studiously neutral, as if he didn’t want to influence my reply in any way. “I — ” I floundered for a second or two, then said, “I suppose I never really thought about it. Destiny to me always seemed like it must be a guiding force, one that puts you on the path it
’s already chosen for you. How does free will fit into a scenario like that?”
“Because it’s actually the choices you make that drive you along that path. The end may be predetermined, but how you get there is entirely your own doing.”
He looked so serious and handsome sitting there, his eyes focused on me, his hands folded loosely in his lap. What I really wanted to do was lean over and kiss him again, but I somehow realized that was the wrong thing to do right now. Later…sure. Absolutely.
“That does make me feel a little better about it. I don’t really like the idea of some otherworldly force pulling the strings.” I took another sip of sake, then put down the cup. “But hey — I think we might be getting a little too serious for a Saturday night.”
A smile pulled at his lips. “You might be right. Hungry?”
If asked half an hour earlier, I would have said no. But the liquor seemed to have woken up my stomach, so I nodded. “I could eat something.”
“I’ll take you to my favorite place.”
That sounded promising. Not only because Silas preferred the food there, but also if it was his favorite restaurant, that meant he probably went there frequently, and so they would know him. I doubted he would take a casual date to someplace like that. At least, I hoped that was what the suggestion meant.
We went back out to his truck and emerged into a downpour once we cleared the underground garage. I was beginning to question my failure to bring an umbrella, although there wasn’t much I could do about it now. Hopefully, it wouldn’t be too long a slog from wherever we’d have to park to get to the restaurant.
We actually didn’t travel very far before Silas pulled into a parking structure — maybe seven or eight blocks. In decent weather, we could have walked. Now, though, I was glad we drove.
The restaurant itself didn’t look that impressive, not much more than a storefront in a strip mall in Little Tokyo. When I saw the line out the door, though, huddled as close to the wall as possible so people could stay out of the rain, I began to wonder how great an idea this actually was. My leather jacket and thin cashmere sweater wouldn’t do that much to keep me warm if I had to stand outside for any length of time.
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