by Lisa Eugene
Gritting his teeth, he sighed, “You are so, so beautiful.”
Floating on a cloud, I hovered high above a landscape of worries, the rocky terrain of our reality. I smiled slowly, loving the way he looked at me, the fierce desire in his eyes. Knowing his intensity, how hard he liked to fuck, I braced myself, waiting for him to dominate and wreck my world completely.
But he surprised me when he leaned forward, peppering my face with kisses so soft they felt like the press of feathers against a wind. My breath stilled. My lids grew heavy, my body savory with contentment. I was vaguely aware of movement below as he rolled on a condom. Then there was the silky glide of his thick length through my aching folds and the note of an impatient groan.
My eyes flashed open when I felt him enter me, when the agonizingly slow stretch of my flesh rippled a cascade of shivery ecstasy up and down my spine. Spellbound, I stared, lips parted, body tensed and threatening to shatter again as Chase looked deep into my eyes and mouthed three small words over and over again.
I love you. I love you. I love you.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
I zipped around my apartment a week later, tossing items into my bag. There was plenty of time to get to the restaurant, but I needed to stop by the printers to pick up new menus and then catch the bus across town. I was still depending on public transportation and it could sometimes be unreliable.
My cell rang and I pulled it from my purse.
“Talk fast, Wanda. I’m on the run.”
“Hey, did you hear about Steven?”
Her words made me pause at my kitchen counter, my hand hovering over my coffee cup. I frowned.
“Hear what?”
“Someone beat the crap out of him. My brother ran into him yesterday. Said he looked like shit.”
Shaking my head with disgust, I took hold of my third cup of coffee that morning. I remembered what Steven had said when he’d shown up at my apartment door.
“I’m not surprised,” I relayed. “It was probably his dealer. He’d said he owed someone a lot of money.”
“I think he got what he deserved! Especially after the shit he’s put you through.”
Pushing out a sigh, I nibbled on my lower lip. I’d never wish ill on anyone, not even my ex. I’d begged Steven to go back to rehab and get help. He needed to get his life together. At the rate he was going, he’d end up with more than a beating.
“I have to run, Wanda. I’ll talk to you later!”
Signing off, I grabbed the garment bag containing my uniform and ran out of my apartment.
I’d barely made it out of my building when all hell broke loose. I had no time to react as flashes exploded in my face. Bright lights blinded me, a shock to my overloaded system. A mob materialized from thin air, crowding me as microphones were shoved into my face.
Shouts came from every direction; questions flung one after the other. Stunned, I could hardly decipher the incoming, but key words and phrases landed like detonated charges—words like: “affair,” “Chase Rutherford,” “secret lover,” “drug arrests,” “wife,” “mistress,” “election,” and from somewhere in the large crowd, the denouncing whispers of “whore.”
Recovering, I blinked rapidly, now noticing the line of news vans parked on my curb, the scattering of men toting huge cameras on their shoulders, and the band of wide-eyed spectators posed with cell phones. My stomach knotted, gut screaming a five star alarm.
Determined to ignore the mass, I tucked in my chin, kept my head down, and tried to shoulder through the throng. The crowd was too dense, forming a pushy wall of bodies climbing over each other with one intention—getting to me.
“Ms. Carmichael!” a woman with a microphone shouted. “How long have you been having an affair with Chase Rutherford?”
How the hell do you know my name? I wanted ask, dread caking like dry rot in my chest.
“Do you think his involvement with you will sway the minority voters?”
I parried as a body stepped in front of me, almost knocking me over.
“Do you think having an affair so soon after his wife’s death will hurt him in the election?”
More shouts:
“Did your affair start before Amy Rutherford’s accident five years ago?”
“Is your father Irish or Italian?”
“How old were you when your father died?”
“Are you a Republican, or Democrat?”
“How do you respond to allegations that Mr. Rutherford used his position on the city council to get you out of drug charges and to close your case with CPS?”
“How is Mr. Rutherford in bed?”
“Do you have any comments on the Flex-Steel scandal?”
“How would you describe Chase Rutherford as a lover?”
Nauseous, I fought my way through the frenzy, some of the questions so absurd I was tempted to respond, to react, but I knew that was what they wanted. I just wanted to escape the onslaught. Given no choice, I was forced to backpedal my steps to the entrance of my building. Another reporter shoved her microphone so close to my mouth I almost choked on it.
“Does Mr. Rutherford support you and your daughter?”
What the hell is she asking me? If I was getting paid for fucking him?
“Get the hell out of my way!” I warned, feeling anger curl my lips. Instead, the despicable woman advanced, her eyes alit with smug determination. Tired of having people in my face, I pushed her aside to get to the door. A cry split the air as the woman fell back, landing on her ass, and all I could remember was more clicking cameras and a swell of noise in my head.
Inside the building, I realized my entire body was trembling and my coffee had spilled down the front of my shirt. Ignoring the gaping cluster of neighbors in the hall, I headed for the stairs, frantically digging my phone out of my bag.
When Wanda answered, my voice cracked open, shaky and distraught.
“Oh my God! something terrible has happened!”
***
CHASE
According to Phil, today had been a “vote-snatching” day. He was always pleased when he thought I’d snatched votes away from Gonzalez who was still the frontrunner. Honestly, Phil was becoming a pain in my ass. I’d met with several prominent African-American and Hispanic community leaders today. I’d been honored they’d given me the chance to talk about my initiatives for housing, education, and community safety. The issues that were important to them were important to me, not just because I needed their votes, but because I honestly believe that if you invested in the infrastructure of a community, everyone would benefit and prosper.
I was running late, trying to make it back to Flex-Steel in time for my meeting with our company’s senior VP. Phil was nipping at my heels, rattling off the schedule for the next week as I hurried toward the building’s exit to the waiting car outside.
“And I think Kensington should have some of his friends over at Fox cover your visit with the unions,” he was saying.
“I told you we can no longer count on him,” I said gruffly. “Just forget it. Don’t bring him up again. Drop it.”
Phil sighed, his eyes practically reprimanding me. “What the hell happened between you two? You need him. He’s not someone to make an enemy of.”
“I said to fucking drop it,” I bit out over my shoulder. The look on my face must’ve silenced him because he sulked openly as he tried to keep in step with me.
We were almost at the exit when one of my interns approached. The young girl looked terrified, her face a sickly green. She whispered something into Phil’s ear and his eyes swung directly to me, making me stop my feet.
“What the hell is going on?” I asked, not liking the quiet that had suddenly gripped everyone around me.
***
My gaze was riveted to the television screen. I wanted to look away, but couldn’t. It was like watching a bad accident unfold in front of me, and worse, I was the victim in the mangled car. How my life could be newsworthy enough to be a headline on
the evening news was beyond me. It still shocked me to see my face splashed across the TV screen, my name in bold print. Apparently, my scandalous affair with a local politician trumped another ship of immigrants capsizing in the Mediterranean and the assassination attempt on the leader of a small country.
Wanda sat on the couch beside me, looking equally dumbfounded while Mom scooted around the kitchen, making dinner and pretending to not listen to the news. Emmy had been playing piano, but when the news started, I’d ushered her into the kitchen. Now, she sat at the kitchen table undressing and redressing her doll.
Reporters speculated about my relationship with Chase, their imaginations running rampant. What couldn’t be proven as fact—which was nothing at all—was simply fabricated along with absurd predictions about the upcoming mayoral election and how people would cast their vote.
Some thought Chase’s “dating” me would work in his favor with minority supporters, then there were those who said disparaging things, labeled me an opportunist, everything short of a hooker who took advantage of a man who’d been despondent after losing his wife. Some speculated that we’d had a long-running, secret affair that went as far back as before his wife’s drowning accident. Another ignoramus from an entertainment channel wondered if Emmy was our love child.
It seemed that everyone was an expert on my life and character, my privacy and past were thrust into the spotlight. Worse, the footage of me pushing the reporter aside and her falling to the sidewalk played over and over. Of course, the part where she almost shoved the microphone up my nose had been clipped.
Sick of the noise, I rose from the couch.
“You might want to look at this, Danielle.” Wanda stalled my escape.
I turned back to the TV, to the field reporter who was standing next to the preening peacock who was my super. My stomach bottomed out when Stanley flashed his brown teeth for the camera, then detailed how he’d snuck Chase into the building numerous times to “have relations” with me, making me sound like the two-cent whore Senator Kensington had labeled me. He made it seem as though Chase’s visits were late night booty-calls.
I shook my head, about to explode, wishing I could wrap my fingers around the liar’s bony neck.
Wanda turned to me, brows raised in question.
“He’s lying. It was one time! Chase paid him to get me to open my door. I knew he should never have trusted that snake!” I snarled.
We turned back to the television, listening as Stanley droned on, “Overall, she’s an okay tenant. Don’t always pay her rent on time, but she’s hot. I can see why Mr. Rutherford would want a piece.” He snickered and winked at the reporter who seemed to be trying to inch as far away from him as possible. “You know what they say: once you go black . . .” He snickered some more and winked at the reporter like they’d shared some private joke.
Wanda’s mouth hung open as she turned slowly to me. “Tell me that fool did not just say those things on national TV?”
I stared in muted horror as the camera cut to a different reporter in front of Marie’s dump of a restaurant. Marie smiled, her face shiny and red, matching everything else on her round body.
“Isn’t that your old boss?”
I couldn’t bring myself to respond, my mind bursting at the seams, life unraveling along with it. Last I’d checked, the news vans were still stationed outside my building. Philippe had been understanding about me missing work, but how the hell was I supposed to live my life? I swallowed down the sense of hopelessness that made me want to crawl into a corner and cry. That wasn’t my style. Shit happened. I had to deal with it.
My phone buzzed with a text and I grabbed it off the table.
YOU LYING BITCH OF A WHORE
YOU WILL PAY
Steven. He’d obviously been listening to the news.
The text shook me to the core, had real fear crawling like ants beneath my skin. My breath stuttered briefly, and rattled by the ominous message, I returned my phone to the table. Steven should’ve received the restraining order by now. The hearing was in a few days.
“What’s wrong?” Wanda frowned.
Everything . . . I wanted to respond, but my phone rang, breaking my train of thought. Figuring it was Steven again, I went to shut it off when an unknown number came up.
I answered hesitantly.
“Dani?” Chase’s worried voice crashed through the line.
I stood, pulse pounding, my eyes making meaningful contact with Wanda. Shooting a brief look toward my mother in the kitchen, I slipped into my bedroom.
“Dani? Answer me!”
“I’m here.”
“I’m so sorry. I’ve been in meetings all day. I just heard. I don’t know what the hell happened, but I’m going to find out.”
I chewed my bottom lip, knowing exactly what had happened. Ideas had been rolling around my head all afternoon as I tried to figure out who would want to hurt us. In my heart I knew who’d done it.Senator Kensington.
Deciding to keep my suspicions quiet for now, I listened quietly.
“God help the person who did this,” he raged. “I’m on my way over.”
“No!” I almost yelled. “That will just make things worse. Reporters are camped out outside my building.”
He mumbled a string of curses, then said, “Then you’re coming here. I’ll send a car.”
“That’s not the solution.”
“Dani, this is not the time to be stubborn. I know how these things work. You’ll be a hostage in your own home if you stay there—a target for every lunatic in the goddamn city. At my apartment, you and Emmy will be protected. I have doormen. I have security. It’s only until this blows over.”
“That will just confirm everyone’s suspicions.”
“They already believe what they want to believe. The cat’s out of the bag, love.”
I scrubbed a hand up and down my face with a fretful groan, grudgingly admitting Chase was right. I had to get to work in the morning. Emmy had school. I couldn’t deal with a throng of pushy reporters every day. What choice did I have?
“Fine,” I surrendered.
“The car will be there in half an hour.”
Chase didn’t just send a car, he sent an army of bodyguards that looked like they could crush skulls with their bare hands. They parted the mob like the red sea, and in just over an hour, Emmy and I were stashed in his humongous two-bedroom apartment.
Wanda had agreed it was the wise thing to do, Mom on the other hand, had no problem voicing her strenuous objections and further predictions of disaster.
Despite being shaken, I knew I could weather this storm, but I worried about Emmy. When I’d explained we were going to stay with Chase for a while, she’d promptly donned her Dora backpack and slipped her feet into her sneakers. Strangely, that caused me more worry than the reporters teeming like ants on my private life.
There was no future with Chase, and if anything, today’s events shined a flashlight on writing that was already on the wall. It would be one thing for me to have to pick up the pieces, but I didn’t want Emmy to get hurt, to get attached to something that was fleeting.
***
I tucked Emmy into the large, fold-out bed in the study, planted a kiss on her forehead, and made my way down the hall to the living room. Chase’s domain was a sanctuary of contemporary maleness. Unlike the soft, traditional elegance of his Hampton home, here everything was swathed in gray, silver, or black. Every where were sleek lines and uncompromising edges; a lot like the man himself.
Across the room at a window, Chase peered pensively out at a night dotted with distant lights. His tall frame and broad back were a silhouette of strength, and I had a powerful urge to approach, snake my arms around his waist and drop my head onto the curve of his back. I knew I’d find comfort there.
Instead, I sank into the black leather couch and hugged a pillow to my chest. It would be best to keep a safe distance. Things had already spiraled out of control because I couldn’t seem to stay a
way from him.
Finishing his call, he turned from the window, jaw set angrily.
“That was my contact at the Daily News. He has no idea who leaked the story. And it appears it was leaked to the gossip rags first. They’d do the most damage. He’s going to make some calls, see what he can find out.”
I nodded stiffly, wondering if I should voice my suspicions about his ex-father-in-law. The man seemed to have a visceral hatred for me and had promised some sort of retribution for Chase. How else would the reporters have gotten their information? How could they know about my arrest record, or Chase’s involvement with CPS? Someone with connections was feeding them information.
I tracked him as he crossed the room to pour two glasses of red wine. Thinking of the champagne we’d shared just a week earlier made a blush rise up my neck. Offering me a glass, his eyes darkened, and I knew he was recounting that same event. I blinked away the connection, feeling too on edge to indulge in those thoughts.
He lowered next to me and I took a large gulp of wine, needing to numb my rooted anxiety. I’d much prefer a cigarette, but this would have to do. Having already fielded calls from Gladys and Jolene, I was exhausted. And the text from Steven still haunted me.
Sipping his wine, Chase studied my tight expression, then dragging my legs over his lap, he sidled closer. I watched as he, one by one, pulled off my sneakers, and started to slowly work my toes with one hand. Instantly, I loosened at his touch, biting my lower lip to contain an appreciative moan.
“This will all blow over, Dani. The hounds will find something tastier to latch on to soon.”
“They were awful,” I complained. “The questions they asked were ridiculous. Someone actually asked if you were good in bed.”
He quirked a brow. “And?”
“What?”
“I hope you were profusely enthusiastic with your praise.”