After Hours Bundle

by Karen Kendall

  Fuzzy and the piece of roast were in the middle of her bed.

  MARLY DROVE back home doubting that her relationship with her mother—or Fuzzy—would ever improve. Not that she gave a rat’s ass about Fuzzy. She put them both out of her mind, cranked on some loud rock and thought about a different kind of hot beef in her bed.

  Tuesday night seemed to take a long time arriving, and when it did she had a hard time choosing her clothes, since she was uncertain of where Jack Hammersmith would take her.

  Finally she settled on a deep ruby-red sarong and a black silk tank top that tapered to a V on one side.

  She didn’t own a single pair of closed-toe shoes that weren’t for the gym, and she hated high heels, so she put on another pair of flat thong sandals, these in leather instead of rubber. She added dangly silver earrings and a silver cuff to the outfit and piled her hair on top of her head.

  She refused to smear foundation on her face, no matter what the occasion, but she did put on mascara and tinted her lips deep red.

  Marly surveyed the result in her bathroom mirror and decided she didn’t look half bad. Of course, the governor was probably used to women who put on a full face of makeup and teetered around in skyscraper heels—but she wasn’t going to pretend to be someone she was not.

  She looked down at her still-blue toenail polish and reflected that it didn’t work at all with what she was wearing. She still had ten minutes or so before Jack was due to pick her up, so she slipped off her shoes and sat on her bathroom floor to make a change.

  When her doorbell rang a few minutes later, she sported silver polish—with one red rose on her left big toe. Wonder what he’ll think of that?

  She still couldn’t believe she was going out on a date with the governor. The Republican governor. What if his politics were infectious and she caught the disease? What if they argued over social programs and she stabbed him with her dinner fork? What if Frick and Frack did a flying belly-flop into the appetizers to prevent her from doing so?

  Marly had a feeling it was going to be an interesting evening. But she opened the door and smiled. “Hi, Jack.”

  7

  SHE’S IMPOSSIBLY beautiful, Jack thought, drinking in the sight of her. She’d done something to her eyes to make them even more exotic and mysterious, and her lips looked like cherry-flavored sin.

  Though her fingernails were short and bare, she’d painted her toes silver, which he found highly erotic. Silver with one suggestive, carnal-red rose. And—was she trying to make him spontaneously combust?

  Because that skirt was really no different from a tablecloth knotted at her waist, perfect for a picnic in a secluded spot on the beach.

  Marly didn’t smell of any overpowering, commercial perfume. She wasn’t hung with jewelry like a human Christmas tree. And she didn’t tinkle with artificial laughter.

  She didn’t make him wait half an hour while she finished getting ready—in fact, she didn’t invite him in at all. She said, “Let me get my bag,” and left him standing in the doorway.

  But Jack was curious. He wanted to see her personal space. So he stepped inside and looked around. The apartment itself was…very apartment-like. What Marly had done with it, however, was simply amazing. The walls were draped in exotic fabrics and giant floor pillows dotted the carpet, which she’d mostly covered with a gorgeous Oriental rug. Little jeweled lanterns hung everywhere, along with paintings and intriguing collages. And candles dotted every available surface.

  She’d created a colorful, exotic bazaar, and Jack loved it, despite the fact that it was utterly foreign to him. That was part of its charm.

  “Marly, this is fantastic!” he said as she came out of the bedroom with a little embroidered tapestry handbag.

  She flushed with pleasure. “My friend Peggy says I’m going to set the apartment on fire with all these candles. But I’m actually very careful.” She walked to the window and pulled the filmy drapes aside. “Isn’t the view gorgeous?”

  Jack raised an eyebrow. She overlooked some kind of hideous factory complex. “Uh…”

  “It’s why I took the place. I pay extra for that view.” She laughed and let the drapes fall back into place. They obscured the factory in a romantic, feminine haze. “So, are you ready? Where are we going?”

  I’m ready to throw you down right here on your Oriental rug. But Jack tried to remain civilized, even if he felt anything but. He ran a finger around the suddenly too tight collar of his shirt. “Where are we going? It’s a surprise.”

  He put a hand to the small of her back and felt her quiver. Christ, just anticipating having her was going to kill him. He wanted to do a lot more than make her quiver.

  Jack wanted her crying out, begging for release and thrashing in ecstasy.

  But he felt ashamed by his desire, because she was a whole lot more than a hot body who triggered an animal reaction in him. Marly Fine was complex and delicate and soulful—but strong. How many twenty-year-old girls would drop out of their dream art program—one for which they’d received a full scholarship—to shoulder a parent’s crippling medical bills?

  Again, Jack wasn’t proud of having read the file on her, but he hadn’t been able to help himself. And he was stunned at her sheer strength of character.

  He waited while she locked her apartment door and took her elbow as they walked down the stairs. The limo sat gobbling gas at the curb, garnering curious stares from residents on their way in and out of the building.

  Marly seemed embarrassed by it, and he wished he’d brought a normal car instead. But he’d wanted to give her the full treatment, so to speak. Now he realized that she wasn’t the sort of woman who was impressed by the trappings of his world.

  Mike, his personal chauffeur, saw them and hopped out of the driver’s seat to hand them into the back.

  “Hi,” said Marly. “How are you?”

  “I’m fine, thank you, miss. Governor, Mr. Lyons is trying to reach you. He says you’re not answering your cell phone.”

  “Correct. Whatever it is can wait.”

  Marly looked at him as she settled herself onto the seat. “You don’t think—I mean, I don’t mind. It sounds as if it’s important.”

  Great. He’d been trying to assure her that they’d have quality time together, but now she thought he was neglecting his duties to the state. “All right. Thanks.” He dug the damn phone out of his pocket and hit the speed dial. “Lyons?”

  While he listened to his advisor foam at the mouth over what he deemed a crucial poll on how the Florida voters viewed him, Marly began a conversation with Mike.

  “So, do you have children?” she asked him.

  “Sure do, miss. Ages two and four, girl and boy. They’re a handful.” He laughed good-naturedly.

  “Are they home during the week, or do they go to day care?”

  “Day care’s name is Grandma Eulala, which is lucky for us in a lot of ways…but unlucky in others.”

  She looked a question at him.

  “I get to do all her remodeling and home repairs in payment. Oh, and lawn maintenance and pest control.”

  “Sounds like you don’t get much time off, Mike.”

  “Oh, can’t complain. Lots of folks out there have it much worse. We have our health and beautiful children and food on the table. Know what I mean?”

  “I know exactly what you mean,” said Marly, shooting a furtive look toward Jack that told him she questioned very much whether he did.

  Wonderful. The very things that drew most women to him—his money and power—caused the one he wanted to look at him sideways. Lyons continued to yak into his ear about issues that could easily have waited until tomorrow.

  “So do you carry pictures of your children?” Marly asked Mike.

  “Sure do.” He dug into his back pocket for his wallet and passed them back to her.

  “They’re adorable.”

  Yeah, they were. But Jack didn’t necessarily want her focused on them. “Lyons,” he said into his ce
ll phone, “I have to go. Brief me on this in the morning. I’ve got a date right now.”

  “Date?” squawked Lyons. “What do you not understand about what I’m telling you, Jack? The people see you as a playboy—”

  Jack shut the phone and put it in his pocket.

  Marly obviously liked Mike, since she’d offered to paint portraits of his kids sometime. She pulled a card out of her little tapestry bag and wrote her home number on the back for him.

  Jack glared at Mike. Impossible, but he was jealous of his chauffeur! She hadn’t hesitated a bit before giving him her contact information, while Jack still didn’t have it.

  He folded his arms across his chest.

  “Something wrong, sir?” Mike met his eyes in the rearview mirror.

  “No, no. Nothing’s wrong.” Besides the fact that my date would rather be sitting up front with you. His displeasure seemed to affect the atmosphere in the limo, though. Like black ink from a squid, it clouded the waters.

  “Sir?” Mike said. “There’s a bottle of champagne chilling in the ice bucket back there.”

  “Thanks. Marly, can I pour you a glass?”

  She hesitated. “Sure.”

  The woman didn’t want to sip champagne in a limo? What was wrong with her? How could he turn things around, elevate the mood a bit?

  Jack produced two chilled glasses and filled them, handing one to Marly. She took it with thanks, but looked regretfully at Mike, as if she felt bad that Jack didn’t ask him to join them in a toast.

  “Mike’s on duty,” he reminded her. “And he’s driving.”

  “Of course,” she said quickly.

  Jack hit the button that raised the divider, feeling like a jerk. But that was irrational! He and Marly were on a date. Yes, Mike’s kids were cute, and yes, Mike was an all-around great guy, but Jack didn’t want him in the picture right now.

  “To dinner together,” he said, raising his glass to her. “Cheers.”

  She kept her face utterly expressionless. “Cheers.”

  They drank, and Jack unaccountably thought of the time during his childhood when his mother had given him “grown-up ginger ale” to drink. He smiled.

  “What?” Marly asked.

  “I was just thinking of my mom.” Oh, brilliant thing to say, Jack, on a date.

  “Your mom?” She raised her eyebrows.

  “The first time she gave me champagne. She called it ginger ale for grown-ups. I was twelve.”

  Marly smiled. “You…have a good relationship with your mother?”

  “Oh, yeah. She’s fabulous. My mom could run the country single-handed and still keep her sense of humor.”

  “That’s high praise.”

  He shrugged. “It’s the truth. What’s yours like?”

  She stared into her champagne glass for a moment too long. “Oh, you know. Ma’s…retired now. She used to work for the post office.”

  “Yeah? What does she do in her spare time?”

  Again, that infinitesimal hesitation. “Um, this and that. She has a bunko group and she watches her soaps.”

  Jack beat a conversational retreat, realizing that this topic was a sensitive one. “How about your dad?”

  Marly brightened. “He’s into everything he can do. Loves to fish, tends a garden, plays penny poker with the guys.” She chuckled. “Gets passionate about politics—dyed-in-the-wool Democrat—and writes rude ditties that he plays on a guitar while he sits on his workbench.”

  “He sounds great,” said Jack. “Well, except for the poor political judgment.” He grinned. “Any brothers or sisters?”

  Marly started to shake her head and then stopped. “Yeah, a rabid cat named Fuzzy who thinks he rules the house.”

  Jack pulled a long face. “Sounds like you and Fuzzy have a little sibling rivalry going.”

  “You could say that,” Marly agreed, sipping more champagne.

  “Would you like to lie down on ze couch and tell me all about it?” Jack asked in his best Dr. Freud voice.

  She laughed. “Fuzzy has anger management issues and a lot of pent-up hostility. He’s a psychopath, a Ninja and a master thief.”

  “Hmm,” said Jack in a thoughtful tone. “He sounds like a prime candidate for, say, the CIA. Black ops?”

  “If he gets shot at and thrown out of airplanes, then I’m all for drafting him. Can you write up an executive order right away?”

  “Done,” he said promptly. “Anything for you, beautiful.” Jack picked up the champagne bottle and refilled her glass and his own.

  “Thank you. Where are we headed? Canada?”

  “We’ll arrive at the surprise location shortly.”

  “You’re not taking me to dine at the governor’s mansion? I’m crushed.”

  “No, you’re not. You’d hate the mansion. It’s very stuffy. Not your style.”

  “How do you know that?” She looked surprised.

  “I just do.”

  A wary expression crossed her face. “Been reading my file again, Hammer?”

  He shook his head. “Nope. This is based purely on instinct. And if I’m right, you have to give me another kiss.”

  She frowned at him and drank more champagne. “Where are Frick and Frack?”

  “Jimmy and Rocket are in a car—”

  “Rocket? You’ve got to be kidding me.”

  “—behind us. Forget about them.”

  “They’re too big to forget about. How do you live like this?”

  Jack shrugged. “It is what it is.”

  “Do they follow you into the men’s room, too? Watch you brush your teeth and put on your pajamas?”

  “I don’t wear pajamas,” he told her. “I sleep in the nude.” He laughed at her reaction to that. “And no, Jimmy and Rocket are not in the room.”

  “Did they really think that I might murder you with my texturing shears?”

  “Marly, they’re trained to protect me. They have to think about the possibilities—because I sure as hell don’t want to.”

  She absorbed this in silence. “You live a very odd life, Jack.”

  He shrugged. “The life of political figures and celebrities everywhere.”

  “Well, I think it’s sad.” She stared out the window of the limo while Jack admired her profile, wanting to twist his fingers in the tiny curls she’d engineered to fall near one ear. The dangly silver earrings she wore called attention to her long, graceful neck. He wanted to trail kisses down it.

  She reminded him of his great-great-grandmother’s cameo, and awoke a sense of urgency in him. Urgency not to let her go, not to screw this up. An urgency to repeat history.

  But so far the date was going less than swimmingly. He was jealous of his chauffeur, he’d talked about his mom, and Marly had expressed pity for his lifestyle. Yeah, he was SuperStud, all right. What else would go wrong tonight?

  8

  THE LIMOUSINE CARRIED them across the bridge to Key Biscayne and turned down a private drive that took them to the steps of a gargantuan Mediterranean mansion.

  Marly had only seen houses like this one in the movies or on a paid tour, such as the time she’d gone to Newport, Rhode Island. She stared at the mansion, expecting Ingrid Bergman or Audrey Hepburn to come gliding down the steps in a tragically chic hat.

  But Mike was opening the door and handing her out, and Jack took her arm to guide her inside. Even if the place had been decorated by Kmart, it would have been stunning architecturally. The very scale of it, the way the space was designed and the richness of the details took her breath away.

  But it wasn’t decorated at all—or at least, not beyond the foyer, which was populated by bad reproductions of Roman statues, all heroically endowed and naked as the day they were chiseled. Well, except…

  One of the males wore a Marlin’s baseball cap, another, a Groucho Marx nose and glasses. The females sported hats, too: one a floppy beach hat and the other a chic vintage cloche.

  Marly burst out laughing and turned to Jack, who lean
ed against a pillar, just watching her. “Is this your house?”

  “It will be, once I leave the governor’s mansion. As you can tell, it needs a little work. The previous owners had…interesting taste.”

  “So,” she said, gesturing at the statues with her thumb, “are they joining us for dinner?”

  His lips twitched. “No. The table is only set for two.” He took her elbow again and led her deeper into the house. In the center of the place was a huge open space, surrounded by a picture gallery. Two sets of stairs led down to the lower level of the house, which contained a library, a billiards room, a vast wet bar with room for every kind of liquor imaginable.

  What am I doing here? Marly asked herself, feeling as if she were on the set of a movie. The whole house felt unreal to her. She thought of her parents’ home, small and basic and comfortable; her mother’s fondness for mass-manufactured knickknacks. Then she felt guilty for contrasting the two homes.

  The most spectacular thing on the lower level of this mansion was the view: straight out behind an elegant, patterned, hardwood deck was the ocean. No guardrail marred the expanse of blue-green water, which occasionally lapped up through the planks and swept over them.

  On the deck a white-draped table set for two sparkled in the evening sun with china, crystal and silver.

  Marly gasped with pleasure as they walked outside. To the left, the deck ran down wide, shallow steps to a snaking river of a swimming pool, twice the length of an Olympic-size one and rimmed by gorgeous landscaping.

  “I had the stone cherubs and swans surgically removed,” said Jack. “They were overrunning the place and made all-too-convenient targets for birds.”

  “What, no well-endowed, shy nymphs?”

  “I ditched the nymphs, too. They were definitely well-endowed, but not shy—in fact, they bordered on pornographic.”

  “Money definitely can’t buy taste, huh?”

  “So true.”