The Senator's Wife

by Karen Robards

  Their clasped hands brushed her bare thigh below her shorts. That tiny touch sent heat shooting through her body. He felt it too. She could see it in his eyes.

  “What in God’s name are you wearing?” His gaze found her denim cutoffs, and slid from them on down her legs. Ronnie knew she had nice legs, long and slim and tanned. Her feet, almost bare in strappy, high-heeled sandals, were very pretty too, long and slender with coral painted toes.

  “They’re called shorts,” she said as the elevator reached its destination and stopped.

  “They’re short, all right.” He looked her over, his eyes darkening. “Nice getup for a senator’s wife.”

  “A senator’s wife is no different from any other woman.”

  “Yes, she is. Her husband has to keep getting elected.”

  They stepped out into the sixth-floor hallway. A quick glance around located a lighted exit sign over a doorway next to the elevator. Tom headed through it and into the stairwell, and Ronnie, having little choice in the matter since he still held her hand, followed him.

  As Ronnie looked up at the double flight of stairs facing them, her knees threatened to sag.

  “Do you really think all this is necessary?” she asked. “I feel like I went to sleep and woke up in a James Bond movie.”

  “Better safe than sorry.” He let go of her hand and indicated that she should precede him. With a sigh Ronnie started to climb the stairs. She went slowly; each step required increasing effort. The metal handrail was cool to the touch, and she clung to it; the concrete steps amplified the sound of their footsteps. As she reached the seventh-floor landing, she glanced back. Tom’s attention was riveted on the movement of her backside and bare legs.

  He must have felt her watching him, because he looked up. Naked lust glinted in his eye for an instant, as unmistakable as the cold rush of air-conditioning sliding under the stairwell door to curl her toes. Then his brows snapped together and he glanced away. Seconds later he stepped up on the landing beside her.

  “Do you have your key?” His voice was gruff.

  Ronnie nodded, unzipping the small leather pouch that hung from her belt and extracting the key card.

  He took it, motioned to her to be silent, and quietly opened the solid metal door. A quick glance out into the hall obviously revealed something amiss. He froze, then slowly, carefully, eased the door shut. Close as she was, Ronnie heard only the faintest click.

  “What?” she asked as he let loose with a string of profanities under his breath.

  “They’re staking out your room. Two of them, a woman and a man, probably a reporter and photographer. Shit. Shit.”

  “You’re kidding.”

  “Do I look like I’m kidding?” The grimness of his expression said it all. “What they’re doing is smart, I have to give them that. If they’d waited in the lobby, you could have given them the slip. We would have given them the slip. But if you’re out, you have to go back to your room sooner or later. It’s a no-lose situation for them. If you’re in there, you have to come out. If you’re out, you have to go in. Either way they get what they want. Shit.”

  “If they don’t have any pictures of me at the nightclub, they can’t prove where I’ve been. Maybe I just went for a walk.”

  “At three a.m.? In beautiful downtown Tupelo? Dressed like that?” His gaze ran over her, and he shook his head. Then he grabbed her hand and started back down the stairs. “Come on.”

  “Where to?” Ronnie was perfectly willing to go with him anywhere. To tell the truth, she didn’t find the idea of reporters waiting outside her hotel room door nearly as upsetting as he seemed to. What did it matter? She almost welcomed the idea that the campaign would be over. She was sick of pretending.

  “My room. Where else?” Tom sounded grim. Ronnie smiled.

  His room was on the fourth floor. They walked down the stairs—Tom didn’t want to chance any stray elevator sounds that could possibly attract attention—and along the silent hallway. He let go of her hand to insert his key card into the lock, then stood back to let her precede him into the room.

  Unlike her accommodations, his was a run-of-the-mill hotel room: brown carpet, beige walls, two uncomfortable-looking, orange-upholstered chairs flanking a round table in front of a single window with closed, multicolored drapes, an entertainment center with a TV, and a lone, king-sized bed. From the look of the bed—the covers were thrown back to reveal rumpled white sheets, and one pillow was on the floor—Tom had occupied it earlier. One tall bedside lamp was turned on.

  “You got out of bed for me,” Ronnie said, turning to face him. She stood in the middle of the room, in the narrow corridor between the bed and entertainment center, and he was just a few paces behind her. “I’m sorry.”

  He stopped, thrusting his hands into his trouser pockets and rocking back on his heels a little as he met her gaze.

  “Sit down while I try to figure out how we’re going to get you out of this mess.” He indicated one of the chairs behind her with a nod.

  Ronnie smiled at him. His hair was rumpled, his cheeks and jaw were dark with stubble, and he looked both tired and harassed.

  Instead of sitting down, she moved toward him. His eyes narrowed warily at her, and his hands came out of his pockets, but he held his ground.

  “We could just—wait them out,” she suggested, stopping within touching distance. “They can’t stay there forever.”

  “They don’t have to,” he said shortly. “You’re scheduled to give a speech at nine a.m., remember? If you don’t come out of your room, all dressed and ready to go, then I’d say they’re pretty safe in assuming you’re not in there.”

  “Is that so scandalous? Maybe I slept somewhere else,” Ronnie pointed out with a shrug.

  “The question is, where and with whom?” Tom’s voice was dry. “If they find out you’re not in your room, and decide to go after the story, that’s what they’ll be asking, believe me.”

  “Maybe they’ll write that I’m sleeping with you.”

  “Given that little comedy at the Yellow Dog, I’d say that’s not beyond the realm of possibility.”

  “I wouldn’t mind.” She reached out and hooked a finger in the open collar of his shirt, her gaze on his as she undid his top button. “Would you?”

  “I’d mind a whole hell of a lot,” he said, imprisoning her hand with his before it could do any more damage. “Particularly since it wouldn’t be true.”

  “We could make it true.” She stepped closer, until their bodies almost touched. Her free hand came up to caress his cheek. The pad of her thumb stroked the corner of his mouth.

  “Ronnie …” His voice was a warning. “Stop.”

  “I don’t want to,” she said. Coming up on tiptoe, she pressed her lips to his mouth.

  Chapter

  15

  FOR A MOMENT HE JUST STOOD THERE, unmoving, while her hand slid behind his neck and her mouth coaxed his. She watched his reaction from beneath lowered lids. His eyes were open and fixed on her face. When her tongue slid between his closed lips, he stiffened. She could sense resistance in every hard line of his body; she worked her fingers down inside his shirt collar at the back of his neck, caressing his warm skin. At the same time, she drew his lower lip into her mouth and bit down.

  Dark color suffused his face. He made an inarticulate sound. Then his lids shut, his mouth opened, and the hand that held hers prisoner between their bodies released its grip to slide around her waist. He took control of the kiss with a thoroughness that dazzled her. Wrapping his arms around her, he pulled her close and slanted his mouth across hers, kissing her with a raw hunger that made her quiver with pleasure. Locking her own arms around his neck, she kissed him back.

  His lips were firm, and dry, and excitingly expert. The inside of his mouth was hot and wet and tasted of beer. The arms holding her close were strong; his body was bigger than hers, and hard where hers was soft. She slid her fingers through the hair at the back of his head. The strands w
ere short and silky.

  When he lifted his head, she smiled up into his eyes. His gaze moved over her face, touching on each individual feature, lingering, on her mouth. His arms were taut around her, flattening her breasts against his chest. His hips and thighs molded her own. She could feel the urgency in him, the tension in the arms that held her, the rigidity of his shoulders and back. She could feel the telltale hardness of him pressing against her abdomen. His face was flushed and his eyes were dark with desire.

  He wanted her. There was no mistaking that.

  “Tom,” she whispered.

  His eyes darkened still more. His jaw tensed.

  “Ronnie.” He said her name in echo of the way she said his, almost as if he were mocking her, or himself. But there was passion in his voice and, she thought, a kind of tenderness too.

  Her hands slipped beneath the edge of his suit coat, sliding it from his shoulders. He seemed to hesitate for a moment, and again she thought he meant to resist. But he let her go for just long enough to shrug out of it. The coat dropped with a faint rustle to the floor. She went to work on his shirt buttons, then slid her hands inside his shirt, stroking the hair-roughened chest she bared.

  “Ronnie.” His voice was rougher this time, lower, deeper, with an edge of warning to it. But he did nothing to stop her. He liked the way she was touching him, she could tell.

  His skin was scalding hot, and faintly damp with perspiration. The underlying muscles were hard. His eyes glittered restlessly as he watched her. His hands curved on either side of her waist.

  His shirt was unbuttoned perhaps three-quarters of the way when she slid her hand down under his belt buckle.

  He caught his breath, and caught her hand, too, pulling it out and away from his body. His eyes blazed down at her. For a moment he went so still he could have been a stone statue except for the bright blue flame in his eyes. Then he released her hand. His arms came back around her, and he kissed her again, bending her back over his arm, his mouth hard and demanding. Ronnie clung to him, kissing him back greedily. Her head spun, her knees felt weak, and her body quaked with desire.

  His hold shifted, and he swung her clean off her feet. Ronnie’s eyes opened in surprise. Then she wrapped her arms around his neck, thrilling to the ease with which he carried her over to the bed. With one hand he pulled the covers out of the way. Then he bent to lay her gently on the mattress. Her arms around his neck pulled him down with her. Sitting beside her, leaning over her, he kissed her mouth, her neck, her ear. Ronnie arched her back as his mouth found her collarbone where it was left bare by the scoop neckline of her T-shirt.

  “God, you smell good,” he whispered against her skin, and lifted his head. Their eyes met.

  Ronnie smiled at him. His hair was ruffled and his eyes gleamed and he looked handsome and sexy and very male. Her gaze never leaving his, she reached down for the hem of her T-shirt and pulled it up over her head, then tossed it aside. All she wanted in life right at that moment was to be naked in his arms.

  “You’re beautiful.” His breath came faster. His arms were braced on either side of her body as he leaned over her. His gaze slid down to her breasts. Her bra was an everyday, serviceable one of white nylon that covered her better than most of her swimsuit tops. She had nice breasts, full and firm and round without being overly large. Just now they were swelling against the confines of her bra, the nipples erect and clearly visible as they nudged at the thin material.

  He looked up again, meeting her gaze. His body radiated heat. His jaw was hard and set, and his eyes gleamed.

  Without warning he got to his feet.

  “Tom,” she protested, reaching for him.

  “You don’t want to go to bed with your shoes on,” he said, his voice slightly hoarse.

  Quaking inside, her fingernails digging into the mattress, she lay still as he walked to the foot of the bed and slid his hand around one of her slim ankles. Lifting her foot in its high-heeled sandal, he balanced it against his thigh while his fingers worked at the strap. In just a moment the shoe was off. He bent his head, lifted her foot again, and pressed a kiss to her bare instep that sent lightning bolts of heat shooting up her leg. She shivered, closing her eyes. Then he gently replaced that foot on the mattress and picked up its fellow, repeating the operation. By the time she was barefoot, Ronnie thought her insides would melt.

  Carrying her shoes, he returned to the head of the bed. His face was flushed, his hair untidy, his eyes dark. At their backs was some emotion she couldn’t quite decipher. Desire was there, hard and hungry, and it was stamped on his face too—but there was something else as well.

  Something that she was too turned on by to try to decipher.

  He put her shoes on the nightstand, placing the leather confections carefully side by side, then turned and stood looking down at her for a moment. His shirt was unbuttoned all the way now, so that she could see the hard muscles of his chest and the wedge of dark brown hair that covered them. One shirttail hung free of his pants. Ronnie moved a little on the mattress, wordlessly inviting him to join her. Her gaze locked with his.

  “You are gorgeous, and sexy, and I want you so damn much it gives the term blue balls a whole new meaning,” he said. Passion roughened his voice and hardened his expression, but there was a touch of ruefulness there, too, that did not quite fit the situation.

  “Tom. Come to bed.” Ronnie reached for his hand to tug him down, not in the frame of mind at the moment to puzzle over nuances.

  “I have to take care of some business first,” he said, eluding her hand by the simple expedient of grasping the covers and flipping them over her. Ronnie found herself covered to the neck.

  “Business!” She sat bolt upright, the covers spilling around her to pool at her waist, indignation in her voice.

  “Remember the reporter?” He met her gaze, hesitated, then bent to cup her face with his hands and kiss her mouth. Easing her back down onto the pillows with his kiss, he caught her hands when she would have locked them around his neck.

  “Tom!”

  “Let me get rid of the vultures, and I’ll be back,” he said, straightening.

  “You can’t just leave me!”

  “It’ll take fifteen minutes, tops,” he promised soothingly. “Then we’ll have all the rest of the night.”

  Ronnie eyed him with a mixture of desire and resentment. That he could think of business when she was burning with need for him was infuriating. But he wanted her too. She knew she wasn’t mistaken about that.

  “Close your eyes, think pleasant thoughts, and I’ll be right back,” he said. “Okay?”

  “Fifteen minutes.” The look she gave him was militant.

  “That’s all it’ll take, I swear.” He kissed each of her hands, and released them. “I’ll be back.”

  He turned and walked away from the bed, scooping up his jacket on the way to the door. A moment later Ronnie heard the faint click that told her he was gone. She glanced at the bedside clock: 4:20. Fifteen minutes …

  Her body throbbed with passion. She turned over, flopping facedown among the pillows, burying her face in their softness. Her limbs felt curiously heavy; her head swam.

  Fifteen minutes. It wasn’t very long. She would make him pay in the most pleasurable possible way for doing this to her; she would keep him up all night.

  In the meantime as she waited, she would do as he had suggested and close her eyes.

  The shrilling of a phone not far from her ear awoke her. The sound went right through her head, making it ache. Blinking, Ronnie rolled onto her back, trying to orient herself as she stared up at the shadowy recesses of an unfamiliar ceiling. As the screeching continued, she groped for a pillow and flung it in the general direction of the offending instrument. Her eyes widened as Quinlan walked into view around the foot of the bed.

  “Morning, Sleeping Beauty,” he said, meeting her gaze, and picked up the phone. Shirtless, he wore only charcoal-gray dress trousers. A hotel towel was draped around h
is neck, and one half of his lower face was covered with white foam. The other half was clean shaven.

  Memory flooded back.

  “Great. Thanks,” he said into the phone, and replaced the receiver.

  Ronnie glanced at the bedside clock: 7:05.

  “Fifteen minutes,” she growled, hitching herself up against the headboard and glaring at him as he stood looking down at her.

  His mouth quirked into a half smile. “You were asleep.” He bent to pick something up from the floor. Her black T-shirt, she saw, as he tossed it at her.

  “Get dressed. We need to get you back to your room. That was hotel security. They’re on their way now to escort our friends from the press out of the building.”

  Ronnie glanced at her T-shirt, then realized that all she was wearing from the waist up was her flimsy bra. Not that she minded Tom seeing her like that; in fact she wished he would do more than just look.

  He moved away from the bed, pulled the curtains open to admit bright morning sunlight, then headed back to the bathroom.

  Covering her eyes with her hand, Ronnie groaned. The light felt as though it had a billion sharp edges, all of which stabbed through her eyes into her skull. After a moment the worst of the pain subsided, and she lowered her hand, squinting as she fumbled with the T-shirt in her lap. From the bathroom she heard the sound of water running.

  Her eyes were still not focusing properly as Ronnie pulled on her T-shirt, then swung her legs over the side of the bed. Her head hurt abominably, and swam as she sat up; her mouth felt as if it were stuffed with cotton.

  “Here.” He was back, crouching in front of her, offering her two aspirin tablets on one flat palm and holding a glass half filled with water in the other. He was still shirtless, his shoulders broad and surprisingly bronzed for a blond man. His face was now clean shaven.

  “Could you please shut the curtains?” She accepted the aspirin and the water with a grimace.

  “Head hurt?” Amusement combined with sympathy in his voice as he stood up and obligingly pulled the curtains about halfway closed.