by Susan Crosby
Arianna stood, draining her glass as she did. “I’m getting a good night’s sleep,” she said. “Can you give me a ride to the hotel?” she asked Nate, who was never slow on the uptake.
“Sure.” He tucked some bread and cheese into a napkin to go.
“You’re not staying here?” Dana asked.
“We’ve imposed enough.” Arianna hugged her. “You’ve got the banquet tomorrow night, right? We’ll be there. And before then, if you need us.”
Nate said good-night as he passed by. Then they were alone.
She said nothing.
“What were you working on?” Sam asked.
“What? Oh, my speech for tomorrow. I’m presenting an award to Lilith.” She sipped her wine. Her color was coming back.
Sam leaned toward her. “What happens if there hasn’t been a resolution to this mess by the banquet? Do you want to skip it?”
“Absolutely not.”
“Even if this person shows up there?”
“I’m not giving in to blackmail.”
“Even if what he or she has to say wipes out all the good you’ve accomplished?”
“Even if.”
He admired her guts.
She rubbed at a spot on the table. Curious, Sam waited. She seemed to be building up to something.
“Did our making love mean anything to you?” she asked.
Only everything. He held the words inside, protecting both her and himself. He still had a job to do. A critical job. She was interfering just by being there, because she distracted him. “Of course it did.”
“You haven’t even kissed me hello.”
He hesitated too long as he tried to figure out her mood. She pulled back just as he leaned toward her. “Not out of some sense of obligation, okay?” She pushed herself up, moved away from the table. “When did this get so serious, Sam? Thursday night we laughed together, kidded each other. I liked that. Now you hardly look at me.”
“I look at you, but I’ve got a lot on my mind, Senator.”
“Senator,” she repeated. “I used to like how you called me that, in a playful kind of way.”
“Playful? Are you sure you’re talking about me?” he asked, hoping to lighten the mood.
Her mouth curved slightly. “Fun. Challenging. Intense.”
“You make me sound much more interesting than I am.”
“I left out sexy,” she said, coming toward him. “I like how competent you are. I admire how you keep your promises. I love your protectiveness.” She tugged on his shirt. “Feel free to chime in here with reciprocal comments anytime.”
Her nerves were showing. Put her on the Senate floor and she took command. But here, with him, insecurity continued to haunt her.
Maybe because he wasn’t giving her any reason to feel secure? Maybe because he couldn’t? The relationship would end when the threat was resolved. It might as well be sooner rather than later, before they were in any deeper than their moment stolen out of time yesterday.
He wasn’t one to sugarcoat anything. This relationship had been born out of a particular need and fueled by old dreams. It wasn’t a combination that promised staying power.
“I’ve always admired you,” he said finally, knowing it wasn’t what she wanted to hear. “I find you exhaustingly sexy, and I don’t know how you could doubt that after yesterday.”
“Exhaustingly?”
He smiled. “Yeah.”
“Stay with me tonight.”
“I can’t.”
She looked away, her retreat more powerful because it wasn’t physical but emotional.
“I need to work,” he said. “I’ve got to review what I know and figure out what I’ve missed.”
“I can help with that.”
“Not this time.”
A tap on the door prevented her response. Dana took a step back. “Come in.”
“Ma’am,” Hilda said, her hand still on the doorknob. “Dinner is ready.”
“Thank you. Please don’t delay your trip any longer, Hilda. I’ll take care of the dishes.”
“I’m not driving to Stockton tonight, ma’am.”
Sam felt Dana’s surprise. “You aren’t?”
“My daughter and son-in-law took the children to Disneyland.”
“So, you’re just going to hang around here?”
“Is that a problem, Senator?”
“No. It’s fine. You can serve dinner, thank you.”
“None for me, Hilda,” Sam said quickly. “Sorry. I’ll be leaving in a few minutes.”
“Very good, sir.”
The door closed with a quiet click.
“You can’t even stay for dinner?”
He only recognized this woman from television, the woman who asked and answered tough questions on camera, whether witnesses at committee hearings or reporters.
Sam understood her better than she thought. Understood why she was drawn to him. He’d rescued her in the past, and even though they hadn’t seen each other in years, he was familiar. He was also the first man to make love to her after years of loneliness. It was natural that she would form a strong attachment to him. Natural, but not real. Not for the long haul. She would find out soon how many men were interested in pursuing a relationship with her, that she would have choices.
“I’ll call you in the morning,” he said and watched her eyes become banked coals.
“I’ll be at the office.”
“Will you have to field questions about our newspaper photo?”
“I’ll handle it.”
While he was glad to see the fire in her eyes, he hated parting like this. “Okay.” When she said nothing, he grabbed his briefcase and headed to the door.
“So, was it sympathy sex or carpe diem?” she asked before he turned the knob.
“Don’t do this, Dana.”
“I’ve been away from the dating scene a long time. I’m just trying to figure out what my expectations should be.”
“It just happened, okay? No plan. No ulterior motive.”
“No future?”
“I can’t give you answers right now.” God, he had to get out of here. Her hurt was a living thing, breathing like dragon’s breath between them, so he left rather than get into a battle of words with her. He took long strides to the front door, then jogged to his car.
Didn’t she know he couldn’t let his feelings interfere with his job—and his job was to protect her?
And they say men are dense about the opposite sex.
Dana found the table blindly with her hand and lowered herself into a chair. She was so confused by him. They’d made love. To her that was a step forward. To him, back, apparently.
Hilda knocked then entered at Dana’s call.
“Dinner, ma’am?”
“I’m not hungry after all, thanks. I’m sorry for your trouble.”
The older woman started to back out, but Dana stopped her.
“In all the time I’ve known you, you’ve only missed taking your days off one time—the week that Randall died.”
“I’m taking my days off. I’m just taking them here.”
Dana studied her. Sam had planted the idea that Hilda could be involved in the blackmail and Dana had disregarded the possibility. Maybe she shouldn’t have.
“I’d be happy to pay for a trip down the coast,” Dana said. “You’ve worked extra hard the past couple of days.”
“If I wanted to go, I’d pay for it myself. Ma’am.” She left without waiting to be dismissed.
Out of character, Dana thought. Even her tone carried an edge of belligerence, unusual for Hilda. Combined with her not leaving the house, it made Dana suspicious.
No. It was crazy. What could Hilda gain by Dana not being reelected?
She rested her head in her hands. She was so tired she couldn’t think straight. She’d thought the demands of her job were exhausting, but they were nothing compared to this emotional roller coaster. Maybe she shouldn’t give up her career. Maybe she should jus
t stick to the job and forget having a personal relationship. They were too painful. Too confusing. People die or walk away. Either way it hurt too much.
Which was ridiculous, of course. She wanted to get married again. She wanted children. One of the reasons she wasn’t running for reelection was so that she could have a family and not be flying coast to coast all the time.
Forcing herself to climb the stairs to her bedroom, she took a long, hot bath, then slipped into her robe. She closed the closet door on the new negligee hanging on the inside hook, a sheer red number with lace appliqués in the critical spots.
She opened the double doors to her balcony and stepped outside into the cool evening. The breeze from the bay lifted her hair, chilling her bath-warm skin. Below her was the courtyard where she’d shared her first kiss with Sam. She shivered. Rubbing her arms, she turned around to go back into the bedroom. Directly in her line of sight was the mask Sam had given her. She’d taken down her wedding picture and put Zo-onna in its place.
Drawn to it, she lifted it down from the wall and sat on the bed, laying the mask in her lap, running her fingers over it. A century old. How had he found it? Did he buy it specifically for her or did he already own it? If so, why would he give her such a treasure? It was too much payment for her keeping his medal all those years, which cost her nothing.
His generosity continued to surprise her, especially since he’d grown up in a house where generosity was nonexistent after his mother’s death. His most precious gift, however, was sharing his past with her. She didn’t know if she was the only person other than the Gianninis that he’d confided in, but she knew it had taken a lot for him to—
Dana sat up straight. He’d confided in her, told her the worst about his past.
He trusted her, and, in a way, that seemed more intimate than sex.
What did it mean?
What did he fear most? Rejection? His father had a hand in that. Abandonment? His mother, through no fault of her own, played a part there.
Dana had kept her love for Sam to herself, hoping he would come to love her as well. But maybe he was just waiting for her to say it first.
Maybe he needed for her to say it first.
What time was it? After midnight. She shivered again, but this time from anticipation. From her closet she grabbed jeans, a T-shirt, baggy pullover and a knit cap. She examined her image in the mirror when she was dressed. Would anyone recognize her? Her hair was down around her face and held in place by the cap pulled low on her forehead. No makeup. She couldn’t find her sunglasses anywhere so she added ultracontemporary, dark-framed reading glasses that no one had seen her wear in public. So what if her vision blurred? She only needed to get from the car to an elevator to his room.
She grabbed her wallet and keys and hurried out of the room, down the stairs and out to the garage. Instead of the Lincoln, she drove her Mustang convertible, a treasured leftover from her Cal days, her high-school graduation gift from her parents. In no time she arrived at his hotel. She gave up trying to find parking and turned the car over to a valet attendant, who let her know she had to be a hotel guest to park there. She gave Sam’s room number, hoping the valet didn’t recognize her. He was too young to care about politicians, she supposed, and she did look different.
She kept her head down through the sumptuous lobby, then bounced nervously as she rode the elevator to his floor. Her reflection in the mirrored walls startled her. She looked happy and hopeful, which were both true. She wasn’t going to try to seduce him, but to tell him she loved him. No pressure, just the facts. She hoped it would make him as happy as it did her.
His door was at the end of the hall. It was so quiet as she walked that she could hear her own heart beating like something out of Poe. Just when she reached his door, it opened, making her step back.
He stood there, dressed in jeans and a sweater, a set of keys in his hand.
“Did you just come from Haight-Ashbury?” he asked, his eyebrows lifting.
She did look reminiscent of the hippie era, she realized, although cleaner.
“Sam.” Her voice shook. It was all she could do not to blurt out her feelings. She took another breath and tried again. “May I come in?”
He stepped back and opened the door, tucking his keys in his pocket, then shutting the door behind her.
She looked around the sitting room, not really seeing much. “Sam.” She stopped, started again. What if he rejected her? “You can refuse what I’m offering or you can accept it. I don’t have any control over your choice. But you’re not leaving this city and my life without knowing how I feel. I—”
He put his fingers to her lips. Before she had a chance to come up with the right words, he backed her against the door and kissed her, long and deep and hard, with a kind of desperation that stole her breath. He dragged her cap off her hair, plucked her glasses off and tossed them onto a nearby chair.
“I couldn’t work,” he said between kisses. “I kept thinking of you. Wanting you. I was just leaving to come to you. I’m sorry about tonight,” he said as he peeled her pullover up her body then flung it aside.
“Me, too,” she whispered back, shoving his sweater up and over his head, tossing it in the general direction of hers. What she had to say could wait. She wanted this. Needed this.
He framed her face with his hands. His eyes held her captive. “I didn’t want this to happen. I need to focus because I’m missing something big, and I can’t shake the feeling I’m missing it because I can’t free my mind of you, of worrying about you. But I need you. This.”
“I’m glad,” she said, warmth infusing her. “I’m so glad.”
“God.” He hauled her close, held her for a long time, then he backed away and undressed as she watched.
“Let me be the one this time,” she said, giving him a shove toward the bed.
She liked how he stretched out, waiting, watching her, not closing his eyes when she knelt over him. She liked how he tasted and how he felt, hard and soft at the same time but differently. He was hot against her tongue. He moved in short, sharp lifts. His hands clenched the sheet. She liked that, too, and the sounds he made…
She offered him pleasure with a heart full of love but without obligation. What will be, will be. But he wouldn’t leave without knowing what it meant to be loved by her.
His fingertips pressed into her head, stopping her before she was ready to stop. “I have to be inside you,” he said, dragging her over him, fisting her hair in his hands, finding her mouth in a wet, open kiss that lasted forever, changing directions, deepening by the moment, the longest kiss she’d ever known.
When she couldn’t catch her breath, she sat up, straddling his hips, and pulled her T-shirt over her head. She was naked underneath.
“How unsenatorial,” he said, covering her breasts, circling his thumbs around her nipples. He drew her down until he could taste her. “You feel so damn good, Dana,” he said, rough and low. “But your jeans are killing me.”
“I’m sorry.” She tried to move off him.
“No. They don’t hurt. The rubbing against me…and you moving. It’s more than I can…”
He let the words trail off as he sat her up and unzipped her pants. “Why, Senator Sterling. No panties, either.”
“I was in a hurry.”
“Uh-huh.” He flipped her onto her back and moved down the bed. “Hiking boots? When was the last time you went hiking?”
He dragged his tongue along the skin revealed by her open zipper as he plucked at her shoelaces.
“In college,” she said when the first boot hit the ground. “Once.”
He laughed, low. “Well, the outdoorsy look suits you, in case you were wondering.”
“I was worried.”
The other boot bounced on the floor, then his gaze turned serious again as he pulled off her jeans along with her socks. He settled between her legs and put his mouth against her, sliding his hands under her, lifting her, dipping his thumbs inside as he w
orked his magic with his tongue. She couldn’t remember ever feeling so free. She had no doubts, no hesitation. Again and again he brought her up, pulling away just before she was about to crest only to take her up again and higher. He had her begging. Still he controlled the moment until he was ready to let her soar.
And soar she did, almost beyond consciousness.
She didn’t come down all the way but leveled off still needing him. She pushed him onto his back again, climbed over him and lowered herself to his hips. She leaned down, letting her hair drift over his chest.
“Protection?” she asked, nipping at an earlobe.
“In the dresser. Top drawer.”
She walked across the room, aware of him watching her, feeling desired and desirable. When she started back with the packet in her hand, he raised up on his elbows.
“Stop,” he said.
For a moment she was afraid he was going to back out, then she recognized the heat in his eyes. He just wanted to look at her. As foreplay it worked amazingly well.
“Come over here,” he said, his voice gruff.
“Need something?” She smiled, moved forward, straddled him again, unrolled the condom down him. He held her by her hips, lifted her onto him, lowered her slowly, both of them holding their breaths until he was deep into her, stretching her beyond what she thought possible. He helped her find the rhythm, then his eyes glazed.
“I love you,” she said as she exploded from inside, shattering her world while finding a new place for her at the same time. With him.
He stopped momentarily then gathered her close and rolled with her, staying connected until he found his own release, his breathing labored, his muscles hard.
He didn’t relax against her but climbed out of bed and went into the bathroom, shutting the door. Dana sighed, at peace. He could be angry or wary or frustrated by her announcement but she wasn’t going to let him chase her away. She pulled the sheet to her shoulders.
She heard the water run then stop. Some time passed. When he came out, he had a towel wrapped around his waist and a robe over his arm. He sat on the bed, facing her, and passed her the robe. He’d splashed water on his face.
“This is what I’ve been afraid of,” he said.