White Diamonds (Capitol Chronicles Book 2)

by Shirley Hailstock

  Sandra accepted hers. The last few weeks had been a nightmare and this one sheet of paper made it all right. With this she could resume her life.

  By order of the President, it began. Everett Horton had by executive order issued her a presidential pardon.

  Epilogue

  Sandra stood looking through the window. Grass rolled away from the cabin like an emerald carpet. The trees were thick with leaves and she could barely see the road. She stood here often, thinking back on the day Wyatt had come into her life.

  He was asleep. She'd awakened early and come to the window. They didn't get to the cabin much with his work in Congress, but when an opportunity opened they'd run off to the mountains. Everett began calling it the Pocono Senate.

  "What are you doing there?" Wyatt asked. "You can’t even see that road."

  She turned around. Wyatt sat on the steps. It was one of the memories she had of him. The first time he came downstairs, that's where he'd stood.

  "I know it's there." She went and sat next to him. He put his arm around her and cradled her against him. "I love this place."

  "I love you," Wyatt said. He kissed the top of her head. "You know what I remember most about the cabin?"

  She shook her head and looked at him.

  "That table over there." He pointed to the polished wooden table where they usually ate. "When I woke up that first day after I'd come downstairs, I was on the sofa. You were sitting at the table. Your hair had been in a ponytail, but you'd pulled it loose. The light made a halo around your head and I knew I was in love with you."

  Sandra couldn't speak past the lump in her throat. That had been eight months ago. She reached up and kissed him. He gathered her close and passion took hold of her.

  "Thank God I found you," he whispered against her mouth.

  "You didn't find me," she contradicted. "I found you."

  Wyatt lifted his mouth and stared at her. "You're not going to start that again." He lifted her onto his lap and kissed her cheek. "I came looking—"

  "For my father—"

  "And found you."

  Wyatt stood up with her. He carried her up the stairs to the bedroom they shared. He lowered her to the floor. Sandra saw passion darken his eyes.

  "Wyatt, we don't have time for this." His mouth touched hers as she spoke. "We have to get to the wedding rehearsal. Jordon and Annie will be waiting." He kissed her again. Her insides melted.

  "We'll get there. You can drive." Wyatt moved the strap of her nightgown and kissed her shoulder. "It's your helicopter."

  "We'll be late," she murmured.

  "It'll be all right," he said, as he nipped the skin under her ear. "They were late for ours." He lifted his head and looked at her. "What do you think they were doing?"

  "Wyatt, they weren't late for ours. Ours is tomorrow," she reminded him.

  "In that case they can't start without us." He took her mouth.

  Sandra went up on her tiptoes, forgetting everything except the man she loved. She returned his kiss with all the fervor that gripped her. His hands took her waist and spanned it. Her arms climbed about his neck. She melted against him. His arms tightened, fitting her to his shape and devouring her mouth.

  Wyatt made her feel alive. After eight months, when their lives no longer ran from minute to minute, when the press no longer hounded them for stories, she still loved being with him, learning the little things that made him happy, learning how to take his pain away, and sharing in everything that was him.

  She liked telling him her secrets, having him there when she needed someone to talk to or someone to hold in front of a warm fire.

  Wyatt removed her gown. It pooled at her feet. He stared at her. She should be used to him by now. It had been eight months since they'd left the Oval Office. Yet, she felt like it was their first time. Her breath came in short gasps and her breasts rose and fell in anticipation of his touch. Warmth poured over her as his hands moved deliriously over her skin.

  He ran his hands up her back and into her hair. Her body aligned to his from shoulder to thigh. "Will you marry me, Dr. Rutledge?" He spoke as he angled her face to kiss her mouth.

  "I am marrying you, Senator. Tomorrow."

  "Good," he said, his voice low and intoxicating. "I need a wife and I've picked you." He lifted her and laid her on the bed. He joined her there. She came alive when he touched her. Her skin burned, glowed, melted under his hands. The world shrank, became only two people, her and Wyatt.

  He looked at her. In his eyes she'd always be beautiful. She moaned as his body covered hers, moaned as he entered her. Like mirror images they fit together perfectly. Wyatt slipped his hands around her. He worked them over her hips and lifted her to meet him as he joined himself with her, combined his hard thrusts with her soft folds.

  He knew she'd undo him. It happened every time he touched her. This time was no different. He looked at her face in the clear morning light. Rapture showed there and he'd done it, he'd put the glow in her face and the dark passion in her eyes. As he moved back and forth, the emotions crossing her face were as erotic as the hands raking down his back, making him arch into her. Throaty guttural sounds pushed him forward as her body rose and fell to meet his.

  He didn't think he could hold out much longer. He wanted to give to her, let her know that he loved her, that this was how he felt, how she made him feel, but the smoothness of her legs, the velvety soft feel of her skin, the way she moved against him, taking him in and holding him just long enough before she let him move out snapped his control. He fought for control, knowing it was a losing battle, knowing that with Sandra he could no more control his emotions than he could control the way his heart beat when he looked at her.

  "Sandra!" he shouted one final time in an effort to hold them in that one erotic place for a moment longer. Then he exploded inside her and together they plunged over the edge of the world.

  ***

  Sandra's breath was ragged when she came back to earth. It was past time when she and Wyatt should be in Starfighter and on their way down the mountain, but they were still entwined in each other's arms.

  Wyatt reached over her and grasped the remote control. He pointed it toward the television and turned it on. Live pictures from Cape Canaveral at the Kennedy Space Center in Florida came through clearly. The countdown was on the screen. They watched, their hearts pounding. This particular shuttle was scheduled to carry a very special satellite that it would launch before returning to earth.

  "Ten . . . nine . . . eight." Sandra and Wyatt counted with the commentator. They were sure there were several other people also watching and counting along. Everett and Casey Horton along with Bradford and Melissa Rutledge were on site for the launch. Jordon and Annie were waiting for them in Washington, Sam Parker was at the Pentagon, and Sandra was cradled in Wyatt's arms.

  "Three. . .two. . .one . . . liftoff."

  THE END

  Dear Reader,

  Thank you for reading White Diamonds! I hope you enjoyed it. If you did, please help other readers find this book:

  1. This book is lendable, so send it to a friend who you think might like it so she can discover me, too.

  2. Help others find this book by writing a review.

  3. Sign up for my new releases e-mail by contacting me at Shirley.Hailstock@comcast.net. I’ll drop you a note when my next book is available.

  4. Come like my Facebook page.

  5. Join my newsletter by sending an e-mail to shirleyhailstock-subscribe@yahoogroups.com. I never send attachments to clog you mailbox.

  I hope you've enjoyed spending time with Sandra and Wyatt as they discovered a deep and meaningful love for each other. As my characters in the past have drawn me into their story and swept me into the action that pushes them, all of the characters in White Diamonds did the same. I enjoyed visiting with them, talking to them and even the times when they wouldn't let me sleep.

  I receive many letters from the women and men who read my books. Thank you for
you generous comments and words of encouragement. I love reading your letters as much as I enjoy writing the books.

  If you'd like to hear more about White Diamonds, other books I've written, or upcoming releases, you can reach me at shirley.hailstock@comcast.net. I also have a newsletter which you can subscribe to by sending an e-mail to mailto:ShirleyHailstock-subscribe@yahoogroups.com

  Below you can find a link to other electronic books I’ve written. I hope you’ll try them.

  About the Author

  Shirley Hailstock, a bestselling, award-winning novelist, has been writing for more than ten years. Holding a Bachelor's degree in Chemistry from Howard University and a MBA in Chemical Marketing from Fairleigh Dickinson University, she left her job in the pharmaceutical industry and is now a full-time writer. Shirley is a past president of Romance Writers of America and a former officer of Women Writers of Color. She lives in New Jersey with her family.

  Discover other titles by Shirley Hailstock at Smashwords.com:

  Holding Up the World

  Mirror Image

  A Miracle for Christmas

  White Diamonds

  The Magic Shoppe

  Kwanzaa Angel

  Joy Road

  Under the Sheets

  Something To Remember

  The Christmas List

  More Than Gold

  The Christmas List

  Opposites Attract

  Wrong Turn

  For a full list of books by Shirley Hailstock check out her website at:

  http://www.ShirleyHailstock.net

  Connect with me Online:

  Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/ShirleyHailstockFan

  Email: Shirley.Hailstock@comcast.net

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  Excerpt from Mirror Image

  By Shirley Hailstock

  The cameras panned across the row of guests. Aurora Alexander sat with her back so straight it hurt. Not even the plush purple chair offered her relaxation. Her legs were crossed, her red dress short and showing long legs to both the studio and television audiences. The image was all there and she’d played it to the hilt. Her smile could have been painted on by a 16th Century Italian art master and not the makeup artists in the back room. Aurora had perfected her smile, flashing it often when she got that question. Her hair, styled by a team of studio beauticians, enhanced her natural beauty to match those of the show’s host.

  “Humph,” Emma Dawson, the show’s hair and makeup wizard, said when Aurora was introduced to her. “I expected to have you in my chair for at least a couple of hours.” The stout woman with her hair pulled back in a ponytail and her makeup looking as flawless as if she’d awakened with a perfect face, inspected her. She stepped forward taking Aurora’s chin and scrutinized her from every angle. “If it wasn’t for those lights out there, you could go out like you are and no one would know the difference.” Emma moved back, placing her hands on her barber’s chair. “Take a seat.”

  Aurora didn’t know if she should take it as a compliment or an insult. But Emma’s face showed no malice and her personality was friendly. Aurora took it as a compliment. Good thing, too. If she’d known the insults in store for her once she stepped onto the stage, she wouldn’t be able to site still and wait for the cameras to finish rolling.

  Marilyn Monroe, Elvis, Beyoncé, First Lady Michelle Obama, Michael Jordan, Chris Rock and talk show hostess Marsha Chambers smiled and made comments to each other while the audience, prompted by the large, illuminated sign directing them, applauded. The look-alikes sat on the stage and waited for the camera lights and the applause sign to go off, indicating the television credits had finished their sequence.

  Aurora, the Marsha Chambers look-alike, was the first to stand when the red light on the last camera blinked off. She didn't mill around like the others—smiling and making polite conversation with the other guests and the real Marsha Chambers. She needed to get away from this crowd or she was likely to tell Marsha Chambers what she really thought of her and her show. She headed for the Green Room, her heels clicking on first the hardwood flooring, then the concrete backstage before she reached the carpeted hallway.

  Her gait was quick as she stepped over electrical cables. This was the last talk show she was ever going to do, she vowed. No matter how much they paid her, she'd never be humiliated like this again.

  "Just what prompted you to have yourself surgically altered to look like me?" Marsha Chambers had asked her -- on camera. Aurora could hear the underlying negative tone in the question, but the audience missed it entirely. They loved this woman.

  Aurora was not a duplicate. Trained as a social worker, she had talked to women in trouble. She'd learned to read people, read their body language, hear the questions that weren't verbalized, and look for the underlying reason behind the words. Whatever the reasons for Marsha Chambers' comments, Aurora didn't care. It was obvious the woman hated her on sight.

  Surgically altered! she thought again, anger making her body hot with every step. She probably thought Aurora had had her teeth fixed, too. If she'd had herself changed, and she hadn’t, it would be so she didn't look like Marsha Chambers. Ever since The Marsha Chambers Show aired Aurora hadn't had an identity to call her own. No matter where she went people mistook her for Marsha Chambers, crowding around her, asking for autographs. Even when she explained, plastered smile in tow, that she wasn't Marsha, people didn't believe her. They thought she was trying to remain anonymous, like the most celebrated talk show host in the country could. But Aurora was telling the truth. At times it got so bad she had to sign the autographs in an effort to get away. But she discovered that signing made it worse. More and more people came, forming a crowd. At one place she caused a near riot. Had it not been for her friend, Nicole, Aurora wouldn’t have escaped.

  In the maze of unfamiliar hallways Aurora found the Green Room and snatched her purse and raincoat. Not bothering to put the coat on or remove the pound of makeup she wore, she headed for the exit. Getting away from Marsha Chambers was uppermost in her mind. She stepped over cables and around props as she rushed toward the outside. She needed to breathe fresh air. She'd been playing this look-alike role for three years, making personal appearances, usually at parties or on local programs, sometimes doing photo sessions for tourists, but it was getting old. She wanted to be herself.

  The income was good. It was the only reason she exploited herself by playing Marsha Chambers double. It paid the expenses for the long-term care facility where her mother resided. Aurora would have to find another way to support herself and her mother now. She'd get a job, two jobs. She'd work night and day if she had to, but she wouldn't do this again.

  "Can I help you, Ms. Chambers?"

  She heard the question as she passed a young woman. Aurora stopped but didn't turn around. She took a deep breath and relaxed her shoulders, damping down her anger. When she faced the smiling woman she was in control.

  "What's your name?" she asked.

  "Amy. Amy Peterson. I work in the research department."

  "Are you new, Amy? Is this your first job?"

  The blonde woman smiled and nodded. She looked to be in her early twenties. "Yes," she said. "I graduated from Smith last May." She paused then rushed on as if she’d done something that would get her fired. "And I'm so glad to be part of the show."

  Aurora raised her hand, cutting the young woman off. She recognized the enthusiasm and wished she didn't have to burst the woman's bubble.

  "I know you're doing a wonderful job, Amy, and I'm sure Marsha Chambers appreciates it, but I'm not Marsha."

  The woman opened her mouth to speak then shut it.

  "They did a taping today of people who look like celebrities. I'm one of them."

  "I know," she said. "I mean, I knew they were doing the show." The woman scrutinized her features as if she were a dermatologist checking out a complaint of skin cancer. "If you hadn't told me I'd never have guessed," she finally
said.

  "No problem." Aurora smiled. She actually felt better. It wasn’t Amy’s fault and Aurora restrained herself from exploding her anger on a woman at her first job. With the makeup she wore, Aurora was the image of Marsha Chambers. "Good afternoon," she said, and turned to walk away.

  Outside the sun shone bright. Aurora squinted. The threat of rain that had prompted her to bring her raincoat was nowhere in sight. It was warm for September. The studio had been dark, artificial, like Marsha Chambers, all show and no substance. Aurora headed for her car. It wasn't far from the studio door. The parking lot was small. The entire complex was small compared to the major network studios, but this one only housed The Marsha Chambers Show, and that was a long way from the major networks. The building was a one story square structure that looked like a renovated warehouse. A large red and white antenna seemed to grow out of the flat roof, giving it an alien appearance. The words The Marsha Chambers Show reached into the sky in six-foot letters that mirrored the show's logo.

  Aurora shifted her raincoat to her left arm and reached inside her purse for her car keys. She had to look down to find them. When she looked up her heart jumped into her throat and she twisted back, avoiding the white van that zoomed in front of her. It came to an abrupt stop. Aurora's anger flared up again, but she cooled it. There was no need to leave in a state of stress. Show business had seen the last of her. She might as well go with a smile.

  Aurora waited a moment for the van to move. When it didn't, she started to go around it. She heard the sliding door wrench open and someone get out. Glancing over her shoulder, she thought she'd see who'd been so rude. What she saw was a blur. Someone grabbed her from behind. It was a man. She smelled his aftershave. His hand covered her mouth and his knee dug into her kidneys. Aurora panicked. Without consciously thinking about it she struggled, but he was strong. She felt the muscles in his arms as she tried to pull the hand away from her mouth to scream. She tasted the oily leather of a work glove.