“I have not! Well, maybe I have, but it's only because you've been doing that eye thing.”
“What eye thing would that be?”
“You know what eye thing.” A haughty little sniff. “Where you trickled them all over me while I'm talking.”
“Trickling eyes. Nice image.”
“Don't play dumb. You know what I mean.”
“As a matter of fact, I do.” He smiled and drank in the sight of her. The First Lady of the United States of America had gotten dressed up just for him.
She wore that orange maternity dress as if it were a designer original, and the little beaded necklace thing was the sexiest piece of jewelry he'd ever seen. The tiny heart that dangled from it nestled in the hollow of her throat, one of the many places he'd kissed last night. She was a woman in a class by herself, but, even though he was a writer, he didn't know how to say everything he was feeling out loud, so he got to the main point.
“Have I told you that you look beautiful and that I can't wait to make love with you?”
“Not with words you haven't.”
“The trickling eyes?”
“You bet.”
His urge to tease faded, and he touched her hand. “I got a little carried away last night. You're all right, aren't you?”
“More than all right. But thanks for asking.”
He stroked her palm with his fingertips, urged himself to tell her the truth right now ... right this minute...
Believe me, I know more about getting around journalists than you can imagine.
He visualized those beautiful blue eyes—as blue as the sky on an American flag—clouding over when they heard what he really did for a living.
He reached across the table and touched the very tip of her ringer. “Tonight... if things start going too fast for you, I want you to say something.”
“So you can stop?”
“Are you kidding? I want to hear you beg.”
She laughed, then slipped her hand under his and stroked his palm. A rush of heat shot through his bloodstream. He reminded himself that it wasn't as if he'd been keeping this a secret from her for weeks. He'd learned who she was less than foity-eight hours ago.
“I didn't know it could be like this.” Her voice held a husky note that no news footage had ever captured. “Lusty and crazy, but still funny.”
“It can be whatever we want it to be.”
“Sex has always seemed so serious to me.” She withdrew her hand. “So . .. difficult.”
He didn't want to hear about her relationship with Case, not when he hadn't told her the truth. “You probably shouldn't tell me too many secrets.”
She didn't like that. “What are the rules here, Mat? I don't have your depth of experience with casual affairs.” Like the skilled politician she was, she'd leaned on the words so he'd feel their sting. “Maybe you'd better spell out what you want to say.”
“This doesn't have anything to do with rules. It's . . .” His deception was eating away at him, and he tried to ease into the subject. “What if you were to confide in me about something? Something you don't want the world to know. Like the fact that you're thinking about running for office.” Like the fact that your husband was gay, but he didn't say that. “How do you know you can trust me to keep your secrets?”
“Because you would. You have the most overdeveloped sense of responsibility of anyone I know.”
She surprised him by smiling. “You charge through life like a bull, butting at people with your horns, intimidating everybody with your size. You paw the ground, and snort at the wind, and roar at everybody who displeases you. But you always do the right thing. And because of that, I trust you.”
She was ripping a hole right through him. He had to tell her.
Her patrician nose shot back up in the air. “Are you afraid I'm going to attach more importance to last night than I should? I'm not that naive. I understand that this is only about sex.”
She'd finally given him a target to deflect his guilt, and he lowered his voice to a furious whisper.
“What kind of talk is that from a woman who's supposed to be this country's moral beacon?”
“It's realistic talk.”
He should be grateful that she understood how this kind of relationship worked, but he snapped at her instead. “Well, that just goes to show what you know. Now I suggest you eat the rest of that fish before it gets cold.”
He was the one who hadn't touched his dinner, not her, but she didn't call him on it. He forced himself to pick up his knife and cut a bite of steak. Just as determinedly, he turned the conversation in a less personal direction. She went along with him, but he suspected she was just biding her time.
They finished their dinner and declined dessert but not coffee. Just as he was taking his first sip, he felt the toe of her shoe stroke his calf.
“Are you going to take all night to drink that?” Her mouth curled in a smile that managed to be both mischievous and provocative.
He leaned back and let his eyes glide over her breasts just to give her a hard time. “What's the hurry?”
“The hurry, big guy, is that I've decided it's time for you to strut your stuff.”
He nearly devoured her on the spot, but somehow they managed to make it as far as the car. Then his hands were all over her, right there in the front seat of the Explorer.
A truck drove into the parking lot, bringing him to his senses. “We've got to get out of here . ..”
“It's only nine,” she said breathlessly. “Lucy'11 still be up. And Bertis and Charlie may have stayed around to keep her company.”
He threw the car into gear. “Then you're about to have another new experience.”
He raced out of town, found a narrow road that roughly paralleled the river, then turned down a gravel lane that ended at a small boat ramp. He maneuvered the Explorer past the ramp and into some brush, where he killed his lights, put down the front windows, and turned off the ignition. “I know we're both a little old for this , . .”
“Speak for yourself.” Just like that his lap was full of frisky First Lady. Or at least the part of his lap she could get to with the steering wheel in the way.
It wasn't gentlemanly of him, but he went for her panties first, banging his elbow against the door panel as he reached under that billowy orange skirt, then grinding his hip into the armrest as he whipped them down her shapely legs and pitched them out the car window.
Her sweet little tongue slipped from his mouth. “Did you just throw my panties out the window?”
“No.”
She laughed and reached for his zipper. “I want yours.”
“Oh, you're going to get mine, all right.” He tore off the Wal-Mart pillow and slid across the seat, taking her with him. His knee scraped the dash, his head bumped the roof, but he didn't care.
She threw her leg over his thighs to straddle him. This was too sweet. He nuzzled the little beaded heart at her throat, caught her bottom lip between his own. “I see you've done this before.”
“Dozens of times. I invented it.”
Damned if she didn't have his pants open. And she was giving a whole new meaning to the term full disclosure.
He'd decided last night that he wasn't getting within ten feet of her without packing a condom. After he'd found what he needed, he grasped the tab on her zipper and pulled it down so he could slip the dress off her shoulders. Within seconds he was squeezing a small, hard nipple.
“That hurts,” she murmured. “Do it again.”
He smiled and did as she asked.
Something between a growl and a purr made a gentle vibration inside her mouth. He felt it with his tongue and it drove him crazy.
He pushed his hand under her skirt again and cupped her between those generously splayed thighs. She was wet and slick. He rubbed.
“Don't... do ... that...”
He slipped his finger inside her and whispered, “Is this better?”
She moaned and gripped his h
ead between her hands, taking over their kiss, abrading her nipples against his shirt.
He had her cradled in his hand, but he was so wild for her that it wasn't enough. He left that sweet warm place to grasp her hips. He lowered her. . .
She locked her knees. Brushed herself across him. Open. Soft damp feathers. Back and forth.
He groaned. His shirt was sticking to his chest, his muscles clenched. He found her breast. Sucked.
She was a siren, a vixen. Teasing and tormenting.
He drove up ... pulled her down ...
She gasped and let him into her body.
She was so new and eager that he tried to slow down, but she wanted to ride him in her own way. He needed to enfold her and protect her and engorge himself upon her all at the same time. She was wicked, magnificent, unbelievably precious.
The interior of the car became their only world, and the night breeze rustling through the nverbank trees their only music. They clung to each other as if no one else existed. And then they catapulted into space.
* * *
The next morning Nealy sat on the back step with her knees tucked under her nightgown and gazed into a backyard shining with the dew of a new Iowa morning. As steam rose from the coffee mug next to her, she breathed in the knowledge that had awakened her.
She had fallen in love with Mat.
Without wanting to, she'd fallen in love with his big voice and crooked smile, his booming laughter and agile brain. And last night, his generous, uninhibited love-making. But most of all, she'd fallen in love with the way his basic sense of decency wouldn't let him turn his back on the two little girls he wanted out of his life. And so, in less than a week, she had unwittingly given him her heart. A heart he hadn't asked for.
How could she have let something so damaging happen? And she hadn't even seen it coming. She'd been so intent on chalking up her feelings to lust that she hadn't taken into consideration what she knew about herself—she was a woman who would never give herself to a man she didn't love.
It was hard to conceive of a more hopeless match. She was wise enough in the ways of celebrity to know she could never fit into his world, and she couldn't imagine him fitting into hers. Why couldn't he be an Ivy Leaguer who'd just made partner in a prestigious Washington law firm? Why couldn't she be a schoolteacher, or a social worker, or a bookstore clerk?
As she tortured herself with might-have-beens, she thought of the many ways in which they were a perfect match. She was cool to his hot, quiet to his loud, thoughtful to his impulsive. But none of that made any difference.
She drowned her despair in the shower and, afterward, sneaked into the motor home to get Button before she woke up her sister. Even though Lucy didn't complain about it, she seldom got to sleep in like a normal teenager. When Nealy returned to the kitchen, she flipped on the radio.
“Today marks the eighth day of the disappearance of First Lady Cornelia...”
She flipped it back off.
* * *
Mat got up just as Nealy was feeding Button her cereal. He gave her a toothpaste kiss, then asked her to stay in the house while he went out for a run. She was dividing her time between pondering yesterday's Wall Street Journal report on federal interest rates and keeping an eye on Button when Lucy appeared on the sun-porch shortly after ten o'clock.
“Are Bertis and Charlie here? They said me and Button could go swimming at their campground. The pool has a big slide and three diving boards.”
“I just talked to Bertis on the phone, and they're going to pick you up around noon. I'll keep Button here.”
The baby squawked with displeasure as Squid eluded her by hiding under the couch.
“Where's Mat?”
“He went out for a run. He mentioned something about the two of you going over to that playground across the street to shoot some baskets when he got back.”
“Really?” Her face lit up.
“But I told him there was no way you'd do something as silly as shooting baskets.”
“You didn't!”
Nealy laughed and got up from the couch. “You're such a dork.” She grabbed Lucy and hugged her as hard as she could.
“You're so weird.” Lucy curled against her.
“I know. That's why we like each other.”
“Who said I liked you?”
“You didn't have to say it.” Without thinking, she kissed the top of the teenager's head. For a few seconds, Lucy seemed to go limp in her arms, then she pulled away, as if a simple kiss were too much for her. Or as if she thought Nealy might take it back if she didn't get away first.
Nealy smiled at her. “I've got an idea, but don't make fun of me, okay?”
“Why would I make fun of you?” Lucy sat cross-legged on the floor and grabbed Button for a morning cuddle.
“Because I want us to do something that you're going to think is really dumb.”
Lucy grinned. “Like what else is new?”
“1 want to do makeovers.”
“Get real!”
“No, really. I want to.”
“Because you think I wear too much makeup, right?”
“You do wear too much makeup. Come on, Luce, it'll be fun. Get your stuff and I'll get mine.”
Lucy regarded her with teenage condescension. “If it'll make you happy.”
“I'll be delirious.”
After they'd both gotten their cosmetics, Lucy insisted on fixing up Nealy first. While Button toddled after a long-suffering Squid, the teenager applied layers of makeup to Nealy's face, then surveyed the results with a matchmaker's satisfaction. “You look so hot. Wait till Mat sees you.”
Nealy studied herself in the mirror they'd propped on the arm of the couch. All she needed was a pimp and a street corner. She was afraid to laugh for fear her face wouid crack. “It's my turn.”
“I'm going to look like such a dweeb.”
“But you'll be a cute dweeb.”
She set to work, applying only the lightest touch of eye makeup, then running her own pale lip pencil over Lucy's mouth, followed by a layer of colorless Blistex. “This is what Sandra Bullock uses instead of lipstick.”
“Like how would you know?”
Like Sandra Bullock had told her. “I read it in a magazine.”
Lucy regarded herself a little less critically.
Nealy pulled out three pink butterfly pins she'd hidden in the pocket of her shorts. She'd bought them as a surprise, and now she slipped them into Lucy's bangs.
Lucy stared at her reflection. “Ohmygod, Nell, they're so cool.”
“Look at you, Luce. You're completely gorgeous. Promise me you'll only wear that heavy makeup if you're having one of those I-feel-like-a-slut days.”
Lucy rolled her eyes.
“You don't need to hide behind a mask,” Nealy said softly. “You know exactly who you are.”
Lucy began picking at the arm of the chair. Nealy decided to give her a few minutes to think about what she'd said and picked up Button, who was trying to stuff her head in the wastebasket. “Come on, punkin'. It's your turn.”
She set the baby on the chair, dabbed the tip of her nose with pink lipstick, then drew on a delicate set of whiskers with Lucy's eyebrow pencil. Lucy giggled.
Button was carrying on a delighted monologue with her reflection when the sultan of the palace walked into his harem. He'd finished his run, and he had a basketball tucked against his sweaty T-shirt. All three of them turned at once.
The sultan was wise in the ways of women, and he knew exactly what to do. “Who's this cute little mouse?” He rubbed Button's downy head, and she gave a round of baby applause.
Then his eyes settled on Lucy.
Nealy saw a whole world of feelings pass across her face: uncertainty, longing, and the protective armor of her sullenness.
“You look beautiful,” he said simply.
She took a shaky breath. “You're just saying that.”
“I say what I mean.”
She began to gl
ow. He squeezed her shoulder, then slowly turned to Nealy, but her appearance seemed to have left him at a loss for words. He studied the heavy foundation, the sooty eyes with their thick coat of black mascara, and her crimson mouth.
“Doesn't Nell look great,” Lucy exclaimed. “I mean, if she didn't have that stupid pillow on, she'd look like a model.”
“She does have commercial appeal.”
He countered Nealy's raised eyebrows with a grin, then turned back to Lucy. “Come on, kid. Get your shoes and let's go shoot some baskets. Nell, stay here, you got it?”
“Got it.” She tossed him a salute.
Lucy frowned. “You shouldn't let him boss you around so much.”
“She likes it.” Mat gave Lucy a gentle push toward the door.
Nealy smiled after them. Watching Lucy these days was like seeing a flower bloom.
She hummed to herself as she put away their mess, then gave Button a snack and changed her. Afterward, she decided to take her across the street to the playground so they could watch the basketball game.
She was just stepping out the front door when a dark blue Taurus pulled up in front of the house. The doors of the sedan opened, and a man and a woman dressed in business suits got out. They had “government agents” written all over them, and she felt the blood rush from her head.
Not yet! She had a house and a dog. She had two little girls and a man with whom she'd fallen in love! Just a little longer.
She wanted to run back inside and lock the door, but she pulled Button closer and forced herself to the edge of the front porch.
Both of them studied her carefully as they came up the sidewalk. “I'm Agent DeLucca with the FBI,” the woman said. “This is Agent Williams, Secret Service.” They took in her stomach, and she silently blessed Mat for forcing her to wear the padding.
She kept her overly made-up face carefully blank. “Yes''”
“You're Mrs. Case.” Williams made it a statement instead of a question, but she thought she detected a thread of doubt in his eyes.
“Mrs. Case? You mean the First Lady?” She attempted Lucy's you're-a-moron look. “Yeah, right. That's me.”
“Could we see some identification, ma'am?” the female agent asked.
First Lady Page 26