Книга - Private Indiscretions

Private Indiscretions
Susan Crosby


Forced by her very public persona to control her emotions, Dana Sterling found herself at a loss when she came face-to-face with Sam Remington. After more than a decade apart, he was suddenly back in her life, her only chance at avoiding a career-ending scandal.But why was Sam so intent on helping her? Was it the memory of the long-ago lust they had once shared, or was there more to his agenda?Privately, Dana feared this grown-up, gorgeous Sam might destroy all that she had achieved–to make her pay for what they'd both been denied. But if she allowed herself to succumb to the potent passions that still brewed between them…would she even care?









Sam Looked Dangerous. Confidence Radiated From Him In White-Hot Heat.


He said nothing but drew her onto the dance floor, then into his arms.

Dana lifted her face, determined not to let him see how he unnerved her. “So. The prodigal returns at last.”

His eyes softened. Warmed. “How are you?”

“I’m well,” she said, aware of his thighs brushing hers as they danced. “Where have you been, Sam?”

“You want fifteen years condensed into a paragraph?”

“Why are you here?”

“It’s a long story.”

His hand slid a little farther across her lower back, bringing her closer. His thumb brushed her spine through the silk of her dress.

“I have time for a long story,” she said, her voice catching on the last word.


Dear Reader,

Thanks so much for choosing Silhouette Desire—the destination for powerful, passionate and provocative love stories. Things start heating up this month with Katherine Garbera’s Sin City Wedding, the next installment of our DYNASTIES: THE DANFORTHS series. An affair, a secret child, a quickie Las Vegas wedding…and that’s just the beginning of this romantic tale.

Also this month we have the marvelous Dixie Browning with her steamy Driven to Distraction. Cathleen Galitz brings us another book in the TEXAS CATTLEMAN’S CLUB: THE STOLEN BABY series with Pretending with the Playboy. Susan Crosby’s BEHIND CLOSED DOORS miniseries continues with the superhot Private Indiscretions. And Bronwyn Jameson takes us to Australia in A Tempting Engagement.

Finally, welcome the fabulous Roxanne St. Claire to the Silhouette Desire family. We’re positive you’ll enjoy Like a Hurricane and will be wanting the other McGrath brothers’ stories. We’ll be bringing them to you in the months to come as well as stories from Beverly Barton, Ann Major and New York Times bestselling author Lisa Jackson. So keep coming back for more from Silhouette Desire.

More passion to you!






Melissa Jeglinski

Senior Editor

Silhouette Desire




Private Indiscretions

Susan Crosby







www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)




SUSAN CROSBY


believes in the value of setting goals, but also in the magic of making wishes. A longtime reader of romance novels, Susan earned a B.A. in English while raising her sons. She lives in the central valley of California, the land of wine grapes, asparagus and almonds. Her checkered past includes jobs as a synchronized swimming instructor, personnel interviewer at a toy factory and trucking company manager, but her current occupation as a writer is her all-time favorite.

Susan enjoys writing about people who take a chance on love, sometimes against all odds. She loves warm, strong heroes; good-hearted, self-reliant heroines…and happy endings.

Readers are welcome to write to her at P.O. Box 1836, Lodi, CA 95241.


For the BABs, Karol, Kathy, Luann and Georgia.

Here’s to getting snowed in, good food, great conversation,

Darcy and Bridget—and that’s just the beginning.




Contents


Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen




One


An hour before Sam Remington graduated from high school fifteen years ago, he stuffed the sum of his belongings into three grocery sacks and flung them onto the back seat of his 1977 oil-eating Pacer. Five minutes after the ceremony ended he made his final trip through town, his tailpipe spewing a noxious farewell of good riddance.

Today he returned in a black Mercedes so new it didn’t have plates. He’d paid cash for it. But Sam wasn’t here to advertise his success to the people he left behind. Normally he wasn’t one to dwell on the past. Today was different. He’d chosen the day of his return to his hometown specifically. Certainly he could have come another time. Maybe should have. But news of his fifteen-year high-school reunion set the date for him. Some unfinished business of his had gone ignored for too long. He had two people to see. He’d just come from seeing the first one. Now he would deal with the other.

Sam negotiated the winding roads of Miner’s Camp, a community of 3,100 people nestled in the Northern California foothills of the Sierra Nevadas. He kept his gaze straight ahead as he passed the turnoff leading to the house where he was raised—the house from which he’d escaped—although the unusually cool August evening took him back to the nights of his childhood, when he’d roamed the countryside, looking for something he never found.

He ignored the bruising memories and headed to the Elks Lodge. The parking lot was full, the fence posts dotted with red and gold balloons, the colors of Prospector High School, which served a community of several small towns.

Sam pulled off the road and slowed to a stop, gravel crunching under his tires. The party was well under way. Laughter spilled from the open doorways and windows as Madonna sang the 1980s classic “Like a Virgin.”

Nostalgia didn’t overtake him—he’d never understood the appeal of reunions—still, there was that one person he’d come to see. Only one out of a graduating class of eighty-seven. He was sure she would be in the crowd. And he had something to say to her. To Dana Cleary. Dana Sterling, he amended. Her married name. Then he could close the book on his past forever.

He had a choice in the timing. He could wait until the party ended and catch her at her parents’ house, where she would undoubtedly spend the night. Or he could get it over with now and be in San Francisco for his latest assignment before midnight, his past shoveled six feet under….

After a moment Sam turned off the ignition and got out of the car. He’d been in some tight circumstances, life-and-death situations. He’d welcomed the challenges, gloried in the risks, exulted in his escapes. He could channel the adrenaline flow in his body deliberately, but the anticipation of seeing Dana sent a rush through him that he couldn’t control. He wondered at the rare sensation, even savored it.

He approached the building but stopped short of entering, waiting for his internal anticipation to settle. Lingering near an open door he noted more balloons, and a disco ball that dappled the room with speeding stars. Memories washed over him of his junior year and another dance. Watching through a window. Music and laughter, dinner and dancing. A longing so painful…

He’d taken her to the senior prom the next year, but their relationship hadn’t changed for having gone to the dance.

None of that mattered fifteen years later as Sam slipped into the Elks Lodge just as the deejay took a break from his chatter and the 1980s music. Candi James bounded onto the stage and scooped up the microphone, the same pep-squad perkiness she’d had in high school still evident as she read from a long list, leading the cheers for such notable accomplishments as who had the most children, who’d come the farthest and on and on and on.

With everyone’s attention directed at Candi, Sam moved around the perimeter of the room. He stopped when he spotted Dana. He didn’t fight the initial jolt of seeing her again, taking a moment to watch her instead. A little taller than average, she was more angular than curvy, her hair not strictly blond or brunette but a honeyed mix of both, and shoulder length now, not the rich waterfall to her waist that had made him want to wrap his hands in it and pull her close.

He couldn’t see her eyes from where he stood, but he knew they were obsidian, pitch-dark eyes that had issued him challenges since elementary school.

She wore an unrevealing, blue couture dress and low heels, understated, practical and elegant, befitting her position, but a far cry from the hot-pink number she’d worn at the junior prom.

“And finally,” Candi said, folding her list and setting it aside, “our three mega success stories. Harley Bonner, who owns the eighth largest ranching operation in the state of California.”

Cheers went up. Sam’s blood froze. If he were a vengeful man—

“Lilith Perry Paul, whose radio talk show is now in syndication all over the country.” More hoots and hollers. “And finally, Dana Cleary Sterling. Dana—you’ve made us so proud. Here’s to six more years!”

So, Sam thought, the speculation was over. She’d made a decision.

“We’ll have music and dancing for two more hours,” Candi shouted over the din. “Don’t forget the picnic in the park tomorrow at noon. If you haven’t had your picture taken for the memory book, you’ve only got a half hour left. Remember to sign the update forms, too. Have fun!”

Sam watched as well-wishers surrounded Dana, who seemed surprisingly uneasy at the attention. A barrier went up, an invisible wall that kept people at a distance. She held her wineglass in both hands, a silent signal. No handshakes, please. No hugs. Only her friend Lilith got close enough to bump arms, and that lasted but a second.

The change in her surprised him. When had she become so reserved? When had she lost the outward joy of life? She’d touched people. Him.

The music started again, Sting singing “Every Breath You Take,” blasting Sam with fresh images of the junior prom where he’d painfully watched Dana with her date, her smile bright. She hadn’t been a cheerleader, but almost everything else, including student-body president. She’d seemed golden to him, the way she combined academics, sports and extracurricular activities.

Sam shouldered his way past the memories and through the crowd. Conversation quieted enough for him to hear the reaction being voiced at his appearance.

“Who—”

“I think that’s Sam Remington—”

“Really? But he’s so—”

“Gorgeous. Can’t be Sam. He never dressed that good.”

“He sure has filled out.”

Sam never broke stride. When he did, the murmuring stopped. Surprised pleasure stole across Dana’s face, startling him. The anger he’d harbored for years broke loose from its moorings, leaving only what had been good between them.

He put his hand out to her, invading her invisible barrier. Then he waited. The next move was hers.



If it hadn’t been for the unmistakable turquoise-colored eyes, Dana wouldn’t have recognized him. Gone was the gangly boy. In his place stood a man who commanded attention without saying a word.

She’d looked for him at the five-year and ten-year reunions, more hopeful than she cared to admit. The sharp impact of seeing him now rendered her speechless.

He’d grown, in every way. He looked…dangerous. Confidence radiated from him in white-hot heat. In a room of sport coats and khakis he wore black jeans and a leather jacket. In an evening where no one had gotten too close, he’d come within a foot and put his hand out in such a way that she could either shake it or be led onto the dance floor.

She wanted to dance, but did he? Her dilemma made her heart pound—she’d rejected five other offers. How would it look if she danced with him now? She saw challenge in his eyes. His hand moved fractionally closer to her.

Dana realized she couldn’t take any more time to analyze his motives, so she passed her wineglass to Lilith and put her hand in Sam’s. She’d waited fifteen years for the chance to talk to him.

“I’d love to dance,” she said, maintaining a smile.

He said nothing but drew her onto the dance floor then into his arms, leaving an acceptable amount of space between their bodies. Even so, she hadn’t been this intimate with a man in over two years, and then it had been a comfortable closeness, not this…this breath-stealing turmoil.

She lifted her face, determined not to let him see how he unnerved her. She’d gotten so good at controlling her emotions, it had become cold habit, but now his gaze held hers long enough for her lips to tremble. He exuded control—in his eyes, his posture, the firm touch of his hands. She wanted to shake that control, although she had no idea why. She hated it when someone tried to shake hers.

“So,” she said, making herself smile. “The prodigal Brainiac returns at last.”

His eyes softened. Warmed. “How are you, Blush?”

Their use of their old nicknames brought instant intimacy. She felt herself blushing, then his knowing smile took her back, moments tumbling into other moments.

“I’m well,” she said, coming aware of his thighs brushing hers now and then as they danced. “Where have you been, Sam?”

“You want fifteen years condensed into a paragraph?”

“Have you done so little?” she asked lightly, surprising herself. She was flirting and couldn’t stop it.

“I’ve lived.”

The way he said the words gave her pause. She would bet the long version of the story would be fascinating. “Start at the beginning, then. Where’d you go after graduation?”

“I joined the army.”

Shock left her momentarily at a loss for words. “Why?”

“The opportunity presented itself.”

Which made no sense. According to the math teacher, Mr. Giannini, Sam had been destined for greatness in the math community. “Brilliant” had always preceded his name. She shook her head. “Every year when the Nobel Prizes are awarded I look for your name.”

“Things change.”

“You didn’t attend your father’s funeral.” She remembered how pitiful it had been. So few people, and none who genuinely mourned.

“You did.”

So. He’d left, but he’d kept track. “Why are you here, Sam?”

“To thank you.”

“For attending the funeral?”

“No.”

She looked away, shaken by the intensity of his gaze. Gratitude was the last thing Dana expected. He’d been furious at her at graduation, rightfully so. And she hadn’t been allowed to set the record straight or beg forgiveness. By the time she could hunt for him after the ceremony, he’d left town.

“How can you thank me?” The effort to appear casual for the interested bystanders sent her pulse dancing. “Because of me you were beaten. You could barely walk at graduation. Your eye was swollen shut. That was my fault.”

“It changed my life, Dana, in ways I never could have anticipated.”

How could he be so calm? She wanted to scream, Mine, too! It changed my life, too. “Tell me how,” she said.

“It’s a long story.”

His hand slid a little farther across her lower back, bringing her closer. His thumb brushed her spine through the silk of her dress.

“I have time for a long story,” she said, her voice catching on the last word as he pressed a finger against a vertebra. When had that spot become an erogenous zone?

“I don’t. I’ve already stayed longer than I intended. Not to mention that everyone in this room is watching our every move.”

She pulled back a little. “I guess I’m used to living under a microscope.”

“And I’m used to putting people under one.”

“Now there’s a cryptic comment. Care to explain?”

“No.”

The song was ending. Panicked she would miss her opportunity, she hurried her words. She only had seconds to say what she’d been wanting to all these years. “I was sorry, Sam. You protected me and got hurt because of it. I became much more aware of the consequences of my actions after. Much more cautious.”

“Is that why you married Randall Sterling? It was the prudent thing to do?”




Two


Before Dana could come up with a response she stumbled as Sam suddenly stopped dancing. Without releasing her he angled toward the man who’d tapped Sam’s shoulder, cutting in. She felt him tense, like an animal facing its prey—or its enemy. Harley Bonner was the enemy. And she’d already turned him down twice tonight.

“Time to share, Remington.”

Tightening her grip on Sam, Dana moved closer to him, hoping he would pick up on her unspoken need to avoid Harley—even as she knew it was unfair to expect him to rescue her once again.

“Sharing is an overrated social skill,” Sam said as the music switched to “Girls Just Want to Have Fun.”

He moved Dana out of range, his hand still resting against the small of her back in a gesture that was both seductive and protective. She didn’t know which one appealed to her more.

“Thank you,” Dana said, more grateful than she could say. “I’m in your debt. Again.”

“We’re square. Nobody owes anyone anything.” He took his hand away when they reached the edge of the crowd. “I have to go, Dana. It was good seeing you.”

Already? She stopped herself from saying the word, grabbing his elbow instead.

“I have your valedictorian medal,” she said. “It’s at my parents’ house.” When she’d reached her car after the graduation ceremony she’d found it hanging from her rearview mirror. She’d cried the whole time she spent looking for him. She couldn’t believe he’d done that—given her his medal.

“I didn’t want it then,” he said, “and I don’t want it now.”

“Please, Sam.” She was excruciatingly aware of people dancing and milling around them, although the volume of the music kept their conversation private. And she was so aware of him as a man. “Come with me. It’ll just take a few minutes. My parents are out of town. It’d be just you and me.”

“I have to go,” he repeated.

Was that regret in his eyes? Temptation? Although their unique relationship had begun in elementary school they’d dated only once in high school. Just once. A date she’d dreamed of for years. A date that had started wonderfully and ended abysmally. She never knew what had gone wrong, how she’d ruined the evening, but she had.

She had so many questions to ask him now, had played out the scene in her head so many times. How could he just leave when there were so many unanswered questions?

“I know you don’t owe me anything, but at least tell me why you gave me the medal,” she said.

“Running away again?” asked a male voice.

Harley ambled up beside them a second time, his chest puffed out, eyes hard, hands fisted. Dana’s hatred for him deepened. A bully in high school and a rich bully now.

“Move aside,” Sam said, low and threatening.

“Oh ho! Feelin’ cocky, are we, Remington? Think you could take me on this time?”

“One on one, I could’ve beaten you then. Five against one weren’t great odds.”

Dana hadn’t heard the chilling details before. Most people assumed Sam’s father had hit him again, but Dana knew Harley and his friends had been responsible. She just didn’t know how many people were involved. If she could go back in time, she would handle everything differently.

“Don’t make a scene,” Dana said to Harley, hurting at the picture of Sam being a punching bag. Because of her. “Just go away.”

Harley bristled. “This is my turf. You don’t have any power here.”

“But I’m wearing my ruby slippers,” she said, making an effort to defuse the tension.

He glanced at her feet, not getting the joke. An ominous silence hung between them. Old contentions seemed painfully fresh.

Sam took a step, bringing himself shoulder to shoulder with Harley. “One would think that two ex-wives would’ve taught you a little something about women and power, Bonner.”

Harley drew back his arm. Before Dana could blink, he was on the floor, looking more bewildered than hurt. If Sam threw a punch she hadn’t seen it.

“What happened?” someone asked.

“Harley fell, I think,” came the response.

Dana felt Sam’s gaze on her. She faced him.

“I gather you’re running for reelection, six more years. You’ve got my vote, Senator Sterling,” he said, his expression sincere.

“I’ll be looking for your contribution.”

He smiled at that.

“Are you sure you won’t come to the house and get your medal?” Don’t go. Please don’t go. We have so much to talk about. Regrets. Choices. Dreams.

He didn’t pick up on her unspoken signals this time but dug into his pocket and pulled out a business card. “You can mail it if that would make you happy.”

“It would.” She would have his address now. His phone number. Was that worse than not knowing where he was? She remembered something else just as he turned to leave. “Thank you for the sympathy card you sent after my husband died.”

“I admired him, Dana.” He held her gaze for a few seconds then strode off.

She could see the military influence in his posture. She knew she couldn’t stand there forever watching him go, but she wanted to. Maybe she’d gotten the chance to apologize, as she’d always wanted, but it wasn’t finished. He didn’t know everything. And now something new intruded—her body’s response to him, a kind of sizzling need, down low. A loudly beating heart. A mind spinning with old images and now new ones.

She drew a calming breath as her lifelong friends Lilith, Candi and Willow appeared at her side.

Candi leaned over Harley. “You know, you should probably have someone take you home so you can sleep it off.” She angled closer and whispered dramatically, “I didn’t realize your little problem had gotten so out of control.”

Dana was sorry that the conversation had taken the turn it had. She wasn’t one to make waves. In fact, she’d dealt with Harley just fine until Sam came along. Sam and the feelings of guilt he brought. Sam and the surprising physical reaction he’d created.

She’d been too long without a man. Without her husband, she amended, having been widowed for more than two years. Two hellish years. Two hectic years. She hadn’t had time for dating, given the demands of her job. Nor had anyone interested her enough to make the time. She could make the time for Sam Remington—

“I have a lot of friends,” Harley said, his tone vicious. “Friends who will withdraw the financial support you need. Believe me, I won’t forget this.”

Dana stood her ground as Harley came within inches of her. “Just as I haven’t forgotten,” she fired back, the memories flooding her, drowning her. What he’d done to her was bad enough. What he’d done to Sam was unforgivable. “I believed your threats before because I was young and naive. Those days are gone.”

“You landed on your feet. Bagged yourself a rich, powerful guy. Slipped right into his job like you earned it.”

“I was voted in.”

“Sympathy. Pity.”

Before she could answer, she felt her arm being tugged. Lilith dragged her away. “Look agreeable for your constituents, Senator,” Lilith said, moving her across the room, a cool smile on her perfect oval face. “Somebody will gladly pass this incident to the tabloids, you know. A few people have been panting for a moment like this.”

“He’s blaming me, Lilith. Me. Like he wasn’t causing trouble from the beginning tonight.” She lowered her voice. “Asking me to dance when he knows I don’t want anything to do with him.”

“Calm down.”

“I’m ready to go.”

Lilith patted her arm. “Soon, my dear. You’ve got to put on a show for a little while longer, then, fortunately for you, you’ve got me, a seven-months-pregnant friend, to use as an excuse. I’ll let Candi and Willow know we’ll be leaving a little earlier than we figured.”

They’d planned a slumber party like the old days. Dana had been looking forward to it. Now she just wanted to be alone.

It took her an hour to work her way through the curious crowd and another three hours of wine and girl talk before she had time to herself. Dressed in her robe, she wandered out to the front porch and sat in the swing, easing it back and forth, the chain groaning quietly, the motion soothing. Her parents were visiting relatives in Florida, but Dana could feel their presence. How many nights had they sat here, talking and watching the stars?

The peaceful memories tried to wrap her in a quilt of comfort, but her eyes stung at the emotional whirlwind the night had been. The vindictive exchange with Harley and her sexual awareness of Sam put her on edge—she, who was known for her calm, rational behavior. Did he know why she’d apologized or had she been too vague?

Of course, he’d been vague with his thank-you, too.

Dana tucked a hand in her robe pocket to find Sam’s business card. She ran her thumb over the gold embossing of the company name, ARC Security & Investigations. She recalled a Los Angeles address, that the card listed phone, fax, cell phone and pager numbers. No title was printed under his name. Because the firm was too small? Maybe even a one-man operation? Sam Remington, Private Investigator. Amazing.

“Can’t sleep, either?”

Dana jumped when Lilith settled on the swing.

“I’ve got a baby break-dancing in my womb. Must be all that 1980s music,” Lilith said, a smile in her voice. “What’s your excuse?”

“I usually read committee reports as sleep aids. I decided not to bring any paperwork with me this time.” Dana nestled her shoulders into the swing cushion and glanced at Lilith. She’d let her hair down, an ebony curtain that trailed down her back. “This is nice,” Dana said. “We haven’t had any time alone since you got married last year.”

“I’m sorry.”

“No, don’t apologize. It wasn’t a criticism. I know what it’s like, having a new husband and a demanding career. I missed you, that’s all. When you stayed with me for those few weeks after Randall died, I got used to having you around.”

They swung in silence for several minutes. Dana closed her eyes and listened to the night noises of crickets and frogs and other creatures who traveled the forested surroundings. What sounded like a man walking was probably a deer, but it could easily be a fox or raccoon or even a mountain lion.

“Why didn’t you tell me you decided to run for reelection?” Lilith asked.

Dana heard the underlying hurt that she wasn’t the first of her friends to know. “Candi was wishing out loud. I certainly didn’t tell her anything. I haven’t even made up my mind.” She tried not to cringe at the lie.

“Then, why didn’t you correct her?”

“Sam’s arrival coincided, I guess. That whole business with Harley.” Lame, Dana. Really lame. “Would you believe I forgot about it?”

Lilith frowned. “Actually, no. It’s totally unlike you.”

“I know.”

“You’re going to be inundated by the media.”

“I know.”

They slipped into silence again.

“I couldn’t believe that Sam showed up,” Lilith commented. “He hasn’t changed, has he? Drop in unannounced then leave before you know it. Still playing by his own rules. Still keeping his distance.”

“What’s wrong with having your own rules?”

“Are you defending him?”

Was she? “I liked him. I did go to the prom with him, you know.”

“Right. One date. A sympathy date at that.”

“Don’t say that.” When he left without saying goodbye, he’d hurt her in a way like no one had. Still, she had a tender spot for him in her heart. Maybe because she vividly remembered the sad little boy who’d lost his mother when he was ten. Maybe, too, she remembered strong feelings on her part that were never resolved. Her friends hadn’t seen that his eyes could sparkle with humor as well as challenge. She’d been a little bit in love with him for years, then the night of the prom had fallen even more—until everything changed, for a reason she never knew.

He was an enigma then, and more so now. Why had he come when he seemed to have no intention of staying beyond a brief conversation with her? And why in such a public forum?

“All I’m saying is that he could’ve had friends, but he didn’t try,” Lilith said a little defensively.

“Maybe so. We don’t know what he went through with his father, do we? All I know for sure is he did well in school and got out of town when he could. He seems to have made something of himself. He looked fabulous, don’t you think?” Dana almost sighed.

The swing bounced crookedly as Lilith sat up. “You’re kidding.”

“You didn’t think he was incredibly sexy?”

“No.” Horror crept into her voice. “Absolutely not. If I saw him coming toward me on the street, I’d find a way to avoid him.”

Dana laughed. “I’d want to be walking beside him. I’d feel safe.”

“You’re attracted to him!”

“What if I am?” Dana took few people into her confidence—a life in politics didn’t invite much trust. She rarely talked about Randall, about their personal life, not even to her oldest friend, so why discuss Sam?

“Is he single?” Lilith asked.

“He wasn’t wearing a ring.”

Lilith’s expression turned sympathetic. “I know you must be lonely, Dana, but there are plenty of other men who would be good choices. A man who doesn’t fit into your world could cause a lot of talk. The wrong kind of talk could ruin your chances for reelection. You know that.”

“I do know.”

“So, you’re not going to see him?”

“No.”

“What are you going to do about Harley?”

The quick change of subject confused Dana. “What about Harley?”

“He was humiliated tonight. More than once. You don’t think he inherited his daddy’s skill for vengeance along with the ranch?”

“He’s not dealing with an ignorant seventeen-year-old this time.”

Lilith laid her hand on Dana’s. “No, he’s dealing with a powerhouse. And that makes you more vulnerable than ever. Truth or lies, it doesn’t matter.”

Dana pulled her hand free and shoved both fists into her robe pockets, the backs of her fingers brushing Sam’s card. “I’ll be careful. I’m always careful.”

Lilith seemed about to say something but stood instead, her hand resting on her belly. “Baby’s finally gone to sleep. That’s my cue.”

Five minutes later Dana went to her bedroom. The familiarity of the space that hadn’t changed in all these years held a kind of comfort she hadn’t felt for a long time. She stood at the open window, her long-buried needs doing battle with her longer-held sense of responsibility—to everyone but herself. She’d felt…female tonight. Sexy. And Sam had barely touched her.

Sam. He’d intruded in her thoughts for years and years. A question without answer. A temptation without satisfaction. Not even a kiss at the end of the prom. She’d wanted to kiss him tonight. Dancing with him, being held by him, had made her want more. A lot more.

Dana leaned her cheek against the window frame and stared at the stars. She was achingly lonely, but she wasn’t in a position to do anything about it, not at this point. Nor could she tell Lilith the truth about her bid for reelection. Dana had made up her mind, but she couldn’t make that decision public for another two months. There was too much riding on it. A promise was a promise.

As she lowered the sash to close off the night air, Dana heard a car engine start. Headlights came on from about fifty feet up the road. A black sedan headed slowly down the hill and passed in front of her parents’ house. She relaxed. Harley would drive a truck. So would his friends.

It was probably a couple of teenagers necking—she looked at the clock and saw it was 1:00 a.m.—and breaking the midnight curfew, a long tradition in Miner’s Camp.

Ah, adolescence. Years ago she’d been an hour late. Her parents caught her tiptoeing into the house, and she was punished by having certain privileges taken away, like no solo dating for a month. At the time it seemed too harsh for a first offense.

In reality it had been good preparation for her public life now, where first offenses mattered enormously. She’d been careful not to make any—until now. She should’ve corrected Candi’s statement that she was running for reelection right when it happened, no excuses, before it became the problem she expected it would become.

Because now when she made a mistake, she wasn’t accountable to two loving parents but to millions of people—friend and foe. The repercussions had probably already begun.




Three


Tuesday evening Dana rested her elbows on her desk, propped her chin on her fists and studied her calendar for the rest of the month. Congress was in recess, but she was busier than ever. August was supposed to be a time to reconnect with constituents. So far, all she’d done was reconnect with the media.

She leaned back in her leather chair and closed her eyes, the hectic pace of the past few days not only catching up but hitting hard. She’d skipped the Sunday reunion picnic to head back to her San Francisco office to deal with the anticipated backlash of Candi’s unfortunate misstatement, and had been home only long enough to sleep and shower since then.

In need of damage control, she’d sent for her communications director and press secretary from her Washington, D.C., office. Her chief of staff and director of state operations had apartments in San Francisco and met her at the office. More than a dozen staffers had given up their Sunday. They’d bustled in and out. Phones rang, the fax machine churned, meetings overlapped.

Sunday, Monday and Tuesday blurred into one long day. She’d been on the phone to party leaders, Senate leaders, and even her parents, who’d read the news in the Orlando newspaper before she could contact them.

The quiet of her office suddenly surrounded Dana. She’d sent everyone home, although a few still lingered, wrapping things up. She would go home herself if she could work up the energy to put on her shoes and walk to her car.

Her personal assistant, Maria Sanchez, wandered in, yawning. She smiled. “Sorry.”

Dana waved off the apology. “Sleep in tomorrow. If you come in before ten I’m docking your pay.”

“I will if you will.”

Dana smiled at Maria’s perpetual mantra. She was always trying to get Dana to take time off. “Actually I was considering going to L.A. for the day. My calendar looks like it could be cleared.”

“Do you need a plane reservation?”

“I have to make a call first. I’ll phone in my own reservations, thank you, Maria. And I’ll let you know in time for you to postpone my meetings.”

“Do you need any paperwork gathered to take along?”

“No. It’s personal business.”

Although curiosity lit her eyes, Maria kept her questions and comments to herself. Dana had inherited Randall’s staff, and she valued each and every one of them. She’d been a staff member before her marriage four years ago and unofficially his speechwriter and strategist for the year and a half until his death.

Maria took a few steps backward. “I’ll clean off my desk while you make that call.” She shut the door behind her.

Dana pulled Sam’s business card out of her pocket. The paper was breaking down. She really needed to stop using it like a strand of worry beads. Soon she wouldn’t be able to read the print.

He’d been on her mind constantly since the reunion, and she’d been debating calling him, feeling she needed a reason. She’d finally come up with one.

She called his cell phone before she lost her nerve.

“This is Sam Remington. Please leave a message.”

Voice mail. Damn. She straightened her shoulders. “Hi, Sam. It’s Dana Sterling. I just learned I might have to be in L.A. tomorrow, so I thought I could drop off your medal in person. Could you give me a call, please?” She gave him her unlisted home number and the private line to her office then hung up and took a deep breath.

Exhaustion caught up with her, making her office sofa look a little too inviting. Standing, she shuffled the papers on her desk into something that resembled a stack and shoved them into her briefcase for her nightly bedtime story. She’d forgotten what it was like to curl up in bed with a good novel. Regardless, she looked forward to an evening at home.

Her private line rang. She let it ring a second time before picking it up.

“Dana Sterling.”

“You’re working late, Senator.”

Sam. She leaned a hip against her desk and smiled, taking it as a good sign that he’d returned her call so quickly. He didn’t seem surprised to hear from her. “No later than usual.”

“You know what they say about all work and no play.”

“You’re speaking from personal experience?”

He made a sound of agreement. “I caught you on the news a few times.”

“Just part of the job.”

“Which is one of the reasons you’re not running for a second term.”

She pushed away from the desk. “I didn’t say that.”

“When you’re bluffing, you move your left shoulder back and forth. It’s harder to pick up than, say, avoiding eye contact, but it’s your tell. I figured that out in tenth grade.”

He’d watched her that closely? That carefully?

She didn’t answer. She couldn’t. To say anything meant she would either lie or confide in him. Neither was a viable option.

“No one will hear it from me,” he said into the silence. “Rumor is, by the way, that you’re going to run.”

She lowered herself into her chair. “Except for the press and the three men waiting to take my place, I didn’t know there was such interest. Where did you hear the gossip?”

“I took an unofficial poll at a couple of watering holes on Monday.”

“And the margin of error?”

“Plus or minus thirty points.”

After a moment she laughed. “I suppose it’ll be old news by tomorrow.”

“For the general population maybe.”

“It’s the voters that count.”

“Then I think you’re safe,” he said. “Politicians, on the other hand…”

“You don’t have to tell me, Sam. I’ve been part of the process since I was twenty.”

A beat passed. “Is that when you met your late husband?”

“Yes.” She didn’t want to discuss Randall. There had to be some rule of etiquette that said you shouldn’t talk about the man you loved with the man you lusted after. “So, about the medal.”

To his credit he didn’t miss a beat at the change of subject. “I’ll be in L.A. tomorrow, but I’m actually in San Francisco at the moment. I’ve got an eleven o’clock flight tonight. I could swing by your office.”

He was in San Francisco and he hadn’t called before now. Not interested. The words might as well be flashing in neon. “The medal’s at home,” she said coolly. “I’m headed there now. You’re welcome to stop by, or I can still mail it.”

“I’ll stop by.”

Really? Another mixed message. “Okay. My address is—”

“I know where you live. See you in half an hour.”

Dana listened to the dial tone for a few seconds before cradling the phone. She liked his confidence, had always been attracted to confident men—

He knows where I live?

A quick knock on the door preceded Maria’s entrance. “About tomorrow?”

“Don’t cancel my appointments. I’ll go to the L.A. office next week, as planned.” She took a final glance at her desk to see if she’d missed anything. “Now, go home.”

“I will if you will.”

“We’ll walk each other to our cars.” Dana scooped up her briefcase and jacket then stepped into her shoes. Energy replaced exhaustion. Sam was coming.



Sam pressed the intercom button outside Dana’s security gate, then pulled into her driveway when the iron gate swung open. He studied the Pacific Heights home, as he had the day before from outside the fence. She didn’t live in a house but a mansion, magnificent in its grandeur but not ostentatious, the front-yard landscaping established and unfussy.

Architecture was Sam’s passion. He’d looked up the history of this particular house: Mediterranean-style, built shortly after the 1906 earthquake, dominated by a red tile roof and terra-cotta colored textured stucco. The knoll-top parcel had a panoramic view from its lush rear garden of the Golden Gate Bridge, San Francisco Bay and the Presidio.

Randall Sterling had been born to money.

Sam had conducted his own research on the man when he’d first read about Dana marrying him. His rise in politics began in high school as student-body president, continued at Stanford, then went into public arenas, on committees and boards. He was voted in as congressman when he was only twenty-eight, serving twelve years before being elected to the Senate. He’d finished one six-year term and two years of a second term before dying of a massive heart attack while jogging in Golden Gate Park almost two and a half years ago.

The charismatic, beloved and respected Randall Sterling was a true man of the people. He’d earned Sam’s vote. And now his widow sat in his place. No scandal had ever touched her husband or her, the only gossip the twenty-year age difference, and the fact she worked for him.

Sam had thought about her a lot through the years, had even fantasized seeing her again, but had made no effort. He hadn’t been in a position to.

Now he was.

And now he couldn’t.

He glanced at his watch and calculated the time until his flight. He’d allowed himself five minutes with her.

Sam set his car alarm out of habit then walked up the flagstone path to the enormous front door. He rang the bell, heard the chimes from deep within the house. He wondered whether a servant would greet him, but Dana did, looking serene in blue silk pants and blouse, which was unbuttoned one button lower than conservative. A sliver of ice-blue lace bra teased him, its texture contrasting seductively with her skin. A jolt like lightning zapped him in the midsection and turned up the heat. Fifteen years of life experience had given her a mature sexuality that appealed to him as much as her innocence had years ago.

She backed up, inviting him inside. “You look very nice in your suit and tie. Kind of Secret Serviceish.”

“Secret Service men appeal to you?”

“Oh, well, actually I prefer a CIA man.”

“It’s that furtive look, I imagine. Makes all the women swoon.”

Her eyes lit with humor as he walked past her and she shut the door. She smelled good—not flowery, but cool and tranquil. He’d bet her perfume came in a curvy blue bottle. But he missed the hot pink she always used to wear.

The tiled foyer boasted cathedral ceilings and vivid stained-glass windows, a dramatic curving staircase, textured walls painted a rich antique gold and a spectacular wrought-iron chandelier. Bold simplicity. He’d been in a lot of fancy homes in the past few years, but this one had the added element of old-world elegance, as if the furnishings had been there forever. He wondered if she’d had any hand in the decorating.

“Would you like a glass of wine, Sam? I’ve got a wonderful Chardonnay chilling in the living room.” She gestured toward open double doors off the foyer.

He saw a flicker of candlelight, heard the strains of a classical piece he couldn’t have identified if his life depended on it. She’d set a scene. For him.

Dammit. Dammit.

“I’ll pass on the wine, but thanks,” he said.

She looked mildly embarrassed. “Oh. You probably don’t drink, do you?”

“Why wouldn’t I?”

“Because of your—” She stopped, her embarrassment deepening.

He knew how the sentence ended. “Because of my father?” he asked.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—”

He cut her off with a gesture. There was no faster way to change his mood than to bring up his father, but especially coming from Dana, who knew too many details of his childhood. “I drink socially. What that man did or didn’t do has no bearing on who I am or how I live. I’m not drinking because I can’t stay. I’m on my way to the airport.”

“Already? Your flight’s at eleven.”

“And I have to park and go through security. You know how long that takes these days.”

“Of course,” she said crisply, matching his tone, making him aware of it. She walked toward the living room, giving him time to admire her backside, something he’d done too often as a teenager. When she returned she held out the medal to him.

“Thanks.” He stuffed it in his pocket and turned to leave, the hardest thing he’d done in recent memory. She was a temptation beyond his expectations.

“Why’d you even bother to come?” she asked.

He glanced back. He couldn’t read her expression, something between curious and hurt.

“I might as well have mailed it, you know,” she said, not letting him off the hook.

I wanted to see where you live, how you live. Not from the outside, but inside, where her life wasn’t open for public viewing. How could he tell her that and still play fair with her? He wished now that he’d never given her his card. He couldn’t have a relationship with her. Not now. Not ever. “I thought I’d save you the trouble.”

“Right. It would’ve been such a burden on me.”

Sarcasm now. “You were the one all fired up to give it to me.”

“Of course I was. You worked hard for that medal.”

“Dana. It was fifteen years ago. Who cares?”

“I do.” Her voice quavered; her cheeks flushed. “I liked battling with you all those years. Sure I wanted to win, to be the best, but, Sam, I was happy that if I didn’t win, you did.”

He felt like the biggest jerk on earth. “Dana—”

“Go on or you’ll miss your plane.”

He wanted to find a way to end this better. Instead he opened the door and stepped out into the night.

“Wait.” She hurried toward him and grabbed his arm long enough to stop him.

“I apologize,” she said. “Truly. All I can say in my defense is that it’s been a long three days. I’m exhausted, and not thinking clearly. I’m sorry I called you and made you go out of your way. I should’ve just mailed the medal and been done with it.”

He didn’t know what to say, couldn’t dare continue the conversation, not when he wanted to carry her up that sweeping staircase, find the nearest bed and bury himself in her.

“I wasn’t expecting anything of you tonight,” she said. “Just to share a glass of wine and some conversation. Work consumes me. I wanted a little time away from it with an old friend. I didn’t mean to put you on the spot.”

She sounded lonely. He understood loneliness. And because he was only human, he brushed his fingertips down her cheek, although whether for him or for her, he wasn’t sure. A little sound came from her, sexier than any he’d ever heard in bed.

He walked away. She followed.

“You don’t have to walk me to my car,” he muttered over his shoulder, frustrated now.

He heard her stop walking for a second, then continue at a more leisurely pace.

“I’m getting my mail,” she said, a little lilt to her voice.

“You get your own mail?”

“My housekeeper was off today.”

He liked the self-protective arrogance in her voice. He pushed the remote unlock button for the car. “Nice house, by the way.”

“Nice car. Is it yours?”

“Yes.”

“You don’t have to sound so defensive. You don’t live in San Francisco and you’re flying back to L.A. tonight. Logic says it’s a rental.”

“A Mercedes?” He climbed inside knowing he’d spend the rest of the night analyzing their conversation. “See you, Senator.”

Moving closer to the car, she continued to eye it speculatively. “Were you… Is this what you were driving at the reunion?”

“Yes.”

“You—” She stopped. “Did you guard my parents’ house after the reunion, Sam?”

Distracted by the breast-level view, he hesitated a few seconds before answering. “Why would I do that?”

“Answering a question with a question doesn’t work with me.” She turned those dark eyes on him then, not with humor this time. “If you’re leaving your car at the airport, you’re coming back to the city.”

“I have business here.”

“When will you be back?”

“Tomorrow night.” He started the car, ending the conversation, ending what might have become a relationship that mattered.

I can’t be seen with you and you can’t be seen with me. It’s that simple.

He watched her in his rearview mirror as he pulled away. She didn’t move except to cross her arms. He’d bet she was giving him hell. And damned if he didn’t deserve it.



“Well,” Dana said as the gate closed. “That was fun.”

She heard the sarcasm in her voice, felt her face heat up and her pulse thunder.

It had been fun, she realized. More fun than she’d had in a long time.

People rarely argued with her anymore. Debated, yes, but nothing with fire behind it, at least not personal fire. There’d been heat between her and Sam. Lots of it. She welcomed the warmth as it settled in parts of her body she’d thought frozen.

Dana walked down the driveway to the mailbox, wondering why she bothered, except that she’d told Sam she was going to. She rarely got personal mail at home. Almost everything came to the office or was transmitted by e-mail or fax. Few people knew this address.

So how did Sam know?

Dana retrieved her Occupant mail from the box that was mounted to the iron fence and headed back to the house, resignation settling in. He’d planned his visit tonight to be short. He’d taken advantage of his flight to L.A. to stop by with a narrow time frame. If he’d wanted to spend time with her, he could have made plans to see her when he got back instead of tonight. What difference would a day or two make?

She locked the house, set the alarm, blew out the candles in the living room and grabbed the bottle of Chardonnay to return to the refrigerator.

The house seemed quieter than usual as she climbed the staircase. She no longer missed Randall’s presence the way she had when he first died. She’d gotten used to coming home by herself. She hated it, but she was used to it.

She stopped in her bedroom doorway and stared at the briefcase she’d flung onto the bed, the same bed she’d shared with Randall. She hadn’t changed anything, hadn’t had time or interest. She felt a sudden need to redecorate, to make it hers, a lighter, airier look instead of the heavy masculine style.

She tossed the mail on top of the bed as she headed for her closet, where she changed into cotton pajamas, then climbed into bed and dragged her briefcase into her lap. Everything inside her churned.

The phone rang. She hated the hope that rose before she could tamp it down. It couldn’t be Sam, and she knew it.

“Hello?”

“Hey, pal. How’re you doing?”

She hid her disappointment. “Lilith, hi. I’m worn out but the worst is over. I’m pretty sure that every network and wire service has a quote by now. How are you feeling?”

“Fat.”

Dana laughed, as she was supposed to, but she envied Lilith her pregnancy, her happy and full life with a husband who adored her and work that satisfied her. “This too shall pass.”

“I’m an elephant. I’m sure this is month twenty-two of my pregnancy.”

“You look beautiful. Jonathan undoubtedly tells you every day.”

“I also look in the mirror every day. Listen, Jonathan and I would like you to come to dinner tomorrow night. Just a small group, six or eight, depending on who’s available on such short notice.”

“Any single men?”

“One, but it’s not a setup,” she rushed to add. “He’s—”

“It’s okay, Lilith. Really. I’m ready.” She had to do something with her newly resurrected feelings, and Sam wasn’t interested. A little flirtation might be a good thing.

“That’s a change.”

“I know. It’ll be two and a half years next week. I can’t survive on work alone, as much as I love it.”

“Does that mean I can officially start sending men your way?”

“You mean you were telling the truth when you said tomorrow night wasn’t an unofficial date?”

“Well, not exactly. But there are other men besides this one, Dana. Interesting, intelligent, emotionally secure men.”

More interesting than Sam? “Okay.”

“It’s going to take a while for me to get used to hearing you say that. Um, I take it you didn’t listen to the show today.”

“I didn’t have time, why?”

“Harley called in to the program.”

Dana let that news sink in. Lilith hosted a Monday-through-Friday, commute-time, radio-advice show, Dr. Lilith. Her Ph.D. in psychology qualified her; her warm but no-nonsense personality made her a success, even though she was an ultraconservative living in a predominantly liberal city.

“Something tells me he wasn’t looking for advice on his sex life,” Dana said. “Although he probably needs it.”

“Meow.”

Dana smiled. “Did he identify himself?”

“Of course not. Coward that he is, he got on the air by telling my producer he had a question about how to help a woman lose her frigidity.”

“He said that?”

“Those words exactly. I started to ask him for more specifics, when he said that surely I knew who he was talking about—the princess of Prospector High School. Anyway, I’ll send over a tape to your office so you can hear it. He didn’t name you, but your bio says you graduated from there.”

“How’d you shut him down?”

“You’ll hear the tape. Dana, I don’t think he’s done. His ego is black and blue, and he’s an eye-for-an-eye man. Usually his money and power get him what he wants. You weren’t impressed. He doesn’t like that.”

Lilith wasn’t aware of what had happened between Dana and Harley years ago, only that they’d had a confrontation. Sam knew because he’d been involved, but Dana hadn’t told anyone else except her parents, not even Randall. Like Sam, she buried bad memories.

“Thanks for the warning,” Dana said. “I’ll think about how to handle it.”

“Good. Can you be at our house by seven tomorrow night?”

“If I can’t get away that early, I’ll let you know. As of now, it looks okay.”

They said their goodbyes.

Dana tried to work. She needed to review two reports her staff had put together before her meetings tomorrow but her eyes kept closing. Useless, she decided. Better to get some sleep and get up an hour earlier in the morning.

She set her alarm for 4:00 a.m. then shoved her briefcase and paperwork to the other side of the bed. She would have turned out the light except that her gaze landed on an envelope sandwiched between an L.L.Bean catalog and a supermarket ad.

She slid it free. The envelope had weight and texture much like a wedding invitation, yet no return address, just her name and address, typed in a calligraphy-style font, fancy and hard to read. A San Francisco postmark. Most people addressed her mail as Senator or The Honorable. On this envelope her name bore no title of any kind, not even Ms. She opened the flap, unfolded the single sheet of cream-colored vellum.

If you run for reelection, I’ll make public everything I know about your saintly late husband.




Four


It was 3:00 a.m. before Sam arrived at his Santa Monica home, his mood as black as the sky. First, he’d forgotten about the valedictorian medal in his pocket until he set off the airport metal detector. Then the flight was delayed over an hour because of mechanical problems. After that, the car service didn’t show to pick him up and he had to take a cab home.

As he paid the driver, he counted four newspapers scattered in his driveway, even though his neighbor had promised to pick them up daily. He dragged a hand down his face. One more thing to do before he flew back to San Francisco tomorrow night—cancel the paper. He was on the road too much now, anyway.

He punched his code into the keyless entry panel then felt the cool welcome of home, his first real home, a 1920s Craftsman that suited his needs perfectly. Newly renovated and true to the original architectural style, the house had tugged at him from the first moment he saw it. The fact he could afford it still made him shake his head in wonder. The simple mission-style furniture was complemented by soothing Asian undertones and accent pieces he’d picked up in his travels. It would do until he could build the house of his dreams. He’d already designed it.

Sam detoured into his office on the way to the bedroom. The message light on his answering machine flashed. He pressed the Playback button.

“Hello, Sam, dear, it’s Rosa Giannini. I’m sorry to tell you that Ernie passed away this evening. One minute he was talking to me, then he closed his eyes and he was gone…. I’m trying to convince myself he’s in a better place, free of pain, but it’s…hard.”

Sam squeezed his eyes shut at the catch in her voice and the grief-filled pause that followed.

“The services will be on Saturday,” Rosa continued. “I understand if you can’t make it, though. He was so glad you came to see him last weekend. He loved you so much, Sam.” She was quiet a moment, then, “You probably think he was the one doing you favors through the years, but he needed you as much as you needed him. You were a blessing in his life, in our lives. I hope you know you’ll always be welcome here.”

Again a pause. Sam stared at the ceiling and swallowed hard against the ache in his throat.

“Don’t send flowers, dear. Do something that would make Ernie smile. You already made him proud. Stay in touch.”

The scent of cherry pipe tobacco seemed to fill the room. Sam closed his eyes and saw his friend. Sweater vests and bow ties and shirts that lost their starch before the lunch bell. A fringe of salt-and-pepper hair that gave him an impish-monk look, especially when added to the Santa Claus belly. Sam heard his mentor’s dry chuckle, felt a grip on his shoulder, a squeeze of encouragement.

How could he attend the funeral of the man he’d wished a thousand times was his father? How could he wear his grief openly for the person who’d made him believe in himself?

He would send flowers, though, because he’d learned that simple things helped those left behind. And for himself as well as Rosa he would do something that would make his old friend smile.

After another minute Sam’s bed beckoned, singing its siren song to his weary body and soul. His training wouldn’t let him go to bed without hanging up his suit and putting the rest of his clothes in the hamper. He slid under the sheets finally, closed his eyes and lay there for a few seconds before tossing the bedding aside and going to the closet. When he returned it was with his medal in hand.

He’d earned it because of Ernest Giannini, then had turned his back on the honor, which was like turning his back on his teacher, diminishing, if not discounting, its—and his—importance.

The medal meant something, Sam realized. He’d told Dana otherwise, but now he knew differently.

He gripped it hard, felt it heat his hand and the edge dig into his palm.

He needed to thank Dana for keeping the medal for him, for making him take it back. He’d not only been ungrateful but rude.

He returned to his closet and came out with a small wooden chest, which he placed on his bed. He hesitated before opening the lid, as if the contents of Pandora’s box would fly out. Finally he pushed the lid up. Inside were ragged pieces of lined notebook paper torn into squares with words penciled on them, front and back. A question from him on one side, an answer from Dana on the other.

He sifted through them, remembering. Their competition to be class valedictorian had started in ninth grade when teachers began to notice how often they asked and answered questions in class. Soon they were competing for the top scores on tests and papers, encouraged by their teachers. They ran neck and neck for all four years. It had come down to the last semester. He’d gotten an A in math; she’d gotten an A minus. That was difference. The only difference.

Sam pulled a piece of paper from the box. Outside the classroom they would write questions down and slip them into each other’s locker. He’d kept them all. Not just academic questions like, “What does Moby Dick represent?” but life questions and riddles and puzzles.

He looked at the one he’d grabbed.

Question: “Why did the punk rocker cross the road?”

Answer: “He was stapled to the chicken.”

Sam smiled, then he remembered the one that had changed the tone of their questions. “Do you think Marsha Crandall is sexy?” she’d asked, referring to a classmate. It was the first time she’d asked a provocative question. “I told her as much just the other night,” he answered, teasing, lying.

Dana had snubbed him for three days after that, but eventually it led to many more provocative questions, a flirtation on paper, although they still didn’t talk outside of class much, and usually only about a project or paper. But she always looked at him expectantly, as if waiting for him to make some kind of move. He didn’t have any moves to make. He wouldn’t have known a move if it stood naked in front of him and waved its arms.

And now he needed to write her a note, thanking her for keeping the medal. Thank-you notes weren’t his forte. He offered thanks in person, or he sent flowers or wine or something else appropriate for the favor.

What does one give the woman who has everything?



The next night Dana pulled in to her driveway after dinner at Lilith’s. She’d made it through the day and evening without showing the letter to anyone. Threats were nothing new, although she’d never gotten one quite like this.

If you run for reelection, I’ll make public everything I know about your saintly late husband.

Randall had been in the public eye all his life. What was there to tell? Why the emphasis on “saintly”?

She should turn the note over to her chief of staff, who would make a decision about whether to take it seriously, but something stopped her. If it had been a threat to expose her for past deeds, she would have let the blackmailer dig. There was nothing to find, nothing shocking or newsworthy, anyway.

But this was Randall’s reputation. She would guard it with her life—and her political career. Still, did one letter necessitate an investigation?

Dana felt a brush of fabric against her calves as she walked from her garage into the house. She’d gone straight from work to Lilith’s after changing into something feminine and flattering at the office. The evening turned out to be lovely, her “date” a patent attorney, newly divorced and attentive, and entirely too agreeable. Lilith was known for throwing parties that inspired great debates long into the evening. She and her husband may be conservative, but they knew the value of cultivating people of varying convictions.

Tonight hadn’t been any different, and yet it had been. The mix of people wasn’t as diverse. Dana could also see that Lilith wasn’t feeling well. They’d gone into her office to look at the birth announcements she’d already started designing on her computer, which was the only excuse Dana could think of for getting Lilith alone for a few minutes.

“You crafty person,” Dana said, admiring the design. “I don’t know how you find the time.”

“When it’s fun, you make the time.”

Dana settled a hand on her friend’s shoulder and looked closely at her. “You don’t seem yourself tonight. Are you doing too much?”

Lilith laid a protective hand on her belly. “Braxton Hicks,” she said, as if Dana was supposed to know what that meant. Lilith explained that they were contractions, but not the kind indicating imminent birth, just discomfort.

Because Lilith wasn’t up to par everyone agreed to make it an early evening, which was fine with Dana. The patent attorney asked if he could call her, and she’d given him her office number then headed home.

When she heard the television on in her housekeeper’s room, she knocked on the door and waited. Hilda would never call out for her to enter but would come to the door, wearing her pristine white chenille robe like a suit of armor. She’d been with Randall’s family forever and was in no hurry to stop working, even though she was eligible for social security and Medicare. She also believed in a strict employer/employee relationship, much to Dana’s disappointment. She could have used a friendly face around the house in the months after Randall died.

“Good evening, ma’am,” Hilda said.

“Hi. How were your days off with your daughter and grandchildren?”

“Fine, thank you. How was your evening at the Pauls’?”

“Very nice.” Invite me in. Let’s open a bottle of wine, and talk. “Any messages?” Did Randall have secrets?

“I heard your private line ring, but no one called otherwise.”

Her tone wasn’t hostile or condescending, but efficient. Dana stifled a sigh. “Thank you, Hilda. Good night.”

Mission not accomplished, but she would keep trying. One day she’d get past Hilda’s reserve.

In the foyer Dana touched the small stack of mail, hesitated, then flipped through it. Nothing but ads. She blew out a little breath before climbing the stairs. She plopped onto her bed, pushed the message button on her answering machine and began unbuttoning her dress.

“Hello, dear.” Her mother. “Dad and I are having too much fun. We’re staying an extra week in Orlando before we hit the road. Talk to you soon. We love you.”

“Senator, it’s Amanda.” Her press secretary. “I need a meeting with you first thing in the morning, if that’s possible. If not, please let me know. Otherwise I’ll be there at eight. Thanks.”

“Hi, Dana, this is Candi. I’m sorry to leave this on your machine but Mr. G. passed away. I knew you’d want to know. The funeral’s on Saturday. Mrs. Giannini would like you to say a few words, if you plan to come. Let me know, okay?”

Dana recalled Mr. G. fondly but more as her father’s friend than as a teacher. She wondered if her parents would alter their plans to be home in time for the funeral. They would have to drive their motor home straight through.

“Dana, it’s Sam Remington.”

She’d just slipped her dress off her shoulders, exposing one of the new bras she’d spent her lunch hour purchasing in a rare moment of indulgence—sexy bras, panties and a couple of negligees—even though Sam had made it clear he wasn’t going to contact her again.

“It’s 8:10,” he continued, his voice alone causing her body to react. Oh, she had it bad for him. “I’m at LAX, headed back to San Francisco. If you could give me a call sometime, I’d appreciate it. Thanks.”

He wanted her to call? After the way he’d left the other night? Shock fought with hope in her mind. She looked at the clock—ten-fifteen. He was probably en route, which meant she had to wait until morning to return the call.

Or, if she waited half an hour, she might catch him before he went to bed.

She got ready for bed expectantly, even looking forward to filling the time with a budget analysis for a meeting the next day. A half hour later she dragged the phone into her lap then dialed his cell number. Her skin felt prickly, her breath short.

“Sam Remington.”

“Hi, it’s Dana.”

“I didn’t mean you had to call tonight, Senator.”

“I’m still up working. Where are you?”

“In my car. Not far from my hotel.”

“Would you rather call me back when you get there?”

“Why?”

“So that you don’t have to drive and talk at the same time.”

“I find that mildly insulting,” he said, a smile in his voice.

She wedged her shoulders into her pillows and relaxed. “Do you know how many accidents are caused by people on cell phones?”

“How many?”

She grinned at the ceiling. “I don’t remember exactly, Brainiac, but a lot.”

“Get back to me with the statistics and we’ll talk about it.”

“I’ll do that.” A promise was a promise. “How was your trip?”

“Quick.”

She wished he would elaborate. “Candi left a message tonight that Mr. G. died.”

A beat of silence, then, “I heard.”

That surprised her. “The services are on Saturday. Are you going?”

“I’m not sure.”

“Oh.” She’d thought they could go together. She wrapped the phone cord around her finger, wishing he would tell her why he wanted to see her, but he said nothing. “So, what was your message about? Why do you want to meet with me?”

“I have something to give you. If tomorrow after work suits you, I can stop by.”

“Sure. Should I call you when I’m leaving my office? It’ll be after six, I imagine, and before eight.”

“That’ll work.”

“Sam?” she said in a hurry, afraid he would hang up. “Why did you come to the reunion?”

“To see you.”

Her heart lurched. To see me? Just to see me? “How did you know I would be there?”

“Have you missed a reunion yet?”

His tone of voice indicated it was a rhetorical question, but she answered anyway. “No.”

“Okay.” Static almost covered his words. “I’m pulling in to the hotel.”

She heard the line go dead. Lost reception or had he hung up? “Good night,” she said, in case he could hear her.

She returned the phone to her nightstand and reached for the budget report again, forcing herself to concentrate. But when she turned out the light an hour later, she was free to think of Sam. She tried to imagine what he planned to give her but—

No. It better not be.

Before she could let a contrary voice dictate her actions, she phoned him.





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