Campaign For Seduction (10 page)

“I will be elected,” John said sourly. “Have a little faith.”

“You’re not planning on four years—”

“Eight.”

“—of celibacy, are you?”

Eight years of celibacy? With this kind of fire burning in his blood for Liza? Absolutely not. John shuddered at the thought of such unendurable torture.

“I don’t plan to be celibate at all. The funny thing is,” he confessed softly before thinking better of it, “I—forget it.”

“What?”

Feeling like the worst kind of jerk, he told his sister one of his guiltiest secrets. “I’ll always love Camille. But she’s dead and I’m not. And I’m having a tough time remembering her face. I can’t even hear her voice anymore.”

Jillian squeezed his hand with infinite understanding. “You loved Camille, but she was a first love when you were still wet behind the ears. You’ve changed a lot since then. And she’s been dead for a long time.”

This was all true, as far as it went, but there was more going on.

Camille had been sweet and fragile. Liza was strong and fierce. Camille had been smart but uncomplicated. Liza was a brilliant and fascinating puzzle. John had become Camille’s whole life. Liza had a big, interesting life in which John would be lucky to eke out a tiny space for himself.

Though it killed him to admit it, there were terrible moments when he thought that if Camille had lived, he would have outgrown her in a few more years. A woman like Liza, on the other hand, was endlessly fascinating.

Most of all, Camille had been sexy.

Liza stopped his breath whenever she walked into the room.

There was no telling how long he may have stared across the room, lost in thoughts of Liza, when Jillian’s awed voice brought him back to reality.

“This is more about Liza than it is about Camille. Isn’t it?”

Oh, no. John wasn’t making any admissions. Not tonight.

“Don’t even try—”

His automatic denial stopped dead in his throat when he saw Liza walk by the open conference room door. She had her brief
case in hand and her coat slung over her arm and was obviously heading home for the night.

And John was hit with a wave of yearning so fierce it almost flattened him to a smudge on the floor. He could no more let Liza go without reaching out to her again than he could sing backup for Aretha Franklin.

“Excuse me,” he told Jillian.

Past caring what his sister would make of his behavior, he got up and dashed after Liza, who had, by now, left the office suite through the double glass doors and was stepping onto the elevator.

There was no time to think about it. Ignoring his security people calling after him with vague alarm, he followed Liza onto the elevator just as the doors slid shut.

Then they were alone.

Blessedly, absolutely and completely alone.

He leaned against the brass rail at the back of the car so that they stood side by side, both facing the front. His fingers itched to touch her, and the only way he could control his hands was to shove them deep into the pockets of his slacks with a stern warning to himself: Don’t do it, man.

Staring straight ahead into the mirror, he could see her tense face, and he knew that if he touched her, she’d hit the alarm or something and it’d be all over for him.

So he worked on playing it cool.

“Hi.”

“Hi,” she said.

He looked up at the lighted numbers, trying not to sound as desperate as he was.

“Have dinner with me.”

She hesitated, giving him courage, but then sent him straight to hell. “No.”

“We can order pizza—”

“No.”

“—or just have a drink.”

“I can’t.”

“You could.”

Another, longer hesitation had his hopes rising again, but not for long.

“I won’t, Senator.”

The car stopped and the bell dinged. John’s stomach plummeted as though the elevator’s cable had snapped and they’d fallen a hundred stories.

This was it, then. He had to let her go.

Screw that.

Throwing caution to the wind, he yanked his hands out of his pockets and punched the stop button before the doors could open.

She didn’t like this at all. “Please.”

For once there was no attitude or bravado in her voice or expression. She was just a woman now. A scared, vulnerable woman who wanted him as much as he wanted her and was too paralyzed to admit it.

Keep your distance man. Keep it quiet and gentle. Give her space.

Turning, he did his level best to keep the burning intensity he was feeling out of his eyes as he faced her.

“What can I do?” he asked.

“Nothing.”

“How can I get you to think about the possibility—”

“You can’t.”

“—of a relationship with me?”

“It’s not going to happen.”

“It’s happening, Liza.”

They stared at each other, the tension ratcheting higher between them until John thought his entire body might shatter. Her eyes glittered and her harsh breath came in shallow puffs and he knew—he knew—that she was right there with him and only needed the tiniest little push to get past this hurdle.

“I think about you,” he said helplessly. “If you had any idea—”

Like a miracle, she softened, right before his eyes.

“You have a couple other things you should be thinking about, don’t you, Senator?”

Man, she’d hit that nail on the head. All his choked emotion converged in his throat and he shrugged, trying to laugh. “You wouldn’t know it.”

An almost-smile lit her face, telling him to take the chance. Touch her.

So he held out a hand and prayed she wouldn’t leave him hanging.

She didn’t. After a tiny pause, she reached for him and her soft, cool palm slid against his, the most perfect fit he could imagine. The contact zinged between them, and he saw the surprise in her wide eyes. When she tried to step away, he exerted enough gentle pressure to reel her in until she was right there.

Right there.

Because his retinas felt like they were burning, he couldn’t stare at her incredible face. So he stared down at her palm instead. Traced circles in it with his thumb. Absorbed her shivering gasp up his arm and into his body. Then he raised that palm to his lips and kissed it.

Her breath caught and, man, he could swear his heart stopped.

Careful, Warner. Don’t blow it now.

Taking all the time in the world, he lowered that precious hand back to her side and let it go. Only then, when he was no longer touching her and he thought he could handle it, did he look back in her gleaming eyes and try to speak.

He only prayed his voice still worked.

“Think about it,” he told her. “Okay?”

“Okay.”

Thank you, God.

The words were right on his lips, but he somehow kept his cool and didn’t say them. Punching the door open button, he waited for the doors to slide open and strode off into the lobby, resisting the urge to shout and skip.

His night had been a complete success. If only Super Tuesday could go half that well.

Chapter 9

“W hat are you doing here?” Liza asked Takashi ungraciously when she opened her front door the next week on their campaign break to find him standing on the steps of her Georgetown brownstone.

Takashi scowled, his face shadowed by the porch light, and Liza felt a moment’s guilt for being cranky, but then she thought better of it. If Takashi didn’t want to deal with a cranky woman, he had no business showing up unannounced at her house at the end of a long day.

Especially when she was juggling both her growing feelings for the senator and her Alzheimer’s-ridden rascal of a father, who was, even now, puttering around in her gourmet kitchen, baking cookies.

Part of her grouchiness was because she never got to spend enough time unwinding alone inside the three stories of her exquisitely decorated house. Even though she’d taken great care to pick out every earth-toned shade on her walls, every Indian rug on her hardwood floors and every pillow and cashmere throw on her overstuffed chairs and sofas, she could never enjoy her bounty because she was always leaving it to cover the latest story.

Lately she never even bothered to unpack her bags. Nothing felt permanent; everything was temporary.

She was getting too damn old and tired for this lifestyle.

“I’m sure I’m going to regret this,” Takashi said, “but…can I come in?”

Liza put a hand on her hip, swung the heavy six-paneled door open wide and studied Takashi with narrowed eyes as he walked inside. He didn’t look any too happy to be there—about like an unfortunate pirate walking the gangplank with his hands tied behind his back—and she had a bad feeling about his visit.

Shutting the door behind him, she turned and, without a word, led him into her high-ceilinged living room, where they sat on the sofa. “I wasn’t expecting company,” she warned, waving vaguely at her tank top, low-slung yoga pants and bare feet.

“I understand.” He tossed his leather jacket on the nearest chair.

“I took my shower, washed my hair and wiped off all my makeup.” Fixing him with a stern look, she ruffled a hand through her curly wet hair, which was not the sleek bob he no doubt expected. “I’m grumpier than usual. Just so you know.”

“You smell good, though.”

He picked up her plate from the coffee table and sniffed hopefully at the Kung Pao scallops. His wicked grin was, as usual, irresistible, and Liza couldn’t help dimpling at him. Catching herself, she frowned and picked up her chopsticks.

“Don’t expect me to share, either.” She snatched the plate back.

“Why not?” Without missing a beat, he reclaimed the plate, relieved her of her chopsticks and took a large bite of her dinner. “What is this anyway?”

Liza glared. “It’s Asian food. You should be somewhat familiar with it.”

“Got any sushi?”

“I’m just looking for a person to kill, Nakamura,” she said. “Don’t let it be you.”

Takashi laughed. Before she could demand to know what he was doing there, they heard a rattling sound in the kitchen and the Colonel came and stood in the huge arched doorway, a sheet of steaming molasses cookies in one mitt-clad hand and a spatula in the other.

Tall and wiry except for his paunch, slightly stooped and moving a little slower these days, the Colonel was as dapper as ever with his starched blue oxford shirt and khaki pants ironed to a razor-edged crease.

He stared uncomprehending at Takashi for a moment—Liza held her breath and prayed he’d recognize Takashi even though he hadn’t seen him in a few months—but then his expression cleared and his eyes sharpened behind their Malcolm X glasses. He nodded curtly and grunted. This greeting from the Colonel was the rough equivalent of a bear hug from anyone else.

“Takashi.” He held out the tray. “You want a cookie while they’re hot?”

“He’s not staying,” Liza said.

Too late. Takashi was already on his feet and gingerly picking up several cookies. “How are you, Colonel? Keeping out of trouble?”

“Well, Liza’s got me locked up in a home now.” The Colonel frowned across at her, but Liza didn’t rise to the bait. “Can’t drive, can’t leave, can’t cook. Grown man treated like a child. Saddest thing you’ve ever seen, Takashi. Guess I’m lucky she doesn’t try to wipe my ass for me.”

Finished with his list of complaints, the Colonel turned and shuffled back into the kitchen while Takashi tried to stifle a startled snort of laughter and Liza rolled her eyes at the ceiling.

“You want some milk with those cookies?” the Colonel called over his shoulder as he disappeared.

“No, thanks,” Takashi said.

“Good times,” Liza muttered. “Good times.”

They sat listening to the Colonel move around in the kitchen for a few minutes while Takashi wolfed down food as though he hadn’t eaten in three years. Then Takashi spoke out of the side of his mouth.

“You’re cruisin’ for a bruisin’, Za-Za. You know that, don’t you?”

So that’s what this unannounced visit was about. She’d figured as much, but that didn’t make it easy to meet his troubled expression. Shrugging, she tried to sound unconcerned.

“I’ve got no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, I think you do,” he said easily, watching her as he reached for a spring roll and polished it off in a single bite. “We live in a bubble. I’ve seen you and the senator together, and there’s talk—”

“What talk?”

“So far it’s just been a couple of rude jokes about how the senator looks as if he’d like to warm you up a little.”

“Oh, God.” On top of everything else, people thought she was frigid. Wonderful. Could this whole situation get any worse?

“If this keeps up, there’ll be more talk and it’ll be worse than that.”

Liza stared down at her coffee table, cheeks burning, effectively silenced for once in her life. She opened her mouth and floundered because what could she say without committing career suicide?

I’m attracted to the senator.

I’m losing all my objectivity.

I want to be a woman, not a journalist.

Yeah. That could work.

On the other hand, wasn’t she headed for career suicide anyway? Takashi and Adena had already noticed the chemistry between her and the senator; despite all of Liza’s best efforts, her poker face seemed to be failing—and failing spectacularly—when it came to John Warner.

How long until someone else noticed and commented on it?

Worse, how long until she did something stupid? It wasn’t as if she had an iron grip on her feelings. Or any grip on her feelings, come to think of it. What would happen if they had another interlude on an elevator? Would she kiss him again? Probably. The thought made her shudder with dismay and shiver with anticipation.

Reminding herself that lots of women were attracted to the senator did nothing to cool her overheated blood. Much as she wanted to, she couldn’t write off her situation as an attraction to a handsome and powerful man. Nor could she write it off as desperation caused by her pathetic lack of a sex life. She couldn’t write it off at all, and that was what terrified her.

Any kind of a romantic relationship between her and the
senator—even the whisper of a romantic relationship—would end in disaster for both of them. The journalistic feeding frenzy would knock the latest debutant/celebrity-alcoholic/unwed mother/illicit affair controversy off the front pages, and there Liza would be, taped by every yahoo with a camera in his phone as she darted back and forth to the corner market with her head down.

There’d be endless speculation about how their romance developed, where they met for their horizontal shuffle—never mind that there had never been a horizontal shuffle—and how the affair had affected her coverage and his policymaking. Not to mention the pundits’ outrage over the violation of the codes of ethics for both politicians and journalists.

Yeah. She could see it all now, and it wasn’t pretty.

The senator’s chances of earning the nomination would be jeopardized, and her reputation as an objective journalist would be destroyed. The chances of either of them emerging from an affair unscathed were zero.

In short, disaster was inevitable, as unavoidable as death and taxes.

And she wanted him anyway. How stupid was she?

“What’s going on?” Takashi asked. “Maybe I can help.”

Liza struggled, paralyzed with indecision. On the one hand, who else could she talk to and trust besides Takashi? On the other hand, she was terrified to acknowledge the depths of her problem, even to herself.

“I do have this…friend,” she said carefully.

“Uh-huh,” Takashi said, still chewing, eyes lowered.

“She’s a journalist with the, ah, Washington Post covering the, ah, Warner campaign.”

Takashi snorted. “Right?…”

“And nothing’s happened, but…she’s very attracted to the senator. Obviously it’s a…risky situation. The senator is fighting for every vote, and the press—especially the tabloids—and Senator Fitzgerald’s campaign would have a field day if his personal life became an issue. His campaign would become a joke, and he’d lose the nomination. We both know he would.”

“And what about your reporter friend?” he asked. “What about her career?”

The warmth behind Takashi’s brown eyes was too much, and Liza looked away. “Her credibility would be shot. She could forget about any, ah, promotions she’d had her eye on. All her years of hard work would be flushed down the toilet, and on her tombstone it would say Here Lies the Former Mistress of Senator Warner—”

Takashi grimaced.

“—and, of course, she’d be hated by millions of his supporters if she damaged his chances in any way. That’s how it always works. The man comes up smelling like a rose, and the woman is labeled all kinds of dirty names.”

Takashi scraped his plate, looking thoughtful. Having eaten everything in sight, he looked around for more and sighed when he didn’t see it. “Well,” he said slowly, “I can’t predict the future or anything, but I have seen the sparks shooting off this, ah, couple. Other people are beginning to notice. The clock is running on this thing. And journalists are supposed to disclose conflicts. That’s the ethical thing to do here.”

“No,” Liza snapped, her voice rising with frustration. “Not when the conflict can be managed.”

Takashi gave her a look of such astonished dismay—all dropped jaw and bulging eyes—that she wondered if he thought she was insane. He followed that up with so much cursing, muttering and head shaking that she fought the urge to duck and run.

“Those two aren’t managing jack shit,” he finally said, and his vehemence hit her harder than the cursing. “They need to get their heads out of the sand and come to a decision before this whole thing blows up in their faces.”

Liza knew he was right, but that didn’t mean she had a fix for this mess. Suddenly desperate for any help she could get, she decided to confide a little more to Takashi.

“The funny thing is…my friend isn’t as, ah, gung ho about this promotion as she should be. The life is wearing her down. She’s wondering if there might be…more.”

“More what?”

Liza, who was a cynic down to the soles of her feet, hated owning up to a girlish thought or two, but she couldn’t help it. “More to life. You know—a personal life. Maybe a—” she swallowed hard “—relationship or something.”

Takashi stared at her. “This man isn’t relationship material. No politician is. Look at Senator Gregory. Look at Governor Taylor. Look how great they handle their relationships.”

Liza cringed, her cheeks glowing with helpless embarrassment. She couldn’t believe she was thinking along these lines, much less talking about them.

“I know, I know.”

“Tell your friend she needs to decide if she wants the promotion or not, and then she needs to decide if she wants Warner or not. She can’t have both. If she keeps it up, she’s going to ruin her reputation in the entire industry, not just lose this promotion she may or may not really want. You feel me?”

Feeling things wasn’t her problem at the moment. She was feeling way too much lately, especially for the senator.

“I’ll pass along the message, but I’m not sure she’ll listen. I think she—she really likes this guy.”

“That brings me back to where I started, Za-Za,” Takashi muttered. “Your friend is cruisin’ for a bruisin’.”

The unexpected chirp of her cordless phone on the table spared her from having to think of any response to this dire assessment.

“Phone’s ringing,” the Colonel called from the kitchen.

Lunging for it with relief, Liza clicked it on with unsteady hands.

“Hello?”

“It’s John,” the caller said.

In a sign of how frazzled she was, it actually took the neurons in her brain several beats to start firing and put the name to the voice she’d already recognized. It’s the Senator, she thought, bewildered. I don’t know any John. And then it hit her with the force of a nuclear strike. The Senator. John. Oh, God.

Stupidly wondering how he’d gotten her unlisted phone number—he’s a U.S. senator running for president, and he probably has a few resources at his fingertips, she told herself, duh!—she schooled her features and hoped the expression on her face wasn’t a screaming giveaway to Takashi.