Campaign For Seduction (18 page)

Intimidation factor aside—Liza hated being intimidated—Arnetta Warner was a lovely woman. Viveca Warner, on the other hand, was someone Liza disliked on principle.

A beautiful, brilliant investigative reporter for the New York Times, Viveca was too much like Liza for Liza to feel comfortable around her. Or maybe Liza’s fiercely competitive nature wouldn’t allow her to be friends with a woman who was nearly as accomplished as Liza.

Actually, Viveca was more accomplished now that she had the
gorgeous husband, three sons and the career. Whatever. The bottom line for Liza was that the night had just gotten a little worse and promised to be downright rotten before it was all over.

“Hello, Arnetta.” Liza leaned in for Arnetta’s air-kiss and felt the cool brush of Arnetta’s cheek against her own. “Your house is spectacular. This is quite a night.”

Arnetta nodded in a very fine imitation of a queen; the only things missing were the diamond tiara and the wave. And then came the obligatory modest comment: “I just hope we make a little money tonight.”

Liza didn’t snort, but she wanted to. If this event didn’t make two to three million dollars for Alzheimer’s research, Liza would eat one of the glittering designer stilettos that were, even now, pinching her toes.

Arnetta drew Viveca closer. “Liza, do you know—”

“Viveca Jackson Warner, of course. We’ve met.” Liza held out her hand and the women shook while exchanging identical cool smiles. Liza decided to make nice. “I read your article about the problems with the public school system. That was—” Liza hitched up her smile, which felt as if it was slipping, and swallowed hard “—decent work.”

Viveca’s eyes glittered with amusement, as though she knew exactly how much it cost Liza to give her a compliment. “Thank you. And I saw your interview with the secretary of state after the last round of peace talks.” She nodded with grudging respect. “That was a good get.”

“Thank you,” Liza murmured and then took a hasty step back as she was assaulted by a new woman who appeared out of nowhere.

The woman was one of those short, slightly plump, girl-next-door types, with wild black curls and the kind of sweet, wide eyes that made men melt every time. She wore a truly atrocious dress that was lavender and pink and so bright it made Liza wish she’d brought a deflector shield.

“Liza Wilson?”

Liza nodded and took the woman’s proffered hand.

“I’m Isabella Warner. It’s such a thrill to meet you. I watched you on the evening news the other night. I really hope you get the anchor job.”

“Thank you.” Liza wondered how soon she could politely extract her hand from Isabella, who seemed determined to pump it indefinitely. “That’s very n—”

“I just want to give you a hug.”

With no further warning, Isabella threw her arms around Liza and locked them tight. Liza, who didn’t believe in public displays of affection as a firm rule, especially with perfect strangers, stiffened and tried to pull back, but it was no use. The hug just kept on coming.

“I feel like I know you already,” said the exuberant Isabella. “I hope you don’t mind that I—uh-oh.”

Taking advantage of the woman’s distraction, Liza freed herself.

“What’s wrong?”

“That girl,” Isabella muttered, staring across the room at a young girl with a pretty orange dress and about a million tiny braids. While they all watched, the girl stooped behind a sofa and began to feed—Liza squinted to get a better look—stuffed mushrooms to a tiny Yorkie wearing a black bow tie and a mangy yellow Lab mix wearing a red bow tie.

“I told Thandy not to feed those dogs anything tonight,” Isabella continued, sounding harassed. “She knows they don’t need those treats. Excuse me, please.”

Blinking and shell-shocked, Liza stared after Isabella, felt the beginnings of a migraine squeeze her temples and wondered how soon she could get that third martini.

Before she could make her excuses and lunge for the open bar in the corner, however, a new group joined them: the senator, Andrew Warner, Eric Warner and the senator’s brother-in-law, Beau Taylor, the governor of Virginia, who’d been traveling around the country on his own and campaigning on the senator’s behalf when his schedule allowed.

Liza gulped because she didn’t think her hormone levels were ready to confront four of the sexiest men she’d ever seen all at the same time, nor was she ready for any interaction with the senator.

Unfortunately, it didn’t look like she’d get a vote.

“Liza.” The senator’s gaze flickered over her dress and returned to her face. “Are you finished skewering me for the day, or will there be more?”

Liza glared. The sight of the thick bandage on his neck above his collar renewed her anger at him, and she made a show of checking her watch.

“It’s only eight-thirty, Senator. I could never make a promise like that so early in the evening.”

Dismissing him—from her thoughts and her line of sight—she turned to Beau Taylor, whom she’d met several times at political events over the years but never interviewed. Seeing him up close was always a jolt because he was one great-looking guy: fair-skinned with hazel eyes; a long, straight nose; sharp cheekbones and waves of sleek sable hair. He reminded her of a black JFK, Jr. both in looks and because he was all potent masculinity and disarming charm.

She held out her hand. “Governor. Nice to see you.”

“Nice to see you, Liza,” the governor said.

Liza looked away before she fell under his thrall. It was best not to stare vampires or Governor Taylor in the eye for too long—you just never knew what could happen.

She looked next to Andrew Warner, who also was not hard on the eyes.

“Liza Wilson,” she told him. “A pleasure.”

Andrew Warner, he of the slashing brows and lush, cruel mouth, turned away from Viveca long enough to shake Liza’s hand. He’d gone straight to his wife, linked his hands low on her hips and nuzzled her cheek. Liza added this to the list of reasons she disliked Viveca: a handsome millionaire husband who openly worshipped her.

Andrew looked from the senator to Liza. One of his heavy brows arched toward his hairline, and his eyes gleamed with open amusement and speculation.

“I think it’s our pleasure, Liza.” His voice was velvety, deep and impressive but not as impressive as the senator’s. “Welcome to Heather Hill.”

“Thank you,” Liza said. “You have three boys, I think?”

Andrew grinned and glowed, as thrilled a father as any she’d ever seen. “Nathan is eleven, Andy’s almost two and Jackson is almost one.”

Jillian, smiling and looking lovely in a red empire-waisted
gown, appeared just then and touched her husband on the arm. “I’m going to borrow Beau for a minute. I need to introduce him to someone. And then we’ve got a flight back to Richmond. Beau’s got meetings in the morning.”

After Jillian and the governor left, Andrew turned to Eric and introduced him to Liza. “This is my cousin—”

“Eric Warner—yes, I know.” Liza shook Eric’s hand and received a warm smile in return. “Your daughter was just feeding the dogs stuffed mushrooms.”

“God help us,” Eric muttered. “I’d better see what’s up. Excuse me.”

“And we’d better go tuck the boys in before dinner,” Andrew told Viveca, although, judging by the way he was looking at his wife—all lowered lids and sultry eyes—he had no intention of letting her return to the party tonight.

Viveca seemed to know it; a pretty flush crept across her cheeks as she turned to Liza, and her eyes were a little too bright. “Come back and visit us again, Liza.”

Something about being in her husband’s arms seemed to soften Viveca and she looked sincere as they walked off. Unaccountably touched and feeling her frosty dislike for the woman melting, Liza nodded.

“Oh dear.” Arnetta frowned after an elderly gentleman over by the door who looked as if he was having a problem with one of the caterers. “I’d better go help Bishop. You know I have to do everything around here. I’ll see you at dinner, Liza.”

With that she swept off, leaving Liza alone with the senator.

Liza prayed for composure.

A thousand feelings hit her at once, none of which she particularly wanted to experience with his intent gaze on her face. She felt hot and agitated. Fidgety. Vulnerable and, worst of all, weepy. She rarely cried. The fact that she felt like doing so now was further proof that she should never have come tonight, never have placed herself in the senator’s orbit when work didn’t require it. Looking off over his shoulder in the general direction of the governor, who was now talking to Adena, she waited because, much as she wanted to, she couldn’t walk away.

“How are you, Liza?”

The rough, urgent note in his voice awakened something deep in her belly, something intense, dangerous and best left forever dormant.

“Fine.” She didn’t meet his gaze. “But I didn’t get shot today.”

Why couldn’t she breathe? When she did manage to drag in a sporadic breath, why was the intoxicating scent of his musky cologne the only thing she could smell? How long until she could retreat into the guest cottage, where she was staying, and hide for the rest of the night?

Soon? Now?

“If you’re so fine,” he asked reasonably, “why are your hands shaking?”

An automatic denial rose to Liza’s lips, but then she looked down to see that damn empty martini glass rolling back and forth between her fidgeting hands. Mortified, she lowered the glass and clasped her hands behind her back where they could shake in private.

“My hands aren’t shaking, but I do need a drink, so—”

She trailed off, too flustered to even finish her sentence. Determined to get away before her knees gave out along with her voice, she took a couple of steps toward the bar but there was no escaping from him, not tonight. The senator put a warm hand on her arm, and she froze, trembling, deathly afraid to hear what he would say.

He waited.

She looked him in the face even though it was a bad idea. Really bad.

There was a blazing new ferocity in his expression, an urgency that told her that he still wanted her and meant to have her despite all her fears and protestations. This was the face of a determined man who would not allow her emotional brick wall to stand between them for another second.

“Please.” Hearing the weakness in her own voice, the need, she swallowed hard and tried again. Tried to be strong. “Please don’t do this to me.”

His lips flattened, which was never a good sign. Right now she could see glimpses of the superhuman determination that had brought him this far in his career and would make him an effec
tive world leader. What an unfair matchup this was between them—she was only a woman, and a weak one at that.

“I thought of you today.” He eased closer, unblinking, merciless and unwilling to let her hang on to the precious detachment that was the only thing keeping her together. “When I saw that gun and felt that bullet and hit that ground and thought I might die—”

“Don’t.”

“—I thought of you, Liza. Just you.”

“You need to stop thinking about me.”

His thumb stroked over the tender flesh of her inner forearm and she almost swayed on the spot.

“I can’t.”

They stared at each other, a force field of misery, longing and electricity crackling between them. From a great distance, Liza felt the pinpricks of what felt like a thousand pairs of eyes watching her, and she knew that was an important detail, but she couldn’t think why.

And then she remembered with a sickening jolt to her gut.

This was no ordinary man she was lusting over; this was the man who, she sincerely believed, would be the next president of the United States. And he couldn’t scratch his chin without drawing an audience.

Peeling her gaze away from him, she glanced around the crowded room. Everyone seemed to be going about his or her own business, thank goodness.

Then the sudden flash of a camera made her flinch. Oh, no. Glancing wildly around, she saw a photographer capturing a couple twenty feet from her and felt a little relief, but not much.

How had she forgotten?

Grand events like this always had roaming photographers to capture every detail for the society pages. It wasn’t the paparazzi or any of her colleagues this time, luckily, nor had the picture been of them—but one day, if they kept up like this, it would be. Did it really matter who took the picture that wound up splashed all over some newspaper or tabloid?

Speaking of that, had any of the guests already slipped their camera phones out of their beaded handbags and snapped a
picture of Liza and the senator engaged in this intense discussion in the middle of a party?

She couldn’t take that chance. Neither should he.

Get it together, Liza.

She took a step back and tugged her arm free. The senator was slow to let her go but eventually did. When the physical contact between them was broken, she saw the loss reflected in his dark eyes.

“People are watching, Senator. There are photographers here.”

Clearing her dry throat, she worked up a smile for the benefit of anyone who may be staring. Out of the corner of her eye she had a glimpse of Adena and the governor standing together and gaping at them. The look of blind fury on Adena’s face made Liza wonder if the woman would grab the nearest fireplace poker and bludgeon her to death with it.