Campaign For Seduction (19 page)

“Adena is about to march over here and kill us both.”

“Screw her.”

Liza was so shocked that she let her false smile slip away.

“You don’t mean that. She’s just trying to protect you and the presiden—”

“Screw the presidency.”

This was too much. In a day filled with mind-boggling events, this was the topper, no question. Aghast, she opened her mouth, floundered and had to try again.

“Y-you don’t mean that,” she stammered.

His smile was hard and flat and didn’t come within a mile of his glittering eyes. It was so feral and possessive, so hungry, that her body went haywire. Goose bumps rose over her arms, thick honey flowed between her legs, hot and wet and only for him, and wicked jolts of sensation ran from her hard nipples directly to her aching sex.

He seemed to know it. His gleaming gaze skimmed over her body, lingering with interest on her breasts as though clothes couldn’t shield her from his view.

When that gaze returned to her face, it was brighter than ever and there was something so determined—almost reckless—in his expression that she had the feeling he was capable of almost anything at that moment, at least as it pertained to her. His
words, spoken in a low voice raspy with desire, confirmed this impression.

“You have no idea what I mean and don’t mean, Liza.”

“No? Well, I’ve had good news today. Maybe it’ll make things easier.”

“What is it?”

The wariness in his expression perfectly matched her own sick feeling, which was something along the lines of a patient receiving a grave diagnosis from her doctor.

Why couldn’t she be happy? How had it come to this? This one man had rearranged her life until her body was no longer her own, but his. Until she wasn’t sure what was up and what was down. Until lifelong dreams fulfilled felt more like dire punishments.

What had happened to her?

Opening her mouth, she almost couldn’t bring herself to say it—that she’d be leaving him, that this was goodbye. “My phone’s been ringing off the hook. My agent and the president of the network called.”

During the pause while she cleared her hoarse throat and tried to swallow the baseball-sized lump lodged halfway down, his face turned to stone and then quickly lost any expression whatsoever. It was, in fact, a model of emptiness—white paint on white canvas against a snowy landscape. There was nothing behind his eyes. Less than nothing.

“You’ve reached a deal?”

Liza tried to dredge up some happiness about it, some enthusiasm, some something, but her face refused to smile again, and the effort produced only streaks of tension from her cheeks to her temples.

“I haven’t given them my answer yet, but…yes. They’ve been so pleased with my coverage of your campaign and my ratings…they’re giving me everything I want. The salary demands, performance incentives, it’s all there. They’ve even green-lighted my special on Alzheimer’s in America. It’s…everything I’ve always wanted.”

Everything she’d always wanted.

She would remember that. She was about to make history and fifteen million dollars a year while doing it. She was not going to
stand here feeling sorry for herself. Trying to look upbeat, she waited for the senator’s reaction.

It took a minute to come. He blinked…he swallowed…he tried to smile but couldn’t. Finally he spoke.

“Congratulations, Liza.” He paused as though he’d run out of steam and needed a minute to generate some more. “You deserve it. You’re the best journalist in the business, no question. I’m so proud of you.”

Despite his obvious unhappiness, he looked as though he was sincerely proud of her and meant every word. While she was grateful for his support, she was so upset to be leaving him that she felt as though a thousand more martinis would never be enough to dull the pain.

“Thank you.”

No self-pity, she reminded herself. No self pity…No self—

“When do you go back to Washington?”

Too soon. “Tomorrow, I think.”

“Then…this is our last night together. Isn’t it?”

Lust was suddenly all over his face, flushing in his cheeks and blazing in his glittering dark eyes. His scorching gaze, all determination and desire, slid over her in one swift glance that was so hot she felt broiled alive. Broiled, unbearably aroused and almost ready to agree to whatever he demanded of her.

Those disturbing thoughts streaked through her mind again:

Maybe fifteen million a year was no victory if it kept her from him.

Maybe, this one time, she’d found a man she could trust.

Maybe, with him, she could do a relationship after all.

Liza started to smile, started to take a helpless step toward him, but Adena chose that moment to materialize at his elbow, looking upset, and the spell was broken.

“I need you, John.” Adena flashed Liza a dark look. “Now.”

John’s face fell with disappointment and irritation. For a minute his gaze flickered between the two women, but then he gave Adena a curt nod and schooled his features.

“Excuse me,” he told Liza in a polite voice that was neither troubled nor seductive, and Liza all but sagged with relief as they walked off.

Until he glanced back over his shoulder and hit her with a blazing look of such possessive purpose that Liza’s heart skittered and stopped as she absorbed his silent message:

I’m coming for you tonight.

Chapter 17

J ohn’s hands were still shaking when he knocked on the cottage door.

It was 1:43 in the morning. Having endured the endless party and an ugly scene with Adena, he should now be on his way to bed in his well-appointed room at the main house for a much-needed night’s sleep, but he needed Liza more than sleep.

Being here was dangerous. He knew that. Though there might be a bump in his popularity after the shooting and his work with the tornado survivors, his campaign remained on life support and a tabloid frenzy over his personal life could kill it outright. Not to mention the damage that would be done to Liza’s journalistic reputation if the newest network anchor was caught in a secret affair with the presidential candidate she was covering.

So, yeah, he should be in his room back up at the main house. He should be enjoying a snack as he read through his briefing papers for tomorrow. He should not be sneaking down to the cottage to see Liza, but he knocked again anyway, harder this time.

He could’ve been killed today. Maybe he’d be killed tomor
row. Maybe his next assassination attempt would come from someone more skilled and detached than Vern Stubbs. Who could say?

All he knew for sure was that only this moment was guaranteed, and he planned to spend this moment making love with the woman he needed.

Still no answer. Frustrated and impatient, he pulled the screen door open and tried the knob. To his surprise, it turned, and John slipped inside, closing both doors behind him.

There she was. By the light of a lamp on the console, he saw Liza sitting in a tall-backed chair in the corner of the small entry, not six feet from him.

Her back was rigid, her shoulders squared. She hadn’t undressed from the party, and deep slits in that super-sexy black dress revealed shapely long legs up to her thighs. Both her pretty feet, which were still encased in those strappy sandals, rested side by side on the floor, and her hands were clenched in her lap.

In her eyes he read equal parts fear and sensual knowledge.

So she’d heard him. Expected him. Knew why he’d come.

Good.

Maybe she still wasn’t quite ready and would need a little more convincing, but she would give him everything tonight. With his urging, she would happily surrender, and surrender over and over again. Before the night was out, he fully intended to have her commitment to a relationship with him, and he wanted to hear her say that she loved him. He thought she did—he’d seen glimpses of it in her eyes—but he needed to hear the words.

Their wait was almost over—but not quite.

Liza unclasped her hands—they were still shaking—put them on the arms of the chair and stood looking none too steady. Then she took a small step toward him and hitched her chin up.

“Please leave, Senator.”

While her courage was one of the many things John admired about her, she had no idea what she was up against tonight.

“No.”

She blinked, her defiance wobbling and her voice fading. “What do you want? I told you I wouldn’t have an affair with you. I warned you.”

Maybe he should ease her into it, start with the easy things first. “I want you to tell me,” he said nice and slow, “why your hands were shaking earlier.”

Panic flared behind her eyes and she shook her head. Edging around him, looking as if she planned to run if given half a chance, Liza mustered her bravado, pivoted on those sky-high heels and marched past him to the front door, where she put her hand on the knob.

“Please leave.”

John gaped after her—did she really think she was throwing him out?—until his brain came up to speed and he reacted.

Uh-uh, Liza. Not tonight.

Moving with sharp reflexes honed on the soccer field, he lunged and caught her from behind.

She cried out, struggling.

Too bad, darlin’. There wasn’t a snowball’s chance in the Bahamas that he’d let her go, especially when she felt so hot in his arms, so sweet, so unbelievably perfect.

Tightening his hold, he restrained his hands and kept them firmly around her middle, roaming neither higher nor lower even though he would have gladly sacrificed five years of his life to do so.

Shoving his nose deep into that shiny, fragrant black hair, he inhaled her, throwing caution to the wind and getting higher than a runaway kite.

“Shh,” he told her.

She writhed against him, her body rigid and stronger than he’d remembered.

“Please let me go.”

“John.”

“What?”

“John.” Maybe it was twisted to derive such immense satisfaction from ruffling the unflappable Liza Wilson with her cool eyes and nose-in-the-air haughtiness, but he did. “You should say, ‘Please let me go, John.’”

After a last shudder she went so still he could no longer feel the rise and fall of her ribs beneath his fingers. Finally, she moved again, but her body was softer now, pliant. The obligatory struggle
with still there, but it was more of an undulation—a feeble test of her will against his when the bottom line was that they both wanted the same thing.

With the obvious weakening of her resistance to encourage him, he let his lips slide down the sleek column of her neck and nearly died from the thrill.

Heaven.

“Please let me go…John.”

“No.”

She groaned. While there was some despair in it, there was much more excitement and need. Feeling the need himself, weak with it, he inched his hips forward until they just brushed the lush curve of her butt and he experienced more heaven with a healthy dose of torture.

Stifling his gasp, he waited.

Slowly, by degrees, her body loosened. The fight went out of her, bit by bit, and that was almost enough for John, but then she did something even better. Arcing against him, she turned her face toward his lips and rubbed that big butt against his erection.

The contact almost sent him over the top. His hard length jerked against the zipper of his trousers, well beyond his control. Sweat broke out across his brow and beaded at his temples. The trembling in his hands had long since spread to his entire body.

He wanted her. Wanted…wanted…wanted.

His desperation was so strong he felt as though he would kill for it or die from it, but it wasn’t time. Not quite yet. First he had to bring her just a little bit further. Leaving behind the tender skin of her neck—he would come back to that later—he pressed his lips to her ear and whispered.

“Why were your hands shaking earlier, Liza? My hands have been shaking all day because I’m scared of dying without holding you like this again. Why were yours shaking?”

“For the same reason.”

Good, but not good enough. “Tell me.”

She turned her face toward him, strained to get closer.

“I was scared.”

“Why?”

“Because it looked like…you were dying. There was so much blood—”

He nuzzled the delicate shell of her ear, determined to focus a little longer so they could get over this hurdle once and for all.

“Why does it matter to you whether I live or die?”

To his surprise, her ribs heaved beneath his fingers, and his hand slid against the slick silk of her dress. Was she…crying? God, she was. Liza Wilson, the strongest, fiercest woman he knew or ever would know, was crying over him.

And these were not the hot tears of a woman in a moment of passion but the emotional tears of a woman who felt something profound.

He felt a million times more humbled than he’d ever been while standing before a cheering crowd of supporters.

“Don’t cry, baby,” he murmured. “It doesn’t have to be this hard. I love you and you love me. That’s all.”

That was it—the exact right thing to say.

She sagged and gave herself completely. He felt it in her body, which was now supple, fluid, and in her skin, which radiated new heat like the molten crater of a volcano.

“Yes,” she said.

“Say it.”

“I love you. I need you. Inside me. All over me. I just…I need this.”

Instead of leaving to shout his joy from the rooftops, which was a real temptation, he took a long moment to let it soak in, this amazing accomplishment of getting Liza Wilson to admit she loved him.

Pressing a kiss to her temple, he waited, not at all sure he wasn’t about to start bawling like a baby.

“We’re going to be together, darlin’.”

“How, John?”

Man, he loved it when she said his name. Loved it. His heart thundering with enough energy to power a wind turbine, he loosened his grip a little, turned her in his arms and looked down into the bright brown eyes that would probably be both the death of him and the last image flashing through his mind on his dying day.

“I’m thinking…maybe it’s time for me to concede the nomination to Senator Fitzgerald. Go back to being a plain old senator.”

“What?” Wow. He hadn’t expected her to look that horrified. “No. You can’t. It’s not over yet, and you can still win—”

“I don’t know whether I can or not. The numbers—”

“You can,” she said adamantly. “I know it.”

It was beside the point at the moment, although he loved her all the more for her confidence in him. “You’re the most important thing to me, Liza. By far.”

“I don’t want to be responsible for you quitting.”

John became very still. The possibility that he could get the two things he wanted most was so glorious he had to creep up on it. This had been his hope, of course, but it suddenly seemed much closer to a reality.

“You could…help me.”

Comprehension dawned and her mouth formed a surprised O. “Help you?”

“You could…do some work for Alzheimer’s treatment and research or choose some other platform.”

With that, he formally passed his future happiness into her hands.

“A president needs a first lady, and I need you as my wife.”

It was too much to spring on her, the marriage idea more so than the first lady business. He knew it even before she went rigid and tried to jerk away.

Reacting quickly, he tightened his hold and kept her close until some of her tension eased. A fine tremble broke out over her body, and he hated it, hated the man who had done this to her.

Seething but trying to be gentle, he kissed her cheek. “Don’t, baby.”

“I’m never getting married again.”

He kissed her again. “I’m not your ex-husband. Don’t treat me like him.”

“Men cheat. Politicians lie. It’s what they do.”

“Liza.” Drawing back so she could see his face, he stared down at her. “I will never lie to you or cheat on you. Never.”

She wavered, looking as though she couldn’t quite believe him. “It’s more than that. I don’t want to be a politician’s wife or first lady. I don’t want to campaign. This is your calling—not mine.”

“You don’t have to campaign or do anything else you don’t want to do. Our calling is to love each other, and I just need you to be there when I come home at night. That’s all.”

Her jaw shut with a snap, and he decided to take advantage of the opening. Enough with the talking. They had more important things to do.

“We’ll work on the logistics in the morning. Right now we’re going to get to know each other a whole lot better.” Palming her face, he tunneled his fingers through the black silk of her hair. “Aren’t we?”

After a brief hesitation, she nodded.

Good girl. “I’m going to kiss you here.” He stroked a thumb across her dewy bottom lip and she smiled. “And here.” He let his hands slide lower and filled them with the delicious weight of her breasts. Just when her head fell back and she began arching into him, trying to get relief for her nipples, which he sincerely hoped were now hard and throbbing, he slipped his hands lower, to the center of his universe, and cupped the dark triangle he planned to explore tonight with the exhaustive thoroughness of Lewis and Clark.

“And here. Okay?”

“Yes.” Her eyes were bright now, her face flushed and gorgeous.

Easing her closer, he palmed her butt and ground her against his straining erection. This nearly killed him, but it was worth it. He must have hit a sweet spot, because she whimpered and writhed against him, her body’s needs making her shameless—just the way he liked her.

“And when it’s time,” he told her, “you’re going to spread these thighs for me and let me in. You’re going to relax and let me take care of you—let me do everything I want to do with you, everything I tell you to do. Aren’t you?”

And Liza Wilson, the woman who’d traveled to war zones, interviewed dictators and made corrupt politicians sorry for the day they were born, shivered and said, “Yes.”

“We’ll deal with the rest of this tomorrow, baby, okay?”

“Okay.”

John wanted tonight to be all about Liza.

Liza had other plans.

Maybe it was the martinis he’d seen her sipping tonight, in which case he planned to buy stock in Absolut and order vodka by the case, or maybe it was realizing he could have died today, in which case he planned to get shot more often. Whatever it was, it made Liza soft and easy, so sensual she stole his breath and scattered his thoughts.