Crashing the Congressman’s Wedding (Crimson Romance) (16 page)

She reached out to push the ball cap from his head, so she could run her hand through his hair and bring his mouth to hers to stop his searching eyes, but her other elbow buckled, flattening her on the bed. She bit her lip to hold her laughter. He chuckled for her instead, never missing a beat with the path of his fingers, over her shoulders, down her breasts, across her nipples and back up again.

“I love you,” she whispered, her voice breaking the minute she realized she’d said it out loud.

He stopped then. Froze. And a chill wracked her body. Just when she was certain he’d leave the room, return with her shirt, drive her to the theatre and never speak to her again, he crawled over her, placing his lips to hers.

“I love you, too. I think I always have.”

She cried, because nothing good, nothing important, nothing like this was supposed to happen to Johnny Cramer’s silly little girl. How was it possible?

“If you … ” — her voice cracked — “ … love me, and I’m not your dirty little secret, then who am I?”

“You’re Alice Cramer,” he whispered, his lips tracing her jaw.

“But that was never good enough before. How can it be now?”

The mattress jerked, and the pressure of his body released. He settled beside her again, where she could see his face in a sliver of moonlight. His hand went back to tracing her body, only this time starting higher on her cheek, a touch below her ear. He dragged his finger lower to her lips, the tickle causing a shudder.

“You were always good enough.” He reached her breasts, and her breath hitched. “I wasn’t good enough. I see that now. That’s what changed.” He leaned over her again, kissing her softly. “I’m going to do whatever it takes to be good enough for you. Starting now.”

He tugged on the waistband of her jeans. Through thick, wet emotion fuzzing her head and clogging her chest, she managed to wiggle out of her pants. Justin Mitchell loved her. He wanted to be good enough for her. Starting now.

When his lips nipped at the skin below her naval, she sighed. This was a wonderful place to start.

Telling Alice he loved her obliterated any parameters the congressman may have had in mind, which wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. The less of him Justin saw, the more he liked himself. And God, did he like Alice. No, he loved her. He did. He just never realized it until now.

The salt from her skin tingled on his tongue and he breathed her in, memorized her body with his hands. Some things in life came as a surprise without any plan to ease their blow. Loving Alice was one of those things. And it was a blow to everything he’d expected his life to be. He wasn’t so blinded by want for her that he couldn’t see that. Still, he’d worry about that later, because right now, he had something better to do.

He kissed her inner thigh, and then with his hands beneath her soft hips, raised her body to his mouth. She whimpered, rocked against him, her fingers twisting in his hair. Power rocketed through him, tightening his skin for battle. Every action was bold and decisive, until she broke with a cry. Yeah, he loved her, loved that he could take her there.

And now they’d go together. After all these years apart.

Justin stretched for a condom in the bedside drawer while Alice tugged on his sweatpants, sliding them over his erection, helping herself to every inch of his tortured skin. He shed his shirt, his pants and let her play between his legs, biting back the release he craved. But then she bent her knees and slid toward him in a sultry aggression that broke his resolve.

He wore the condom in seconds.

Before he slipped inside of her, he paused above her, searching her darkened face. So this was it? What he’d wanted for too many years? What he’d pushed away for even more?

“Hurry up,” she teased. “We’ve waited a long time for this.”

Yes, they had.

And then the wait was over. He pushed and pulled with his hips as Alice rocked below him, puffing staccato breaths against his neck. The pressure built, tingling in his head, shaking in his arms and legs. If he could bottle this feeling, he’d never feel powerless again.

She moaned, moving faster, her fingernails scraping his back.

He gave … everything. The way he’d always wanted to. No reservations. No rules. She did that for him.

No one else had ever given him something so precious.

• • •

By the time they returned to the kitchen, dinner was ruined. Thick lines of coagulated sauce ran down the colored glass backsplash, while several clumps of the same goo marred the shiny granite.

“We forgot to turn off the stove,” Alice said, stepping across the threshold and into the war zone.

“Dang.” Justin was right behind her, his hand on the small of her back. “Dinner is going to be delayed.”

She didn’t care. Her stomach was filled with flutters. Making love trumped making pasta any day. She smiled for the zillionth time that night.

“You think it’s funny?” He tossed her a dishtowel. “Try keeping that smile on your face while you’re helping me clean.”

She had news for him. After tonight, her smile might never fade.

Alice scrubbed at the counter top while Justin swiped the walls. Who knew there was so much companionable comfort in cleaning? Who knew Justin whistled while he worked? She did. Alice Cramer knew things about Justin Mitchell that nobody else knew, like he loved her. She smiled bigger then.

“My mother fired a housekeeper once for a mess like this. Cora Stone. Do you remember her? She was watching a soap opera while the sauce redecorated the kitchen.”

Alice’s smile fell. “I remember Cora.” After Mrs. Mitchell fired her, she was a town joke. Like the Cramers. Once again, the feeling of being out of place buzzed through her, and she fidgeted with the towel, dabbing a splotch of red, scrubbing until it disappeared, wondering who cleaned the Mitchell kitchen after Cora was fired. Maybe Mrs. Mitchell made her clean it before she kicked her out. There was something sick and twisted about the way Alice could relate.

She breathed in through her nose and out through her mouth as she scrubbed, trying not to think about sour Mrs. Mitchell and being the town joke. It wasn’t easy. Those were things she’d been dealing with for years. And yet, after the validation of making love with Justin, she was surprised the discomfort hadn’t eased.

Sometimes love isn’t enough.
Her pessimism found its voice again. She couldn’t refute it, not when she had her parents as an example. Her father loved her mother, but that love wasn’t enough to stop the drinking or the beatings. Her mother loved her children, but that wasn’t enough to get out of a bad situation and give them a better life.

And now Charlie loved Morgan, but that wasn’t enough save his child.

Alice glanced at Justin, who hummed while he worked. She wanted to tell him all of that, so he could reassure her, tell her that wouldn’t happen to them. But she didn’t dare. She may know things about Justin that nobody else did, but some unknowns remained. Like how would he react to news that Morgan and Charlie were pregnant and that Charlie wanted to fight for his right to fatherhood? Fights often became spectacles, and politicians didn’t like scenes.

Whether he loved her or not, Justin was still a politician, one who would return to Washington. What would happen to them then?

Sometimes love isn’t enough.

“Where’s your smile now?” Justin dragged the back of his wrist over his forehead, wiping his brow, and grinned. “Hard work, huh?”

“Oh. No.” She stumbled. “It’s fine. I was just … ”

“I know.” He moved beside her, scrubbing at a spot on the stainless-steel sink. “You were worrying about your theatre.”

The theatre. The grant. How was it possible to not think of those things? But somehow she managed. Orgasms helped. She closed her eyes on the wayward thought. Talk about a night filled with ups and downs.

“I
am
worried about my theatre.” It was the truth, without revealing the true reason for her missing smile, so she ran with it. “I have so many dreams for that place. I want four shows a year — two musicals, two dramas.” She ticked the numbers on her fingers while grasping the dishtowel. “And I want to start a youth theatre for actors under eighteen. I’ve thought about letting the drama club use the space, since the high school stage is ridiculously small and half-filled with wrestling mats, which has angered me since high school. And I’m thinking about murder mysteries and dinner theatres, too. The opportunities to exploit a wide-open space like that are endless. I can see it all, the people, the excitement, the success, and my name on the marquee.” She took her first recognizable breath since she started speaking, and when she exhaled, her balloon popped. “But I need a lot of money to make it happen.”

He tossed the rag into the sink and pulled her close, balancing her on his chest while he leaned against the counter. “I’ll give you the money.”

Just like that.

She blinked. Could it be that easy?

Justin brushed the hair from her forehead and let his fingers linger at her temples. The tiny circles caused not-so-tiny ripples of warmth to cascade over her skin, and she knew … she couldn’t take his money. Especially not after sex. That seemed seedy. Like she planned all along to sleep with him for the sake of her theatre. Her critics would love that. Not that anyone was going to know she slept with him. But he loved her, she loved him, if they somehow moved forward with life under those circumstances wouldn’t people assume they had something physical between them, wouldn’t they question her motives? She couldn’t live with that scrutiny.

“What do you say?” he asked, dipping his head to whisper in her ear. With his hot breath ruffling the curls along her hairline, thrilling every cell, she’d say whatever he wanted her to say … and that was an even bigger fear than public scrutiny. Justin could control her with the touch of a hand. It was the non-verbal equivalent of telling her what to do.

She grimaced, despite the soothing sensations. “I can’t take your money. It … wouldn’t be proper.”

He laughed. “Since when do you worry about what’s proper?”

“I do now,” she said, tapping his chest with her hands.

“Fine, then it will be a loan. You can pay me back. That’s proper,” he said as he kissed her forehead and squeezed her to his chest.

But there was more to it, more which needed to be said. How could she tell him what he saw as helping her she saw as controlling her?
Sometimes love isn’t enough.

“We’re kidding ourselves, Justin. This is one night, one perfect, wonderful night, but what if that’s it. What if this ends … badly?” Like most everything else in her life did.

He pushed her off his chest, cocked his head and studied her face with pinched brows. Just when she thought Congressman Mitchell was going to pipe up and agree, show her the door, give her the boot, Justin relaxed his brows and gave a playful sneer. “Are you dumping me already?”

Dumping Justin Mitchell? It was crazy to think she was actually in a place where she could even joke of such a thing. The thought forced a small smile. “No. Not until after dinner. You promised me dinner.” She raised her brows and batted her lashes. “But seriously … ” God, she hated being serious right now. And if her father were here, she’d give him a piece of her mind for digging so deep inside her head she couldn’t let fun win. She sighed. “If I accept the loan and this … ” — whatever this was — “ … ends, then I’m stuck making payments to some guy I hate.”

He winced. “Stuck and hate are harsh words.” His exhale echoed through the room.

She’d finally gone and sucked the fun from him, too. “I know. It’s just that happy endings and Cramers don’t mix.”

Plowing his fingers into the sides of her hair, he cradled her head. “Maybe we can change that.”

As if the chance existed … “Maybe.”

He dipped his head for a kiss. It was gentle at first, like a silent promise, but when he coaxed her lips open with his tongue, it was a kiss meant to convince. Deep and relentless, pulling passion from her darkest places. When he straightened, he squeezed her again, this time rocking her back and forth. Pressed to his chest, his soft T-shirt cushioning her cheek, she wished the world would end. Then she’d never have to know what happened to her theatre … what happened to them.

“If you won’t use my money, then at least use me. I was one hell of a carpenter before they stuffed me into a suit.”

She strained against his arms, until she could see his face. “You were a boy, building a tree house for Mark,” she said with a roll of her eyes. “And if I remember right, you never finished it.”

Lines stacked on his forehead until they disappeared into his hair.

Alice regretted the slight and reached up to smooth the wrinkles, then threaded her fingers through the silk on his head. “My theatre requires man-sized carpentry skills.”

He grinned. “Are you questioning the size of my manhood?”

Heat bit her cheeks. “I swear you do that on purpose.”

And when he bent down and laughed against her neck, she knew he did.

“Maybe you’d like to see me with my man-sized hammer … witness some nails.” As he spoke, he shook his head, pressing his lips to her skin, tickling her with his whiskers.

Oh, she’d like to see him with his hammer all right, but Justin with a hammer wasn’t going to fix the bulk of her problems at the theatre. She’d have to figure out something more practical … but not tonight. She needed a break from the seriousness and worry.

She needed to concentrate on one hammer at a time.

When Justin woke, Alice was gone, but everywhere he looked, she was there, from the smudge of black on his white pillowcase and the lip-stained glass in his sink to the kittens mewling in his laundry room. As he moved through the house he drew deep breaths, expecting to smell her vanilla shampoo. It was like living with a ghost — and he’d only dropped her off at her theatre a few hours ago. How was he going to get through days and weeks without her? Washington loomed.

He squeezed his temples between his thumb and middle finger and wished it would loom over someone else.