ROMANCING THE BULLDOG (7 page)

“Mugged?” Jason could hardly believe his ears. “You were mugged?”

Liz nodded.

“Yes?”

“Yes, I was mugged, and my hands got entangled in my purse straps so the guy ended up

dragging me along.”

Jason shook his head in disbelief. “When did this happen?”

“A little before you splashed me.”

“Oh, Liz,” he said, placing his hands on her small shoulders. “And you didn’t go to the

hospital, or--”

“I don’t need a hospital, or to see any doctors, I’m fine.” She began heading for her back

room. “All I need is a warm bath.”

Jason followed her. “I want to take a look at your injury first.”

“I don’t have an injury, Jason, I told you that. I’m just a little sore. I’ll be fine. So please

leave. You’re no longer my father’s fixer. You don’t have to play that role anymore.”

This offended Jason, but he kept following her anyway. By the time they made it to the

small bedroom, and Liz began heading for the adjacent bathroom with every intention of

closing the door to get away from him, he got serious. “What do you think you’re doing?”

Liz looked at him. “I told you I’m going to take a bath.”

“And I told you I want to see that injury or ache or whatever the hell it is, first. Show it to

me.”

Liz could not believe his insolence. She began to walk away again, not about to let him

handle her like that, but he took her by the arm.

“Okay!” she said, snatching away from him. “Goodness.” And she lifted her blouse.

Jason moved up to her and looked at her bare side. “Show me where it hurts,” he ordered.

Liz pointed to the spot. “There,” she said.

As soon as Jason touched the spot, Liz flinched again. He touched around the spot, as if he

knew what he was doing. Soon his touch began to feel more soothing than painful, almost

exactly the way she felt that night ten years ago. Painful first, and then soothing. She looked

into his eyes. “Nothing’s broken,” she assured him.

“No, thank God,” he said, continuing to touch her, and to return her look. “But definitely

sore.”

“Definitely,” she agreed.

“Get out of those clothes,” he abruptly ordered as he stopped touching her and moved

toward the bathroom, “I’ll run you a bath.”

Liz started to argue with him, but then she just stood there and shook her head. She’d

never met a more take-charge man before in her life, especially when he hadn’t been invited to

take charge. But it didn’t matter. She could see that already. Jason Rascone was the kind of

out of control bulldog who did whatever Jason Rascone wanted to do. And Liz and anybody

else in his wake had better either get with his program, or run, not walk, out of his china shop.

THREE

She looked
lost
, Jason thought as he stood at the bathroom door and saw her sitting on the

side of the bed, her hands loosely clasp on her lap, her face unable to shield her uneasiness.

She wore a white, terrycloth robe that looked two sizes too big for her and seemed resigned to

some fate that had her drained of all fight. What happened to her, he wanted to know. She

used to be so feisty, so tough, so full of so much mouth that he wanted to shut it himself a time

or two. Now she looked about as sassy as a nun in church. He exhaled. What happened to

her?

Liz heard his loud exhale and looked up. He was standing at the bathroom entrance,

leaned against the doorjamb, staring at her. He had discarded his suit coat – she didn’t even

notice when he did so –and had his shirt sleeves rolled just above his elbow. And it felt surreal

to Liz. He was that same Bulldog Rascone from all those years ago, but he was so different,

too. He was a political heavyweight now, she understood that, but his difference was more

than a change in position. It was a change in demeanor, as if he was doing all he could to hide

his wild side, to prove wrong all those men who had named him Bulldog in the first place. He

was no bulldog, his restraint was attempting to show, he was no uncontrollable bomb thrower.

But Liz could still see that fire whenever she looked into his world-weary eyes. That edginess

she used to fear was still there.

“It’s ready,” he said to her and continued to lean against the jamb as she made her way to

the bathroom. “Sure you don’t need any help?”

“Positive,” she said, expecting him to step aside so that she could past him unobtrusively.

But he didn’t bulge, forcing Liz to squeeze past him. They almost touched as she past, but Liz

was small enough to make it through.

“Thank-you,” she said belatedly, and then closed the bathroom door behind her. When,

after a moment’s hesitation, Jason could hear her lock the bathroom door, he smiled. Then

pushed himself away from the door and pulled out his cell.

He walked around the small, neat apartment and phoned Stephen, who was ready to come

and pick him up. “Not yet,” he told his aide. And when he added he’d call him later, when he

was ready to leave, the doom and gloom tirade began. But that was Stephen. Every public

move by Jason was seen as either a wildly successful photo op, or an unmitigated disaster.

Liz’s wrenching cry of pain came just as Jason was hanging up in Stephen’s face. He

tossed his phone on Liz’s sofa and ran as if his life depended on it to the bathroom.

“Elizabeth!” he yelled, but he didn’t wait for an answer. He lowered his muscle-tight

shoulder and burrowed his way through the locked door, splintering it as it flung open.

“I’m okay,” Liz said as she was just lowering herself into the tub of water. “I just twisted

the wrong way.” Tears were already in her eyes. “And it hurt,” she added, as if she was

finally admitting defeat, and that she actually did need his help.

This touched Jason, because he knew what it took for her to admit any kind of weakness.

Like a man on a mission, he quickly unbuttoned his shirt and kicked off his shoes, unzipped his

pants and dropped them down his leg along with his briefs, stepping out of both. Completely

naked, he got in the tub behind Liz, at first startling her. But she had no fight left, and they

both knew it.

Sitting against the cold back of the tub, he cautiously leaned her body back against his. He

expected some token resistance at least, but she didn’t even bother. She leaned back

effortlessly. And then frowned.

“This is so ridiculous,” she said. “I’m behaving like a child.”

“You’re behaving like a young lady in pain, Liz,” Jason said soothingly. “You were

mugged, you were dragged like a Raggedy Ann doll, and you’re sore. There’s nothing

ridiculous or childish about admitting it. Now I want you to relax. Your muscles feel so

tense,” he said, rubbing her arms, “that it feels like I’m touching steel. Relax.”

She leaned herself completely back again Jason’s strong chest. She knew he was right, but

she also knew this was crazy. She’d never been around Jason Rascone over any appreciable

period of time, yet the two times she was around him for an extended period, ten years ago

and today, they ended up naked together. And the fact that his manhood was resting itself

against her butt, and had already expanded to such an extent that it was now wedged between

her cheeks, didn’t make it any saner. He must view her as some kind of a freak, some kind of

a helpless damsel always in distress, she thought with some degree of apprehension.

But actually, Jason only viewed her as lovely. No other word for it. He looked down the

length of her long, swanlike neck, her small, straight shoulders, her perfectly proportioned

breasts, abs and hips. Her womanhood. He remembered ten years ago, when he took her

virginity, and how he thought her the most desirable woman in the world that next morning.

They relaxed, with neither attempting to do anything but lean back and relax. Then Liz

shook her head as if she knew this couldn’t last, removed the bar of soap from its holder, and

was about to lather up. But Jason removed the soap from Liz, lathered up his own hand, and

began to bathe her.

“Jason,” Liz mildly protested, but Jason would have none of it.

“Didn’t I tell you to relax?” he told her. “I got this.”

Liz smiled at his vernacular. “And they elected you mayor of this town?”

Jason laughed, and then smudged her nose with soap subs. Liz leaned back again and for

the first time in a long time, actually did relax.

And he bathe her expertly. He bathe her back, her neck, her shoulders, her arms. Her

breasts, lathering her nipples until they were hard as gold. Liz continued to relax against him as

he bathe. He was gentle with her sore side, barely rubbing it, and for a moment she thought he

had stopped. Until he began again, this time bathing her womanhood, caressing it as he bathe

it, enjoying it just as much as he hoped Liz would be.

And she was. She loved his touch, and hated that she loved it, but she allowed it, may

have even needed it. But neither talked about it, neither worried about it. They just relaxed.

Afterwards, when he had bathe her thighs and eventually her legs, he helped her up and

out of the tub, dried her off himself, and then carried her, as if she were a precious cargo, into

her bedroom. To Liz’s shock he even put her to bed.

“I’m really all right, Jason,” Liz said when he literally tucked her in. Then he stood there,

studying her, his face a mask of concern.

Liz tried to ignore his stare, but couldn’t. She looked at him. “What?” she asked him.

“What happened?” he asked her.

“I told you what happened. This boy tried to steal my purse--”

“Before that. Long before that. What happened to you? Where is that sparkle you used

to have, that thirst for living that used to drive Hamp crazy? Where did it go?”
Who took it

away from you
, he wanted to add, but didn’t.

Liz looked away from him as tears tried to well up in her eyes again. She knew exactly

what he meant, but she couldn’t deal with that now. Not now. “I’m okay,” she said softly,

and it was all she would say about it.

Jason slouched down in a chair near her bed, and continued to watch her, to wonder about

her, to find himself beginning to get too concerned about her. Liz felt his concern, felt his

stare. She wanted to tell him that he could leave now, that she had it all in control. But

another part of her, the bigger part, wanted him to stay right where he sat.

And they remained quiet, the two of them, until Liz finally fell asleep. Jason stared at her

some minutes longer, still perplexed about her, and then he went into the living room and

looked out of the window. Just as he suspected, Stephen, his nervous aide, a man who

somehow believed that Jason’s political fortunes would propel him forward too, was parked at

the curb, waiting for him.

FOUR

She sat behind her desk at the Meyers Center and tried her best to concentrate on the work

before her. As youth director she had two bosses, the executive director, Milo Carpenter, and

the administrative director, Kirk Thomas. Both wanted her to handle all requisition orders for

not only the youth division, but the senior living and adult basic ed programs. She was also

tasked with conducting counseling sessions and making home visits on behalf of the troubled

youth that came to the Center, many of whom were looking for a way out of violent

relationships, abusive home environments, peer pressure, criminal activity, anything and

everything.

She was offered this job, thanks to her aunt, while she was still in Philly and in need of a

serious helping hand. Her aunt all but begged her to come back to her hometown and make a

fresh start. “You’ve been through enough,” her aunt had said. “Jacksonville and its slower

pace is just what you need.”

But now, as she thought about that attempted mugging yesterday; as she thought about her

beloved car sitting in some musky repair shop soon to start racking up storage fees if she didn’t

come up with three grand; as she thought about Jason Rascone and how touched, how scared

she was by his concern, she could only wonder if this was what she needed at all.

She moved to Philly years ago on an impulse, when she took up with a civil rights activist

within moments of her arrival on the campus of Harvard University. She didn’t want to be

there, wasn’t ready to make that kind of academic commitment, and was tired of trying to

please her father when all she did was never good enough. Bronson, the activist, was funny

and smart and had organized a protest of some Harvard professor who had given a derogatory