The Kept Woman (10 page)

But she was also just a woman—a woman who probably had needs that had nothing to do with potty training, speech therapy, or minimum monthly payments. She just didn't know what they were.

Samantha reached inside her purse and applied a fresh coat of lip gloss, then smacked her lips with finality. She was still decent looking. She'd been blessed with a functioning metabolism, good skin, and thick hair, and heaven knows that spending sixty hours a week listening to women bitch about the lack of those very things had made her appreciate her good fortune.

She might even still know how to use her. . .what had Jack called them? Her
aspects
. Sam sighed, recalling how she hadn't needed any special skills that night eighteen months ago when she went home with Bill Latham, the architect. Talk about less than magical. Ten minutes and it was all over, before she'd even gotten started. Sam went home knowing she'd have been better off spending a few quality moments with her B-O-B instead of Bill.

A woman entered the ladies' room to find Sam staring at herself and offered an awkward "hello" before fleeing to a stall.

"Hi," Sam said to the closed door, figuring she'd spent the required five minutes in the bathroom by then and could return to her date—no, her
job
.

She should slap some sense into herself. What was wrong with her? Jack wasn't her boyfriend and he'd never be throwing her down on that luxurious guest bed and having his way with her and he would never be kissing her fingers because he treasured her. . .adored her. . .loved her.

The only reason Jack Tolliver was kissing her fingers or any other of her body parts was because she was dowdy. That's right—Jack was such a bad boy that he had to rent a boring mother of three to make him dull enough to be elected U.S. senator! Jack was too damn sexy for public consumption. And that's where Samantha Monroe had come in.

Sam laughed, throwing her lip gloss into her purse and putting a hand on a hip, staring back at her reflection.

There she was—dull woman. What had she selected to wear tonight? A dull pair of black slacks and a simple white collared blouse. Yes, the effect was dressy casual, but it was also just plain boring. She saw a bitter smile spread across her face. Yep, there she was, a woman so boring that she couldn't stop her husband from crossing to the other side!

Sam stopped breathing, the words hitting her chest like the painful insults they were. "Dull." "Dowdy." "Boring."

Undesirable
.

Sam slammed open the ladies' room door and began the walk back to the table. When the hell had that happened to her? When had the joyous, alive creature she'd once been become downright matronly? Maybe it happened while Greg and Lily grew up and got pissed off. Maybe it happened during those first four months after Dakota was born, when Sam lived on two hours' sleep a night. Maybe it was the result of going too many years without picking up a paintbrush.

She caught Jack's eye from across the darkened dining room. He had an elbow propped on the back of his chair, gray tweed legs crossed, nonchalantly commanding the attention of the men now clustered by the table. He tilted his head and produced a sweet smile she knew was not for her as much as it was for his audience. All the men turned to look at her.

And something in Sam snapped.

She was supposed to be the embodiment of the Hoosier everywoman? She was so gifted at being drab that she was earning more per week than the president of the United States? Well, fuck dowdy. Fuck the everywoman crap.

Sam slung her purse strap over a shoulder. As casually as she could, she swept her hand across the front of her blouse, popping open an extra top button. She put one foot in front of the other, sliding her palms along the fitted waist of her blouse and down the slacks that hugged her hips. She'd be damned if she'd walk toward that incredibly handsome man like a dowdy everywoman.

She was only thirty-six years old and merely a little worn-out, not dead.

With the men still watching, Sam decided to add some
oomph
to her stride. She tried to remember how to produce a sexy smirk and hoped that what she came up with didn't make her look like the woman in one of those sinus headache commercials. And she sauntered right on up to that group of men in suits and enjoyed the way they parted so she could reach her target.

"Miss me, baby?" She leaned down to kiss Jack right beneath his left earlobe. Every guy there had to have heard Jack's surprised intake of air, but Sam was the only one who knew that a tremble had coursed through his big body. She returned to her seat.

"Uh. . ." Jack stared at her with glassy eyes. He licked his lips. Eventually, he found the concentration required to speak. He stiffly gestured toward the group of men while staring at Samantha and said, "This is my financee, Samantha Monroe." Then he blinked, laughed at his own mistake, and gestured in Sam's direction instead. "I guess I got that a little mixed up, didn't I?"

Sam smiled with satisfaction at the sight of Jack Tolliver, undone. It seemed Mommy could still shake her aspects after all.

"How the hell did you get my home number, Miliewski?"

"I figured under the circumstances you wouldn't mind that I give you a call."

"Mind?" Christy sat up and reached over for the bedside light, thinking it had to be at least 2:00
A.M.
OK—the clock read 10:00
P.M.
, but she'd had a long day. "Of course I mind! If I'd wanted to spend time with you I would have accepted your dinner invitation. If I wanted you to call me at home I would have given you my number! But I didn't—therefore, I suppose you could say I mind!"

Miliewski was quiet for a beat, then said, "They're engaged."

Christy rubbed her forehead. "Who's engaged? What are you talking about?"

"Tolliver and Samantha Monroe. They were at St. Elmo tonight and he introduced her to our group as his
fee-ahn-say
. As in his future wife."

Christy's spine jerked straight. "Pardon me? I don't think I heard you right."

"Engaged. And you should have seen the way that little
mamacita
worked it tonight. I'm telling you, Jack is whipped in a way I didn't think was possible. He couldn't even introduce her without drooling on himself."

Christy laughed. This was so ridiculous she'd almost fallen for it! But she was far too smart for Miliewski, and the doofus would pay.

"I'm being punked, aren't I?"

"Uh—"

"Brandon, I'm telling you, if you are doing this for the entertainment of the members of the state gaming commission or something let me assure you that you will live to regret the day you were even—"

"Oh,
shut up
, Christy. Why do you always have to be such a flaming bitch?"

She gasped.

"I'd never do anything like that to you. You're the most amazing woman I've ever known." Brandon's voice was crisp enough to convey hurt and a touch of moral superiority. "I am simply passing on the facts as I've come to learn them—which is what you journo types call a
tip
the last time I checked—but hey, if you'd rather I talk to Al Gilligan over at Channel 3, no
problemo
."

Then Brandon Miliewski hung up, leaving Christy to gape incredulously at the now-silent phone. She slammed it down in its cradle and put her fingertips on the pulse below her jaw—it was hammering faster than at the end of her Thursday night hip-hop cardio class.

There was no longer any doubt that Jack Tolliver was scamming the public.

Because there wasn't a woman on earth who could get that man to agree to a trip down the aisle, especially that fast. If Christy herself hadn't been able to do it, then it couldn't be done.

She checked to make sure Brandon's number showed up on her caller ID—just in case she needed to reach him. At some point in the future. For verification. Or a quote. Not that she welcomed the idea of ever having to speak to the sweaty-faced lobbyist again in her life, even if he did think she was amazing.

The car ride back to Sunset Lane was more awkward than the date itself. As they drove north along Meridian Street, Sam looked out at the old mansions that lined the city's primary north-south boulevard. She must have driven past these gracious homes a thousand times in the years she'd lived here but had never really given much thought to what the lives inside those homes were like. Well, now she lived in a home even grander than the ones passing by her window. At least temporarily. And as surreal as it seemed, she was living one of those lives.

"That's the governor's mansion, right over there." Jack pointed out the driver's side window toward a sprawling brick home on a lot at least three times as large as its neighbor's. "I basically grew up there."

Sam nodded. "Kind of big place for one kid."

Jack laughed briefly, then turned to her. "Yeah, it was. My mother had twins when I was seven, but they only lived for a few days."

Sam's mouth opened in surprise; then she laid a hand on his shoulder. "Jack, I'm so sorry."

He gave a soft shrug, keeping his eyes trained on the road. "Two girls. I would have had actual siblings. Maybe I wouldn't have turned out to be such a selfish bastard."

Sam blinked, hearing the pain in his voice, intrigued by the small window he'd just provided into the way he thought about things. "That's very sad." She squeezed his shoulder a last time and returned her hand to her lap.

Jack nodded. "Real sad."

Sam watched him swallow hard, the rigid lump of his Adam's apple moving down and then up his throat, and it was all she could do not to reach out and stroke his head, the way she'd often done for Greg when he struggled with feelings that threatened to be too big for him to handle.

Jack pulled up to the traffic light. "I think having other kids might have mellowed Marguerite out somewhat, too. Losing the twins was very hard on her, and she disappeared on me for a few years."

"Disappeared?" Sam frowned. "You mean she left?"

"Not that anyone else would notice, but there wasn't anybody inside her for a long time. She wasn't all that interested in me. But, eventually, she did bounce back and held on to me tighter than ever. Jackie Chan's got nothing on MDT's grip, let me tell you."

Sam smiled politely, hoping he'd keep talking, well aware that this was the first time Jack had volunteered anything even remotely personal about his life.

"How do you get along with your mother these days?" she asked.

He made a soft clicking sound of disappointment, then tightened his mouth. "I'd like to tell you that we're estranged, but she won't let me be."

Sam laughed at that. She was fascinated by the tongue-in-cheek attitude he seemed to have toward his own life. She was starting to think that Jack Tolliver didn't take himself very seriously.

When Sam didn't say anything right away, Jack gave her a friendly pat on her left knee. "You're missing your cue, Miss Monroe. This is where my date usually points out that my distant and cold relationship with my mother is at the root of my commitment phobia."

Sam shrugged. "Ah. There you go. I didn't even know you had one of those. Besides, I'm not your date—I'm your employee—and it's not my place to say."

A smirk of appreciation spread over Jack's face as he turned left onto Fifty-sixth Street and drove up the hill toward Sunset Lane. "We may not be dating, but you're damn sure the only woman I've ever been engaged to." He turned onto the densely wooded drive, and the headlights of his Lexus lit up thousands of pale, bare tree branches that hovered over the road. "And I've been sitting here thinking that Kara is going to flip when she hears I blurted that out tonight, ahead of schedule."

"Talk about missing your cue," Sam said, smiling to herself.

"I think you have a sadistic streak in you, Samantha, like all females."

Sam coughed. "Say what?"

"Back there at St. Elmo. The man-eater walk and the '
Miss me, baby?
' routine. That was cruel. I was so floored I could have easily revealed national security secrets had I known any. Maybe I shouldn't be a senator."

It was Sam's turn to give him a friendly pat on the knee. "You'll be a great senator and I'm sorry I did that. It wasn't anything personal—I was feeling a little sorry for myself and had to make sure I still had it."

Jack retrieved the remote control from the storage compartment between the seats. He stared at her while he pressed the button that opened the iron gates at the end of the circular drive. "Make sure you still had what, Sam?"

She shrugged, gathering up her purse and making sure her coat was buttoned before she got out of the car and said good night. "Oh, nothing. It's stupid."

Jack turned off the car engine and unlatched his seat belt, then turned to face her. He had one of those little lopsided smiles on his face. Clearly, he was enjoying her embarrassment.

"Exactly what are you insecure about?"

She put her hand on the door handle. "Forget it. I'm sorry I did that—you're right; it was mean. I'll tell Kara about what happened. I'll explain to her that it was my fault. Good night Jack."

Click
. All the doors locked.

Sam laughed, shaking her head. "You're funny."

"Still had what, Sam?"

"Oh, stop. Seriously. This is silly. I've apologized. Now I've got to go in so Monte can go home."

Jack's eyes darted toward the house, where only a few rooms were lit. "I'm sure Monte won't mind staying a minute. I'm waiting to hear about those things you need to make sure you still have."

Sam's heart was racing. What was going on here? He was teasing her, but the look in his eye and the heat she felt pouring off of him was no joke. Jack Tolliver was dangerous. He was a sexual predator—albeit a really cute one.

"Look, Jack—this job has made a huge difference in my life and the lives of my kids. It's a miracle, really, and I just want to do it right, help get you elected, then disappear into the background again. I don't want to screw this up."

Jack touched her again, and this time it wasn't a platonic pat. He kept his big hand spread over her knee and a good part of her thigh and he squeezed just enough that she got the message—he was big and male and she was small and female.

There wasn't enough air in that Lexus.

"Talk to me, Sam." The heat of Jack's palm went straight through the fabric of her slacks and singed her flesh. "Nothing will ever get screwed up just because you talk to me. I like you. I'm just curious what was going on in your head the moment you opened that can of female whup-ass on all us poor guys tonight."

Sam leaned her head against the seat and let go with a big laugh. Then she pressed her fingers into her temples. "Oh, boy," she whispered.

"I'm all ears."

Sam looked over at Jack and felt empathy for every woman who'd ever found herself in this exact position—alone with Jack Tolliver in the semidark, those evergreen eyes alive with a sexy playfulness. Any woman would be dead meat in these circumstances. And a woman who hadn't had male attention for what seemed like an eternity? She could fuckin' forget it. "Well. . ."

Jack stirred, and Sam was treated to the vision of his profile in the dim light. He was beautiful—the pleasing planes and ridges of his cheeks and jaw, the thoroughbred line of his nose, those sinfully wide lips, the slight upward tilt of his eyes. She wanted to paint him.

She needed to paint him, and she hadn't needed to paint anything in a very long time.

He tilted his head and smiled at her. "Tell me, sweet Sam."

She tried to hold it in. She failed, and she felt something crack open inside her heart. "Oh God! It's like I'm waking up after being in a coma or something, Jack!"

His hand began to stroke her leg.

"It's like I've been sleepwalking through my life, getting through the day and not realizing how fast those days were piling up, not asking myself what I really want or need because I'm afraid if I know then I'll see how empty I am. My kids are everything to me—but I don't think I've been a very good mom, because I just shut the rest of myself off in order to survive. I have been so damn tired for so long—" Sam stopped only because Jack's hand had ceased moving and its rhythm had apparently lulled her into a stupor of self-pity. "You must think I'm a crazy woman."

Then his hand was in her hair, and it was the strangest sensation. She spent her days massaging clients' heads, seeing their eyes close in bliss as she worked her magic. But when was the last time a man had touched her head like this? When was the last time she'd felt this kind of magic? She closed her eyes. Jack's long, strong fingers were gentle and warm and Sam couldn't help it: she felt herself weaken. She felt her head fall back and relax into the support he'd offered her.

"You're not crazy, Samantha. You're spectacular."

Sam's eyes flew open at the sound of his words, because his voice sounded blatantly sexual and real close. He'd moved his face to within an inch of hers. His hot breath brushed against her cheek. She inhaled him and was rewarded with a scent that was rich and warm and reminded her of sugar cookies just out of the oven, or anything else she'd never been unable to resist.

"Oh, Jack, wait—"

He didn't. That gentle hand guided her head close enough that his mouth covered hers, and he held her there, and between the heat of his open lips and his slick tongue and the unmistakable command of that hand behind her head she had no option but to surrender to it, let herself drown in it, because Jack Tolliver was kissing her like she'd never been kissed in her life.

It felt great.

Then it pissed her off.

Why hadn't anyone ever kissed her like this before? Why hadn't she ever been with a man who knew how to kiss like this? What had she been doing with her life?

The kiss got rougher and hotter and Jack very nonchalantly unsnapped her seat belt and pulled her body close to his. He leaned into her and continued the kissing and the pressing, and she heard herself make the oddest little noises of surprise and need. When he moved his lips to her throat, slid his tongue down to her collarbone and up to the tender spot under her earlobe, she realized he was giving her the same treatment she'd dished out at the restaurant.

Talk about cruel.

He nuzzled into the crook of her neck. "You are so soft."

"Jack—"

He sucked at her delicate flesh. "You taste so good."

"You'd better stop."

"I don't want to stop."

"Oh God!" Sam groaned. "If you don't stop right this second—"

"Yes?"

"It's just that I'm a little frustrated."

"That makes two of us."

"Oh, never mind!" Sam's cry thudded to a stop inside the tightly sealed luxury car. "Just hurry up and do it, then! I'm so hot right now I'm going to combust. Take me right this second. Please!
Fuck me now!
"

Jack went still. He pulled back from her, straightening his arms so he could study her carefully. Sam dared look at him, and the expression on his face was wide-eyed shock.

"Holy fucking shit," Jack whispered.