The Kept Woman (11 page)

Sam closed her eyes in mortification. Had there been a rejection in that curse? Did she really just beg, out loud, for her boss to have sex with her?

How did a person go about recovering from such a faux pas?

"I am so sorry," she whispered, trying to turn her face away from Jack's scrutiny. He cupped her cheeks in his big hands and turned her toward him.

"Sam? Hello? Is that you?"

She kept her eyes shut tight and tried to pull his hands away from her face, but he wasn't budging.

"Look at me, Sam."

"I'd rather not."

"Open up your eyes and look at me."

She opened one eye enough to see Jack smiling at her, his shock now reduced to just garden-variety surprise.

"As you can see, I really am a crazy woman—a sex-starved crazy woman. I guess that's another thing you should have looked into before you asked me to marry you. Pretend marry, I mean. I really should be going now."

Jack smiled at her. His hands softened their grip on her face, but they did not let her go, and she felt one of his fingers stroke up and down her cheek. The stroke swept higher and then lower, until his fingertips were brushing all along the side of her hair, her cheek, her neck, and moving down into the opening of her coat and her blouse.

Sam let out a little humming sound from the back of her throat and closed her eyes again. She was tingling all over.

"You are not crazy, Sam." He gingerly kissed the tip of her nose. "You've been going to waste is all, baby."

He unbuttoned her coat. She let him. He unbuttoned her blouse and she let him. She felt the cold air on her skin and knew it was working its puckering magic on her nipples, and she didn't care. She opened her eyes to watch him rake his fingers across their hard points, which looked sharp enough to slice through the lace of her bra.

Jack sucked in a breath. "All this gorgeous, wonderful woman has been going to waste and I don't know how the hell you ended up here in my car and in my house and in my life, but
damn
—let's make the most of it."

The porch light flicked on, flooding the car with a beam as intense as an FBI searchlight. They both shielded their eyes.

Monte's voice rang out into the night. "You two can come on in the house like grown folks!"

Dale began to bark, and then the little dog bolted out the front door, yipping all the way to the car.

This rude interruption, plus the sight of Jack rebuttoning her blouse with lightening-fast competence, brought Sam to her senses. She began to wonder how many blouses he'd undone and redone over the years, how many nipples he'd grazed with his fingers. She figured that since most women had two nipples, the number could be well into the thousands.

The car doors unlocked, sounding to Sam like a starting gun. She decided to race to the house before things got any worse.

"Sam?" Jack called after her. As she ran, she heard the distinct sound of little doggy nails scraping down the side of a really expensive car.

Monte leaned against the door frame with her arms crossed over her chest and an I-told-you-so look on her face.

"Hard day at the office?" she asked, holding the door open as Sam scurried toward the stairs. "Uh-huh. Well, the kids are asleep. They told me I could let Dale inside, but the damn dog pooped on that little Oriental rug by the kitchen sink. Simon's staying over, so I figured I would, too, and I picked one of the guest rooms down the hall, if that's all right. This place has more rooms than a Motel 6."

Sam reached the top of the landing, skidded on the marble floors as she rounded the corner, and headed up the steps leading to the north wing of the house.

Monte called after her, "I'll expect a full report in the morning, and I ain't referring to how your steak was prepared!"

"Good night, Monte!" Sam couldn't wait to get behind the closed doors of her suite, where she could ask herself the same question over and over and over:
What in the world do I think I'm doing?

OK. That was definitely something different.

Jack plopped his bare feet up on the ottoman and collapsed into his favorite leather chair, managing to keep every drop inside his full bottle of Corona.

He reached for the TV remote and flipped through 107 channels of nothing and clicked it off. He let his head sink into the supple cushion as he closed his eyes.

How could this be happening? How was it that the guy who could reliably have any woman he wanted found himself in a situation where he shouldn't have any woman at all? Worse, the one woman he found appealing—spectacularly appealing—was the one who was most thoroughly verboten.

Jack pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and index finger, then took a swig of beer.

He'd been rock hard for nearly three hours now, since the moment Samantha Monroe sauntered toward him from the women's room, a determined gleam in her eye and a nice sexy sway in those compact, rounded hips. He'd stopped talking in mid-sentence and stared, his jaw falling open in disbelief. A quick blink or two to ensure he wasn't imagining this vision, and it was
on
. Jack never thought he'd be capable of getting a boner in Brandon Miliewski's presence, but he had. Thank God for St. Elmo's generous white linen napkins.

And thanks to Sam's nuclear sex meltdown in his car, his damn dick would not go soft. He might never go soft again as long as he lived.

With another draw on his cold beer, Jack focused on finding something to think about that didn't involve Samantha Monroe or her soulful blue eyes, saucy smile, soft hair, hard nipples, or the way her voice dropped an octave when she begged him to fuck her.

His mother
. That should do it. He'd think about MDT and her last unanswered phone message and the frightening possibility of her showing up here for Christmas. If that didn't make him go limp, nothing would.

Jack finished the rest of the Corona and jumped up to toss the bottle in the kitchen recycle bin. But he must have landed on his feet wrong, because a searing hot agony shot up from his shin through his hip. This was perfect—the combination of his mother and the painful reminder of the lowest day in his life was a guaranteed hard-on deflator.

His phone started to ring.

"Why the hell would you go do a stupid thing like that?" It was Kara. "I haven't even nailed down the Goldman Steinam people yet! And you know how skittish Whitcombe Industries is! This was not our plan, Jack. You were supposed to tell the world about Sam at the same moment you declared. This stunt could put nearly a hundred grand in corporate contributions at risk."

"Sam called you already?"

"I called her. She told me. I asked her who happened to be present when you had your little senior moment and when she said it was a lobbyist she'd met once before named Brandon somebody I nearly peed my pajamas! Brandon Miliewski is such a needy weasel that he's already gone to somebody with this, I'm sure! He'd do anything to have a reporter owe him one. The only question is which one did he pick? Somebody who covers legislative issues, probably, but no one's called me at home yet for a quote."

Jack heard Kara pause to take a much-needed breath before she went on.

"Who does he know?"

"He knows every State House reporter in Indiana, I suppose. How did Sam sound when she called you? Is she all right?"

"Does Miliewski know Christy?"

"I have no idea. Did she sound good to you?"

"Who, Christy?"

"No, Sam."

"Sam? She sounded fine. Why wouldn't she? She said her steak was wonderful."

Jack nodded to himself, relieved. Of course she wouldn't have told Kara what happened in the car. That was a good thing, but he was dying to know if the too-short episode of hot groping had left Sam as disheveled as he was.

"Did she sound tired?"

Kara remained silent for a moment. "What is with you tonight, Jack? I thought we were clear on the timing. Now we're going to have to do damage control and maybe even throw together a press conference for tomorrow. I've called Stuart and we'll be there in a half hour to go over this."

Jack sighed. "I'm at my condo."

"I know where you are! Jesus, Jack! I called you on your home phone and you answered it, so obviously you're at your condo. What is your problem?"

He didn't know what to say.

"Jaaaack?"

"MDT says she wants to come to Indy for Christmas. I think I'm breaking out in hives."

Kara snorted. "Yeah, she called me today to bitch about you. I didn't tell her what was going on, because I think that little conversation needs to happen face-to-face and I think Stu and I should be there to back you up."

Jack rolled his eyes. "You'd better. This was your idea."

"She needs to see this as something you are absolutely convinced will work; otherwise she'll blow."

"No shit." Jack opened the fridge and found another Corona, twisted off the cap, and took a sip. "It's pretty sad when a grown man needs to take his posse along for a visit with Mother."

"She's not exactly Mrs. June Cleaver."

"Mrs. Meat Cleaver, maybe."

Kara laughed. "I know I don't have to tell you, but the Divine Ms. M needs to be your vocal ally in this campaign. She still carries a lot of weight with the AARP crowd, and if she doesn't stump on your behalf you bet people would notice. We need her up there at your side. And she needs to look like she's thrilled out of her mind that you've finally settled down."

"Oh, she'll be out of her mind, all right."

"Sam told me about the car, Jack. I hope you're not too pissed."

Jack was about to take another sip of beer, but the bottle jerked in midair, just shy of his lips, and cold beer streamed down the front of his dress shirt. "She
told
you?" He grabbed a wad of paper towels and gave the front of his shirt a pat-down.

"Yes. She feels awful about what happened. She offered to take it out of next month's stipend, but I told her you probably wouldn't be that anal about it."

Jack stared blankly at the buttons on his kitchen microwave. Then he looked aimlessly at the pot rack, then out the window toward the pink floodlights of the Eiteljorg Museum down the street. What a bizarre reaction for Sam to have, as if the price of coitus interruptus could be taken out of a stipend! "Kara? I'm not sure I follow."

"She said Monte saw the whole thing happen."

"Oh great."

"So how much damage was done?"

Jack put down the beer and rubbed the back of his neck. "No permanent damage, Kara. It was a mistake, and it won't happen again. Sam and I are adults and we are entirely capable of moving on from this."

"Hmm," Kara said. "That's a pretty philosophical way to look at a few scratches on a car door, but I'm glad you're taking it so well, because the dog also crapped on a rug in the house."

It was all he could do not to guffaw. Jack felt dizzy with relief. "Man, that's good news," he said.

"You don't have to get all sarcastic about it."

Kara and Stu showed up a half hour later, as threatened, and the three of them sat around Jack's dining room table until two in the morning, coming up with a way to make the most out of his misstep at St. Elmo. It was agreed that he and Sam would rev things up a bit with their public appearances but stick with the original plan for him to announce both his candidacy and his engagement at the dolphin aquarium dedication.

"It's just too good not to use to full advantage," Kara said, closing up her laptop. "I mean, kids and a zoo? You can't get any more wholesome than that."

In the meantime, Kara suggested that Jack and Sam be seen together as often as possible, starting with next Saturday's symphony Christmas charity ball. Her instructions were to avoid answering any questions about the engagement directly but not deny anything, either.

"Let's tease the hell out of 'em," Stu said.

"The idea sounds better than it actually feels," Jack snipped.

"Like you've ever been on the receiving end of teasing," Kara said.

After Jack saw them to the door, he smiled to himself. That's exactly what had happened earlier that night in the car with Sam—she'd teased him mercilessly. Maybe she didn't intend to, but the result was that she'd left him panting, unsatisfied, and curious as hell. The truth was, he found her fine sense of humor and simple beauty bewitching. The fact that she was a vixen-on-the-down-low didn't hurt, either.

Jack turned off a living room lamp and the kitchen lights. Sure, he'd feasted from the female menu over the years. He'd piled his plate with stunningly beautiful women who had as much
oomph
as a stalk of celery. He'd nibbled on smart women who couldn't stop analyzing long enough to enjoy sex. He'd munched on his share of party girls, and, like junk food, they could be quick and easy but left him hungry for something substantial soon after.

What he'd tasted in Samantha Monroe was something he'd never encountered anywhere else, and he had to admit there was something incredibly sexy about a woman who looked like Wonderbread but burned his tongue like a bowl of five-fuckin'-alarm chili.

And as Jack walked down the hall and into his bedroom, he realized that out of all the women he'd dated in the last decade he couldn't think of a single one he could turn to, right now, for a little comfort. There wasn't one female who'd offer him some loving and be willing to keep her mouth shut about it. There wasn't anyone he could trust. So it looked like he'd be living the life of a de facto monk until this primary was done.

What in the world had he done to himself?

The hum of music and laughter flowed over Sam, and she looked around at the D & D Night crowd with great pleasure. Tonight they welcomed two members back into the fold—Candy McGaughy, absent since her baby girl was born three months before (her third), and Olivia Petrakis, who was rebounding from a divorce (her second). Denny and Wanda were there, along with Kara, Monte, Marcia, and their newest member, Brigid Larson, a wholesome-faced divorced mom with two kids who owned a popular breakfast place over on Massachusetts Avenue, tucked in between the art galleries, New Age bookstores, and boutiques.

It was Brigid who brought it up. "My God, Sam! Everyone knows what a hottie Jack Tolliver is! How did you meet him? How long have you known him? How long have you been dating? I read all those articles—are you really engaged?"

Sam batted her eyelashes and didn't dare look over at Monte. She let her gaze wander toward Kara instead, who nodded almost imperceptibly in Sam's direction, as if to give her the go-ahead. Since Christy had reported on Jack's "alleged" engagement and the papers followed suit, they'd been playing a game of hide-and-seek with the facts.

"Kara introduced us a while back. I haven't been dating him very long at all, and as far as being engaged goes. . ." Sam paused to steady her breath. "I don't want to jinx anything. My plan is to just see where it goes."

Candy's mouth hung ajar. "So you really are engaged to the most eligible bachelor in Indiana? I give birth to one measly child and this is what I miss?"

"You'll note the lack of a ring," Monte said, drawing everyone's attention to Sam's naked finger.

"Rings are nothing but medieval patriarchical symbols of male oppression of female power," Denny said with an impatient wave of her hand.

"I love rings," Wanda said. "Do you know what kind you'd like? Are you going with gold, white gold, or platinum?"

"Platinum for sure," Monte's said.

Kara laughed and Sam rolled her eyes.

"We haven't talked about it all that much," she said, smiling. "Believe me, the day I walk out into the world with an engagement ring on my finger, you-all will be the first to know."

As everyone nodded their approval, Sam took a moment to review the tangled web to herself: Kara, Monte, and Denny knew she was a hired gun; Marcia, Wanda, Candy, Olivia, and Brigid thought she was Jack's real girlfriend; and no one at all knew she'd done her best to get laid in his Lexus the other night.

For Sam, this ordeal already required a sharp memory and a decent output of energy just to keep all the details straight, and Jack hadn't even announced he was running. She wondered how difficult it would be to avoid making a slip in the coming months.

"I'm going to be her maid of honor," Monte said, acknowledging the coos and congratulations from those who didn't know any better. Sometimes it seemed Monte was enjoying this ruse more than Sam was.

"I've decided my colors will be pea green and mustard yellow," Sam said, making Monte work for her fun.

"You know green doesn't do a thing for my complexion," Monte said, giving her braids a haughty shake. "I was thinking some kind of neon orange might be better."

Olivia let go with an exasperated sigh. "Green, yellow, construction-cone orange, it doesn't matter. Everything ends up an amorphous smear of blackness and regret in the end anyway."

After a moment of silence, Candy said, "Thanks, girls. This party is doing wonders for my postpartum depression. I think I'll go home and flush all my Zoloft down the toilet. Who needs it?"

"That would be a sin," Marcia said. "Give it to me and I'll put it in the candy dish at my station."

"Anyway," Kara pointed out, "it's called Drinks & Depression Night, not Drinks & Delight Night, or something upbeat like that."

"Decadence & Diversion Night," Brigid said.

"Delicious Drama Night," Olivia said.

"Deliver me some Dick Night," Monte said.

The evening had degenerated into one of those occasions that should have made Sam downright mortified. They were making a racket—snorting and wailing and hands banging on the tabletop—but Sam herself was laughing too hard to remember to be embarrassed.

On the way out of the Lizard Lounge an hour later, Kara pulled Sam aside. "Can I talk to you alone for a minute?"

Monte hung nearby, just outside the door to the bar. Sam gave her a hand signal that she'd be right out and joined Kara at two end bar stools. The look on Kara's face was sheepish, like she was about to say something awkward.

Had Jack told her?

"Look, I know that this whole thing was my idea, and I really have no right to ask you this—"

Here it comes. . ..

"I didn't want to mention this in front of Monte or Marcia because I figured they'd try to jump in and say that they were just as talented as you are and could do it just as well as you, though I'm not convinced that's the case. I guess I'm selfish."

Huh?

"Jack said he didn't care if we did it at the Sunset Lane house, as long as we cleaned up afterward—"

What?

"He said he might even want to watch us, if you were OK with it. I told him I didn't care."

Sam's mind went blank as Kara leaned in close. "You've got to do my roots. Nobody but you has touched my hair for nine years, and if something went wrong, I. . .I. . .I can't even think about it. I'd become a shut-in."

Sam blinked. "You want me to do your hair?"

"Yeah. What in the world did you think I was talking about?"

Sam smiled. "I'll gather up some supplies and we can meet at the house Sunday afternoon. Will that work?"

Kara hugged Sam tight. "Thank you!"

"But don't let anyone else know I'm doing this, or I'll have cars lined up on Sunset Lane, and I can't see Jack being too thrilled with that."

Kara patted her hand. "I wouldn't worry too much about him. It's funny, but I think Jack really likes you, Sam. Something about you seems to chill him out."

Chill him out?
Sam said good night to Kara and joined Monte on the sidewalk, thinking to herself that Jack had the exact opposite effect on her.

She and Monte walked the three blocks to the parking garage, their breath hanging in the lights that illuminated the cold downtown night.

"How did shopping go today?" Monte asked. "Did you find a dress for the symphony thing you gotta go to Saturday?"

"Uh, not exactly." Sam shoved her hands deep into the pockets of her peacoat.

"Where did you go? You probably didn't shop at the right place, is all."

Sam had to agree with that statement, since it was awfully hard to find a formal gown at an art supply store.

"I had to run a few errands first, but I eventually ended up at the Fashion Mall up at Keystone and then Castleton Mall. I just didn't see anything I liked."

Monte sent her a doubtful look. "Did you try anything on?"

"No."

Monte shook her head. "Girl, if I had your body and your checking account, you couldn't drag my ass out of the dressing room. I think you need a fashion intervention, and I'm just the woman to do it."

Sam chuckled at the idea that Monte assumed she'd denied herself a shopping splurge when the opposite was true. Her first stop of the day had been Bates Art & Drafting Supplies, where, with Dakota's help, she'd selected 650 dollars' worth of pure pigment oils, Escoda sable brushes, linseed oil, thinners, gesso, and huge rolls of canvas the Bates staff was now custom stretching into three panels, each three feet by six feet. She'd been feeling the urge to paint big lately—she didn't know what yet, but she knew she was headed in a new direction. In her mind's eye she saw a huge triptych showing the evolution of something, a concept or a point of view. She knew it would come to her.

"I did go a little nuts with the Christmas shopping, though," Sam said.

Monte laughed. "That's understandable. It probably felt like biting into an eclair after years of dieting. I can't say I blame you."

Sam hugged her arms tighter to her sides in an effort to stay warm. "I told myself I wouldn't go completely overboard with the kids' gifts this year, especially because I'm saving for a hefty down payment on a house, as you know. But I just couldn't help it, Monte—it was too much fun. You won't believe what I got each of them."

Monte smiled. "Can't wait to hear."

"I got all three of them iPods, plus a laptop computer and printer."

Monte jerked her head back in confusion. "How's a child who don't know how to wipe himself supposed to surf the 'Net?"

Sam laughed and hooked her arm around Monte's elbow. "That stuff's for Simon, silly. I got Dakota a Wiggles' balloon bounce."

Monte stopped in her tracks and removed her arm from Sam's. "You got my boy a computer and an iPod?"

"Of course I did."

"Now why would you do that?"

Sam smiled. True, she'd briefly wondered if Monte would consider the gifts overkill but decided to risk it.

"Because I can. Because I love Simon like he was my own kid and it brings me joy to do this for him. I know you'd do the same for my kids if the luck were reversed, and don't try to deny it."

Monte pursed her lips for a moment, looked around at the downtown lights, then nodded at Sam. Tears welled up in her large brown eyes. "You know that's right," she said, slipping her arm into Sam's again.

The two women grinned in silence as they made their way up the parking garage elevator. They got into Sam's van and she started the engine. Monte looked over at her, one eyebrow arched high. "I'm damn-near afraid to ask what you're getting
me
for Christmas."

Sam laughed. "As you should be."

Jack straightened the black tie at his throat and clipped on a pair of cuff links. Tonight he'd chosen his grandfather's vintage set that featured the likeness of Marilyn Monroe depicted in platinum and diamonds, the cuff links his father said proved that the old guy had gone through a midlife crisis back when they didn't even know men had them. Jack gave a quick yank on the sleeves of his tuxedo shirt to make sure he could move his arms freely, wondering what Sam would be wearing tonight and whether thirty-eight was too young to be having a midlife crisis of his own. Then he hooked a finger in the shirt collar and tugged, making sure he could breathe. On any occasion, five hours in a tuxedo would be an ordeal. At a symphony charity event with sexpot Sam pretending to be his chaste date, five hours was going to feel like the eternity of the damned.

Jack slipped into the classically cut Armani jacket, hoping for both their sakes that Sam would find a way to relax tonight and forgive herself for her outburst in the car. He'd forgotten the whole episode!

Jack buttoned the jacket and ran a hand through his hair, hoping that Sam would come to see her outburst for what it was—a perfectly normal and healthy response from a perfectly normal and healthy woman who'd been abnormally neglected for an unhealthy period of time. That's all.

Jack grabbed his wallet and car keys and took one last glance at himself in the floor-to-ceiling mirror of his dressing room, thinking that it would be nice if Sam would wear something red and slinky tonight, with a long slit up the side of her leg—a leg he'd never actually seen. Every time they'd been in the same room together, Sam had worn pants or jeans. Nicely fitted pants or jeans, make no mistake about it, but pants nonetheless.

It was true that Samantha Monroe wasn't the tallest woman he'd ever known. In fact, she was much shorter than the type he usually found attractive. She had to be a foot shorter than he was and a hundred pounds lighter.

But Sam Monroe was an interesting woman. A levelheaded mom. One sexy little female.

And he could only imagine what lay beneath those pants. Taut, peach-hued flesh. Toned muscle. Freckles. A hard knee, a sharp shin, sweet little pink toes that would look good being slipped out of a pair of high-heeled sandals and into his mouth. . .

Jack grabbed his black cashmere coat from the closet and headed down the elevator to the underground parking garage. Yes, he'd forgotten all about Samantha's hot sex explosion in his car and the way she smelled and the way he nearly erupted when she'd begged him to. . .

Who was he kidding? Jack knew he'd be lucky to finish the night alive.

The evening had an odd feel of deja vu to it, and Sam realized it reminded her of the night Dave Schindler picked her up for the Valparaiso High School junior prom. The only things missing were a white gardenia corsage on her wrist and a nervous mother taking Polaroids of the couple in front of the fireplace.

"You look r-r-really pretty, Mom," Greg said, a bag of Doritos hanging from one hand and Dakota's fingers gripped in the other. "What time should we expect you home?"

Sam smiled at the protective tone in Greg's voice, a voice that seemed to be starting to creak and crack its way from child to man. "I'm not exactly sure. What would you say, Jack?"

Sam turned toward her date for the evening, quite possibly the most handsome man who'd ever lived, dark and mysterious in a sinfully expensive tuxedo, a coat tossed casually over one arm. He looked as if he should be wearing one of those sticky name tags emblazoned with the words:
HELLO! I'm God's Gift to Women
.

"Jack?"

He snapped to attention, and Sam felt her cheeks go hot. Jack had been staring at her exposed leg as if in a trance. She never should have allowed Monte to talk her into this Vanna White getup. It was way too red and way too open-down-the-front and slit-up-the-side. But she had to admit it wasn't dull, boring, or dowdy, and that's why she'd bought it.

Jack swallowed hard, then gave Greg a man-to-man nod. "I'd say by midnight. The concert goes until about ten thirty, then there's a reception."

Lily put her hands on her hips. "And so you're the designated driver?"

"I am." Jack grinned at Lily with appreciation. "How about I give you my cell phone number, in case you need to reach us?"

"Knock yourself out," Lily said, immediately smoothing over her rudeness before Sam could. "That would be thoughtful, thank you."