by Anne Stuart
At that point most of her romantic fantasies had concerned both long-haired rock singers and Eric Thompson, her best friend’s older brother. The man standing in the dawn light by her parents’ kitchen sink was cut from a different stamp. He was wearing a suit, of all things, a dark, conservative suit with a white shirt and a dark tie knotted loosely at this throat. His hair was short, army-length, and his hazel eyes had a distant, wary look to them when he wasn’t smiling at her. That smile had been a revelation on his dark, narrow face. When he was still the skin seemed too taut across the high cheekbones, the strong blade of a nose, the firm chin. When he wasn’t looking at her he looked driven, haunted, and frighteningly romantic. When he looked back at her, smiling that gentle, reassuring smile, Maddy melted.
He was even tall. Eric Thompson was just her height, and she had once made the mistake of wearing heels when she went to visit his sister Vickie. Eric had taken one look at the tall skinny amazon towering over him and beat a hasty retreat. She wouldn’t have to worry about spike heels with Jake Murphy, she thought with absent delight. His body was narrow, lean, and whipcord tough, even beneath the conservative suit. Eric was bulging with muscles, and yet Maddy had little doubt that Jake Murphy could dispose of him with one hand tied behind his back. It was a lovely, instantaneous fantasy, the two of them fighting over her. When in actuality neither of them could care less, she reminded herself dismally, pulling the enveloping white shirt tighter around her damp body.
He held out the coffee, and in her rush to get it she stubbed her toe on the kitchen table. “Sugar!” she snapped, limping the last few steps.
“Was that a curse or a request?” Jake asked, the smile still hovering over what was in repose a grim mouth.
“A curse,” Maddy said, leaning against the sink and massaging her foot. “I drink my coffee black.”
“Maybe if you didn’t wear sunglasses in the dark you wouldn’t bump into things,” he offered gently.
Maddy shook her head. “If I weren’t wearing these I wouldn’t see anything at all. They’re prescription—I left my regular ones up in my room.”
“Well, there’s nothing to see right now, so you may as well humor me.” Before Maddy could divine his attention he’d reached out and removed the sunglasses from her nose. “That’s much better. Such pretty brown eyes shouldn’t be hidden.”
The compliment was gentle, almost absentminded, and her immediate reaction startled even her. She struggled for something to say. “I thought Secret Service men always wore sunglasses,” she said, blinking in the sudden light. He was even more overwhelming up close, without the shadow of her glasses between them.
Jake grinned. “We do. Maybe that’s why I hate to see them when I’m not working.”
“You’re not working now?” It was an impossibly inane thing to say, she told herself mournfully, but she was desperate to keep up the conversation. If she didn’t she’d have to go back up stairs, alone, away from this gloriously mysterious creature who’d turned up in her parents’ kitchen.
He shook his head. “Not until your father gets up.”
“Are you staying here? In the house, I mean?”
“Actually I’m staying in the pool house.”
“Oh, my gosh, did I wake you?”
“I didn’t know anyone still said gosh and sugar when they swore,” Jake said in a wry voice. “How old are you, Maddy? I should know but I’ve forgotten.”
“Seventeen,” she lied.
His eyes narrowed for a moment. “I should tell you that I have an instinct for when someone lies. Also a good memory when it’s prodded. You won’t be seventeen till August.”
“Close enough,” she said.
“Close enough,” he agreed, taking a drink of his coffee.
“How old are you?”
“A hundred years older than you,” he said with a distant smile. “Twenty-six.”
Maddy did a rapid calculation in her head. “That’s only nine years older than me.”
“Ten. You’re sixteen, remember?”
“Nine and a half,” she said. “Have you always been in the Secret Service?”
Wrong question. His face closed up, the light went out of his hazel eyes, and his mouth showed its full potential for grimness. “I was in Vietnam for two years.”
Maddy’s recoil was instinctive. Most of her father’s political career had been built on opposition to that and any other war, and Maddy’s revulsion was deeply ingrained. She could feel those empty hazel eyes watching her reaction, and she quickly swallowed a sip of the scalding coffee. “Good coffee,” she manged in a croak.
Jake Murphy stared at her for a long, silent moment and then his mouth relaxed, his eyes warmed, and the tension left his body. “Thanks,” he said, and Maddy knew he wasn’t talking about the coffee.
She looked at him, less than a foot of counter space between them, and she had the sudden overwhelming longing to reach out and cradle that head against her, to kiss that bitter mouth that could smile so sweetly at her. She looked at him and fell in love, with all the passion a shy sixteen-year-old possessed. She smiled up at him dizzily. “You’re welcome,” she murmured.
He must have known. Those hazel eyes of John Thomas Murphy could see through any frail human emotion, and a sixteen-going-on-seventeen-year-old wasn’t adept at hiding the sudden onrush of fragile passion. But he smiled back at her, a sweet, secret smile between the two of them, and Maddy told herself a bond was sealed. She had met her fate, and if he didn’t quite recognize it yet, he would sooner or later. And suddenly the campaign summer seemed quite glorious to look forward to.
CHAPTER FIVE
“You wish any coffee, lady?” Was it Ramon with the soulful eyes and the killer T-shirt, or Luis? She could only guess.
“No, thank you, Ramon,” she said with a shake of her head, and was rewarded with a beatific smile that revealed shattered front teeth. When the time came he might very well prove an ally. He was young and innocent enough not to like what Jake Murphy was doing to her.
His next words confirmed that impression. “Don’t worry about Murphy. He is a fair man. He will take you to El Patrón when he thinks the time is right. You can trust him, señorita.”
Why was everyone telling her to trust him? She had little choice in the matter, but if she had it would be the last thing she would do. “Ramon, I need to see my father,” she said softly, urgently.
“Don’t let the gringa talk you into anything, amigo,” Luis of the Mickey Mouse T-shirt snarled from across the room. “You know what Murphy would say if you went against his orders. And she wouldn’t care. All she cares about is herself.” Luis spat to emphasize his point. It would make little difference on the filthy floor.
A wary look came into Ramon’s deep brown eyes, and the concerned smile wavered. “All in good time, señorita,” he said, moving away. “All in good time.”
Everyone had known of Maddy’s adolescent passion for her father’s Secret Service man. There was no way she could hide it. When it came to a choice between being circumspect and being in Jake’s mesmerizing company, she had to pick the latter, despite her mother’s caustic comments.
“If I’d known Jake Murphy was all it would take to get you interested in your father’s campaign, I would have done something about it long ago,” Helen had drawled. Of course she had chosen a small cocktail party, with Jake in hearing range, to make that particular announcement, and Maddy had fled to her room in mortified tears.
But even that embarrassment and her mother’s subsequent attempts at ridiculing humor didn’t stop her starry-eyed crush. Jake’s gentle forbearance only served to encourage her, so that by August every waking moment and most dreaming ones were completely absorbed in Jake. He’d always known just how to treat her—a combination of little sister, innocent young girl, his boss’s daughter, and a trace of something dangerously flattering. It had done wonders for her self-esteem, and for the first time in her life that she could remember she was truly happy. Until t
hat hideous night of her birthday, when all her dreams went crashing down and the even tenor of her life was shattered.
It was only a few days before the convention, the convention that everyone said held the keys to Samuel Eddison Lambert’s presidential ambitions. He stood more than a good chance against his opponent, a conservative younger man with a good record on domestic issues, and he held up even better against the opposite party’s choice of July. Sam Lambert was only a few steps away from the White House, and the tension in the house in McLean was high.
That there were other reasons for that tension, that something more than a straightforward campaign was going on, was kept from Maddy. She’d heard the arguments late at night, seen the sober emergency meetings of dark-suited men in her father’s study, but none of that was terribly unusual. Her parents had always fought, and her father had always had advisors. If everyone was beginning to look a little grim around the edges, then Maddy attributed it to the greater stakes at hand.
It was the night of her seventeenth birthday party. Helen had arranged a party and dance at the local country club. She had even outdone herself and snagged Eric Thompson as an escort for her lanky daughter. Sam and Helen would make an appearance after dinner, but no one could expect them to spare much time, with the convention only a few days away. Certainly not Maddy.
The giddy thought of Eric Thompson was enough to put even Jake Murphy out of her head. She spent days looking for the perfect pair of flat sandals so that she wouldn’t tower over him, her flowery summer dress floated around her narrow hips and hugged her small breasts in what could only be called an enticing manner, and her waist-length hair she left long and shining, with only a silver comb holding it back from her tanned, hopeful face. She’d have to make it through the night blind. There was no way she was going to wreck her outfit with her oversized glasses. Maybe she’d listen to her mother’s constant suggestions and get contact lenses. It had only been stubbornness that had stopped her so far. Leaning forward, she peered nearsightedly at her reflection in the mirror.
“You’re very pretty.” His voice, like water rippling over stones, came from the door of her bedroom, and she looked up, startled, into Jake’s hazel eyes.
He was leaning against the door, clad as always in that regulation suit that seemed to fit his tall body so much better than the other anonymous clones who surrounded her father. She smiled up at him, half pleased, half vulnerable. “I’m too tall,” she said, grimacing.
“No, you’re not.”
“And I’m too skinny.” She ran a disgusted hand down her narrow shape.
“No, you’re not.”
“And my mouth is too big.”
There was a peculiar silence, as his eyes fell to her mouth, and to Maddy’s fanciful mind his glance seemed to caress the trembling contours. But that may have been the fault of her nearsightedness. “No, it’s not,” he said finally, straightening up and starting toward her. “It’s just the right size.”
He’s going to kiss me, she thought with sudden, dizzying panic and excitement. He’s going to put that grim, unsmiling mouth on mine, pull me into his arms and …
He stopped a few feet short of her, and that damned, distant smile flitted over his unreadable face. “Your mother wants to see you.”
The disappointment that washed over her was ludicrous, considering the panic that had preceded it at the thought of those strong, merciless hands on her body. Maddy swallowed bravely.
“What about?” Eric Thompson suddenly seemed miles away and far too young for her.
Though Jake was at a distance from her she could read the sudden disturbed look that filtered through his eyes. She could tell that he knew he shouldn’t be there with her, knew that it was dangerous indeed. The thought pleased her immeasurably, and she moved closer.
“If it’s something unpleasant,” she added, stopping when she was within a foot of him, and she could feel the warmth emanating from his black-clad body, “then I don’t want to hear it.” She felt wicked, daring, and very mature. She reached out a slender hand and placed it on his arm. “Why don’t you tell her you couldn’t find me, Jake?” she murmured, smiling up at him provocatively. “She never has anything nice to say.”
He didn’t move, but she could feel the tension in him, the energy tightly held in check. “You’re playing with fire, Maddy,” he said finally, his voice not much more than a growl. “And you’re too young to get burned.”
She stood very still. The muscles in his arm were bunched beneath her fingers, and the hazel eyes that looked down into her wide brown ones were very dangerous. She had the sudden, fanciful feeling that if she didn’t move fast she’d be caught.
Yet he seemed to mesmerize her, so that she was unable to move, unable to speak a word, could only stand there looking up at him, her lips parted breathlessly. And willed his head to dip closer to hers, for that mouth to capture hers.
“Madelyn!” Helen’s perfectly modulated tones cut through the moment like a razor, and Maddy jumped, guilt and nervousness washing over her.
If she expected to see Jake equally confounded she was in for a surprise. His hand caught hers as she tried to jerk away, holding her tightly in a grip unseen by her eagle-eyed mother. “I was just telling Maddy you were looking for her,” he said calmly, his long fingers soothing the back of her hand with a warning gesture.
“Do you spend a lot of time in my daughter’s bedroom, Jake?” Helen demanded with that icy drawl she’d perfected years ago. “I hadn’t realized Maddy’s adolescent passion was reciprocated.” Helen allowed her cool brown eyes to trail over Maddy’s tall, willowy body. “You have improved, dearest. Even beyond what I imagined possible. I suppose we’ll have to keep a close watch on you.”
Maddy had flushed a miserable, unbecoming pink, and she opened her mouth to protest, then shut it again. Once more her cavalier came to her rescue, and she fell in love with him all over again.
“I was just telling Maddy how pretty she was,” Jake said.
“I’m sure you were,” Helen Currier Lambert said. “And were you telling her good-bye?”
“Good-bye?” Maddy echoed, horrified.
“Jake is leaving us, darling. Aren’t you, Jake?” There was a steely look in her mother’s eyes, one that Jake met with simple, utter hatred.
“That hasn’t been decided yet, Mrs. Lambert.” His voice was deathly cold.
Helen’s smile was a deathgrin on her beautifully boned face. “Well, you’ll leave us alone right now, won’t you, Jake? It’s time for a little mother-daughter discussion.”
Maddy threw him a beseeching look, but there was nothing more he could do. Ignoring the woman at the door, he reached out and caught Maddy’s hand again. “You look beautiful, Maddy,” he said in a gentle voice. “Eric Thompson is very lucky.”
She hadn’t realized he’d even known about Eric. Before she could say anything more he’d gone, his overwhelming presence draining the frilly bedroom of energy, making it pale and sad.
Helen shut the door behind him, advancing on her daughter with a cold, determined expression on her elegant face. “There’s trouble,” she said abruptly. “I decided you’d better be warned.”
“What sort of trouble?” Sudden panic filled her.
“With the campaign, of course. I can’t go into it now. If we’re lucky, if your father decides to take his head out of the clouds and face reality for once in his life, then we may muddle through. We’ll know by the end of tonight.”
“The campaign!” Maddy said in sudden relief, visions of her brother, long incommunicado on his cross-country trip, filling her head. “I thought it was something important.”
Helen Currier Lambert reached out and slapped her daughter across the face, hard. The sound of it echoed through the bedroom, shocking both women, and through Maddy’s blur of pain and astonishment she thought she saw her mother’s hand shaking.
If Helen Currier Lambert ever showed weakness or regret it was only temporary. By the time Maddy
had recovered from the blow Helen was once more in control. “It’s time you learned a few home truths, Madelyn. About life in the big city, about politics, and about men. People don’t become President without making a few deals, greasing a few palms, doing a few things that are generally unpalatable to those of your father’s lofty ideals. It all boils down to ‘you scratch my back, I’ll scratch yours.’ If your father wants to help all the waifs and homeless ones of this world, he’ll have to compromise a few principles to do it.”
“And Father doesn’t agree with that?”
Helen shuddered delicately, moving away from her daughter to stare out the third floor window. “That remains to be seen. I expect he’ll make up his mind in the next few hours—your father has never been one to be indecisive.” She turned to smile brilliantly at her daughter, ignoring the imprint of her hand on Maddy’s lightly tanned face. “But under the circumstances you can see that it’s highly unlikely that either of us will make it to your birthday party. I hope you don’t mind.”
It was all so polite, with the feel on the blow still raw on her face, Maddy mused. “No, I don’t mind.”
“No, I didn’t imagine you would. Eric Thompson will be sufficient distraction. You can’t say I didn’t do well by you this year. Eric Thompson is a very nice-looking young man.”
“Is he my birthday present?” Maddy said coolly.
“In a manner of speaking. You’ve always liked him—until you developed this embarrassing crush on Murphy he was quite the center of your universe.”
“Thank you, Mother.” Maddy’s voice was quiet and cool.
Helen roused herself from her abstraction. “And of course there’s the car. Though why in the world you’d prefer a Volkswagen Beetle to a Mustang is beyond me. It doesn’t do your father’s campaign any good, you know. It’s always wise to buy American—the voting public notices things like that.”
“Screw the campaign,” Maddy said.
This time she had her mother’s full attention, and her smile was coolly self-contained. “You realize that if your father withdraws, as he might very well do, he’ll lose his Secret Service protection?”
