by Leanne Banks
He shot her a look of chagrin and waved at the person who'd called his name. "Thanks and merry Christmas to you," he said.
"Hey, Senator Danforth, I voted for you. Would you mind giving me an autograph?" said a man in the Santa line with twins.
"Of course," Abe said graciously.
Nicola felt a shot of admiration. They would end up being at the mall for hours. She knew it wouldn't end with one autograph and handshake. Abe responded to the requests, kissing babies. Soon there was a line of people wanting to have their baby's pictures taken with Abe.
Transfixed, she watched him hold the assortment of squirmy, crying, sleeping, slobbering, sneezing infants with ease. Despite the fact that he had said he hadn't spent much time with his children as infants, he sure seemed to know how to handle them.
She saw him comfort a little boy, holding the baby securely and rocking from one foot to the other. Her heart twisted. She wondered if he would hold their baby. She wondered if he could grow to love and want their child instead of seeing it as a burden. She wondered if the baby would have Abe's hair or killer eyes. Her eyes turned damp.
Blinking in surprise, she turned away and swiped at her cheeks. She took a deep breath and exhaled. Get a grip.
"Nicola," Abe called. "What time is my meeting this afternoon?"
She glanced at her watch. "Four-thirty. I'm sorry I let it slip. We'd better get moving." Welcoming the opportunity to put on her PR hat, she stepped forward. "Senator Danforth has a telephone meeting with the majority leader this afternoon. I know he would love to stay, but I hope you'll excuse him."
"Thanks," Abe said and joined her to walk out of the mall. "Is this when I say you were right?"
"I told you that you underestimated your appeal," she said. "Even the babies liked you."
"I'll tell you my secret," he said, looping his arm around her. "It's easy to hold a baby when you know it's just for a couple of minutes and you'll be giving it right back to Mom and Dad."
And a little piece of Nicola's heart broke.
* * *
Greeting friends and family in the grand foyer of Crofthaven for the annual Christmas party, he stood beside his brother, Harold, and kept glancing in the doorway. He wondered if Nicola had skipped the greeting line and had come in the back way. He wouldn't put it past her. The staff loved her. She was probably tucked away in the kitchen conducting a taste testing and sipping some wine. Or not with the wine, he thought. He'd noticed she'd turned into a teetotaler lately. He'd also noticed that she'd been alternately passionate and aloof. Swearing under his breath, he wondered what the hell was going on with her. Every time she backed away, it made him break into a cold sweat. He didn't want to lose her.
Harold nudged him. "Let's take a break. My hand's getting tired."
Abe met his brother's gaze and felt an easing inside him. His brother was one person he'd been able to count on through thick and thin. "Won't Miranda get upset?" he asked, speaking of Harold's longtime wife.
Harold shook his head. "She won't mind. I'll tell her we'll make the rounds through the rooms. Let me get you a drink. You look like you could use it."
"Thanks, Harold," Abe said dryly, but followed his brother down the hall to Abe's private study. Abe shut the door behind him and Harold pulled out the Scotch.
"So what's the problem? Nicola?" Harold asked as he handed Abe his shot glass full of Scotch.
Abe tossed back the Scotch and felt the alcohol burn all the way down. "Is there anyone who doesn't know?"
"Maybe the press," Harold said. "But that could change in a New York minute."
"I don't think I give a damn if the press finds out," Abe said, feeling his frustration burn and rumble like acid indigestion.
Harold raised his eyebrows. "Hmm. You want to marry her?"
Abe felt years of reluctance drag at him. "I don't know about marriage. I didn't put in a stellar performance as husband the first time. You know, Harold, that I've always envied the relationship you and Miranda share."
Harold smiled and grabbed a handful of peanuts from a dish on the desk. "I got lucky. My wife's a saint and it's okay with her that I don't want to conquer the world. It was easy to let you be the Type-A son."
"The Type-A son sure screwed up the personal side of things."
Harold shrugged. "You did the best you could. Your kids are healthy, educated and successful. They can all pay for therapy if they want."
Abe chuckled and sighed. He patted his brother on the shoulder. "I couldn't have a better brother."
"Then maybe you'll take some advice from me for a change," Harold said. "You were young the first time you got married. I can tell you still have plenty of that Type-A in you, but I can also tell the professional side of things isn't popping your cork as much as it used to. You're older now, hopefully wiser. Maybe you're finally ready to put a priority on being there for somebody else."
Silent for a long moment, Abe met his brother's gaze. "When did you get so damn smart?"
Harold cracked a smile. "When you were out conquering the world."
* * *
Food was Nicola's friend again. In the parlor, she tasted strawberries dusted with powdered sugar, mini-pecan tarts, sausage balls. Her queasiness had been absent for three days in a row and she was ready to enjoy the spread at the Danforth party.
"Your stomach must be better," Abe said from behind her, causing her heart to flutter. She wondered how he managed to combine humor and sexiness in his voice.
"Much," she said, turning around to face him.
He reached past her for a strawberry and his body rubbed against hers. "Good," he said, meeting her gaze. "But I know something that's better."
He meant her, of course, and she felt her heart flutter again.
"I figured you came in the back door," he said.
"I wanted you to bask in your senatorial splendor with your friends and guests," she said, tongue in cheek.
He rolled his eyes. "You're full of bull and you know it. You knew I'd draft you into the receiving line."
"Which wouldn't have been at all appropriate," she pointed out, discreetly licking the tip of her finger. "Since I'm not family. I'm officially an employee, the staff, the help."
With a look of challenge in his eyes, he caught her hand and lifted it to his mouth, his tongue sliding over the finger she'd just licked. "I'm changing that."
Gasping, Nicola jerked her hand away from his and glanced around to see if anyone had seen. "Are you nuts?" she whispered.
He paused for a moment then nodded. "Yes," he said. "I am."
She fought the slow dragging sensation of seduction in her belly. He was getting dangerous. Well, he'd always been dangerous for her. But he was pulling out the stops, Lord help her. She cleared her throat. "I should go say hello to—"
"I have something I want to show you before you run away, Chicken Little," he said, taking her elbow and guiding her to the opposite corner of the room.
His accusation ruffled. "I'm not Chicken Little. I'm just being sensible while you're being totally…" She couldn't think of just one word that adequately expressed her feelings.
"Totally what?" he prompted.
Totally wonderful, irresistible, impossible. There, that was a good one. "Impossible."
He nodded and pointed toward a table. "I had the cook make this in your honor."
Nicola glanced down and saw a sheet cake that suspiciously resembled her favorite cake. Her heart melted. "Is it really Mississippi Mud Cake?"
He nodded. "There's another in the kitchen for you to take home."
Her eyes widened. "Oh, I can't eat the entire thing myself," she protested. "But maybe I could freeze part of it." She met Abe's gaze. "This was too nice. Very thoughtful." She felt a ridiculous lump of emotion form in her throat. "I don't know what to say."
"Let me deliver the other cake to you tonight after the party."
"You're not talking about just cake," she accused, but knew her voice held no punch.
; "Are you complaining?" he asked, with justifiable confidence, and she knew she had been the one to justify his confidence.
Nicola chose not to respond. "I want to say hello to Harold and Miranda," she murmured and stepped backward.
He nodded with a grin, clearly knowing she was running. "I'll catch you later."
That was what she was afraid of.
Four hours later when Nicola thought she'd successfully escaped the party without Abe catching her, she lay in bed ready to put aside the book on pregnancy she'd been reading.
Her doorbell rang, and her pulse picked up. She swore under her breath because she knew who it was. Maybe if she pretended to be asleep.
The doorbell sounded again.
Three times, she told herself, clenching her eyes closed. If she could last through three rings, he would go home, she told herself. It was after midnight and he wouldn't wake her neighbors.
The doorbell sounded again and she counted to ten. She let out a breath of air and heard pounding on her door. Her eyes flew open and she jumped out of bed, grabbing her robe. This was ridiculous.
Stomping downstairs, ready to read him the riot act, Nicola barely glanced through the peephole before she jerked open the door.
Still dressed in a dark suit that made him look lean and yummy, he stood on her front porch holding a pan in one hand and a wrapped package in the other.
She crossed her arms over her chest. "Have you looked at the time? It's after midnight."
"Good morning," he said with a nod. "May I come in?"
She wanted to say no, but she didn't trust him to be quiet and at least one of them had to protect his image. As soon as she closed the door behind her, she rounded on him. "Abe, I've worked very hard for the last year to help you project a dependable, mature persona to the media and the public and I don't want you sending that message down the tubes just because you've won the election."
"I think you don't understand, Nic. I'll allow my constituents to know the truth about me, but I won't change who I am for my constituents."
Frustration raced through her. This same, solid, this-is-who-I-am-love-me-or-hate-me attitude had won the election for him. She watched him set the package on the sofa table. "But you can still be discreet," she insisted.
"I'm being plenty discreet," he said, loosening his tie. "Where do you want me to put the cake?"
"In the kitchen," she said, leading the way to the small galley kitchen. She put the cake pan on the counter and turned to face him, finding herself boxed in.
She swallowed at the determined expression on his face. "I meant what I said about you being discreet."
"I meant what I said, too," he said.
"It's not discreet for your car to be in my driveway all hours of the night," she said.
"Then come back to Crofthaven."
Nicola groaned. "You're avoiding the truth."
He shook his head and gently backed her against the wall. "No, sweetheart. You are." He lowered his head and took her mouth in a sensual, possessive kiss that made her knees lose their starch.
He pulled back and she could feel the reluctance emanating from him. "Open the gift after I've left. I'll pick you up tomorrow night at seven."
Catching her breath, she blinked at him. "What's tomorrow night at seven?"
"Cocktail party at the Robert Billings house."
"That's not business."
"He was my biggest campaign donor. That makes it business. Don't worry. It's semiformal. I'm sure you have something. I'd like to stay, but I've decided to wait for an invitation."
She stared at him for a long moment. She felt as if she was suffering from whiplash. He'd been pushing her so hard. And what was with the gift and the cake?
He rubbed his thumb over her bottom lip. "You need to admit your feelings for me before we can make progress."
Progress? What kind of progress? He slid his finger inside her mouth. She instinctively cupped her tongue around his finger.
He shot her a look of sexual approval. "That's what your body does when I slide inside you. You close around me like you can't get enough of me. It's okay, Nic, because I can't get enough of you, either. You just need to say it aloud, and then we can move on."
She closed her teeth around his finger and watched his eyes widen in surprise. Chuckling, he shook his head and brushed his mouth over her cheek. "Remember how I taste when you go to sleep tonight. Remember how I feel inside you when you close your eyes. All it will take is one word," he whispered. "Stay." He nuzzled her ear and turned away.
She noticed he didn't appear to have any difficulty walking. His knees were just fine. She, however, was still propping herself against the kitchen counter.
He would wait a very long time, like forever, before he got an invitation from her, she promised herself as she watched him leave the town house. She would put a sock in her mouth before she would invite him to stay overnight.
* * *
Nine
« ^ »
She needed to be more firm with Abe. She needed to be more firm with herself.
As she stomped around her town house getting ready for a cocktail party she technically shouldn't be required to attend with a man she definitely shouldn't be spending so much time with, Nicola muttered early New Year's resolutions under her breath.
"No more slipping into a sexual stupor when he kisses me," she told herself as she stepped into black pumps.
"No more kissing," she added, walking toward the den.
"And no more accepting gifts," she said, shooting the evil eye at the still wrapped gift he'd left her the night before. Abe Danforth was wealthy. He could afford the kinds of gifts most women would find irresistible, such as fine jewelry, designer clothing and hot little sport cars.
But Nicola refused to weaken on this matter. It would make her feel sleazy if he gave her extravagant gifts. Damn shame she had such principles because she wouldn't mind a new car, and even though she wasn't a jewelry person, she'd always secretly wanted some killer diamond stud earrings and one diamond ring large enough that it would require a crane to lift it. She'd never revealed her licentious wishes to anyone.
Even though she knew her relationship with Abe was—had been, she corrected herself mentally. Past tense. Even though she knew her relationship with Abe hadn't been tawdry, she didn't like the idea of other people casting her as the trophy wife. She didn't like it for herself and she liked it even less for Abe.
So, even though she was dying of curiosity as to what was in the gift box from Abe, she wouldn't open it. Joan of Arc would be proud.
The doorbell rang and she jumped. Not a good start for a woman who was supposed to be cool, calm, in control and unseduceable. Telling her heart not to race, she slowly walked to the door and marshaled her defenses. Lord help her, she would need them.
She opened the door and there he stood with a bouquet of flowers that reminded her of peppermint candy. Red and white roses with carnations, greenery and baby's breath. It was gorgeous and just what she'd said she liked.
"I brought you some flowers. I asked the florist to make it look Christmassy. What do you think?"
"I think you shouldn't have," she said and sighed. He'd ordered the flowers himself and that made the bouquet special in itself.
"You're welcome. I've already done it," he said, walking past her toward the kitchen. "Do you know if you have something to put them in?"
"Probably not," she said, determined to remain firm even though she felt like an ingrate. She heard him rustling under the kitchen counter then the sound of running water.
"This will work," he said, returning to the den. "Where do you want them?"
"That table will be fine." She waved her hand. "Listen, Abe, I know we've discussed this before and—"
"You look beautiful," he said, coming toward her.
Panicking, Nicola lifted her fingers in the sign of the cross as if he were a vampire with special powers. "Stop."
He laughed, folding her hands in his.
"What's this? I'm not out for blood."
"You've got to stop this," she said. "You've got to stop trying to wear me down. I know what's best for me and I know what's best for your image and it's best that we don't carry on in front of the world. It's best that we don't carry on period."
His face turned serious. "I'm not just carrying on, Nic."
She pulled her hands away from his and covered her eyes with them. "I wish I knew what it was going to take to convince you that—"
"You didn't open the gift."
She opened her eyes and felt a twinge of guilt over the disappointment she heard in his voice. "I don't think I should be accepting gifts from you."
"That's bull," he said. "It's not as if I'm plying you with diamonds and you're my mistress—" He broke off as if he was rethinking the notion. "Although it's not a bad idea."
She lifted her hand. "Don't even go there."
"I want you to open the gift," he said.
She crossed her arms over her chest, mentally girding her resolve. "I won't."
He made a guttural sound of exasperation. "All I want you to do is open it. You can refuse it, but only after you open it." He sat down on the couch. "I'm not going anywhere until you do. And if we show up late for the cocktail party, everyone will wonder why and I'll have to tell the truth because I'm honest Abe. I'll have to tell them that you wouldn't open the gift I got for you."
Frustration roared through her. He knew exactly how to get at her. "Okay, okay. I'll open it and then you're taking it back."
"Open it first," he said.
Wishing she didn't feel so emotional, Nicola bit her lip as she tore the beautiful paper from the box. When she found it taped, Abe offered his pocket knife. She opened the box and saw hardcover books, several of them. She picked up the first one and read the title. "Little Women."
A lump formed in her throat and her eyes started to burn. She met Abe's gaze through eyes that threatened tears.
"The complete works of Louisa May Alcott. Original editions," he said quietly. "I had to do a little looking to find one of those."
When she didn't say anything, he stood and looked at her curiously. "You want to give them back to me?"
