by Dee Davis
“I didn’t follow anyone. I told you I was going over there. How the hell was I to know that Ms. O’Brien would be there too?”
“I know that. And you know that. But between the bombing, the body, and her throwing you off her property, I can see where someone might get the wrong idea.”
“Yeah, if it’s presented in that kind of light. Hell, Tim, all I did was ask the woman a few questions. No one told me I had to use kid gloves. So maybe I touched a nerve. That’s what reporters are supposed to do.” Jake stood up, his hands clenched at his sides, his mind on Riley O’Brien and her lying silver eyes. How dare she call the paper?
Tim held up a hand in placation. “I’m not accusing you of anything, Jake. But there’s nothing I can do about it. I was ordered to pull you off of anything having to do with Riley O’Brien, and that’s what I’m going to do.”
“What if there’s an overlap between the Michaels case and the bombing?”
“You said yourself that isn’t likely.” Tim shrugged. “If there is, you’ll just have to work with Walter.”
“Oh joy.” Jake sat back down, reining in his temper. It wasn’t Tim’s fault. There was no sense shooting the messenger.
“Maybe it’s not a complete wash.” With a slow smile, Pierce pushed his glasses to the top of his head, making him look an odd cross between Benny Hill and Yoda. “I can’t ignore the edict, but I don’t have to like it. And since I haven’t seen you tonight,” his smile grew broader, “there’s no way to stop you until tomorrow.”
“But I don’t see how—”
“It just so happens that there’s a fund-raiser tonight—at Victor and Marietta Wilbine’s. And unfortunately,” Tim shook his head regretfully, “Walter still isn’t feeling well.”
Jake shot a look out the office door window to where Walter was working at his computer, then turned back to Tim, an enlightened grin spreading across his face. “A last hurrah, so to speak.”
“I think you can make it whatever you need it to be, but make it count. We’re talking final quarter here. Anything beyond that and you’re on your own.”
Jake nodded, already heading for the door. It might be fourth down and ten, but he had no intention of punting. Riley O’Brien had better ready her defenses.
Marietta Wilbine’s house was the result of an abundance of money and an overreliance on Martha Stewart. Marietta’s theory was that if a little was good, then a lot was even better. The result being a house that resembled a flower mortuary. There were dead flowers everywhere. In wreaths on the doors and windows, in vases scattered about the large foyer, even framed on the walls.
And to make it worse, the flowers smelled. A wild cacophony of scents that reminded him of a head shop. Jake tried to breathe shallowly, already certain that his sinuses would never be the same.
A woman in uniform took his overcoat, while a severe-looking man in black checked his credentials, his earpiece targeting him as Secret Service. This was the moment of truth. If Riley was thorough, she’d have barred him from attending. If not . . .
He shook his head, clearing his thoughts, determined to ignore the warmth flooding through him. Riley O’Brien had a way of unsettling him even when she wasn’t in the room.
With a nod, the Secret Service agent handed back his press pass and invitation. He’d obviously passed muster. Riley hadn’t bothered to have his name removed, confident that her call to the newspaper had been enough. He suppressed a grin. She’d seriously underestimated him.
She might be officially off limits, but there were other ways to get information. And he wasn’t above using them. He had that itch deep in his gut—the one that meant there was a story to find.
Besides, he had a few things he wanted to say to the senator’s daughter. No one hamstrung him without a fight. And this was as good a place as any. He straightened his tie, moving through the foyer, trying to resist the urge to sneeze.
Damn flowers.
The room was full to bursting with people. It was a night to see and be seen. The potential President was being feted by the best of the best. Or at least that’s the kind of crap magazines like Georgia Today would be selling tomorrow.
Senators mingled with industrial magnates, old money mixed with new. There was a ballerina in the corner talking to a man who made his money raising hogs, and an artist laughing at a joke being told by a professional football player.
Georgia’s elite.
Not his cup of tea. Frankly, he wasn’t an elite kind of guy. A fact his ex-wife had never let him forget. His gaze swept over the crowd, absurdly disappointed when he couldn’t find Riley.
Her father was over in a corner, deep in conversation with Leon Bronowsky and a local congressman, two Secret Service agents standing watch nearby. He studied O’Brien’s right-hand man. Leon Bronowsky was a shark, and he guarded his empire fiercely. Still, Jake had no beef with the man. He was a kingmaker, a high roller. Men like that took risks. Big risks.
But the payoff could be equally big, and it looked like Bronowsky had hit the jackpot with Carter O’Brien. In an odd kind of way, Jake almost admired him. Almost. Men like Bronowsky also tended to destroy anything that got in their way. To hell with the consequences. People were commodities. Nothing more. And Jake had no intention of being a casualty.
Bronowsky looked up and their gazes met. Jake tipped his head in acknowledgment. The older man’s eyes narrowed for a moment, sizing him up, then, with the slightest of shrugs, he returned his attention to Carter and his entourage.
Thoroughly dismissed. Not that that was a bad thing, as far as Jake was concerned. It only confirmed what he already knew. Riley was the one who got him pulled from the story. Riley. He glanced around the room, searching for a glimpse of her.
Where the hell was she?
“She’s not in here.” At Edna’s whispered words, Jake jerked around, embarrassed that the woman had once again read his mind.
“Who?” He strove for nonchalance, knowing full well that he wouldn’t fool anyone, least of all Edna.
“You know who.” Edna smiled, and took an offered glass of champagne from a passing waiter. “I thought you’d been warned off.”
It was Jake’s turn to smile. News traveled fast among journalists. “I wanted to go out with a bang.”
“You watch yourself.” Edna’s tone turned serious. “I’ve no idea what you think you’re playing at, but the people surrounding Riley are playing for keeps.”
“I know how to play hardball, Edna.”
“I know you do. I just want you to be careful.” She spoke lightly, but her eyes reflected genuine concern.
“You’re the one who threw me at her.”
She eyed him over the top of her glass. “I arranged an introduction. What you make of it is up to you.”
“I don’t intend to make anything of it, Edna.” His gaze collided with hers.
“You trying to convince me, or yourself?” Her smile was slow and sure. “She’s out on the patio.”
“What the hell is he doing here?” Carter kept his smile in place, but his voice was icy. “I thought you handled it.”
“I did.” Leon shot a glance around the room, guiding his friend farther into the corner. Carter was a loose cannon when he lost his temper, and this was not the place for a public display. “If anything, this is just his way of saving face. If he values his job, he’ll stay away from Riley.”
“And if he doesn’t?”
“Then we’ll have to do something else, won’t we?” Leon’s words were meant to placate.
“Fine.” Carter downed his scotch. “Just keep him away from my daughter.”
“I keep telling you, she can take care of herself.” Maudeen came to stand beside him, laying a gentle hand on Carter’s arm. Very subtly, he stepped away from her touch. She flinched, but immediately covered her reaction.
“I know that, Maudeen. But for some reason, this man is fixated on Riley.”
“I don’t understand what all the fuss is about.”
“Well, I wouldn’t expect you to. She’s not your child, after all.” He was speaking through clenched teeth now, his anger seething just beneath the surface.
Maudeen dropped her eyes to the floor, the slight shaking of her hand the only visible emotion. “But I care about her, Carter.”
“Of course you do.” Leon forced his voice to reflect a calm he didn’t feel. “But I’m telling you there is no cause for alarm. Mahoney is being taken care of.”
Carter blew out a slow breath, and Leon was relieved to see his friend relax. “You’re right. I’m sorry. I overreacted.”
Maudeen bit her lower lip, Carter’s snub obviously hitting home. “I shouldn’t have said anything.”
“No. It’s all right,” Carter said. “I know I’m overprotective when it comes to Riley, but she’s all I have. If anything happened to her . . .” He paused, his words hanging between them. Carter only loved two things in this world: his daughter and himself. And God help the person who threatened either one.
“Nothing is going to happen to her,” Leon insisted, shooting a warning glance at Maudeen. He could see that Carter was riding the edge. He had been since they’d arrived. Leon had attributed it to Riley’s misadventures, but suddenly he wasn’t so certain.
“See that it doesn’t,” Carter barked, then walked away, his candidate’s smile firmly back in place. Leon released a breath. Disaster averted.
For now.
The misty day had turned into a misty night. Lightning to the west meant rain was on its way. A storm. God, how she hated storms. They reminded her of . . . of bad things. The wind had picked up, swirling the first leaves of fall across the patio with a soft shushing sound. Riley shivered, wrapping her arms around herself.
She ought to be inside, courting her father’s supporters. But she was tired. Tired of the plastic smiles and fawning people. Tired of pretending to be something she wasn’t. All she wanted was a moment’s peace. Surely that wasn’t too much to ask. The distant sound of thunder echoed through the undulating trees.
“There’s a storm coming.”
His voice was soft, edged with something more. Something dangerous. Predatory. She didn’t turn, only stood, her fingers clutching the stone wall that divided the patio from the manicured grounds. “It’s still a long way off.”
He moved closer. She could feel his breath against her bare shoulder. “Distances can be deceiving.”
Lightning flashed. She counted. One one thousand, two one thousand . . . The distant rumble of thunder filled the air. She shivered again.
“You don’t like storms.” It was a statement, not a question. His hands settled on her shoulders, the heat from his body radiating through her, igniting flash fires deep inside her.
She shook her head, not capable of saying anything. They stood like that, watching the trees twist in the wind, listening to the distant sounds of the coming rain. His warmth seeped through her, and when he slowly turned her around, it seemed the most natural thing in the world.
She met his gaze, black like storm clouds, the hint of blue disappearing with the night. There was definitely danger here. She was lucid enough to know it. But there was the promise of something else. Something totally outside the rigid world she lived in. Something she wanted more than anything. Despite the danger.
He bent his head and brushed his lips against hers. With a muffled groan, his touch became more insistent, and the coming storm was obliterated by a maelstrom of their own making—the pounding of her heart replacing thunder, the touch of his lips on hers igniting white, hot lightning.
She’d never felt like this. Not in twenty-nine years of living. Good sense and years of caution faded under the onslaught of this kiss. She opened her mouth, welcoming him inside, reveling in the feel of his tongue, entering, possessing.
She pressed closer, feeling the heat of his hands as they caressed through the smooth silk of her dress. His mouth moved, tracing the soft skin along the inside of her neck. Shivers racked through her, and his hand slid below the neckline of her dress, his fingers unerringly finding the soft swell of her breast.
His mouth closed over hers again, the heat inside her building to a fever pitch. When his thumb rasped across her nipple, she moaned, the sound swallowed by his kiss. This was heaven—or hell.
Somewhere, beyond the magic of his touch, she heard voices.
Her father’s party.
Reality came crashing in. Mortified, she pushed away, her face burning, her breathing coming in gasps. Without meaning to, she stepped back, only the wall keeping her from total escape.
He reached for her, his eyes black as obsidian. She held up her hand and whispered the word no, putting all her years of training behind the single syllable. She was her father’s daughter. Steeling herself, she held her head high, her gaze locking with his. “I can’t do this. It’s wrong. You’re a journalist, for God’s sake.”
His reaction was immediate, indignation replacing concern. His dark eyes flashed and he stepped back, distancing himself from her. “Toying with the commoners, your majesty?” The anger in his voice was leashed, barely in control.
“I’m not royalty.” The words came out against a rumble of thunder. The storm was nearing. “You don’t know anything about me.” She pressed closer to the wall, struggling to understand what had just happened—why he was so angry.
“Oh, believe me, I recognize the type. You lead a man on, take what you want, and then put him firmly in his place. Well, let me tell you, sweetheart, I’ve been there and done that, and I’m not doing it again.”
She paused, searching for words, staring at the tiny muscle twitching along his jaw. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Don’t you?” He stepped closer, his breath caressing her ear. She shivered. “It’s all a game to women like you, isn’t it? Trap the poor schmuck and then make him pay. Do you get together with your girlfriends afterward to count coup?”
“Jake, I didn’t mean . . . it’s just that my father . . .” She trailed off, not knowing how to finish. Not knowing exactly what had brought about this lightning change. She’d never met anyone who could throw her, but this man could take her breath away with just a look.
“Your father wouldn’t like it, would he, princess? After all, you’re daddy’s little girl to the bone, aren’t you?” His words were intended to cut, and they did, deeply. “Everything is about him. Protecting him. Worshiping him. Living for him. And you don’t care who you hurt in the process, do you?” He was yelling now, but the escalating wind whipped his words away.
She fought against tears. This man was nothing to her. She didn’t care what he thought. “I haven’t hurt anyone.” She spit the words out, enunciating each one for emphasis. She slid sideways, preparing to run. Anything to escape the disdain in his eyes.
His hand snaked out, wrapping around her wrist, holding her in place. “Give me a break. You know exactly what you’re doing. You wave your royal hand and the world does your bidding. Your call to my paper could have cost me my job, and I don’t take that lightly.”
She went still, trying to understand his words. “What call?”
“Don’t play stupid with me. I know it was you. You called the paper and had me reassigned. Said I was harassing you.” He leaned forward, his grip tightening on her wrist. “Believe me, princess, when I’m harassing you, you’ll be more than aware of it.”
She swallowed, confusion warring with fear. “I’m telling you, I didn’t call anyone.”
He paused, a flicker of something washing across his face. If she hadn’t known better, she’d have thought it was hope.
“Take your hands off of Miss O’Brien this instant.” Leon Bronowsky stepped out onto the patio, flanked by two Secret Service men.
Instinctively, Riley took a step toward Jake, wanting to protect him, not understanding why. But he’d already turned away, his eyes narrowed as he took in her father’s friend and the two armed bodyguards.
“It’s
all right, Leon.” Her voice was shaky, the sound diminished by the wind. “We were only talking.”
All four men ignored her, and she felt a flair of resentment.
“Escort Mr. Mahoney from the premises,” Leon barked.
The two Secret Service agents took a step toward Jake, who held up his hands, his face full of scorn. “I can see myself out.”
“Well, you won’t mind then if we make sure that you do.” Leon’s voice was just short of dismissing.
She opened her mouth to say something. To explain things, to try and defend herself. But he was gone without giving her a second glance, Leon and the security men following in Jake’s wake.
Pain racked through her, surprising her with its intensity. Lightning illuminated the empty patio, the promised rain finally starting to fall. And, to her great horror, she started to cry.
Chapter 9
“I’VE NEVER BEEN so embarrassed in all my life.” Riley stopped pacing around the library long enough to glare at her father and Leon. “I am not a child.”
Leon held his hands up in placation. “We’re well aware of that, Riley, but part of my job is to make certain you aren’t harassed by the press.”
“He wasn’t hounding me. He was just talking to me.” And kissing her, but she’d think about that later. “It was meant to be a private conversation.”
“We could hear him yelling inside the house.” Her father’s voice was tight with anger.
“We had a misunderstanding. He believes that I’m responsible for some phone call to the paper.” For the moment that was all she was willing to admit to her father. The rest of it she would deal with on her own.
Her father and Leon exchanged a glance.
“You placed the call?” She waited, her gaze locked with her father’s.
“Leon did. At my instigation.”
“Why?”
“Because I don’t trust the man’s intentions, and because I don’t want to see you get hurt.”
Too damn late for that. But of course she couldn’t share that with her father. “Well, he blames me.”
