It took hours to do it, but when they finished, both were ready to let the next phase wait for another day. As they washed up and prepared to leave, there was a knock at the door.
Harry went to see who it was. While he was gone, Samara noticed something on the backing they had removed. She recognized words. They were written in German. She couldn’t read them, but she looked closer at them.
About to call Harry, her voice stuck in her throat when he came through the door followed by Justin.
“What are you doing here?” Samara asked, not even disguising the surprise in her voice.
“I thought you might need a ride home.”
She wanted to ask him how he knew where she was or that they were finished for the night, but with Harry standing between them, she merely smiled.
“See you Thursday,” Harry said. “Same time.”
Samara had no choice but to leave with Justin. On the street, Harry said good-night and they went toward their cars.
“Justin, you shouldn’t have come.”
“The streets are dangerous,” he said. “You told me that. I’m here for your safety.”
They reached the car. He put his hand on the door handle, but didn’t open it.
“The truth is I miss seeing you.”
Samara looked up at him. The light from the parking lot lamps gave her a clear vision of his face. She saw sincerity in his eyes, along with need and what she thought was hope.
“I got your postcard,” she told him.
“Is there any hope?”
Looking at him was her undoing. She had the words that needed to be said ready to utter, but voicing them was something she was incapable of doing. Hope was in his eyes. She couldn’t kill it. She knew there was hope inside her, too.
Reaching up, she brushed her hand along his face, one finger lingering at the dimple in his left cheek. When his head bowed toward hers, she went up on her toes to meet him. Their mouths melded like long-lost lovers. Her arms went around his neck and her body moved to align with his of its own volition. How could she have thought she could stop this bond they had? He called it chemistry, but it had to be something stronger than that.
He occupied her thoughts night and day. She thought of his smile, his teasing ways and the world-changing way he made love to her.
“We have to get out of this parking lot,” Justin said.
Samara had forgotten where they were. Jerkily, she got into the car.
“How did you know where I was?” she asked when they were driving back toward the District.
“I called your apartment and you didn’t answer.”
“I had my cell.”
“I wasn’t sure you’d answer if I called the cell.”
His name and number would come up on the display and Samara would know who was calling before she answered. She also had Caller ID on her apartment phone, but she didn’t mention that.
“I had the card Harry gave my brother. When I left work, I drove up here.”
“Harry asked about the painting’s origin.”
“Asked what?”
“He says it reminds him of something.”
“Another painting?”
“I think so. He wondered where your family got it.”
“I don’t know. It’s just always been there. I’ll ask my father.” He stopped at a red light and glanced at her. “By the way, will you go with me to their anniversary party?”
“Are you sure you’ll be there?”
His gesture showed he understood exactly what she meant. “I know we had a couple of mishaps, but a lot is going on at work and things are changing. I’m not missing the anniversary. So can I count on you?”
“Justin, hadn’t we said we’d slow this down?”
“We did. The party isn’t for a couple of months. Is that slow enough for you?”
Samara knew she was going to go with him the moment he asked. She wanted to see him, be with him more than anything. Even her convictions couldn’t keep her from agreeing.
She nodded.
The e-mail popped up on her screen Thursday afternoon. Samara saw Harry’s address and opened it immediately. They were supposed to meet that night. If he couldn’t make it, he would let her know. But that wasn’t it.
The note said for her to look at the link he had embedded in the message. Clicking on it, up came a photo of the painting they were restoring. Samara read the story attached to it. Horror went through her as she read. She remembered the German words on the backing.
The painting was German war bounty.
She hit the print button and grabbed the phone at the same time. Calling Justin’s cell, she left him a message that she wanted to see him tonight.
He texted her back almost immediately with the time he expected to pick her up. It would be late, but he asked her to wait for him.
Samara had been waiting for an hour when he finally picked her up and pulled in front of his house and parked. She got out of the car and they went right into his house.
“Are you all right?” he asked.
“I’m fine. It’s not me.”
“What is it, then?”
“It’s the painting.”
“Can’t it be restored?”
“That’s not it.” Samara paused.
“I asked you once where you got it,” she said. They had reached his kitchen. She sat on one of the chairs at the table.
“And I told you.”
“We’ve found out a little more about it. Harry recognized it.”
“What do you mean he recognized it?”
“He sent me an Internet link this afternoon. When I opened the file, the exact painting was there.”
“So there’s a copy on the Internet. What does that mean?”
Samara stared at him. “Justin, the painting is German war bounty. You have to give it back to the original owner.”
“That painting has been in my family for decades. There must be some mistake.”
She handed him the papers. He took them and started reading. After a moment he sat down at the kitchen table.
“There’s got to be a mistake. That painting has hung at our house for as long as I can remember.”
“You’ve got to find the true owner,” she told him. “Think of your reputation. You’re a lawyer working for a critical Washington agency whose purpose is shrouded in mystery. Your actions have got to be aboveboard. Or they could—”
“Go a lot further up than you can imagine,” he finished. “I’ll have it checked out.” He took her hands. “I promise. There’s nothing I can do about it tonight.” Dropping her hand, he looked at his watch. “Saturday, we’ll go on a hunting trip and clear up any doubt in your mind. Will that work?”
Samara nodded.
Justin made no overtures to keep Samara in his house, although he wanted to with all his heart. Suppressing his wishes, he took her back to the car. Opening the door, Samara slid into the seat. Crossing the front of the car, Justin got in beside her. After the way she left him the night before, he didn’t think he’d see her again. But he took the chance and had the guard deliver a postcard for him.
It represented hope and Justin had hope for them. He felt she was special, that what was happening between them was special. He knew he needed to take things slowly. He hadn’t wined and dined her the way he wanted to. Each time he tried, his job got in the way.
But that was about the change.
“Tired?” Justin asked Samara.
“Exhausted,” she said. “I never knew pouring over a painting could be so tiring.”
He started the engine. “I’ll take you home,” Justin said.
Samara rested her head against the back of the seat as Justin pulled into traffic. In moments she was asleep. Justin wished he could drive for hours, keeping her next to him. Her apartment came up much too fast. He parked and leaned over to look at her. After a moment she stirred and opened her eyes.
“Are we there already?” she asked, blinking. Pushing herse
lf up in the seat, she reached for her purse that had slipped to the floor.
Justin got out and walked around the car. He helped her out and silently they entered the building. At her door, she stepped inside. He hung back. She turned, questioning his decision.
“Aren’t you coming in?” she asked.
He shook his head. “Don’t imagine for a moment that I don’t want to do just that,” he told her. “But you’re tired and not totally in control of yourself. You said we should slow down. I’m trying to do that.”
She stared at him, but said nothing. Justin wondered what she was thinking. He knew he wanted to hold her through the night, wanted to feel her body against his, but morning would come and with it the chance that if she had been less vulnerable, things wouldn’t have gone so far.
“See you Saturday morning,” he said.
She nodded. “Thanks for coming tonight. And thanks for looking into the painting.” Samara smiled, then going up on her toes, she kissed his cheek, her mouth lingering with a promise that Justin wasn’t sure was implied. She could be grateful. She could be tired. Or she could want him as much as he wanted her.
Justin felt as if he would melt. He had to force his arms from savagely pulling Samara into him. Samara’s mouth left his cheek and slid across his lips. What was she doing? His boiling point was low where she was concerned. Her arms went around his waist and she pressed into him.
“Sam, what are you doing?”
She answered with her mouth. Like a jackknife his hands moved around her, embraced her, forcing her forward. His mouth came down on hers as if she were a drug he couldn’t live without. He pressed her to him, his hands running the course of her, learning her curves, feeling the warmth of her, feeling the arousal in himself.
His tongue pressed between her teeth. She opened to his invasion like a flower to a new day. For him it was a new day. He was in love with her. He held her close and never wanted to let her go. He wanted her next to him for the good days to come, for the bad days they would get through together. He wanted to love her, offer her a life filled with a love so intense, so tender and so raw that she would never be in doubt that she was truly loved, cherished and needed.
Samara’s arms were tight around his neck, her body soft as it matched the length of his. He pressed her back against the door, outlining her mouth with his tongue, blocking her face with his hands, reeling from the way she carried him from anything logical in the world and into their own special place. He groaned against her mouth, wanting beyond all reason, to go where her body was leading him, but he’d promised himself to slow things down.
With an effort he didn’t know he possessed, he eased his mouth from hers. Her head dropped to his shoulder and she hung in his arms, as limp as a living doll. Her breasts heaved against his chest as she took life-breathing oxygen into her lungs. Justin stroked her arms, pulling her from the door behind her and caressing her back. His hands went up into her hair and he kissed her temples before pushing her into her apartment and pulling the door closed.
He heard the lock click into place and walked down the hall toward the elevator. His heart was happy and he felt like whistling, but all his effort was used up as he focused on walking a straight line.
The sun shone brightly Saturday morning and there was a soft breeze. Samara met Justin as he pulled into the circular driveway of her apartment building. She opened the passenger door and got into the car.
Justin leaned over and kissed her briefly. Then he came back for a long, lingering kiss. Drawing her seat belt, she fixed it in place, giving herself time to get used to breathing in Justin’s presence. He had the power to make her forget everything when he was near.
Starting the car, he merged into the morning traffic on Sixteenth Street.
“Where are we going?” Samara asked, something she hadn’t thought to do before.
“My parents’ house,” Justin answered.
“What?” she said, snapping her head around to look at him.
“It’s the best place to start. They own the painting.”
“I know, but…”
“What?” he asked.
Samara didn’t know how to express her feelings. The last place she wanted to go was to his family’s home.
“I thought we were going to a library, or an art gallery.”
“Maybe, but we’ll start there.”
“That’s hours away.”
“We’ll be back by nightfall.”
“What happens if you get a call to go to work?”
“I won’t. My last day at OEO was yesterday.”
“What? Why?”
“It’s time someone else saved the world. Or at least the United States.” He smiled, taking the edge off his words. “I’ve moved to the EEOB.” Eisenhower Executive Office Building, a huge French Second Empire style, gray stone structure adjacent to the West Wing. “I’ve joined the White House legal staff. I start in a week.”
“That’s wonderful,” Samara said. She was genuinely happy for him.
“It means somewhat normal hours.”
“Normal? You’ll be working for the White House.”
“Yeah, but even the president sleeps sometimes. There is a large staff, so I’m not on twenty-four-hour call. And if I make a date with you, I’ll be able to keep it. Like today.”
“I did wonder if you would make it or if I’d be standing at the end of the walkway, waiting and waiting.”
“No more of that.”
“Did you ask for this change?”
He nodded.
“Did it have anything to do with me?”
“Maybe. But if you did, it was in an indirect way. I didn’t apply for the change because of you.” He glanced at her, then turned his attention back to the traffic. “Although you would be a good reason for wanting more suitable hours, I doubt they would have hired me because of that.”
“I’m crushed.” She smiled.
Justin reached over and squeezed her hand, then released it.
“Being on the EEOB legal staff is a promotion. I can use what I learned working at OEO in the new position and I’ll have more normal hours. At OEO you exist at the highest levels all the time. You can’t do that for very long. You burn out. I wanted to move before that happened.”
“Do you get to rub elbows with the president now?”
“Afraid not. I’m still too far down on the totem pole for that. I think the new staff will get to meet him for a photo op, but that’s it.”
“Congratulations. I’m happy for you.”
“Thanks.” For a few minutes Justin drove in silence. Samara watched the city roll away and the landscape change to trees and woods.
“Tell me about your family,” she said, turning back to him.
“You met two of my brothers. My sister runs a small company. She’s an animator, does freelance work for some of the biggest companies in the U.S. She has her own children’s program on PBS.”
“That sounds interesting. Is she fully recovered from her accident?”
He nodded. “She’s a trooper. No ill effects the doctors say.”
“What’s the name of the children’s program?”
“The Wilson Cousins. It’s about—”
“I know it,” she interrupted with a smile. “Your sister writes that?”
“Writes, directs, produces, animates, you name it.”
“What about Micah? He’s the brother that lives in Maryland?”
Justin nodded. “If you asked him, he’d tell you he was just a marine.”
“A marine in western Maryland? There’s no marine base in western Maryland. The only military facility out here is—” She stopped as the impact of what she was about to say weighed on her. “Camp David. Your brother protects the president?”
“No, but he is stationed at the Camp.”
“You have a very impressive family,” Samara told him. “Your parents must be very proud.”
“They are. And they’re looking forward to meeting y
ou.”
“You told them about me?” she asked, surprised.
“When I told them I was bringing you home, they naturally had questions.”
Of course, they would, Samara thought. “Justin, I’m going to investigate the painting, not on approval as a future daughter-in-law.”
“I understand that.”
She wondered if he did. He didn’t act like it. But then the clues she gave him weren’t those of a woman in a business relationship with a man. As soon as she said it, her actions spoke a different language. And as much as Justin said he believed her, understood her position, she knew he didn’t. Inside he thought she would change, that her conviction had changed, that she didn’t really believe it any longer.
Samara wondered if that was true. A few minutes ago he’d told her he was in a job that had normal hours. Her heart raced. When he said there would be future dates, it pounded loud enough for him to hear it.
And now as the car sped along the road toward Maryland, she had the feeling she was not going to verify the ownership of a painting.
She was meeting the family.
Chapter 10
Fear and apprehension evaporated the moment Samara stepped inside Justin’s family home. The house was huge, but the family made it cozy and welcoming. His father was a man of letters. A professor of English at the College of Cumberland. Lane Beckett had a large library and enjoyed reading. Samara had a long conversation with him on working with old documents and some of the specific ones she’d seen and handled. Before she knew it, he was inviting her to guest-lecture at some of his classes when the new semester started in September.
“Give her a rest,” Justin’s mother said, coming into the library, carrying a tray. “Samara, he will talk your head off. He can’t wait to get back to the classroom where he has a captive audience.”
“I find him fascinating,” she said.
“That’s because this is the first time you’ve heard his stories.”
Lane got up and kissed his wife on the temple. He patted her arm affectionately as he did it. Samara watched them. Her own parents did not have this kind of relationship. Lane and Katie were married forty years and they still had a love for each other that she could see. If Samara ever married, she’d want that kind of love.
The Right Wedding Gown Page 11
