Across the hall she located a guest room. It was attractively decorated in shades of royal blue with cream walls. The furniture was sleekly modern, but the bed looked soft and comfortable. With a decisive nod of her dark head, Kara made her way back down the stairs to retrieve her suitcases. While she was busily unpacking, Matt suddenly appeared in the doorway, an ironic smile curling his lip as he watched.
Nervously she glanced up at him. His large, athlete's body seemed to fill the entire opening as he lounged indolently, one broad shoulder propped up against the wooden doorframe. His left leg was crossed easily, revealing the outline of his muscular thighs through the tautly stretched material of his jeans. Kara blinked and dragged her gaze away from his legs to look up once more at his face.
His narrowed gray eyes appraised her through a screen of lashes, and there was a thin smile on his well-molded mouth. As his glance skimmed slowly over her small, well-proportioned body, Kara had no trouble reading his mind. She felt vulnerable and powerless. How was she going to get through the next few weeks living with this arrogant, demanding man?
"I can see you're making yourself at home," he commented wryly. "There's far more closet space in my room across the hall, you know."
"The closet space here is quite adequate, thank you," she returned. Despite her efforts to make her voice cool and controlled, it came out sounding nervous and quavery. Turning her back to him, she bit her lip and busied herself arranging a wool skirt on a hanger.
"Just as you like," he replied carelessly, straightening up and moving away from the door. "I'll leave you alone so you can change for dinner. I've sent out for food. We can eat after the six o'clock news."
"The six o'clock news?" she questioned, folding a slip and placing it in a drawer.
"Yes, we'll probably be on it, and I'd like to see how our marriage act is playing." He moved away, closing the door gently behind him while Kara stared in consternation. What would the television reporters have to say about this hasty marriage and the reluctant politician's wife? she wondered. Kara looked at her watch. It was a quarter after five.
She took the next forty minutes unpacking and changing her clothes, deliberately stretching out the time so as not to confront the stranger she'd married that morning. Was it only that afternoon, she wondered as she pulled off her bridal blue jeans and searched through the clothes she'd brought for something else to wear. So much had happened in so short a time, she mused, as she rummaged through her drawer for her favorite beige sweater. When she'd found it, she pulled on brown corduroy slacks and a comfortable pair of moccasins.
She completed the outfit with a gold chain Wayne had bought her for her twenty-first birthday last year, smiling with satisfaction as it settled into place around her slender, white throat. Somehow the subtle act of defiance implied by wearing Wayne's gift made her feel more capable of dealing with Matt. She would not allow herself to be intimidated by the smooth-talking politician. She would deal with him just as she had dealt with politicians in the past. She would be the intelligent, capable woman she knew herself to be. With a proud lift of her head, she descended the stairs.
Once in the living room she looked around inquiringly. Matt was nowhere in sight, but she could hear the faint droning of the television from the other side of the room where his study door stood open. Taking a deep breath and squaring her shoulders, she strode purposefully across the wood floor and entered the booklined study. Matt was sprawled comfortably in a wine-red leather recliner watching a small color television set on a shelf above his huge walnut desk.
"Here, have a seat," he said, casually motioning her to the desk's wing chair which he had placed next to him. "I think the show's about to start."
Settling herself stiffly, Kara fixed her eyes on the television screen. When the anchorman's face appeared she waited anxiously to hear her name, but the top story was a fire at a chemical plant. While pictures of ambulances and firehoses lit up the screen, Kara watched the scenes of disaster float before her without really seeing them. Obsessed by her own situation, she could not concentrate on the reporter's words.
Her attention was quickly riveted to the screen, however, when the next story headline was "Maryland jet-setting politician marries political boss' niece!"
"With less than a month before the primary election, thirty-four-year-old congressional hopeful, Maryland jet-setter Matt Jordan surprised the press today by announcing his secret marriage to Kara Barnett, the niece of well-known Maryland political figure James Barnett," the anchorman enunciated smoothly. "Here for an on the spot account is our roving reporter Vera Caldwell."
The anchorman's suave visage disappeared from the screen to be replaced by a smiling, green-eyed Vera who wrapped her long manicured fingers around a hand-held mike. She was standing in front of Uncle James' cabin, smiling coyly.
"Matt Jordan's female constituents' hearts will be broken when they learn Maryland's most handsome state senator is no longer playing the field. Jordan has long been adored by every attractive woman in the state, and gossip columnists have speculated for years on who the lucky girl to wear his ring would be."
"In the past he's been linked with beautiful socialites Linda Payton and Sandra 'Scoot' Townsend." Pictures of two glossily chic blondes illuminated the screen. Kara stared at them with narrowed eyes and shot a dark glance at Matt, who returned her look with a bland smile.
"But two days ago," the reporter continued, "Jordan put an end to the speculation by marrying the niece of top political boss James Barnett. People inside the party have expressed astonishment at his choice, but an unidentified source claims that the marriage was more a political maneuver than a love match, as Jordan had not been seen dating the twenty-two-year-old public relations specialist previous to their marriage."
Kara drew in her breath with sharp rage. The nerve of the woman, she fumed inwardly! But Matt, accustomed to such treatment, merely chuckled. Kara stared at the TV set while scenes of Matt and her uncle's press conference held earlier that day flickered across the screen. The two men pledged their intention to clean up state politics and solidify the party before the primary. Next came reaction from Matt's political opponent Bill Thorp, who barely commented on the official press conference and then derisively labeled the marriage as one of "political convenience."
Then suddenly the scene shifted, and the newly-weds were standing at the front entrance to Matt's town house. Smiling, the tall, darkly handsome politician scooped his bride up in his strong arms and carried her across the threshold. The image projected was of a young, well-matched couple deeply in love. The scene was so convincing that Kara almost had to blink back tears from her deep violet eyes. What would it have been like, she wondered, if it had been a real marriage based on love rather than convenience? She looked down at her bare fingers twisted numbly in her lap and sighed, while Matt uncoiled his long limbs and strode across the room to turn off the television set.
"Well, that was pretty bad. But brace yourself, because if I know the press there'll be worse to come," he commented dryly, turning to face her.
A shiver ran up her spine while he stood towering over her, looking down. Again he seemed about to say something, but his attention was distracted by the sound of the doorbell.
"Not more reporters," he growled. Muttering a curse under his breath, he left the room to investigate. Kara sank back in the leather chair and closed her eyes. From the next room she could hear the sound of strange voices and the clatter of dishes. In a moment Matt reappeared in the doorway.
"It's only the caterer. Why don't we step out on the balcony while they set up dinner." He took her hand and led her out into the cool spring air.
Walking across the wide wooden deck, they leaned on the railing and looked out on the smooth surface of the lake below. The sun was just beginning to set, sending fiery fingers of light across the cloud-lined sky.
"It's beautiful," Kara murmured, looking across the lake at budding, graceful willows and delicate ping magnolias in f
ull bloom. "You must really enjoy living here."
"Yes, I particularly like having breakfast outside in the warm weather. But it will be nicer now that I'll have you sitting across the table from me."
Kara was silent. She doubted the marriage would last that long. But her musing was broken by squawking on the bike path below. Looking down she saw a female duck trying desperately to evade the determined attentions of a persistent drake. Attempting to elude her pursuer, the female rushed toward the false safety of a clump of bushes in the hopes of losing him, but the relentless drake cut off her escape. Seizing her neck roughly in his bill, he forced himself on her despite her loud cries of protest.
Matt smiled at his new bride provocatively. "Now there's a male who knows how to handle a woman," he murmured huskily. One of his large hands grasped the back of Kara's slender neck and turned her heart-shaped face toward him. For a moment he stood looking down at her while she felt herself barely breathing. The moment seemed to stretch out forever—but just as Matt bent his dark head down to kiss her, the caterer poked his face through the patio doorway and announced that dinner was ready.
Matt had ordered a hearty beef burgundy entree served with parsley potatoes and a crisp spinach salad. Dessert was chocolate mousse.
During dinner the conversation remained light. They talked about the latest movies they'd seen and the restaurants in Washington that they had enjoyed. And they discovered that they shared a mutual passion for the French impressionistic art at the National Gallery.
"If you like what they have there, I'll have to show you the collection at the Jeu de Paume in Paris," Matt said warmly, refilling her wine glass.
Much to her surprise, Kara found her new husband easy to talk to. And as the meal drew to a close, she was feeling relaxed and almost cheerful.
But as they picked up the dishes to take them to the kitchen, Matt's eyes lingered on the necklace at her throat. During the meal she had noticed him glance at it several times speculatively.
"That's quite a fancy necklace," he commented as he placed the dishes on the brown ceramic tile counter top.
Kara licked her lips. She wished she hadn't worn Wayne's gift. "Thank you," she replied, nervously fingering the links. "It was a present."
Matt's eyes narrowed and his mouth hardened. "A gift from whom?" he demanded.
She avoided his penetrating glance while she sought for an evasive answer. "Just a friend," she stammered.
"Your good friend Wayne?" he insisted suspiciously. She didn't reply. But the heightened color in her cheeks gave him the answer.
"I don't want you wearing presents from other men now that you're my wife. Please remove it." Although his voice was quiet, it held a note of demand that Kara resented.
"That's ridiculous," she countered, turning away to put her dishes in the sink. "I like this necklace. And if I want to wear it, I will."
Suddenly she felt his presence directly behind her, then strong fingers were at the clasp of the delicate chain. She felt the metal slide against her skin and the slow, sensual movement of Matt's mouth caress the sensitive spot at the back of her neck where the chain had been. His hands touched her arms, sliding silkily down them, the brush of his long fingers making her skin burn with awareness. And then his hand casually deposited the chain on the counter top.
Trembling with a mixture of anger and arousal, Kara tried to move away. But his hands shot out, closing around her waist and pulling her hard against him so that she felt the tense virility of his body pressed behind her. His mouth touched the nape of her neck again.
"If you want jewelry," he whispered, his breath hot in her ear while his hard thighs held her prisoner against the counter, "I'll buy it for you." And with that he brushed the offending chain off the counter top and into the garbage.
Shocked, Kara jerked herself free and spun around to stare at him in disbelief. "How dare you! What gives you the right to do that?" she flared.
Without waiting for a reply she retrieved the chain, turned on her heels and headed for the stairs.
"So that's the kind of man you are, Matt Jordan," she tossed back over her shoulder. Running to the safety of the guest bedroom, Kara slammed and locked the door.
Then she tried to calm herself. "I'm not going to let that, that… that man get to me," she insisted, trying to be as rational as possible. "He's not worth it. And the sooner I can get out of this crazy marriage, the better."
Kara looked around the room and sighed. The clock on the bedside table said nine o'clock. It was definitely the longest day of her life, and probably the most confused. She looked longingly at the bed, wanting nothing more than to crawl under the covers and go to sleep. But she knew that she was still too upset to think of sleeping.
Maybe what I need first is a hot bath, she told herself. Kara rummaged through the closet and drawers she'd just filled for her ivory brushed-nylon robe and a modest gown. After getting undressed and folding her clothing neatly on the chair, she carried the nightclothes and some hairpins into the bathroom.
"My gosh, this looks like something out of House Beautiful," she muttered as she eyed the airy, white tiled room with its oversized sunken tub and expansive skylight. Floor to ceiling mirror panels covered the far wall. A large potted plant was tucked in a corner, and hanging baskets of lush, green ferns lent an exotic air.
Then Kara pinned up her raven curls. As she bent over the gleaming ivory tub to turn on the gilded faucets, her eye caught a glimpse of a crystal bottle filled with pink liquid. Upon closer inspection, she realized that it was bath oil and automatically began pouring some into the stream of hot water. But as the scent of peach blossoms filled the room, she set the bottle down hard on the edge of the tub.
This is a woman's scent, she thought angrily—who had used it? A picture of the redheaded Vera popped into her mind. Was she the peach blossom type? Or had it been someone else? And what about the size of the tub? It was big enough for two. Was this one of Matt's playrooms?
All right, Kara, she told herself. Stop it. Whatever Matt's done is nothing to you. Don't let him upset you again. Determinedly she stepped into the scented water and settled her delicate body into its inviting warmth.
She closed her eyes, letting the soothing vapor of the bath float away her tension.
Ah, that's better, she thought, sinking a little lower into the water and putting her head back against the sloping end of the tub. But she had been relaxing for only a few minutes when she was disturbed by the sound of a door latch clicking. Startled, she opened her eyes to be greeted by the horrifying sight of the mirror panels sliding open. Matt Jordan emerged wearing only a short silk robe.
"I heard your tub water running. It sounded so inviting I thought I'd join you," he drawled.
"It wasn't an invitation," Kara spat out between clenched teeth, her eyes blazing.
But he ignored her outburst, his eyes lingering on the glimmering white curves of her body enticingly visible beneath the surface of the steamy water.
Hotly conscious of his sensual appraisal, Kara sank deeper in the tub, her fury now mixed with fear. "Get out of here," she cried. "You have no right to be in here!"
"On the contrary," he retorted. "I have every right. This is my house and you are my wife. It's time we cleaned up our act," he said, grinning as he sauntered across the room toward the tub. Bending slowly next to the steamy water, he leaned over and whispered in her ear, "This is our wedding night, you know. And I've been looking forward to celebrating it properly all day. I wouldn't have married you if that weren't part of the bargain."
"What do you mean?" Kara quavered, locking her arms protectively across her breasts. "I thought we had agreed that this was going to be a platonic arrangement." Despite herself she had to drag her eyes away from the tanned, muscular legs visible beneath the short robe.
"That was your idea, it was never mine. I'm a doer, not a dreamer. That's part of my campaign slogan," he chuckled.
Before Kara could reply, Matt's hand slippe
d into the warm water and playfully began to ripple the surface of the bath, sending tiny waves splashing against her breasts. Kara felt her face turn red as her flesh tingled. But she had no intention of responding to the pleasurable sensation and quickly moved to the other side of the tub out of Matt's reach.
"Making room for me?" he mocked, beginning to untie the cord of his robe.
Kara gasped. He obviously meant to join her in the water. She could feel her anger rising. The nerve of the man! Not only had he maneuvered her into an unwanted marriage and messed up her job, he was now planning on using her like all the other easy women in his life. She wanted no part of his plans and she wanted to make sure he got the message. She would douse his passions in a tangible way he wouldn't soon forget!
Her calculating eyes lit on the hand-held shower attachment next to the water faucets. Scooting forward, she grabbed the attachment with her right hand, aimed it at Matt, and turned the cold water on full with her left.
About to pull off his robe, he was hit full in the abdomen by the cold needle-sharp spray. He shouted in astonishment, but his surprise quickly turned to anger.
"Why, you little witch," he exclaimed, reaching over and trying to wrest the spray from her hand. But Kara held on with determination and the nozzle careened wildly, spraying the bathroom with icy water.
Before he was able to take the shower attachment away from her and turn it off, Matt was drenched and Kara's hair was dripping. Matt grabbed Kara by the shoulders, pulled her out of the tub and shoved a towel at her. "That was a juvenile trick," he grated. "If you'd simply asked me to leave with real conviction in your voice I would have. But children who like to play games have to learn to clean up the mess they make." Turning on his heels, he stalked out.
Love Is Elected Page 5
