Campaign For Seduction

by Ann Christopher

  There’d be endless speculation about how their romance developed, where they met for their horizontal shuffle—never mind that there had never been a horizontal shuffle—and how the affair had affected her coverage and his policymaking. Not to mention the pundits’ outrage over the violation of the codes of ethics for both politicians and journalists.

  Yeah. She could see it all now, and it wasn’t pretty.

  The senator’s chances of earning the nomination would be jeopardized, and her reputation as an objective journalist would be destroyed. The chances of either of them emerging from an affair unscathed were zero.

  In short, disaster was inevitable, as unavoidable as death and taxes.

  And she wanted him anyway. How stupid was she?

  “What’s going on?” Takashi asked. “Maybe I can help.”

  Liza struggled, paralyzed with indecision. On the one hand, who else could she talk to and trust besides Takashi? On the other hand, she was terrified to acknowledge the depths of her problem, even to herself.

  “I do have this…friend,” she said carefully.

  “Uh-huh,” Takashi said, still chewing, eyes lowered.

  “She’s a journalist with the, ah, Washington Post covering the, ah, Warner campaign.”

  Takashi snorted. “Right?…”

  “And nothing’s happened, but…she’s very attracted to the senator. Obviously it’s a…risky situation. The senator is fighting for every vote, and the press—especially the tabloids—and Senator Fitzgerald’s campaign would have a field day if his personal life became an issue. His campaign would become a joke, and he’d lose the nomination. We both know he would.”

  “And what about your reporter friend?” he asked. “What about her career?”

  The warmth behind Takashi’s brown eyes was too much, and Liza looked away. “Her credibility would be shot. She could forget about any, ah, promotions she’d had her eye on. All her years of hard work would be flushed down the toilet, and on her tombstone it would say Here Lies the Former Mistress of Senator Warner—”

  Takashi grimaced.

  “—and, of course, she’d be hated by millions of his supporters if she damaged his chances in any way. That’s how it always works. The man comes up smelling like a rose, and the woman is labeled all kinds of dirty names.”

  Takashi scraped his plate, looking thoughtful. Having eaten everything in sight, he looked around for more and sighed when he didn’t see it. “Well,” he said slowly, “I can’t predict the future or anything, but I have seen the sparks shooting off this, ah, couple. Other people are beginning to notice. The clock is running on this thing. And journalists are supposed to disclose conflicts. That’s the ethical thing to do here.”

  “No,” Liza snapped, her voice rising with frustration. “Not when the conflict can be managed.”

  Takashi gave her a look of such astonished dismay—all dropped jaw and bulging eyes—that she wondered if he thought she was insane. He followed that up with so much cursing, muttering and head shaking that she fought the urge to duck and run.

  “Those two aren’t managing jack shit,” he finally said, and his vehemence hit her harder than the cursing. “They need to get their heads out of the sand and come to a decision before this whole thing blows up in their faces.”

  Liza knew he was right, but that didn’t mean she had a fix for this mess. Suddenly desperate for any help she could get, she decided to confide a little more to Takashi.

  “The funny thing is…my friend isn’t as, ah, gung ho about this promotion as she should be. The life is wearing her down. She’s wondering if there might be…more.”

  “More what?”

  Liza, who was a cynic down to the soles of her feet, hated owning up to a girlish thought or two, but she couldn’t help it. “More to life. You know—a personal life. Maybe a—” she swallowed hard “—relationship or something.”

  Takashi stared at her. “This man isn’t relationship material. No politician is. Look at Senator Gregory. Look at Governor Taylor. Look how great they handle their relationships.”

  Liza cringed, her cheeks glowing with helpless embarrassment. She couldn’t believe she was thinking along these lines, much less talking about them.

  “I know, I know.”

  “Tell your friend she needs to decide if she wants the promotion or not, and then she needs to decide if she wants Warner or not. She can’t have both. If she keeps it up, she’s going to ruin her reputation in the entire industry, not just lose this promotion she may or may not really want. You feel me?”

  Feeling things wasn’t her problem at the moment. She was feeling way too much lately, especially for the senator.

  “I’ll pass along the message, but I’m not sure she’ll listen. I think she—she really likes this guy.”

  “That brings me back to where I started, Za-Za,” Takashi muttered. “Your friend is cruisin’ for a bruisin’.”

  The unexpected chirp of her cordless phone on the table spared her from having to think of any response to this dire assessment.

  “Phone’s ringing,” the Colonel called from the kitchen.

  Lunging for it with relief, Liza clicked it on with unsteady hands.

  “Hello?”

  “It’s John,” the caller said.

  In a sign of how frazzled she was, it actually took the neurons in her brain several beats to start firing and put the name to the voice she’d already recognized. It’s the Senator, she thought, bewildered. I don’t know any John. And then it hit her with the force of a nuclear strike. The Senator. John. Oh, God.

  Stupidly wondering how he’d gotten her unlisted phone number—he’s a U.S. senator running for president, and he probably has a few resources at his fingertips, she told herself, duh!—she schooled her features and hoped the expression on her face wasn’t a screaming giveaway to Takashi.

  “Yes,” she said. “Hello.”

  “You’re with someone besides your father,” the senator said flatly.

  “That would be correct.”

  “Who is it?” he demanded. “A man?”

  Thrilled as she was to hear the jealousy in his tight voice, she couldn’t go down this road with him, not even a few steps.

  “That’s irrelevant,” she said pleasantly.

  “I don’t think so, but we can discuss it when I get there. I want to meet your father.”

  “Why?” she asked, immediately suspicious because nothing good could come out of such an event.

  “I’m courting the elderly vote,” he said after a pause. “Also the veterans’ vote.”

  “This is not the veterans’ hall,” she cried, aghast.

  “I’ll bring my sister,” he reassured her, “so it’ll be completely innocent.”

  Innocent? Innocent?

  Reaching behind to grip the sofa for support, she gave Takashi a weak smile and kept her tone casual. Takashi, who didn’t look fooled for a moment, glared back.

  “That’s not the best idea you ever had,” she said into the phone.

  “Probably not,” the senator agreed easily. “You’re welcome to come here to my house if you want, but that might be trickier.”

  These were both such ridiculous suggestions that she couldn’t answer.

  “Liza?” The senator raised his voice, probably afraid she’d hung up. “Hello?”

  “I—I’m sorry,” she stammered, flabbergasted, “but I have to ask: are you insane?”

  He laughed. Laughed. As though what he suggested was a perfectly normal proposition, like making an ice cream run after dinner. As though he didn’t have her heart skittering and headed straight for cardiac arrest with his crazy talk.

  “Will your friend be gone in five minutes, or should we make it seven?” The senator paused as if giving the matter careful consideration. “Or maybe we could all hang out together for a while, watch the DVD—”

  “Five,” she said quickly. “Five should do it.”

  “Great,” the senator said and hung up.


  Liza lowered the phone, thinking hard and not daring to look at Takashi. Feeling guilty and conspicuous, she gestured vaguely over her shoulder, realized she wasn’t pointing to anything in particular and cleared her throat.

  “I need to…go.” Lame, but the best she could manage. “Are we finished?”

  Takashi stood and frowned. “Who was that?”

  “Salesman,” she said, the first inane lie that popped into her head.

  Takashi kept quiet even though he looked as if he wanted to yell, “Bullshit.” Snatching up his jacket, he walked back through the living room and paused at the front door to issue a final warning.

  “You’ll think about what I said, right?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “Because your friend with the attraction to the senator is putting a lot of people—including me—in a tough situation and I don’t like it.”

  Chastened, Liza hung her head and nodded. The last thing she wanted to do was put Takashi in the position of choosing between his loyalty to their friendship and his responsibility to the network.

  Muttering something dark and unintelligible, he lobbied a final glare in her direction and left. And Liza’s sharp, clear-headed brain left with him.

  Panicked and manic with indecision, she shut the door behind him and turned in a quick circle like a dog chasing her tail. What should she do? Clean up the kitchen? Throw on some real clothes and a little makeup? Leave?

  Before she could make up her mind or even narrow down her choices, there was a tap at her kitchen door. Spiked out on adrenaline, she jumped ten feet in the air. When her feet hit the floor again, she glanced at the clock over the mantel; it hadn’t even been three minutes since the senator had called.

  Losing her head for a minute, she flung herself onto the nearest sofa, picked up a pillow, pressed her face into it, and screamed until her vocal cords burned. Then she screamed again. When the second scream did nothing to slow her racing pulse, she screamed a third time, this time stamping her feet as well.

  Better. That was better.

  “What the hell’s wrong with you, girl?” Liza threw the pillow aside to see the Colonel frowning at her from the doorway, the dishrag in his hands. “There’s someone at your door back here. You want me to get it?”

  “I’ll get it.”

  Trying to reclaim some dignity, she walked sedately to the back door and peered through the curtain in time to see the senator, who was flanked by his sister and two giant bodyguards, knock again, harder this time. Sending up a vague but fervent prayer to heaven—Help me, God, please—Liza unlocked and opened the door.

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 10

  T he unexpected guests streamed inside as if they paid the mortgage on the place, locking the door behind them and surveying the kitchen. The two bodyguards murmured a polite hello and fanned out. One went into the living room, the other up the back stairs, both presumably looking for any terrorists or assassins she kept hidden behind the furniture.

  She gaped after them for a second—she had the hysterical urge to yell, “Make yourselves at home!”—and wondered nonsensically where the security company had found men that size. Had it crossbred NFL linebackers with NBA centers?

  But then Jillian handed her a bottle of wine and a bouquet of beautiful yellow roses. “I hope you don’t mind us barging in on you, Liza. We thought we might sit and visit awhile.”

  Before Liza could sputter an answer, Jillian turned to the Colonel, who was watching the proceedings with a suspicious frown, and took his hand.

  “I’m Jillian Taylor.You must be Liza’s father. Nice to meet you.”

  He glowered. “You can call me Colonel.”

  “Nice to meet you, Colonel.” Jillian removed her scarf and coat and slung them across one of the bar stools. “Have you been baking cookies? These smell wonderful.”

  The Colonel softened with this compliment, unable to remain gruff with a beautiful woman who appreciated his baking. “Molasses. Help yourself.” Turning to the senator, he renewed his frown. “Who the hell are you?”

  “John Warner,” said the senator as they shook hands. “Great to meet you, Colonel.”

  The Colonel cocked his head and scrunched his face with concentration. “I know you, don’t I? From the TV?”

  “I’m running for president.”

  The Colonel shook his head. “That’s not it. You’re one of those house guys, aren’t you?” He wagged his index finger. “I saw you fix up some old house last week. Laid the carpeting, didn’t—”

  “Ah, Colonel—” Liza interrupted and put her hand on the Colonel’s arm before this whole scene degenerated into more of a farce than it already was “—why don’t you let the senator have some cookies?”

  But the Colonel wasn’t to be diverted. Staring into the senator’s face, he sized him up with the kind of universal once-over that suspicious fathers worldwide used on younger men.

  “What are you doing here?”

  “Visiting,” said the senator.

  “You sniffing after my daughter?” the Colonel demanded.

  “Oh, my God.” Liza smacked her palm to her forehead and wished lightning would strike her dead on the spot.

  The senator, on the other hand, seemed unfazed by the grilling, but of course he faced down hordes of ferocious reporters on a daily basis. “Liza’s very special,” he told the Colonel solemnly, a flush creeping over his cheeks. “I’m anxious to spend more time with her.”

  Liza’s foolish heart fluttered.

  The Colonel hitched up his chin and put a hand on one bony hip as he took the measure of the senator. “Liza’s a lot of trouble. She’s impulsive. Runs her mouth a lot. Lots of bluster and bravado, especially when she’s scared.”

  “I know, sir,” the senator said, his tone grave.

  Liza spluttered, too outraged to manage anything coherent.

  “She screws things up,” the Colonel continued.

  The senator’s face darkened. “That hasn’t been my experience with her,” he said, and this quiet but firm defense of her claimed him a tiny corner of Liza’s heart.

  The Colonel nodded, his estimation of the senator apparently rising a couple of notches. “Don’t let her walk all over you and spit you out.”

  The senator’s lips twitched. “I don’t plan to, sir. I’ll take any advice you can give me, though.”

  “Well,” said the Colonel with obvious satisfaction, the interview successfully concluded for now, “you’d better have a cookie. Keep your strength up.”

  “Thank you.”

  The senator took a cookie and smiled. Jillian, whose eyes were now bright with what looked like happy tears, took the Colonel’s arm and steered him into the living room, cooing over the cookies.

  Liza tried to breathe as the senator moved into her line of sight.

  He looked less presidential at the moment in his Cleveland Indians baseball cap, puffy jacket, turtleneck sweater, baggy jeans and hiking boots, but he’d brought his aura of power and control with him and was somehow more dangerous than ever—even if she detected a new hint of vulnerability and uncertainty in his eyes.

  He didn’t look thrilled to be there all of the sudden, which was strange considering it’d been his brilliant idea to appear out of the blue at her house. Unsmiling, he let his glittering gaze slide over her and paid special attention to her breasts, hips and bare feet.

  Her nipples hardened inside the thin satin cups of her bra; nothing she could do about that. Nor could she do anything about her mascara-less eyes or Little Orphan Annie hair. But when she found herself feeling grateful that she’d at least indulged in a pedicure and had bright red toenails, she gave herself a swift mental kick in the butt.

  “I don’t know how you do it,” the senator said unhappily, “but you get more beautiful every time I look at you.”

  This threw her for a huge loop. It was no flowery compliment, the way he said it—it sounded more like a curse. As though he couldn’t forgive her for
tempting him like this and planned to hold it against her indefinitely.

  Liza floundered. How could she make a sarcastic comment about him needing glasses when he had the exposed look of someone who’d just bared his soul?

  “That was three minutes,” she told him, deciding to back up and start at the beginning of his long list of transgressions. “Not five.”

  “Sorry,” he said, but he didn’t look sorry at all as he took off his jacket and cap and tossed them on the nearest chair. He looked grim but satisfied, as though he’d finally done something he’d wanted to do for very long time. “I was anxious.”

  “Yeah? Well, I’d be anxious too if I’d started doing crazy things.”

  Irritation flickered behind his eyes. “We’re back to name-calling again?”

  On firmer ground, she squared her shoulders and put her hands on her hips.

  “What would you call a presidential candidate who engages in risky behavior like refusing secret service protection, sneaking around with two bodyguards who don’t look smart enough to find their butts with an extra pair of hands and a flashlight, and showing up at the house of a journalist covering his campaign?” She broke off only long enough to draw a quick breath. “Is there some other word we should be using besides crazy?”

  “Determined.”

  Her world did another crazy flip because the desire flaming off his body left no doubts about what he was determined to do.

  He inched nearer, stopping when he was close enough for her to see the splintered shards of black in his brown eyes and smell the faint musk of the sophisticated cologne on his skin. His expression was somber, his jaw set. The hot energy of his passion for her shimmered around him, as powerful and visible as waves of heat rising in the Kalahari. Her answering want centered in a tight knot low in her belly, a torment of the worst possible kind.

  The brighter the flame burned, the more she wanted to throw herself into it.

  Reining in her growing self-destructive impulses, she worked up some renewed outrage and wielded it like a protective sword.