Campaign For Seduction

by Ann Christopher

  “I feel like I know you already,” said the exuberant Isabella. “I hope you don’t mind that I—uh-oh.”

  Taking advantage of the woman’s distraction, Liza freed herself.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “That girl,” Isabella muttered, staring across the room at a young girl with a pretty orange dress and about a million tiny braids. While they all watched, the girl stooped behind a sofa and began to feed—Liza squinted to get a better look—stuffed mushrooms to a tiny Yorkie wearing a black bow tie and a mangy yellow Lab mix wearing a red bow tie.

  “I told Thandy not to feed those dogs anything tonight,” Isabella continued, sounding harassed. “She knows they don’t need those treats. Excuse me, please.”

  Blinking and shell-shocked, Liza stared after Isabella, felt the beginnings of a migraine squeeze her temples and wondered how soon she could get that third martini.

  Before she could make her excuses and lunge for the open bar in the corner, however, a new group joined them: the senator, Andrew Warner, Eric Warner and the senator’s brother-in-law, Beau Taylor, the governor of Virginia, who’d been traveling around the country on his own and campaigning on the senator’s behalf when his schedule allowed.

  Liza gulped because she didn’t think her hormone levels were ready to confront four of the sexiest men she’d ever seen all at the same time, nor was she ready for any interaction with the senator.

  Unfortunately, it didn’t look like she’d get a vote.

  “Liza.” The senator’s gaze flickered over her dress and returned to her face. “Are you finished skewering me for the day, or will there be more?”

  Liza glared. The sight of the thick bandage on his neck above his collar renewed her anger at him, and she made a show of checking her watch.

  “It’s only eight-thirty, Senator. I could never make a promise like that so early in the evening.”

  Dismissing him—from her thoughts and her line of sight—she turned to Beau Taylor, whom she’d met several times at political events over the years but never interviewed. Seeing him up close was always a jolt because he was one great-looking guy: fair-skinned with hazel eyes; a long, straight nose; sharp cheekbones and waves of sleek sable hair. He reminded her of a black JFK, Jr. both in looks and because he was all potent masculinity and disarming charm.

  She held out her hand. “Governor. Nice to see you.”

  “Nice to see you, Liza,” the governor said.

  Liza looked away before she fell under his thrall. It was best not to stare vampires or Governor Taylor in the eye for too long—you just never knew what could happen.

  She looked next to Andrew Warner, who also was not hard on the eyes.

  “Liza Wilson,” she told him. “A pleasure.”

  Andrew Warner, he of the slashing brows and lush, cruel mouth, turned away from Viveca long enough to shake Liza’s hand. He’d gone straight to his wife, linked his hands low on her hips and nuzzled her cheek. Liza added this to the list of reasons she disliked Viveca: a handsome millionaire husband who openly worshipped her.

  Andrew looked from the senator to Liza. One of his heavy brows arched toward his hairline, and his eyes gleamed with open amusement and speculation.

  “I think it’s our pleasure, Liza.” His voice was velvety, deep and impressive but not as impressive as the senator’s. “Welcome to Heather Hill.”

  “Thank you,” Liza said. “You have three boys, I think?”

  Andrew grinned and glowed, as thrilled a father as any she’d ever seen. “Nathan is eleven, Andy’s almost two and Jackson is almost one.”

  Jillian, smiling and looking lovely in a red empire-waisted gown, appeared just then and touched her husband on the arm. “I’m going to borrow Beau for a minute. I need to introduce him to someone. And then we’ve got a flight back to Richmond. Beau’s got meetings in the morning.”

  After Jillian and the governor left, Andrew turned to Eric and introduced him to Liza. “This is my cousin—”

  “Eric Warner—yes, I know.” Liza shook Eric’s hand and received a warm smile in return. “Your daughter was just feeding the dogs stuffed mushrooms.”

  “God help us,” Eric muttered. “I’d better see what’s up. Excuse me.”

  “And we’d better go tuck the boys in before dinner,” Andrew told Viveca, although, judging by the way he was looking at his wife—all lowered lids and sultry eyes—he had no intention of letting her return to the party tonight.

  Viveca seemed to know it; a pretty flush crept across her cheeks as she turned to Liza, and her eyes were a little too bright. “Come back and visit us again, Liza.”

  Something about being in her husband’s arms seemed to soften Viveca and she looked sincere as they walked off. Unaccountably touched and feeling her frosty dislike for the woman melting, Liza nodded.

  “Oh dear.” Arnetta frowned after an elderly gentleman over by the door who looked as if he was having a problem with one of the caterers. “I’d better go help Bishop. You know I have to do everything around here. I’ll see you at dinner, Liza.”

  With that she swept off, leaving Liza alone with the senator.

  Liza prayed for composure.

  A thousand feelings hit her at once, none of which she particularly wanted to experience with his intent gaze on her face. She felt hot and agitated. Fidgety. Vulnerable and, worst of all, weepy. She rarely cried. The fact that she felt like doing so now was further proof that she should never have come tonight, never have placed herself in the senator’s orbit when work didn’t require it. Looking off over his shoulder in the general direction of the governor, who was now talking to Adena, she waited because, much as she wanted to, she couldn’t walk away.

  “How are you, Liza?”

  The rough, urgent note in his voice awakened something deep in her belly, something intense, dangerous and best left forever dormant.

  “Fine.” She didn’t meet his gaze. “But I didn’t get shot today.”

  Why couldn’t she breathe? When she did manage to drag in a sporadic breath, why was the intoxicating scent of his musky cologne the only thing she could smell? How long until she could retreat into the guest cottage, where she was staying, and hide for the rest of the night?

  Soon? Now?

  “If you’re so fine,” he asked reasonably, “why are your hands shaking?”

  An automatic denial rose to Liza’s lips, but then she looked down to see that damn empty martini glass rolling back and forth between her fidgeting hands. Mortified, she lowered the glass and clasped her hands behind her back where they could shake in private.

  “My hands aren’t shaking, but I do need a drink, so—”

  She trailed off, too flustered to even finish her sentence. Determined to get away before her knees gave out along with her voice, she took a couple of steps toward the bar but there was no escaping from him, not tonight. The senator put a warm hand on her arm, and she froze, trembling, deathly afraid to hear what he would say.

  He waited.

  She looked him in the face even though it was a bad idea. Really bad.

  There was a blazing new ferocity in his expression, an urgency that told her that he still wanted her and meant to have her despite all her fears and protestations. This was the face of a determined man who would not allow her emotional brick wall to stand between them for another second.

  “Please.” Hearing the weakness in her own voice, the need, she swallowed hard and tried again. Tried to be strong. “Please don’t do this to me.”

  His lips flattened, which was never a good sign. Right now she could see glimpses of the superhuman determination that had brought him this far in his career and would make him an effec tive world leader. What an unfair matchup this was between them—she was only a woman, and a weak one at that.

  “I thought of you today.” He eased closer, unblinking, merciless and unwilling to let her hang on to the precious detachment that was the only thing keeping her together. “When I saw that gun and felt that bul
let and hit that ground and thought I might die—”

  “Don’t.”

  “—I thought of you, Liza. Just you.”

  “You need to stop thinking about me.”

  His thumb stroked over the tender flesh of her inner forearm and she almost swayed on the spot.

  “I can’t.”

  They stared at each other, a force field of misery, longing and electricity crackling between them. From a great distance, Liza felt the pinpricks of what felt like a thousand pairs of eyes watching her, and she knew that was an important detail, but she couldn’t think why.

  And then she remembered with a sickening jolt to her gut.

  This was no ordinary man she was lusting over; this was the man who, she sincerely believed, would be the next president of the United States. And he couldn’t scratch his chin without drawing an audience.

  Peeling her gaze away from him, she glanced around the crowded room. Everyone seemed to be going about his or her own business, thank goodness.

  Then the sudden flash of a camera made her flinch. Oh, no. Glancing wildly around, she saw a photographer capturing a couple twenty feet from her and felt a little relief, but not much.

  How had she forgotten?

  Grand events like this always had roaming photographers to capture every detail for the society pages. It wasn’t the paparazzi or any of her colleagues this time, luckily, nor had the picture been of them—but one day, if they kept up like this, it would be. Did it really matter who took the picture that wound up splashed all over some newspaper or tabloid?

  Speaking of that, had any of the guests already slipped their camera phones out of their beaded handbags and snapped a picture of Liza and the senator engaged in this intense discussion in the middle of a party?

  She couldn’t take that chance. Neither should he.

  Get it together, Liza.

  She took a step back and tugged her arm free. The senator was slow to let her go but eventually did. When the physical contact between them was broken, she saw the loss reflected in his dark eyes.

  “People are watching, Senator. There are photographers here.”

  Clearing her dry throat, she worked up a smile for the benefit of anyone who may be staring. Out of the corner of her eye she had a glimpse of Adena and the governor standing together and gaping at them. The look of blind fury on Adena’s face made Liza wonder if the woman would grab the nearest fireplace poker and bludgeon her to death with it.

  “Adena is about to march over here and kill us both.”

  “Screw her.”

  Liza was so shocked that she let her false smile slip away.

  “You don’t mean that. She’s just trying to protect you and the presiden—”

  “Screw the presidency.”

  This was too much. In a day filled with mind-boggling events, this was the topper, no question. Aghast, she opened her mouth, floundered and had to try again.

  “Y-you don’t mean that,” she stammered.

  His smile was hard and flat and didn’t come within a mile of his glittering eyes. It was so feral and possessive, so hungry, that her body went haywire. Goose bumps rose over her arms, thick honey flowed between her legs, hot and wet and only for him, and wicked jolts of sensation ran from her hard nipples directly to her aching sex.

  He seemed to know it. His gleaming gaze skimmed over her body, lingering with interest on her breasts as though clothes couldn’t shield her from his view.

  When that gaze returned to her face, it was brighter than ever and there was something so determined—almost reckless—in his expression that she had the feeling he was capable of almost anything at that moment, at least as it pertained to her. His words, spoken in a low voice raspy with desire, confirmed this impression.

  “You have no idea what I mean and don’t mean, Liza.”

  “No? Well, I’ve had good news today. Maybe it’ll make things easier.”

  “What is it?”

  The wariness in his expression perfectly matched her own sick feeling, which was something along the lines of a patient receiving a grave diagnosis from her doctor.

  Why couldn’t she be happy? How had it come to this? This one man had rearranged her life until her body was no longer her own, but his. Until she wasn’t sure what was up and what was down. Until lifelong dreams fulfilled felt more like dire punishments.

  What had happened to her?

  Opening her mouth, she almost couldn’t bring herself to say it—that she’d be leaving him, that this was goodbye. “My phone’s been ringing off the hook. My agent and the president of the network called.”

  During the pause while she cleared her hoarse throat and tried to swallow the baseball-sized lump lodged halfway down, his face turned to stone and then quickly lost any expression whatsoever. It was, in fact, a model of emptiness—white paint on white canvas against a snowy landscape. There was nothing behind his eyes. Less than nothing.

  “You’ve reached a deal?”

  Liza tried to dredge up some happiness about it, some enthusiasm, some something, but her face refused to smile again, and the effort produced only streaks of tension from her cheeks to her temples.

  “I haven’t given them my answer yet, but…yes. They’ve been so pleased with my coverage of your campaign and my ratings…they’re giving me everything I want. The salary demands, performance incentives, it’s all there. They’ve even green-lighted my special on Alzheimer’s in America. It’s…everything I’ve always wanted.”

  Everything she’d always wanted.

  She would remember that. She was about to make history and fifteen million dollars a year while doing it. She was not going to stand here feeling sorry for herself. Trying to look upbeat, she waited for the senator’s reaction.

  It took a minute to come. He blinked…he swallowed…he tried to smile but couldn’t. Finally he spoke.

  “Congratulations, Liza.” He paused as though he’d run out of steam and needed a minute to generate some more. “You deserve it. You’re the best journalist in the business, no question. I’m so proud of you.”

  Despite his obvious unhappiness, he looked as though he was sincerely proud of her and meant every word. While she was grateful for his support, she was so upset to be leaving him that she felt as though a thousand more martinis would never be enough to dull the pain.

  “Thank you.”

  No self-pity, she reminded herself. No self pity…No self—

  “When do you go back to Washington?”

  Too soon. “Tomorrow, I think.”

  “Then…this is our last night together. Isn’t it?”

  Lust was suddenly all over his face, flushing in his cheeks and blazing in his glittering dark eyes. His scorching gaze, all determination and desire, slid over her in one swift glance that was so hot she felt broiled alive. Broiled, unbearably aroused and almost ready to agree to whatever he demanded of her.

  Those disturbing thoughts streaked through her mind again:

  Maybe fifteen million a year was no victory if it kept her from him.

  Maybe, this one time, she’d found a man she could trust.

  Maybe, with him, she could do a relationship after all.

  Liza started to smile, started to take a helpless step toward him, but Adena chose that moment to materialize at his elbow, looking upset, and the spell was broken.

  “I need you, John.” Adena flashed Liza a dark look. “Now.”

  John’s face fell with disappointment and irritation. For a minute his gaze flickered between the two women, but then he gave Adena a curt nod and schooled his features.

  “Excuse me,” he told Liza in a polite voice that was neither troubled nor seductive, and Liza all but sagged with relief as they walked off.

  Until he glanced back over his shoulder and hit her with a blazing look of such possessive purpose that Liza’s heart skittered and stopped as she absorbed his silent message:

  I’m coming for you tonight.

  Chapter 17

 
Chapter 17

  J ohn’s hands were still shaking when he knocked on the cottage door.

  It was 1:43 in the morning. Having endured the endless party and an ugly scene with Adena, he should now be on his way to bed in his well-appointed room at the main house for a much-needed night’s sleep, but he needed Liza more than sleep.

  Being here was dangerous. He knew that. Though there might be a bump in his popularity after the shooting and his work with the tornado survivors, his campaign remained on life support and a tabloid frenzy over his personal life could kill it outright. Not to mention the damage that would be done to Liza’s journalistic reputation if the newest network anchor was caught in a secret affair with the presidential candidate she was covering.

  So, yeah, he should be in his room back up at the main house. He should be enjoying a snack as he read through his briefing papers for tomorrow. He should not be sneaking down to the cottage to see Liza, but he knocked again anyway, harder this time.

  He could’ve been killed today. Maybe he’d be killed tomor row. Maybe his next assassination attempt would come from someone more skilled and detached than Vern Stubbs. Who could say?

  All he knew for sure was that only this moment was guaranteed, and he planned to spend this moment making love with the woman he needed.

  Still no answer. Frustrated and impatient, he pulled the screen door open and tried the knob. To his surprise, it turned, and John slipped inside, closing both doors behind him.

  There she was. By the light of a lamp on the console, he saw Liza sitting in a tall-backed chair in the corner of the small entry, not six feet from him.

  Her back was rigid, her shoulders squared. She hadn’t undressed from the party, and deep slits in that super-sexy black dress revealed shapely long legs up to her thighs. Both her pretty feet, which were still encased in those strappy sandals, rested side by side on the floor, and her hands were clenched in her lap.

  In her eyes he read equal parts fear and sensual knowledge.