Disillusioned and cynical as she was—she’d known he wasn’t a saint, but hearing the proof was still a shock—Liza still found herself wavering because she wanted so much to believe in him and their chances for a successful relationship.
She tried to think. This story, if it was true, wasn’t so bad, was it? Many marriages went through rough patches, didn’t they?
Yes. Yes, they did.
But then her suspicious mind intruded, reminding her that what happened years ago had nothing to do with him being wrapped around Adena last night.
“How touching,” she said sickened by her ongoing gullibility and foolishness, which seemed to have no beginning or end. “Irrelevant, but touching.”
He stepped closer and held his hands out, palms up. “After Camille was gone, Adena and I worked together again. We’ve always been a good team professionally. But that’s all. She was married by then, and I was never in love with her anyway. You’re the only woman I’ve loved since Camille, Liza. You.”
Staring into his earnest face, seeing the intensity, Liza softened for three hopeful seconds and then caught herself. Wasn’t the hallmark of a good liar the fact that he preyed on your weaknesses? That he told you what you wanted to believe anyway?
Another rupture appeared in her ruined heart.
He had Kent beat by a mile in the liar department.
She would not believe this bullshit even though she wished she could. It was now inconceivable that all the whispers and glances she’d personally witnessed between the senator and Adena were platonic, or that Adena’s obvious and instantaneous dislike of Liza was because of protectiveness of the campaign and not personal jealousy.
This man would not make a bigger fool of her than he already had, and Liza hated him for trying.
“This is all very interesting.” An angry buzz started in her head, the way it would sound if a thousand agitated bees were trapped inside her skull, but she was determined to remain calm and keep her voice steady. “But what does it have to do with all these pictures—” she flapped the folder at him “—of you and Adena draped all over each other last night?”
With obvious frustration, he rubbed both hands over his head and then dropped them to his sides. His face looked splotchy now, his eyes wilder, almost feral, but when he spoke, it was in calm, rational tones.
“After you and I talked, she came to me—remember when she asked to talk to me?—made a big confession and offered her resignation. She’s screwed up in a major way, done something that’s going to hurt the campaign when it goes public—”
Liza gaped at him. “She’s screwed up?”
“—and she wanted to tell me first. I was comforting her because she was distraught. That’s all.”
Comforting? The buzzing in Liza’s ears got louder. Comforting?
“I have to get this mess straightened out, Liza, but I promise you that—”
“You…promise?” She felt her face twisting as she spoke, her mouth contorting into a snarl. “Promises from you are like gold in the bank, aren’t they, Senator?”
“Liza—”
He reached for her arm but she jerked away. Raising his hands, he backed up a step or two to give her space but kept talking.
“You can’t believe in your heart that I’d make love to her and you. You’re the only woman I want, Liza. I love you. You know that—”
The buzzing in her ears erupted in a violent crescendo that had her crying out with rage. Destroyed in a way she’d never been before, even after she’d discovered Kent’s third affair, she wondered if the agony would strike her dead on the spot and almost wished it would.
Because she had done this to herself. She had believed in love when she knew damn good and well that love didn’t exist, at least not on the man’s part. She had thought she was in line for a happy ending. She had chosen the wrong man—again—and given up everything she’d worked for to be with him.
Maybe this pain was no less than she deserved for being this stupid.
Undone, she lashed out, hurling the folder at him. He seemed to have been expecting something like this—had braced for it—because he didn’t flinch or duck when the folder hit him in the center of his chest and the photos fluttered to the ground at his feet.
“I gave up the anchor chair for you,” she screeched. “I quit my job for you. I thought you loved me—”
Without warning he lunged, grabbed her around the waist, trapping her arms at her sides, and swept her off her feet. Startled, she struggled against him, but there was no point.
It cost him zero effort to swing her around and sink into the nearest captain’s chair with her on his lap. Holding tight so she couldn’t smack him, he hooked his chin over her shoulder and spoke directly into her ear.
“I’m sorry.” There was terrible control in his tone, an excruciating politeness that shredded her overwrought nerves. “I don’t seem to be communicating very well right now. It must be because the woman I love thinks I’m cheating on her and my campaign is in the toilet. Let me try again.”
She could never physically be afraid of him, but there was something so edgy, so determined and ruthless in his calm voice that she knew that, strong as she was, she was no match for him and never would be. The senator, when he got like this, could probably move mountains with his bare hands, hypnotize world leaders with the force of his will.
“Let me go.”
“No. You’re going to listen to me.”
Liza roared with outrage. All the commotion finally attracted some attention and one of the new secret service agents opened the cabin door, poked his head in and surveyed the scene with an impassive face.
“Everything okay in—”
“Get the hell out,” the senator roared.
The agent backed out and shut the door, and the senator continued as though there’d been no interruption.
“I haven’t had sex with Adena in years, okay? That’s number one.”
The heat of his breath against her face made Liza’s belly flutter, so she renewed her struggle, to no avail. His arms tightened, gentle iron bars from which she had no chance of escaping.
“Number two: I do love you. I haven’t cheated on you and I won’t cheat on you. I am not your ex-husband, and I’m not the same man who cheated on Camille all those years ago. I’ve grown and I’ve learned from my mistakes. You should understand that, right? I’m assuming you’re not the same woman who married your ex all those years ago?…”
Fury all but blinded Liza—at him for doing this to her and at herself for being this weak and looking for loopholes in her vow not to believe him, for searching for ways his tortured explanations might possibly be true.
Squirming again, she inadvertently wedged her butt against his groin. She froze and choked off an involuntary whimper.
“Are you trying to make me lose control here, Liza?” he rasped in her ear, thrusting his hips for maximum effect. “Because that’s what you’re doing. You may want to keep still.”
Liza kept still.
“Number three,” he continued. “As soon as I have this all straightened out, which will be later on tonight, by the way, I’m going to come to you and we’re going to negotiate a deal. Do you want to know what it is?”
“No,” she said, terror in her heart.
“Too bad,” he said easily. “We’re getting married, you and I—as soon as we can manage it. I’m not letting your posttraumatic-divorce-stress nonsense, or whatever you want to call it, ruin our chances. Got that? The only question is whether I’m going to end this campaign. Whether I end it or not, I’m not letting my good name go down in flames like this. I need to straighten this mess out so I can at least stay in the Senate. Understand?”
She nodded, not daring to speak lest the sound of her voice prompt him to prolong this interlude on his lap.
“Good girl. I’m letting you go now. Don’t hit me.”
The second those arms loosened, she surged to her feet, wheeled around and glared at him.
He rose, towering over her, and she wanted to rage at him for manhandling her and, worse, making her hope again when there should be no hope between them.
“You’re insane,” she spat.
His eyes glittered, although whether it was from irritation or amusement, she couldn’t tell. “Maybe, but you see where I’m going with this, don’t you, Liza? Let me spell it out for you: you’re going to be my wife. The election isn’t going to ruin that, your job isn’t going to ruin that—not even you are going to ruin that. Now I’ve got some work to do to get my ass out of the fire. That’s it for now. I’ll see you later.”
Liza’s jaw dropped to the floor. “You’re dismissing me?”
He looked around, his expression hard and wicked. “Not yet.”
Lashing out, he grabbed her arms, hauled her up against him and molded her body to his. Liza jerked convulsively when their hips met, but his big hand clamped down on her butt, grinding her against him, weakening her knees and giving her no room for escape. With his free hand he grabbed a hank of her hair, pulled her head back and kissed her, hard and deep.
Furious and helpless to do otherwise, Liza kissed him back. His clawed fingers dug into her butt, hurting her with a glorious pain, and she stroked deeper into his mouth, nipping his bottom lip hard enough to draw blood as she withdrew. Their animalistic cries filled the air for a minute, and then they broke apart, panting.
Staring at her, he swiped the back of his hand across his mouth.
“Now you’re dismissed.”
With a disbelieving cry—had she just kissed this liar?—Liza raised her hand to slap him, but he grabbed her wrist and wrenched it down between them.
“Don’t do that.”
Liza tore free and glared at him. She didn’t know what to think, whether to believe or not. All she knew was that throughout her life the only person she’d truly been able to count on was Liza.
Patience was not one of her virtues; she couldn’t wait.
“I’m going to do my own investigation, Senator. I’ll get to the bottom of this with or without your help. I’m not going to sit around and wait for you to decide to come tell me the whole story.”
He grimaced. “I know you will. That’s not the issue. The issue is: how many innocent people are going to be hurt if you don’t give me time to get this straightened out?”
On that incomprehensible note, he opened the door for her and she left. Huffing, she was just settling in her seat when her air phone rang.
It was the hospital.
The motorcade drove right up to the gated executive mansion in Richmond, as inconspicuous in the early afternoon hours as a runaway float from the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade. John didn’t care. His only feeling, other than a blinding black rage, was gratitude that Jillian was, according to the housekeeper who’d answered the phone, not home to witness the ugly scene that was about to unfold.
Jumping out of his SUV almost before it came to a complete stop at the end of the circular driveway, John stormed up the front steps and pounded on the door. His secret service agents, assorted local police and his brother-in-law’s own security detail, none of whom looked like his biggest fans at the moment, fanned out and scrambled to keep up with him.
There’d been some murmurings about John entering through the back, but screw that. The whole world would know what was going on soon enough.
Anyway, if ever there was a good time for a sniper to take him out, it was now. Before he had to do his grim duties as a brother and one of the party’s top leaders.
They’d been expecting him, but that did not, of course, mean that his brother-in-law had the balls to come to the door himself. The harassed-looking housekeeper let him in and ushered him through the vaulted foyer and into the paneled library. John’s footsteps echoed on the gleaming hardwood floors, an ominous sound in the otherwise oppressive silence of the house.
It was just like that punk to skulk like a coward.
“He’s in here, Senator.” The woman left, shutting the door behind her.
For a minute John didn’t see anyone and he wondered where all the governor’s advisers were. The cozy room was still full of sunlight, which glinted off the swimming pool visible through the floor-to-ceiling windows. There was no one at the desk, no one on the sofa or any of the chairs, no sign of human life.
Irritated, John was just about to call after the housekeeper when a movement on the other side of the entertainment armoire caught his attention.
Beau appeared, holding what was apparently a scotch on the rocks and looking a little gray under his light brown skin but otherwise calm. John wanted to kill him for his composure.
“You son of a bitch.”
Temporary insanity caught John in an iron grip and wouldn’t let go. Lunging across the room, he grabbed Beau by the collar and shoved him up against the wall, thunking his head and knocking his drink to the floor.
“I should shove your teeth down your throat.”
Beau broke free and they faced off, snarling.
Why wasn’t there some outward sign of this man’s moral decay—something that set him apart from everyone else and served as a warning to the unsuspecting? What had happened to this man to make his conscience more flexible than the average person’s?
For God’s sake, what destructive demons possessed Beau? After everything he and Jillian had already been through, how could he cause one more crisis?
“How could you do this again?” John roared, honestly trying to comprehend the man’s thought processes. “Use small words so I can understand.”
“Do what, John?” asked a female voice.
No. Oh, no. Not Jillian. Not now.
Shit.
It was her. She emerged through the library’s side door, and John’s nightmare was complete. If he’d thought he couldn’t feel any worse for her, he was wrong. There was something about the combination of the bewildered look in her brown eyes and her squared shoulders—as though she knew something bad was about to happen but was determined to face it with courage—that just killed him.
John was forcibly reminded of the long-ago day their mother died and the look on Jillian’s face right before their father broke the terrible news.
Lord, give me strength to get through this. Give Jillian strength.
“Jillian.” John reached for her hand. “I didn’t know you were home.”
“I came back early. I was…on an errand.”
She turned to Beau, who now seemed frozen except for the wild glitter in his too-bright eyes. Guilt was etched deeply in every line of his body, every hair on his head. That and desperation.
Swallowing hard, he glanced at John and then faced his wife.
“I need to talk to you, Jill.”
There was an almost imperceptible shift in Jillian’s expression, a slight hardening, but she didn’t say anything and Beau wasn’t in any rush to tell her.
Watching the excruciating scene, John tried to blend into the paneling.
Beau, to his credit, held his wife’s gaze even when understanding began to dawn in her expression…even when she gasped… even when the tears formed in her eyes and she hugged her arms to her belly as though she could protect herself.
“No,” she whispered, shaking her head. “Not again.”
“I’m sorry, baby.” Beau’s face crumpled but he didn’t cry and didn’t make excuses. Maybe he had none left, having used them all up the last time. His Adam’s apple bobbed in a rough swallow. “I’m sorry.”
John didn’t snort, but it was a near thing. Sorry. Talk about your understatements. Beau was broken, the perfect specimen of a self-destructive personality, and beyond fixing. If only Jillian would write him off for good.
Then Liza’s face intruded on John’s thoughts. He thought of all the risks he’d taken and was still taking to be with her and decided maybe he wasn’t the one to weigh in on crazy behavior where women were concerned. But when he caught a flash of Jillian’s despair, he wanted to kill Beau all over agai
n and any sympathetic impulse he’d felt crumbled to dust.
Jillian turned away from Beau and stared down at the rug’s floral pattern, her expression vacant. Several tears fell, unchecked, and lingered on her cheeks. She looked utterly miserable, like an abandoned child, and John’s throat burned with stifled emotion.
He ignored the impulse to touch her because he knew it would make things worse. Better to take his cues from her, wait to see what she needed.
She’d better not take the SOB back again, though. There was a limit to how many pep talks John could give and how many times he could pick up the pieces of her broken heart.
Never again.
Suddenly Jillian stared up at Beau, and there was nothing vague about her now, nothing weak. “Who?” Her voice shook with anger. “Tell me who.”
Beau hung his head in a pretty good impersonation of an ashamed man, but, hell, he’d had so much practice with his penitent act it was hard to tell. After several false starts, he finally got his mouth to work and said the name that would fan this flame into an inferno.
“Adena Brown.”
John kept quiet; Jillian blinked.
“Adena?” Jillian tested the name to make sure she’d gotten it right.
Beau nodded, his nostrils flaring.
“But…”
Flustered, Jillian ran both hands through her hair as she struggled to get her mind around it. No doubt she was matching dates with deceptions, lies with opportunities. She turned to John, stammering in her confusion.
“They said that there are pictures of you and Adena, not Beau—”
“She came to me last night, Jill, and we talked in the garden. That’s where the caterer shot the pictures. We never saw anyone.” John scrubbed a hand over his face. “Anyway, she told me everything. The guilt was killing her, I guess, and it didn’t help to see you and Beau together at the party. She said Beau broke things off a while back. She asked me to forgive her because she knew she’d let me down and was afraid of damaging the campaign if it came out.” He trailed off and shrugged. “And then she quit so she could go home and tell her husband. Fix her family, if that’s possible.”
Campaign For Seduction Page 20
