Her cell phone vibration broke the silence. Avery always wants the last word. Well, Christiana was sick of her diva behavior. She answered with a snarled “What.”
A soft chuckle warmed her belly. “Hello, Christiana.”
She drifted off on a wave of happiness. “I thought you were someone else, sorry. I’m still at work.”
“I see the election year has us all running. So, regarding this weekend—”
“Yes, I’m ready.” Her back straightened.
More laughter washed over her. “You should know I spoke with your father today. He called with follow-up questions. He then promptly offered you up as an intern. Said you were smart.”
Her next thought shocked her. She didn’t want to be smart. She wanted to be something wholly unsmart—to be Jonathan’s lover, even if only for one summer. “What did you say?”
“I agreed with the second point. You are smart. But I don’t need an intern. I have an entirely different position in mind for you.” Jonathan voice dropped low. “I did not mention this weekend to your father. I need to remind you it’s imperative that no one else knows.”
“I understand. I won’t tell anyone.”
“No one,” he said.
Christiana’s stomach fluttered. His dedication to keeping their acquaintance secret promised something she couldn’t name. The mystery bathed her in an exotic, grown-up feeling, like she had been admitted to a mysterious clandestine club.
His voice lowered to a whisper. “Where are you?”
“I’m in the Cabinet Room, taking a break.”
“Are you alone?”
“Yes.”
“Good. I don’t like the thought of all those Washington business men looking up your waitressing skirt.”
“Oh, yeah, I’m so sexy in my apron.”
“Yes, you are. They’re all wondering what’s under it.”
“Cotton.” Jesus, did she just say that?
“You should be in silk. What color?”
“Um, blue.”
“Hmm, if I was there, I’d make you prove that.”
Any doubt about Jonathan’s proposal not involving sex dissolved.
“Until Friday. Four o’clock in front of The Oak. Good night, Christiana.” The line went dead.
Christiana closed her eyes. The remnants of remembered scents—leather, wool, man—flooded back as recollections of warm arms holding her on a dance floor sent a thrilling ripple up her spine.
She eased her butt off the table. Fingers shaking, she reached under her skirt and pulled her panties down. They slipped easily down to her ankles, cooler air hitting her damp crotch. She pictured Jonathan watching her do it, smiling and beckoning her forward.
She scrunched the slip of cotton in her hand and stuffed the panties into her apron pocket. A gift for Jonathan. Friday.
10
Christiana pushed through The Oak Room’s revolving doors into the oppressive summer air. Mark stepped from Jonathan’s black SUV, idling in the valet parking area.
“Miss Snow, please take a seat in the front,” he said, as he picked up her duffle bag.
When Christiana slipped into the front seat, a swarm of butterflies flew up her middle. Jonathan, in the driver’s seat, gave her a broad smile, crinkles forming around his eyes, now more blue-green against his light grey suit and cobalt shirt. His looks should be illegal.
“Ready to leave Washington behind?” he asked. “If we hurry, we’ll beat the traffic.”
Mark slammed down the back hatch door and knocked on the roof.
“Do you go away every weekend?” she asked as Jonathan made a U-turn across Fifteenth Street.
“Not as often as I’d like. It all depends on the company.” Jonathan winked.
Down, butterflies, down.
They turned onto Constitution Avenue, and Christiana glanced at the long line of tourists snaking around the Washington Monument. The Oak would be packed over the weekend. She sent a silent thank you to the heavens she wouldn’t be there.
Jonathan stayed silent as he wove through Friday afternoon traffic over the river to ease into the steady stream of cars out of the city.
“Have you had your house in Charlottesville long?” she asked.
“Built it three years ago. It’s a haven away from the madness. Important for intimate conversations, like what we’ll have.”
“You said you wanted to show me something.”
“Not while I’m driving.” Jonathan rubbed his thumb, feather-light, along her wrist.
“Will you show me when we get there?”
“Yes.”
“Can you tell me anything now?”
“No.”
“Not even a little?”
“So inquisitive, Christiana.” He smiled over at her. “You sure you aren’t going to be a reporter after all?”
“I’ve been . . . curious. About you. About what you wanted to show me.”
“That’s good, Christiana. That’s very good.” The intimacy of his deep voice stroked her impatience. He slid his hand up to the back of her neck while lazily draping the other over the steering wheel.
“Um, when you called the other night, you were wondering something, too.”
He appeared thoughtful, and then his mouth stretched into a grin. “Yes, I was.”
His eyes darted to her legs, barely covered by the hem of her sundress.
“I have something for you.” She wished she’d left her work uniform on, just to accentuate the effect of pulling from her purse the blue panties that Jonathan’s seductive voice lured her to shed the other night. He stopped his light massage on her neck and presented his open palm. His eyes never left the road as she laid the panties in his hand.
“Good thing I didn’t know about this.” Jonathan stuffed them into his inside suit pocket. “My concentration during meetings would’ve been shattered.”
Christiana clasped her legs closer together. A deluge of new yearning soaked her current panties with the realization he’d thought about her nude.
He reached over to knead the base of her head. “Any more headaches?”
“Nothing serious.” Okay, maybe. Even in her state of constant, simmering arousal, she’d fought an impending migraine all week—first from worry Jonathan wouldn’t call and then worry someone would discover he had.
As soon as she’d emerged from the Cabinet Room, panty-less, aroused and smug, her cell phone had chirped, blinking Avery’s name. Christiana had let her stew. Ten calls later, Avery had left a voice mail message in which she declared wine wasn’t her drink because it made her say things she didn’t mean. Christiana knew that explanation was the best apology she’d ever get out of Avery Churchill.
Jonathan’s brows knit together. “You’ll tell me if a headache starts. I can help.”
“They’re never bad enough to need medication.”
“That’s not what I had in mind. There are other ways to relieve pain. And help is my specialty.” He grinned.
Christiana’s neck and shoulders relaxed under his deft fingers while all her nerve endings crackled. The thought of him moving his hand lower and cupping her breast made her grow wetter. Jonathan pulled his hand away to press the Bluetooth button on his steering wheel.
“Yes, Shane. I’m not alone.” Jonathan gave Christiana a side look and whispered, “I’ll make this quick.”
Christiana nodded and shifted to look out the window. As Jonathan launched into a barrage of dictation, the lightning between her legs lessened. But only a little.
The urban landscape thinned. Soon farmland stretched out on either side, and warm sunshine streamed into the car. Christiana grew drowsy.
Jonathan’s voice broke into her stupor. “Hey, sleepyhead.” They had pulled up to a gate made of pale smooth wood. It cracked open when Jonathan punched in a code on the greeting console. A brass sign on the left-hand post read Covil Sereia.
A modern Asian Minka home nestled among red oak, and chestnut giants came into view as they drove
up the curving drive beyond. Its rustic, dark cedar exterior blended into the forest landscape as though it had risen from the earth itself.
Jonathan released his seat belt as he opened his door. He seemed springier, almost buoyant with happiness at having arrived. A smile tugged his lips as he helped her out of the car. He carried her bag in one hand and pressed the other against her back.
Christiana took in a lungful of the woodsy, clean air. A light breeze swayed the tree branches, and birds sang from somewhere deep in the coppice.
She followed Jonathan into a small dim foyer. A red Buddha smiled from atop a small, round-topped teak table. Christiana wanted to linger and study the hallway paintings of koi, glittering with red and gold scales and swimming among lotus blooms. But Jonathan towed her forward into a massive room.
Cathedral ceilings rose high above them, and two long hallways trailed off in opposite directions. The hall’s polished wood floors mirrored vague images of the artwork hanging on the walls. A painted mermaid held court at the end of the hall. Christiana shuddered, noticing the siren’s distorted reflection swam toward them along the gleaming oak hallway.
In the main room, a white couch and several modern leather chairs were placed in front of a large fireplace that dominated one wall. Floor-to-ceiling glass sliding doors opened to a light wood deck.
“It’s like an Architectural Digest spread,” she said.
“I’m glad you approve.” Jonathan smiled.
The fragrance of something spicy drew Christiana’s focus to the kitchen area to the left. “What is that wonderful smell?”
“Blanca, my housekeeper, always leaves something delicious cooking for me when I arrive. We’ll eat soon.”
Jonathan took her hand and led her down the two steps into the center room and out onto the deck, seemingly suspended in mid-air by steel cabling. The house clung to the mountainside, thick with trees cascading down the slope. A cardinal flitted from branch to branch as the limbs parted in the wind and revealed glimpses of a valley below.
Christiana held her face up into the breeze. “The air’s so fresh. Nothing like Washington.” She took another lungful of pristine air.
“I’m getting out of this suit. Come.” He took her hand and led her down the hall to an open door at the far end. “The guest bedroom. Feel free to freshen up in here. I’ll meet you in the living room.”
He set Christiana’s duffel bag atop an expensive-looking green duvet on the queen-sized bed and left her alone.
Christiana smoothed the front of her sundress, glad it held up, so she didn’t need to change it. Her panties were another matter. She also was desperate to brush her teeth.
The guest bath was small yet anything but ordinary. The walls glimmered with gold metallic paint, and the floor was the same light polished wood as the hallways. A black granite countertop held a blue glass bowl for a sink. Christiana found a blow dryer and moisturizer in a drawer that clicked back into place with a gentle push.
“Fancy,” Christiana said to her reflection in the mirror, noting the dark circles under her eyes. She brushed her teeth and splashed cool water on her face. Even after the nap in the car, her legs still wobbled from working all day. After applying more concealer, she slipped off her sandals. Her feet needed a break. She also changed her panties.
Christiana found Jonathan on the deck talking on his cell phone. He paced, also barefoot, in a white linen shirt and faded jeans. His broad back flexed when he rolled his shoulders back and stretched. He laughed. He looked happy. And hot as Hades.
Jonathan put his arm around Christiana when she stepped outside. She smiled up at him, her eyes laced with curiosity. Her questions in the car were a nice surprise. When she’d handed him her panties, he’d nearly risked a charge of indecent exposure and public sex. Christ, she was eager.
She looked tired, presumably from that ridiculous work schedule he had yet to correct. He vowed to take her to the Hilton tonight no matter how many times she bit her rosy bottom lip. It had taken Jonathan all week to regain his sense of control when it came to Christiana Snow. He would not lose it now. He could wait at least until tomorrow, let her get settled. A delicious anticipation would build for them both, make his plans that more sweet.
“You must be starving.”
“Food sounds good,” she said.
Jonathan led her to a small table she hadn’t noticed on the deck before, set for an alfresco dinner with a small pillar candle flickering in the twilight.
“Blanca is a wonderful cook.” He pulled out Christiana’s chair. “And she’s made her signature stew.”
“Is she here?”
“No, I wanted us to have some time alone.” Jonathan retrieved a bottle of sparkling water, dripping with condensation, from a silver ice bucket and sat down.
“No champagne?”
“Not tonight. We both need a clear head. I love eating out here. But let me know if the mosquitoes start biting.” Jonathan poured the cool fizzy water into large goblets.
“They do tend to go after me.” She tossed her hair over one shoulder and bared skin. His jeans pulled against his cock, now swelling to life.
“To an evening with no bloodshed.” He raised his glass in a toast. “Try the stew. Feijoada. Blanca’s specialty.”
Christiana slipped a small spoonful between her lips. God, he loved watching her mouth. His cock would slide through those lips so deliciously. He shuttered the thought away. They would never get through dinner if he didn’t.
“What does Covil Sereia mean?” she asked.
“Mermaid Lair. It’s Portuguese. My mother’s family was from Brazil.” The words tasted strange in his mouth. He hadn’t spoken of his mother to anyone outside the family in years.
They ate a few bites in silence, as wind rustled through the trees, and the drone of cicadas filled the quiet space. Christiana didn’t eat much. When she leaned back, apparently sated, he pushed his own plate away.
Jonathan picked up his glass of bubbly water and caught Christiana’s eyes. Still simmering with questions. Jonathan prayed she would never lose her inquisitive nature. It would make things so much easier.
He brushed his foot over her bare feet. She pulled back but didn’t break his gaze. Not so fast, lovely. He captured one of her feet between both of his and held it. Her lips parted in surprise but her eyes stayed locked on his while he rubbed her softness between his larger feet. She quieted. A sliver of understanding clicked into place in his mind. She needs to be touched. Often. His imagination kicked into high gear. Given the velvet-smooth skin on her tiny foot, silk and satin must lie between her thighs. If she granted him access, he’d ensure she’d have trouble staying still.
11
Christiana willed herself to keep breathing. It was difficult, given his larger feet held hers captive, the gesture overwhelmingly intimate.
As if reading her mind, he released her foot, rose and disappeared inside. Maybe he was finally going to show her what he meant earlier—show me what? Christiana took a few more sips of her sparkling water. Jonathan returned to the table with a manila folder. Her heart wobbled at his solemn expression.
He sat. “You know I’m a member of Congress. And, my family is . . . well-known.”
“Yes.” She let out a half laugh at his understatement but stopped when his eyes narrowed.
“Forgive the formality, but I’m an attorney at heart, and it’s my job to foresee anything that might arise.” He handed her the folder.
Inside, Christiana found a single sheet of paper with “Non-Disclosure Agreement” typed at the top.
“My Dad never signs these.”
“Nor should he, given his line of work. He has to be free to report things as he sees them.”
She scanned the text of the NDA. “So, I can’t discuss with anyone what happens between us.”
“That’s correct. Not your father. Not Avery. No one. Even the slightest joke or slip about the subject of our discussions, or what we do, could give the wrong impr
ession.”
“I understand.” Sort of.
“What we do here cannot ever leave here,” he added.
His last statement unsettled her nerves, as if he silently underlined the temporary nature of this arrangement. That this—whatever it was—was to be a liaison, straight out of an old French movie.
Did she even care?
Christiana took a large swallow of water, which went down in a fizzy lump. She stared at the piece of paper now weighing more heavily in her hand.
Of course, it wouldn’t be fair to talk about him to anyone. Aren’t members of Congress hounded enough? The gossip rags must be relentless about who he’s dating to find some indiscretion they could report. Lord knows her father circled a room like an eagle, talons open and ready to grasp any shred of personal data to color a story. Jonathan had obviously worked hard to maintain some privacy. Even Avery couldn’t find much on him.
Avery! If she ever found out anything about her being with Jonathan, Christiana could play this NDA card.
Caught, what a funny thought. She’d never so much as snuck an apple from The Oak Room. Now she sat where Avery would kill to be, being asked to hold a man’s secrets, a man whose voice . . . .
Her mind stopped. Jonathan’s warm, powerful hands had enveloped her shoulders, sending prickles of sensation down to her fingertips. She hadn’t even seen him get up. He leaned down and placed his soft lips to her neck, trailing kisses down to her shoulder. Every nerve in her body fired as his hands slid down her arms. He whispered in her ear, “Please. I want to protect you. And I need this in order to show you.”
She dissolved into a puddle of lust. “Do you have a pen?”
Jonathan laid a silver pen next to the paper. “You should read it first.”
“I trust you.” She scribbled her full name across the bottom and slipped it into the folder.
Jonathan twisted her hair in his hands and then set the coil free, running his fingers through its length. Shivers ran down the base of her skull, down her back and her legs. She made a mental note to always wear her hair down around him.
Elite (Elite Doms of Washington Book 1) Page 9
