by Tami Hoag
Hell, how could he have apprised Murphy when he had only just figured out for himself that he was in love with the woman? He hadn’t even told Bronwynn about it—not in time, at any rate. What a mess, he thought.
Picking up the tabloid he had snatched away from his secretary on his way into his office, he read the headline aloud. “‘Representative’s Romantic Rendezvous Ruined: Fur Flies At Foxfire.’” The photograph showed Bronwynn sticking her tongue out at him.
As Murphy had pointed out with tedious regularity over the last week, they were the sex scandal of the year. It was going to take months to smooth all the feathers the headlines had ruffled.
Wade knew a politician’s private life was not strictly his own, but still it irked him to have his put under a microscope, dissected, and twisted around. More than once over the past week he had been tempted to try to set the story straight, but Murphy had talked him out of it. History had proven the best way to deal with gossip was simply to ignore it. The fire would die out if no one added fuel to it.
Wondering when the fire in his belly would die out, Wade peeled the last antacid tablet from the roll on his desk, popped it in his mouth, and promptly dug another roll out of the box in his top drawer. The way things were going, soon he would have to look into buying the stuff wholesale. His stomach was boiling and churning inside like an acid pit. He hadn’t had a decent meal in a week. Since his return to his office in Lafayette, his diet had consisted mainly of coffee, antacid tablets, scotch, and more antacid tablets. Food held no appeal. Neither did the cigarette he picked up and rolled between his fingers.
He was dying to light it up. He really was. But he couldn’t. He hadn’t smoked one single cigarette since leaving Vermont, even though his nerves were shot and practically screaming for nicotine. Tormenting himself, that’s what he was doing. He was being perverse in the extreme. But, dammit, every time he picked up a cigarette he thought of Bronwynn—of how she would disapprove, of her subtle campaign to get him to cut down.
She could be extremely clever when she wanted to be. It had been days before he’d realized he hadn’t been smoking nearly as much as usual—and that Bronwynn had been behind it, sneaking his cigarettes away, distracting him from the harmful habit. His renewed trouble with his ulcer had come as something of a shock after having gone several weeks without so much as looking at a bottle of antacid. The taste of the stuff—to which he had once been nearly immune—now came close to making him gag. Bronwynn was at the root of that too. She had seen to it he’d had decent meals. In her own quirky way she had looked after him as no one had in years.
A wry smile twisted Wade’s mouth as he wondered how much of her haplessness with tools had been an act. Keeping busy at Foxfire, saving Bronwynn from what he considered imminent disaster, had kept him away from work and the worry that went along with it. Dr. Jameson himself couldn’t have prescribed a better remedy for stress. He had unwound with Bronwynn, had relaxed, and had fun.
He had fallen in love with her, and she had hurt him. Oh, how she had hurt him. Giving her his heart had also given her the power to cut him deeply. The depth of his pain when she had doubted him had left him stunned, had left him both unable and unwilling to defend himself.
Now that he’d had some time to recover and think about it, he could see the mistakes he’d made. He should have told her at some point about the aborted ski lodge idea. He should have told her sooner that he loved her. He should have been more understanding of her reaction to his supposed betrayal—after what she’d been through with Hilliard, it had been natural. He should have made her believe in him. The way he’d behaved had only confirmed her suspicions that he was a bastard.
He wondered about what to do. Common sense tried to tell him to let go, to leave her alone. She was where she wanted to be, he was where he needed to be. She had Foxfire, he had his work. It had always been enough for him before.
As he ran his unlit cigarette back and forth across his lower lip, Wade cast a cursory glance at the files Murphy had tossed on his desk. Before Vermont, he would have dug into them with relish, he would have felt guilty ignoring them for even five minutes. Now he couldn’t rouse enough interest to lift the covers on them. His career had been knocked into second place in his life, bested by a red-haired minx he had virtually nothing in common with.
It was true. They were as mismatched as Bronwynn’s eyes, but stil he loved her. Everything else in his life was going to be on hold until he either got Bronwynn back or exorcized her from his soul completely.
Somehow Wade didn’t think the latter was going to be possible.
He opened the bottom right-hand drawer of his desk and lifted out the only thing of Bronwynn’s he had other than memories. The kaleidoscope had been carefully wrapped and tucked into his backpack with the words “I love you” scrawled on the paper. The polished wood cylinder with shiny brass bands was unmistakably Wizzer Bralower’s handiwork, but it wasn’t the kilt-clad hermit Wade thought of when he lifted the toy to his eye and stared at the brilliant, beautiful patterns. He thought of Bronwynn. She had brought color and whimsy to a world made gray by work and responsibility. Now she was gone from his life, and he felt worse than dead.
Setting the kaleidoscope aside, he leaned forward and punched the button on his intercom. “Mrs. Griffin, would you please call the airline—”
The sound of his secretary’s shrill voice on the other side of the office door brought Wade up short. “What is the meaning of this?” she shrieked. “Who do you people think you are? You can’t come barging in here! Congressman Grayson is not available.”
Wade was halfway out of his chair when the door burst open and a television camera crew bustled in. Reporters and photographers followed them, jostling each other for position as they crowded into the room.
“What’s the meaning of this?” Wade demanded, echoing his secretary’s words. Hadn’t they intruded on his life enough in the past week? If the blasted press hadn’t shown up when they had, he would have had a chance to talk over the future with Bronwynn and his life wouldn’t be such a miserable hell.
“Congressman, is it true you’ve had no advance warning about this press conference?”
“Press? . . . Murphy!” Wade bellowed, anger overriding decorum. He raked the reporters with his scowl. “Who the hell let you people in here?”
“I did,” Murphy said from the doorway, meeting his boss’s baleful glare with a look that was a strangely familiar cross between irritation and resignation.
Wade was ready to launch into him when a voice from behind Murphy added, “At my request.”
If he hadn’t been braced against his desk, Wade was certain he would have keeled over at the sound of the voice. His knees actually turned rubbery. It was all he could do to keep his jaw from dropping when Murphy stepped aside and Bronwynn walked into the room.
He might not have recognized her on the street. Except for a recalcitrant tuft of bangs, her fly-away hair was slicked back into a neat ponytail. Ragged jeans and baggy T-shirt had been traded in for a pencil-slim beige skirt and a boxy, masculine-styled brown plaid blazer over a silk camisole top. Framing her almond-shaped eyes was an enormous pair of professor-style horn-rimmed glasses. Wade thought she was the most incredibly sexy thing he’d ever seen.
“Congressman,” Bronwynn said in careful greeting when she reached Wade’s desk. Her teeth nibbled nervously at her neatly painted lower lip.
If Wade was overjoyed at seeing her, he was doing a bang-up job of hiding it. He looked surprised and a little bit wary. Well, she couldn’t blame him, but she had hoped for a smile at least. After the fight she’d had with Murphy Mitchell to get in she could have used some encouragement.
Wade cleared his throat and took the hand she offered across his desk. “Ms. Pierson,” he said, then bit his tongue to keep from groaning at the feel of her flesh against his. Electricity hummed through him, reminding him that he’d lain awake night after night aching for her.
Bronwynn fou
ght the urge to turn tail and run. At this point she was certain she was doomed to failure and public humiliation, even though she did have the advantage of surprise. Wade was a politician, and not one who had to have his every word phonetically spelled out for him by a speech writer either. He was very capable of thinking on his feet. Sweat trickled down between her breasts. He was going to fly her alive and leave her carcass for the press she had invited into his office.
“You have me at a loss,” Wade said neutrally. She hadn’t given anything away yet. He found himself hoping she wasn’t still furious with him, hoping she hadn’t taken a page out of Ross Hilliard’s book and arranged some kind of revenge. “Would you care to explain all this?”
“Umm . . .” Shaking like a leaf, Bronwynn clutched at the leather folder that held her notes. She surprised herself by sounding remarkably calm when she answered. “Certainly. It occurred to me that the press has been misled on certain points concerning our relationship. I took the liberty of inviting them here today to set the record straight.”
Wade’s eyes searched hers for deeper answers. What he saw was hope, apology, and stark terror. Optimism ribboned through him. “I see. Well, yes, I would have to agree with you—the reports haven’t been accurate at all, at least not concerning my feelings.”
“Or mine,” she added, praying she hadn’t imagined the added meaning in his words. “If I can have a seat, I have a statement to make, and I would also like to ask you a few questions.”
Wade motioned her to the conference table along the far wall of his office. Noisily the press rearranged themselves for the best view. Bronwynn took the seat Wade pulled out for her. She was never so glad of a place to sit down in her entire life. Another second standing in front of his desk, and she was certain she would have wilted like week-old celery.
As microphones were set up on the table, Wade took the chair beside Bronwynn’s and looked at her expectantly, then glanced at the long, slender legs she crossed demurely over each other. Lord, but she was sexy in that outfit, he thought. His fingers itched to pull her glasses off and free her hair, to shove her businesslike suit jacket off her shoulders and cup her breasts through the fabric of the little slip of silk that was masquerading as a blouse.
With trembling fingers, Bronwynn opened her folder and glanced at the notes scribbled on the lavender legal pad. Straightening the glasses she wore merely for effect, she addressed the reporters, squinting into the bright lights the television people had set up.
“First of all, I would like to say that I did not go to Vermont with the intention of meeting Congressman Grayson. Prior to my arrival at Foxfire, I had no idea who he was.” She couldn’t quite nip back a little smile as she caught Wade’s disgruntled scowl from the corner of her eye. “I went to Vermont because I needed to get away so I could get my life back in order. Until the day of our last press conference, I had no knowledge of the congressman’s interest in my property.”
The statement brought gasps and anxious murmurs from the reporters. At the back of the room, Murphy turned green and collapsed onto a chair. The noise from the press rose in a crescendo until Bronwynn spoke again.
“In retrospect, I believe he never mentioned it to me because he had changed his mind about wanting the land. Is that correct, Congressman?”
“Yes,” Wade said, his gaze locked on Bronwynn. Only the most rigid self-control kept his smile from becoming an embarrassingly enormous grin. He was off the hook. It didn’t matter that she had doubted him. All that mattered was she believed in him now and she was there within arm’s reach. To the press he said, “I was initially interested in the Foxfire property, until I saw how important it was to Ms.—to Bronwynn. I didn’t know her personally when I went, on my doctor’s orders, to Vermont. I wasn’t sure I wanted to get to know her after we met,” he said, chuckling at her narrow-eyed look of outrage. “Gradually, I changed my mind.”
“Why the subterfuge about the land deal then, Ms. Pierson?” one reporter asked.
“A misunderstanding,” Bronwynn said, her eyes begging Wade’s forgiveness, “and a terrible lack of trust on my part.”
“And too much pride on mine,” Wade said, equally sincere.
Bronwynn glanced down at her notes, trying to focus through a thin film of tears on her doodle of storm clouds and lightning. So far things were going better than she had dared hope, but it wasn’t over yet. Taking a deep, steadying breath, she asked, “Would you say that what transpired between us was due to a lack of communication, Congressman?”
“Absolutely.” He nodded, reining in the urge to reach out and touch her. He wanted her in his arms, his mouth on hers. That was their best form of communication as far as he was concerned.
“We both said some things we didn’t mean.
Wouldn’t you agree?”
“Wholeheartedly, with one exception.”
“I know,” Bronwynn conceded with a sigh, her shoulders slumping beneath the padding of her jacket. “You were right. It is water under the bridge.”
“No.”
“Yes, it is,” she said peevishly. He would have to pick now to split hairs, she thought.
“Will you listen for once?” Wade asked, caught between wanting to hug her and shake her. “I love you. I said the words that afternoon. I meant it.”
While the press digested the information, Bronwynn sat staring up at Wade. For what seemed like an eternity, she couldn’t move, couldn’t speak, couldn’t breathe. Oh, how she had wanted to hear him say he loved her—and how badly she needed the correct answer to her next question. “Do you still feel the same?” she whispered.
There couldn’t have been anything more sincere than the look in Wade’s eyes. “Yes.”
Only the vague memory of the crowd kept Bronwynn from launching herself into his arms. “I love you too,” she murmured around the knot in her throat.
She wished now she hadn’t called the reporters in. Bringing them along had seemed like a good idea at the time, but when awareness of the man seated next to her uncurled deep inside her, she wished they would go sensationalize someone else’s life. She had a congressman to seduce. Already her imagination was conjuring up images of her loosening the knot in his proper paisley tie.
“What was that, Ms. Pierson?” a reporter asked from the back of the room. “We can’t hear you back here.”
“I said, I have just one more question for Congressman Grayson.” Bronwynn swallowed hard and turned to Wade once again. For a fleeting second, she almost chickened out and asked for directions to Kokomo instead. But from somewhere deep down she drew the strength she needed. He was the man she loved, the man she had waited all her life to love. She wanted him in her life, and all she had to do was ask. “Wade, will you marry me?”
While cameras went off in a frenzy, Wade stared at her, his mind utterly blank for all of five seconds. Bronwynn wanted to marry him? “What about Foxfire? We couldn’t live there, you know.”
“I know. But it’ll make a nice place to go on vacation, won’t it?”
“Yeah.” He smiled, rising from his chair. The sooner they got away from their audience the better. Taking Bronwynn’s hands in his, he pulled her to her feet, his gaze never letting go of hers. “Do you think it can work? We’re very different.”
“Like night and day,” she said with a gentle smile.
“We don’t agree on anything.”
“Yes, we do,” she said, inching closer to him.
Wade shook his head. “No, we don’t.”
“We agree on this.” Without any thought to who was watching, Bronwynn pulled her glasses off and wrapped her arms around Wade’s neck. She lifted her mouth to his and kissed him slowly, thoroughly, letting the heat build between them until she knew she’d lose control if she didn’t step back.
Wade let her lips part from his reluctantly. Breathlessly he murmured, “You’ve got a point there.”
“So,” she said, trying to sound matter-of-fact when her heart was racing and her respira
tion was faulty at best, “will you marry me?”
He didn’t realize how long his answer was in coming. He was too caught up in looking at Bronwynn. He remembered well enough how she had looked in a wedding gown. Possessiveness surged through him as he thought that next time she would be wearing it for him. And when he took it off her, she wasn’t going to swear off all men; he would be the exception. She would be his to fight with and play with and love. She would see to it he had a balance in his life, and he would see to it she stayed away from power tools.
“Gee, Wade,” Bronwynn said dryly, her brows drawing together in annoyance, “just take your time answering. There are only about a million people watching on their TV sets at home. Read my lips this time—will you marry me?”
Wade grinned and pulled her into his embrace. “As long as you don’t insist on taking that sheep along on the honeymoon.”
Safe and warm in his arms, Bronwynn smiled impishly against his chest. “We’ll talk about it.”
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
TAMI HOAG’S novels have appeared regularly on national bestseller lists since the publication of her first book in 1988. She lives in Los Angeles. Her website is www.tamihoag.com.
BANTAM BOOKS BY TAMI HOAG
The Alibi Man
Prior Bad Acts
Kill the Messenger
Dark Horse
Dust to Dust
Ashes to Ashes
A Thin Dark Line
Guilty as Sin
Night Sins
Dark Paradise
Cry Wolf
Still Waters
Lucky’s Lady
The Last White Knight
Straight from the Heart
Tempestuous/The Restless Heart
Taken by Storm
Heart of Dixie
