“I don’t care.” Taylor leaned to kiss the lips that hovered so tantalizingly close to hers, but Robby backed away. Her throaty laugh quickened Taylor’s pulse. “You make my head spin.”
Robby smiled. “I think you’ve been inhaling too many fumes from the bottle of ammonia behind you. Or have you had too much to drink?”
Even though she was a little bit buzzed, Taylor knew what she was feeling had nothing to do with chemical intoxication. Robby was the only drug she needed tonight, and if she weren’t careful, she could easily see herself becoming an addict. “I can’t wait until Friday to see you again. Meet me later. I hear the Lincoln Memorial is breathtaking at night. We can sit on Abe’s lap and split a bottle of champagne.”
Robby lifted Taylor’s arms and pinned her wrists over her head. “Or,” she said, exploring Taylor’s body with her free hand, “we can skip the Lincoln Memorial and head straight to the Lincoln Bedroom.”
“I thought we weren’t running a race.”
“We aren’t.” Robby’s lips grazed the side of Taylor’s neck. “When I’m with you, I intend to take my time.”
“That sounds amazing, but I’m afraid the Lincoln Bedroom is spoken for tonight. If you show up wearing this dress, Portia might not mind sharing. And a stovepipe hat might not hurt.”
“I wasn’t planning on wearing anything. And just so you know, I am very good at very many things, but I’m terrible at sharing. Especially when it comes to women.”
Robby gathered the folds of Taylor’s gown and slipped her hand underneath. Taylor gasped when Robby slowly slid her fingers along her inner thigh. Unable to resist, she leaned forward and claimed Robby’s lips in a kiss. She sighed when Robby’s tongue met hers. Taylor needed more, but Robby pulled away, her dark eyes as black as two lumps of coal.
“The food isn’t as good as it is here,” Robby said, “but the dance floor’s a lot less crowded at my place. Let’s get out of here.”
Taylor’s body screamed yes, but she forced herself to say no. Duty called and she was compelled to answer. “I can’t. I have to put in some face time at one of the other balls.”
Robby’s face fell. “You’re leaving?”
“Not by choice. I have a full day of classes tomorrow, a set of exams to grade, and a test of my own to take.” Taylor sighed. Sometimes she hated being responsible. Why couldn’t she bring herself to do what she wanted for once instead of what was expected? “Are we still on for Friday night?”
“Yes,” Robby said without much enthusiasm. “The tickets will be waiting for us at the Will Call window. In the meantime, we’d better get back to the ball before your bodyguard tracks you down.”
Robby opened the door, but Taylor didn’t follow her through it. She felt like something had changed between them. Shifted. Was their relationship over before it started, or had it been doomed from the outset?
“Are you coming?” Robby asked.
“You go first. I’ll see you out there.”
Robby slipped out the door and closed it behind her. After what felt like a suitable amount of time had passed, Taylor peeked outside to see if the hallway was clear. Sheridan Kincaid was standing in the doorway. Before Taylor could ask her how long she had been standing there, Sheridan pushed her back inside the supply room.
“May I help you?” Taylor asked.
“No, but I may be able to help you.” Sheridan reached into her sequined clutch bag and pulled out a monogrammed silk handkerchief. “Blot.”
Taylor did as she was told, then carefully reapplied her lipstick while Sheridan held up a small makeup mirror. In between glimpses of her own image, Taylor surreptitiously regarded her captor. Blond-haired and blue-eyed, Sheridan was as cool as the diamonds circling her neck and wrists. The quintessential ice queen. Taylor had met her briefly the night her father formally accepted his party’s presidential nomination at the Republican National Convention in Sheridan’s native Virginia. They hadn’t crossed paths since, though Taylor suspected that was about to change. Sheridan’s family haunted the halls of power. The halls Taylor’s family now inhabited.
“I hear you’re seeing Robby Rawlins.”
“Where did you hear that?” Taylor felt the initial stirrings of panic. She had vowed to keep her personal life out of the press, but her first tentative foray into Washington’s dating world already appeared to be public knowledge. How many other people knew she had spent time with Robby? If Sheridan was the only one, what did she plan to do with the information?
“Robby’s never been good at keeping secrets, though that doesn’t stop her from trying.” Sheridan snapped the compact shut. “If you plan on getting involved with her, there are some things you should know.”
“Such as?”
Sheridan didn’t answer. “If we get into it now, we could be in here all night. That will never do. You need to get back to your table before your absence becomes cause for concern.”
“How do you know Robby?”
Sheridan cocked her head. “Not too long ago, I was in the same position you are now. If you don’t learn from my mistakes, you’re destined to repeat them.” She fished a business card from her clutch bag. “Let’s get together for brunch this weekend. I’ll tell you everything you want to know and more.”
Taylor wasn’t sure she wanted to hear what Sheridan had to say, but she’d be a fool not to give her a chance to speak her mind.
“How does Sunday sound?”
* * *
Miles waited for Robby to return to the table before he sliced into his prosecco-glazed fruit tart. Taylor made her appearance a few minutes later. “What took you so long?”
Robby spread her napkin across her lap. “We had a lot to talk about.”
“Such as?”
Robby swirled her glass of dessert wine as she watched Taylor take her seat. “She invited me to meet up with her later.”
“Will Steven be there?”
“Most likely.”
“In that case, what time do we leave?”
“We aren’t going because I have to hit the phone and work my contacts. Even though many of them are here tonight, they won’t dare be seen talking to me in public. Besides, my readers don’t care about musicians or movie stars. Politicians are the real celebrities in this town. I need to get my latest blog posted ASAP. I’m already two hours behind the real-time posters. If I wait much longer, my more fickle subscribers will start looking elsewhere for their scoops.”
Miles rolled his eyes. “What have you uncovered now?”
“Read my column tomorrow and find out. Besides, I can’t say yes every time she asks me to do something. I have to leave her wanting more.”
“Does she?”
“What do you think?” Robby grinned, remembering the scene in the supply closet when she’d had Taylor trembling at her touch. When she was supposed to be the one in control, but Taylor had shifted the balance of power with one kiss.
Miles reached into his tuxedo jacket and pulled out a business card. “This is for you,” he said, sliding the card across the table.
Robby read the name embossed on the card. “Who’s Richard Beale?”
Miles indicated an Armani-clad man across the table. The man raised his champagne glass in acknowledgment but didn’t interrupt his conversation with someone Robby didn’t recognize but was reasonably confident she needed to know.
“We were talking while you were off doing whatever you were doing,” Miles said. “Richard’s one of the best spin doctors in the District. He’s able to turn a public relations disaster into a marketing opportunity in a few cleverly worded sound bites, though few of his clients would publicly admit to taking advantage of his expertise. If you continue with this grand scheme of yours, either you, Taylor, or both will need his services sooner rather than later.”
Robby pushed the card away and emptied half her glass in one swallow. “If you’re trying to make me feel guilty, it’s not working.”
“Taylor didn’t choose this life,
Robby. Her parents did.”
Miles had a valid point, even though Robby was reluctant to acknowledge it. This was no time to be going soft. Not when she was so close to cashing in.
“Maybe so. But she could walk away at any time, and she hasn’t. Tonight, she’s doing a literal victory dance. And on network television to boot. So don’t give me the poor little rich girl routine. She knew what she was getting into when she decided to move here. If she wanted a normal life, she should have stayed in Missouri. As long as she’s here, she’s fair game.”
Miles pursed his lips.
“What’s that look for?” Robby asked.
“I don’t believe a word you’re saying.” Miles leaned closer. “And neither do you.”
Chapter Seven
Taylor drained the glass of champagne someone had been kind enough to refill in her absence. Then she grabbed Portia’s hand and pulled her out of her seat. “Dance with me.”
Portia stood but didn’t follow Taylor to the dance floor. “Are you sure that’s a good idea?”
“Why wouldn’t it be?”
Portia glanced behind her. “While you were gone, your mother sent word through one of her minions that we need to tone it down. Apparently, we’re making a spectacle of ourselves.”
“How? By not pretending to be something we aren’t?”
Portia held out her hands, palms up. “Don’t shoot the messenger, Tay. I’m just repeating what I was told.”
“And I’m a little tired of being told what to do. How about you?”
Portia arched an eyebrow. “You do realize your father is my commander in chief, right? If I piss him off, I can forget about Hawaii because I’ll be spending the rest of my career stuck behind a desk in the middle of nowhere.”
Taylor started to say her father was too honorable to do something that spiteful, but how could she make the claim if she didn’t know it to be true? Tonight, she was starting to question everything she thought she knew. About her parents. About Robby. And about herself. How much was she willing to sacrifice just to preserve the status quo?
“Perhaps,” she said, “but wouldn’t it be worth it? This room is filled with so many conservatives I feel like I should be wearing a hair shirt instead of a ball gown. The cameras will probably be pointed anywhere except at us, but could you imagine the reaction if little queer girls and boys in Middle America got to see someone like them on their TV screens even for a few seconds?”
A corner of Portia’s mouth quirked up into a smile. “I thought you didn’t want to be a role model.”
“I don’t,” Taylor said, feeling unexpectedly emotional. “I just want to be me. Will you help me?”
When she held out her hand a second time, Portia took it without hesitation.
“Remind me to send you a postcard from Timbuktu,” Portia said as they made their way through the crowd.
“Save the postage. I probably won’t be too far away.”
“Perhaps, but won’t it be worth it?”
Hearing Portia echo her words made Taylor laugh for the first time since Sheridan Kincaid had invited her to brunch. What was that about, anyway? What did Sheridan have to say that she couldn’t say here and now? Why was she making Taylor wait? Or was it all just a part of the game? If so, Taylor didn’t want to play.
She looked over Portia’s shoulder as they danced to the vocal stylings of the pop princess gracing the stage, but Robby was too engrossed in her conversation with Miles to meet her eye. She felt the crowd stir when the singer finished her brief set and the band started playing the Missouri state song. Then she discovered the reason why.
Her father tapped Portia on the shoulder. “May I have this dance?”
“Of course, Mr. President.”
Portia took her leave with an apologetic glance at Taylor. She could obviously tell how much Taylor was dreading the dog-and-pony show in which she was about to take part, but she couldn’t do anything about it.
“Do you remember the first time we danced to this song?” Taylor’s father asked as he carefully guided her around the floor.
Taylor hated being the center of attention on most days. Tonight was a hundred times worse. As the well-heeled guests—both the ones on the dance floor and the ones occupying the surrounding tables—followed each step, she felt like a circus act. One operating without a safety net.
“Yes, I remember,” she said. “It was the night you were elected to the Senate for the first time. I was five years old, and I danced with you at the party following your acceptance speech. I stood on your feet, and you taught me how to do the Missouri Waltz.”
She grew wistful at the memory. Life had been so simple then. Her father had been her hero. In her eyes, he could do no wrong. She still looked up to him, but did she admire him as much as she once did now that she had discovered he was as fallible as everyone else?
“You were my precious little girl. Everyone loved you.”
“Past tense?”
“Please don’t twist my meaning, Taylor.” He gave her hand a cautionary squeeze and kept his mouth as still as possible so any lip readers watching wouldn’t be able to figure out what he was saying. “Your mother and I love you and TJ more than words can say.”
“Thanks, Dad.” Taylor hoped her father was being sincere, but she feared the heart-to-heart they were having might have been prompted by the dozens of television cameras trained in their direction. “That’s good to hear.”
“I haven’t had a chance to thank you for agreeing to make an appearance on my behalf tonight. Will Corporal Thomas be accompanying you there as well?”
Taylor felt her shoulders stiffen but, mindful of being watched, forced herself to relax. “That’s the plan.”
“She’s proven to be a good friend to you. I’m glad you were able to find someone you can confide in.”
Taylor didn’t respond because she suspected there was more to be said. She counted steps in her head as she waited for her father to get to the point.
“I thought you would have given your allotted invitations to some of your classmates at Mizzou or Georgetown, but your mother tells me the only person you invited other than Corporal Thomas was a relative stranger. Was that wise?”
With everything that had gone on tonight, Taylor had started to second-guess her decision, but she wasn’t about to admit to it or anything else until she knew more.
“Steven ran a background check on her.”
“And?”
Taylor didn’t want to reveal Steven had been concerned by Robby’s financial woes—and that she had stopped him from telling her anything else he might have discovered. She had taken a stupid, unnecessary risk. She knew that now. But it was a mistake she wouldn’t be making again. With Robby or anyone else.
“If she posed a security risk, he would have told me so,” she said when the song ended. “Do you want me to ask her to leave?”
As the guests applauded, her father bent and kissed her hand. “No, I want you to introduce me to her.”
* * *
Miles nearly choked on his after-dinner drink. “Oh, my God, they’re headed this way. We need to get out of here. Now.”
“Calm down.” As Miles eyed the exit, Robby reached under the table and grabbed his hand. “If they were on to us, the Secret Service would be with them. This looks more like a social call.”
“We are in so much trouble. Correction. You are in—” Miles leaped to his feet. “Mr. President,” he said, bowing deeply at the waist.
“Easy, son. The last time I looked, I wasn’t a member of Japanese royalty. Terry Crenshaw,” he said unnecessarily. “And you are?”
“Miles Osgood, sir.”
“Good to meet you, Miles.” Terry stuck out his hand. “What line of work are you in?”
“He owns Osgood’s Antique Store,” Taylor said when Miles proved too dumbstruck to respond. Robby suspected it would be at least a month before Miles washed his right hand, and it would take considerably longer than that for him to s
top telling the story.
“Are you the one who sold Taylor the shoeshine box she gave me last night?” Terry asked.
“No, that was Robby,” Miles said as if deflecting blame.
“Dad, I’d like to introduce you to Robby—I mean, Roberta Rawlins. She’s a friend of Sheridan Kincaid’s.”
The comment—and the strange look in Taylor’s eye—caught Robby by surprise. Who had told Taylor about her connection to Sheridan? And how much had they revealed? “It’s a pleasure to meet you, sir.” Her hand remained steady, but she felt shaken to her core.
Terry gripped Robby’s hand in both of his. “The pleasure, I assure you, is mutual. Any friend of the Kincaids is a friend of mine.”
He flashed the smile that made his female supporters weak in the knees. Was he attempting to seduce her or coerce her? Or, even worse, was he trying to show how cool he was by being nice to Taylor’s gay friends? Robby would rather have her fingernails ripped off one by one than meet a woman’s parents. Nothing good could possibly come of it. Taylor’s parents, however, were different. Meeting them could launch her career into the stratosphere.
“How do you know Sheridan?” Terry asked.
Robby glanced at Taylor, who seemed anxious to hear her response. “We go back several years. We’re not as close as we once were, though, so I hope you won’t hold that against me.”
“Of course not. Will we be seeing you at the White House?”
“I doubt we could make it past the gate,” Robby said, but Taylor didn’t laugh at the joke.
Terry winked. “I know the current renters. I’m sure they would be willing to provide both of you with open invitations. Pay us a visit sometime. I’m sure Taylor won’t mind adding you to the visitors’ list.”
At the moment, he seemed a hell of a lot more certain about that than Taylor did. Robby needed to do some serious damage control. And soon.
“Taylor, may I speak with you a moment?” she asked.
True Colors Page 7
