****
Ben held the door for Sydney as they entered the ballroom. Art deco, a pukey teal and gold. A fountain spray of flowers overpowered the registration table.
The fiftyish woman smiled, asked their names, and handed them name tags and a program. “Table ten.” Her voice sounded harsh, as if generations of hard liquor and cigarettes had taken their toll.
As he peeled the backing from his tag and stuck it to his lapel, he said, “Ten sounds far away from the action. I wonder if we could erase the zero.”
Actually, he wished he could erase the image of his length pressed against hers. Standing beside her, he was all too aware of her body, tall and lithe. Their height difference in bare feet was, at most, an inch and a half. In heels, she topped him by probably a half inch. Rather than emasculating him, he tried to hide his arousal.
She touched his sleeve. “Remember. No unauthorized photos.”
He clamped his mouth tight before his thought escaped: No unauthorized touching. She might not appreciate the joke.
A waitress offered a tray full of hors d’oeuvres. Ben popped a bacon-wrapped scallop into his mouth. “Hot and tasty.” Like you. He searched the room. “There’s the bar. Want anything?”
“Definitely. I’ll get it so you don’t have to lug your gear.” She sauntered away, black dress swishing with her moves.
With a groan, he cocked his jaw. Eyes off the prize. They were colleagues, nothing more. She just happened to be a very good looking colleague, and a great kisser, if memory served.
Maybe that was his problem – his memory enhanced that evening they’d shared a year ago, erased the faults and highlighted the best parts so none of his subsequent dates could ever live up to it. His imagination had made too much of it. That was a plausible enough excuse, something to hang on to.
As she handed him his bottle of beer, she slouched a little, as if too aware of her height. Cute.
“This is quite the fete,” she observed. “The award hardly warranted such a fuss.”
He put a hand on her back to guide her out of the way of several couples entering the room. She tensed under his touch, heightening his senses.
“The business community likes to pat each other on the back, at great expense.” She sounded casual, averting her attention.
His hand lingered on her back. He told himself it was so others would assume they were a couple like any other. One with an obsession for photography. He was role playing, nothing more. But it felt too damn good.
More couples entered the room. Mayor Reeves walked in with his press secretary on his arm. A little too cozy. When the hell did he spend time with his fiancé?
Sydney whispered, “There he is.”
“Pompous as ever,” he said. “Shall we find our table?”
“It’s the one closest to the bar. I noticed it earlier.”
He lifted his bag from the floor. “Perfect.” He’d need some refills to get through this night.
****
Sydney sighed at the chicken dinner in front of them. The least expensive option, courtesy of Claudia. She hadn’t been out to dinner in too long, and had looked forward to something a little nicer. Ben sliced it and moved it around his plate. The few pieces he actually put in his mouth, he washed down with beer. The date equivalent of chicken – unexciting. Worse, unwilling.
In between small talk with the two other couples at their table, she whispered, “How is everything? Okay?”
“Dry.” His mouth sagged with distaste. “I’m getting another beer. Want another wine?”
“No thanks.” Tonight required a clear head, professionally and personally.
The waitress cleared their plates. At the bar, Ben stuffed a bill into the bartender’s cup then turned.
Her heart lurched as he walked toward her. He looked too good in that suit, the gray of his shirt mirrored in his eyes. She couldn’t help but remember their last dinner together, which started off separately but ended entangled with each other. She sighed. The opposite of tonight. She’d go home alone.
As dessert was served, a man at the head table stood; brandishing a hand-held microphone, he greeted the crowd.
Ben leaned over, his mouth at her ear. “Wake me when it’s over.”
His breath warmed her neck. His cologne smelled of mountain air. With a tinge of beer.
She laid a hand on his sleeve. “Aren’t you going to get any pictures of the award presentation?”
He leaned his elbow on the table, his arm along hers. “It’s not really why we’re here.”
She rested her chin against her shoulder and whispered, “It would lend credence to our being here.”
His eyes twinkled in the candlelight, at close range. “If you insist.”
Other cameras flashed, and he pulled the Nikon from his bag, walked to the center of the room and crouched while he took about ten of the standard award presentation shots – the mayor speaking, then shaking the hand of the award winner, the hand-off of the award.
He crept back to the table. The mayor gave no indication of recognition, but then, if his slurred speech were a sign, he had imbibed freely this evening.
While the award winner made his heartfelt speech, the mayor exited, followed closely by Ellen.
“There they go.” In hot pursuit, she grabbed her purse and wrap.
In the hallway, she closed the distance in a hurry. “Mayor Reeves?”
The mayor turned, and his face fell when he saw her. After a comment to Ellen, she hurried to the front door.
“What is it now?” he asked without a hint of grace.
“If you have a few minutes, I’d love to have a one-on-one with you.”
His face brightened. His arm slid behind her back. “I’m so happy to hear you say that, Sydney. You look gorgeous tonight. I love this dress. And those shoes, so sexy.”
Shoes? “What? Mayor…” She pulled away but his grasp on her waist was firm. His engagement, or perhaps his dinner drinks, had doubled his libido.
His strong hands guided her behind a potted tree. His foot caught on the rug, and he fell against the wall, pulling her against him. “A one-on-one is just what we need.” His lips pursed and reached for hers.
“No!” She jammed her elbows against his arms. He fell back and his head banged against the wall.
Ben walked out of the ballroom, dropped his bag and ran toward her. “You son of a bitch!” He lunged at the mayor, fist swinging, but smashed it into the wall instead, and yelled, “Ahh!”
The mayor groaned, then gave her a sharp look. “You’ll regret this.” On unsteady feet, he hurled himself toward the front door, holding his head.
“Ben! Are you all right?” She reached for him with shaking hands. Such a visceral reaction. He’d have done the same for any other coworker.
He waved his hand as if to flick the pain away, then held it in his other hand and moaned. “The bastard!” His hair had fallen across his forehead.
She clenched her hand to repress the urge to smooth it back. “Let’s get you some ice.” She tugged at his sleeve.
“Hey, you’re shaking.” He put an arm around her waist. “Are you all right? Did he hurt you?”
In his firm grip, all her tension ebbed away. It would be so easy to melt into his embrace. “I’m fine. Let’s get you fixed up.”
A waitress carried a tray through the hall. Sydney flagged her down and asked for ice. The server returned from the kitchen carrying a plastic baggie full of ice chips.
Sydney placed it atop his hand and stopped him from reaching for his camera bag. “I’ll get it. Let’s just go.”
She walked to the car and opened the door for him. They drove to the newspaper in silence.
When she parked near his truck, she asked, “Will you be able to drive like that?”
He briefly examined his hand. “Sure, it’s much better. The ice did the trick.”
She slouched toward the steering wheel, her wrap slipped down her arm. “I’m sorry. This night was a disast
er.” She rubbed her temple and looked out the window.
He touched her shoulder blade. “You sure you’re okay? You were pretty shaken up.”
“I’m fine. It made me realize…” She looked at his slacks, wet from the ice. She resisted the urge to invite him to her place, let his slacks dry…
“What?” His voice was soft, hand warm on her back, eyes alight in the dim light with such caring.
They needed more time together. A lot more. “We need concrete evidence. We’re going to stalk him until we have it.”
His mouth twisted into a crooked smile. “Well, all right.”
Chapter Five
Sydney sat at her computer, trying to act as if Ben’s leg stretched across her blotter was no distraction. Her arm brushed his knee as she pulled up the mayor’s itinerary posted on his Web site.
“Sorry.” A tingle of warmth crawled up her neck.
His attention focused on her monitor. “No problem. We better get used to tight spaces. We may be stuck in a few on this assignment.”
“Right.” Such as behind dumpsters, where he’d aim his camera from their cover, and she’d crouch behind him, her hands on his back. Or in narrow alleyways, where she would have to press herself against him to appear as if they were two lovers…
“Sydney?” His bemused look startled her to reality.
She snapped her attention to the screen. “According to his itinerary, he has a meeting tonight at six. Doesn’t say with whom. Dinner at seven thirty at Caballero’s. Mm, I’ve been wanting to go there. I’ve heard it’s excellent.”
His voice was deadpan. “We’ll have a celebration dinner there when this is over.”
She glanced at him to get a read on whether it was a flip comment or an invitation.
He concentrated on the computer. “So, what do you think, about five?”
“Isn’t that too early?”
“If we want to see where his six o’clock meeting is, we’ll have to follow him. If he leaves from his office, that is. If not, we’ll have to catch him after the dinner.”
There would be spaces of time in between following the mayor. Lulls that might be awkward. Difficult to fill with conversation. An image popped in her head of the two of them in his truck, sitting there, the span of a truck seat apart. Her stomach tightened.
“Are you feeling okay?” He scanned her face as if analyzing her.
He always picked up on her slightest mood changes. She’d have to be more careful about giving away her emotions.
Her answer was a whispered, “Yes.” She cleared her throat and stood. “Just a headache.”
He followed her movements. “You get a lot of headaches.”
“Goes with the job.” She wished he’d get off her desk; his ass was squarely on her portfolio. With her standing, his line of sight was breast height. Too many images flashed in her mind of limbs entangling.
He looked up at her with concern. “Sure you’re up for this?”
She pretended to rummage through her purse. “Absolutely. But we better take your truck. He might recognize my car.”
“You’re right. He ran away too fast the other day to notice what I drive.” He checked his watch as he stood. “I have to run out for a quick shot of the bridge repair work. Pick you up back here, or at home?”
She picked her portfolio up to slide into her briefcase; it was warm from his body heat. She cradled it against her chest to absorb his warmth second-hand.
“Here’s fine.” She couldn’t let him come to her apartment. She’d never be able to walk in it again without seeing him there. Wanting him there.
His gaze slid to her pants, her shoes. “I wasn’t sure if you were going to change.”
She looked down at her pantsuit. “No, I’m good.”
A half-smile crossed his lips. “You won’t be uncomfortable in dress clothes? It might be a long night.”
A long night. Together.
The thought didn’t seem to faze him.
She folded her arms. “I’ll be fine.”
“Just making sure.” His face held amusement, as if registering this moment for later, when he could say with confidence I told you so.
She went to the ladies’ room and splashed water on her face. “What am I getting myself into?” It was an assignment. Nothing more.
Back at her desk, she printed the mayor’s itinerary for the day, and his other public appearances for the week. It might give them something to talk about in his car, as they waited.
She threw a power bar in her purse for later, and then took it out again. She only had one left; what if he were hungry, too? The vending machine in the snack room offered a selection of chocolate bars, mints and gum. She popped enough change in to get two candy bars, then more for mints. It would be close quarters, after all.
The clock scraped by until quarter to five. Ben had been out somewhere, but walked to his desk and sat at his computer.
She bit a pen and leaned over some papers to appear busy, even though she glanced up at him frequently. He powered down his computer a little after five and walked toward her.
His hands were jammed in the back pockets of his jeans. “Anything going on?”
She made her face a blank. “Nope. Just waiting for you.” All freaking year.
“Good. Let’s leave now, in case the mayor’s schedule has changed unexpectedly.” He looked at her with such intensity, as if he had the same thoughts as she, as if his words were layered with meaning.
There could be no other meaning.
“Sure.” She stood and grabbed her suit jacket.
He looked at her uncertainly. “Do you need to use the…” He pointed in the general direction of the rest rooms.
“Good idea.” She threw her jacket on her chair. “Be right back.”
“I probably should, too.” He walked with her, making her feel awkward.
When they parted ways, she forced herself not to look at him, not to imagine what he was about to do. When she washed up afterward, the images kept running through her head anyway, him holding himself, giving it a shake afterward. How much extra might extend past his grip.
She stared herself down in the mirror. “You are a journalist. Act like one.”
Walking into the newsroom, he stood by her desk, watching her. She ducked her head as she felt warmth creep up her neck and cheeks.
She made her voice chipper. “All set?”
He clearly was, since he was the one waiting with his camera bag shouldered. “Yup. All set.”
She slid an arm into her jacket, but it was the wrong sleeve.
Confusion clouded his face, then a teasing smile. “Need help?”
“No.” She ripped it off and gave it a shake, as if that had been the problem, and put it on again, her appendages in the correct openings. She patted her pockets absently, and then pulled her handbag from her chair.
“Sure you’re okay?” he asked.
She gave a nervous laugh. “I’m new to all this cloak and dagger stuff. I don’t want to forget anything important. Ah! A notepad. And an extra pen.” She threw them into her handbag, too. “I guess that’s it.”
He extended a hand to gesture after you.
****
Ben’s truck rumbled to a start and lurched from its parking spot. He winced. “Engine’s cold.”
Her legs grazed the CDs strewn across the seat and floor. She picked a few up, scanned their covers. “How do you ever find what you want?”
How ironic – the eternal question every woman asked. He wouldn’t go there.
He steered the truck onto the street. “I don’t. I reach over and grab whatever’s closest.”
At her wince, he realized his error. Shit. Not what he meant, at least not a year ago, when he’d reached for her. Though in truth, she hadn’t been the one closest. Only the one he most wanted. But the resulting backlash sent him into a yearlong tailspin. One he didn’t care to repeat.
They pulled into the parking lot at city hall. About a third of th
e spots were open, but Mayor Reeves’ SUV sat in its reserved space.
“Good, we didn’t miss him.” Ben parked near the exit. “Does he use the back or front door?”
The rear would make sense, but the main doors were a possibility.
She had a better view of the rear door. “I’ll watch the back. You watch the front.”
He held a hand across his cheek and blew into it. “Come on,” he urged the unseen mayor.
Though the mayor could take his time. From this vantage point, he could watch her long eyelashes come together in a blink; her long legs skimmed the seat between them so elegantly. He couldn’t help imagining them skimming his waist, her stretched lengthwise across the seat.
He blew out a breath and forced his focus ahead.
A man in an overcoat hurried out the back door.
“It’s him,” she whispered in spy mode.
He slouched in his seat. “Get down. He’ll recognize you.”
His hand reached to the ignition as she lowered her head below window level. “Lower.” He nudged her shoulder with his hand. “With that monster truck, he could look right in.”
She frowned at the CD case poking its sharp edges into her forehead. “Ow. I’m going to have the Dandy Warhols imprinted on my face. Oh,” she pulled it out to look at it. “I’d like to listen to this.”
He shifted into first gear. “Sure, pop it in.”
The mayor’s SUV roared past. Ben waited a beat. “And there goes the press secretary, right on cue.”
She peeked over the dash. “Ellen?”
The truck groaned as he shifted into second, in slow pursuit. The SUV and Ellen’s car drove down several streets, onto the interstate for a few exits, then veered into the mall entrance.
“They’re going shopping?” She winced.
“Doubtful.” He parked behind a Hummer and aimed his telephoto lens out the window.
“Then what?” She strained to see over sport utility trucks blocked the view.
The mayor became visible between vehicles as he walked to Ellen’s car; he got in and it sped away.
“Wow, this is more involved than I thought.” She jotted the license plate number.
Pulling into traffic, Ben said, “He must have planned it all out in detail.” Guys like him always did. It’s how they got away with shit for too long.
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