After Hours Bundle

by Karen Kendall

  “He’s already on the verandah, puffing on a Cohiba. Darling, if I ever decide to take up cigars, he and I will be inseparable.”

  Mom was slim and stunning this evening, in a sleeveless royal-blue sheath that most women her age wouldn’t have dared to wear. Her dark hair lay in a smooth shoulder-length bob, a sapphire ring sparkled on her right hand and her wit was as dry as ever. “So what did you get Carol for her birthday?” she asked, gesturing at the box under his arm.

  “Uh…Turls got it. I’m not really sure what it is.”

  His mother shook her head at him. “But I’m sure the card is signed, ‘All my love, Jack.’”

  His mouth twisted and he shrugged.

  “Don’t you dare let them push you into it.” Jeanne’s voice was low, and she immediately turned toward another guest with her characteristic charm.

  He knew exactly what she meant, cryptic as her words may have been. He moved farther into the capacious foyer of Henry Hilliard’s stark-white, modern home on Star Island and shook the man’s hand.

  “Henry! How ya been? Looking good, my man.”

  The real estate baron slipped an arm around his shoulders. “Thank you, Jack. I’ve never been better.” He eyed the wrapped box under his guest’s arm. “A little big for an engagement ring, isn’t it?”

  “Ha, ha! Well, sir, I’m still trying to get up the nerve to ask you to marry me.”

  “Ha, ha, ha! Now that would send my daughter right over the edge.” He slapped Jack between the shoulder blades just a little too hard. “She’s in there somewhere, surrounded by admirers. Go find her, son.”

  Jack aimed a brilliant smile at Hilliard and got the hell away from him. The subtext of their conversation wasn’t hard to figure out. If he’d been born into another culture and country, he’d be expected to offer a couple dozen camels for Carol’s hand. Maybe throw in a few goats to seal the deal.

  Truth to tell, he had meant to ask her to marry him by now. But that was before they’d slept together, and before he’d met Marly.

  Jack stared at Carol, the statuesque blond goddess draped in demure, brown silk in the formal living room. She was gorgeous, a brown-eyed Grace Kelly. And she’d been like a sister to him since he was ten years old.

  As if she could feel his gaze on her, she turned and raised an eyebrow. He crossed the room to her and kissed her on the cheek. “Happy birthday, Carol.”

  “Thank you, Jack.” She glanced at a slim gold watch on her wrist. “I didn’t think you were going to make it.”

  “You know I wouldn’t miss your party.” He extended the gift-wrapped box to her and watched her face carefully as she took it.

  She rewarded him with a bland, delighted smile. “What’s this?”

  I don’t have a flipping clue, honey. Jack shrugged and grinned. “It’s a surprise.”

  “I just love surprises,” she said.

  No, you don’t. You wanted something very specific from me for your birthday. But…I can’t do it.

  “Get yourself a drink, Jack.” She signaled to a waiter in a tuxedo shirt and black bow tie. The boy came right over and offered a tray full of champagne flutes.

  Jack took one even though he didn’t feel like it. The last time he’d had champagne, he’d been in the limo with Marly. Naked. Sucking on her silver-painted toes, among other things.

  “So, you ready to hit the campaign trail again?” Carol’s eyes were beautifully made up with a gingery eyeliner and dark brown mascara. Her skin was flawless. Diamonds glowed in her perfect earlobes. Camera-ready Carol.

  As if on cue, a photographer wandering through the party took a candid of them, both wearing switched-on smiles.

  Was he ready for the grueling campaign? Jack grimaced. “Ready as I’ll ever be.”

  The Carol he’d known at age ten had been skinny and sun-kissed with flyaway hair, a few freckles. She’d been fun. She could trounce him at tennis then and still could—if she hadn’t turned into the kind of woman who would let him win just to save his ego. While Jack appreciated the thought, he didn’t respect it. His ego was big enough without needing to win every game of tennis he played, thank you very much.

  His ego was also big enough to handle Carol faking an orgasm the two times they’d slept together. She was a damn good actress emotionally—he’d give her that. But her body had told him another story, told him that she’d never let go for a second and had choreographed the whole thing.

  She’d probably be extremely surprised that he’d faked his orgasm the second time. It was either that or lose his stiffie altogether. And though his ego was big, that was the one thing he didn’t think he could handle.

  So he’d tensed up and gasped like a landed fish, given a heartfelt groan and told her how amazing she was. Then he’d snatched off the condom and flushed it before she’d even left the bed.

  His willie had wilted in peace without her discovering the truth: that her mechanical, preplanned seduction had failed miserably. And no matter how beautiful she was, he just didn’t want to go there again.

  As for marriage…Jack knew plenty of political couples who got together and stayed together for practical reasons. They made good roommates, didn’t bother each other much, and threw great parties. They each traveled all the time campaigning, and created a highly successful, shiny business model.

  As far as he could see, his parents’ marriage had become that sort of union, though he didn’t think it had started off that way. Somewhere along the line, though, Senator John had bonded with cigars, bourbon and golf while Jeanne had bonded with the kids. Senator John had done deals and written legislation while Jeanne had done diapers and helped write homework assignments. They cohabited.

  It was a very civilized marriage, all in all. Nothing dramatic or tragic about it. But Jack just didn’t think he wanted a similar arrangement. He wanted passion and abandon, shared laughter and shared meals.

  He didn’t have to be a rebel like his brother Tim—where was Tim tonight?—but he wanted a marriage that was more than a business arrangement.

  The irony was that he was one hundred percent sure that Carol had seduced him in order to get things moving toward the altar. But her performance had had the opposite effect entirely. If he’d never slept with her he might be an engaged man right now. He might not have been free when he’d seen Marly’s photo in Shore magazine.

  “You don’t sound so enthused about your reelection campaign, John-boy.” Carol put his hand on her arm.

  John-boy? Where the hell had that come from? Jack grimaced, hating the fact that she called him John. “Yeah, well, you know how it is. Relentless pressure, travel, public relations.”

  “I’m sure it gets lonely, too. You need someone to keep you company during the whole circus.” She smiled sympathetically.

  He gave her a noncommittal nod. “That’s a lot to ask of someone, you know.”

  She raised her glass to her lips. “Well, the someone would have to care a lot about you and be strong enough to take on the load. Share it with you. And, like you, she’d have to look good while doing it. Make things seem effortless.”

  “Mmm.” Jack resisted the temptation to drain his own glass and then go and bang his head against one of her father’s stark-white walls. Major campaign contributor was Henry Hilliard. Huge. A guy didn’t trifle with the man’s daughter, or a guy might just have to find a couple of million elsewhere.

  “Do you know who’s the perfect, gracious, political wife? Laura Bush.”

  Jack had to agree with that. “Yes. She’s beautiful, warm and unflappable in any social situation.”

  Carol nodded. “This is so funny, but the other day at the club a woman told me that I look just like a younger, blond, brown-eyed version of her. That was one of the nicest compliments I’ve ever been paid.”

  “You do, Carol. Of course, you’re sexier.” And he flashed a smile at her.

  She dimpled, pleased. “Your father told me I looked like a delicious éclair.”

  Jack chok
ed on a sip of champagne. “Did he?” Was that before or after he pinched your lovely chocolate bottom?

  “He’s got your charm, John, but none of your finesse.”

  Well, that tells me all I need to know, doesn’t it? The before or after doesn’t matter so much.

  “Where is the old ja—uh, gent?” Jack asked, refusing to glower. “I should pay my respects.” Or lack of them, as the case may be. His father had no business putting his hands on any part of Carol, especially when he was urging his elder son to marry her. The old goat.

  “Last I saw him, he was outside debating the merits of various cigars with Jorge Martinez.”

  Oh, joy. I get to see both Pop and Martinez at the same time! Can the evening get any better?

  “Is it true that your father’s added an eight-hundred square foot annex to his home just to house a walk-in humidor and a wine cellar?”

  “Yes,” murmured Jack. “Carol, I’ll find you again in a few. I’m going to say hello to the old man.”

  “Okay, John. But don’t be a stranger.” She kissed him on the cheek, and he was paroled.

  He got another glass of champagne that he didn’t want and moved through the crowd, greeting people he knew and meeting a few whom he didn’t. It took him twenty minutes to get out to the verandah, where his loyalties were challenged immediately.

  His father and Martinez were indeed hitting the bourbon and smoking cigars on one end of the porch. And on the other end lounged his little brother Tim, proud black sheep of the family.

  Jack adored Timmy, in spite of his tattoos, the diamond stud in his nose and his tendency to rip the sleeves out of every shirt or jacket he owned. Tim wore black motorcycle boots in this heat, and stood with his arm around his drop-dead-gorgeous Brazilian girlfriend, who was wearing five-inch heels and a tiny ensemble that was probably illegal anywhere but Miami. It was a damned good thing that she grew her dark hair so long that it covered her ass, because Jack didn’t think her skirt did the job too well.

  He raised his hand in a two-fingered salute to Tim and Maya and then jerked his head toward Senior and Martinez. Without a word, his little bro understood that he’d find them as soon as he’d done his time with the old farts. Tim winked, and Jack headed over toward their father.

  “There’s my boy!” Senior’s voice boomed. He clasped his son’s hand briefly and then picked up his bourbon again.

  Martinez shot Jack a medium oily grin.

  Been talking about me, eh, Jorge? Jack returned it with a tight smile of his own.

  “Goddamn, boy, your hair sure looks fine. Martinez tells me you’ve found a little gal in Coral Gables to do it,” Senior said.

  This time Jack didn’t bother to rein in his displeasure. He glowered at Martinez. You sonuvabitch. To his father he said, “Yes, she’s very talented.”

  “I’m sure. Though it might be more convenient if you went to someone in Tallahassee, don’t you think?”

  “Not really.” Jack rocked back on his heels. “With my travel schedule, it doesn’t make a hell of a lot of difference.”

  “I’m not sure you’re getting my drift, boy.”

  “I’m getting your drift.”

  “Cigar?”

  “No, thanks.”

  His father’s eyes were the same as his, only bloodshot, with lines of hard living around them. The creases around Dad’s eyes aimed down, while Jack’s crow’s-feet were laugh lines, aiming up.

  “Visiting that salon in Coral Gables could get very expensive,” Senior said.

  “You’re the one who taught me that a good haircut is everything in a campaign.”

  “Don’t do it, Junior. It’s extraordinarily bad timing.”

  Gosh, isn’t everyone just full of advice tonight.

  “Doesn’t Carol look stunning?” His father gestured behind him with his cigar, managing to drop ash on the shoulder of his suit.

  “Stunning,” Jack agreed amiably, brushing it off for him. “You almost have to pinch…yourself…to make sure she’s real.”

  Damn if his father didn’t get bourbon down the wrong pipe. Jack swatted him on the back hard, in an effort to clear his lungs. Then he murmured his excuses and went off to join Tim and Maya. They were the only people here who would probably approve of him getting engaged to Marly Fine. And she’d need reinforcements within his family. Because sooner or later, like his great-great-grandfather before him, Jack was going to marry the woman whose picture had stopped him in his tracks and changed his life.

  12

  SUNDAY AT 9:00 p.m. Marly awoke to the sound of her phone ringing. She opened her eyes and blinked, staring straight into the black, rectangular plastic dish that had held her dinner of grocery store sushi. She’d fallen asleep in front of the television, sprawled over one of her big floor cushions. “Whah?”

  Slowly her brain transferred the necessary commands to her arms and legs. Get up. Wipe the drool from the corner of your mouth. Focus on the telephone. Punch the little button that says talk. Then follow that directive.

  She could do all of that. She stumbled to her feet and lunged for the phone. “’Lo?”

  “Is this my favorite harem girl?” Jack’s voice boomed into her ear.

  “I don’t think so.” Marly pushed her hair out of her eyes. “At least, I wasn’t aware of being part of a harem.”

  “You’re not. Your apartment just reminds me of the Arabian Nights. You’re the only girl I want in my harem.”

  “Oh,” she said, still half-unconscious and unable to think of a witty comeback.

  “Did I wake you? You wild party animal, you.”

  Marly frowned. “How did you get this number?”

  “You gave it to me.”

  “No, I didn’t.”

  He sighed. “Yeah, and frankly that hurts my feelings. You gave it to Mike! But anyway…I needed to get in touch with you and so I turned to the file.”

  “I believe that’s cheating. It’s also invasion of privacy and pretty obnoxious. Sir.”

  “Waking up cheerful, are we?”

  “I’m serious, Jack.” She yawned.

  “Were you dreaming about me? Naked dreams, perhaps?”

  “No.” He’d never know she was lying through her teeth.

  “Because I’ve been dreaming about you.”

  “Gosh, I hope that I’ve fulfilled your every fantasy—in your mind, anyway.”

  “Try to be nice, Marlena.”

  She shuddered. “Look, I’ll be nice, but please don’t ever call me Marlena. My mother calls me that.”

  “Sorry. So, I know that tomorrow is your day off and I was hoping—”

  “Who told you that?”

  “A little bird.”

  “A little blond bird named Shirlie?”

  “I don’t recall. Anyway, I was hoping that you’d allow me to send the Gulfstream for you, and you could join me up here in Tallahassee. How does that sound?”

  “Jack—”

  “I can promise you a really…explosive time. We could send the entire staff away and run naked all through the governor’s mansion.”

  She laughed at the image.

  “And we could baby-oil the banister and enjoy sliding down it.”

  Now that sounded interesting.

  “And in the morning, you could eat chocolate frosted donuts off my erect—”

  “Whoa. What do you mean, in the morning? Are you actually suggesting that you send the guber-jet for me tonight? You ever heard of giving a girl a little notice, Jack?”

  “But I miss you,” he said, like a little boy.

  She decided to take a page out of Ms. Turlington’s book. “Well, I miss you, too, sir.”

  “Don’t call me that. Turls calls me that.”

  “But I wouldn’t ring you up in the middle of the night and suggest that you hop on the nearest flight to come satisfy my evil urges.”

  “I’m a big fan of spontaneity,” Jack told her. “And I don’t get to be spontaneous very often.”

  She s
ighed.

  “Please come. If you come, you know you’ll come a lot. We can spend the whole night together. I’m even the kind of guy who snuggles. I’m a dream come true.”

  “And what happens in the morning? Miss Turlington barges in to give us a sponge bath? Frick and Frack do a Cossack dance while serving us coffee?”

  Choking noises came from his end of the line. “God! You have quite the scary imagination. No, I promise that neither of those possibilities will occur.”

  If any other man had suggested that she fly to him in the middle of the night, she’d have told him in graphic detail what to do with his Gulfstream.

  “Please come,” Jack said again.

  But this was the governor. And just talking to him was making her uncomfortably horny. The head of state wanted her to give him head in state. “When?” she finally asked.

  “I can have a car at your apartment within an hour, and you’ll be in the air half an hour after that.”

  “Okay.” Was she easy, or what?

  Jack gave a very undignified whoop. “I love ya, honey. Don’t wear any underwear.” And he hung up.

  Marly stared at the phone. Had he just said that?

  He had. But of course he didn’t mean it.

  Do you believe in love at first sight? he’d asked the day they’d met.

  No. And neither do you. You are such a player, Jack Hammersmith. And you’re great at it.

  She only wished she didn’t enjoy being played quite so much. She looked at the clock and figured she’d better get her butt into the shower, decide what to wear and pack.

  THE GULFSTREAM was even nicer than the limo. The thing was decked out in shiny burled walnut, the way she’d seen on fancy yachts, and there was an actual sofa. The plane also sported its own monogrammed crystal, a bar, a sleep cabin with a bed and hardwood floors in the bathroom, which had an Italian glass bowl as a sink.

  Marly just blinked at it all when Mike handed her into the thing and stowed her small duffel bag for her.

  “How’s the scrapbooking going?” she asked him.

  He actually blushed. “Great. I’m working on my son’s first year of preschool now.”