“You manage to get the job done.” He slid into the chair adjacent to her desk. No one in the large room appeared to be paying him much heed. He was grateful to go unrecognized. “I read your piece on political corruption. It was good.”
“It said nothing you didn’t know before.”
“But it was well researched and presented several new angles. Have you gotten any response?”
“You mean, from official-type people, as in we-want-to-look-into-this? Not exactly. But then, I didn’t expect to. Official-type people work in strange ways. They keep things confidential until all of a sudden they’re knocking down your door screaming for your sources.”
“Come on, Cilla. I never did that.”
“You didn’t have to knock down my door. You were already inside,” she argued, then softened her tone and looked down. “But you’re right, Jeff. You never did that. Even though I was afraid you would.”
“You shouldn’t have been. I was the first one to realize that you couldn’t divulge a source.”
“Still, you always asked.”
“I was curious.” He leaned closer for privacy’s sake, as well as for the simple pleasure of being nearer Cilla. “Personally curious. Not professionally. Personally. One part of me wanted to know everything you were doing.” He lowered his voice all the more. “I suppose it was a kind of possessiveness, a male need.”
“Possessiveness isn’t limited to men. We feel it, too.”
“That’s the feminist in you talking, the woman who wants the upper hand.”
“It is not! I don’t need to have the upper hand all the time. Don’t impose your insecurities on me, Jeffrey Winston. It’s not fair.”
He was about to soundly refute her claim when he caught his breath, then slowly let it out. “You may be right.”
“I…what?”
His lips thinned. “Don’t make me say it again. It was hard enough the first time.”
“You acknowledge that you have insecurities?”
“I always did acknowledge it. Just not to you.”
“Well,” she sighed, “that’s something. I guess we both have them.”
Jeffrey wanted to talk more, but he knew there was a better time and place. He had come here to see if Cilla was truly as receptive as Michael suggested she might be. “So,” he began more casually, “anything juicy on the fire?” He had been trying to lighten things up but realized instantly that he had only opened another old wound. To his amazement, Cilla didn’t see it that way. She was frowning, studying the telephone that sat on the desk.
“I got the weirdest call this morning.”
“From whom?” He winced. “Chalk that. Is it anything you can talk about?”
She shot him a helpless glance, one he’d never seen before. “Sure. There’s nothing to it, really. Except that…instinct tells me…I can feel there’s something there, but he wouldn’t say much.”
Jeffrey waited patiently, telling himself that he would have to trust Cilla to speak if she wished. He was rewarded when she met his gaze. “It was a man. He wouldn’t identify himself. He mumbled something about sexual favors and power and lust. I don’t know. He may have been drunk, or stoned. But it was like he had second thoughts the minute he called. I can’t help but feel that he had something legitimate to say.” She paused. “He hung up before I could get anything concrete from him.”
“He’ll call back if he wants. He knows where to reach you.”
“Still, it’s frustrating. I keep thinking that he’s somewhere out there and that I can’t begin to imagine who or where he is.”
Jeffrey admired her dedication, which was as whole-hearted as ever. But there was something else, something that took the edge off. She seemed less confident, more vulnerable. He wondered if she was indeed mellowing as Michael had said.
“Uh, listen, Cilla. The reason I came by…well, I thought maybe we could have dinner together. I know you’re often out with the gang—” he tossed his head toward the others in the room “—and I realize that it’s important for you—”
“When?”
“Excuse me?”
Cilla had never been a shrinking pansy. She smiled. “When would you like to have dinner? I could make it Thursday night if you’re free.”
“Thursday night?” He somehow managed to master his surprise. He had fully expected she would make things challenging. But he was too old to play games; maybe she had outgrown them, too. Thursday was just two days off. He grinned, leaned forward and quickly kissed her cheek before he stood. “Thursday’s great. Should I pick you up?”
“You know where I’ll be,” she said in that same soft tone that had emerged from time to time.
Again he was surprised. He had half expected her to suggest they meet at a restaurant. Mellowing? Very definitely, and becomingly. With an unsteady breath, he grinned. “Right. See you around eight?”
“That’d be great.”
He nodded, then was off. Cilla stared after him, thinking that he had to be the most handsome man in the room. She felt satisfied, and excited. It occurred to her that she hadn’t felt that way in a long, long time.
Morgan Emery shifted to a more comfortable position in his place of concealment just beneath the deck of the elegant cabin cruiser he had rented. It had been four weeks since William Marshall had hired him, and he was beginning to wonder whether the money was worth it after all. He had hidden behind boulders, skulked in rural doorways, walked in and out of restaurants, seen more of the southern Maine coast than he had ever wanted to see, and he was getting nothing, at least nothing worth anything.
Oh, he had pictures, but not a one was truly compromising. He had shots of the two on the beach, shots of them in the car, shots of them riding bicycles, shots of them coming out of the local library, shots of them at one or the other’s front door. There would be a hand on a shoulder and he would hold his breath waiting to photograph a kiss, then nothing. There would be an arm around a waist, so close to a caress, then it would fall away. There would be a face before a face, a smile, then a backing off. Even now, as he trained the telescopic lens of his camera on Michael Buchanan’s deck, all he could see was two people, sitting in separate chairs, eating the steaks they had just grilled.
Emery’s mouth watered, but when he groped for the last ham and cheese sandwich he had brought, his appetite waned.
Surveillance. He hated it. Long hours sitting, waiting. What he loved was the action of the big city, where a private investigator could sink his teeth into something meaty. This? Hell, this was baby-sitting. High-paying, sure, but with little challenge.
Unfortunately, when a member of the United States Senate offered you a job, you didn’t turn it down. Personal pull was worth a mint, and William Marshall had pull. A good word from him might, just might, get Emery another stint working undercover with the Feds. Now, that had been a challenge, playing the part of a fence in a sting. He had had a good time. Maybe he should have been an actor. Hell, he had the looks…
At movement on the distant deck Emery grew alert, but it was another false alarm. They were carrying plates into the house. And there was the damned dog again. Oh, he had fantastic pictures of the dog. It was a beautiful beast, he had to admit. But Marshall didn’t want to see the dog.
What in the hell was the matter with them? Was Buchanan a eunuch? A beautiful woman…hours with her each day…and zilch.
With a snap, Morgan Emery tugged his equipment into the boat, then swiveled around and hoisted himself into the pilot’s seat. It was a magnificent craft, he mused, sliding his hands around the gleaming brass steering wheel. Marshall had given him carte blanche on expenses, and he had reasoned that he had to look properly posh on the water. Someday maybe he would own a boat like this himself. He deserved it. Hell, what he deserved was a pretty young thing from town and a night of hot sex. He would be impressive. And since he had the boat till morning…
With due care he resisted the urge to push the throttle all the way forward and take of
f in a wild spray of sea water. But the automatic pilot kept him cruising slowly, and he couldn’t accelerate without risk of drawing attention to himself.
One thing was for sure. He would be damned if he was going to sit around any longer. Marshall wanted pictures. He would give him pictures. If they were innocent, that was Marshall’s problem. His own job was done. Over. Fini.
Danica had just returned to the deck and was looking out to sea when Michael came from behind to slip his arms around her waist. She leaned back against him and covered his hands with her own.
“Pretty, isn’t it?” she breathed.
“The sunset or the boat?”
“Both. So very peaceful.” She tipped her head against his chest. “It must be even more so out there.”
“On the boat?”
“Mmmm. The waves aren’t too high. The breeze is light.” She took a slow breath. “It’d be nice to have a boat like that. I wonder whose it is.”
Michael squinted at the sleek cabin cruiser that was moving steadily away. “I can’t see the name. It may be out of Bar Harbor or Newport, or somewhere on Long Island.”
“Mmmm, dream material. I didn’t see anyone on deck. What do you think they’re doing? Maybe drinking champagne below or eating by candlelight?”
“Maybe bailing bilge water.”
She elbowed him and he chuckled. “You’re awful, Michael. Here I was, creating a beautifully romantic picture and you shatter it in one fell swoop.”
“I’m sorry. Go ahead. Create.”
She couldn’t resist the temptation, though her thoughts turned inward. “If I had a boat like that, I’d be free. Oh, not in the most real sense, but then, being on a boat like that would be a fantasy anyway. I’d just …take off. Cruise away. Separate myself from the land and its restraints.” She lowered her chin and gave a self-conscious laugh. “You must think I’m crazy.”
“Not at all.” He realized that Blake could buy her a boat like that in a minute. She could probably buy it for herself. He could buy it for her. So it wasn’t the dream of having the boat that was beyond reach, but rather the dream of freedom. Freedom. What he’d give for her to have it! “I hear what you’re saying. One summer, when I was in college, I crewed on a wind-jammer up here. It was hard work, but was it ever fun. We had passengers on for a week at a time, but the joy came on the days we were alone, when we could put up the sails, catch the wind and fly. We’d just lie out on the deck and relax. I felt like I owned the world then. All my worries were back on shore. I was free, for a little while at least.”
“Sounds heavenly.” Turning, she slid her arms around his neck. Darkness was quickly falling, cloaking the real world, though not enough. “But too short. I can’t believe where the summer’s gone. It’s been wonderful.”
“It has, hasn’t it?” he asked. His fingers moved along the base of her spine, itching to climb higher. “When do you have to be back?”
“I told Blake I’d be in Boston a week after Labor Day.” Religiously she talked to him on the phone every Sunday, but they had little to say of import. She wasn’t interested in his doings in Washington any more than he was interested in what she was doing in Maine. He made no mention of flying up, and she was grateful. She felt estranged from him, physically and emotionally, and if he felt it, too, he didn’t seem to care. “Thirteen days and counting. Reluctantly. When do you start in Cambridge?”
“The middle of the month. I’ll be going down for orientation before classes actually start.”
“You’ll be staying overnight?”
“Only at the start. I’ve taken a room at the Hyatt. It’s on—”
“Memorial Drive. I know where it is. It’s not far from me.” Hearing her own words, she was stunned. He was going to be so close, so close. She tried to picture the room he would have overlooking the Charles, but all she could see was a large, empty bed. When her knees grew weak, she wrapped her arms tighter around his neck and pressed her face to his throat. She felt so torn, so torn.
Michael crushed her even closer. His arms crisscrossed her back, fingers reaching the soft side swells of her breasts. “I don’t know if I should tell you to think it or not to think it,” he moaned. “We have to do something, Dani. We have to do something.” The torment had been getting worse, the agony of wanting her, needing her, and not having her in every sense.
“I know,” she murmured brokenly. “I wish I knew what to do.”
“Just kiss me, then,” he rasped, lowering his head and taking her mouth with the hunger that boiled from inside. Her hunger matched it, and she held nothing back, offering her lips, her tongue, her breath in the fevered exchange. Her body arched toward him, and when he unwrapped his arms and inched his hands to her breasts, a small, catlike purr slipped from her throat.
He had never touched her there, but she had imagined it many, many times. His hands caressed her and she grew fuller beneath his nurturing.
“So beautiful,” he murmured hoarsely, his forehead against hers. When he brushed his thumbs over her nipples, they grew even more taut. She whimpered softly, unable to draw away because she loved what he was doing, but knowing that he had to stop.
“Thirteen days, Dani. That’s all we have.”
“I know, I know.”
“I want you, sweetheart.”
I want you, too, she thought. But she also thought of Boston and Blake and all else she would be returning to when those thirteen short days were done.
Michael spread his palms over her breasts, memorizing their very feminine shape for a final moment before slowly lowering his hands to her waist. He was breathing heavily. He knew that his shorts did little to hide his hardness, knew that she had to feel him with their hips pressed together that way. He could feel her warmth, could imagine her moistness. He also knew that she still wasn’t ready in the emotional sense that would make it all okay the morning after.
“I had better get you home,” he whispered. She nodded, though she was loath to move. “I don’t know how much control I’ll have if we stay here much longer. I’ve ached to touch you this way, but it only makes me want more.”
Again she nodded, but this time she moved back. Chin tucked to her chest, hands clasped tightly before her, she was the image of misery. “I don’t know what to do,” she breathed so softly that he wouldn’t have heard it had he not been so close.
He felt her misery, her confusion, tenfold because he wanted answers but had none. “We have time, sweetheart,” he said at last.
Her head flew up, eyes wide. “Thirteen days. That’s all. Thirteen days.”
But he was shaking his head. “We have more. We have weeks, months. The situation isn’t simple. We can’t put a time limit on it.”
“But it could go on forever!” she cried, hugging herself in place of him.
Again he was shaking his head. “It won’t. When the time is right, something will give. You’ll know it when it happens. Either way.”
Later, long after Michael had walked Danica home, he was thinking of what he had said. The summer had brought them even closer. She was so totally a part of his life that he couldn’t bear the thought of it otherwise. Yet, she could, indeed, go either way. She could go back to Boston and realize what he already had, that they were made for each other, that their life together would be unimaginably sweet. She could also go back to Boston and, for reasons beyond his control, decide that she had to stay with Blake.
He couldn’t force the issue mainly because he was afraid of the outcome. He knew that she loved him, knew that she had little left with Blake. He also knew that though the bonds tying her to Blake were fraying, they remained strong.
In the final analysis, he wanted her to be happy. If that meant a reconciliation between Blake and her, he would have to accept it. In the meanwhile, all he could do was to wait and hope and do everything he could to make the time they had together very special.
Wandering out onto the deck late that night, he thought about the last. His eye caught on the ho
rizon, which was dark and without the lights that would mark the passing of a boat. He recalled the handsome cruiser they had seen earlier, recalled her dreams, her wistfulness.
It was then that inspiration hit.
eleven
eARLY THE NEXT MORNING MICHAEL RACED into town, where he found that the fates were very definitely on his side. Not only could he rent a cabin cruiser like the one Danica had dreamed on the night before, but the very one was a rental, being returned that same morning. Paying the full price in advance, he made the arrangements, then dashed back to Danica’s house.
“Guess what!” he exclaimed, beaming proudly as he presented himself at her door.
She smiled, adoring the boyish way he looked when he couldn’t contain his excitement. There was always something new with him. She knew he would make life exhilarating to say the least. “What?”
“It’s ours.”
“What is?”
“The boat.”
“What boat?”
“The one we saw last night.”
Her eyes grew round. “That boat? What do you mean, ‘it’s ours’?”
“I’ve just rented it for the weekend.”
“You’re kidding. No, you’re not. Michael, I don’t believe it!”
“Are you pleased?”
“You know I am! For the weekend? It’s ours?”
He shrugged, but he was grinning. “Unless you’d rather just go to a movie or something.”
“No way!” She pressed her hands together. “Oh, Lord, this is wild. I’ll have to…have I got…what do I wear on a boat?”
“You’ve never been on one before?”
“Different. Very different. High heels and cocktail dress type thing.” She glowed. “This will be so much better!”
Her excitement alone made it all worthwhile. “You can wear whatever you want. The more comfortable, the better.” He paused. “I could have taken it for today and tomorrow, but it was just coming in this morning and the owner wanted to clean it up. Besides, these being weekdays and all, I figured you’d want to work.”
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