by Pat Warren
“Something noncommittal. Probably made her more suspicious.”
“Her brother works for some sleazy scandal paper, you know.”
“Oh, Lord.” She heard an owl hoot from somewhere in the treetops. It was so beautiful here, so peaceful. Would they ever really be at peace together? She stopped, turning to him. “Are you sure you want to do this?” Divorce, political disruption, upheaval, such a lot to go through.
“I’ve already done it, and yes, I’m sure. But I have to warn you, it might get messy. Diane’s a loose cannon. What do you think Sara will say about me?”
How to tell Sara was something Liz had been thinking about since Adam had phoned her to meet him. She hadn’t believed until that moment that he’d actually risk his future and file for divorce. She’d been painfully honest with herself and admitted that she loved him with all her heart and wanted to be with him, but what Sara’s reaction might be worried her. Something else concerned her even more.
After all these years, how was she ever going to tell Adam that he was Sara’s father?
“I’m not sure how Sara will feel. I just talked with her last night again, and she’s having a wonderful time on her trip. I think it’s best to wait to tell her about you until after your divorce is final. She’s a wonderful girl, very mature for sixteen. If I explain how much I love you, she’ll come around.” A chill wind swept down suddenly, and Liz shivered.
“You’re cold.” Adam framed her face with both of his warm hands. “Let’s go in. I want to carry you up to my big bed. I want to make love with you until the sun comes up. I’ve waited seventeen years for this night.”
The fire crackled in the corner grate, and the grandfather clock in the hallway ticked away the time. Liz stood in a splash of moonlight from the curtainless window, wearing a floor-length white gown. Her hands fluttered nervously, then settled at her sides as he came to her.
Wearing only his jeans, Adam reached up to touch the ends of her hair and heard her hitch in a breath. His own breathing was none too steady. “I love looking at you,” he told her.
“Adam, I’m not as young as I was, not as—”
“Shhh. It doesn’t matter. Nothing matters except the two of us and our love.” His hand cupped her neck as he kissed her cheek, then shifted to trace her lips with his tongue. Her mouth parted for his, and he accepted the invitation. He felt a shiver of pleasure dance along her spine as his hands skimmed her sides and back up to brush the fullness of her breasts.
Sensations layered one atop the other as his clever hands and his warm mouth relearned her. His teeth nipped at her earlobes, then scraped down the length of her throat as she whispered his name. Needs rose inside him, demanding fulfillment, but he banked them. All those years ago he’d made love to a girl with fierce passion, fired by his youth and hers. Now he held the body of a woman, no less precious, even more seductive—a woman to be romanced, to be savored, to be loved lazily and at length.
Stepping back, he slipped the straps from her shoulders and let her gown pool at her feet. His eyes skimmed the length of her and back, finding nothing lacking. “You take my breath away,” he told her honestly, and watched as color rose into her face.
Already hard and throbbing, Adam eased her onto the mattress and followed her down. His mouth touched everywhere—tasting, nipping, nuzzling. Beneath the onslaught, Liz shifted restlessly, her hands kneading his shoulders. As she drifted into passion, she made the same soft sounds he remembered from that long-ago summer, and his heart warmed.
His mouth moved upward to her breasts, his tongue teasing her taut nipples. She arched as frissons of pleasure rocketed through her. The heat from the fireplace glowed through the room, but Liz felt only hard, eager hands arousing her, saw only Adam streaking along her sensitive skin, inhaled only his hot, male scent.
Always he returned to kiss her mouth, to tangle his hands in her hair, to lock his eyes with hers. “I want you to forget every other man you’ve known,” he said between open mouthed kisses. “I want you to think only of me.”
“I am thinking of you. Only you.”
His body was aching, churning, but he had to tell her. “No matter what else has happened, to either of us, I want you to know you’re mine. Only mine.”
“I always have been.”
He believed her. “Touch me, Liz. I’ve waited so long for you to touch me.”
He shifted enough to allow her hands to tug apart the snap of his jeans. Slowly, drawing out the pleasure for both of them, she slid down his zipper. Then her hands were inside his briefs, cupping him, caressing him. On a wave of hot desire, she buried her face in his neck.
With difficulty Adam wiggled out of his clothes, then levered himself over her. “Help me,” he whispered.
With a sureness of purpose and steady hands, she guided him inside her, then closed her eyes as he expanded within her. “Oh, Adam,” she said softly.
He rained kisses over her flushed cheeks as he reached down to wrap her legs around him, joining with her more deeply. He moved slowly, watching her face, letting the pressure build. Her hands on his back dug in as she strained with him in delightful abandon, her movements growing more frantic. Inside, he felt the contractions begin and saw the stunned pleasure on her face.
Only then did he close his eyes and let himself go.
He lay with her, his naked body entwined with hers, under a quilt his grandmother had made half a century ago. “What are you thinking?” he asked, wondering if she felt as good as he did, needing to hear her say it.
“I’m not thinking. I’m just feeling.” She’d napped a little, she knew, but for how long she couldn’t say. She felt too lazy to move. “And what I feel is wonderful.”
He kissed the top of her head as it rested on his chest, and admired the rosy hue of her skin in the afterglow of sex. “All week long, since we were last together, I’ve been walking around grinning like some sort of an idiot. I’d wake up smiling, go to sleep smiling. If anyone had asked me why I feel so damn good, I’d have said, ‘Because she loves me.’ “
“Mmm, yes, she loves you. So much it scares her.”
Adam tightened his arms. “Don’t be afraid. We’re together again, and nothing is going to tear us apart. Nothing.”
Unbidden, Sara’s face swam into focus in Liz’s mind’s eye, and she quickly tamped it down. Not now, not this weekend, would she think about that. There’d be time enough to worry later.
He stretched to check the time. “Do you know it’s only nine? Are you sleepy?”
She squirmed into a more comfortable position. “Not really.”
“Hungry? We could go down and get some ice cream. Sex always makes me hungry.”
“I remember. Nope, I’m not hungry.”
“Then what would you like to do?”
Liz rose on one elbow. “Want to fool around?” she asked without so much as a bashful blush.
Adam raised a brow. “This from the very proper Liz Townsend Fairchild?”
“Yes. I’m afraid I’m not very proper around you. With you, I’m very different. I haven’t known anything like… like what just happened since we were together. I’m not ashamed to say I want more.”
“Don’t ever be ashamed with me. And I want more, too. Lots more. For the record, it was that way for me, too.”
She smiled, and the corners of her mouth twitched. “Of course, being much older now, you may need more recovery time.” She slipped her hand under the quilt and found him more than ready. “Whoops! Then again, maybe not.”
He laughed, and it felt wonderful to laugh again in bed. He hadn’t done that since… since the last time he’d been with Liz. Still smiling, he pulled her up to meet his kiss.
CHAPTER 20
Adam returned to his Washington office on Monday afternoon to a multitude of problems. Barry had cleaned out his desk, and so had another aide and one of the secretaries, whether in protest or for other reasons no one seemed to know. Fitz had had an altercation with a news photogr
apher outside his apartment building that had ended just short of blows.
The worst happening, however, had been in San Diego, in Adam’s home state, where a woman had received a severe beating from her husband after seeking shelter and being turned away because of overcrowding. Apparently she’d returned home to find him raging and had called 911, and the police had taken forty minutes to respond. She was suing the city, represented by an ambulance-chasing publicity-seeking attorney who’d tracked her down at the hospital. The woman’s name was Claire Simpson, and the shelter, also named in the lawsuit, was Helping Hands.
“Shit!” was Adam’s comment as he tossed aside The Washington Post, which had devoted space to all three stories, mentioning him by name as connected in some way to each. “And I felt so good on the way back,” he told Fitz.
“Yeah, well, you’re not going to feel real good about this, either.” Fitz pushed his glasses back up his nose and handed him three pink phone messages. “All from Palmer, all irate.”
Reluctantly he buzzed Anne to get Palmer on the line. “Anything else? Did Diane hang me in effigy on the lawn of the Capitol Building?”
Fitz almost smiled. “Not that I know of, but anything’s possible.”
The line buzzed, and Adam picked it up. He’d scarcely greeted Palmer before the deep southern voice came roaring on, all trace of affability missing.
“Where the hell you been, son? I knew you’d be gone, but you neglected to leave a number where we could reach you. We’ve got us a couple of messes here.” Whenever Palmer got upset, his drawl became more pronounced and his English more country.
“Yes, I’ve heard. There’s no phone where I stayed.”
“Uh-huh. Problem number one: That photographer was just goading Fitz, I’m sure. I believe your brother handled himself well. It’s a shame you felt it necessary to rendezvous with your lady and put him in that position. Problem number two: How come you’re having such an exodus from your staff?”
There was no point in commenting on Palmer’s first remark, so Adam addressed his question. “I fired one of the aides last Friday. A personal matter. I haven’t checked out the other two as yet.”
Palmer chomped down on his toothpick and talked out of the side of his mouth. “It’s number three that worries me most. Was the Post correct in saying you’ve been instrumental in securing a new location for that women’s shelter, whatever it’s called?”
“It’s called Helping Hands, and yes, I did. I persuaded a friend to donate an old house so they can relocate there, but it won’t be ready for a while. If it had been, there’d have been room for the woman who was turned away and subsequently beaten.”
Palmer ignored his last statement. “And you even got some contributions to fund the operation?”
“Yes. Some friends owed me.”
“Listen, son, we’re running a campaign here. We need every cent. Don’t be hitting on your friends on behalf of a handful of people when you could better spend your time soliciting real money from serious businessmen who can influence scores of voters. I thought I made that clear to you a while back.”
Adam held his temper in check, barely. “I’ve been doing that. But Palmer, we can’t ignore the plight of these women and children. In my state, with unemployment high, domestic violence has doubled in the past five years. This Claire Simpson is a case in point. She’s getting national attention with this case. We can’t just pretend it isn’t happening. We need to initiate legislation to get proper funding for programs like Helping Hands.”
“Bullshit! We need to get ourselves elected. We need to court the thousands who can put us in the White House. Then we’ll see about the couple of hundred like your battered women. Now, you’ve done your bit for them, and that’s good. But it’s time to back away before the whole issue becomes controversial. A lot of people don’t go along with these do-gooders, you know, and they all vote, too.”
“I’m not sure I agree with you, Palmer.” Actually he was sure he didn’t, Adam thought.
“You’re going to have to let me call the shots on this one, son. You’ve had your last playtime till after the election. I’ve set up three important meetings with business leaders in San Francisco, L.A., and San Diego. I want you to attend them and charm their socks off. I’m sending all the information over to you by messenger. You leave in the morning. Any questions?”
Adam felt his jaw clench with the tension of holding back. “I believe we can work with business and help women in need as well.”
Palmer snapped his toothpick in half, wondering again if he’d made a supreme mistake in teaming up with the maverick senator. “I want you to give top priority to the business meetings. You can work on the other in your spare time, if you have any.”
Resisting the urge to slam down the receiver, Adam said good-bye and hung up. Palmer’s requests were sounding more and more like orders. If he was this obvious before being elected, what would he be like if they made it?
He turned to Fitz. “I would like us to draft a preliminary bill to assist battered women and children, some way we can legally fund shelters. And we need tougher laws on the books for violent men. Check out California laws first and see where they don’t have teeth and need beefing up. We’ll use that state as a prototype.”
“I read recently that in several major cities, New York being one, the courts ruled that the police can’t be held liable for failing to protect people from crime in incidents where they were unable to respond fast enough to 911 calls, even if someone dies.”
“That may be true, but even if the law favors the police on these cases, the bad publicity still harms the city’s reputation in the public’s view. In this case, it might trickle over to Helping Hands, and people might be reluctant to donate to them. There’s no simple solution.”
Fitz looked up from his note taking. “How does Palmer feel about your trying to work on behalf of the shelter?”
“He wants me to concentrate on getting the support of business leaders, but I can’t turn my back on this situation. I won’t. Besides, it’s Liz’s pet project. Her family’s got connections. I know we can get something going, at least in the San Diego area. Once a pattern’s set, we can adapt it to fit other communities.”
Fitz slid his notebook into his pocket. “I agree with the concept—not that you asked. I’m just not sure it’s politically wise for you to get Palmer hopping mad this close to election.”
Adam leaned back on his chair. “It’s a matter of choices, between right and wrong. Sometimes we don’t choose, but rather just look the other way, and things just happen. By letting them happen, the consequences become our choice.” Because he’d been afraid to commit himself to Liz until it was too late, for example, she’d married another man. That fateful choice had cost them years of happiness. “I couldn’t live with myself if I didn’t do what I can to help those women and kids.”
Fitz wondered if Adam were blowing his political future with his recent choices. Morally he agreed with them, but practically he doubted if even Adam could juggle both concerns. “I’ll get right on this.”
“Palmer wants me to fly back to California tomorrow for back-to-back meetings with big business. You can come along and we’ll work up a first draft on the plane.”
“Right.”
“By the way, why did you almost punch that photographer out?”
Fitz hesitated, then decided he might as well tell him. “He wanted to know if the other woman in your life was Liz Fairchild.”
“What newspaper was he with?”
“The National Examiner.”
His brother-in-law Harlan’s tabloid. “So that’s how Diane found out. Good old Harlan.”
“I never liked the man. See you later.”
As soon as Fitz had closed the door behind him, Adam picked up the phone and dialed Liz. He thought it best to warn her. The moment he heard her voice, he relaxed. “I miss you.”
In Pacific Beach Liz closed the refrigerator door and crossed the kitch
en to sit down. “I miss you, too. After reading the papers, I thought you might call. Lord, what a mess.”
“Have you heard from the people at Helping Hands?”
“Oh, yes. They’re so upset. I guess they had people sleeping everywhere when Claire walked in—on the floor, in the hallway. She took one look and left quickly. Mary Simms, the woman in charge that evening, said they’d have made room for her somehow, but Claire assumed they wouldn’t and ran off.”
“I’ve got Fitz working on a way to get more funding. Of course, these things take time.”
“At least you’re trying. That’s the important thing.” She curled the telephone cord around her finger, picturing him as they’d parted early this morning. With all her heart she wished they hadn’t had to leave the cabin. “Are you all right? You sound a little stressed.” She tried for a little levity. “Did I wear you out?”
He smiled. “Yeah, but in the best possible way. There’s something else. Fitz almost decked a photographer outside his apartment Saturday night. The guy’s from the National Examiner, y the supermarket rag Diane’s brother writes for.”
Liz closed her eyes. “Oh no. Then they know about me?”
“I’m afraid so. But so far they don’t have proof. However, they might come around, harass you, try to intimidate you into saying something they’ll take out of context and print. Don’t let them goad you into saying anything. Maybe you should go stay at your mother’s for a spell. Just until we can sort things out. I don’t want you to be alone.”
“It so happens I was just making dinner for Molly and me. She’ll be here shortly.”
“That’s good. See if she can spend a couple of days with you. And if a reporter or photographer shows up, please go to La Jolla. I’ll feel better.”
She didn’t want to do that, but she could see why it might be best. She certainly didn’t want to add to Adam’s worries. And more important, she didn’t want to cause an incident that might make the papers, lest Sara see it before Liz could talk to her. “All right.”
