Right about then, an unwelcome thought crept up on John, screwed with his mind and gave him another reason to be angry with this woman who jammed his circuits at every opportunity:
Was something going on with her and Takashi?
None of his business, but tell that to his knotted gut.
He stared at Helen of Troy and tried not to think about how much he wanted her sweaty, moaning and naked in his arms. That was hard enough. Not thinking about how much he wanted to spend time alone with her and learn everything about her life was impossible.
“You shouldn’t have kissed me,” he told her.
Chapter 6
Chapter 6
R eaching for a coffee mug, John tried to keep his voice even and his hands steady.
Liza, unfortunately, didn’t cooperate and had the nerve to sound huffy. “I already apologized, Senator—”
“The damage is done.” He put sugar in his coffee and stirred it roughly until it sloshed over the sides. Cursing, he reached for a napkin. “I’m having a little trouble getting the genie back in the bottle. What do you propose we do about that?”
“Nothing.”
“Nothing?”
She looked up at him with those wide eyes, the model of innocent bewilderment, as though she couldn’t understand what the big deal was and why he insisted on yammering about it.
“It was one small kiss that’ll never happen again. Why should we get all worked up about it? We’re both professionals, aren’t we?”
Choked with sudden anger, John gaped at her. Nothing she could have possibly said would have goaded him more. One small kiss? Was that what she was calling the job she’d done on him with her lips the other night? When she’d given him a small taste of heaven and then snatched heaven away?
Because it sure as hell hadn’t been one small kiss to him. It’d been the unwelcome explosion of something huge, the insertion of a Liza chip into his brain that sent him off on endless fantasies of Liza naked in his bed when he should be thinking about health care and Social Security.
Seething, he fired the words out like bullets. “One small kiss?”
Hitching up her arrogant chin, she shrugged and gave him a cool, distant smile designed for the sole purpose of telegraphing how meaningless he was in her life, how forgettable.
“I can be professional, Senator. Can’t you?”
She was good. He’d give her that. If not for the telltale patches of color high over her cheeks, he’d want to strangle her for her indifference when he was panting after her like a dog with his first bitch in heat.
A beat or two passed during which she stared at John without blinking. He got her silent message loud and clear. Whatever attraction she may have felt for him came a distant second behind her career and always would—end of story.
John understood. This was right and appropriate.
Period. Whew. Bullet dodged.
And still he felt the overwhelming need to rise to her challenge. To demonstrate in explicit detail that she couldn’t just kiss him senseless and then pretend it meant nothing. To explore the budding attraction between them and see where it led. To claim both prizes he wanted: the presidency and Liza Wilson.
The Sitchroo meeting began a few minutes later, after the senator formally welcomed Liza and Takashi to the group.
The two of them occupied one corner of the conference room and tried to be quieter than church mice at St. Peter’s Cathedral while they observed the proceedings. The senator’s staffers, twenty or so of them, all juggled laptops, cell phones and coffee, and all looked bright-eyed and eager to conquer the world.
The plan, which had been finalized after much negotiation between the senator’s people and the network, was the following: in addition to trailing the senator all day, which Liza was doing anyway, he’d answer a few of her questions at the beginning and end of every day.
These segments would air on the network’s morning and evening news shows, and Liza would continue to provide analysis
Was something going on with her and Takashi?
None of his business, but tell that to his knotted gut.
He stared at Helen of Troy and tried not to think about how much he wanted her sweaty, moaning and naked in his arms. That was hard enough. Not thinking about how much he wanted to spend time alone with her and learn everything about her life was impossible.
“You shouldn’t have kissed me,” he told her.
Chapter 6
Chapter 6
R eaching for a coffee mug, John tried to keep his voice even and his hands steady.
Liza, unfortunately, didn’t cooperate and had the nerve to sound huffy. “I already apologized, Senator—”
“The damage is done.” He put sugar in his coffee and stirred it roughly until it sloshed over the sides. Cursing, he reached for a napkin. “I’m having a little trouble getting the genie back in the bottle. What do you propose we do about that?”
“Nothing.”
“Nothing?”
She looked up at him with those wide eyes, the model of innocent bewilderment, as though she couldn’t understand what the big deal was and why he insisted on yammering about it.
“It was one small kiss that’ll never happen again. Why should we get all worked up about it? We’re both professionals, aren’t we?”
Choked with sudden anger, John gaped at her. Nothing she could have possibly said would have goaded him more. One small kiss? Was that what she was calling the job she’d done on him with her lips the other night? When she’d given him a small taste of heaven and then snatched heaven away?
Because it sure as hell hadn’t been one small kiss to him. It’d been the unwelcome explosion of something huge, the insertion of a Liza chip into his brain that sent him off on endless fantasies of Liza naked in his bed when he should be thinking about health care and Social Security.
Seething, he fired the words out like bullets. “One small kiss?”
Hitching up her arrogant chin, she shrugged and gave him a cool, distant smile designed for the sole purpose of telegraphing how meaningless he was in her life, how forgettable.
“I can be professional, Senator. Can’t you?”
She was good. He’d give her that. If not for the telltale patches of color high over her cheeks, he’d want to strangle her for her indifference when he was panting after her like a dog with his first bitch in heat.
A beat or two passed during which she stared at John without blinking. He got her silent message loud and clear. Whatever attraction she may have felt for him came a distant second behind her career and always would—end of story.
John understood. This was right and appropriate.
Period. Whew. Bullet dodged.
And still he felt the overwhelming need to rise to her challenge. To demonstrate in explicit detail that she couldn’t just kiss him senseless and then pretend it meant nothing. To explore the budding attraction between them and see where it led. To claim both prizes he wanted: the presidency and Liza Wilson.
The Sitchroo meeting began a few minutes later, after the senator formally welcomed Liza and Takashi to the group.
The two of them occupied one corner of the conference room and tried to be quieter than church mice at St. Peter’s Cathedral while they observed the proceedings. The senator’s staffers, twenty or so of them, all juggled laptops, cell phones and coffee, and all looked bright-eyed and eager to conquer the world.
The plan, which had been finalized after much negotiation between the senator’s people and the network, was the following: in addition to trailing the senator all day, which Liza was doing anyway, he’d answer a few of her questions at the beginning and end of every day.
These segments would air on the network’s morning and evening news shows, and Liza would continue to provide analysis
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