We haven’t
even spent time together anywhere near your district—or Tampa, for that
matter.” Lanie smelled a rat. “When did you tell Bert we were going our
separate ways?”
Wayne took a stack of grainy photos from
his briefcase and slammed them onto her makeup table, sending particles of
loose powder floating in the air around her, a macabre cloud of pink that
reminded her of the afternoon sky before a storm. “Obviously you two decided to
play around on the beach in pretty much plain sight of several colleagues.
Somebody decided to shoot some photos.”
Lanie looked up at Wayne, surprised by the
intensity she saw in his usually measured, neutral expression. Then she
shuffled through the pictures that had apparently been taken with a
high-powered zoom lens while she and JD had been walking along the shoreline.
It was all she could do to keep from snatching them away and putting them
somewhere safe so she could relive those moments in her mind…until she
remembered that the photographer who had captured those precious moments must
have done it with blackmail on his mind.
When she tried to speak she found her
throat so tight that all she could do was croak out, “Who?”
“It doesn’t matter who took the pictures.
Let’s just say somebody gave them to Bert, complete with the disk they were on.
Fortunately they didn’t get into the hands of a reporter or one of my
opponents’ supporters. We can’t count on that happening every time, though, so
I’m afraid you’ll just have to stop fucking around with other men—at least
until after this year’s election is won. I’ve always made sure nobody outside
the BDSM community finds out about my particular tastes. Unfortunately I can’t
say the same for you.”
“Damn it, Wayne, it isn’t as if I’ve been
out with another man in front of all your constituents in Tampa or Plant City.
Key West is more than two hundred miles away from your district. JD and I
didn’t even go anywhere together in public because we were being careful not to
be seen.” Not careful enough, apparently.
Lanie looked more closely at the photos
then set them on the table and got up, her makeup only half finished. “Wayne,
all these pictures prove is that JD and I were walking along the shore together
and talking—talking, mind you, not fucking—on the porch of his vacation cabin
up there.”
Wayne grabbed the photos and singled out
one where Lanie was looking up at JD, her attention totally focused on whatever
he was saying or maybe on those dark, soulful eyes of his. “When you look at a
man that way, it’s more than enough to set nosy folks to talking. It could
spoil my chances for re-election. Like I said, Lanie, your days of spending
your free time with a lover are over. By the way, I’ve changed my mind about
the divorce, at least until after the election is over.”
Lanie wanted nothing more at that moment
than to throw Wayne’s gay relationship in his face. She bit her tongue to keep
from threatening him the way he was threatening her.
From Wayne’s stricken look, she guessed he
imagined what she had briefly considered. She couldn’t do that to him, though.
He’d been honest from the beginning about his sexual preferences and his need
to keep them secret because of his political ambition. He’d even explained that
he’d outfitted the guesthouse as a dungeon and she must never interrupt him
when he was there.
She reminded herself that she owed Wayne
big-time for taking a dirt-poor country girl, paying for her education and
schooling her socially to the point that no casual observer would ever guess
her humble roots.
But wait.
Hadn’t eight years of her life been enough,
smiling for cameras and playing the placid, supportive wife whenever Wayne
needed good press or female support? She closed her eyes, considering all the
rallies, the fundraisers and her own determined smiles, the many times she’d
suppressed her own feelings and echoed Wayne’s hypocritical,
even spent time together anywhere near your district—or Tampa, for that
matter.” Lanie smelled a rat. “When did you tell Bert we were going our
separate ways?”
Wayne took a stack of grainy photos from
his briefcase and slammed them onto her makeup table, sending particles of
loose powder floating in the air around her, a macabre cloud of pink that
reminded her of the afternoon sky before a storm. “Obviously you two decided to
play around on the beach in pretty much plain sight of several colleagues.
Somebody decided to shoot some photos.”
Lanie looked up at Wayne, surprised by the
intensity she saw in his usually measured, neutral expression. Then she
shuffled through the pictures that had apparently been taken with a
high-powered zoom lens while she and JD had been walking along the shoreline.
It was all she could do to keep from snatching them away and putting them
somewhere safe so she could relive those moments in her mind…until she
remembered that the photographer who had captured those precious moments must
have done it with blackmail on his mind.
When she tried to speak she found her
throat so tight that all she could do was croak out, “Who?”
“It doesn’t matter who took the pictures.
Let’s just say somebody gave them to Bert, complete with the disk they were on.
Fortunately they didn’t get into the hands of a reporter or one of my
opponents’ supporters. We can’t count on that happening every time, though, so
I’m afraid you’ll just have to stop fucking around with other men—at least
until after this year’s election is won. I’ve always made sure nobody outside
the BDSM community finds out about my particular tastes. Unfortunately I can’t
say the same for you.”
“Damn it, Wayne, it isn’t as if I’ve been
out with another man in front of all your constituents in Tampa or Plant City.
Key West is more than two hundred miles away from your district. JD and I
didn’t even go anywhere together in public because we were being careful not to
be seen.” Not careful enough, apparently.
Lanie looked more closely at the photos
then set them on the table and got up, her makeup only half finished. “Wayne,
all these pictures prove is that JD and I were walking along the shore together
and talking—talking, mind you, not fucking—on the porch of his vacation cabin
up there.”
Wayne grabbed the photos and singled out
one where Lanie was looking up at JD, her attention totally focused on whatever
he was saying or maybe on those dark, soulful eyes of his. “When you look at a
man that way, it’s more than enough to set nosy folks to talking. It could
spoil my chances for re-election. Like I said, Lanie, your days of spending
your free time with a lover are over. By the way, I’ve changed my mind about
the divorce, at least until after the election is over.”
Lanie wanted nothing more at that moment
than to throw Wayne’s gay relationship in his face. She bit her tongue to keep
from threatening him the way he was threatening her.
From Wayne’s stricken look, she guessed he
imagined what she had briefly considered. She couldn’t do that to him, though.
He’d been honest from the beginning about his sexual preferences and his need
to keep them secret because of his political ambition. He’d even explained that
he’d outfitted the guesthouse as a dungeon and she must never interrupt him
when he was there.
She reminded herself that she owed Wayne
big-time for taking a dirt-poor country girl, paying for her education and
schooling her socially to the point that no casual observer would ever guess
her humble roots.
But wait.
Hadn’t eight years of her life been enough,
smiling for cameras and playing the placid, supportive wife whenever Wayne
needed good press or female support? She closed her eyes, considering all the
rallies, the fundraisers and her own determined smiles, the many times she’d
suppressed her own feelings and echoed Wayne’s hypocritical,
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