The Scandal and Carter O'Neill by Molly O'Keefe

turned and hammered on Zoe’s door, using the side of his fist.
    “I’ll call you soon,” he said, and hammered again. What was taking Zoe so long? he wondered. She lived in like a one-room loft.
    “Think about Christmas,” Savannah said, subdued, as if she knew she’d pushed too hard.
    “I will,” he said, and heard the door behind him rattle, the chain lock being lifted. “Gotta run.”
    He felt the door give and he turned, dropping his phone in his pocket. “Good God, Zoe, it took you—”
    The world narrowed down to one color. One hot pink blast of color that seared his eyes, harpooned his brain. There was no other color like it. Ever. In his life.
    “—long enough,” he finished lamely. The color belonged to a dress, a short one and he couldn’t believe it, but Zoe the pregnant elf had legs that hit the ceiling and met the floor in a pair of heels that made his heart pound in his crotch.
    “Hi,” she said, and he jerked his eyes up to hers. They were smiling, the green depths aglow with a feminine confidence that zinged through his blood stream. She knew she looked good.
    The desire was a huge surprise. An unwelcome one, like being cut off at the knees.
    “Hello” he answered, trying to cool himself down, pull himself away from the magnetic allure of her.
    Of that damn dress.
    “Ah…” She blinked, her confidence crumpling slightly. “Give me one more second.” She swirled a finger around her face.
    He nodded and she trotted off to a dark corner of her loft, leaving him in the dimly lit doorway. He stepped inside and closed the door behind him. She had lamps everywhere, some covered by scarves, casting a rosy glow over the wood floors and high white walls.
    She was a candle person, he just knew it.
    “So,” she yelled, “did you come in the back?”
    “Nope,” he answered, picking up a framed photograph of a young girl in a sequined dance costume, her smile revealing two missing front teeth.
    Zoe, he could tell by the eyes. The exuberance with which the girl smiled, like her whole body was required to do it right.
    “Were the photographers still there?” she asked, ducking her head out a doorway. She was using some kind of contraption on her eyelids, a cage or something.
    “Yes,” he said.
    “They were gone when I came home tonight,” she said.
    “Because they were following me,” he said, having spent the day feeling like Britney Spears.
    She grimaced. “That’s no fun.”
    He nearly laughed at her understatement. Nothing about this was fun, except maybe looking at her legs.
    “All right,” she said, stepping into the hallway. She grabbed a tiny pea-green bag off a small table and emerged from the shadows. “I’m ready for steak.”
    She was lovely, more than lovely, really. She was like a rare creature. All eyes and legs and lips. Her black hair shone like an oil slick, and her skin glowed as if there were a candle burning inside her.
    If this were a real date, he’d say something now. Kiss her hand and breathe a compliment across her skin. Truthfully, if this were a real date he’d back her into those shadows and up against a wall and he’d explore the secrets of those endless legs. Thinking about it, his fingers twitched. His pulse hitched.
    But this wasn’t a date, and this woman was doing a number on his reputation and future political career.
    “Good,” he said, brusquely, holding open the door for her. “Bring a coat. It’s raining.”
    They went down the stairs and in the main hallway she turned left to head for the back door but he stopped her. “We’re going out the front.”
    She leaned out of the corridor, looking at the small crowd of photographers visible through the safety glass door.
    “Really?” she asked, clearly hesitant.
    “It’s sort of the point.”
    “But—” she licked her lips, her fingers fluttering over her belly “—can’t we go slow or something?” she asked. “Ease into it?”
    He shook his head, but faced by her nerves and