Run For The Money

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Turning in the chair, I said, “You hate mushrooms.”

Ed stared at me. “I also hate Mister Billboard, but I’m gonna go down there and make nice with him, just like I’m gonna make like I want to eat the stinkin’ ’shrooms.”

“Why?”

“For you, babydoll. All for you.”

I must have drifted off to sleep, and when I woke up, I was in the bed. Steve sat just next to me, reading some official-looking report. His little Chihuahua, Natasha, was curled up at the end of the bed, on my feet. Steve isn’t really a Chihuahua kinda guy. He’s more the sort who’d have a greyhound, or maybe a King Charles spaniel. But his mother loved Chihuahuas, and Natasha was the daughter of Mrs. Santorelli’s favorite. Lou had Natasha’s brother, Boris. I thought it was sweet how two extremely macho men cared for wee, tiny dogs because they’d meant so much to Mrs. Santorelli.

Gauging the light in the window, I judged it to be late afternoon, almost evening. I’d been asleep since before lunch, at least seven or eight hours.

I noticed Steve had on a pair of running shorts and a faded Stanford T-shirt. He could be any guy, anywhere. But he wasn’t. He was a senator. A very rich one, who probably really could make it to the White House because he was all about integrity and hard work and he had charisma in spades.

“Where is Ed?”

“During lunch, he got a phone call from a friend in Midland and said he had to leave.”

I was gonna kill him. Ed hadn’t woken me up to tell me what Owl had found out. No doubt on purpose, so I wouldn’t insist on going with him.

Laying the report on his thighs, Steve looked down at me. “Are you hungry?”

“Yes. And thirsty, and still sleepy, and wondering what I’ve missed this afternoon.”

He reached for the phone by the bed and punched in some numbers. “Carla, would you bring Pink something to eat? Thanks.” After he hung up, he laid the report on the table, then turned and slid farther down on the bed, propping his head in one hand while he stroked my hair with the other.

“Your face looks a little better than Ed’s.”

He grinned. “What can I say? I’m much better looking. It’s the Italian thing.”

“You know what I meant.”

“True, but I’d prefer to interpret it my own way.”

I stared at him and couldn’t help smiling. “When’s the last time you got in a fistfight?”

“Ninth grade. This kid from Australia was a foreign-exchange student, a cocky little bastard, and he told everybody he’d seen my mom in an Italian porn flick. So I beat him up—and got suspended. But it was worth it.”

“What did your mom have to say about it?”

“She gave me a lecture about being a gentleman, but I overheard her tell Dad she wished she coulda been there to see it. He said he wished he coulda seen the Italian porn flick.”

“Your mom must have been a pistol.”

“She was.” He sighed, dropped his hand and lay down on the pillow to stare up at the ceiling. “Sometimes, when I’m in a hurry and things get crazy, I forget that she’s dead and pick up the phone to call her. Strange, but I never do that with Lauren. I never forget that she’s gone. Maybe because I wasn’t there when Mom died, so it’s harder to get it fixed in my head.”

“How long has she been gone?”

“Just over a year.” He turned and looked at me. “I think Dad’s very interested in your mother.”

“I noticed. Does that bug you, so soon after your mom died?”

“Not in the least. He deserves to be happy, and if he can be with your mother, I’m glad.”

It was my turn to stare up at the ceiling. “It’s debatable, Steve. I’ve told you before, Mom has a thing with men.”

“I’m thinking Dad can get around whatever thing she throws at him.”

“He can be pretty persuasive, can’t he?”

“Especially when it’s for something he wants. And I’ve been told I’m a chip off the old block.” He flipped to his stomach, which brought him closer. “I either have to leave, or kiss you. My mother managed to raise a gentleman, but hell if I can lie here another two seconds knowing you’re half naked under those covers.”

Maybe if he hadn’t been less than three inches from my face, and if I hadn’t had the scent of him and his subtle cologne wrapped around me, and maybe, if I’d given it ten seconds of thought, I’d have shoved him off, gotten out of bed and run like hell to get away from him. Did I mention that I’m insanely attracted to Steve? That it scares the crap out of me? And makes me wonder if I’m some kind of a ho, lusting after two different men?

Too bad for me, he was three inches from my face, and his cologne was seductive, and I didn’t give it more than a nanosecond of thought before I whispered, “Will you think I’m a tease if it’s just a kiss?”

“Yes.”

I stared up at his handsome, if slightly bruised face and tried to remember why it was a very bad idea to kiss him. Then he was kissing me and I remembered, but it was way too late by then. Kissing Steve Santorelli was a bad idea because it’s always next to impossible to stop. I have no idea why. He’s a great kisser, extremely passionate, and I’ve dated several good kissers over the years, but I never had a problem stopping with any of them. With Steve, it’s like breaking the laws of physics, floating in an antigravity field.

Maybe that wouldn’t be so bad, except that we’re not eager teenagers, dying of curiosity about what comes next. We know what comes next, and while Steve has no problem with that, would, in fact, be pretty damn fired up about it, I have a big, gi-normous problem with what comes next. And the problem’s name is Ed. If I gave in and followed the natural progression of the crazy, insanity-causing kiss with Steve, I’d blow everything with Ed. Even if Ed never knew. I would know, and nothing would ever be the same again.

Still, I could not pull away, not even when Steve’s hand slid beneath the covers to caress my breasts. He tasted like butterscotch and felt like six feet of hard, hot male. In my mind, even while I was carried away by Senator Santorelli’s very talented lips and hands, I wondered how I was going to stop. I’ve got a lot of discipline, except when it comes to beluga caviar, Kate Spade bags…and Steve Santorelli.

Musta been my lucky day, because the decision was taken away from me when Carla knocked and said she had a tray of food. Natasha jumped from the bed and yipped at the door. I almost hated myself for the enormous sense of loss I felt when Steve pulled away and got off the bed. He looked down at the extremely noticeable bulge in his shorts.

“You’ll have to get the door.” He went into the bathroom. Natasha followed and scratched at the door until he opened it a few inches and allowed her in.

I greeted Carla, who entered and left the tray on the bed. “Do you need anything else?” she asked nicely.

Wondering what she’d say if I asked for somebody else’s conscience, I returned her smile and said, “No, thank you. This looks delicious.” I had no idea what it was.

She left, and I turned to watch Steve come out of the bathroom. I couldn’t help it, but I glanced at his shorts. He was still very turned on.

What happened next still makes me cry when I think about it. It’s like he knew where I was at, that the temptation was way off the page and I was completely torn up between loyalty to Ed and the powerful sexual attraction I felt for Steve. After he stood there at the doorway of the bathroom and stared at me for several tense moments, he crossed to the window and looked out at the street.

“Eat your dinner, Pink.”

I couldn’t move.

“Sit down and eat. Now.”

Backing up, I slowly lowered myself to the bed, but I didn’t eat.

“My assistant went by your loft a few hours ago and the media is camped out on the street outside. If you go there, you won’t have a moment’s peace. I’m also concerned for your safety. If Olga came last night to kill you, she may try again.”

“Ed says she left town.”

“I don’t believe she’s working alone, Pink. According to Dad, she’s involved with the Russian Mafia. Maybe she wasn’t able to kill you, but they may send someone else.”

“No, they won’t, because I’m almost certain Olga never intended to kill me. I think she came here to set me up, to frame me for Taylor’s murder. If I was murdered, it would follow that I couldn’t be responsible for the embezzlement, or at a minimum, I had one or more accomplices. This way, it looks like I’m the bad guy all the way around. In fact, I think she spilled that salad on purpose, so I’d have to go to the kitchen, raising the possibility that it was me who poisoned the ambassador.”

“If she only came to frame you, why did she have poison with her?”

“She’s an assassin. Maybe she had it in her backpack. I saw her leave with one.”

He drew in a deep breath and let it out, still with his back to me. “Whether she intended to kill you or not, I think the safest thing is for you to stay here, with me, at least until the preliminary hearing. By then, we should have enough evidence to get the charges dropped, which means we’ll have the evidence to point the FBI in the right direction.”

“But, Steve, I—”

“Just let me finish, Pink. You know I don’t give a damn about the media, or political bullshit—whatever gets said out there that isn’t directly related to my performance as a senator who represents California, I ignore. But it’s a double-edged sword, because when I want to use the media, or my position, for my own personal benefit, I can’t. It goes against everything I believe in.”

I wasn’t quite following him, but he was a politician, after all. He’d get to the point, eventually.

“It would be easy to call people I know at the FBI, explain that I believe in your innocence, maybe even stretch the truth and say we’re engaged, that they need to ignore the evidence they have and look for someone else. They’d do it, and eventually find whoever did this to you. If it comes down to it, Pink, that’s exactly what I’ll do. But for the time being, I don’t want to abuse my position. I think, between me and Dad and Ed, and to some extent your mother, we can find who we’re looking for.”

His voice got quieter and I strained to hear him.

“I don’t want you to think I don’t care, or that this job means more to me than you. Nothing could be further from the truth. But until I’m in a corner, until it’s a last resort, I don’t want to pull rank. Do you understand?”

I mumbled an affirmative, my throat way too choked up to speak.

“As for staying here, you’ll have your own room, and you can come and go as you please. I just ask that you take Bill, the driver. He’s a nice guy, and he won’t get in your way. Since your mom’s lost the contract with CERF and you’re technically unemployed for a while, I know you’ll want to take part in hunting down the embezzler. If the opportunity presents itself, great, but as an attorney, I’ll tell you that the worst thing you can do is go out there and dig on your own. All it will do is make you look more guilty.”

Finally, he looked over his shoulder at me, his dark eyes filled with worry and an odd sadness. “You’re a woman who wants to do it all by yourself, but this time, you can’t. You’re going to have to trust me and Ed to do it for you.”

I sat there in that beautifully decorated room and wondered what amazing thing I’d done in my life to deserve a man like Steve.

“I don’t want you involved in this. Not in any way beyond me staying here, and it seems to me I can maybe do that without anyone knowing. I can come and go as a maid, or in the backseat of a limo.”

“I don’t care if anyone knows you’re staying here.”

“You should.”

“So you’ll stay?”

“If you’ll carry on as usual and not get involved with looking for the bastard who set me up.”

He turned then and looked at me, and I know he lied when he said, “It’s a deal.”

I nodded as though I believed him, and immediately began planning to leave, to get as far away from him as possible. Because I knew if I didn’t, he’d hang himself in the political world, and no matter my feelings for him, I kinda thought I owed it to my country. Steve Santorelli needed to be the next president. It was my patriotic duty to get out of his life.

On that note, with an awkward, uncomfortable, sexually charged tension still hanging in the air, Steve left the room without another word, Natasha at his heels.

I got dressed and picked at the food. Mom came in and we watched TV, which made me all weepy because she wanted to watch The American President, and I was reminded of Steve’s wife, Lauren, and how much he loved her, and how amazing she’d been. Lauren made a difference in the world. She was beautiful and polished, the perfect politician’s wife. I’d bet everything I owned that she never would have been involved with two men at the same time. She was a nice girl.

And I wondered all over again, what did Steve see in me? Because I was the polar opposite of beautiful, perfect Lauren Santorelli. I wasn’t a very nice girl.

Later, after Mom went off to her own room and I drifted back to sleep, I was awoken by a strange noise. I sat up in bed and realized someone was in the room with me. “Steve?”

“No, it’s Lou,” came a husky whisper. “Pink, don’t go off on me—I need you to be very quiet.”

I glanced at the lighted alarm clock. It was just past three o’clock in the morning. “What is it?”

He sat on the bed, his weight throwing me off balance so that I had to draw my knees up.

“I’m a farmer, you know. Our family owns and operates the largest privately owned farming operation in California. I spend a lot of time looking after things, but I also spend some of my time doing…other things.”