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“Not for the next half hour, you’re not. Take it! I’ve cleared it with your boss.”
Champagne sloshing, she thrust the tray at him and reached under the counter for more flutes.
“Good thing the subcontractors aren’t union,” she said fervently. “My ass would be grass if I got TTG crosswise of the culinary workers and bartenders local.”
Jack eyed the racks of glasses, bottles and nozzles behind the counter. Everything appeared to be clearly labeled.
“I’ve fixed a few martinis and Manhattans in my time. I’ll pull bar duty until your replacements arrive. You go do your thing in the media center.”
“No way! I can’t let you sling booze. You’re a guest.”
“I won’t tell if you don’t. Go. I’ve got this.”
Jack had no trouble interpreting the emotions that flashed across her expressive face. He could tell the instant the idea of John Harris Mason III dishing up drinks at Global Protective Service’s big bash struck her as too irresistible to pass up.
“All right,” she conceded, laughter sparkling in her eyes. “But let’s hope Nicole doesn’t hear about this. My ass won’t just be grass. It’ll be mowed and mulched.”
“And it’s such a nice ass.” He couldn’t help it. He had to reach behind her and caress the body part under discussion. “Trust me, sweetheart, I won’t let anyone mow or mulch it.”
She backed away and tried to look stern, but the light still danced in her eyes. “I can’t believe you just did that.”
Jack couldn’t believe it, either. He’d do it again, though, in a heartbeat. Or better yet, drag her upstairs to that bridal suite she’d mentioned and caress a whole lot more than her ass. Sanity intruded in the form of the gray-haired senior senator from Virginia.
Thomas Dillon broke away from the group he was with and strolled over to the bar. “Jack?”
The senator looked from him to Gina and back again. Clearly he didn’t understand what an ambassador-at-large was doing behind the drinks counter, but he contained his confusion behind a broad smile.
“I thought I recognized you, son. How’s your father?”
“He’s still kicking butt and taking names, Senator. What can I get you to drink?”
“Pardon me?”
“I’m pulling special duty tonight. What would you like?”
* * *
Despite the near-disastrous start, the remainder of the event went off without a hitch. Most of the invitees were jaded Washingtonians who had attended too many black-tie functions to do more than guzzle down the free booze and food, but Jack heard more than one guest comment on the quality of both.
His replacement arrived before he’d had to mix up more than a dozen drinks. He surrendered his post with some reluctance and mingled with the other guests. Jaded they might be, but the arrival of the movie’s star started a low buzz. Gina had returned to the plaza and stood next to Jack while Dirk West graciously made the rounds.
“Wow,” she murmured, eyeing his shaved head and six-feet-plus of tuxedo-covered muscle. “He looks tougher in real life than he does on the screen.”
Tough, and extremely savvy. West worked the crowd like a pro and seemed to sense instinctively the real power brokers and potential backers. He might have been aided in that by the CEO of Global Protective Services, who stuck to the star’s side like a barnacle and made a point of steering him over to Jack.
“This is Ambassador John Harris Mason,” he said by way of introduction. “He’s the man who faced down a cell of armed insurgents in Mali a few years ago.”
“I read about that.” West crunched Jack’s hand in his. “Sounded like a pretty hairy situation. I might have to send a script writer to ferret out the details that didn’t get into print.”
Jack could have told him not to bother since most of the details were still classified but West had already turned his attention to Gina.
“And who’s this?”
The bronze-edged name tag pinned to her lapel should have given him a clue. He ignored it, concentrating all his star power on her face.
“Gina St. Sebastian.” She held out her hand and had it enfolded. “I’m with the Tremayne Group. We’re coordinating this event.”
West’s appreciative gaze made a quick trip south, edged back up. “You ever considered taking a shot at acting, Ms. St. Sebastian?”
“I’ve toyed with the idea once or twice.”
“If you decide to do more than toy, you give me a call.”
Global’s CEO was more interested in Jack’s connections at the State Department than the acting aspirations of the hired hands.
“I hear you’ve got a meeting with the Senate Intelligence Committee next week regarding embassy security, Ambassador. I’ve got some ideas in that regard.”
“I’m sure you do.”
“I’d like to discuss them with you. I’ll have my people call and set up an appointment.”
His mission accomplished, he steered West to the next group. Jack waited until they were out of earshot to fill Gina in on his conversation with his parents.
“I got ahold of my folks. They’re anxious to meet you, but mother’s chairing a charity auction tomorrow evening so I told them we’d drive down for Sunday brunch.”
“Sunday brunch works for me.”
“Good. That leaves tomorrow for just you and me.”
She started to comment, but spotted the plump brunette with the radio clipped to her waist signaling from across the plaza.
“Gotta go. It’s almost showtime.”
She turned, spun back and flashed one of her megawatt smiles.
“Thanks for helping out earlier. Remind me to pay you for services rendered.”
“I will,” he murmured to her retreating back. “I most certainly will.”
* * *
Jack carried fantasies of the various forms that payment might take with him into the plush media hall. They teased his thoughts all through Dirk West’s explosive attempts to single-handedly save the world from evil. But not even his wildest imaginings could compete with reality when a tired but triumphant Gina invited him up to the bridal suite several hours later.
Eight (#uf787832a-bba3-5d25-8934-389f8b91f761)
Gina had tried to convince Jack he didn’t need to hang around while she signed off on the final tally sheets and supervised the breakdown. She’d honestly tried. Yet she couldn’t suppress a little thrill of pleasure when he insisted on waiting for her to finish up.
So she’d extended the invitation to join her upstairs. When they entered the lushly appointed suite, though, all she wanted to do was plop down on the sofa, kick off her shoes and plunk her feet on the coffee table. Which was exactly what she did. And all she would have done if Jack hadn’t plopped down beside her!
“That’s some view,” he commented lazily, his eyes on the dramatic vista of the floodlit capital dome framed by the suite’s windows.
“Mmm.”
She only half heard him. Her mind was still decompressing after the pressure-packed night. He responded by tugging loose his bow tie and popping the top button of his dress shirt before patting his lap.
“Here.”
She blinked, suddenly very much in the present. She didn’t trust either his simple gesture or her body’s instant response to it. He read the sudden wariness in her face and patted his thighs again.
“I’ve been told I give a pretty good foot massage. Swing your feet up and see if you agree.”
Oooooh, yeah! Gina most definitely agreed. Ten seconds after he went to work on her toes and arch, she was approaching nirvana. Groaning with pleasure, she wedged deeper into the corner of the sofa.
“If you ever decide to give up ambassadoring, you could make a bundle plying the foot trade.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
Curious, she eyed him through the screen of her lashes. “What are you going to do when you give up ambassadoring?”
“Good question.”
His clever, clever fingers worked magic on the balls of her right foot before moving to the left.
“What about those PACs I read about?” she asked. “The ones that think you’ve got the makings of a future president?”
“Future being the operative word. There are a few steps I’d have to take in between.”
“Such as?”
“Running for public office, to start with. I’ve been just a career bureaucrat up to this point.”
“Su-u-ure you have. I wonder how many career bureaucrats go toe-to-toe with armed terrorists.”
“Too many, unfortunately. Still, elected office is almost a required stepping stone to anything higher. Except for the war heroes like Washington and Eisenhower, almost all of our presidents served as either governors or members of Congress.”
“So run for governor. Or Congress. You’d make a great senator or representative. More to the point, someone’s got to get in there and straighten out that mess.”
“Am I hearing right?” Ginning, he pulled on her toes. “This enthusiastic endorsement can’t be coming from the same woman who’s called me obnoxious and uptight and a few other adjectives I won’t repeat.”
“You are obnoxious and uptight at times. Other times...” She circled a hand in the air, trying to pluck out one or two of his less irritating traits. “Other times you surprise me, Mr. Ambassador. Like tonight, for instance, when you got behind the bar. You went above and beyond the call of duty there.”
“I’m a man of many talents,” he said smugly. “And that reminds me. I was promised payment for services rendered.”
“So you were. Have you given any thought to what form that payment should take?”
“Oh, sweetheart, I haven’t thought of anything else all evening.”
Red flags went up instantly. Gina knew she was playing with fire. Knew the last thing she should do was slide her feet off his lap and curl them under her, rising to her knees in the process.
All she had to do was look at him. The tanned skin, the white squint lines at the corners of his eyes, the square chin and the strong, sure column of his throat. Like a vampire hit with a ravenous hunger, her weariness disappeared in a red flash. She had to taste him. Had to lean forward and press her mouth to the warm skin in the V of his shirt. Had to nip the tendons in his neck, the prickly underside of his chin, the corner of his mouth.
And of course, he had to turn his head and capture her lips with his. There was nothing gentle about the kiss. Nothing tentative. It went from zero to white-hot in less than a heartbeat. Mouths, teeth, tongues all engaged. Hips shifted. Hands fumbled. Muscles went tight.
Jack moved then, tipping her back onto the cushions. He came down with her, one leg between hers, one hand brushing her hair off her face. Careful not to put all his weight on her middle but taut and coiled and hungry.
She could feel him get hard against her hip. The sensation shot a hot, fierce rush through her veins. Shoving his jacket lapels aside, she tugged his starched shirt free of the satin cummerbund and tore at the buttons. When she got to the shoulder muscle underneath, she ran her palm over the smooth curve, then felt it bunch under her fingers as Jack’s hand went to her waist. The two buttons on her borrowed sequin jacket proved a flimsy barrier. Jack peeled back the lapels and came to a dead stop. Every muscle and tendon in his body seemed to freeze.
“God.”
It was half prayer, half groan. His brown eyes hot with desire, he brushed a finger along the lace trimming her demi-bra.
“Good thing I didn’t know this was all you had on under those sequins. It was hard enough making it through the movie.”
Gina tucked her chin and surveyed her chest with something less than enthusiasm. The underwired half cup of black silk and lace mounded her breasts almost obscenely.
“I’ve gone up another whole size,” she muttered in disgust. “I had to buy all new bras.”
Jack picked up on her tone and wisely didn’t comment. Good thing, because she probably wouldn’t have heard him. All it took was one brush of his thumb over her sensitized nipple and she was arching her back. And when he tugged down the lace and caught the aching tip between his teeth, every part of her screamed with instant, erotic delight.
She arched again, and he took what she offered. His hands and mouth and tongue drove her higher and higher. The knee he wedged between her thighs and pressed against her center almost sent her over the edge.
“Wait!” Gasping, she wiggled away from the tormenting knee. “Wait, Jack!”
He raised his head, a shudder rippling across his face. Disgust followed a moment later.
“Sorry. That was a little more than you probably expected to pay for my bartending services.”
When he started to sit up, Gina grabbed his lapels and kept him in place. “Hold on, Ambassador. That little tussle doesn’t even constitute minimum wage. I just...I just thought we should shed a few more layers.”
Jack stared down at her, eyes narrowed. He knew as well as she did they wouldn’t stop at a few layers. He was damned if he’d give her a chance to change her mind, though. Getting the stubborn Gina St. Sebastian into bed ranked almost as high up there as getting her to the altar.
“Shedding is good,” he said with a crooked grin that masked his sudden iron determination. “I’ll start.”
His tux jacket hit the floor. The cummerbund and shirt followed a moment later. He held out a hand and helped her to her feet, taking intense satisfaction from the play of her greedy hands over his bare chest.
Once he’d disposed of the sequined jacket, he helped her shimmy out of her black satin pants. His self-control took a severe hit when he got a look at the hipsters that matched her black lace bra. They dipped to a low V on her still-flat belly and barely covered her bottom cheeks.
He cupped his hand over those sweet, tantalizing curves and brought her against him. He saw her eyes flare when she felt him against her hip, rock-hard and rampant. Her head tipped. Red singed her cheeks.
“Okay,” she exhaled in a low, choked voice. “I really, really need to make payment in full. But the two of us going to bed together doesn’t change anything.”
The hell it didn’t.
Jack kept that thought to himself as he scooped her into his arms and strode toward the bedroom.
* * *
The Tremayne Group had done their guest suite up right. A king-size bed sat on a raised dais, its chocolate-brown comforter draping almost to the floor. Mounds of brown, aqua and silver-trimmed pillows piled high against the padded headboard. Floor lamps gave the corners of the room a subdued glow, while a crystal dish filled with creamy wax pebbles emitted a faint scent of vanilla.
