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Unable to bear looking through the rest of the photos, Phoebe passed them back. “Then I want the negatives as a show of good faith.”
“No can do, sugar. Not until the last date.”
Sugar. Sweet to the taste and habit-forming. She closed her eyes against the memory of him looking up at her from between her legs with a smile slanting his damp lips as he uttered those words. She lifted her eyelids and met Carter’s gaze. The watchful expression on his face told her he also remembered the often-repeated phrase and its context.
“I want your word that you won’t show these pictures to anyone else.”
“You have it,” he replied without hesitation.
Phoebe bolstered her resistance. “When do we start?”
“Tomorrow. Where are you staying?”
“My grandfather’s home in Raleigh.”
“I’ll pick you up at six.”
“No.” Alarm raced through her bloodstream. “That’s not necessary. I’ll meet you.”
Carter’s jaw turned to granite. “Still worried what Granddad will say if your former classmate turns up on your doorstep?”
He remembered the awkward introduction to her grandfather, but he hadn’t waited around long enough for Phoebe to explain why she’d been so cautious. “He’s out of town.”
His lips curled in disgust. “Figures. I pick my dates up and I see them back to their door…unless they spend the night with me.”
A nerve beneath her right eye twitched—a telltale sign of stress she’d never been able to conquer. “That will not be the case. I’ll meet you here and then you can see me back to my car door.”
His mouth set in a militant line and he looked ready to argue, but then he acquiesced with a sharp nod. “Fine. Six.”
Her heart stuttered. One battle won, but certainly not the war. Phoebe Lancaster Drew, what have you gotten yourself into?
He’d expected Phoebe to chicken out. Instead she arrived thirty-three minutes early.
Carter lowered the dumbbell to the floor and wiped the sweat from his face with a towel. The slamming of his heart had nothing to do with his strenuous workout and everything to do with the slender woman striding up his front walk. The knowledge didn’t please him.
It had been a bitch of a day—mainly because he couldn’t keep his mind off tonight. Jes, his executive assistant, had threatened to quit if Carter didn’t stop barking commands. Jes had claimed it was bad enough he was working on a Sunday to finish a last-minute proposal. Finally, Carter had left work and come home to take out his frustration on his free weights. He descended the stairs from his upstairs workout room and opened the door before Phoebe could ring the bell.
Her dark brows lifted as she inspected his sweaty workout tank and shorts. She tilted her head and firmed her mouth. “Am I overdressed?”
He checked out her tailored dress—a close twin to yesterday’s stuffy and uptight suit. The navy-blue fabric gently draped her breasts, but it couldn’t hide the pebbling of her nipples. Unfortunately the concealing garment skimmed past the curve of her hips to cover most of her long legs. Too bad. Phoebe had first-class legs.
“You’re early. I need to get ready.”
“I allowed extra time for traffic but there wasn’t any. Besides, the sooner we start, the sooner I can get home.”
Her barb caught him like a sucker punch, but damn if he’d let it show. He hid his irritation by wiping his sweaty face with the towel and gesturing for her to come inside. “You want to look around while I shower and dress or do you want to wait for the guided tour?”
“Neither, thanks.” She declined and insulted so politely Carter just shook his head.
“Give me ten minutes. There’s iced tea in the fridge. Help yourself.” He gestured toward the kitchen and then headed for the master suite.
Carter stripped and stepped under the shower spray, pondering how he could still find Phoebe attractive after all this time. Soaping his shoulders, he shrugged. Probably because they’d explored all kinds of uncharted territory with an uninhibited thirst for knowledge that he hadn’t experienced since. Blood pooled in his groin and his heart pumped double-time at the mythological proportions of his memories. What better way to debunk that myth than by spending a month in her company? Then he’d find himself a sweet local gal, settle down and have kids.
Roots. That’s what this old house was all about. He’d spent most of his life traveling the globe, and it was time to put down roots, to make his own history. Surely a family of his own would fill the void inside him? His parents didn’t count since his dad was stationed halfway around the world and Carter rarely saw them.
He wanted a love like theirs—the kind that meant no sacrifice was too great. In all the years of their marriage, Carter had never heard his mother complain about any of the hell-holes his father had dragged her through, and there’d been dozens of them. She’d packed and moved on command like a good military wife, happy to go anywhere as long as it meant staying by her husband’s side. Even when she had to stay behind she’d been a pillar of strength, a rock he could rely on. At each new base she’d thrown herself into the wives clubs with enthusiasm.
As a shy kid, Carter hadn’t made new friends as easily. He’d turned to books and cameras and, later, to computers. He’d been shy and tongue-tied around girls and hadn’t made any real, lasting friendships until college. He and his college buddies Sawyer and Rick had remained tight until recently when both men had married and started families of their own, leaving Carter the odd man out once again. He hated being a fifth wheel.
He wanted a life partner, and as soon as he proved that his memories of Phoebe were nothing more than exaggerated fantasies, he’d find the right woman—a woman who wouldn’t look down her straight, pedigreed nose at him or be ashamed to introduce him to her family. The timing was right. He had the home, and after three years of damned hard work, CyberSniper was on solid footing.
Phoebe wasn’t that woman. Hell, she hadn’t even been able to look beyond the first photo in the stack he’d handed her yesterday. Was he such a repugnant part of her past?
He rinsed the shampoo from his hair, stepped out of the shower and dried off. After a quick shave, he pulled on a custom-tailored suit, shoved his feet into his Gucci loafers and headed for the kitchen and a little “hair of the dog that bit you.”
Phoebe heard Carter return, but she couldn’t look away from the picture of the adorable dark-haired, blue-eyed boy on Carter’s refrigerator. Carter had said he wasn’t married, but that didn’t mean he didn’t have an ex-wife and children somewhere. He was thirty-three and statistically likely to have married at least once by now.
“Is he yours?” Getting the words past the unexpected lump in her throat was harder than it should have been. Of course Carter would have children one day and they would not be hers. She’d buried those dreams long ago.
“No. J.C.—Joshua Carter—belongs to Sawyer Riggan. You remember my college roommate? He married a few years back. Sawyer and his wife Lynn are my neighbors. J.C.’s two years old, and he’s my godson.” Pride filled his voice.
“He’s adorable.” Phoebe turned from the picture and shock erased whatever she’d been about to say from her mind. Carter wore a charcoal-gray suit that fit his frame perfectly. His crisp white shirt accentuated his tanned face, and he’d knotted a sapphire-blue tie the exact shade of his eyes at his neck. A lock of damp dark hair fell over his forehead. He could have been any politician on Capitol Hill, only she’d never met a congressman this gorgeous.
His prosperous appearance threw her off balance and piqued her curiosity. Carter looked nothing like the rumpled, jeans-clad college student she used to know or the jock she’d encountered yesterday and again today when she’d arrived.
She blinked to clear the fog of unwanted attraction from her brain. Repeating past mistakes wasn’t on the agenda. “You and Sawyer bought houses on the same street? You must have stayed close after school.”
“Yeah. And Rick Faulkner and his wife own the third house on the street. Remember him?”
“The tall blonde?” She remembered Carter’s two handsome friends, but she hadn’t been interested in either of them back then. She’d been too busy losing herself in Carter’s eyes, in his smile and, later, in his body. Unwelcome warmth settled low in her abdomen.
He nodded. “Want a drink? We have a few minutes before our reservation.”
“No, thank you. As I said, I would really like to get home early tonight. I’m expecting a call from my grandfather.”
His lips flat-lined. “Right. Let’s go. I’ll bring the car around front.”
“There’s no need, Carter. This isn’t a real date. I can get into the car in the garage when you do.”
A muscle in his jaw twitched, and then he jerked a nod. “Let me lock up.”
He disappeared into the foyer and returned seconds later—long before Phoebe could come up with a way to convince him to hand over the pictures and cancel this outing. After opening the door leading from the kitchen to the garage, he activated the security keypad by the door. A custom-tailored suit, an alarm system and a sports car all added up to affluence.
He led Phoebe to his car and opened the door. Carefully avoiding his touch, she slid into the bucket seat and inhaled a subtle blend of leather and Carter’s cologne—a costly designer fragrance unless she missed her guess. His company must be successful. Had money changed the man? And why did she care? Because Carter had never valued her for her old-moneyed family or her grandfather’s clout. He’d seen her, not the senator’s granddaughter. The men she’d met since were only interested in her connection to the most powerful senator in Washington—a lesson she’d learned the hard way.
Carter settled in the driver’s seat. His large frame took up most of the interior and drained the oxygen from the enclosed space. How many times had they fogged up the windows making out in his old economy car or her sedate sedan twelve years ago? She shook off the memory.
“Where are we going?”
“A new restaurant.” The car’s powerful engine rumbled to life. At the touch of a button, the garage door lifted, letting in the evening light. Carter’s hand nudged her knee as he reached for the gearshift. Phoebe moved her leg out of the danger zone, but not soon enough to prevent the tingle traveling upward. She pressed her knees together.
Stick to the agenda, Phoebe. Twelve dates. No dalliance. No broken promises. No broken heart.
Carter’s house was one of three stately older homes on the secluded forest-surrounded street. “When and why did you join the Marine Corps? I thought you hated that vagabond life.”
“After graduation. For the job training.”
He’d graduated days after they’d said goodbye. Had their breakup caused him to have a change of heart about settling down? He didn’t elaborate as he took the winding road downhill with curve-hugging speed until he reached the stop sign at the main thoroughfare.
“And now you’re out,” she prompted.
“Yes.” The car shot forward into a break in traffic with a burst of leashed power.
“Why not become a lifer like your father? He should be way up there in rank now.”
The bunching of his jaw muscle was his only response.
“Carter, you forced these outings. The least you can do is converse politely.”
He cut her a quick look. “My father has been promoted to Lieutenant General. That’s three stars. I received a medical discharge after I blew out my knee on my last mission.”
She remembered the scars. “I’m sorry.”
“I’m not. It was time to get out of the military. I was in a holding pattern that had nothing to do with where I wanted to go with my life.”
His reply hit a little too close to home. She shifted in her seat. “Do you work with Sawyer? I remember the two of you once talked about opening a company together.”
“No. I fly solo.”
She didn’t think he referred only to business.
Minutes later Carter’s car swept up the circular drive of a stone castle-style structure complete with twin octagonal turrets. A valet rushed to take his keys and another opened Phoebe’s door just in time for Carter to hand her out. Carter’s warm fingers wrapped around hers, sending a current of electricity up her arm. It always had been that way between them. She exhaled a pent-up breath when he released her, but her relief was short-lived when his palm settled against her spine. A shiver of awareness inched its way up her vertebrae.
She tightened her grip on her purse. “Wasn’t this a private residence when we were students at the university?”
“The family fell on hard times and sold it. Old money surrenders to new. The current owner turned the estate into a restaurant with dancing. He wants to work up to hosting weddings, but for now you might want to tell the senator it’s a good place for private parties.”
Carter seemed to know an awful lot about the owner’s plans. But Phoebe had no intention of dancing with Carter tonight or of telling her grandfather that she’d been on a date. The admission would lead to an inquisition and a discussion of the suitability of her escort. Grandfather was eager to marry her off—in a politically advantageous match, of course.
Phoebe paused in the palatial foyer. She could easily picture a bride sweeping down the wide marble staircase. An attractive blond hostess interrupted the mental image by greeting Carter by his first name then escorting them to a table in a private corner of what probably had been the formal drawing room of the private residence. Phoebe felt a spark of something that was certainly not jealousy each time the woman flashed Carter a blinding smile.
Candlelight flickered on the widely spaced tables and from wall sconces, giving the room an intimate air. Silverware and crystal glittered like diamonds in the soft light. Carter pulled out her chair and Phoebe noticed the single long-stemmed red rose on the snowy tablecloth in front of her chair. She sat and lifted the bud to inhale the heady fragrance. If this had been a true date she would have been bowled over by the romantic setting. But this wasn’t a date, and she wasn’t going to let herself be impressed. Much, she added grudgingly.
Carter seemed completely at ease with the opulent surroundings and deferential treatment. Twelve years ago he wouldn’t have been. If the hostess’s greeting hadn’t clued Phoebe in to the fact that Carter had been here before then his ordering without consulting the menu would have. Her menu didn’t list prices, but she didn’t need them to know this dinner would be a far cry from the economical meals and picnics of their past. They’d never shared expensive dinners because Carter couldn’t afford them and he’d refused to let her pay. The wine steward arrived, consulted with Carter and then departed.
Was the entire point of this evening to show her that he was now comfortable in her world? If so, why did he think she’d care? As if he’d read her thoughts he reached across the table and trapped her hand beneath his. Warmth traveled up her arm.
“It’s good to see you again, Phoebe.” His husky baritone and intent gaze made her stomach muscles quiver, and when his thumb stroked the inside of her wrist, she forgot to breathe. “Why don’t we go into the next room and dance until our meal is ready?”
The thought of being in Carter’s arms again made her light-headed, then an idea hit her with an ice-cold shower of sobriety. Did he think she’d tumble easily into his bed because of their past relationship? Well, he’d better think again. She wasn’t a wide-eyed innocent any longer. She’d been wined and dined by some of the slickest politicians and political wannabes in the nation’s capital—many of whom thought the best way to influence her grandfather was through her bed. She’d made a mistake once and become engaged before figuring out that she wasn’t the main attraction in the relationship. The experience had been enough to make her question the motives of every man who asked her out.
Anger bubbled in her blood. How could Carter believe her to be so easy, so gullible? She concealed her annoyance with a polite smile the way her grandmother had taught her and extracted her hand. “I don’t care to dance, thank you. How long have you been back in Chapel Hill?”
To give him credit, her failure to melt in her chair didn’t throw him. “Three years. What about you? Where do you live?”
“I divide my time between Raleigh and D.C.”
The wine arrived and Carter went through the tasting ritual. “Why are you still working with your grandfather?” he asked as soon as the steward departed.
Phoebe shifted in her seat and reached for her glass. “He needs me.”
“And if his presidential bid fails, what will you do?”
Good question. The year before her grandmother passed away she’d made Phoebe promise to look out for her grandfather if anything ever happened to her. Phoebe often wondered if Gran had had a premonition that undiagnosed ovarian cancer would take her life so swiftly. After the funeral, Phoebe had put her plans on hold to help her grandfather through his grief. The months she’d expected had lapsed into years until Phoebe had been delaying her own plans for so long that she’d finally quit making them.
Phoebe was in one of those holding patterns Carter had mentioned earlier. Not that she regretted the years at her grandfather’s side. She’d learned a lot, met world leaders and become very good at her job, so good in fact that she could work almost anywhere she wanted…. But if her grandfather’s presidential bid failed, Phoebe didn’t want to work for another politician. The joy of finding the poetry in the speeches had long since faded, and the appeal of twisting words to rouse patriotism or to hide blunders and weaknesses was gone. What kept her going was the knowledge that the work she did as part of her grandfather’s team made a difference.
What would she do with her life once her grandfather retired? The question rattled her, but it deserved thoughtful consideration when she wasn’t seated across from such a distraction.
She sipped her wine to alleviate the dryness in her mouth caused by fear of the unknown. Once upon a time, exploring the unfamiliar with Carter had thrilled her. Had she changed so much in the passing years? Had she become too much of a coward to try something new? “We’re anticipating a successful campaign. Should the outcome not go as projected then I’ll explore my alternatives.”
“Time has a way of getting away from you, Phoebe. If you don’t make decisions, the choices will dwindle until there are none.”
She wanted to ask what had made him so bitter, but refrained because she didn’t want to become involved. Get the pictures. Get out. “You’re suggesting I live for the moment? Just selfishly grab whatever I want with both hands and damn the consequences?”
The way her parents had.
He probably thought she’d grab him if he played his cards right. Although the thought tempted her, she wasn’t young and foolish any longer, and she didn’t do casual sex, especially not in Washington where who was sleeping with whom was the gossips’ favorite topic.
His gaze held hers. “I’m saying, figure out what you want and plot a strategy to achieve it before it’s too late, unless of course, you want your grandfather to keep calling the shots for you. What do you want, Phoebe?”
Knotting her fingers in her lap, she snuffed out the question before she could answer it. It didn’t really matter what she wanted. Her course had been set years ago. She would continue to write her grandfather’s speeches and act as his hostess as she had since graduation from Georgetown University. If she didn’t feel any enthusiasm for the plan, then the pictures were to blame. Once she no longer had to worry about them turning up in the press to humiliate her and anger her grandfather, she could get excited about the possibility of a whistle-stop tour of the country and later, living in the White House. In the meantime, she had research to do before she could begin drafting her grandfather’s declaration of candidacy speech.
She pasted on her best campaign smile. “I want my grandfather to win the election. He is by far the best candidate. Let me tell you why.”
Sortie one. A draw.
Carter folded his napkin at the end of the meal and battled frustration. Strategic withdrawal. Reevaluate the strategy. Approach from a different flank.
Phoebe had installed razor wire around herself in the past twelve years. She’d carefully sidestepped all personal questions and remained immune to every suggestive comment or look. Seducing her wouldn’t be as easy as he’d expected.
A heavy hand descended on his shoulder. Carter jerked his gaze upward and found Sam at his shoulder. He rose and returned Sam’s salute. “Great chow as usual, Sam.”
“You’re too kind, Captain,” Sam said in a voice heavily laced with sarcasm. “Who’s the pretty lady?”
Phoebe’s eyes widened as she took in all six feet, six inches of his forty-year-old, hard-as-nails, kick-your-ass-and-enjoy-it friend. Sam would be one scary dude to run into in an alley, and he didn’t look like any chef Carter had ever encountered, but he’d been a damned good Marine and a real team player.
“Phoebe, this is Sam Kalas. He kept our platoon fed. His cooking has been known to make a four-star general get on his knees and beg for seconds. Sam’s the owner and chef of this place.”
