Private Indiscretions (9 page)

At one point Arianna held up two letters. “Apparently, Senator, you're a liberal pig and a conservative prig.”

Dana had looked amused. “Really? Let me see.” She read the contradictory notes and smiled. “They're talking about the same piece of legislation, too.”

“Do you respond to these letters?” Arianna asked.

“I thank them for expressing their views.”

“Ah. How polite of you,” Nate said.

“I'm known for my good manners.”

Although they'd kept reading, Sam wasn't sure the answers were to be found in the past. The source of the threat appeared to be either Harley or someone with a political agenda.

He climbed the stairs, exhausted. He'd sent Dana to bed an hour ago when she fell asleep sitting up. Nate and Arianna lasted a half hour longer. Sam had stayed in the library just thinking until his eyes closed as well.

He walked down the hall toward his assigned guest room, came to her bedroom door and stopped. It was open a crack. He was tempted. Instead, he grabbed the handle to pull the door shut.

“Sam?”

She'd been waiting for him? He opened the door slightly but didn't look in. “What?”

The bedding rustled then she was pulling the door open, light from the hall bathing her. He didn't know what he'd expected her to wear but it wasn't the flannel pajama bottoms and a tank top that fit her like a second skin. Her hair fell over her shoulders to rest temptingly on the upper curve of her breasts. He clenched his fists.

“Do you want to come in?” she asked.

“No.”

“You don't want to finish what we started this afternoon?”

He tried to read her expression. Her eyes didn't darken, her jaw didn't clench. “Good night, Dana.”

“Wait. Are we attending the funeral together or separately?”

He crossed his arms. “We're going to have to pretend to have a relationship.”

“We are?”

“Yeah. Nate and Arianna figure it'll bring out the truth from Harley if he's jealous.”

“So, that means what? We hold hands or something?”

“Whatever the situation warrants.”

The glint in her eyes might have pleased him another time. Women didn't often tease him—which said a lot about him, he supposed. He liked that Dana did.

“We might have to kiss?” she asked, moving in on him.

He didn't step back but he wanted to. A big step. A leap. A bound. “You might have to look at me like, you know.”

“Like I'd like to have my way with you? Would you have to look at me like that, too?” she asked, enjoying this way too much.

“If it becomes necessary.”

She laughed quietly. “You're so serious.”

“That's what you're paying me for.”

That stopped her momentarily, as he'd intended. Then she moved even closer.

“Your single-mindedness is a comfort, I admit, but if you could lighten up just a little, as Arianna and Nate sometimes do, I wouldn't feel so increasingly impotent.”

“Don't hold your breath.” He softened the words with a teasing tone.

She smiled. “You think we need to practice the kissing part,” she said, “so it looks like we've done it a lot? We sort of skipped that this afternoon in the passageway, and last night's kiss in the garden was pretty tame.”

Was she flirting? Dangerous move, if she was. What he felt for her wasn't the crush he'd had in high school but a
man's attraction to a woman. “I think I've got the skill to pull it off,” he said coolly.

“I'm not sure I do.”

“You were fine last night.” It seemed like a month ago. “Good night.”

He took a couple of steps.

“Sam?”

He heard an urgency in her voice and turned around.

“You said you keep a low profile. Won't this ruin that? Are you worried about—”

He hauled her into his arms, backed her into the room and against a wall, and kissed her. Devoured her. Absorbed her. She tasted like heaven. She made glorious little sounds of pleasure. She moved her body against his until they were molded together, heat to heat. Her fingers dug into his back, dragged lower then stopped on his rear. He did the same to her.

She whispered his name between kisses once, twice, then a third time with a new kind of demand. He gathered his resistance from an idiotic place inside his mind willing to give it up.

“Consider us practiced,” he said then walked away as fast as his aroused body would let him. Sleep on that, Senator Sterling, he thought. You sleep on that.

Because he sure as hell wasn't going to.

T
hey drew attention the moment they climbed out of Sam's car in the church parking lot. From behind his sunglasses Sam inspected his surroundings, his emotions a complicated mix of sorrow and pleasure. Only in his wildest fantasies had he imagined being in public with Dana on his arm. That they were there because his friend had died made the moment bittersweet. Mr. G. had always included news of Dana when he passed along information through the years, and his being friends with her parents meant the news was current.

He glanced at Dana walking beside him, greeting people with a nod, ignoring their curious stares. He recognized only a few people. Harley wasn't among them.

He forced himself to enter the church, then he and Dana were escorted to a front pew on the center aisle. He made a point of leaning and whispering to her, forcing her to angle closer. The gesture would look intimate, especially when she adjusted his tie, which he'd twisted to one side
a little as they sat down. Once they were settled, however, his mind was free to wander from the job at hand.

The coffin was closed, and he was grateful for that. A photograph sat atop it that so captured the spirit of the man, it seemed as if he were there. That was how he should be remembered.

Sam pressed a hand to his jacket pocket and felt the shape of the valedictorian medal nestling there. An ache settled in his chest then spread. His arms and legs were like anchors caught in river mud.

Dammit. He needed to tune out. The last funeral he'd attended was his mother's, right here in this church, when he was ten years old. He'd sat in the same pew, his father beside him, reeking of whiskey, ignoring him. He could remember slicking back his hair with water and polishing his shoes by himself for the first time, a task his mother had done with him; she'd applied the polish, he buffed. He hadn't known how to iron, so his shirt was wrinkled. He'd pulled at it and pulled at it, trying to stretch out the wrinkles, but nothing helped. In desperation he'd tried to iron his shirt but had scorched a huge brown mark into the fabric. He'd cried in frustration, burying his head under a pillow so his father wouldn't hear.

Although he'd seen the Gianninis at church before, he'd never spoken to them. They took him under their wing when his father left him behind after the service. The memories were vivid. Rosa and her lavender-powder smell; Mr. G. and his kind, consoling voice. They'd seemed old to him at the time, but they were only in their early fifties.

Sam reached for Dana's hand, pulling it into his lap, linking fingers. He felt her silent question but didn't—couldn't—answer. The minister came through a side door with Rosa, her arm tucked in his, her gray hair beauty-parlor perfect, as always. The minister seated her next to family members in the aisle seat opposite Sam's. When she saw him, breathtaking grief crumpled her face. She started to rise. Sam excused himself from Dana and went to her,
kneeling down, accepting an embrace surprisingly strong from a woman not even five feet tall.

“You came,” she said, her lavender scent making its way past the many floral tributes on display. “Thank you, Sam. It means so much.”

“If you ever need anything, Rosa, I'm a phone call away. Promise you'll call.”

“Sweet boy, of course.”

He heard a low buzz of conversation as he returned to his seat.

“I hadn't realized you were close to the Gianninis,” Dana whispered, brushing something from his jacket. “It makes sense now. He's the one who kept you informed.”

He stared straight ahead. “He loved me. After my mother died he and Rosa were the only ones who loved me.”

Sam couldn't believe he'd said those words. The scene in front of him blurred. He swallowed.

“Oh, Sam,” she said quietly, tenderly. “I'm so sorry.”

Suddenly he was glad he'd come, glad that it made Rosa happy. He was learning that confronting his past was the only way to make room for his future.

The service started. Hymns were sung, several people spoke, Dana being the last. Sam admired her poise and grace as she walked to the podium. She was accustomed to the spotlight, but her warmth won people over, not her notoriety.

“We called him Mr. G.,” she began. “Not because his name was a tongue twister to pronounce, although it was, but because he was respected and loved in equal measure.”

The short but eloquent speech described her early memories of him at backyard barbecues with her parents, of math puzzles he always maneuvered people into trying, of his heart and kindness and philanthropy. When she was through, she stopped to hug Rosa before returning to her seat.

Sam put his arm around her and brushed her hair with
his lips, more for his comfort than hers, inhaling her perfume. At some point today he'd stopped playing the role he'd intended but had slipped back into the one of years ago, his heart in danger again—and with nothing really changed. She was still unattainable.

 

After the burial everyone moved from the church cemetery into the hall for a buffet and conversation. Dana didn't want to spend hours talking with people. She wanted to let some things settle in, like Sam's surprising connection with the Gianninis. On the other hand she was so enjoying his attention that she wanted to linger in public.

His complexity tempted her in ways no other man had, and the pleasure of holding his hand was one she didn't want to give up.

She felt him draw her away from the crowd slightly. His voice was hushed. “I know it's important that you mingle, but I can't allow you to do it alone. I apologize up front for not letting you have any private conversations. At this point, everyone is suspect.”

“It's okay. I understand. Harley just got here.”

“Yeah, I saw him pull in to the parking lot.”

“His timing is amazing. He skips the funeral but makes sure he arrives in time for the schmoozing.”

“Or,” Sam said, “he heard you were here.”

“With you,” she added.

“Isn't it interesting that we so easily threaten him.”

Dana would have responded except that Rosa came up to them right then and accepted more hugs.

“I heard you're working with the high school to start a math scholarship in Ernie's name,” Rosa said to Sam. “That the entries will come to me to choose a winner each year.”

“Details to come. Is there anything I can do for you?” he asked.

Dana found it interesting that Sam changed the subject so quickly. Was he the driving force behind the scholarship
or the monetary backing or both? And why wouldn't he want recognition?

“I'm doing all right for now,” Rosa said. She turned to Dana. “I hadn't heard you were…a twosome.”

“It's a recent development.”

“Well, you should know a few things about this young man.”

“Rosa,” Sam cautioned.

“What? I didn't promise to keep secrets. Ernie did.”

“When you're married, keeping a secret applies to both spouses.”

“Is that so? And just when did you become an expert on the matter?”

“At this very moment.”

“Because it's convenient for you. Either go away or keep your mouth shut. I have something to say to Dana.” She turned her back on Sam. “I haven't met anyone who has come as far as Sam. He had every right to be bitter. Instead he raised himself and took his responsibilities much more seriously than that drunkard of a father deserved.”

“Please,” Sam said. “It was long ago.”

Dana felt the extent of Sam's discomfort but was so fascinated with the topic, she wouldn't have dreamed of stopping Rosa from talking.

“You see? He can't take a compliment because they were never given to him. Yet even before he was a teenager he was doing odd jobs to help pay for rent and food.”

“Odd jobs provided by the Gianninis,” he interjected. “For more money than the jobs were worth.”

The older woman ignored him. “He added more responsibility every year, covered more of the expenses. After he left, he sent money to Ernie every month to help take care of that man who didn't deserve to call himself a father. Sam paid for his funeral and a proper burial.” She put a hand on his arm. “You didn't owe him that. You didn't owe him anything. I know I've embarrassed you, Sam, but someone other than me needs to know the truth about you.
You had a stigma attached to you because of your father. It wasn't fair.”

“Life isn't fair.”

“Don't spout clichés at me, young man.”

Rosa invited the minister to join them as he approached, then others came along. Harley hovered on the fringes, squinting at Dana and Sam and their joined hands.

“Even Harley wouldn't make a scene here,” Sam said quietly. “We need to go outside. He'll follow.”

He chose the side of the church that faced the parking lot instead of the cemetery, Dana noticed. They sat on a wooden bench and waited.

“Are you sure this is going to work?” she asked after a few minutes.

“It would be out of character for him to let an opportunity slip by. His ego took a big hit at the reunion.”

A van pulled in to the parking lot, the logo of a Sacramento news station on the side. Out hopped a cameraman and woman reporter. Harley conveniently wandered outside at that moment.

“Gee, I wonder who's responsible for a TV crew showing up,” Dana said, then realized what it could mean to Sam. “What now?”

“We see it through.”

“Sam. I can't ask this of you. I can't. Just go away until the cameraman is gone. Please. I'm not going to be responsible for taking away your privacy.”

“I knew it would be a possibility.”

How much debt could she owe him? “Do I explain you?”

“It doesn't matter what you say. Harley will give them my name.”

“Senator Sterling,” the reporter called out. “May I have a few minutes of your time?”

The camera was rolling.

Dana and Sam stood. “I'm here in a personal capacity today. I won't be making a public statement.”

“Yes. I understand this—” she referred to her notes “—Ernest Giannini was a teacher?”

“A wonderful teacher and an old family friend.”

The reporter shoved the microphone at Sam. “Did you know the deceased?”

“Everyone who went to high school here knew him,” Dana said as Sam stood mute. She liked that he was going to make it hard for them. “I'm not news here, however. You need to go inside and talk to his family and the rest of the people who loved him.”

“Senator, have you made a decision about reelection?”

She kept her tone even. “A friend of mine passed away this week. This day is about him. That's all I have to say.”

The reporter gave the cut signal to the cameraman. “Off the record, Senator?”

“His name was Ernest Giannini, and he was an amazing man,” Dana responded with a smile. “Go talk to his wife, Rosa. She'll tell you.”

“It'll be interesting to see if they use any footage,” Sam said after they left. Harley stopped the reporter outside the hall. She wrote in her notebook. “You know the story they're after is about how one of the state's most eligible women is finally showing up in public with a date.”

“I hope it hasn't ruined things for you.”

“People will forget me.”

She knew it was a throwaway line designed not to make her feel guilty, but it hurt. “You underestimate people's interest in my love life. After the official year of mourning passed, I could feel a lot of attention toward me about when I would date. Who I would date. And the most interesting part was how women related to me.”

“In what way?”

“They talked to me about their husbands more. Complained more, actually. As if I should be
glad
I didn't have to deal with a husband's flaws and quirks anymore.”

He tipped his head and smiled. “Who's underestimating now, Dana? If they were telling you the down and dirty
about their husbands, it was because they perceived you as a threat and were warning you off.”

Dana hadn't considered that. Why would she be a threat? In her business she dealt with more men than women, but it was just that, business.

Harley swaggered over. “Well, well, well. Aren't we cozy? The Princess and the Loser. Think Hollywood would be interested?”

“Jealous?” Sam asked.

He hitched up his pants. “You may think you're the chosen one, Little Miz Dana, but I've got news for you. You aren't as popular as you think. I wouldn't run again if I was you.”

Dana felt Sam tense. “You trying to give me advice, Harley? You?” she asked.

“Just tellin' it like it is. People gave you a lot of leeway before 'cause they felt sorry for you, but this time it'll be different.” He leaned toward her. “I know somethin' about you, Miz Clean as a Whistle.”

“Are you threatening me?”

“Me? Never. I'm just remindin' you, bitch—”

Sam slammed him against the wall then kneed him in the groin to keep him there. Harley's white Resistol tumbled from his head to the ground.

“Let him go,” Dana said urgently. “The cameraman…”

When Sam released him, Harley almost lost his footing. “Did you get that?” Harley called to the cameraman, who'd hefted his camera on his shoulder but was too late to film the confrontation. He and the reporter kept walking toward their van. Harley swiped his hat from the ground and dusted it off. “Feelin' pretty safe with your bodyguard, huh, Dana?”

“As a matter of fact, yes.”

He jammed his hat on his head, tipped it down low over his forehead. “You were a prissy thing even in high school.”

“And you were always an idiot.” People began to mill
out of the building. Several slowed down to see what was going on as they walked toward their cars. She didn't need more rumors than were already in the mix. “Let's go tell Rosa goodbye, Sam.”