“Speak for yourself.” Just like that his lap was full of frisky First Lady. Or at least the part of his lap she could get to with the steering wheel in the way.
It wasn’t gentlemanly of him, but he went for her panties first, banging his elbow against the door panel as he reached under that billowy orange skirt, then grinding his hip into the armrest as he whipped them down her shapely legs and pitched them out the car window.
Her sweet little tongue slipped from his mouth. “Did you just throw my panties out the window?”
“No.”
She laughed and reached for his zipper. “I want yours.”
“Oh, you’re going to get mine, all right.” He tore off the Wal-Mart pillow and slid across the seat, taking her with him. His knee scraped the dash, his head bumped the roof, but he didn’t care.
She threw her leg over his thighs to straddle him. This was too sweet. He nuzzled the little beaded heart at her throat, caught her bottom lip between his own. “I see you’ve done this before.”
“Dozens of times. I invented it.”
Damned if she didn’t have his pants open. And she was giving a whole new meaning to the term
full disclosure.
He’d decided last night that he wasn’t getting within ten feet of her without packing a condom. After he’d found what he needed, he grasped the tab on her zipper and pulled it down so he could slip the dress off her shoulders. Within seconds he was squeezing a small, hard nipple.
“That hurts,” she murmured. “Do it again.”
He smiled and did as she asked.
Something between a growl and a purr made a gentle vibration inside her mouth. He felt it with his tongue and it drove him crazy.
He pushed his hand under her skirt again and cupped her between those generously splayed thighs. She was wet and slick. He rubbed.
“Don’t . . . do . . . that . . .”
He slipped his finger inside her and whispered, “Is this better?”
She moaned and gripped his head between her hands, taking over their kiss, abrading her nipples against his shirt.
He had her cradled in his hand, but he was so wild for her that it wasn’t enough. He left that sweet warm place to grasp her hips. He lowered her . . .
She locked her knees. Brushed herself across him. Open. Soft damp feathers. Back and forth.
He groaned. His shirt was sticking to his chest, his muscles clenched. He found her breast. Sucked.
She was a siren, a vixen. Teasing and tormenting.
He drove up . . . pulled her down . . .
She gasped and let him into her body.
She was so new and eager that he tried to slow down, but she wanted to ride him in her own way. He needed to enfold her and protect her and engorge himself upon her all at the same time. She was wicked, magnificent, unbelievably precious.
The interior of the car became their only world, and the night breeze rustling through the riverbank trees their only music. They clung to each other as if no one else existed. And then they catapulted into space.
The next morning Nealy sat on the back step with her knees tucked under her nightgown and gazed into a backyard shining with the dew of a new Iowa morning. As steam rose from the coffee mug next to her, she breathed in the knowledge that had awakened her.
She had fallen in love with Mat.
Without wanting to, she’d fallen in love with his big voice and crooked smile, his booming laughter and agile brain. And last night, his generous, uninhibited love-making. But most of all, she’d fallen in love with the way his basic sense of decency wouldn’t let him turn his back on the two little girls he wanted out of his life. And so, in less than a week, she had unwittingly given him her heart. A heart he hadn’t asked for.
How could she have let something so damaging happen? And she hadn’t even seen it coming. She’d been so intent on chalking up her feelings to lust that she hadn’t taken into consideration what she knew about herself—she was a woman who would never give herself to a man she didn’t love.
It was hard to conceive of a more hopeless match. She was wise enough in the ways of celebrity to know she could never fit into his world, and she couldn’t imagine him fitting into hers. Why couldn’t he be an Ivy Leaguer who’d just made partner in a prestigious Washington law firm? Why couldn’t she be a schoolteacher, or a social worker, or a bookstore clerk?
As she tortured herself with might-have-beens, she thought of the many ways in which they were a perfect match. She was cool to his hot, quiet to his loud, thoughtful to his impulsive. But none of that made any difference.
She drowned her despair in the shower and, afterward, sneaked into the motor home to get Button before she woke up her sister. Even though Lucy didn’t complain about it, she seldom got to sleep in like a normal teenager. When Nealy returned to the kitchen, she flipped on the radio.
“Today marks the eighth day of the disappearance of First Lady Cornelia . . .”
She flipped it back off.
Mat got up just as Nealy was feeding Button her cereal. He gave her a toothpaste kiss, then asked her to stay in the house while he went out for a run. She was dividing her time between pondering yesterday’s
Wall Street Journal
report on federal interest rates and keeping an eye on Button when Lucy appeared on the sun-porch shortly after ten o’clock.
“Are Bertis and Charlie here? They said me and Button could go swimming at their campground. The pool has a big slide and three diving boards.”
“I just talked to Bertis on the phone, and they’re going to pick you up around noon. I’ll keep Button here.”
The baby squawked with displeasure as Squid eluded her by hiding under the couch.
“Where’s Mat?”
“He went out for a run. He mentioned something about the two of you going over to that playground across the street to shoot some baskets when he got back.”
“Really?” Her face lit up.
“But I told him there was no way you’d do something as silly as shooting baskets.”
“You didn’t!”
Nealy laughed and got up from the couch. “You’re such a dork.” She grabbed Lucy and hugged her as hard as she could.
“You’re so weird.” Lucy curled against her.
“I know. That’s why we like each other.”
“Who said I liked you?”
“You didn’t have to say it.” Without thinking, she kissed the top of the teenager’s head. For a few seconds, Lucy seemed to go limp in her arms, then she pulled away, as if a simple kiss were too much for her. Or as if she thought Nealy might take it back if she didn’t get away first.
Nealy smiled at her. “I’ve got an idea, but don’t make fun of me, okay?”
“Why would I make fun of you?” Lucy sat cross-legged on the floor and grabbed Button for a morning cuddle.
“Because I want us to do something that you’re going to think is really dumb.”
Lucy grinned. “Like what else is new?”
“I want to do makeovers.”
“Get real!”
“No, really. I want to.”
“Because you think I wear too much makeup, right?”
“You do wear too much makeup. Come on, Luce, it’ll be fun. Get your stuff and I’ll get mine.”
Lucy regarded her with teenage condescension. “If it’ll make you happy.”
“I’ll be delirious.”
After they’d both gotten their cosmetics, Lucy insisted on fixing up Nealy first. While Button toddled after a long-suffering Squid, the teenager applied layers of makeup to Nealy’s face, then surveyed the results with a matchmaker’s satisfaction. “You look so hot. Wait till Mat sees you.”
“I’m going to look like such a dweeb.”
“But you’ll be a cute dweeb.”
She set to work, applying only the lightest touch of eye makeup, then running her own pale lip pencil over Lucy’s mouth, followed by a layer of colorless Blistex. “This is what Sandra Bullock uses instead of lipstick.”
“Like how would you know?”
Like Sandra Bullock had told her. “I read it in a magazine.”
Lucy regarded herself a little less critically.
Nealy pulled out three pink butterfly pins she’d hidden in the pocket of her shorts. She’d bought them as a surprise, and now she slipped them into Lucy’s bangs.
Lucy stared at her reflection. “Ohmygod, Nell, they’re so cool.”
“Look at you, Luce. You’re completely gorgeous. Promise me you’ll only wear that heavy makeup if you’re having one of those I-feel-like-a-slut days.”
Lucy rolled her eyes.
“You don’t need to hide behind a mask,” Nealy said softly. “You know exactly who you are.”
Lucy began picking at the arm of the chair. Nealy decided to give her a few minutes to think about what she’d said and picked up Button, who was trying to stuff her head in the wastebasket. “Come on, punkin’. It’s your turn.”
She set the baby on the chair, dabbed the tip of her nose with pink lipstick, then drew on a delicate set of whiskers with Lucy’s eyebrow pencil. Lucy giggled.
Button was carrying on a delighted monologue with her reflection when the sultan of the palace walked into his harem. He’d finished his run, and he had a basketball tucked against his sweaty T-shirt. All three of them turned at once.
The sultan was wise in the ways of women, and he knew exactly what to do. “Who’s this cute little mouse?” He rubbed Button’s downy head, and she gave a round of baby applause.
Then his eyes settled on Lucy.
Nealy saw a whole world of feelings pass across her face: uncertainty, longing, and the protective armor of her sullenness.
“You look beautiful,” he said simply.
She took a shaky breath. “You’re just saying that.”
“I say what I mean.”
She began to glow. He squeezed her shoulder, then slowly turned to Nealy, but her appearance seemed to have left him at a loss for words. He studied the heavy foundation, the sooty eyes with their thick coat of black mascara, and her crimson mouth.
“Doesn’t Nell look great,” Lucy exclaimed. “I mean, if she didn’t have that stupid pillow on, she’d look like a model.”
“She does have commercial appeal.”
He countered Nealy’s raised eyebrows with a grin, then turned back to Lucy. “Come on, kid. Get your shoes and let’s go shoot some baskets. Nell, stay here, you got it?”
“Got it.” She tossed him a salute.
Lucy frowned. “You shouldn’t let him boss you around so much.”
“She likes it.” Mat gave Lucy a gentle push toward the door.
Nealy smiled after them. Watching Lucy these days was like seeing a flower bloom.
She hummed to herself as she put away their mess, then gave Button a snack and changed her. Afterward, she decided to take her across the street to the playground so they could watch the basketball game.
She was just stepping out the front door when a dark blue Taurus pulled up in front of the house. The doors of the sedan opened, and a man and a woman dressed in business suits got out. They had “government agents” written all over them, and she felt the blood rush from her head.
Not yet! She had a house and a dog. She had two little girls and a man with whom she’d fallen in love! Just a little longer.
She wanted to run back inside and lock the door, but she pulled Button closer and forced herself to the edge of the front porch.
Both of them studied her carefully as they came up the sidewalk. “I’m Agent DeLucca with the FBI,” the woman said. “This is Agent Williams, Secret Service.” They took in her stomach, and she silently blessed Mat for forcing her to wear the padding.
She kept her overly made-up face carefully blank. “Yes?”
“You’re Mrs. Case.” Williams made it a statement instead of a question, but she thought she detected a thread of doubt in his eyes.
“Mrs. Case? You mean the First Lady?” She attempted Lucy’s you’re-a-moron look. “Yeah, right. That’s me.”
“Could we see some identification, ma’am?” the female agent asked.
“You mean like a driver’s license?” Her heart was pounding so hard she was afraid they’d hear it.
“That would be fine.”
“I don’t have one. Someone stole my purse a couple of days ago when I was at a Laundromat.” She swallowed. “Is that what this is about? Did you find my purse?”
She saw their hesitation. They thought they had her, but they weren’t absolutely certain. A spark of hope flared inside her. If she’d been positively identified, there’d be a battalion of agents here, not just these two.
“We’d like to talk with you privately, ma’am. Could we go inside?”
Once she let them in the house, they could interrogate her for hours. “I’d rather talk here.”
Mat came roaring up like the cavalry. His T-shirt clung to his chest and one of his sweat socks had collapsed near his ankle. “What’s going on?”
“I—I think they found my purse,” she managed.
Mat didn’t miss a beat. He immediately turned to confront them. “Do you have her purse?”
Neither agent responded. Instead, the woman asked for his driver’s license.
Lucy, looking wide-eyed and nervous, ran up as he handed it over. She had the basketball clutched to her chest as if it were a life jacket. She recognized authority when she saw it, and Nealy realized she thought they were after her. “It’s okay, Luce. They want to talk to me.”
“Why?”
“Do you have any identification at all, ma’am?” Agent Williams asked her.
“Everything was in my purse.”
“She’s my wife, “ Mat said. “Nell Jorik. That’s all the identification you need.” The female agent gave him a hard look. “Mr. Jorik, we happen to know you’re single.”
“I was until a month ago. Nell and I got married in Mexico. And why do you know anything about me at all?”
“Whose children are these, sir?”
“My ex-wife’s. She died about six weeks ago.”
Lucy crept closer to Nealy.
Williams spoke. “Ma’am, could we step inside so we can talk in private?”
She shook her head. “No, the place is a mess.”
She could see that they wanted to press the issue, and she blessed the Fourth Amendment. She decided to take a chance. “Luce, this is Agent DeLucca and Agent Williams. They’re looking for Cornelia Case.”