Just Let Go… (10 page)

“The other night I saw you for the first time in ten years. We didn’t have a lot of time for words.” It was a crude insult. And it hurt.

Gillian stomped on his foot. Hard. And was somewhat pleased with his quiet
oof
of pain. “You will not be a jackass. Not now. Did you think I wouldn’t have believed you?”

“Would you, Gillian? Would you really?” He didn’t bother to answer his own question, but walked briskly to the valet, as if he couldn’t bear her company.

While the nice young valet tucked her into her seat, Gillian quietly seethed, steeped in guilt and frustration and the heavy knowledge that she had made a serious mistake, and she had hurt him in the process.

The quiet engine rumbled to life, and they pulled out onto the avenue, a glorious summer day, but she didn’t have the heart to appreciate it. “I think I would have believed you,” she said quietly. “Now, granted, a career choice that was a bit more modest might have been easier….”

“I could tell you he’s in retail. Is that easier?”

Oh, he was mad, she could see it steaming off him, his jaw tight, his face flushed, but fury was so much easier for her to handle than pain. Especially pain that she had caused. “Is he in retail?”

He slapped a hand on the wheel. Real anger. Honest anger. Tyler was a sore spot. Oh, sure, people could think Austen was the son of Satan himself. Why, he’d pull out his pitchfork and his oh-sugar wink to prove it, but his brother? His brother walked on cardiothoracic water.

Gillian tucked away that knowledge.

“I would have believed you,” Gillian said, her voice low.

Austen glanced over, his sunglasses firmly in place. “Why should you?” Then he shook his head. “Why does it matter?”

“It matters to me. It obviously matters to you, so let’s not lie about that. Why didn’t you tell me about him? What did he do after he left town?”

It took another three minutes before she finally convinced him to trust her. As they drove along the highway, she listened to him talk about his brother, about how Tyler had been the smart one to think ahead, to plan to get out right from the start. Leaving Austen alone. He left out that part, glossed over it with jokes and spin. But Gillian knew better. Then he talked about Tyler going to med school, Tyler growing into a world-class surgeon. She heard the pride in Austen’s voice. Pride for Tyler, but never himself. She tucked that little bit of info away, too. The Saturday traffic was heavy due to road construction, but she didn’t mind the delay. It was a chance for her to learn.

Once off the freeway, the houses changed from modest brick to palatial Texas palaces, hidden behind automatic gates, and emerald green lawns. Austen pulled into a long driveway where efficient young boys in tuxedos collected keys and directed traffic. Gillian noted the white stone mansion with its formal white columns, its wraparound porch and the state flag flying high and proud from the flagpole in the yard.

When she was in high school, she would have given her eyeteeth to live in such a house, but not now. She studied Austen as he emerged from the car, but he wasn’t showing anything at all. She took his arm, noted the tense muscles underneath the elegant suit. “I’m sorry. I leap to assumptions faster than most superheroes can fly. Sometimes those assumptions are wrong.”

He nodded once. “Maybe I should have said something, but I didn’t want to know.”

She stopped, let a well-dressed couple pass by them, and then tugged at his arm. “Know what?”

He hesitated. “If you would believe me. I didn’t want to know.”

Touched by the admission, Gillian reached out and took his hand. He let her, and for a minute they stood in the middle of the sidewalk, amidst the fragile blooms of heirloom roses, and Gillian realized he’d let her see. Only a flash, only a hint, but he’d trusted her.

Grateful for that, she gave him her best smile. It wasn’t the “aren’t you special” smile, not the “let’s all remain calm” smile, but a real and true smile that few ever saw. A wavering smile full of all the uncertainty that she never showed.

“You ready for this?” he asked, nodding toward the heavy oak door with its lion head knocker. A lion’s head? Pretentious much?

He slid his sunglasses in his pocket, then straightened his tie, and she shooed his hands away, showing him how sartorial perfection was done. “You look great,” she told him, daring to press a kiss to his cheek.

“You can’t act too smart,” he warned, as if she was a moron.

She fluttered her lashes shamelessly. “Now, honey. Don’t act like I haven’t lived in this state my entire life. A little leg, a wide-eyed smile, witty repartee, but never enough brain to wither a manhood. They are so fragile, you know.”

His mouth curved and he kissed her once, full of awe and all the respect she deserved, and she felt the prickles run through her, all the way down to her toes. It wasn’t fair that Austen Hart was the one man that could do this to her. Not fair at all.

T
HE SWEEPING
expanse of backyard was filled with Texas politicians. Austen scanned the layout, noticing who was talking to whom, taking a hard look at who seemed worried, who seemed happy, and the most vulnerable of all: those who seemed a little too happy.

Budget season was never pretty, and this year had been especially contentious. Two weeks ago, the governor had called the legislators back, and now Austin was swarming with sweaty statesmen and women who really wanted to be at home campaigning for the fall elections.

“Is that the governor?” Gillian whispered, nodding toward Miles Carver, who seemed remarkably cool for a man in a suit and tie.

“That’s him. Want to meet him?”

She thought for a moment, and then shook her head. “Not yet. Can’t be needy or pushy.”

Austen smothered his laugh, and she shot him a sideways look, masked with a sweet smile. “Why is that funny?”

“You can be pushy sometimes.”

“Pushy females are tacky. I’m not tacky.”

“Threatening to shoot a tire is pushy.”

She drew herself up to her full height, which almost reached his shoulder. Almost. “I considered that a justified use of force. It worked.”

Right then, out of the corner of his eye, Austen noticed Jack Haywood in deep, no doubt diabolical discussions on the far patio. There were four state reps surrounding him, two looking happy, and two looking miffed. Austen noted the two miffed ones. Fred Templeton from Fort Worth, and Sherry Hunter from El Paso. In state dealings, El Paso was never happy, sort of the bastard child in the money chain, but Austen knew Rep. Hunter was new to the capital and still believed in the concept of honest government. She would be perfect.

Fred was a harder sell, but he and the governor never saw eye to eye. He could be turned. “We start by throwing a little monkey wrench in the budget vote. It’s the governor’s first priority, and he’ll do a lot to get it passed. We take away two votes, come to the governor and tell him that we can get two back. It’s the leverage we need to reopen the negotiations on the rail route.”

Gillian noticed where he was looking. “Those two? I love her dress. I think it’s Chanel. Two years ago, the spring line.”

She saw his surprised expression and shrugged. “I always talk fashion when my nerves get jittery. It’s sort of a default reflex.”

It was nice to see Gillian nervous. It made her seem more real, more human…
more possible
.

No.

After clearing his brain of such possibilities, Austen rolled his eyes in mock exasperation. “As long as it’s not hair.”

She stroked his arm in mock seduction. “You don’t mind taking me to Armands to get my highlights done, do you, you big ol’ studmuffin?”

Not waiting for his answer, she headed for the first two targets. In two minutes flat, Gillian had made plans for a shopping trip with Rep. Hunter and emailed a copy of her secret rib recipe to Rep. Templeton.

Why was he even surprised?

Austen sidled up to Fred. “Hey, Fred? Can I talk to you for a minute?” he asked, pulling the man aside. Next, Austen plucked a glass of whiskey from a passing waiter and then swirled the ice, pretending to be deep in thought.

Templeton was a more seasoned politician, but even so, his long, thin face grew worried. “Something wrong?”

Austen stared up at the sky, pursed his lips and sighed. “No, Fred, actually it’s something that I think you’re gonna like.” He looked back at the man, weighing his trustworthiness. “You can’t tell anybody, at least not yet, but I knew you were sweating the vote on the new defense contract in your district—”

“You know something?” asked Fred eagerly.

Austen laughed, but in a nice way. “Not about that, no, but I know you didn’t want to go against the governor on the budget, but you felt, in your heart, it was the right thing to do…” Austen swore under his breath. “I can’t believe they wanted to cut school funding. In this day and age?” Sorrowfully he shook his head. “Sorry, gets me all fired up just thinking about it.”

Fred’s earnest blue eyes narrowed. “I didn’t know you cared.”

Austen put his free hand to his heart. “We can’t ignore the children.”

After that frankly showy gesture, Fred got straight to the point. “What does this have to do with me?”

Austen worried; here he was considering the political consequences of doing the right thing for the first time in his career. Of course, he still wasn’t doing the right thing. His eyes met Gillian’s. But at least he was doing it for the right reasons.

“It’s okay,” Fred reassured him, because he was that sort of man. “You can trust me.”

Austen met Fred’s earnest gaze and nodded solemnly. “Miles is talking to Washington. He’s thinking of taking the federal dollars. Now, you can see why he doesn’t want that to get out before the election.”

Fred nodded. “Political suicide.”

Austen took a deep swig of whiskey, as if driven to drink by the very thought of such a kamikaze move. “Exactly, but come December, two weeks
after
the election, the jobs numbers are going to have to be—” Austen held up quote fingers “—‘readjusted,’ because there might have been some statistical errors in the calculations. The governor knows it, and the president, well, he’s going to be his knight in shining federally mandated armor.”

Fred frowned. “But what does that have to do with me?”

Austen hid his frustration. He was used to dealing with people who knew enough to analyze every fact from their own self-interest first, before actually listening.

“The budget is moot. Shoot it down. Keep your conscience clear and your voting record clean. They like that in Fort Worth. A man with principles.”

Fred considered that, and his narrow face glowed with the idea of it. The man would sleep easier tonight, and it was all because of Austen.

Austen winked at Gillian, a silent “one down” and made his way to Rep. Hunter, dumping the whiskey in a planter.

One to go.

“Y
OU’RE NERVOUS
.”

Never liking to appear anything less than perfect, Gillian tamped down the urge to smooth her hair. “No, I’m not. I’m never nervous.” In the end, she settled for the slight fluff of her ends. Because of the heat, of course. “Is it always this easy?”

He shot her a flat look. “It’s never this easy. But right now it’s budget season and the economy’s in the toilet, and the oil industry is torn between being scared of alternative energy sources and not wanting to look too arrogant. If it wasn’t this easy then I would have driven four hundred miles back here without a second thought, and you would still be in Tin Cup, arresting shoplifters and herding livestock off the highway. And in general, everybody would get screwed. Although, if you didn’t have me to help, you’d still be screwed. The budget’s the key to the kingdom. Once the governor thinks it’s toast, he’ll be ready to deal. I might not be able to make the high-dollar promises that Haywood did, but I know what the little guys want. Nobody else pays attention, but you never know when you need the little guys on your side.”

Austen seemed almost proud. “You turn one state legislator, and now you’re getting cocky?” she teased.

This time, yes, he was definitely proud. “It’s the way you’re undressing me with your eyes,” he teased in return.

“Don’t think I can’t tell what you’re thinking. I told you I wasn’t here for the sex.”

This time, she did smooth her hair.

They were on dangerous ground here, acting like lovers, acting like friends. It didn’t feel like an act, and Gillian knew that at least on her part it wasn’t an act.

Languidly, Austen looked her over, dark eyes lingering, and she could feel the tightness in her stomach, the heat between her thighs. “Your mouth says no, but I wonder what parts are currently saying yes?”

She managed a sophisticated tinkle of laughter. “Is this what power does to a man? Make him stupid and horny?”

“The two words are redundant.” He pushed back the hair from her face, an odd, gentle gesture for a womanizing lady-killer. “Are you having a good time?”

Gillian cleared her throat, pretending she wasn’t affected. “It’s a nice party. The canapés are to die for. I got the recipe from the chef. I’m thinking I’ll surprise Mindy with them at the shower.”

From across the lawn, she could see the elegant brunette with mile-high legs that she probably spread like…

No, no, no.

“She keeps staring at you,” Gillian muttered, not wanting to sound jealous, but still sounding jealous. Not that she wanted to be jealous of a…

No, no, no.

“Ignore her,” Austen instructed, sipping at his beer, yet studiously, suspiciously avoiding the other woman’s attention.

“I want to ignore her, but eventually you will have to converse and likely she doesn’t handle awkward social situations with any sort of grace and polish, and I—”

Austen lifted her hand, turned her palm out, and kissed her wrist. It was elaborate, showy, possessive and more than a bit sexy. Gillian felt the blush in every inch of her body. “That was not necessary.”