Scandalous (4 page)

Suddenly Vaughn tore herself from Justin's embrace. Breathless and shaky, she turned away, commanding composure. Justin clasped her shoulders in a firm grip. Her felt her tense beneath his fingertips. Slowly he turned her around to face him, his own heart ready to burst with the unnatural rapid beating.

When she turned, Justin fully expected to see doubt, longing, confusion, happiness—even desire, spilling across her exquisite face. Any of those emotions he could easily have dealt with. But not the look of pure dismissal that hardened her features like granite.

“V
aughn,” Justin said in a hushed voice. “What is it? What have I done?” He held her shoulders, feeling the subtle shudders ripple through her. “Damn it, Vaughn, don't look at me as if I'm beneath contempt. Talk to me!”

Vaughn swallowed deeply and took a gulping breath. She turned her gaze away and looked out toward the rolling waters. Her jaw clenched. “I can't,” she finally said in a broken whisper. She shook her head and eased away from Justin's hold. “I wish I could. But it's impossible.” She spun around and looked up at him, her warm brown eyes filled with a pain so palpable it reached out and squeezed his heart. “Maybe it would be best if we just cut this afternoon short.” Her voice strengthened as it picked up volume. Justin saw the mask subtly slip into place. “The reality is, I'm not in a position to get involved in a relationship right now. I shouldn't have led you to believe otherwise. There's too much at stake,” she added self-righteously.

She began to sound more and more like a politician as she rambled on, Justin noted with wry amusement. Well, he'd just let her finish and get it off her chest, and then he had a thing or two to tell her, once and for all.

“The fact is, I must concentrate on my campaign. Too many people are relying on me. My energies have to be focused at this point.” And I certainly can't focus on anything with
you
in my life, she thought longingly. She took a breath and lifted her chin. “Believe me,” she said, a bit more gently, “you're a…desirable man.” Justin almost lost his composure and laughed out loud as he watched her try to keep a rein on her emotions. “Under other circumstances…” She didn't complete her sentence, because what could she honestly say? Could she tell him that if things were different, she wouldn't hesitate to give in to all the feelings that were wreaking havoc with her heart? Could she tell him that if a part of her hadn't been obliterated, she would feel differently about the future? Could she tell him that her lessons in love had nearly destroyed her? No. She couldn't.

Justin had watched her every move since she'd begun her litany of dismissal. She wanted him, and he knew it. She wanted him so badly that it scared the hell out of her. But there was also something else, something hidden so deep it leaped beyond just a fear of a relationship. He was never a man who gave up on anything he wanted. And he wanted Vaughn Hamilton more than anything he'd ever wanted before. She could throw up all the roadblocks she wanted, but he'd knock down every one of them until she finally and unequivocally removed that mask for him and him alone. And he would be there to help her unleash the passion that he knew smoldered beneath that polished surface.

“Are you about finished?” he asked pointedly.

Vaughn nodded.

“Then I think you ought to know that I don't give two damns about your campaign, your constituents, or your blasted busy schedule that's supposed to keep you so occupied that you won't have a life! Will all of that keep you warm in bed at night?” He answered his own question. “No. I think not. Not like I can…and will.”

The heat of his erotic threat whipped through her and pounded in her veins. Vaughn's mouth opened, then closed instantly.

He took a breath and his voice softened. His gaze implored her to listen with her heart. “What I do care about is you, Vaughn. For some godforsaken reason, I care about you. Don't ask me why or how. I don't know. Everything is happening too fast for me. But I don't want to stop it. I couldn't if I tried.”

He reached out and stroked her cheek with the tip of his finger. A shiver ran through her body at the feather-light touch. Her eyes briefly fluttered closed.

“What's happening between us…” He shook his head, searching for the words. His hands opened to her and tightened into fists. “It only happens once in a lifetime, Vaughn. The passion, the connection, the vibrations that run like live wires between us…can you say that you're sure you'll find this again? Are you sure you've ever had it before?” He bent slightly down to meet her at eye level. He held her shoulders, willing his fingers to transfer his emotions to her.

“I don't want to know about your past. Let's begin from here, now, today, as if all the yesterdays never happened. We can start slowly.” He grinned encouragingly. “Or at whatever pace you choose.” The flicker of a smile sparkled in Vaughn's eyes. “But whatever you do, give
this a chance.” He paused a moment, then began again, his voice dropping an octave. “I know you want this.” He stepped closer. “You know how I can tell?” he asked arrogantly, the light of mischief dancing in his eyes.

“No. How can you tell?” Vaughn whispered, softening at his touch.

“Because every time I hold you in my arms, like this…” He enfolded her in a gentle embrace. His mouth lowered to whisper above hers. “And kiss you, as I'm going to do…”

“Yes,” she breathed.

“I can feel every fiber in your body dissolve into hot liquid and burn through my veins like a white heat. You're in my blood, Vaughn. Just as I'm in yours.”

His mouth tentatively touched down and covered hers. He felt her tremble and pulled her securely against him, clamping his palm behind her head, urging her deeper into the kiss.

Her mouth willingly opened, drawing in the tangy taste of his exploring tongue. Their tongues, their lips, their hearts danced exotically with each other, heightening, then lessening the explosive intensity that poured through them.

The sensation of her hardened nipples brushing against the fabric of her shirt nearly caused her to cry out. Vaughn pressed herself closer to Justin to relieve the maddening pressure in her breasts.

Their muted sounds of desire filtered through the early evening air as their bodies welded together in tantalizing contact. Justin's own shaft of desire bloomed painfully hot and hard, pulsing against the stirring gyrations of Vaughn's hips.

This time it was Justin who broke contact. He pulled her solidly against him, burying his face in her hair. A low
groan rose from deep in his stomach. With great effort, he brought his breathing under control.

“That's how I know,” he said raggedly, willing his body to contain the shudders that whipped through him.

Vaughn eased back and looked up into his eyes. A slow, seductive smile curved her lips. Her dimples deepened. Her eyes trailed languidly over his face. “I think you're right, Mr. Montgomery,” she conceded in a whisper. “But we're going to take it very slowly,” she added softly, “very slowly. I don't want to make any more mistakes in my life, Justin.” Vaughn reached up and cupped his cheek. He turned his face into her palm and kissed her open hand. “You've got to be patient with me, Justin.”

“I'll be whatever I have to be, Vaughn. If it's what you want.”

She let out a deep sigh. “Then I guess this is the start,” she said, hope, fear, and joy filling her voice at once.

“You won't regret it,” he assured her solemnly.

“If I do, you'll be sorry I did,” she warned, poking him playfully in the chest, needing this moment of frivolity to regain her equilibrium.

“You're on!” He smacked her solidly on the lips with a kiss to seal the pact.

“Well,” she breathed, “I hope you still have plenty of money left in your pockets, because I seem to have worked up an appetite.”

Justin let out a hearty laugh, wrapped his arm around her, and ushered her to his car. “Your appetite will be the one thing to topple this relationship, lady.” They both laughed, the sound bright and promising as the budding blooms of spring.

Over the next few weeks, Vaughn and Justin spent all their free time together—discreetly. Their lives consisted of concerts, sharing late-night dinners, and home-cooked
meals as Vaughn attempted to keep her private life out of the public eye. They talked of world affairs and of her campaign plans, took long drives in the midnight hours of spring. From that first night forward, their destinies were irrevocably sealed.

S
imone Rivers sat in the small living area of her Spelman College dorm. Like a sponge she absorbed yet another news article in the
Atlanta Journal,
detailing the fund-raising event of the season for Vaughn Hamilton. She had avidly followed the rise of the many African-American female politicians for years. The few details she'd gleaned about Vaughn Hamilton only confirmed her conviction to become just like the woman.

Simone folded the paper and placed it on the dinette table. Unfortunately, Simone didn't have the political connections Vaughn had. She didn't have a judge for a father or a political socialite for a mother. Her foster parents were simple people. Her foster father worked for the Atlanta post office, and her foster mother was a part-time librarian. What Simone did have were determination and an unquenchable thirst for knowledge. And this summer she was determined to do her undergraduate internship in
a political environment outside Atlanta. And she hoped to get to meet Vaughn Hamilton in the process.

She sighed heavily, drawing the attention of her roommate, Jean.

“Sounds deep,” Jean commented, peeking over the edge of her textbook.

Simone shrugged. “I was just reading this article on Vaughn Hamilton's big shindig last week.”

“And?”

“I really admire women like her—women who are willing to go against the odds and take what they want. Women who aren't intimidated by outside forces, but who are secure in who they are.” Her light brown eyes glowed with admiration.

“Sounds like you'd make a great walking advertisement for her campaign,” Jean teased.

“Very funny.” Simone rolled her eyes in annoyance. She hated it when Jean teased her about her political zeal.

“Don't get all bent, Simone. You know I was just kidding,” Jean said, half apologetically. Jean was a biology major, and politics was the furthest thing from Jean's mind. She tried valiantly to keep up with Simone's rhetoric and name dropping, but the whole abstract concept of politics crashed against her logical, analytical brain like a mack truck. However, it was Jean's unshakeable reason that Simone sometimes relied on to keep her focused on her goals. Jean returned her attention to her textbook when her eyes brightened with what she thought was a brilliant idea.

“Hey, if Hamilton is running, she has to have a campaign staff. Why don't you try to get an internship with her this summer?”

Simone gave a weak smile. “I'm way ahead of you on that one.” She plopped down on the plaid couch and
stretched out her long legs. “I called about two weeks ago. One of her aides told me that they had just filled their quota for summer interns.”

“Hmmm. Bad break. That would have been perfect.”

The two friends sat in silence, both caught up in trying to arrive at an alternative solution.

Simone folded her arms beneath her small breasts and twisted her lips in consternation. She knew she'd waited too long to make her contacts. But until two weeks ago, she wasn't sure how she'd have managed living expenses outside of her dorm. She knew that her parents had spent most of their savings to send her to college. Or at least, that's what she'd thought; until they'd revealed to her that upon her nineteenth birthday, which was in three weeks, she'd have access to an account in the amount of $250,000. They'd refused to say how they'd amassed that much money, only that it was now hers. She was still reeling from the shock.

“Hey,” Jean said suddenly, making Simone jump in surprise. “Remember about three months ago when that f-i-n-e brother, um, um, whatshisname?” She popped her fingers trying to make the name materialize. “Montgomery!” she cried triumphantly.

Simone sat up in her seat, her thoughts racing. “Right. When he came here to speak, he said he'd be happy to help out with internship and job referrals,” she shouted. “And I was really impressed with his stance on children's rights and advocacy.” How could she have forgotten? She'd been so preoccupied with working with Vaughn Hamilton that she'd completely overlooked Justin Montgomery's generous offer.

Briefly she thought of her own situation and what an impact his presentation had had on her at the time. It had really made her think it was possible to find the truth, that
the law was there to be used, if you knew how. That was what she'd wanted more than anything, to learn how to use the law to find the truth. And now she had the means to do it.

“Do you still have his card?” Jean asked.

“I hope so.” Simone popped up and trotted off to her room with Jean close on her heels. Simone reached up to the top shelf of the closet and took down a well-worn shoebox.

Sitting on the edge of her bed, Simone and Jean sifted through the myriad papers, old love letters, and news clippings.

“Here it is,” Simone said jubilantly, holding up the cream-colored card.

“Great. Give him a call,” Jean urged, nudging Simone.

“Today's Saturday, silly.”

“Oh, yeah, right.” Her bright idea momentarily dimmed. “Well,” Jean said, “that gives you two days to prepare a knock-'em-dead internship-of-the-year presentation speech.”

Simone grinned. “That's just what I'm gonna do. By the time I finish my pitch to Mr. Montgomery, he'll be begging me to join his staff!” She turned toward her friend, her black eyes sparking with fire and her soft but firm voice growing serious. “I have a real strong feeling about this, Jean.” She clutched the card in her hand. “I really believe that this internship is going to be the turning point in my life.”

 

Lucus Stone tossed his copy of the
Washington Post
across the glass table in disgust. The grainy black-and-white photo of Vaughn Hamilton stared back at him, beautiful, smiling, and confident, a combination that would not be ignored by the voters.

So, the daughter of Elliott Hamilton was truly running against him. The whole notion was almost funny, that this
woman
thought she had what it took to run against him and win. His deep blue eyes darkened. He'd held his congressional seat for over a decade, virtually unopposed, and he had no intention of losing. Especially to a woman. Especially
this
woman. He didn't give a damn who her father was. Vaughn Hamilton was no match for him.

He stood up and ran his hand across his smooth chin, then through the shock of glistening gray hair that gave him an air of confidence and maturity that his constituency loved. However, he mused, there was no point in taking chances. The political tides changed rapidly, and Lucus Stone was never one to be caught adrift. And he was never one to leave anything to chance. He crossed the room in smooth strides and reached for the phone. Punching in the numbers, he waited.

“Hello?” answered a sleepy male voice.

“David, it's me.”

David Cain slowly sat up in bed, forcing himself awake. Lucus Stone never called him at home unless it was urgent. His thoughts scrambled for organization. “Good morning, Mr. Stone. What can I do for you?”

“It's afternoon,” Lucus corrected tersely. “Did you see today's paper?” he asked, demanding to know but also realizing that this miscreant hadn't even gotten out of bed for the day.

“Uh, no.” David rubbed the last of the sleep out of his light brown eyes.

“Well, get it and read it. Meet me at my office in an hour. I have a job for you.” Lucus broke the connection.

David stared at the receiver. What could be so important that Stone would want to see him at his office on a
Saturday? He tossed the twisted sheets off his muscular body and got out of bed. Knowing Stone, he'd better have every line of the newspaper committed to memory by the time they met. He stalked across the lush bedroom and into the adjacent bath.

David turned on the faucets full blast. He'd worked for Stone before on a variety of projects over the years. Everything ranging from local deliveries to intimate investigations of very influential people. Lucus Stone had over the years compiled a dossier on anyone of importance in government office. He was the modern-day J. Edgar Hoover. He was feared but respected. However, Stone's methods for combating his opponents remained questionable in Cain's mind. Little did Stone know that Cain, too, had been compiling a dossier—just for insurance, of course. That secret knowledge caused a slow smile to lift the corner of Cain's wide mouth.

The steaming water rushed over the mass of rippling bronze muscles as Cain flexed and contemplated what his latest project would be.

 

Sheila Hamilton sat opposite her husband at the white wicker table that had been placed on the balcony. A lush spring breeze blew caressingly over her supple caramel skin, rustled the blooming greenery, and gently stirred the grass. The air was filled with anticipation as the new season primed itself to burst forth. But instead of the sense of expectation that Sheila normally felt at this time of year, she was filled with a sense of foreboding.

“Elliott,” she said softly, distracting him from a case review that lay open in front of him.

Determined not to show his annoyance at the interruption, he slowly removed his glasses from the bridge of his nose and counted, silently, to ten, placing the bifocals
on the table. “Yes, dear?” he said evenly, pleased with himself for maintaining control. Control was important, he reminded himself daily. Control dictated every facet of his life—or else there would be chaos, he reasoned. He looked across at his wife.

She hated it when he stared at her like that. It made her feel as if she were under a microscope, a curiosity to be examined. Sheila adjusted herself in her seat and took a deep breath. “Elliott,” she began again, “I have a very bad feeling about this entire…campaign thing,” she expelled, shaking her head with concern. Her smooth brow creased as she continued. She leaned forward. “We've been lucky these past years, Elliott,” she said in a hushed but steady voice. “You know that. There's no way that someone, somewhere, isn't going to dig up the dirt. This isn't some local assembly position, Elliott. This is a congressional seat. She'll be up against an incumbent who hasn't been defeated in nearly a dozen years! Lucus Stone is ruthless when it comes to opposition. And now, Vaughn will be that opposition.” Her anxiety over her daughter's future filtered through her voice and registered in a web of tension on her face.

Elliott stood up. His wide jaw clenched. His ebony skin seemed to darken further with unspent outrage. He squinted his eyes into two warning slits.

“I will discuss this one last time, Sheila. I have paved the way for Vaughn all her life,” he said, with a shake of his balding head for emphasis. “Everything has been taken care of for years. There's nothing anyone can do to her or to us. I won't allow it. Do you think for one minute that I haven't foreseen this day and planned for it? Nothing will stop Vaughn from reaching my goals. Nothing!” he said with finality. He straightened and adjusted his pants
over the slightly protruding paunch. Then, in a soothing voice, “Everything will be fine, dear. There's no point in you worrying. Haven't I always taken care of everything?” He gave her a benevolent smile, patted her hand absently, and got up and strolled into the house.

Sheila Hamilton watched her husband leave, and her heart sank. When had things changed? It seemed only moments ago the young Elliott Hamilton, full of dreams, ambition, and himself, had burst into her life. From the first moment they'd met, Sheila had known that Elliott was destined for great things. He'd caught her up in his dreams. He'd made her a part of his plans. He'd promised her a life of influence, happiness, and luxury. He'd delivered all that he'd promised, and more. And she believed he could do anything he set his mind to do.

Sheila always knew that Elliott was a man driven, and with good reason. He came from a family that had virtually nothing. He was the first member of his family to have an education beyond the ninth grade. But Elliott had changed. He'd become consumed by his own dreams, to be fulfilled and exceeded by Vaughn. At any cost.

She shut her eyes and the old pain resurfaced and twisted her heart. She pressed her fist to her chest. She was afraid. This was the first time in her forty years of marriage that she didn't believe her dynamic husband had the power to make the impossible a reality. What was more frightening was that she could not intervene. To do so would destroy her marriage and possibly ruin Elliott's career, and she knew she would lose the greatest love of all…Vaughn's.

 

Simone hadn't told anyone about the money, not even Jean. She just had the irrational feeling that if she spoke
about it, it would all somehow disappear. She knew that the notion was ridiculous, but that still didn't stop her from checking the account every other day—just to be sure.

She sat down on her bed, staring blankly at the array of posters, class schedules, and activity notices tacked to her bulletin board. Somehow she believed that the money was either a clue to her past or a doorway to her future. It was up to her to decide which path to choose.

Her gaze drifted, then rested on a picture of her foster parents that sat on her dresser. She smiled wistfully. She picked up the picture and looked at it lovingly. She loved her foster parents. There was no doubt in her mind about that. Linda and Philip Clark were everything a child could want. They cared for her and loved her unquestionably, regardless of the origins of her birth. Yet deep in her soul remained the silent yearning to know from where she'd come. And why—why had she been abandoned? Why was she so unworthy of her natural parents' love? That question had gnawed at her all of her nineteen years. At times it made her feel worthless, unlovable, and insecure. She hadn't been wanted from birth. That was a heavy burden. Then there were those times she'd even had doubts about her foster parents' love. Why had they never adopted her and given her their name? They had an explanation, a flimsy one, but an explanation nonetheless. One which worked well during her adolescence, but failed to hold up to teenage scrutiny. Eventually she'd stopped asking, but the underlying pain had always remained with her.