The Senator's Wife (22 page)

“Mrs. Honneker,” Tom said briefly, tearing his eyes away from Ronnie and the bedlam around her to focus on Diane. “Are you ready for another drink?”

“Mrs, Honneker?” Diane’s voice rose an octave with amazement, and she completely ignored his query about the drink, as though she suspected somehow that it was nothing more than a red herring designed to distract her. Her head swiveled. Tom presumed she was following Ronnie’s progress through the crowd. “The Senator’s wife?” She goggled, then nodded. “Of
course
it is. No
wonder
they say the things they do about her. In the pictures I’ve seen of her, she looks a lot more—sedate.”

“She must have pulled out all the stops tonight.” Tom worked hard at sounding indifferent. He refused to look away from his date. “Do you want to dance?”

Without waiting for an answer, he deposited her half-finished drink and his own on a nearby table, and pulled her out onto the dance floor—one of three actually, all of which were just starting to get crowded.

“
You-ou take my breath away.…
”

Only Diane didn’t. Holding her in his arms, with her breasts against his chest and her thighs brushing his, Tom felt nothing. Nada. Zip.

Except a hard, aching lust for Ronnie, whom he had thankfully lost sight of in the crowd.

Two-hours passed before Tom saw her again. He and Diane had linked up with Kenny and Ann, strolling the grounds, watching the festivities more as observers than as participants. Without being obvious about it, he had managed to steer them away from the main tent, where the Senator’s birthday cake was cut, toasts were made, and all the other hoopla was centered. This was strategic on Tom’s part: He wanted time to get his head on straight before he encountered Ronnie face-to-face.

He would have left if he could have thought of a good reason for doing so. But he couldn’t. The night was warm and clear, the food was good, the music danceable. Three huge white tents had been set up on an area of the back lawn; the food buffet was in the left one, the bar in the right, the extravagant birthday cake in the center. The band played from a gazebo near the large stone patio closest to the house, but the music was carried everywhere by an elaborate sound system. Beyond the tents, the sloping grounds were terraced, with brick paths outlined by fifty-year-old boxwood hedges. There were patios on each of the three terrace levels. Citronella torches flamed everywhere, contributing exotic atmosphere as well as insect protection. Masses of salmon and pink and red impatiens circled nearly every tree and formed a stunning display in
shades of purple in an out-of-the-way rock garden. A small, raised rose bed with a bubbling fountain for a centerpiece formed the nucleus of another stone patio that had been put into use as a dance floor.

It was there that Tom encountered Ronnie.

Strolling along one of the nearby paths, he was hailed by Marsden and beckoned over. His former roommate was standing with his wife, Evangeline, a plumpish blonde whom Tom had met briefly years before but didn’t really know, and his sister Joanie and her husband.

“Tom!” Joanie greeted him with a hug. Strange to think he’d almost married her; he scarcely remembered her. She must be just about thirty-five now, he estimated. Her hair was as dark as ever, though she wore it boyishly short where once it had been long, and her body was even more wiry and athletic than it had been when she was a girl.

“You’re looking good,” he said as she released him, and meant it.

She gave him a once-over. “So are you.” Glancing at her tall, balding husband, who stood smiling beside her, she added, “You remember Syd.”

Tom didn’t, but he nodded, and introduced Diane, Kenny, and Ann. The three old friends spent a few minutes catching up with each others’ lives and families, exclaiming over the ages and number of children they had each produced.

Then Marsden nudged Tom, drawing him a little apart from the chatting group.

“I want you to look at that,” he said under his breath.

Turning, Tom looked where Marsden indicated, and felt his insides seize up again.

Ronnie was dancing, with her back to him. The paper lanterns overhead bathed her in soft yellow light. Her dark red hair looked thick and soft in its upsweep, which left the creamy skin of her nape and upper back bare except for the lacing of diamonds around her neck. The glittering flame of her dress started just below her shoulder blades, then clung all the way down to her knees, where it flared out in a cascade of frills. With every step she took, her backside swayed an invitation.

Her partner was a man Tom couldn’t quite place, though he was ready to swear he’d seen him before somewhere. He was of medium height, a little on the stocky side, his light-brown hair cut militarily short, his tux tight across broad shoulders. He had one arm around Ronnie’s slender waist, held one of her red-tipped hands too tightly, and was looking at her with a grin that was about one tooth short of an open leer.

“Who’s the guy?” he asked, careful to keep his voice in neutral.

“Senator Beau Hilley of Texas. Chairman of the Ways and Means Committee. Likely front-runner for the Republican nomination in 2000. Possibly the next president of the United States.” Marsden shook his head. “Stupid prick. Eleven o’clock, and he’s already had too much to drink. Don’t he look to you like he wants to jump Stepmama’s bones right there on the dance floor?”

“He’s married, isn’t he? Where’s his wife?” Tom asked, not bothering to reply directly. Anyone with eyes in his head could answer Marsden’s last question.
Though Tom had never worked for Hilley, he’d met him and as was the way of it in the small world of political insiders, had heard a lot about him. The man was a self-made millionaire, an able legislator, ambitious, hard-driving. He had two primary weak points: alcohol and women. Both were on display at the moment.

“Over there with Daddy.”

A nod of Marsden’s head sent Tom glancing around to his left. Sure enough, there was His Honor, dancing with an attractive blonde woman in a midnight-blue gown.

“Can you believe that bitch? I swear I think she’d come on to a maple tree if it had a branch at the right height.”

Tom’s gaze swung back to Marsden. It had taken only an incredulous split second to realize that “that bitch” referred to Ronnie. And Tom realized that he didn’t have the right to do anything about it.

“Looks to me like all she’s doing’s dancing.” Delivered in a mild enough tone, it was still a rebuke, though not the rebuke Tom would have made if he’d had his druthers.

Marsden grunted. “Sure can see why Daddy married her, though, can’t you? If that bitch ain’t sex on the hoof, then I ain’t never seen it. Wouldn’t mind havin’ some myself, if she weren’t married to Daddy.”

“She is.” The words were clipped. It was all Tom could do to speak civilly. Rage was rising in his veins, rage hot and thick as lava. It wasn’t often that he lost his temper, but he felt on the verge of it now. His hands clenched into fists at his sides as he fought the urge to punch Marsden out, then stalk out onto the
dance floor and do the same to Ronnie’s lecherous dance partner.

Marsden sighed. “Well, better break that up before it gets out of hand. We don’t want problems with Hilley, and that there’s a no-win situation if I ever saw it. If Stepmama turns him down, he’s gonna be mad. If Stepmama don’t turn him down—and I don’t think she turns down much that wears pants—Daddy’s gonna be mad if he finds out. Either way, tonight we don’t need it. We got big press and big donors here.”

Marsden took a step toward the dance floor. Tom stopped him with a hand on his arm.

“I’ll do it,” he said, and started walking toward Ronnie.

It was a mistake, Tom knew it was a mistake even as he was doing it, and he couldn’t stop himself one bit more than he could stop his heart from beating. The way he felt at the moment, Marsden would lay hands on Ronnie only if he did it over Tom’s dead body. Nobody was laying hands on Ronnie—but him.

Déjà vu all over again, he thought ironically as he tapped the salivating senator on the shoulder.

“Excuse me, Senator,” he said as the man gave him an irritated glance. “There’s an urgent phone call for you up at the house.”

“Urgent?” Hilley frowned, and stopped dancing.

“Urgent,” Tom confirmed, taking possession of Ronnie’s hand. Her fingers felt cool and delicate and silky soft against his. Her damned perfume was already filling his nostrils as he pulled her toward him.

Hilley looked in the direction of the house. “Excuse me, Ronnie, I’ll just take that call and be right back. Don’t you go wandering off anywhere, now.”

“I won’t, Senator,” Ronnie promised, already sliding into Tom’s arms.

“Beau. You call me Beau.”

“Beau,” Ronnie said over her shoulder with a smile, even as Tom danced her away.

“Do you flirt with every man you meet?” Tom asked with an edge to his voice when her gaze came around to his. Her waist felt firm and supple beneath his hand. Her breasts brushing his chest threatened to set him on fire. Her thighs touched his, and he ached. He fought the fight of his life to keep any of it from showing to what he knew was a whole gallery of interested observers.

“Jealous?” she asked, lifting her brows at him teasingly.

“Yes.” Tom was surprised to hear himself admit it. The word signaled surrender; he recognized it even as it came out of his mouth. His hand tightened on her back, his fingers sinking into the thin stuff of her dress to feel her skin. It was all he could do not to pull her tight up against him. He had to remind himself, again, that they were not alone.

And no matter how he felt, he could not let it show. For her sake as well as his own.

“Good,” she said. Then she smiled with a slow, tantalizing sweetness, right up into his eyes. “Hello, Tom.”

That smile caused him more pain than a fist to the stomach. It was all he could do to keep dancing.

“Hello, Ronnie. Still mad at me?”

She shook her head. “I missed you.”

“I thought Kenny never criticized you.”

“He doesn’t. I missed you anyway.”

“I’m glad to hear it.” He turned with her so that his back was to their primary audience, afraid of what an acute observer might read in his face. “You look beautiful tonight.”

“Thank you. I thought you might think this dress was too sexy.”

He smiled, his eyes sliding down as much of her as he could see. “It sure is that.”

“But you’re not going to yell at me?”

“I’ve given myself the night off.”

“Oh,” Ronnie said, and paused. Then, “Was there really a phone call for Senator Hilley?”

“No.”

“I didn’t think so.” She smiled up at him again. Looking down into her eyes, Tom felt his stomach tighten. It wasn’t just that she was beautiful, though she was; it wasn’t just that he wanted her, though he did. He felt as if she belonged to him.

Though she didn’t.

“A whole bunch of people were watching you dance with Hilley, and I’d be willing to bet the ranch they’re watching you dance with me. So be careful.” It was hard to warn her when what he wanted to do was sweep her up into his arms and kiss her senseless right in front of them all.

“I’m tired of being careful.”

“Unfortunately sometimes it’s necessary.”

“Why did you go away?”

Tom laughed, more rueful than amused. He could claim the demands of his newly burgeoning business required it, but it wouldn’t be the truth. At least not the real truth. And she would know it as well as he did. “You know the answer to that.”

“Then why did you come back?”

“Because I couldn’t help it.” There was more truth, he realized even as he said it. He had been fooling himself thinking he was coming here tonight because it was safe to do so, because he had his attraction to her well under control. In reality he’d jumped at the excuse the invitation had offered him, because he simply couldn’t stay away.

He had to see her again.

“I see you brought your girlfriend.”

Ronnie hadn’t looked in Diane’s direction, not that Tom had seen, and he doubted that he’d missed a breath she’d drawn since he’d turned around to find her on the dance floor. She must have spotted Diane before Marsden had brought the situation with Hilley to his attention, and Tom wondered how much of her flirting had been for his benefit.

“Jealous?” he asked as she had done.

“Yes.”

“Good.” Having danced her as far away from the gallery as he could, he smiled down into her eyes and infinitesimally tightened his hold on her.

“She’s very attractive.”

“Thank you.”

“Wholesome-looking.”

“She is wholesome, yes.”

“I bet she’s nice.”

“Yes, she is.”

“Are you going to marry her?”

Tom’s eyes narrowed. “What do you think?”

“I think you’d be making a mistake if you did.”

“And why is that?”

“Because she doesn’t turn you on.” Her eyes were
warm and caressing on his face. A tiny smile curved the corners of her mouth. Her hand on his shoulder was in precisely the correct spot, but it seemed to burn through the material of his tux and shirt as if it were made of liquid fire.

“How do you know?”

“Does she?”

“I’m not going to answer that.”

“She doesn’t.” Her lids lowered, then flicked back up again so that their gazes met. “Tell the truth, Tom.”

Jesus, she was killing him. “Could we not talk about Diane, please?”

“Why not?”

“Because she doesn’t have anything to do with this.”

“You mean with us?”

“You know that’s what I mean.”

“Is there an us?”

“It seems like it, doesn’t it?”

“You don’t sound very happy about it.”

“I wasn’t happy when I caught the chicken pox as a kid, either, but there wasn’t a damn thing I could do about it but scratch.”

Ronnie smiled. “Are you comparing me to the chicken pox?”

“You’re worse. I was over the chicken pox in a week.”

“Tom.” There was a subtle change in her tone. A slight frown marred the smooth flesh between her brows.

“Mmm?”

“Here comes Lewis. I think he wants to change partners.”