Unfinished Business (32 page)

“No, really?” he asked, his eyes crinkling with mischief. “I thought that was just a really dark tan.”

“And liberal.”

“I'm willing to overlook that unfortunate fact.”

“And you, Senator Newman, are a jerk.”

He laughed, wheezed, choked and sobered. “Okay, let's
take
your premise,” he countered in his best I'm-smarter-than-you tone he could muster. “But you love me.”

“Oh stop it.”

“You love me,” he insisted, catching her by the arm and pulling her close to him. “You…love…me,” he murmured, covering her mouth with his own.

She wanted to fight him, wanted to deny him. But it was impossible. Everything within her surrendered to the flame of desire the man ignited in her, everything within her abandoned its fight for the safety and security of being in his arms.

“I love you,” she whispered when, breathless and spent, their lips broke apart. Erica pressed her head against his chest, feeling the necessity for separation but unwilling to let him go. “God help me…I love you. But, I have to leave, Mark. I just don't see how this can work.”

“Did I ever tell you about Katharine?” His voice rumbled in his chest, filling her ear. “About how I asked her to marry me the first time we met?”

Erica shook her head. “Tell me.”

“It's true. I just looked at her, and I knew.” He chuckled. “Of course, she disagreed. See, you gotta understand. In high school, I was a slack-jawed, tobacco-spitting redneck who didn't care for much more than drinking beer with my buddies and getting into fights on Saturday nights. And she”—his voice grew wistful with the memory—“She was sophomore class president, on the varsity cheering squad and taking all honors classes.” He chuckled a bit. “She was way out of my league. So far out of my league no one ever thought it would happen. Least of all her. I'll never forget it. I was smoking a cigarette
with one of my buddies outside the school and she walked by with some of her cheerleader friends and I yelled out, ‘Little Missy, you're gonna marry me one day!'”

“What did she say?”

He frowned a little, trying to recall. “I think it was either ‘Drop dead' or ‘Get lost.' Something like that.” He chuckled again. “Took me five years and a lot of changes to make that happen. But she married me. And I like to think she was happy in the bargain.” He pulled away, capturing her eyes in his own. “I knew from that first second—when we were staring each other down in that hearing room—you were the next woman in my life. And I'd like to think you'd be happy in the bargain, too. I'd work hard,” he said earnestly. “I'd work hard to make sure of it.”

Yes
, her heart said.
Yes, oh yes, oh
…

“Will you still feel that way when you lose, Mark?” she asked in a strained voice, feeling the tears she'd been fighting for so long welling up in her eyes again. “Will you still love me? Or will you blame me?”

“So that's it,” he said, looking suddenly relieved. To Erica's surprise, a smile spread across his face. “You're worried about the election.”

“And you're not? What the hell are we here for if you don't plan on winning?”

“Did I tell you that I love your spirit? That I love the fight in you? Because—”

“Oh stop with the love sonnet,” she snapped at him, slapping the tears from her face. “You can say you love me all you want to, but I know full well how much you hate to lose. All this admiration is going to go straight out the window if you lose this primary—if you're sitting at home next year with me—but without a job. This primary race has already gotten way too ugly because of me. Malloy's been taking ad
vantage of the worst in people, spreading all kinds of ugly rumors and nasty innuendo.”

“All of which turned out to be true,” Mark interrupted with a chuckle. “If you recall a certain extremely intimate moment between us…”

“Laugh if you want. But I don't think it's particularly funny that someone tried to kill your white ass.”

“Why? Would you miss my white ass?”

Yes, damn it
, she almost shouted, but he had that self-satisfied smirk on his face already, like he was enjoying knowing just how much she cared for him. “That's beside the point,” she said huffily at last. “The point is you're a good senator. You're good for this state. You really have your constituents' interests at heart and”—she swallowed like her throat hurt to admit it—“you're a decent man. You're…strong…and passionate…and when you want to be, you can be really”—another hard swallow—“gentle and tender and sweet.” Her eyes met his again. “But you're ambitious, Mark. You want your seat in the Senate, and pursuing this crazy idea about our marriage is one sure way to lose it.”

Mark shook his head. “I don't think so. First of all, I don't think the people of this state are either that racist or that stupid. I did some checking, Erica. Did you know that in the 2000 census, almost twenty percent of the population here classified itself as mixed? That means there's a lot of carrying on between people of different cultures—even here in the Deep South. And second of all, yeah, there's been some nastiness, but on the whole, you've been far more of an asset to this campaign than a hindrance. People who never voted before—and certainly wouldn't have considered voting for me—are interested, are coming to events and listening to speeches—all because of you. They like you. They like
us
. They like hearing me flesh out my
positions with your objections. They like that you keep me on my toes. I predict that not only do I win the primary, but for all this bullshit about a ‘close race,' we take it by a landslide. And after you marry me, we'll win the general election without breaking a sweat. That's what I predict.”

“And if you're wrong?”

Mark bent toward her, laid a hand on either shoulder and pulled her close.

“I have lost many things,” he murmured, staring hard into those deep brown eyes. “I have lost them and had to pick myself up off the ground and start again. And you're right, it isn't always easy. And sometimes it completely
sucks
.” He paused a moment, searching her eyes as if to be sure she was really listening, to be sure she really understood. “I can tell you with absolute certainty that if I lose my Senate seat, the next day there will be other things I can do, other ways I can serve, other titles I can hold. But if I lose
you
”—he shook her shoulders gently—“it will be a long time before I find anyone—anyone—who will fill the void in my heart like you do.” He shook her again. “All I'm asking is for you to follow your heart. Hell, read your T-shirt. And if it's really true, it won't matter who's what color, or what political party, or anything. Will it?”

“What about all those women who are in love with you?” she said softly. “What about them?”

“What do they matter, if I'm only in love with you?” He traced her cheekbone with a finger. “So, what about it? I can't promise it'll be easy and I'm pretty sure it's going to take a hell of a lot of patience—from both of us. But I want to try. I really want to try.”

Erica looked down at her shirt, considering its message, the moment and her heart. A power beyond her own mind must have selected it, the words spoke
so fully to this moment, this decision, and this war within her.

All blood is red.

“Let's try,” she murmured, brushing her lips against his. “Let's try.”