Valentine Vote (4 page)

“What did you say?” Helen leaned forward.

“I morphed from Snow White to Belle Watling in a matter of seconds.”

“Who's Belle Watling?”

“You know, the hooker from
Gone With the Wind
? She was Rhett Butler's friend.”

“Oh, yeah, I remember her. She had a good heart.”

Courtney threw up her hands. “That's how I want to be remembered, as the hooker with the good heart.”

“It could be worse. You could be Snow White, the anarchist.”

“You're not helping.”

“Okay, how about this? Why do you care? You've never been interested in
any
guy. I climb the walls when I need to get laid. You give yourself a pedicure. It's like men are superfluous for you.”

“I've been telling you, Helen, you need a vibrator. Gets the job done without all those messy emotions.”

“I wouldn't know how to use a vibrator. It would languish in my tool chest.”

“And I thought we knew everything about each other. You have a tool chest?”

“Yes, I do. Let me know if you ever need a screwdriver.” Helen narrowed her eyes. “We're off the subject. You haven't told me why this guy fascinates you.”

Courtney tapped a finger to her lips. “Because under his façade of hot Washington player, I think there's a really nice guy. And besides, there's more to liking a man than wanting to jump into bed with him.” Courtney shrugged. “But I'm still so emotional about my mom dying. I can't imagine investing that kind of feeling in a man. Bottom line, I'm afraid to.”

“I'm not buying the fear argument. Remember what Eleanor Roosevelt said, and I'm paraphrasing, but it had to do with personal growth based on stretching boundaries and facing fears. Don't torture yourself over this man. Call him.”

Courtney walked back to her office, hugging the storefronts to avoid the freezing rain. By the time she reached Montgomery, Haskins & Knoll, she wanted nothing more than to soak in a bath full of bubbles, but the afternoon held a stack of paperwork that threatened to implode her desk. Next time she was at Bed, Bath & Beyond, she'd pick up one of those over-the-tub writing desks so she could work while Calgon took her away. But for now, there was nothing to do but take off her galoshes and get a cup of coffee. She pondered Helen's suggestion to call Eric, but what would she say? “Hi, Courtney here, the crazy lobbyist who still holds her V-card. Remember me?”

Pencils sharpened, she settled into her work, but before she tuned everything out and focused, she allowed herself one fleeting thought of Eric. In her mind's eye, his lips turned up in a provocative smile, exposing his dimple. Damn, he was enticing, like the best fantasy ever. When she left Eric last night, she'd thrown out a hint. She wondered if it had left an itch in his craw.

Jumping when her phone buzzed, she stared at it a moment before hitting the speaker button. “Yes?”

“There's an Eric Morrison on line one for you.” Elise's voice lilted playfully.

Courtney's windpipe constricted, and she had to gulp for air.

“This is Courtney.” The “ney” sounded more like “neigh.” When had she picked up a British accent?

“Hi, it's Eric.” He cleared his throat. “How are you?”

“Fine.” Her tone was brisk, clipped, to make sure her voice didn't quake.

“Working hard?”

“Yes.”

“Too hard to spare me an evening?”

“No.”

“Great. How about tonight?”

“Sure.”

“I'll pick you up at eight.”

“Right.” She hung up. She couldn't remember the last time she'd had a monosyllabic conversation with anyone. Oh, yeah, it had been with her dad, not long after her mom passed. She hadn't wanted him to hear her voice crack. He'd had enough grief of his own to deal with.

Tears welled in Courtney's eyes. The tobacco campaign had provided a way to honor her mother's memory. She'd been hell-bent on securing Eric Morrison's vote, and now all she wanted was to see him again. Where was her dogged determination?

She took a tissue from her desk drawer, dabbed at her eyes, and sniffled. She was tougher than this. She'd concentrate on the other votes she needed and then she'd circle back with Eric Morrison once she had some momentum under her belt. In the meantime, she'd try to enjoy being with Eric, the charismatic man. She promised herself she'd bite her tongue if she talked politics tonight.

What would she wear? Helen had a hot pink sweater dress that she said she'd lend if Courtney would reciprocate with her ankle boots. Yeah, that's the ticket. She'd already tried on the dress. It hugged her curves, and paired with textured stockings and pumps, it would be sexy, yet demure—just right for a virgin into sex toys. Speaking of which, what would Eric be expecting? And could she possibly live up to his expectations? He was so calm and collected, a sophisticated man of the world. She'd been provocative, but did he see past the veneer to the sexual novice she truly was? Sure, they'd tantalized each other with talk about riding crops and sex toys, but if she were pressed to come up with a collection of sexual accoutrements, she'd have to march out her lucite statue of the Washington Monument. While phallic, it would be a stretch as a sex toy.

And rather painful.

But maybe he'd like that.

Good grief, she'd never get out of the office if she didn't buckle down. She'd worry later about her evening with Eric. For now, the stack of paperwork screamed for attention.

Eric leaned back in his chair and almost toppled over. He grabbed the edge of his desk to steady himself. Well, that was an interesting conversation, if you could call it that. He couldn't tell whether Courtney was happy to hear from him or terrified. She'd said all of five words, but the most important one had been “yes,” so in the aggregate, he'd have to put the call in the plus column. And in just a few hours, he'd see her. So much for his “never date a lobbyist” rule. He'd let down his guard … big time.

Oh, God, was he reading too much into her sex toy confession? Or was she just like him, a collector who'd never actually used the paraphernalia? He was reminded of a friend in high school who collected Star Trek sabers. Just because he could swing one around didn't mean he was Luke Skywalker.

He had to admit he loved the juxtaposition of a straight-laced woman with a tigress in the bedroom. He pictured her dressed like a schoolmarm, with her hair pulled back in a bun and her feet laced in matronly oxfords. She'd sit primly in a chair, smoothing down her long skirt, but underneath, she'd wear crotch-less panties.

Was Courtney the woman of his dreams?

Maybe he'd be too tame for her.

Tonight he'd find out.

• • •

He arrived at her townhouse promptly at eight. Blowing on his fingers, he tightened the scarf around his neck just as the door opened.

My, my, she was gorgeous, all pink, feminine, and hot. She was the kind of woman who made a man's chest puff with pride.

“You look incredible,” he said.

“Thanks.” She ducked her head a bit. “Where're we going tonight?”

“I thought I'd subject you to my cooking, if that's all right.” He hadn't cooked for a woman since he'd last been home. And that woman was his mother.

“That's fine, but where did you find the time?” She motioned him into the foyer.

“I had some serious help from the gourmet market on the corner. Actually, about all I have to do is warm things up.”
I'd like to warm you up
.

“Nonetheless, I'm impressed.” She retrieved her coat from the hall closet.

“Don't be … yet.”

They caught up with each other's day on the way to Eric's apartment in Arlington. Courtney mentioned three senatorial meetings, though she kept it vague as to the content. Maybe she'd decided to keep tobacco out of the conversation for the evening. That was a good sign.

“Aren't you a bit out of the action here?” Courtney asked as they pulled into Eric's underground garage.

“I'm just around the corner from the Clarendon Metro, so it's an easy train ride downtown. Besides, I love the history in Arlington. And being close to the national cemetery keeps me humble. If I start to get a big head about being a senator, I remind myself that what I'm doing can't begin to compare to the sacrifices some people have made.”

Courtney pursed her lips, no doubt appraising him. He hated to waste that sweet pucker, but he'd bide his time.

“Hope that didn't sound sanctimonious,” Eric said.

“No, I know exactly how you feel. Sometimes I walk around Georgetown like I own the place just because I went to school there. And then I remember something my mother always said—that we're on this earth to serve others, not to be served.” Courtney laughed. “Of course, being the oldest child with two younger, very messy, brothers prepared me for a life of service. I started picking up after them when I was five.”

“And may I say how very much we younger brothers appreciate our older sisters? Although there was a method to my sister's selflessness—when Jennifer was picking up after me, she made sure Mom knew what a mess I'd made.”

Courtney's eyes crinkled as she smiled. “Reporting is part of the job.”

“I suppose. My sister kept a list of my infractions.”

They took the elevator from the garage to the sixth floor where the doors opened to a central hallway that accessed four apartment doors. Eric opened his door and motioned for Courtney to go in ahead of him. His housekeeper had been there just that morning, so he felt confident that his usual detritus of
Wall St. Journals
and
Washington Posts
were in the recycling bin. She would also have run and emptied his dishwasher, which, with his busy schedule, only filled up once a week.

They were interrupted by a squeaky whine.

“What's that?” Courtney asked.

“It's kind of a dog.” Eric backed away from her and into the kitchen. He motioned for her to follow. “She's in a kennel in the laundry room. I'm house training her, and it's been a nightmare. The only saving grace is that her puddles are so small, the mess is minimal.”

He opened the door to reveal his stacked washer and dryer, a washtub, and a large kennel that housed a tiny dog.

“Chihuahua?” Courtney asked, squatting in front of the cage and pressing her fingers to the wire bars. She looked back at Eric. “It takes a real man to have a Chihuahua. You must eat quiche, too.”

“My sexuality has never been in question.” He nodded to the little dog. “Her name's Pinky.”

Pinky stuck her tongue through the wires to lick Courtney.

“Can I let her out?” Courtney didn't wait for Eric's reply. She opened the cage door and scooped up the dog. “Oh, she's adorable.” Courtney lifted the dog to her face, at which point Pinky plastered her ears against her head and tried desperately to lick up Courtney's nose.

“Be careful. She'd adept at maneuvering that little tongue up a nostril. So far, my little friend Travis is the only willing subject.” Eric tickled the dog's rump. “I grew up with Chihuahuas, beagles, and mutts. Sometimes we'd get a very interesting combination if we didn't get them neutered soon enough. You don't see many Chihuahuas who bay at the moon like a hound, but we had one.” Eric checked his watch. “I need to oversee things in the kitchen. Want a glass of wine?”

“Sure,” Courtney said. She took Pinky into the living room and sat down on the floor with her.

Eric watched them from the kitchen while he poured two glasses of Pinot noir and stuck the pork tenderloin and asparagus in the preheated oven to warm. God, Courtney was beautiful, and she seemed comfortable around him. His heart thumped.

During dinner, they shared LSAT scores (Courtney's were slightly higher), favorite movies (
Shakespeare in Love
and
Love Actually
for Courtney,
Saving Private Ryan
and
Clear and Present Danger
for Eric), best childhood memories (Sea World for Courtney, Civil War battlefields for Eric), and they polished off a bottle of wine.

“Would you like some Courvoisier or Drambuie?” Eric asked after they'd cleared the table.

“Drambuie would be great,” Courtney replied. “I'll just use the ladies' room first.”

“First door on the right off the hall,” Eric said. He poured the liqueur in brandy snifters and took the drinks to the coffee table.

• • •

Courtney started to re-apply her lipstick in the bathroom mirror and then stopped her hand midstream. What if he wanted to kiss her? She switched to a pale pink gloss and applied it sparingly. Her head throbbed. The wine had contributed, but mostly her nerves had seized up. She knew you weren't supposed to take ibuprofen when you'd been drinking, but if she could find some, her liver would just have to cope. She looked first in the recessed medicine chest on the wall. Finding nothing there, she opened the cabinet below the sink. She rifled among the prescription bottles, most of which were expired antibiotics and flu remedies. No ibuprofen, but as she was about to close the cabinet, something pink and silky caught her eye. She retrieved a pair of bikini panties; no, make that a thong. She forgot about her headache. She replaced the thong and closed the cabinet door. Passing by an open door on the way back to the living room, she stopped to peek inside what appeared to be Eric's home office. He hadn't been kidding about his collection. An entire wall was chock full of framed riding crops and dressage whips, a few of which looked antique, like from a previous century, or perhaps from a museum of sex? Courtney pressed her fingers to her temples. Her head pounded. Was she scared or excited? How about both?

She returned to the living room where Eric waited, proffering a brandy snifter. She took it, swirled the thick amber liquid, and inhaled the warm aroma of the Drambuie. Her heart was beating out of her chest as she took a tentative sip of her drink. Would this be the night she lost her virginity? She couldn't deny her attraction to Eric, but beyond the dastardly deed, was she ready to be that close to him? Her body tingled all over, so that was all systems go, but a little voice in her head urged caution. She thought about what advice Helen would offer at a time like this. No doubt, Helen would say it was time to put up or shut up.