His Climb to Power Page 6

  “Yes,” she muttered. “Jack, I’m going to come. Jack, I’m going to come!”

  Her voice reached a fevered pitch, and I could tell from the way her arm was moving that she wasn’t going slowly anymore. Picking up the pace, I was right there with her, and as she moaned, I deliberately let go. I had every intention of finishing tonight, but I was going to do it in the shower while I replayed every second of this video in my head.

  “Feel good?” I asked when she opened her eyes again.

  “I do. Tired.”

  “Go to sleep, sweetheart, and dream of me. I love you. You know that, right?”

  Picking up the ring on her chain, she showed it to me. “I know, and I love you, Jack. Come home soon so I can sneak into your bed and touch you.”

  “I can’t wait.”

  We hung up, and I stared at her picture a little more before I finally let the phone drop. I needed a shower to wash away the stain of today, and then I needed my release, but at least I could sleep tonight knowing she was happy.

  8 Blythe

  My office at the youth center was my haven. I’d always felt comfortable there. The couch wedged into the only available space in front of my desk was a gift from the kids—one I was pretty sure they’d found sitting out on garbage day from its battered appearance. The kids were proud of their find, and it wasn’t unusual for someone with a difficult home life to steal a nap between activities. But I had always avoided it. Today, it looked almost inviting.

  I was distracted. Last night had been a new one for me. Since getting involved with Jack, I’d acted in ways that I’d never had before. It wasn’t that I was a prude or even inexperienced. I enjoyed men, but never the way that I enjoyed Jack. There was passion and chemistry and desires that I’d never felt for anyone else. He was incredible, and last night, even though he wasn’t with me, it felt like he’d been right there next to me, coaxing me on.

  I woke up this morning to a text from him. A naughty one admitting that he’d had an excellent shower and slept well dreaming of me.

  And then he’d outlined some of the things that he’d dreamed.

  They were enough to make me touch myself again this morning, and all I could think about was him. It was difficult not to call him and ask him exactly when he was getting back tonight.

  Instead, I was sitting behind my desk, attempting to maintain my professionalism despite throbbing in places that I should not have been throbbing in while I was at work. Lord, what was wrong with me?

  The phone rang, puncturing the silence, and I nearly jumped out of my skin. Certain that whoever was on the other end was going to know what I was thinking about, I picked it up and tried to reel in the embarrassment.

  “Humane Miami. Blythe speaking.”

  “Is this Blythe Hemsey?”

  Wasn’t that what I just said? The voice on the other end was gruff and a touch too loud, so I stifled my annoyance, realizing that the person might not be able to hear all that well. Raising my voice a bit, I answered. “This is Blythe. How can I help you?”

  “There isn’t any call for yelling,” scolded the gruff voice.

  “Excuse me,” I said, rolling my eyes and lowering my voice just a smidge. “How can I help?”

  “My name is Kevin Sanderson. My wife, Celia, and I made a donation to Humane Miami last week.”

  “Yes,” I said as I mentally berated myself for letting my bad mood bleed through into something affecting the youth center. I tried to make my voice sound bright and sunny. “We really appreciate your support.”

  “Ah, yes.” Kevin coughed. “Unfortunately, I’m afraid we’re going to have to exercise the clause in our contract with the center that allows us to pull the donation. The majority of the commitment hasn’t been paid out yet, but we are willing to give you a little time to return what has already been spent. The contract outlines a two-month grace period.”

  My headache forgotten, I sat bolt upright in my chair, my heart racing. “Mr. Sanderson. Your generous donation is doing so much good here at Humane Miami. Perhaps there is a problem I can help resolve to keep you as a supporter?”

  “I’m sorry,” said Mr. Sanderson. He almost did sound regretful, but since his voice was still gruff, I thought I might be imagining it. “We can’t risk being connected to any kind of scandal. Frankly, it’s something you should have thought of in choosing who you spend your time with. You’re the face of the center, Ms. Hemsey.”

  “With respect, Mr. Sanderson, the children we help are the face of the center. I look into their faces every day and see the good we’re doing, giving them a safe haven, help with homework, a path towards a brighter future. I can assure you that your donation will be put to good use.”

  “I know Jack Drayson,” said Kevin. “I always thought he was a good boy. An honest politician. But an honest man would never let himself be dragged into a murder investigation.”

  So, he wasn’t even dancing around the real issue anymore. I wouldn’t either.

  “Jack Drayson was not charged with any crime,” I said. There was no chance that Kevin Sanderson was struggling to hear me now. I was practically yelling. “He isn’t a murderer. He isn’t even a suspect! Perhaps more importantly, he isn’t a part of the leadership of Humane Miami. I can personally guarantee you that your funds will be used to help children in need. Our overhead is the lowest of any local charity in our sector and—”

  “Let me save you the spiel, Ms. Hemsey,” he cut in. “And perhaps you’ll heed my advice. The man a woman chooses to fraternize with reflects on her own character. I can’t trust you, Ms. Hemsey. We’re pulling the donation.”

  “Mr. Sanderson! Please…”

  But my pleas were answered with a dial tone. Letting loose a curse word I would have flayed the kids for saying, I slammed down the phone with angry tears coming to my eyes. Too many people had pulled their donations recently. After Hirsh and Al-Latif told people to drop their donations after I’d refused to sleep with him, I became dangerously close to losing the charity, and now the nightmare was happening all over again. If I wasn’t careful, I’d lose everything.

  “I don’t suppose that was Kevin Sanderson you were just speaking with?”

  I jumped guiltily at the sound of a voice in the doorway. A deep, disconcertingly male voice. The owner of that voice was leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed, as if he owned the place. He was wearing the kind of well-fitted suit that screamed money. The formal attire couldn’t hide the corded muscles underneath. The man seemed to radiate power. And amusement. The sun-streaked blond hair and deep tan told me that he was a local in Florida, and his blue eyes sparkled like the ocean.

  I noticed. It was impossible not to, but I was too pissed to be affected. “You were eavesdropping?”

  “Couldn’t help it,” the man said. “It’s a rare woman who can hold her ground with Kevin Sanderson.

  “I didn’t say that was who I was speaking with,” I said, knowing I sounded petulant. “And even if I was, this is a private matter.”

  “Of course,” said the man, untroubled by my tone. “Even if I’m wrong about Kevin, I know who you are. Blythe. All those scandalous newspaper articles don’t do you justice. You’re even prettier in person.”

  He was completely annoying. I should have been insulted that he thought he could compliment me. But the gentle flirting in his tone was slipping past my defenses. I didn’t want anyone but Jack. But everything with Jack was complicated right now. It was hard to remember how much we made sense when we weren’t wrapped in each other’s arms.

  Trying to create a barrier between me and the charming eavesdropper, I stood up and crossed my arms too. “Can I help you with something?”

  I was pretty sure I knew why he was here. There was a small law firm a few blocks away from the residential neighborhood. There weren’t a lot of businesses in this part of Miami, but this particular firm traded on a kind of “cutting edge” reputation—right down to their offices in a renovated warehouse in
a slightly rough part of town. It wouldn’t be the first time one of the lawyers had come over to complain about the center. The kids were bouncing the basketballs too loudly. Shouting. Jaywalking. It was always something. “You know, these kids have just as much of a right to be in this neighborhood as you do,” I said when the man didn’t offer any further information.

  “I agree,” said the man, taking my sharp tone in stride. He stepped farther into the room and reached his hand across my desk. “I’m Riley Henning. As you seem to have guessed, I work for Diamond and Heemstra. I’m a consultant, in fact, working with them on connecting with worthy charitable causes. I’d like to talk to you about investing in your center, and I’m not here to argue about your location.”

  “They want to donate money?” I blurted out. Where was my finesse with donors? I was used to putting aside my personal feelings to help the kids, but this man seemed to strip away my professional persona. “They petitioned the local government to keep me from reopening the sports center. Turns out that the represented people who wanted to run people out of their homes and build a theme park here because that’s what Florida really needs. Another theme park.”

  “Yes. They want to donate money,” Riley said, still seeming amused. He held out his hand again, and I uncrossed my arms, but I was too dumbstruck to shake. Undeterred, Riley reached out and took one of my hands, clasping it in his own. His hands were warm and strong, and I was seized by a crazy impulse to lean into him. He raised an eyebrow, keeping hold of my hand and turning it over. “No ring.”

  “What?”

  “There’s a rumor going around that you were involved with the congressman. Maybe even engaged.”

  I resisted the urge to touch the ring where it was hidden on a chain around my neck and tucked under my t-shirt. “You must not be following the news. There was no engagement, and most of the headlines are about our breakup. What does that have to do with a donation?” I asked, snatching my hand away.

  “So, you’re single. Interesting. It doesn’t have anything to do with the donation,” Riley said. “Not to me, at least. I doubt the breakup would do much to placate Kevin Sanderson.”

  “I don’t know what your angle is, Mr. Henning. But I don’t need a consultant.”

  “What about a date?”

  “That…that doesn’t have anything to do with a donation, either.” I straightened my shoulders. “Despite what you may have heard.”

  Riley’s humor finally vanished. “I didn’t mean to imply anything,” he said. “I’m aware Diamond and Heemstra haven’t been the best of neighbors. They should invest in this place rather than creating roadblocks. My thinking is that the arts center presents a happy compromise. The partners won’t complain that they’re giving money to the ‘noisy kids across the street’ and your organization will be able to grow in a new direction.”

  I stiffened. “We’re not planning to vacate this space.”

  “That’s not what this is about,” Riley said softly. “It’s just politics. I’ll be honest because I’m sure that you can sympathize. They’ve garnered some unwanted attention. A generous donation to a charity would give them some brownie points.”

  “Lately, I’ve found that nothing is just politics,” I blurted out, surprising myself at my willingness to say something so honest to a relative stranger. Despite his forward attitude and his eavesdropping, I liked Riley. And I couldn’t stop myself from noticing how handsome he was. And how nice it was to have a handsome man flirting with me without the shadow of murder hanging over both of us. I was about to kick Riley out of my office to make up for my traitorous feelings when he took care of that for me.

  “I’ve already stayed too long,” he said, stepping away from me. “Time is money when you bill by the hour.” He smiled that devastating grin, but I refused to smile in return. “I’ll send you over a contract to look at regarding the planned donation. I think you’ll find the terms very generous. All my clients want is a promise that their name will be displayed in the lobby at the new center.”

  “I look forward to receiving that information, Mr. Henning,” I said. “Thank you for your generosity.”

  “Riley.” He gave me a slow grin. “It was absolutely worth it to meet you, Blythe.”

  “Ms. Hemsey,” I shot back. I didn’t want him to be on a first name basis with me.

  Riley laughed. “I know it’s uninvited, Ms. Hemsey,” he said, obliging me. “But can I give you a little advice? Kevin Sanderson is an idiot. He cares more about his reputation than anyone I’ve ever met. That’s why he won’t wear a hearing aid despite the fact he’s nearly deaf. It’s why you can pick him out of a crowd by his ridiculous toupee. And it’s probably why he just pulled a big donation to your project.”

  I crossed my arms over my chest again. “I didn’t ask for a psychological profile.”

  “Talk to his wife,” said Riley, undeterred. “She’s the only one who can ever talk sense into him. And she loves the arts. She played her violin at Carnegie Hall when she was twelve.”

  “Thanks,” I said, surprised. Riley winked at me, actually winked, and strolled out of the room. I hated that I regretted his departure. I loved Jack. Things were complicated right now, but I owed him more than to banter and flirt with the first hot guy who walked through my door.

  9 Jack

  The chime indicating the ascent of the penthouse elevator sounded. Instinctively, I pushed my glass across the counter, out of sight behind a bowl of oranges my housekeeper kept stocked despite my dislike for the fruit. I didn’t want Blythe to see that I was drinking. She deserved to sip fine wine while I held her in my arms. Not a boyfriend who already smelled of scotch when she showed up at his door. A man who she had to sneak around to see.

  This thing with Handan was getting to me.

  With a growl, I retrieved the glass and threw back the rest of the scotch. Then I tossed the glass into the sink hard enough that I was surprised when it didn’t break. I went to meet her at the elevator. I intended to keep my distance. Give her a moment to get her bearings.

  When I saw what she was wearing, a slinky dress that hugged her hips and showed off her long legs, I forgot all of that and crossed to her in two long strides, pulling her into my arms. The kiss was hard and desperate, and Blythe melted against me. When I finally let her go, she placed both hands against my chest and pushed back a little to look at my face, letting me keep her in the circle of my arms.

  “You taste like alcohol,” she said, wrinkling her nose.

  “Drowning my sorrows,” I said. “Now that you’re here, I’ve forgotten what they were. What did you do to your hair?”

  Wrinkling her nose again, Blythe raised a hand and ran her fingers over her glossy dark hair where it was gathered to one side in a fall of curls. “I lied to Rachel about going out to eat with my parents and asked her to let me change at her place in case the press was at mine. She wouldn’t give me any clothes unless I agreed to let her do my hair too.”

  “No clothes might have been interesting.” I grinned. “But I do like this dress.” I settled my hands on her hips, liking the way the thin fabric felt almost as if we were skin-to-skin. “And the hair.”

  “It’s a little much,” she said. “Especially considering we can’t actually go anywhere.”

  “Right,” I said, sobering a little. “Because keeping away from each other publicly helps to keep you safe.”

  “I feel safer when I’m with you,” I said. “Maybe this isn’t worth it.”

  Something about the conversation was bothering me. I was distracted by the hair and the dress—by Blythe, beautiful and real and in my arms after much too long. But now I realized something was missing. Someone.

  “Where’s Carl?”

  Blythe glanced behind her at the silent elevator. “Working on his needlepoint?”

  “Blythe.” My voice carried a warning.

  “Does he really do needlepoint?” she rambled, “Because it seems like a lie, but maybe it’s like how footbal
l players do ballet. Like it makes him notice details or something.”

  “He was supposed to stick with you until you got upstairs. That includes the elevator.”

  “I left him at Rachel’s,” said Blythe, looking guilty. “There’s a back exit he didn’t know I knew about.”

  “Christ, Blythe. Carl is there to keep you safe.”

  “Don’t you think people will wonder about our separation if I’m seen in the company of your bodyguard?”

  “We—”

  “I know, I know.” She sighed, long and deep. “Look, I drove straight into your garage and got on the elevator. What’s going to happen to me in an elevator?” Her voice trailed off, and she looked up at me, her beautiful eyes wide with sudden fear. I knew she remembered what we had seen when her old “associate” Hirsh had been shot and killed. He had emerged from an elevator in his building with blood pouring from a wound in his chest.

  I could still remember what it had felt like to hold Blythe in my arms after that experience, feeling her trembling as she remembered the man dying in her arms, convincing her that she had truly washed his blood from her innocent hands.

  “I can tell from the look on your face that you’ve already realized the answer to that question.”

  “I’m sorry, Jack.” She blinked rapidly. “This is hard for me. For both of us.”

  “It shouldn’t be this hard. I’m dragging you through this shit. You deserve better.”

  “Stop.” She has her hand over her heart, and I realize she’s touching the small lump that is her engagement ring, hidden on a chain around her neck. “I’ve been thinking about you all day, and I just wanted to enjoy being with you. It’s hard to know that when you’re bringing up unpleasant stuff.”

  “I’m sorry, baby,” I said, tugging her back into my arms. “Let’s eat dinner. I hope you’re not sick of Italian food.”

  “Never,” said Blythe, a smile lighting her beautiful face.