A Political Affair (17 page)

“Okay,” Stephen answered groggily. “We’ll be there.”

The conversation was effortless among the foursome at dinner, with Megan and Stephen trading sibling barbs while Anne asked Marco everything about his work. She was interested in a climate change treaty he was working on.
 

After a long and lovely meal, Stephen squeezed Anne’s hand as they walked to the car. He didn’t want her to leave, and he racked his brain looking for a way to get her alone again the coming week. Unfortunately, he worried that he couldn’t hide his feelings for her when they were in the office together.

Anne was the first to speak. “I had a great time. Thanks for having me.”

“No,
I
had great time. Thanks for coming over.” His smile turned into a frown. He didn’t want to say the next piece, but he thought it was prudent. He liked her too much. “About tomorrow . . . I was thinking it’s probably better if we didn’t talk as much in the office.”

“Probably a good idea.” She sighed.

He left her at the car door with a soft kiss. “Good-bye. I’ll see you tomorrow—even if I can’t talk to you.”

Chapter 12

The following Saturday morning, Anne expected Lillian McEvoy to answer the door, so her heart fluttered when Stephen let her in. All week, they’d exchanged knowing glances and smiles, but no words.

   
“Hey.” He smiled and welcomed her in.

“Hi.” She wanted to say something more, but she was once more distracted by his appearance. He was again unshaven and in faded jeans. A starched, white button-down was the only nod to a formal lunch with his mother. She returned his smile. “I like it when you don’t shave.”

“Really? Why is that?” he asked as he set her bag on a nearby table.

“I don’t know. It’s sort of a manly-man thing.”

Stephen’s smile turned from warm to wicked, and he pulled her into his arms for a long kiss.
 

When she pressed her body against his, she suddenly stiffened. “I’m forgetting where we are.”
 

“Can’t you hear her banging around the kitchen? It’s okay.” He chuckled and kissed behind her ear. “My mom has a bridge game every Saturday. She’ll be at a friend’s on another floor most of the afternoon. We can be alone.”

“Great.”

“Did you bring a book?” he asked, motioning toward her bag. “The apartment has some terraces—very private. It’s nice; we could sit outside.”

His mother’s voice carried from the kitchen. “Stephen, can you please get the soup tureen from the buffet?”

“Sure, Mom.” He smiled. “That’s my mom’s way of telling me she wants to see you. Come on.”

Anne admired the elegant décor as he led her to the kitchen.
 

When they walked in, Lillian McEvoy turned from the stove. “Anne, welcome. Thank you for coming today. I’m so happy to have you.”

“I’m happy to be here. Thank you for inviting me.” She motioned toward the stove. “Is there something I can help you with here?”

Lillian peeked into her pot. “Well, thank you. How about you stir the soup while I plate the meat?” She smiled. “And we can talk.”
 

Lillian monopolized the conversation with Anne throughout their lunch, asking her about her family, horses, and school. Each time Stephen attempted to break in, his mother shut him down. He grumbled in irritation, while Anne smiled at her sulking senator.

Stephen tried again to change the topic to one where he could also engage. “Mom, have you seen Grayson lately?”

“No, I haven’t,” she said dismissively and turned back to the center of her attention. “Now, Anne, tell me about your holiday plans.”

“I’m staying here for Thanksgiving, and I’ll go home for Christmas.”

“That will be nice.” Lillian smiled. “I was going to say if you were flying to Colorado for Thanksgiving you should go with us, but please do at Christmas instead. We have plenty of room on the plane.”

“Mom, are you sure about that?” Stephen asked. “I don’t know if . . .”

Anne’s eyes widened slightly, but she remained silent. Flying in a private plane with the McEvoys was hard to imagine.

“Why not?” Lillian asked as she looked at their surprised faces. “Greg flies with us, and Anne is my friend. He could even drive her to Silverthorne.”

“Um. Mom. There are appearances. And more importantly, I never planned on telling Greg about Anne and me.”

“That would be a mistake.” Her lips pursed in disapproval.
 

“Why? What are you thinking? I didn’t want him to get caught up in any scandal if something were to come out. What’s your take?”

“He can protect you. He’ll hear things in the office you and Megan won’t. You benefit far more from Greg knowing than not.”

“Excuse me, Lillian. Greg knows my family,” Anne said hesitantly. “I’m not sure it’s such a good idea in case my family hears—”

“You don’t need to worry about that,” Stephen placed his hand on Anne’s shoulder. “Greg would never do anything to hurt me. I think my mom is right.”

“Then you and Megan should tell him on Monday,” Lillian declared, smiling at her own astuteness. “Now, let’s have some sorbet.”

After lunch, they cleared the table, and Lillian checked her watch. “Oh my. I have to go. My bridge game starts in five minutes. Please leave everything in the kitchen, and I’ll take care of it when I get home . . . around five or so . . . not earlier, though. ”

Anne objected to leaving the dishes for Lillian, so while she went off to play bridge, Stephen and Anne cleaned up. As Anne washed the crystal, he moved behind her.
 

“She gave us fair warning for when she’d be back.” He kissed her neck. “We can have some privacy; that means she really likes you.”

“That’s nice of her.” She leaned her neck to the side so he had better access.
 

He gave her another kiss. “Let’s get these dishes done so we can do more of this.”
 

When they finished cleaning the kitchen, they took their respective reading onto an expansive terrace off the living room. Large planters with flowers framed the patio, and outdoor furniture with plump pillows made it an exterior living room. He led her to a large double-size lounger, big enough for the two of them.
 

After they sat down, he peered over her textbook. “I’d rather be reading yours,” he muttered.

She eyed the briefing memo on his lap. The title included the words “Federal Trade Commission.” She wrinkled her nose. “I’m not trading.”

“You’re smart not to.” He sighed, but continued reading.

She looked at him—stretched out in his jeans like a model. “You know, you don’t look very senatorial right now.”
 

“That’s good.” With a sly smile, he took off his sunglasses and inched closer. “I’d prefer you didn’t think of me as a senator, and I certainly don’t want to think of you as an employee.”

“What do you think of me as?”

“Someone very special.”

Something about what he said struck her core because it didn’t make sense. “Special? Look at all the women you’ve been with. Like that actress, Jennifer Hamilton. She’s gorgeous.” She shook her head in doubt. “It doesn’t make sense.”

“Come here.” He pulled her close and looked straight into her eyes. “I think you’re absolutely beautiful. Each and every one of your freckles is adorable, and you have the most beautiful eyes.” He stroked her arm and said in a seductive voice, “And I can’t
wait
to see the rest of you.”

When she looked down, embarrassed and delighted by his words, he lifted her chin. “One day I hope we can go riding, because if it’s possible, I bet you’re even prettier on a horse. And you make me laugh and think, and you’re so damn cute when you tease me, I just want to kiss you. I will never be bored with you.”

Her heart swelled with his words, and her whole body felt warm and fuzzy. She gave him a sweet kiss. “Well, I’m certainly never bored with you.”
 

He smiled, but his brow soon creased. “I know my past is going to come up again, but for now can we put it behind us? Because that’s where it belongs.”

“Okay. I can do that.”
 

“Thank you,” he said and gave her a kiss. After a moment, he pulled away and tugged her bulky fisherman’s sweater. Furrowing his brow, he had a playful pout. “This sweater is offensive. I can’t see your body. If I can’t touch it, at least let me see it.”

Examining her sweater, she recalled what she wore underneath. Not thinking it a big deal, she smiled and swiftly pulled the sweater over her head to reveal a tight, long-sleeved T-shirt.
 

“Ah. Much better,” he said with an exaggerated sigh of relief.

“You’re silly.”

“And you look gorgeous.” His ran his hand down her side, barely grazing her breast.
 

“I’m not exactly well-endowed.” She hunched her shoulders slightly.

“Darling, you’re perfectly endowed.” He repeated the sweep of his hand down her other side.

Giddy again, she kissed him quickly. The kiss spurred him on, and he pulled her on top of him so that his hands could reach under her skirt and gently stroke her legs. With only sheer tights between his hands and her thighs, she felt almost naked under his touch, and she pressed into him. Then his hands abruptly stopped.

“You’re not wearing anything underneath these?” he asked.

“Um. No. I hate how everything gets bunched up when you wear stockings and panties.”

“My God. You’re killing me.” He put his arm over his eyes in feigned distress.
 

“I didn’t expect to be making out with you at your mother’s.” She giggled.

“We’re never coming here again.” He smiled and stroked her cheek. “A night alone with you, that’s all I ask.”

“Only one night?” She raised an eyebrow.

“At this point, I’ll take what I can get.”

With a glance up and down, she admired his long, lean body. She nodded. “I’d take one night, too.”

His smile turned into a devilish grin, and he pulled her snug in his arms. “I’m glad we’ve come to an agreement.” After a deep kiss, he murmured, “Until then, I’m just going to kiss you.”

“Don’t you have to read about the FTC?” She chuckled.

“Fuck the FTC,” he said and kissed her again.

The following Monday morning, Trey Johnson decided to try to reach Walter Smith one last time. For weeks, he’d wanted to talk with the Godfather-like figure about Langford’s campaign. When the receptionist said Walter would actually take his call, Trey’s eyes lit up.

After a minute, Walter came on the line. “Trey, so good to talk to you. I’ve been in Chile for the last month. The fly fishing is amazing there. You wouldn’t believe . . .”
 

Trey rolled his eyes as Walter gave an extemporaneous speech about South American fish. Talking to the idle rich about anything other than politics was the least favorite part of his job.
 

“It sounds like you had a great time. On behalf of Dan Langford, I wanted to thank you for your generous contribution and the other donations you’ve raised for the campaign. We appreciate your support.”

“Happy to help. You know how much I want us to win, but now that I’ve got you on the phone I want to give you my opinion.”

“That’s the reason why I called. Your opinion is the most important.” Trey didn’t care if he was ingratiating; he needed Walter’s help.

“Thank you,” Walter replied, not sounding particularly impressed with the compliment. “Well, I do think Dan Langford is a natural born winner.”

“I’m so glad to hear you say that. He sure is.”

“But I worry he’s not ready.”

“What do you mean?” Trey’s voice was calm, but he was alarmed to hear Walter say anything remotely negative about Langford. Walter was the most influential and shrewd funder of conservative political causes in the country. Trey needed him excited about his candidate.

“I’m not sure he’s ready to take it to the next level. I’m not sure he’s senatorial material.”
 

Trey’s mouth twitched. There was a caste system in politics from the local to state to federal levels. While upward mobility naturally occurred in the castes, some politicians lacked the polish and skill to lift themselves up. Walter obviously thought Langford was too provincial. Trey knew it was a weakness of Langford’s, but it could also be a positive.
 

“I can see why you might say that. He’s so ‘down-home,’ so to speak, but it works in Colorado.”

“Maybe, though he’s a stark contrast to Stephen McEvoy.”

“I assure you Dan’s brand of tough conservatism will do great against a pretty boy like McEvoy who was born with a silver spoon in his mouth.”

“If Langford was only running against Stephen McEvoy alone, I might agree with you. In reality, he’s up against the whole McEvoy clan. They’re the Kennedys of the West, and since his dad’s death, his mother’s become the patron saint of Colorado. And frankly, McEvoy has done well for himself since he’s been in the Senate. He’s been pretty moderate.”

“But nobody’s perfect—not even Stephen McEvoy,” Trey said, trying to salvage the call. “He has weaknesses. There has to be something that could be found on him. After all, the guy does have a reputation. He hates it when you mention it.”