Authors: Barbara Delinsky
“She died as she lived—alone. They say it was a stroke. I know it was loneliness, boredom, the lack of the will to live.” The accuracy of his conclusion was not for Daran to judge. That Drew blamed himself, in some part, for the fate of his mother was obvious. Its further ramification, however, would not have been imagined had it not been for the force of the sudden outburst that followed. His voice remained low, though his words were spoken through tightly clenched jaws. “I could not ask any woman to live the life I do. Not after that…”
The ensuing silence gave Daran a chance to recover from his bitter vow. He had, in his words, reinforced her own feelings on the matter. Life with Bill—married to a political beast—had been cruel torture from the start. Or had it been Bill who was the beast? For the first time she had to face that possibility. But why now? It only took the time to sip the last of her wine for Daran to come up with an answer. It was Drew. Drew was as different from Bill as night from day. In the short time she had spent with Drew, she had rarely thought of him as the politician she knew, for a fact, he was. When she was with him, thought of that all-consuming machine of government was nonexistent aside from the specific discussions that revolved around it and that had so comfortably drawn her into its web in an inoffensive way. That was the difference. Drew Charles was not only a politician. He was, as he had so insistently pointed out to her on one very vocal occasion, a man as well. Whereas other men might be swallowed up by the machine, Drew would merely laugh in its face and turn his back on it if that seemed the only course for survival. He was a survivor above all else.
Yet his thoughts lingered on one who had not survived. It was as if, having opened the floodgates, the flow could not be stopped. His voice was low and smooth, its edge of steel barely sheathed. “I see women every day, wives, even girl friends of various of my colleagues, who suffer as my mother did. There was nothing unique about her. It’s a disease. The political bug is a hard one to shake. It becomes one’s mistress, spoiling all other relationships.” As he seethed on in his quietly forceful manner, Daran’s own prejudices clamored to agree. “The crime against children in the political arena is terrible. Here we are, trying to guarantee children certain basic rights, when all we have to do is to look around us to see a generation being neglected pitifully.”
Daran had never seen Drew so agitated. As he spoke, her own level of agitation had risen as she had relived her own past. Though they had never made it as a couple to Washington, she and Bill had suffered that disease to which Drew referred first-hand. The matter of children was particularly poignant; Daran had wanted them desperately when first they contemplated marriage. Mercifully she had not conceived.
When Drew looked her straight in the eye and repeated his vow, “I would never ask a woman to sacrifice her life for me,” she was stunned. Yet her own suffering was too fresh in her mind to disagree.
“You shouldn’t. It would be very cruel.” Her thoughts were on Bill, that
he
should have been the one making the vow now. Only when Drew seemed to snap from his own anger to send her a puzzled glance did she realize how far her emotions had strayed. Eager to make amends, she smiled as warmly as possible. “I’m sorry. I was thinking of something else. That sounded terrible.”
A pulse in his temple throbbed visibly. “You have every right to believe what you want.”
“But that’s not what I believe—that is, I’m not sure…” In fact, she was not. For years now, her being had been hardened to men in general, and this political maelstrom in particular. Now she
was
not quite sure.
After what seemed an eternal pause, Drew grinned. “When Dr. Daran Patterson isn’t sure about something, it must mean that she has either had too much wine or that she is exhausted. In either case, I’d better drive you home.”
Fearful of protesting, lest he push her to discuss her quandary, she accompanied him without argument, this time in his car, a sober navy sedan which was a far cry from the sporty silver one he kept in Connecticut.
“Laura Speranzo will be by to pick you up at seven-thirty tomorrow morning. Once a month I get all my aides together for a breakfast. You happened to arrive at the right time.” A bright grin flashed her way as one hand left the wheel to squeeze hers, which lay idly in her lap. His touch was enough to reawaken any senses that might have succumbed to the wine. “Senator Brande, from New Mexico, will be speaking. And you’ll have a chance to meet all the others in the office.” Nodding, Daran accepted the fact that he would not be picking her up himself. Why she had hoped it, she was reluctant to say. Reading her thoughts, he said as he pulled the car up just across the street from her hotel, “I’d give you a lift myself if it weren’t for the petty jealousies it might cause.” He was teasing at first, then he sobered enough to convey the truth of his message. “It’s a very delicate thing—balancing the egos of one’s staff. And a staff is critical to the success and power of any senator. You’ll see that for yourself.” Once more she had to admire him for the sensitivity that his words suggested.
Silently she reached for the door to let herself out. Never one to sit on ceremony, it had seemed perfectly natural. When Drew’s long torso stretched across to still her departure, she looked back in surprise. “Can you get up to your room all right?” One hand was on the back of the seat by her head, the other covering hers on the door handle. His face was mere inches from hers, its nearness sending shock waves through her which had nothing to do with the suddenness of his move.
“I think so.” Then she teased back in a frail attempt at diluting the sensuous havoc he caused. “After all, we wouldn’t want to give fuel for gossip.” Had he not mentioned but moments before the existence of jealousies among the in-group, the quip would never have surfaced. It was taken, mercifully, in the good humor in which it had been offered.
“To hell with gossip,” he growled playfully. “If I see you to your room, I won’t leave. You know how much I want you…” The last was uttered with a depth of desire which, in truth, had been building all evening. Even in spite of the negativity of the discussion at his home earlier, the fact of the chemical attraction between the two was undeniable. At that moment Daran would mindlessly have invited him to walk her in, drugged as she was by his nearness.
His body was all male, sending a telltale tingle through her. Remembrance of the touch of his lips on hers deepened that tingle to a shudder he could not have missed, bent intimately around her as he was. When the hand behind curved about her neck and he straightened, drawing her toward him, she went willingly. Earlier his kiss had been one of reacquaintance; now there was pure hunger in it.
The dark of night held from her all things visual. Sensation reigned supreme. Receiving and returning his embrace in kind, she dove happily into the sea of his passion, wishing nothing more than to drown there. Yet he held her afloat, teasing her with a new twist of his lips or a deeper forage of his tongue. His hand caressed her shoulder, then fell to mold gently the full curve of her breast.
“Drew, please…” she began breathlessly when he finally released her lips. A large forefinger instantly straightened against them to still her words, be they invitation or protest. For some reason he did not wish to know. Rather, firmly pulling himself away from her, he cleared his throat.
“You’d better go on up, Daran. We’ve got an early morning tomorrow.” It seemed, indeed, a repetition of the past; once more, politics had made its grand intrusion on her life. This time, however, it may have been a godsend.
“Drew—” she began again, her purpose a mystery even to herself, only knowing that she did not want the evening to end on that last jarring note. Again he silenced her.
“Shh. Let me be noble … just for tonight.” For a brief moment his head turned her way. Even in the flickering beam of a passing headlight the strain on his face was evident. Perhaps he was right; enough had been said and done for one evening.
Sliding back over the seat, she let herself out, ran across the street, and disappeared into the hotel lobby without a backward glance, intent only on seeking the solace of her room and its privacy to ponder her feelings.
But those feelings were far from simple, as was the man who sparked them. If only he were the typical political devil she had envisioned that very first day in her office at Trinity. Negative as her dealings with him might have been, he would at least have been predictable. And resistible. Drew Charles was
neither
. And there was yet another side of the man to be seen, one to which she would be introduced the following morning. It was her perverse prayer that he would prove to be every bit as offensive a senator-in-action as the very worst of the lot. Somehow, however, she doubted that that would be the case.
CHAPTER 6
The next few days left Daran little time to ponder the depths of her own feelings. Whereas as at home in Connecticut she was, by virtue of the professional roles in which she found herself, an organizer, an adviser, a leader, here in Washington she was one of the group. If she had expected that less executive status to be a more passive one, however, she was mistaken. From the start, the life of the governmental servant took her by storm, both intellectually and physically. Not only were there a myriad of varying issues to be considered at any given time, but the rigor of meetings, fact-finding, telephoning, and chasing after one legislator or another would try the energy of even the most conditioned athlete.
It began with the staff breakfast the following morning. The young woman whom she had met so briefly the day before was at her door five minutes ahead of time. Fortunately Daran’s own excitement had woken her long before the official call came through. Showered, and dressed in a safari-style shirtwaist dress of lightweight cotton, she labored for long minutes with her hair, fastening it at the nape of her neck both for coolness and for a continuation of the mature image that the simple bone sandals, the gold chain and hoop earrings, and the wide obi-like sash imparted. A dash of cologne and a dash of makeup concluded her dallying. When she opened the door for Laura Speranzo, she felt confidence in the properly poised appearance she made.
Of the many surprises in store for her, the first was the overall youth of the workers who comprised the senator’s staff. Aside from the major legislative aides, of which there appeared at fast count to be five, the second echelon of assistants were young—most younger than herself—and enthusiastic. The friendly hand of John Hollings, who seemed to manage the others, was at her elbow from the moment she entered the room, guiding her from one to the other, making the introductions with an unmistakable flair, telling her just enough about each one to help her keep them straight. A cup of coffee and a cheese danish mysteriously found their way into her hands. So preoccupied was she in meeting these new people that Drew, for a large part, escaped her attention. Only later, after Senator Brande had given a short talk on the pending defense-spending bill, and the general milling commenced once more, did she note that, as host, he had moved quietly from one guest to another, shunning the spotlight himself, chatting personally with his staff.
As Daran was diverted, she had missed the intermittent glances he cast her way as he made his rounds. When the tall form suddenly materialized by her side, she was—for the first time that morning—strangely unsure of herself. Up to that point self-assurance had come naturally. For all the competitive spirit that had to exist in a group such as this, its members had welcomed her with courtesy and interest. But Drew she already knew, in a fashion; how was she to act toward him?
To her immediate relief, the senator himself established the guideline. “How are you, Daran?” The rhetorical question, overheard both by John Hollings and by Leo Alteris, with whom she had been talking moments before, was rapidly followed up by more very deliberate chatter. “It was fortunate that you came in yesterday and were able make it this morning. You won’t find any better danish in all of Washington.” The gleam in his eye touched on both other faces before returning to hers. “I see you’ve met Leo. John must have told you that he is in charge of matters before the Judiciary Committee. You’ll be working primarily with him while you’re here.” The tone of voice was smooth and even, carrying the same warmth—and no more—that it had to the ears of each of his other staffers. There was a hand on neither her elbow, her waist, nor her shoulder. In his office setting Drew Charles observed all proprieties. Not so, necessarily, his staff.
Before Daran knew what was happening, the man named Leo, who was evidently to be her overseer, stepped closer and did put a casually intimate arm over her slim shoulders. “I owe you my thanks, Senator. Dr. Patterson may be just what we need.” The hint of a deeper mischief, written so blatantly in his features, went much further than his words. For the first time Daran took a good look at him. Perhaps in his early thirties, the man was of average height and build and very good looking by all normal standards. Why Daran had not noticed this when she had first met him was no mystery; in this office, those normal standards were sadly relegated to the paper-shredder—for the boss of the office set an entirely new and far higher standard.
It was the senator’s voice, a bit stronger now, as though in echo of her thoughts. “Dr. Patterson is here to work, Leo. Keep that in mind. I’ll be expecting twice as much work from both of you before those hearings are over.” A chill of premonition passed through Daran, not so much inspired by his words as by the sharp eye which, with an awesome visual touch, removed the tentative weight of her coworker’s arm from her shoulder. It was obvious that the senator would stand for no mixing of business and pleasure when it came to his office. But then, isn’t that what she had known all along? Where politics was the name of the game, romance was ruled out. In Bill’s case, politics had been his be-all and end-all; there
was
nothing else. Drew had already proven that he was a human being as well as a politician. Yet his reaction in this particular situation, she was sure, had been intended as a lesson for her. While she worked for him, there would be no fooling around—it was as blunt as that. And, for the time being at least, she could live with that ground rule. For if she was to be working as hard as he suggested, sleepless nights such as the last one would definitely be detrimental.