Hard As Stone (Beautiful Betrayal Book 1) (21 page)

“Can we get past trading bafflegab?” A silken thread of warning edges his voice.

In his glassy eyes, I see tiny twin reflections of my scared expression as I nod and squeak, “Yes.”

“Pointblank, a hatchet job or
someone
seeking to set me up, isn’t going to happen.” Without warning, Stone leans over. He’s so close I feel the scrape of his beard stubble along my cheek. “O’Malley, what previously occurred between us was a first. I don’t make a habit of public displays and an encore is not forthcoming.”

He seamlessly straightens and I question if he actually was near enough to kiss. My skin tingles along my face, confirming it wasn’t my imagination. Stone executed that move with cultivated finesse. His confident tone doesn’t irritate me like the other times—oh no. It’s as if we’re connected on a deeper level. His potency pours through me, imparting an irrational impression I can only describe as the shadow of a premonition.
Or I’m light-headed and suffering from a terrible case of wishful thinking.

“That note is simply a
mistake
. Nothing to consider.” As soon as the excuse pops out of my mouth, everything changes. How many times in one night can I possibly repeat a word? Unconsciously I’m trying to punish him but in reality, I’m giving him a pointed message. In a beat, the world around me fades to grey, and there’s only Atticus Stone and me.

“Easy for you to say.” He gazes at me, his eyes unwavering, and the note still in his hand.

When Jon abruptly coughs, he harnesses my attention. I understand his message. Universal code for dummies: get a grip. Senator Stone might have kissed me in a club, but he isn’t into interns or his staff. Confirmed in all my research on the man. Tonight he’s been a perfect gentleman—albeit exacting and inquisitive, but no waterboarding.

“I’m not being slick. It wasn’t a reference to you.” What’s one more lie?

His brows knit together. “Are you saying you received an offer to be someone’s intimate assistant?”

This calls for damage control and some groveling. I don’t need a smack to recall that some journalists are being beheaded for wanting to shed light on the truth. The real truth. Big and international. World changing. Not petty minutia. Or a flight of fancy during an interview, reliving what it was like to kiss the new boss.

“It’s just, God… That note has nothing to do with my work ethics or my ability to get the job done. You might not believe that I’m the person for this spot. My life really is reflected in my answers on
those pages
. Read my application. Not some scribbled note.” Scooting a few inches closer to Stone, I reach over and tap the stack of documents on his leg, all the while neither of us breaks eye contact. “I grasp concepts quickly. My lips are sealed. I’m here to learn and reap from my experience. The trip up the ladder begins tonight. With you, Senator Stone, and I’m pretty sure we both can get what we want.”

I pull my hand back and he lets his legs splay open, tapping my résumé lightly on his thigh. Slowly he raises his hand to his chin and rubs the side of his jaw with one of his long fingers as we continue in this mind-warping face-off.

The silence is deafening. So all-encompassing it feels like the temperature back here just shot way up. My whole body blushes. Add another fifty degrees hotter when he lets his gaze rove down from my face to my chest.

Can he see how fast I’m breathing?
I try to swallow but a brick of anxiety is lodged in my throat. I remind myself to stop fidgeting with the material of my dress at my lap, stilling my fingers. Jon slows down and turns the corner. The coffee house entrance flashes up ahead. A line of people are outside and I struggle to take a breath.

“It looks like we’ll be spending the next two days together. Close quarters, O’Malley. Let’s see if you can keep up.”

“Does that mean I’m on your team?”

“I’ll make a decision on Wednesday. As you know, my schedule just got slammed, and I need to prep for tomorrow. You up for a late night?” he counters, his eyes hooded, and I nod.

I add, “Yes, sir.”

“Yes what?” he growls.

“Yes, I’m up for a late night,” I copycat him
.
With his immaculate record and the political backing to hit it big in the White House, he has every right to throw me a curveball. As his only staffer tonight, I’d better field that ball into an action plan. What are Stone’s needs? Does he drink coffee or tea or soda? I need to call the hotel and verify their fax and printer are working as well as room service hours.

The car stops and he opens the door, climbing out and away before I can ask for clarification. Doesn’t matter. I’ll do whatever it takes to get on the Hill with a VIP pass this man can capably provide.

“What was Stone talking about?” Jon whispers as he holds out his hand to me.

Climbing from the backseat, I shrug. “After the talk, we’ll be working tonight.”

“Can’t say his reputation isn’t well deserved.”

“Seriously,” I agree. “I’ve never seen anyone so busy. His cell never stops. He has multitasking down to a science.”

“Comes with the turf.” Jon turns so his back is to the fast forming crowd outside the entrance and surrounding Stone. “Hey, what happened in the restaurant? You practically bit his head off getting into the car. Did he say or do something—”

“Nothing of the sort,” I hiss. “It was like an interrogation.”

“Yeah, some interviews are like that. Welcome to Washington.” Jon winks. “I’m sure you’ll do fine. Keep your head up.”

“I’ve got to make certain Stone understands that I’m no slacker. That I can handle whatever he throws my way.”

“If you’re still here, I imagine, you did.” He steps back and cocks his head toward the senator.

The man is surrounded by people. Stone is smiling, laughing, and talking as if he’s known them forever. His charisma is palpable. I need a dose of that along with a booster of his confidence. I’ll do anything. Nothing is too lowly on the internship ladder. It’s one month: four weeks to show him, I’m the real deal. If I do my part, Stone might not only give me a job reference, he could actually show up as a witness in court on my behalf.

What’s more, it isn’t ridiculous to learn from a capable master. It’s epically pragmatic! This man might turn out to be more powerful than any one family.
President Atticus Stone
. He could happen. We could happen—if I get my head out of the clouds.

Atticus Stone~
Unchartered Terrain

Fifteen minutes ago.

“
INTIMATE STAFF ASSISTANT
.” Written in pink ink in large block letters on her note and I can’t let go. I don’t look down at the page where O’Malley’s indicating with her insistent finger tapping. Sure, the voice in my head shouts to release it, but it’s a no-go.

Over dinner, I’d grilled Phoenix using a voice stress analysis app. After reviewing the recording on my cell, except for four micro tremors, she’s seamless. I text Archer, the PI hacker I use, giving him instructions to begin tailing O’Malley. I follow up with a laundry list, topped by a direct order to get his ass over to her apartment and install surveillance on the double. Archer is invisible when it comes to short-circuit cameras with audio and remote feed access. He’ll tap her cell and install spyware into her computer. By midnight, unless the world ends, I’ll have a complete copy of her email accounts, search engine history, and a copy of the hard drive on her computer.

For the last hour, I’ve purposefully vacillated to keep O’Malley off-balance. We’ve talked about a variety of topics—don’t ask me what—it all sounds like non sequiturs.

Except when she pointedly mentioned the war and that cracker box upheaval. Although during bedlam, I’d found a unique opportunity. That’s what this is as well: disorder and a doorway. At dinner, along with unearthing intimate details of Phoenix’s life (which I’ll use for deeper excavations), I’d hungered to kiss her again. Seated next to her in the back of a Fiat, even with a driver up front, further solidifies that line of thought.

My cell buzzes. On the screen, I read the message from The Saint:

“
is the blonde a Bratva dessert
”

Cold fury slices into my awareness. From entertaining ideas of O’Malley naked and riding me, I exhale as if punched in the face. With my pulse starting to climb, I consider what to divulge to my uncle. He’s infiltrated one of my contacts. The doorman
was
someone I’d trusted. I had planned on using him to lift O’Malley’s case for my inspection.
Good thing Jon stayed with the car.

Each of my keystrokes is a jab:

“New intern.”

The vision of Phoenix naked and under me flares. If I had any sense, I’d force it away. Imprisoned in a Fiat, I’m jacked up, and the pounding in my head starts. My ‘script is in my luggage and I’m not about to order Jon to park this mobile torture unit, so I can go rooting around in a suitcase. Using a pressure point on my hand, I close my eyes. As I press, I latch onto the image of O’Malley with her legs parted. Sure it’s an illusion yet it works to anchor my temper. Meticulously, I envision the texture, taste, and scent of her bared and spread for my pleasure. The things I’d enact with her would exorcise a casket of shit buried within me.

I’m intrigued by my newest drug of choice as I stare at the two-word text. It pisses the shit out of me that The Saint has eyes on me.
On Phoenix.
My anger reignites. My diaphragm locks.

Silently, I curse then hit send. From dickering with O’Malley about war reform, I wait to see what The Saint has to say. What did I expect with Santo’s paranoia and his preference to backstab over face-to-face pushback? A deadly combination.

My burner buzzes. Displayed:

“
wait to contact Ryan on Wed and give her your demands-she is ready to listen
”

After reading Santo’s text,
I click delete.

“How many phones do you have?”
O’Malley asks.

“A few. Why?” I slide my gaze to hers.

“Just wondering.” Her lashes flutter provocatively, right before her eyes widen. “Wow, there’s a throng waiting for you.”

That detail is far from comforting. I stow my cell, sharply glancing around but don’t see any drugstores nearby. This is a new burner and if I have to dump it that’ll be a chore. The car stops and I climb out ready to self-combust.

People surround me. A jabbering mob as they shake my hand. In the storefront windows, I watch as Jon helps O’Malley from the backseat. His hands on her shift something rudimentary in me. My nature to possess spills into my awareness. Half attending to the crowd, I’m caught in the moment, contemplating the many ways Ms. O’Malley can serve me in the flesh.

Not one has to do with the Hill. None have to do with performing legislative research, attending hearings, or answering constituent phone calls. I’m not deliberating where to plug her in with my other office or home staff. Nor do I picture her in terms of my domestic or foreign policy opinions. Far, far away from legislative bills with her pink lips and soft sighs. Forget my rocketing career in politics.

What I want from her can ruin me. But in a way, it’ll be worse for her if I waffle. She’d be cast under a shadow—the type imbued by Santo. I can’t allow The Saint and his minions near her first. The only alternative requires that I plot and plan how I’ll go about seducing this Irish mob princess into my bed while keeping
her lips sealed
. Her words not mine. How to keep her presence under the radar is turning out to be the question of the century.

Someone opens the coffee house door and I motion for those in the cluster that have congregated to enter. When the last person heads inside, I turn toward O’Malley. Jon’s back in the car, talking on his cell. She comes up next to me, close enough that I get a whiff of her flowery fragrance. As we gaze at one another, a blood vessel in her neck pulsates wildly. Methodically, I construct what is required to possess her. I mean truly dominate this woman for all sorts of reasons aside from getting my rocks off.

I look at her—look her up and down and don’t even try to hide what I’m doing. Let me count the ways I’m going to enjoy getting Phoenix O’Malley to conform as I extract all of her secrets. She isn’t a pushover. She’s stunning and with that spunk of hers, I run through countless methods and equipment, toys and tricks that will be useful. A treasure-trove I’ve accrued, but haven’t employed in my dungeon of late.

Anticipation of a truth-session has raw lust swimming in my veins. I’m buzzed and the crash of adrenaline bursting into my bloodstream is almost audible as I commit to the task of breaking her in. Cell out, I text Archer:

Status?

He returns with,

“In route. Be there by ten.”

By having him tail O’Malley, I’ll gain access to her life. Her thoughts. Her wishes and dreams. If she’s lying to me, working for someone, and believes she has the goods to entrap me, she will regret it.
Regret is just the start
.

The muscles all over my body tighten, and I’m snared by an eviscerating hunger as I mentally undress this woman, imagining her spread-eagle, blindfolded, muffled, and cuffed.
Stone, have you lost it?

“Ready,” she asks.

With a to-do list a mile long, I reach around to touch the small of Phoenix’s back. Inhaling her fragrance, a zing grazes across my nerve as I pilot her inside. Silently, I respond to her and that goddamn voice in my head:
No, not even close
.

~

INSIDE THE coffee house is packed. It’s an informal town meet-n-greet that I could do in my sleep, except every atom in my body is hyper aware of the woman standing next to me.

A gentleman thumps me on the back. “Senator, is it true about the immigration reform uproar? What’s the president thinking?”

I can hardly recite my own name and now I’ve got to talk shop. I answer questions, one after another, but all the while I’m in my private hell where my tie feels more like a noose. Standing with a cup of coffee in hand, I’m wishing it were Scotch.

More and more people enter. O’Malley answers questions or directs the speaker to me, coming over and paving an introduction. She’s a natural at making small talk. In the crowded space, our bodies unintentionally come into contact. More than once. Okay, maybe a couple of times it was intentional on my part. In my warped defense, I find that without trying, I steer my body in her direction. Greedily, I steal one more glance at O’Malley, savoring the view: she sucks her lower lip a darker pink.