After Hours Bundle (30 page)

“You know,” she told him, “it's probably not going to do your reelection campaign any good if you're seen kissing random hairstylists all over Miami.”

Jack stared down at her, his eyes very blue. “I'm not kissing random hairstylists. I'm kissing
you.
And I'm not that worried about it. There are no reporters here that I can see.”

“Go sit in the chair in the back room, or you're going to get swarmed for your autograph. I can see that I'm already going to have to get it for Rebecca, which means at least three others.”

Jack shrugged good-naturedly and walked over to Rebecca. “Hi, I'm Jack Hammersmith.”

“I know!” she breathed, half swooning. Her tongue was falling
out
of her bright red mouth and her hair was falling
into
it. “Can I—? Would you?” She handed him the tablet and pen. “For Rebecca.”

He scrawled his name for her, and predictably, the rest of the Fab Four waited in line, too, along with Nicky and the shampoo girls.

Marly pinched Nicky's arm as she walked by him. “Behave!” she snapped.

Moi?
he mouthed.
Of course!

Today he wore ironed blue jeans with purple lips embroidered on the left rear pocket and a T-shirt that said Tender across the chest.

After Denise, Rebecca and the rest of the Fab Four had finished telling Jack about how much they admired him, Nicky cut to the chase. “God, what a shame that you're straight.”

Jack blinked and produced a smile. He shook Nicky's hand and scrawled his signature.

The stylist opened his mouth to say something else, but Marly grabbed his arm and dragged him away. “You said you were going to behave!”

“I am. I didn't ask him out, did I?” Nicky put his hand on his hip. “I'm on my very best behavior, doll.”

“Oy.” She got her equipment and followed Jack into the back.

He said in plaintive tones, “I'd much rather get naked with you than get a haircut.”

“Forget it,” she told him. “After your little performance out there, everybody in this whole place is going to notice if I have a single makeup smudge when I come out of here. And they'll be checking your collar for lipstick, too.”

She took a critical look at his hair. “What exactly do you want me to do?”

“Oh, well, you know. It's just a little long.” He smiled at her with too much innocence.

“You know, if you weren't a man of many responsibilities, like, oh, say, the governance of this state, I might suspect that you made up this hair emergency as an excuse to see me.”

He cocked his head. “
Noooooo
. Surely you don't think that.”

She folded her arms across her chest and nodded. “I do.”

“Well, I did try to get you to come to me. But you've got that workaholic thing going. It's
so
annoying.”

She was tempted to smack him, but he was just too good-looking. He had a young Mel Gibson's power over women.

“So you see, if the affairs of the state grind to a screeching halt today, it's all your fault.”

“I don't think so!”

“Well, here's the hair emergency. I think my dark roots are showing under the gray.”

“No, they're not.”

“If you come closer and check, you'll see what I mean.”

Marly walked over to him, leaned forward and inspected his head—while he took advantage of the situation by sliding his hands up under her skirt.

“Jack!”

“Yes?” His big warm hands were cupping her cheeks now, feeling amazing and turning her on—even though she was borderline angry with him.

“You had me reschedule a client for this?”

“Yeah,” he said, sliding his fingers under the elastic of her panties and inward, taunting her and teasing with feather-like touches.

She wanted, again, to smack him—but couldn't. Because her breath was coming too fast and too shallow to gather the necessary oxygen.

Jack used the unfair advantage to tug her onto his lap, spread her knees and get more detailed about his exploration.

“Jack, you cannot just show up here and—and—” Her head fell back.

“And?” he prompted, shoving her shirt up and getting personal on other levels, too.

“—doooo this!” She managed to get the words out, her eyes now closed.

“Would you like me to stop?”

She shook her head. Sensations streaked through her and she pushed against his fingers, his palm, his wicked heat.

“Because I will if you want me to. We Republicans are gentlemen, you know, in spite of all our other failings—like being level-headed and fiscally responsible and against the growth of monolithic government bureaucracy, bound in miles of red tape…”

“Jack?”

“Hmm?”

“Shut up and unzip your pants!”

“I thought you'd never ask.” And the governor proceeded to show her what a perfect gentleman he really was, condom and all. He picked her up and set her on the white marble sink, which felt deliciously cold against her bare bottom. Then he rolled on a condom and slid inside her, kissing her lips at the same time.

“I couldn't stay away, Marly. You do something to me. Even when you're rude. You looked so hot stomping away from the car…so mad at the fact that you had to admit I was right.”

“You're the only person I'm rude to,” she said, gasping for air. She angled her hips and pushed against him. “It's not really something I'm proud of.”

“You got a little disrespect-for-authority thing going there, sweetheart?” He cupped her breasts and played havoc with her nipples.

“Ahhhhh.”
She let her head fall back again and arched her back. “I guess so.”

He slid his hands under her backside and drove into her hard, making her squeak. When she could breathe again, she said, “You got a thing going for bohemian, braless girls in gypsy skirts?”

“Absolutely.”

“But I'm so not your type.”

“How do you know what my type is?”

“Come on—I read the papers and the occasional gossip rag.”

“Don't—” Jack drove in “—believe—” he pulled out “—everything—” he slid in again “—you read—” and came out “—in the papers.” He impaled her on the last words, staring her down with those blue eyes.

Marly felt the faucet digging into her back as the first eddies of her orgasm started deep within her pelvis. Jack maneuvered out again, managing to stroke her with his cock in erotic places she didn't know she had.

The tremor inside her seemed to follow his action, streaked after him and then got shoved back up against her inner walls when he drove in again. He moved his hips in a circle, and spread her thighs even wider. She was coming, ready or not.

As he repeated the circular motion, she disintegrated completely, mind and body swept away by a rainbow of color and bliss. He sealed her cries with his lips and knocked the faucet out of the way, protecting her spine. Then he, too, pumped into her wildly and lost control. His stiffening, the stilling of his hips and a long, quiet groan in her ear told Marly that he'd made it.

They remained that way for a few moments, unable to move. Marly raised her head and noticed that he still wore his shirt and tie, dress slacks, socks, shoes—everything. She'd just had sex with a Suit. He looked immaculate, except for the unzipped pants and the condom, still buried inside her along with his cock.

Marly began to laugh. “Is this how Republicans have sex? In pin-striped suits?”

Jack nodded. “Yeah.” He twitched inside her, and she used her internal muscles to squeeze him.

“Hey! Give it back,” he ordered.

“Nope. It's trespassing in Democratic territory now. I've arrested it and it's in jail.”

Jack's hands tightened on her ass. “Cushiest jail I've ever been in, honey. Mmm. Tell me what laws to break so you'll arrest me again, okay?” He pulled out and lifted her off the sink, setting her on her feet.

She wobbled on rubbery legs for a moment, pulling her skirt down and staring at his tie. “Next time, you ditch the suit and tie before we, um—”

“Before we make love?”

“—have sex.”

He nodded and grinned. “Okay, done. I'm fine with that—because you just agreed that there's gonna be a next time, without me even asking.” And Jack Hammersmith, playboy governor, gave her a sexy-as-hell wink as he zipped up his pants.

M
ARLY HOPED THAT
Frick and Frack were deaf as posts, but she had a bad feeling that their hearing was just fine. How she had managed to forget their existence and boink the governor while they stood just outside the treatment room, she didn't know.

They wore little ear thingies that undoubtedly connected them to some kind of radio, and she just prayed that they were listening to loud, obnoxious Security Detail Rap or something.

She'd forced Jack to sit in the chair and she'd wet his hair, then made some minor snips and shaved his neck. After all, they had to at least make it
look
as though she'd done his hair and not him.

Then she'd walked him to the front door of the salon after carefully checking to see that her skirt wasn't caught in her panties or anything. She even shook his hand and asked him if he'd like to make another appointment while his eyes danced privately for her.

“Well, I'd love to, Marly. You do such a good job.”

“Thank you, Governor. We do try to make our clientele happy.” She felt her color rising as his mouth twitched.

“Keeps us coming back for more.”

She cleared her throat and avoided his gaze.

“So,” he said, “why don't I call you—with my schedule, it can be hard to keep a regular time. Er—is there another number where I can reach you?”

He was asking for her home number again. Ridiculous, maybe, but she just didn't want to give it to him. She told herself that it was because she didn't feel like having Jimmy and Rocket listening in on her private line. But it probably had more to do with not wanting to stare at her home phone, waiting for the man to call. After all, he was Florida's number-one ladies' man. He'd probably be up for one more bout of sex and then he'd be off, sniffing after another skirt.

She needed to look at this situation in perspective; view it as exactly what it was, no more, no less. The governor was scratching his bohemian itch, no matter what he said about his great-great-grandfather and her being The One.

It's better to be an itch than a bitch, right?

Marly said, “Oh, you can just call me here at the salon. I'm always around.” She handed him a business card, ignoring Shirlie's pointed stare and slap to her forehead.

The corners of Jack's mouth turned down for a moment, before he righted them for the public's benefit. Because the public, in the form of every single person in After Hours, was eating this up.

God, at least they don't know what we just did back there.
Marly thanked the stars. She wore no makeup that he could have smudged, and she had done the skirt check and her top wasn't on inside out.

“Right,” Jack said. “So I'll have my people get in touch and we'll arrange to fly you to Tallahassee next time. Say, in about a week?”

Behind her, Shirlie gave an excited squeak.

“Great. That—that will be just fine. Thank you, Governor.”

“Call me Jack,” he said, and flashed her one of those irresistible, panty-melting grins. But behind it his eyes were serious, and they reflected something she couldn't quite read…was it hurt?

“Thank you, Jack.” She raised her hand and waggled her fingers at him.

“Thank
you,
darlin'.” Jimmy opened the door for him, and Jack stepped through, followed by Rocket, who ripped his eyes with difficulty from Shirlie's twin attractions.

“Frick, Frack, it was sheer pleasure to see you again.”

Curiously, they ignored her. Go figure. Marly turned, only to find that the eyes of everyone in the salon slid away from hers. What was up with that?

Nicky swooped down on her and dragged her into the back. “Cutie pie, come with Uncle Nicky.”

“What? Why?”

He poked his tongue into his cheek and failed miserably at not grinning. “Because you need some emergency repairs, doll.”

“I do?”

He winced and nodded. “I don't know what you and the Jackrabbit were doing back there, but the back of your head looks like someone scrubbed it with a Brillo pad.”

Horrified, she put a hand to her braid, only to find that her hair wasn't so braided. It was pure, crazy fuzz starting about three inches above her nape.

“And I don't even want to ask what that red mark on your back is, but if I had to make a guess…”

If she'd ripped off her face and thrown it into a pan of sizzling oil, it couldn't be hotter. “Don't guess. Okay? Just don't.” She moaned. “Everyone out there saw my hair, didn't they?”

Nicky glanced up at the ceiling. Then he glanced at the painted floor. Finally he slid his eyes toward hers. “Um, yeah.”

“Don't you dare say a word. Just please, please, fix it.”

“The Fab Four are schnockered. They probably won't remember,” he offered. “And my client didn't have her glasses on, so she may not have noticed. But Shirlie definitely wants to know all about the gubernatorial goods, so to speak.”

“Just shoot me, Nicky. Just put me out of my misery, okay?”

 

J
ACK KISSED HIS MOTHER
on the cheek and admired her new sapphire earrings, an anniversary gift from his father the senator. “Mom, you look gorgeous. Where's Senior?”

“He's already on the verandah, puffing on a Cohiba. Darling, if I ever decide to take up cigars, he and I will be inseparable.”

Mom was slim and stunning this evening, in a sleeveless royal-blue sheath that most women her age wouldn't have dared to wear. Her dark hair lay in a smooth shoulder-length bob, a sapphire ring sparkled on her right hand and her wit was as dry as ever. “So what did you get Carol for her birthday?” she asked, gesturing at the box under his arm.

“Uh…Turls got it. I'm not really sure what it is.”

His mother shook her head at him. “But I'm sure the card is signed, ‘All my love, Jack.'”

His mouth twisted and he shrugged.

“Don't you dare let them push you into it.” Jeanne's voice was low, and she immediately turned toward another guest with her characteristic charm.

He knew exactly what she meant, cryptic as her words may have been. He moved farther into the capacious foyer of Henry Hilliard's stark-white, modern home on Star Island and shook the man's hand.

“Henry! How ya been? Looking good, my man.”

The real estate baron slipped an arm around his shoulders. “Thank you, Jack. I've never been better.” He eyed the wrapped box under his guest's arm. “A little big for an engagement ring, isn't it?”

“Ha, ha! Well, sir, I'm still trying to get up the nerve to ask you to marry me.”

“Ha, ha, ha! Now
that
would send my daughter right over the edge.” He slapped Jack between the shoulder blades just a little too hard. “She's in there somewhere, surrounded by admirers. Go find her, son.”

Jack aimed a brilliant smile at Hilliard and got the hell away from him. The subtext of their conversation wasn't hard to figure out. If he'd been born into another culture and country, he'd be expected to offer a couple dozen camels for Carol's hand. Maybe throw in a few goats to seal the deal.

Truth to tell, he
had
meant to ask her to marry him by now. But that was before they'd slept together, and before he'd met Marly.

Jack stared at Carol, the statuesque blond goddess draped in demure, brown silk in the formal living room. She was gorgeous, a brown-eyed Grace Kelly. And she'd been like a sister to him since he was ten years old.

As if she could feel his gaze on her, she turned and raised an eyebrow. He crossed the room to her and kissed her on the cheek. “Happy birthday, Carol.”

“Thank you, Jack.” She glanced at a slim gold watch on her wrist. “I didn't think you were going to make it.”

“You know I wouldn't miss your party.” He extended the gift-wrapped box to her and watched her face carefully as she took it.

She rewarded him with a bland, delighted smile. “What's this?”

I don't have a flipping clue, honey.
Jack shrugged and grinned. “It's a surprise.”

“I just love surprises,” she said.

No, you don't. You wanted something very specific from me for your birthday. But…I can't do it.

“Get yourself a drink, Jack.” She signaled to a waiter in a tuxedo shirt and black bow tie. The boy came right over and offered a tray full of champagne flutes.

Jack took one even though he didn't feel like it. The last time he'd had champagne, he'd been in the limo with Marly. Naked. Sucking on her silver-painted toes, among other things.

“So, you ready to hit the campaign trail again?” Carol's eyes were beautifully made up with a gingery eyeliner and dark brown mascara. Her skin was flawless. Diamonds glowed in her perfect earlobes. Camera-ready Carol.

As if on cue, a photographer wandering through the party took a candid of them, both wearing switched-on smiles.

Was he ready for the grueling campaign? Jack grimaced. “Ready as I'll ever be.”

The Carol he'd known at age ten had been skinny and sun-kissed with flyaway hair, a few freckles. She'd been fun. She could trounce him at tennis then and still could—if she hadn't turned into the kind of woman who would let him win just to save his ego. While Jack appreciated the thought, he didn't respect it. His ego was big enough without needing to win every game of tennis he played, thank you very much.

His ego was also big enough to handle Carol faking an orgasm the two times they'd slept together. She was a damn good actress emotionally—he'd give her that. But her body had told him another story, told him that she'd never let go for a second and had choreographed the whole thing.

She'd probably be extremely surprised that
he'd
faked his orgasm the second time. It was either that or lose his stiffie altogether. And though his ego was big, that was the one thing he didn't think he could handle.

So he'd tensed up and gasped like a landed fish, given a heartfelt groan and told her how amazing she was. Then he'd snatched off the condom and flushed it before she'd even left the bed.

His willie had wilted in peace without her discovering the truth: that her mechanical, preplanned seduction had failed miserably. And no matter how beautiful she was, he just didn't want to go there again.

As for marriage…Jack knew plenty of political couples who got together and stayed together for practical reasons. They made good roommates, didn't bother each other much, and threw great parties. They each traveled all the time campaigning, and created a highly successful, shiny business model.

As far as he could see, his parents' marriage had become that sort of union, though he didn't think it had started off that way. Somewhere along the line, though, Senator John had bonded with cigars, bourbon and golf while Jeanne had bonded with the kids. Senator John had done deals and written legislation while Jeanne had done diapers and helped write homework assignments. They cohabited.

It was a very civilized marriage, all in all. Nothing dramatic or tragic about it. But Jack just didn't think he wanted a similar arrangement. He wanted passion and abandon, shared laughter and shared meals.

He didn't have to be a rebel like his brother Tim—where was Tim tonight?—but he wanted a marriage that was more than a business arrangement.

The irony was that he was one hundred percent sure that Carol had seduced him in order to get things moving toward the altar. But her performance had had the opposite effect entirely. If he'd never slept with her he might be an engaged man right now. He might not have been free when he'd seen Marly's photo in
Shore
magazine.

“You don't sound so enthused about your reelection campaign, John-boy.” Carol put his hand on her arm.

John-boy? Where the hell had that come from? Jack grimaced, hating the fact that she called him John. “Yeah, well, you know how it is. Relentless pressure, travel, public relations.”

“I'm sure it gets lonely, too. You need someone to keep you company during the whole circus.” She smiled sympathetically.

He gave her a noncommittal nod. “That's a lot to ask of someone, you know.”

She raised her glass to her lips. “Well, the
someone
would have to care a lot about you and be strong enough to take on the load. Share it with you. And, like you, she'd have to look good while doing it. Make things seem effortless.”

“Mmm.” Jack resisted the temptation to drain his own glass and then go and bang his head against one of her father's stark-white walls. Major campaign contributor was Henry Hilliard. Huge. A guy didn't trifle with the man's daughter, or a guy might just have to find a couple of million elsewhere.

“Do you know who's the perfect, gracious, political wife? Laura Bush.”