After Hours Bundle (31 page)

Jack had to agree with that. “Yes. She's beautiful, warm and unflappable in any social situation.”

Carol nodded. “This is so funny, but the other day at the club a woman told me that I look just like a younger, blond, brown-eyed version of her. That was one of the nicest compliments I've ever been paid.”

“You do, Carol. Of course, you're sexier.” And he flashed a smile at her.

She dimpled, pleased. “Your father told me I looked like a delicious éclair.”

Jack choked on a sip of champagne. “Did he?”
Was that before or after he pinched your lovely chocolate bottom?

“He's got your charm, John, but none of your finesse.”

Well, that tells me all I need to know, doesn't it? The before or after doesn't matter so much.

“Where is the old ja—uh, gent?” Jack asked, refusing to glower. “I should pay my respects.” Or lack of them, as the case may be. His father had no business putting his hands on any part of Carol, especially when he was urging his elder son to marry her. The old goat.

“Last I saw him, he was outside debating the merits of various cigars with Jorge Martinez.”

Oh, joy. I get to see both Pop and Martinez at the same time! Can the evening get any better?

“Is it true that your father's added an eight-hundred square foot annex to his home just to house a walk-in humidor and a wine cellar?”

“Yes,” murmured Jack. “Carol, I'll find you again in a few. I'm going to say hello to the old man.”

“Okay, John. But don't be a stranger.” She kissed him on the cheek, and he was paroled.

He got another glass of champagne that he didn't want and moved through the crowd, greeting people he knew and meeting a few whom he didn't. It took him twenty minutes to get out to the verandah, where his loyalties were challenged immediately.

His father and Martinez were indeed hitting the bourbon and smoking cigars on one end of the porch. And on the other end lounged his little brother Tim, proud black sheep of the family.

Jack adored Timmy, in spite of his tattoos, the diamond stud in his nose and his tendency to rip the sleeves out of every shirt or jacket he owned. Tim wore black motorcycle boots in this heat, and stood with his arm around his drop-dead-gorgeous Brazilian girlfriend, who was wearing five-inch heels and a tiny ensemble that was probably illegal anywhere but Miami. It was a damned good thing that she grew her dark hair so long that it covered her ass, because Jack didn't think her skirt did the job too well.

He raised his hand in a two-fingered salute to Tim and Maya and then jerked his head toward Senior and Martinez. Without a word, his little bro understood that he'd find them as soon as he'd done his time with the old farts. Tim winked, and Jack headed over toward their father.

“There's my boy!” Senior's voice boomed. He clasped his son's hand briefly and then picked up his bourbon again.

Martinez shot Jack a medium oily grin.

Been talking about me, eh, Jorge?
Jack returned it with a tight smile of his own.

“Goddamn, boy, your hair sure looks fine. Martinez tells me you've found a little gal in Coral Gables to do it,” Senior said.

This time Jack didn't bother to rein in his displeasure. He glowered at Martinez.
You sonuvabitch.
To his father he said, “Yes, she's very talented.”

“I'm sure. Though it might be more convenient if you went to someone in Tallahassee, don't you think?”

“Not really.” Jack rocked back on his heels. “With my travel schedule, it doesn't make a hell of a lot of difference.”

“I'm not sure you're getting my drift, boy.”

“I'm getting your drift.”

“Cigar?”

“No, thanks.”

His father's eyes were the same as his, only bloodshot, with lines of hard living around them. The creases around Dad's eyes aimed down, while Jack's crow's-feet were laugh lines, aiming up.

“Visiting that salon in Coral Gables could get very expensive,” Senior said.

“You're the one who taught me that a good haircut is everything in a campaign.”

“Don't do it, Junior. It's extraordinarily bad timing.”

Gosh, isn't everyone just full of advice tonight.

“Doesn't Carol look stunning?” His father gestured behind him with his cigar, managing to drop ash on the shoulder of his suit.

“Stunning,” Jack agreed amiably, brushing it off for him. “You almost have to pinch…yourself…to make sure she's real.”

Damn if his father didn't get bourbon down the wrong pipe. Jack swatted him on the back hard, in an effort to clear his lungs. Then he murmured his excuses and went off to join Tim and Maya. They were the only people here who would probably approve of him getting engaged to Marly Fine. And she'd need reinforcements within his family. Because sooner or later, like his great-great-grandfather before him, Jack was going to marry the woman whose picture had stopped him in his tracks and changed his life.

S
UNDAY AT
9:00 p.m. Marly awoke to the sound of her phone ringing. She opened her eyes and blinked, staring straight into the black, rectangular plastic dish that had held her dinner of grocery store sushi. She'd fallen asleep in front of the television, sprawled over one of her big floor cushions. “Whah?”

Slowly her brain transferred the necessary commands to her arms and legs.
Get up. Wipe the drool from the corner of your mouth. Focus on the telephone. Punch the little button that says talk. Then follow that directive.

She could do all of that. She stumbled to her feet and lunged for the phone. “'Lo?”

“Is this my favorite harem girl?” Jack's voice boomed into her ear.

“I don't think so.” Marly pushed her hair out of her eyes. “At least, I wasn't aware of being part of a harem.”

“You're not. Your apartment just reminds me of the
Arabian Nights.
You're the only girl I want in my harem.”

“Oh,” she said, still half-unconscious and unable to think of a witty comeback.

“Did I wake you? You wild party animal, you.”

Marly frowned. “How did you get this number?”

“You gave it to me.”

“No, I didn't.”

He sighed. “Yeah, and frankly that hurts my feelings. You gave it to Mike! But anyway…I needed to get in touch with you and so I turned to the file.”

“I believe that's cheating. It's also invasion of privacy and pretty obnoxious. Sir.”

“Waking up cheerful, are we?”

“I'm serious, Jack.” She yawned.

“Were you dreaming about me? Naked dreams, perhaps?”

“No.” He'd never know she was lying through her teeth.

“Because I've been dreaming about you.”

“Gosh, I hope that I've fulfilled your every fantasy—in your mind, anyway.”

“Try to be nice, Marlena.”

She shuddered. “Look, I'll be nice, but please don't ever call me Marlena. My mother calls me that.”

“Sorry. So, I know that tomorrow is your day off and I was hoping—”

“Who told you that?”

“A little bird.”

“A little blond bird named Shirlie?”

“I don't recall. Anyway, I was hoping that you'd allow me to send the Gulfstream for you, and you could join me up here in Tallahassee. How does that sound?”

“Jack—”

“I can promise you a really…explosive time. We could send the entire staff away and run naked all through the governor's mansion.”

She laughed at the image.

“And we could baby-oil the banister and enjoy sliding down it.”

Now
that
sounded interesting.

“And in the morning, you could eat chocolate frosted donuts off my erect—”

“Whoa. What do you mean, in the morning? Are you actually suggesting that you send the guber-jet for me
tonight?
You ever heard of giving a girl a little notice, Jack?”

“But I miss you,” he said, like a little boy.

She decided to take a page out of Ms. Turlington's book. “Well, I miss you, too,
sir.
”

“Don't call me that. Turls calls me that.”

“But I wouldn't ring you up in the middle of the night and suggest that you hop on the nearest flight to come satisfy my evil urges.”

“I'm a big fan of spontaneity,” Jack told her. “And I don't get to be spontaneous very often.”

She sighed.

“Please come. If you come, you know you'll come a lot. We can spend the whole night together. I'm even the kind of guy who
snuggles.
I'm a dream come true.”

“And what happens in the morning? Miss Turlington barges in to give us a sponge bath? Frick and Frack do a Cossack dance while serving us coffee?”

Choking noises came from his end of the line. “God! You have quite the scary imagination. No, I promise that neither of those possibilities will occur.”

If any other man had suggested that she fly to him in the middle of the night, she'd have told him in graphic detail what to do with his Gulfstream.

“Please come,” Jack said again.

But this was the governor. And just talking to him was making her uncomfortably horny. The head of state wanted her to give him head in state. “When?” she finally asked.

“I can have a car at your apartment within an hour, and you'll be in the air half an hour after that.”

“Okay.” Was she easy, or what?

Jack gave a very undignified whoop. “I love ya, honey. Don't wear any underwear.” And he hung up.

Marly stared at the phone. Had he just said that?

He had. But of course he didn't mean it.

Do you believe in love at first sight?
he'd asked the day they'd met.

No. And neither do you. You are such a player, Jack Hammersmith. And you're great at it.

She only wished she didn't enjoy being played quite so much. She looked at the clock and figured she'd better get her butt into the shower, decide what to wear and pack.

 

T
HE
G
ULFSTREAM
was even nicer than the limo. The thing was decked out in shiny burled walnut, the way she'd seen on fancy yachts, and there was an actual sofa. The plane also sported its own monogrammed crystal, a bar, a sleep cabin with a bed and hardwood floors in the bathroom, which had an Italian glass bowl as a sink.

Marly just blinked at it all when Mike handed her into the thing and stowed her small duffel bag for her.

“How's the scrapbooking going?” she asked him.

He actually blushed. “Great. I'm working on my son's first year of preschool now.”

She gave him the thumbs-up signal and he introduced her to Alan, the pilot. Alan was quite the laugh riot—he told her he'd only smoked a
little
crack that evening, but she had nothing to worry about.

She strapped herself in on the leather sofa, declined a drink and tried not to think about all the statistics on small plane crashes. She opened a
Vogue
magazine and stared at all the impossibly skinny models wearing impossibly expensive clothes. She thought again about the statistics on small plane crashes. She changed her mind about that drink and was on the way to Martiniville before they ever left the ground.

In about thirty seconds, they'd landed in Tallahassee and Alan helped her down the stairs with her bag. A different limo driver, Frank, drove her to the governor's mansion, where Jack skipped to the front door like a little kid to greet her. A very handsome, buff kid in suit trousers and a tie and shoes polished to such a shine that she could see her reflection in them.

“Welcome to the palace,” he said with one of his disarming grins. Then he kissed her, right in front of Frank, whom he told in the nicest possible way to get lost. A fifty-dollar bill encouraged Frank to do so. Jack then turned his attentions back to her.

If she'd had panties on, they'd have melted. But she'd followed orders. Marly broke away from his kiss at a horrifying thought, though. “Are there security cameras in this place?”

Jack looked uncomfortable. “One or two.”

“Out here?”

His sheepish expression answered her question.

“Then will you please take your hands off my ass?”

“Let me show you my personal quarters,” Jack said diplomatically.

“That sounds great. Because I'd really rather not end up on the Internet doing nude acrobatics for a world-wide audience, courtesy of your fine security staff.”

He shuddered. “I have to agree with you on that.” He took her hand and her duffel and led her upstairs to his apartments in the big house.

Jack's taste ran to dark wood, Oriental rugs and rich fabrics. She looked around with delight, thinking that his preferences in interior design were a lot like hers—just more conservative and Republican—not to mention hideously expensive. But if he added floor pillows, candles and wall hangings and removed the lugubrious oil paintings of ducks…she could be quite at home here.

“You like it?” he asked.

“I do! And I didn't expect to.”

“Why? You thought I'd have the place upholstered in gray flannel and pinstripes?”

She shook her head. “No, I thought it would look more like a hotel, with lots of gilded things and plastic flowers and stupid decorator objects.”

“Stupid decorator objects?”

“Yeah, like those dumb balls made of grapevines sitting in bowls. What are those
for?
And old hatboxes that sit around in piles collecting dust. And books that are just there for display—God forbid anyone should pick them up and read them.”

“And why would I have these objects in my personal space?”

“Because of your decorator.”

“Ah. But I don't use one. I've had most of this stuff for a long time. And my mother ordered other things. She's the one who kind of pulled the place together.”

He spoke of her with obvious affection, and Marly felt guilty that she didn't feel the same way about her mother. But then again, Mrs. Hammersmith probably had never made her son feel like an unwelcome intruder into his parents' relationship.

Marly turned and admired the high arched windows, the beautiful polished wood floors and the lush gardens she could see outside the window. “Do you have any pets?” she asked.

He joined her at the middle window and pointed toward a huge stone fountain. “Three koi. The biggest, fattest fish you've ever seen. One's white with orange speckles. One's solid coppery-orange. And one is this mustard-gold color with black splotches. They eat more than I do. I really expect them to do away with the gardener one day. They'll leave nothing left of him but hair and toenails.”

“Ugh,” said Marly. Then she brightened. “Maybe they'd like Fuzzy, my parents' cat.”

“Poor little guy. What's he ever done to you?”

Marly put her hands on her hips. “You really want to know?” She told him about the portion of roast in the middle of her bed. “And when I went to take it away from him, he growled and snarled and hissed. You could see him trying to decide whether or not to lunge and bite me, or keep his fangs sunk into the meat so I couldn't take it away. Finally I flipped the comforter up over him and dragged him and the meat into the kitchen inside it. You should have heard him yelling!”

Jack said, “I didn't know cats could yell.”

“Fuzzy can. So I shouted for my mother and she took one look and acted like I'd tortured him! Her poor little flesh-eating baby…she
let him keep the meat.
Unbelievable. She just laundered the quilt next day and cleaned up the mess on the floor, since he dragged that roast out of the kitchen and into the dining room, where he ate it under the table.”

Jack was practically in convulsions. “You don't appear to think that justice was served, Marly.”

“Go figure! My mother treats that cat better than she treats me. I'd throw him into a tank full of piranhas if I had the chance.”

“No, you wouldn't.”

She shrugged. “Okay, maybe not. But I sure do fantasize about it.”

“Want a drink?”

“No thanks. I had a martini on the flight and that's enough.”

“Want to join me in the whirlpool tub?”

“Now, that I might consider.”

She followed him into a vast marble bathroom with a hexagonal tub. He shut the drain and turned gold taps on full-blast, while she admired the room. The gold had been done sparingly: just in the smaller fixtures. The towel bars were made of gleaming, rich wood, as was the architectural detailing and the double glass-paned door.

There were skylights in the ceiling and real plants grew in pots around the giant tub. There were several varieties of orchids, bromeliads and other flowering indoor plants she couldn't identify. If paradise could be achieved in a bathroom, this was it.

Jack smiled at her. “You like?”

She nodded. “You could hold a formal dinner in here, it's so big.”

He rubbed at his chin. “I'll keep that in mind, honey. Though I find that the more naked people are, the more informal they get.” He loosened his tie and started to remove it.

“Leave that on,” suggested Marly with a wicked smile.

“Yeah?”

She nodded. “But take everything else off.”

“You're giving orders very freely,” he said, his eyebrows raised. But he didn't seem to mind, since he unbuttoned his shirt and obliged her.