BRIAN (The Callahans Book 1) (72 page)

“No, I don’t,” I said.

Sara was watching me. But, again, a lot of people at this table were watching me. I suddenly felt like I was under a microscope. I picked up my fork and played with the fruit on my salad, trying to work up the appetite to have a taste. My stomach, however, had other plans.

Jason touched my knee, offering a little squeeze even though he never really looked at me. He was staring at the woman beside him as though whatever it was she was saying was the most interesting thing in the world.

“Your boyfriend contacted my office and said that this thing, this community center the foundation supports, is the backbone of the community. He said that if it is allowed to go under, it will impact thousands of families.”

“It is important,” I said. “It provides a place for children to go after school while their parents work. It also offers classes that parents can take to help them improve their careers. And it offers tutoring to children and helps teenagers find jobs. It even has a program that will help kids find scholarships when they’re ready to go to college.”

“I know all that. What I’m wondering is, why have there been so many fundraisers for it lately?”

“The fundraisers aren’t just for the community center. They’re for all the good works the foundation does.”

“That’s not what your boyfriend implied.”

I felt a little cornered. Jason didn’t let me in on all the details of the foundation’s work. We talked about it sometimes, but only in the context of what Jason did during the day. I was here as his escort, not to encourage donations or whatever. But it seemed like the congressman was phishing for something, and I didn’t know what I should or should not say.

I glanced at Jason, but he was still deep in conversation with whoever that blonde woman on his other side was. And Sara…she was watching me, but she was busy with her own conversation, too. I was so ill-prepared for this. I spent my days baking cakes and my nights carrying beers to drunk cowboys. I wasn’t cut out for entertaining politicians.

“I hear Washington, DC is beautiful this time of year,” I said in a lame attempt to change the subject.

The congressman’s eyebrows rose. “Are you trying to change the subject, Ms. Forman?”

I shrugged. “To be honest, I’m not quite up on everything that goes on at the foundation. I know they try to do good works, but I don’t know the details of those. And I have no idea what Jason might have said to you on the phone, so I feel a little more comfortable talking about the weather.” I glanced at him, catching a look of surprise in his eyes. “I’m sure you understand.”

Once again his eyes traveled over the tightness of my bodice.

“I understand better than you might think. I just wish I was lucky enough to be the guy who’s escorting you home tonight.”

I blushed, but I couldn’t keep the smile from my lips. It was sexist, his comment. But it was a little flattering, too. Was that stupid of me? Was I really that bad at this sort of thing? Or was I really that good at it?

I wasn’t sure. I just settled back and counted the moments until the night was over.

Jason

I watched her sleep, my fingers dancing lightly on the lines that were still visible on her back from the tight bodice of her dress. I wanted to wake her, but I so loved to watch her sleep, too. When she was awake, there was a certain tension in her expression that was missing when she was asleep. And I so loved when the tension was gone; I loved the way her eyes were soften by the absence of the tense lines that drew them out, loved the way her lips seemed fuller, and the way her jaw seemed slightly longer.

She was beautiful either way. But this was the image that came to mind when I was sitting in a particularly tedious meeting and I needed a little inspiration.

I pushed a piece of hair away from her cheek and ran my lips slowly over her forehead. She moaned, her shoulders shifting. I kissed her again, and she moaned, rolling toward me. She was naked, her full breasts uncovered by the sheet we’d pulled over ourselves when we fell into bed last night. The dinner party ran late, and we were both exhausted by the time we got to her place. I’d been so looking forward to touching her, but she was asleep before her head even hit the pillow. It felt like I’d been watching her all night, waiting for this moment.

She pressed her lips to my throat, her tongue barely touching me, sending shivers across my oversensitive nerves. I slid my hand down her back, over her hip, my fingers searching for places I knew would drive her crazy with a simple bit of pressure. But she didn’t want to give me that kind of control. She pushed me back against the mattress and straddled me, her hands pinning my wrists to the bed as she nibbled at my throat. I lay still for a minute, watched her body move, and lost myself in the heat of her ass rubbing against my hard cock. I wanted to touch her; I wanted to see what was under the veil of her hair. But I wanted to lay there and watch her, watch her pleasure herself the way she wanted. It was such a conundrum.

Her lips moved slowly over my chest, her tongue teasing my nipples before she moved to this spot on my ribs that she knew would make it impossible for me to sit still. I bit my lip, but when I saw the smile on her lips, it broke me.

I grabbed her hips and lifted her, pushing her back just enough. No matter how many times I’ve made love to her in the past, I would never get used to this feeling, the feeling that came in the instant I slid inside of her. It was so much better than anything I’ve known before her. It was like the first time every time, but it was like coming home after a long absence. It was familiar, but it was different each time, too. There simply weren’t words to describe it. But I loved it, and I wanted it again and again and again…

She bent low and kissed me, the sourness of sleep disappearing and becoming that familiar taste that was just her. Just Joanne. I twisted my fingers in her hair and tugged her head over, pulling her down and into just the right position. And then I swallowed her up the same way she swallowed me.

She moved slowly against me, rolling her hips so that I touched everything inside of her that made her nerves jump and shiver, that made a moan slip from between her lips, filling me with more need, more desire. I held on for as long as I could, but I eventually had to roll her over; I had to pin her against the mattress and ride the waves that refused to be ignored. She cried out, and I swallowed those, too, the sounds that our mutual passion gave voice to.

And then the end came, and my vision darkened a little around the edges. She wrapped her legs hard around my waist as she bit down on my shoulder. The pain and the pleasure mixed together until I couldn’t tell which was which. And then my arms gave out, and I collapsed onto the mattress beside her, pulling her with me onto our sides.

“My God!” I hissed against her temple.

“I could get used to this,” she said, as she ran her hand slowly up my chest.

“I certainly hope so.”

She kissed my shoulder on the spot where she bit me. The pain had changed, growing a little more intense and less pleasurable. She ran her finger over the outer rim of the mark.

“Sorry,” she muttered.

“Don’t worry about it. It was well worth it.”

She smiled, a little blush darkening her cheeks. “I don’t know why you keep coming around here.”

“I can think of a few reasons,” I said, as I tweaked one of her full, erect nipples.

She groaned, but then she snuggled up against me, nestling her head against my shoulder. We lay like that for a few minutes, both of us lost in thought. Her fingers kept dancing over my ribs, drawing circles around my tattoo. She seemed fascinated with it, but—with the exception of our first time together—she’d never asked what it meant. I’d waited and came up with several really good stories. But the more time passed, the more I wondered if she would ever ask.

It was actually a very simple story and not nearly as exciting as I’m sure she imagined it to be.

I touched her jaw lightly and drew her mouth up to mine. We kissed slowly, this long, lingering kiss.

“Are you ever going to ask?”

She studied my face a second, her brown eyes beautiful in the dim light of her bedroom. She opened her mouth to speak, but Rosie—dear, sweet Rosie who had timing like a bad karma—burst through the door.

“Have you seen this?” she demanded, holding out her cellphone. “Have you read what they’re saying about you?”

“Rosie…”

Joanne sat up carefully, tucking the sheet around her chest and my waist at the same time. I sat up, too, using my body to kind of block what the sheet didn’t cover.

“It’s ridiculous,” Rosie announced. “The things they write on this blog…I always thought it was funny. But when they call my sister a slut—”

“Excuse me?” I demanded.

Rosie focused on me, her eyes filled with something that was very close to hatred.

“It’s your fault, you know,” she said. “If it weren’t for you, they’d have no reason to even care about my sister.”

“That’s not fair, Rosie,” Joanne said.

I knew Rosie was right. I’d done what I could to keep the press from Joanne, but there was only so much my stable of lawyers and I could do. And, clearly, it hadn’t been enough.

“Can I see it?” I asked Rosie.

She came over and sat on the bed beside me as she handed over the phone. The article was on a blog called,
Dear Elizabeth
. Multiple stories about Joanne—sorry, Joey…I keep forgetting she asked me to call her Joey—had appeared there almost from the beginning of our relationship. But none had been quite as vicious as this one.

Joey Forman showed up at The Wallach Foundation dinner last night in a dress that appeared to be several sizes too small, which was likely part of the reason why Jason Brooks was smiling as they walked into the restaurant. However, during dinner, Joey spent most of the evening leaning over and showing off her assets to Congressman Louis Todd. If that’s how Brooks plans on enticing philanthropists to hand over their hard-earned money to the foundation, he might want to keep a tight leash on the woman in his life, or he might find her in a bed that doesn’t belong to him or his generous family.

“Wow,” I said. There were no other words.

“Yeah,” Rosie agreed.

Joanne—Joey—was leaning over my shoulder, reading too. I handed the phone back to Rosie without checking to see if she was done. I was kind of hoping she hadn’t read the entire thing. She already didn’t like going to Wallach Foundation events with me. This would only add fuel to her discomfort.

“I’ll call my lawyers.”

“Like before?” Rosie asked. “Is that all you rich guys know how to do?”

“I know you’re upset—”

“Upset? This is my sister! They’re dragging her name through the gutter just to satisfy some need to spread gossip!” Rosie climbed off the bed and began to pace the length of the room, as if Joey and I weren’t sitting there naked and totally exposed. “You keep promising to make it stop but—”

“I can’t really go around the law, Rosie. You know, the whole freedom of speech thing…”

She shook her head. “It’s gossip.”

“There’s enough truth in it that they can claim it’s not gossip. They’ve done it before.”

“You know who’s behind this?”

“No. But I know who their lawyer is.”

“So call them. Tell them if they don’t stop, you’ll sue them for all they’re worth!”

“That’s not how you go about these things, Rosie,” Joey said.

Rosie stopped pacing and stared at the two of us for a long moment. She seemed to understand what she’d walked in on now, and a slow blush burned from the top of her collarbones to her face.

“I should—”

She vaguely gestured behind herself, walking quickly toward the door. It was almost comical, watching her slink out of the room

But there was nothing comical about the article on
Dear Elizabeth
.

“Damn! I thought they were backing off.” I climbed off the bed, kicking at the sheets where they tried to trip me up. “The lawyers said they thought the writer had gotten the message.”

“Apparently not.”

“Who the fuck is behind all this?”

Joey didn’t answer, but it really hadn’t been that kind of question. I paced the room just as Rosie had done, trying to figure out what my next step should be. Before, I’d been worried about my reputation. Then, I was worried about the impact on the foundation. But now? That bitch had called my girlfriend a slut. I was fucking mad!

I wanted to know who was behind it. Originally, I’d thought it was Frank Thomas, an old friend who stole from my company because he thought I wasn’t giving him the kudos he thought he deserved. He’d threatened me, promised to destroy me. But when I confronted him and he told me that his wife had taken their kids and left, that he was too busy dealing with the fallout of his crime to think about me, I didn’t want to believe him. However, I’d known him ten years. I knew when he was blowing hot air and when he was telling the truth. He was telling the truth.

But that left me with no other suspects.

“Do you think it was someone at the dinner? Or a reporter? Maybe the blogger is a reporter with one of the magazines or newspapers that were represented there last night.”

When Joey didn’t answer, I turned to find her climbing off the bed.

“Where are you going?”

“I have an early shift at the bar, and I need to get a couple of cakes baked before then.”

She wouldn’t look me in the eye, and she pulled a light blanket off the bed and covered herself. She never did that. She was never shy around me, especially after we’d made love. She was headed to the bathroom. I followed, grabbing her arm before she could push the door closed.

“Hey, what’s going on?”

I lifted her chin, but she still wouldn’t look me in eye. She looked everywhere but at me.

“Jo…”

“I just want to take a shower and get this day started.”

“Joey, you’re upset.”

“Of course I am! You saw what it said!”

“I did. But that doesn’t make it true.”

She rolled her eyes. “I
was
wearing a dress that was too tight. And I
was
showing my chest off to the congressman. Not on purpose, but it was sort of unavoidable.”

“Listen to me, Joey,” I said, pushing her back against the door. “You didn’t do anything wrong. These articles aren’t even about you. They’re about me. Someone’s trying to hurt me, and they know you’re my only vulnerability.”

She started to shake her head, but I grabbed her jaw and forced her to look at me.

“This is
my
fault. I should be protecting you—and I’m not.”

“No,” she said, finally looking at me, finally letting her eyes meet mine. “If not for me—”

“If not for you, I would still be working too many hours and going home to an empty house. If not for you, I’d be miserable, lonely, and lost. If not for you—”

She climbed up on her tiptoes and kissed me, the softest, gentlest kiss I think we’d ever shared. I pulled her close to me and sighed as the blanket slipped from her grip. Her naked body against mine and…well, we didn’t make it into the shower for several more hours.

So much for those cakes she needed to bake.