The Lives Between Us (9 page)

The camera closed in on Hastings’s face. A comforting maturity etched in the lines of his forehead and crow’s feet at the corners of his eyes made the senator’s face interesting to study. Premature gray at his temples added to his distinguished look. He probably added that graying touch just for effect.

“You can’t leave the house without seeing Hastings on TV, radio, or in the news. Do you think he actually does any work?” Skye kept her voice casual. Hastings might have Mark fooled, too.

“Not a fan, eh?”

“Hardly.” Skye thought about explaining how the senator’s interference had crushed Niki’s chance of a cure, but that was too intimate for first date conversation.

Congratulations banners waved high above the people. Hastings smiled and bent to talk to someone in the crowd, taking flowers from them like a rock star at a concert. Then he searched the cluttered stage and moved toward a pretty brunette with long, straight hair. His wife?

At the touch of his hand on her back, she looked up into his eyes and moved into his embrace. He bent to speak into her ear, creating an intimate pose photographers capitalized on with repeated rounds of flashes, then presented her with the bouquet. The woman lowered her head and then looked away, making thousands of viewers wonder what intimate thing the senator had said.

How cute
. Skye wondered how many times they’d practiced that.

“Pretty wife,” Mark observed.

“She is.”
Wonder if she’s as righteous as her husband.
Skye turned away from the TV. “I’m politicked out. There’s so much butt-kissing and posturing that it’s no wonder our country’s in the mess it’s in.”

Mark caught their waitress’s eye and gestured for the check. “Oh, I don’t know. I think they’ve gotta be pretty smart and devoted to do that job. They’re certainly not doing it for the money.”

No, he’s doing it for the power. He gets to play God and decide who lives and who dies
.

The check arrived; Mark scanned the bill and waved Skye aside when she pulled out her wallet. “I invited you.”

“Thank you.” Skye didn’t want to argue with Mark, but she couldn’t let his insinuation that politicians were so altruistic stand unchallenged. “I bet there are a lot of perks that go along with public office. And they
do
get paid.”

“They could probably make more money in their chosen professions.” He trapped the pen in the black bill case. “Ready?”

Mark stood and waved one arm, indicating Skye should lead the way. Mark held the restaurant door open for her, and they strolled through the back parking lot. Skye liked all the little courtesies. As a matter of fact, she liked a lot of things about Mark Dutton. He seemed too good to be true.

“Are you married?” she asked.

Mark came to an abrupt stop a few feet away from her car. “Pardon me?”

“In your office, it seemed like...” Skye held his gaze, trying not to look defensive or combative. “Are you married?”

“No.”

“Seeing anyone?”

“Nope.”

“I don’t do well with surprises,” she explained.

“It depends upon the surprise,” Mark said in a low voice. Humor and heat twinkled his eye, and in a glance Skye knew that he wanted her. “You were a welcome surprise. Chicken pox was not.”

“Glad to hear I beat a case of the chicken pox.” Skye tried to ignore her galloping heart. Mark moved closer, crowding her against the car door. Lord, he was going to kiss her. Would it be soft and gentle or an all-out assault?

With hands placed on the roof of Skye’s car on either side of her, Mark trapped her. Skye could easily duck under and escape, but she didn’t. Waiting, Skye disciplined herself not to lunge forward. His lips were cold against hers. Her eyes fluttered shut, and Skye leaned into the kiss. Being loosely trapped by his body, yet really only held by the touch of his lips was strangely arousing.

Skye tasted the freshness of the mint he’d snagged when they’d left the restaurant as his lips moved over hers in a romantic, seductive dance. He was a good kisser. A
really
good kisser
.
Skye’s muscles relaxed, almost refusing to hold her up. Mark closed the distance between their bodies, closer yet still not touching.

He eased one leg between hers, with only their ankles touching. His body radiated primal heat, drawing her, teasing, taunting, far more exciting than if he’d plastered his body along the length of hers. Mark shifted closer yet, using only the slightest touch of his lips, butterfly strokes of his hand on her jaw, and the barest brush of clothes, to entice her. It was a test—a test of wills.

Skye welded her hands to the car door. She would not touch him.

Mark expertly seduced her, reducing her to mush against the car. Suddenly the ludicrous image of her body bonelessly melting, dissolving out of Mark’s arms, running down the side of her car in liquid mass of energized nerves like Dorothy’s Wicked Witch of the West, and his shocked reaction made her lips pucker and twitch. A giggle erupted in her throat.

Mark backed away, crossed his arms over his chest, and stared at her. “If I were a less confident man, laughing while I kissed you would deeply wound my masculine pride.”

Skye grinned, bit her lower lip, and then schooled her features into a serious mask. “If you were a less confident man?”

Mark nodded, his gaze dropping to her lips as if they were some irresistible dessert he was deeply tempted to devour. “Maybe we should try again?”

“Maybe not,” Skye said, afraid she would jump him and throw her legs around his waist clinging like a giant oversized, oversexed howler monkey, and then he’d collapse and she’d land on him, breaking a few ribs.

What was with her wild imagination? Raging hormones had never turned Skye’s thoughts silly before. Perhaps this was some new protective mechanism to keep her from making a fool of herself. Lord knew Skye wanted him.

There had been a time when she would have slept with Mark to get him out of her system, but these instant attractions never lasted. Skye peeked at him. But...she was tempted to drag Mark to bed and make both their fantasies come true. Imagining his reaction to such a scenario started Skye’s lips quivering again.

“Another smile.” Mark shook his head mournfully. “Here I am doing my best to seduce a beautiful woman, and all I get are smiles and giggles.”

“I’m sorry. It’s not you.” Skye covered her offending mouth, then dropped her hand. “I’m a little stressed.”

“I could help with that tension.” Mark reached out and tucked a lock of hair behind one ear, then trailed a finger down her jaw. “I’m very good at relaxing.”

Skye fought a shiver of delight. Oh, he was good, all right. Too good. Women probably flocked to this guy. Skye had never liked being one of a flock. “No thanks.”

“Can I see you tomorrow night?”

“I have plans.”

“Friday night, then.”

“I’m working.”
Thank God
. Mark Dutton was potent stuff. Skye dug through her purse in search of her keys.

“In the evening?”

“I tend bar one night a week.” She pulled her car keys out.

“Where?”

Skye tilted her head to the side. Though he’d been a perfect gentleman, Mark was a little too confident and smooth. He needed to slow down. “A pub.”

“Any particular pub?”

She nodded.

Mark put his hands in his pockets and rocked back on his heels. “But you’re not going to tell me.” He paused. “Can I call you?”

“Look, you’re a nice guy—”

“Oh, no.” Mark held up a hand as if warding her off. “Please. Don’t go with the nice guy brush off.”

“I’m sorry. I’m just not ready for a relationship right now.”

“Who said anything about a relationship?”

“Thanks for dinner.” Skye slid to the side, unlocked her car, and got in. Refusing to succumb to his insistence, Skye resisted the urge to glance back as she drove away.

* * *

Skye shoved aside the plate with the remains of her chicken salad dinner and tugged her notebook close. After having spent a productive weekend in U of M’s Hatcher library, assisted by a very enthusiastic librarian, Skye had a list of people who’d known Senator Hastings during law school. A very small list, but still, a list. Mostly teachers, T.A.s, and one R.A. The list whittled down to two that she found contact info for. Teacher and R.A. She rolled a pen back and forth between her hands. Gathering her nerve, she picked up her cell and dialed.

“Hi, is this Dale McDoud?”

“It is.”

“Hi, Dale, My name’s Skylar Kendall. I’m a freelance writer doing a human interest piece about the beginnings of Senator Hastings’s charitable efforts and I was hoping you’d answer a few questions for me.”

“Why don’t you ask him?”

“I wanted to get a well-rounded picture of him as a student and perhaps a more candid opinion of him. Besides, you know how hard it is to get a straight answer from a politician,” she joked.

“Now, that’s true.” He chuckled. “Not sure what I can tell you, but, okay.”

“I understand you were his R.A. when he was at law school.”

“I was.”

“Do you remember if he did any volunteer work?”

“Uh…” His voice trailed off.

Please. Please. Please, remember something.
Skye eased her strangle hold on the phone and wiped damp palms on her pants. She stood and started pacing the room.

“Ed studied a lot, but his big thing was tutoring guys on the football team. Some of the scholarship guys needed a lot of help, and Hastings seemed to enjoy the challenge of the lost causes.”

She came back to the table. “Do you remember the names of any of the guys he tutored?”“Let’s see.” A rough gust of air blew across the phone. “There was Trey Marshall. AJ Carew, maybe. And, oh yeah! DeAnthony Washington. He went on to play for the Seahawks, before a knee injury took him out for good.”

Smiling, Skye bent over her pad and scrawled down the names.
Yes
.

“That’s too bad.” She injected sympathy into her voice. “Hastings always pulled ’em through, huh? So he was the go-to guy to get all the answers?” she joked.

“Naw, that’d be Beaver. Guess it’s okay to say that now. Not that I ever partook of that type of tutoring,” he joked.

“No, of course not. No more than Hastings ever did,” she prompted.

“Hastings never needed it. That guy was freakin’ brilliant. He could teach a cat to speak French if he wanted. He’d explain somethin’ sixteen different ways ’til the guy finally got it. And thank God he did, or half the football team would’ve never graduated.”

Skye tamped down on her disappointment. Maybe the football players knew something Dale didn’t. “I don’t want to use up any more of your time. Thanks for speaking with me, Dale.”

“You’re welcome. And tell Ed hello from me if you see him.”

“Will do.”
Or not
. No way she’d admit to snooping into Hastings’s past. Well, not unless she found something noteworthy.

Skye put the phone down and sat in the chair. She pulled out her list and drew a line through number three, Admissions. That’d been a bust, too. Apparently Hastings had been the poster child for Harvard students. Though Caucasian and male, he’d earned his spot. Skye heaved to her feet and rolled her head to stretch tight shoulder muscles. “Enough for tonight.”

Tomorrow she’d interview the football players, but she didn’t hold out much hope they’d tell a different story. “Dang it, Hastings, where’s your Achilles heel?”

Everybody had one, and Skye was going to find his if it killed her.

Monday morning, Skye found a small bouquet of daisies standing proudly in a raffia bow-wrapped vase next to her work computer. Dropping her purse on the desk, she picked up the thick rectangular card.
Thanks for a fun evening. I’d like to see you again.
Precise, scripted numbers gave Mark’s home, cell, and work phone numbers, putting the ball clearly in her court.

Skye eased into her seat and bounced back and forth, trying to pin down how she felt about the gift. Sending flowers was a classy move, yet it obligated her to call with a thank you, and that was slightly manipulative. Providing her with every conceivable phone number implied he was anxious to hear from her, but also gave her no excuse not to call. Staring into space, Skye tapped the card against her lips. Mark was charming and enthusiastic, so what was holding her back? Maybe he was too charming? Too smooth?

Maybe she was reading too much into a sweet overture?

Ordinarily Skye went to her sister for advice but, though they’d made up, their interactions and conversations were cautious. It would take a little time for both to regain trust and get back to their previous easy relationship.

Skye hated that she had to hide her feelings about Faith’s pregnancy. Hated it and wasn’t used to it. She’d always been totally open with her sister. But Faith knew how she felt and since Skye loved her, she needed to find a way to put her fears aside and support her. But dang, it was hard.

It was tricky ignoring Faith’s pregnancy while appearing to be supportive of it, but Skye was determined to do just that. And now she had met this puzzling, great guy who kept throwing her off balance. She could use her sister’s advice. Even though she and Mark had only had one date, it’d been a pretty interesting first date. She glanced at the flowers and the predicament he created.

Outwardly, it seemed Mark was wooing her, yet Skye sensed something more was at play.
Whatever
. She didn’t have time to speculate over any potential agenda. Skye set the flowers aside and hurried through her Dear Darlene letters, then checked her inbox for her latest assignment. Her glance slid to his note for the zillionth time, despite her determination to ignore it. The simple white card sat next to her computer, taunting her. Skye stared at Mark’s crisp, exact letters. Such nice printing—especially for a guy. She sighed.

Mark intrigued her. She didn’t even try to deny it. But she didn’t want to call, either. For some inexplicable reason, she was reluctant to talk to him. How was that for stupid female contrariness?