Scandalous Passion

“A new restaurant.” The car’s powerful engine rumbled to life. At the touch of a button, the garage door lifted, letting in the evening light. Carter’s hand nudged her knee as he reached for the gearshift. Phoebe moved her leg out of the danger zone, but not soon enough to prevent the tingle traveling upward. She pressed her knees together.

Stick to the agenda, Phoebe. Twelve dates. No dalliance. No broken promises. No broken heart.

Carter’s house was one of three stately older homes on the secluded forest-surrounded street. “When and why did you join the Marine Corps? I thought you hated that vagabond life.”

“After graduation. For the job training.”

He’d graduated days after they’d said goodbye. Had their breakup caused him to have a change of heart about settling down? He didn’t elaborate as he took the winding road downhill with curve-hugging speed until he reached the stop sign at the main thoroughfare.

“And now you’re out,” she prompted.

“Yes.” The car shot forward into a break in traffic with a burst of leashed power.

“Why not become a lifer like your father? He should be way up there in rank now.”

The bunching of his jaw muscle was his only response.

“Carter, you forced these outings. The least you can do is converse politely.”

He cut her a quick look. “My father has been promoted to Lieutenant General. That’s three stars. I received a medical discharge after I blew out my knee on my last mission.”

She remembered the scars. “I’m sorry.”

“I’m not. It was time to get out of the military. I was in a holding pattern that had nothing to do with where I wanted to go with my life.”

His reply hit a little too close to home. She shifted in her seat. “Do you work with Sawyer? I remember the two of you once talked about opening a company together.”

“No. I fly solo.”

She didn’t think he referred only to business.

Minutes later Carter’s car swept up the circular drive of a stone castle-style structure complete with twin octagonal turrets. A valet rushed to take his keys and another opened Phoebe’s door just in time for Carter to hand her out. Carter’s warm fingers wrapped around hers, sending a current of electricity up her arm. It always had been that way between them. She exhaled a pent-up breath when he released her, but her relief was short-lived when his palm settled against her spine. A shiver of awareness inched its way up her vertebrae.

She tightened her grip on her purse. “Wasn’t this a private residence when we were students at the university?”

“The family fell on hard times and sold it. Old money surrenders to new. The current owner turned the estate into a restaurant with dancing. He wants to work up to hosting weddings, but for now you might want to tell the senator it’s a good place for private parties.”

Carter seemed to know an awful lot about the owner’s plans. But Phoebe had no intention of dancing with Carter tonight or of telling her grandfather that she’d been on a date. The admission would lead to an inquisition and a discussion of the suitability of her escort. Grandfather was eager to marry her off—in a politically advantageous match, of course.

Phoebe paused in the palatial foyer. She could easily picture a bride sweeping down the wide marble staircase. An attractive blond hostess interrupted the mental image by greeting Carter by his first name then escorting them to a table in a private corner of what probably had been the formal drawing room of the private residence. Phoebe felt a spark of something that was certainly not jealousy each time the woman flashed Carter a blinding smile.

Candlelight flickered on the widely spaced tables and from wall sconces, giving the room an intimate air. Silverware and crystal glittered like diamonds in the soft light. Carter pulled out her chair and Phoebe noticed the single long-stemmed red rose on the snowy tablecloth in front of her chair. She sat and lifted the bud to inhale the heady fragrance. If this had been a true date she would have been bowled over by the romantic setting. But this wasn’t a date, and she wasn’t going to let herself be impressed. Much, she added grudgingly.

Carter seemed completely at ease with the opulent surroundings and deferential treatment. Twelve years ago he wouldn’t have been. If the hostess’s greeting hadn’t clued Phoebe in to the fact that Carter had been here before then his ordering without consulting the menu would have. Her menu didn’t list prices, but she didn’t need them to know this dinner would be a far cry from the economical meals and picnics of their past. They’d never shared expensive dinners because Carter couldn’t afford them and he’d refused to let her pay. The wine steward arrived, consulted with Carter and then departed.

Was the entire point of this evening to show her that he was now comfortable in her world? If so, why did he think she’d care? As if he’d read her thoughts he reached across the table and trapped her hand beneath his. Warmth traveled up her arm.

“It’s good to see you again, Phoebe.” His husky baritone and intent gaze made her stomach muscles quiver, and when his thumb stroked the inside of her wrist, she forgot to breathe. “Why don’t we go into the next room and dance until our meal is ready?”

The thought of being in Carter’s arms again made her light-headed, then an idea hit her with an ice-cold shower of sobriety. Did he think she’d tumble easily into his bed because of their past relationship? Well, he’d better think again. She wasn’t a wide-eyed innocent any longer. She’d been wined and dined by some of the slickest politicians and political wannabes in the nation’s capital—many of whom thought the best way to influence her grandfather was through her bed. She’d made a mistake once and become engaged before figuring out that she wasn’t the main attraction in the relationship. The experience had been enough to make her question the motives of every man who asked her out.

Anger bubbled in her blood. How could Carter believe her to be so easy, so gullible? She concealed her annoyance with a polite smile the way her grandmother had taught her and extracted her hand. “I don’t care to dance, thank you. How long have you been back in Chapel Hill?”

To give him credit, her failure to melt in her chair didn’t throw him. “Three years. What about you? Where do you live?”

“I divide my time between Raleigh and D.C.”

The wine arrived and Carter went through the tasting ritual. “Why are you still working with your grandfather?” he asked as soon as the steward departed.

Phoebe shifted in her seat and reached for her glass. “He needs me.”

“And if his presidential bid fails, what will you do?”

Good question. The year before her grandmother passed away she’d made Phoebe promise to look out for her grandfather if anything ever happened to her. Phoebe often wondered if Gran had had a premonition that undiagnosed ovarian cancer would take her life so swiftly. After the funeral, Phoebe had put her plans on hold to help her grandfather through his grief. The months she’d expected had lapsed into years until Phoebe had been delaying her own plans for so long that she’d finally quit making them.

Phoebe was in one of those holding patterns Carter had mentioned earlier. Not that she regretted the years at her grandfather’s side. She’d learned a lot, met world leaders and become very good at her job, so good in fact that she could work almost anywhere she wanted…. But if her grandfather’s presidential bid failed, Phoebe didn’t want to work for another politician. The joy of finding the poetry in the speeches had long since faded, and the appeal of twisting words to rouse patriotism or to hide blunders and weaknesses was gone. What kept her going was the knowledge that the work she did as part of her grandfather’s team made a difference.

What would she do with her life once her grandfather retired? The question rattled her, but it deserved thoughtful consideration when she wasn’t seated across from such a distraction.

She sipped her wine to alleviate the dryness in her mouth caused by fear of the unknown. Once upon a time, exploring the unfamiliar with Carter had thrilled her. Had she changed so much in the passing years? Had she become too much of a coward to try something new? “We’re anticipating a successful campaign. Should the outcome not go as projected then I’ll explore my alternatives.”

“Time has a way of getting away from you, Phoebe. If you don’t make decisions, the choices will dwindle until there are none.”

She wanted to ask what had made him so bitter, but refrained because she didn’t want to become involved. Get the pictures. Get out. “You’re suggesting I live for the moment? Just selfishly grab whatever I want with both hands and damn the consequences?”

The way her parents had.

He probably thought she’d grab him if he played his cards right. Although the thought tempted her, she wasn’t young and foolish any longer, and she didn’t do casual sex, especially not in Washington where who was sleeping with whom was the gossips’ favorite topic.

His gaze held hers. “I’m saying, figure out what you want and plot a strategy to achieve it before it’s too late, unless of course, you want your grandfather to keep calling the shots for you. What do you want, Phoebe?”

Knotting her fingers in her lap, she snuffed out the question before she could answer it. It didn’t really matter what she wanted. Her course had been set years ago. She would continue to write her grandfather’s speeches and act as his hostess as she had since graduation from Georgetown University. If she didn’t feel any enthusiasm for the plan, then the pictures were to blame. Once she no longer had to worry about them turning up in the press to humiliate her and anger her grandfather, she could get excited about the possibility of a whistle-stop tour of the country and later, living in the White House. In the meantime, she had research to do before she could begin drafting her grandfather’s declaration of candidacy speech.

She pasted on her best campaign smile. “I want my grandfather to win the election. He is by far the best candidate. Let me tell you why.”

Sortie one. A draw.

Carter folded his napkin at the end of the meal and battled frustration. Strategic withdrawal. Reevaluate the strategy. Approach from a different flank.

Phoebe had installed razor wire around herself in the past twelve years. She’d carefully sidestepped all personal questions and remained immune to every suggestive comment or look. Seducing her wouldn’t be as easy as he’d expected.

A heavy hand descended on his shoulder. Carter jerked his gaze upward and found Sam at his shoulder. He rose and returned Sam’s salute. “Great chow as usual, Sam.”

“You’re too kind, Captain,” Sam said in a voice heavily laced with sarcasm. “Who’s the pretty lady?”

Phoebe’s eyes widened as she took in all six feet, six inches of his forty-year-old, hard-as-nails, kick-your-ass-and-enjoy-it friend. Sam would be one scary dude to run into in an alley, and he didn’t look like any chef Carter had ever encountered, but he’d been a damned good Marine and a real team player.

“Phoebe, this is Sam Kalas. He kept our platoon fed. His cooking has been known to make a four-star general get on his knees and beg for seconds. Sam’s the owner and chef of this place.”