Bedroom Diplomacy

Rowena dove back under, then resurfaced when she reached the opposite side, not ten feet from where he sat. She flipped over, arms slicing through the water as she pushed off the side. He sat there, transfixed, hypnotized by the graceful glide of her body, the practiced, even strokes that took her to the opposite end of the pool, then back again. It went on like that for a while, until she finally stopped at the end farthest from him and hung on to the edge, seemingly exhausted and out of breath. But she couldn’t have rested more than a minute before she started the process all over again.

After a few more laps he began to think about the senator, his ridiculous ground rules, and how Colin’s sitting there watching his daughter might be misconstrued. And the more he thought about it, the more it seemed inappropriate. He could sneak away, but if someone were to see him that would definitely make it seem as if he had something to hide. By not leaving the second she dove into the pool, without even realizing it, he had created something of a dilemma for himself. At this point, it seemed that the wise thing to do would be to politely announce his presence, then get the hell out.

Still fuming over the berating she’d received from her father in front of her staff today when he learned that she’d gone thirty dollars over budget on art supplies for the month, Rowena pushed herself harder than usual, working out her frustration, swimming until her arms and legs felt rubbery and her shoulders ached.

Three years, two months and six days sober, and the senator was still waiting for her to fail.

And while she wasn’t denying she’d made a lot of mistakes, they were mistakes that she had since owned up to, and paid her penance for a million times over.

She had done everything her father had asked of her, but it still wasn’t enough. Maybe it would never be enough for him. She would always be the bad seed, always chasing after his love, trying to please him, but never quite making the cut.

It was tough to impress a man who didn’t want to be impressed.

By the time she was finished swimming she was so exhausted she barely had the strength to hoist herself up over the side and out of the water.

“That was quite a workout,” an unfamiliar and sinister-sounding voice said from somewhere behind her in the dark.

Startled, she whipped around, seeing only the shadow of a very large and intimidating figure. Her heart stopped, then picked up triple time, alarm flooding her veins with adrenaline, her automatic first thought being rapist or serial killer. In that split second she imagined José the pool boy finding her bloated, discolored corpse floating in the water the following morning, or some unfortunate jogger finding her in the woods along the jogging path in one of the city parks.

Her brain said run, and she took an instinctive step back—right off the edge of the pool. She felt herself falling backward, thought, Okay, now what? and then a hand shot out of the darkness and locked firmly around her wrist, tugging her upright, to her imminent doom.

She jerked her arm back, expecting him to let go. Instead she managed to knock both herself and her would-be attacker off balance and sent them both careening into the pool.

They landed with a splash, the voice she’d heard suddenly replaying like a tape recorder in her head, only this time it sounded vaguely familiar. This time she heard the crisp accent, the smooth-as-caramel tone that really wasn’t sinister after all. And as he surfaced beside her, sputtering and cursing, all she could think was that her father was going to kill her.

If Colin didn’t get to her first.

“Why in the bloody hell did you do that?” he said, treading water.

“I’m so sorry,” she said.

He grabbed the edge of the pool and hoisted himself up. But the fact that she wasn’t about to be murdered left her so weak with relief that when she tried to pull herself up onto the deck, her arms crumpled and she slid back into the water instead.

“Allow me,” he said, reaching down to help her. When she hesitated, he said in an exasperated voice, “Just take my hand, for God’s sake.”

It was either accept his help or swim to the steps at the opposite end, and she honestly wasn’t sure she had the strength.

She grabbed his outstretched hand and with hardly any effort at all he hauled her out of the water. He was strong, which had her questioning how she’d managed to get him into the water in the first place. Maybe the adrenaline had given her superhuman strength. Now she felt weak and trembly and cold.

Colin grabbed her towel from the chair where she’d left it, but instead of using it on himself, he wrapped it around her shoulders. Her modest one-piece could hardly be considered revealing, yet she couldn’t help feeling exposed.

His soggy slacks and sweater were a pretty good indication that he hadn’t been out there to swim. Unless he’d been planning to skinny-dip.

She wouldn’t have minded seeing that.

He pulled an expensive-looking cell phone from the pocket of his soggy slacks. She cringed as he gave it a shake, jabbed the home button a few times and got nothing.

If he told her father about this, she was dead meat.

“I am so sorry. I didn’t know anyone else was out here. I usually have the pool all to myself.”

“I didn’t mean to startle you,” he said, ringing water from the sleeves of his sweater. “I was sitting by the pool and I must have dozed off. I woke up when you dove in.”

“Your phone—can it be salvaged?”

“I doubt it,” he said, and shoved it back into his pocket.

His sweater wasn’t looking too promising, either. Her father was going to have a field day with this one. “I am so sorry, Colin. First your pants, now this.”

He gave up on the sweater, which had gone all saggy and misshapen, and said, “Could you spare me a towel?”

“Of course!” Where were her manners? It was the least she could do, since, in the process of trying not to get herself murdered, she had murdered his phone instead and, from the looks of it, his sweater… and were those leather shoes?

“They’re in the pool house.”

He followed her, his soles squeaking against the ceramic tile. She prayed he wasn’t wearing an expensive and non-waterproof wristwatch.

The door was locked, and she didn’t have her keys, so she dug behind the loose strip of siding beside the door frame and pulled out the spare. Once inside, she switched on the lights, blinking against the sudden brightness.

While it was technically a pool house, it was the size, and had all the amenities, of a studio apartment.

Colin kicked off his shoes and followed her inside. She stepped into the bathroom, which had its own door leading to the pool area, and grabbed a beach towel from the shelf. She walked back out just as Colin was peeling the wet sweater over his head, uncovering a chest and midriff that were a testament to years of dedication to fitness, and an abdomen hard with rippling muscles. Slim hips and lean, strong arms gave proportion to what, under the clingy fabric of his slacks, were clearly long and muscular legs. Then he turned to toss the ruined garment out the door, and she sucked in a quiet breath.

Patchy, pink burn scars that were fully healed, yet somehow still looked painfully fresh, started just below his shoulders and ran down the entire width of his back, disappearing beneath the waist of his pants.

She wiped the surprise from her face as he turned back around. Aside from the scars, his body couldn’t have been more perfect.

He held out his hand and said, “Towel?”

She handed it to him. “I’m sorry.”

“You’re forgiven,” he said, sounding exasperated. “Now would you please stop apologizing.”

“Sorr—”

He shot her a look.

She shrugged. “Habit.”

Watching him dry his magnificently toned pecs and thick arms, she felt a shimmery za-zing of awareness, in places that hadn’t za-zinged in a long time. Which was the absolute last thing she should be thinking about right now.

He seemed like a pretty reasonable guy. She went out on a limb and asked, “Is there any way that we could maybe not tell my father about this?”

He flashed her one of those adorable grins. “It’ll be our little secret.”

The idea of having a secret with him, big or little, made her heart skip. Here she was, twenty-six and reacting like a schoolgirl with a crush.

“The senator, he demands perfection?” Colin asked.

That was something of an understatement. “He does have very high standards.”

“For what it’s worth, I was impressed. With the day care, I mean.”

“Thanks.” And for some stupid reason, she heard herself saying, “It was my idea.”

Rather than a brush-off, or a sure it was look, he appeared genuinely interested. “Was it?”

She should quit while she was ahead, but she couldn’t seem to make her mouth stop moving. “My father has always run on an all-American family-man platform.” Ironic, considering what a negligent father he actually was. Work always came first. “Among other things one of his causes has been affordable day care for working families. His own staff was no exception. So opening a day care for them seemed like a logical solution. It would be good for his career, and for the people who work for him. And it has been.”

“So it’s as much your project as his?”

Uh oh. She shook her head, laughed nervously. “No, no, not at all, it’s definitely his project. Although I did have fun helping with the plans, then watching it all come together. I toured day-care centers all over the city and scoured the internet for ideas.”

Looking puzzled, he said, “So how then is it not your project?”

She really needed to stop talking. “It’s not my name on the checks.”

“Writing the checks is the easy part,” he said, as though he knew that from experience. “It sounds as if you did the hard part. All the real work.”

If it got back to the senator that she was taking credit for the day care, he would come unhinged.

“My part of it was nothing, really.”

“For nothing, you seem quite proud of what you’ve done. And it sounds as if you should be.”

But it wasn’t worth the hassle if it meant stepping on her father’s very large toes. Why had she even brought this up in the first place?

“You look nervous,” he said.

“Sometimes my mouth works independently from my brain, and I say things I shouldn’t.”

“Would it help to say that what you and I discuss in private will never reach the senator’s ears?”

She blew out a relieved breath. “I would really appreciate that.”

“Though it’s a shame you feel the need to hide your accomplishments.”

It was a survival instinct. “My father and I, our relationship is… complicated. It’s easier for everyone if I don’t rock the boat.”

“I think I understand.”

Did he? Really?

She looked at the clock. “Wow, I didn’t realize how late it is. I really have to get inside or Betty is going to think I drowned.”

“Betty, the housekeeper?”

She nodded. “She sits with Dylan while I do my laps. I’m usually only gone forty minutes.…” She paused, working the time out in her head. “Did you say that you woke up when I dove into the water?”

“The splash roused me.”

Yet he didn’t say anything to her until after she swam her laps. So what was he doing all that time?

“Yes,” he said, as if he were reading her mind. “I was watching you swim, which I know was a violation of your privacy. My only excuse, flimsy as it is, is that I was mesmerized.” He reached for her hand, drawing it between his, and… talk about tingles. His hands were big and strong and a little rough. “I hope you’ll accept my apology.”

Damn, this guy was good. She made the mistake of looking up into his eyes, and felt herself being sucked into their unearthly blue depths. A woman could drown in eyes like that.

His eyes never leaving hers, he said, “Why is it that when something is forbidden, it makes you want it that much more?”

Come and get me, she wanted to say. Then she reminded herself that he was a politician, and no matter how sincere he may have looked or sounded, he possessed the ability to lie through his royal teeth. And very convincingly.

But a little innocent flirting never hurt anyone. Right?

His eyes searched hers, then dipped lower, settling on her mouth, which of course made her look at his mouth, and all she could think was how kissable his lips looked, and how much she wanted to be the one kissing them.

He lifted her hand to his lips, brushing a kiss across the back, and the earth pitched under her feet. It had been a long time since a man’s lips had touched any part of her body.

“It was a pleasure talking with you,” he said.

Yes it was. “Maybe we could do it again.”

“Maybe,” he said, letting go of her hand. But he did it slowly, his fingers sliding across hers, pausing as they reached the very tips.

Don’t go, she thought. Only because she didn’t have the guts to say it out loud. But apparently he wasn’t a mind reader after all, because he turned, grabbed his shoes and sweater and walked away.

She watched in silence as he disappeared into the dark, wishing they really could do it again, but knowing that it was better if they didn’t. Not that it hadn’t been fun flirting with him. But it could never be more than that.

When Rowena got to her suite, Betty, their live-in maid, was stretched out on the sofa watching Dynasty reruns on cable.

“That must have been some swim,” she said, sitting up and switching off the television, her tight gray curls pressed flat against the back of her head.

“Betty, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to take so long.”

“As if I have somewhere more exciting to be,” Betty said. She didn’t ask Rowena what had taken so long, and Rowena didn’t indulge.

Betty slowly rose from the couch, stretching her arthritic back. She had been with the family since Rowena was a baby. She taught Rowena to bake cookies, told her about the birds and the bees and took her for her first bra, since her mother couldn’t be bothered. And when Rowena was battling her addictions, Betty was the only person who never lost faith in her. But she was getting older, slowing down physically, and eventually it would be time for her to retire.

“Did Dylan wake up?”

“He didn’t make a peep.”

“Thanks for watching him,” she said, giving Betty a hug.

“No problem, sweetie. Tomorrow night, same time?”

“If you don’t mind.”

As she walked her to the door, Rowena casually asked, “So, what do you think of my father’s guest?”

“Mr. Middlebury? He seems friendly and very polite. A bit of a flirt, I suppose, and boy is he a hottie.” She looked back at Rowena. “Do they still call attractive men hotties?”

“Hottie works.”

“Well, then, he definitely is one. Maybe, if I were thirty years younger…” she said with a grin. “Why do you ask?”

Rowena shrugged. “Just curious.”

“Are you interested?”

She shook her head. “Not at all. You know I don’t date politicians.”

“Oh, he’s not a politician. He’s just here as a favor to his family. They seemed to think that because he’s a war hero, he would have more of an influence in Washington.”

Not a politician? Interesting.

“You seem to know an awful lot about him,” Rowena said.

“We’ve chatted a time or two. You should talk to him.” She didn’t mention that she already had. “I’ll think about it.”

After Betty left, Rowena checked on Dylan, who was sound asleep in his crib, and then she showered, changed into her pajamas and crawled into bed with her computer to check her email, which, as usual, was mostly junk.

She was about to close her laptop, but on a whim, opened her browser instead and typed in Colin’s name.

A page of results popped up on the screen, but instead of social columns about a womanizing earl and his exploits, what she found was news stories about Colin Middlebury the war hero.

An honor he had clearly earned.

During his last tour in the Middle East, a helicopter he was a passenger in crashed. He was thrown from the craft and, with a shattered leg, had crawled back, dragging the pilot, who had been knocked unconscious, away from the wreckage. But before they could reach a safe distance the helicopter burst into flames. Both men suffered severe burns, and Colin spent first a month in the hospital, then another eight weeks in a rehab center.

It sounded as if Colin had been incredibly lucky. Other than the small scar bisecting his brow, he had no obvious marks. Until he took off his clothes, that is. And the last thing she needed to be doing was thinking about Colin with his clothes off. Did she miss dating? Sometimes. But there was nothing Rowena needed that she couldn’t provide herself. In or out of the bedroom.

That didn’t mean it wouldn’t be fun.

Three

The following day seemed to drag by, as if time were moving through a vat of molasses. Rowena tried to keep busy, ordering supplies, working on lesson plans and scouring the internet for craft ideas. Then right in the middle of a task, a vision of Colin, standing in the pool house, his chest bare, his arms thick with sinew, would pop into her head and she’d completely forget what she was doing.

Would he be at the pool again tonight, or when he said maybe, had he just been humoring her? Did he really mean no way lady? Maybe after they talked, he didn’t find her quite so attractive after all.

She felt nervous and distracted all afternoon, and during dinner, while Dylan chattered away about his day, she was only half listening. What if Colin really did show?

What then?

Even if he liked her, and she liked him, he was only here for a few weeks. It’s not as if they could ever have any kind of relationship.

She was a responsible adult. Someone’s mother. Her days of brief affairs and one-night stands had ended the day she found out she was pregnant. It was too… undignified.

It shouldn’t have mattered if Colin was at the pool or not. So why, when she went to take her swim and she found the chairs empty, was she so disappointed?

When she was done, as she was walking back to her suite, she thought about taking a quick detour to Colin’s suite. Only to tell him again that she had enjoyed their talk, and to let him know that if he needed anything, all he had to do was ask.

Rowena, she imagined him saying, all I need is you.

He would be shirtless, of course, and possibly just out of the shower, with droplets of water dotting his pecs. His hair would be wet and spiky. He would hold out his hand, and though she would hesitate for several seconds, she would take it. He would pull her into his room, closing the door behind them.…

At that point she made herself keep walking until she reached her own suite. As unlikely as it was that would ever really happen, it scared her to think what would happen if it did.

The following morning she managed not to think about him much at all, until she was walking up to the mansion and saw Colin and her father’s attorney sitting on the back patio.

“Hello, Colin,” she said with a smile, her heart lifting at the sight of him, only to flop back down and land with a sickening thud when he replied, “Hello, Miss Tate.”

He didn’t even crack a smile.

’Nuff said. She squared her shoulders and kept walking. She had no reason to be upset or feel slighted. They’d talked one time. It wasn’t as if he’d promised they would see each other again. To avoid seeing him again she left through the front door, taking a different route back, walking all the way down the driveway to the road, then up a quarter mile to the day-care center.

“Why did you go the long way?” Tricia asked.

“Good exercise,” Rowena told her, then hid in her office for the rest of the morning, refusing to feel sorry for herself. She was being silly, that’s all. All the time she spent cooped up on the estate must be taking its toll.

In the afternoon a feisty ten-year-old named Davis, whose mother worked for the senator soliciting donations, took a tumble off the monkey bars and Rowena sat with him, holding an ice pack on his bruised and swollen arm, until his mother arrived and rushed him off to the E.R. for X-rays.

She filled out an accident report and all the other appropriate documentation, then sat through a berating from her father—in front of Dylan, no less—because naturally it was her fault.

“Dabis godda owie taday,” Dylan said as she tucked him into bed that night.

She pulled the covers up to his chin. “Yes, Davis got an owie. But his mommy called and said it was just a small owie. Nothing broken.”

There was genuine relief in his big hazel eyes. Having been through so much himself, Dylan was exceptionally empathetic for a boy his age. And though he might have physically disabilities, he was smart as a whip and wise beyond his very short two and a half years.

“Papa mad at you,” he said.

“No, baby, he’s not mad,” she lied. “He was just worried about Davis. But Davis is fine, so everything is okay.” She got so tired of making excuses for her father’s behavior. Dylan adored him. He was the only grandparent Dylan had, but Dylan was exceptionally smart. It wouldn’t be long before he began to understand the kind of man his grandfather really was.

As she leaned down and kissed him good-night, Dylan asked the same question he had every night since he’d learned to talk.

“I gedda big bed?”

She sighed and tousled his curly red mop of hair. “Yes, sweetie, you’ll get a big-boy bed very soon.”

She felt guilty for depriving him of something he wanted so badly, but she just wasn’t ready to take the chance. In his crib she knew he was safe. In a regular bed, if he had a seizure or even just rolled too far to one side, he could fall out and hurt himself.

Accepting her empty promise with a hopeful smile, the way he always did, and with his favorite toy race car clutched in his hand, he rolled onto his side and closed his eyes. He was so tiny for his age. So small and defenseless. She wasn’t ready for him to grow up.

She leaned down, kissed him one last time and whispered, “I love you.”

“Wuboo, too,” he said sleepily.

She switched off his light, checked that the baby monitor was on, then slipped out of the room. As much as she needed a break by the end of the day, and a little time to herself, she hated leaving him alone. Until a year ago she’d kept him in bed with her, until the pediatrician warned that coddling him might only inhibit his progress. But it was so hard to let go, to relinquish control.

Rowena changed into her swimsuit, but she still had twenty minutes before Betty would be there to babysit, so she switched on the television. It was tuned to the American News Service—the cable network that had broken the presidential paternity scandal—and the anchor, Angelica Pierce, was reporting, as was often the case lately, on recent developments in the story. And Angelica seemed to take a sick sort of satisfaction in relaying the details.

Having been the target of rumors and speculation a time or two herself, Rowena could relate. Although in her case, the rumors usually were true. But she was never outed in front of hundreds of people.

Angelica Pierce was saying something about paternity and blood tests, and how both Ariella, the president’s alleged illegitimate daughter, and Eleanor, his high school sweetheart, were unavailable for comment. The devilish gleam in Angelica’s eyes said she was out for blood and thoroughly enjoying the scandal.

Rowena was about to switch the channel when she was struck by a sense of familiarity so intense it actually gave her goose bumps. Something about Angelica had always annoyed Rowena, but she had always attributed it to ANS’s sleazy reporting. She’d also thought that the woman looked vaguely familiar, and suddenly she realized why.