Emilie Rose - Scandalous Passion

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.”

“Part owner,” Sam corrected. “Without your bucks to back up my cooking, I’d still be slinging military rations and living in the barracks. Instead I get to cook food that looks and tastes good and live upstairs in these swanky digs.”

Phoebe shot a surprised glance in Carter’s direction and extended her hand to Sam. “My compliments to the chef.”

“Thanks, ma’am.” Sam’s black eyes pinned Carter. “When Suzie told me you’d called for a reservation for two, I decided to come out to see who’d make you break your fast.”

Carter’s ears burned under Phoebe’s speculative gaze. So he didn’t date much these days. Big deal. CyberSniper came first. But Sam had handed him the perfect opportunity to pay Phoebe back for making their past dates a dirty secret. He let his mouth tip in a smile his corps buddy wouldn’t misunderstand. “Phoebe’s an old friend.”

Sam’s speculative gaze fixed on Phoebe’s red cheeks. He nodded. “Nice meeting you, ma’am. I’ve been working on a new dessert recipe all week. Can I tempt you folks?”

“We really have to run,” Phoebe replied before Carter could. “But thank you.”

Carter considered the potency of Sam’s concoctions and weighed the odds of salvaging the evening. Curiosity urged him to try any means at his disposal to see if Phoebe’s kiss still packed the old punch he remembered. “How about a carry-out?”

A smartass grin spread across Sam’s face. “Whatever you want, Captain.”

With another sharp salute, Sam returned to the kitchen.

Phoebe’s jaw and spine looked rigid enough to snap. “I won’t have dessert with you.”

The kiss Carter wanted looked like a slim possibility, but he’d always enjoyed fighting against the odds. “What makes you think I’m willing to share? But you don’t know what you’re missing, Phoebe. Sam’s desserts are like sex in a spoon.” He winked. “A smart woman would reconsider.”

“Try a little sin, Phoebe. You’ll like it.”

Phoebe shifted on her feet in the moonlight-flooded driveway of Carter’s home and tried to ignore her body’s traitorous response to the invitation in his huskily murmured words. Every self-preservation instinct within her screamed, Run, but she couldn’t. Carter had her caged between his broad chest, the open door of his car and the seat she’d just vacated. A balmy evening breeze caressed her sensitized skin.

He passed the open container holding the rich-smelling chocolate dessert beneath her nose and her mouth watered.