But that, I knew, was never going to happen.
Kevin’s palm cupped my cheek, his smile gentle. “Sweetheart, you look ripped to pieces.”
I nodded. I was. Just not for the reason Kevin thought.
I glanced around the room, searching out Evan. Wanting to know that he’d seen. Wanting him to be as twisted and tied up in knots as I was.
But he wasn’t even there.
“Angelina, my dear, the young waitress said I might find you in here. It’s so good to see you again, even under such sad circumstances.”
The Southern-smooth voice rolled over me, and I grimaced. I’d escaped to the kitchen—which was technically off limits to guests—with the hope of squeezing out just one tiny little moment alone. Apparently, that wasn’t going to happen.
Forcing a political-daughter smile onto my face, I turned away from the counter and greeted Edwin Mulberry, a congressman from either Alabama or Mississippi or some other state that most definitely wasn’t the Midwest.
“Congressman Mulberry. What a pleasure,” I lied. I willed my smile wider. “I didn’t realize you knew my uncle.”
He had silver hair and an audience-ready smile that I only half-believed was genuine. “Your uncle was an amazing man,” he said. “Very well connected. When I spoke to your father yesterday and he told me he couldn’t be here, I knew I had to come by.”
“I appreciate that,” I said. Mulberry was a representative with an eye on the Senate, and though my father was still on his first six-year term, he had forged powerful allies, including several who had started tossing his name around as a potential vice presidential candidate. I didn’t need to rely on my poli sci degree to realize that Mulberry was more interested in getting in good with the flavor of the month than he was in paying his respects to my uncle.
“It’s been what? Almost five years since I’ve seen you? I have to say, you’ve grown into quite the lovely young woman.”
“Thank you,” I said, managing to keep my smile bright though it had become significantly harder. “It’s been almost eight,” I added, unable to help myself. I’d seen Mulberry last at my sister’s funeral, and the memory of that day bumped up against the one I was currently living in a way that made me feel cold and hollow.
I hugged myself tight, trying to remember all my various bits of social training, but now feeling too lost to make small talk. “Well,” I said, and then just let the word hang there, suddenly unable to come up with a single thing to say.
It was Evan who rescued me.
“Congressman Mulberry?” The older man turned to Evan, who stood in the doorway looking as dark and mysterious as still water at midnight. “There’s a young woman out there looking for you. She seems very anxious to speak to you.”
“Is there?” The congressman perked up, his hand rising to straighten his tie as I bit back a grin.
“Long blond hair, short black dress.” He moved into the kitchen to stand near us. “She was heading into the library as I left her.”
“Well,” Mulberry said. He turned to me. “My dear, it’s been a pleasure, but if this young woman is a constituent, I should go see what she has on her mind.”
“Of course,” I said. “It was lovely seeing you again. Thank you for coming.”
As soon as he was out the door, I turned to Evan. “You are a very smooth liar.”
“Apparently not as smooth as I thought if you found me out so easily.”
“Maybe I just know you too well,” I quipped.
He looked at me for a moment, then took a single step closer. My breath hitched and my pulse began to pick up tempo, and when he reached out an arm toward me I stood perfectly still, anticipating a touch that never came—it wasn’t me he was reaching for, but a bottle of wine.
Idiot, idiot, idiot. But at least I could breathe easy again.
“Too well?” he said, as he poured a glass of pinot noir and passed it to me. “Does that mean you’ve figured out all my secrets?”
Our fingers brushed as I took the wine from him, and I shivered from the spark of connection that seemed to shoot through me, all the way from my fingers to the very tips of my toes.
I saw the quick flash of awareness in his eyes and wanted to kick myself. Because it wasn’t me that knew his secrets—it was the other way around. And damned if I didn’t feel confused and exposed and vulnerable.
“Secrets?” I repeated. I stood up straighter, determined to snatch back some measure of control. “Like the mystery behind why you’ve barely said two words to me all night? Why you’ve looked everywhere but me?”
He tilted his head as if considering my words, then he poured his own glass of wine and took a long, slow sip. “I’m looking at you now.”
I swallowed. He damn sure was. His cloudy gray eyes were fixed on my face, and I saw the tension in his body, as if he was fighting the coming violence of a storm.
Against my better judgment, I took a drink of my own wine. Yes, I needed a clear head for tonight, but right then I needed courage more. “You are,” I agreed. “What do you see?”
“A beautiful woman,” he said, his tone making my heart flutter as much as his words. “A beautiful woman,” he continued, “who needs to take a step back and think about what the hell she’s doing and why she’s doing it.”
“Excuse me?” His tone had shifted only slightly, but it was enough to totally erase that flutter. “Excuse me?” I repeated, because he had so completely flummoxed me that I couldn’t seem to conjure any other words.
“You’ve had a hard time of it, Angie,” he said. “You deserve to be happy.”
I twirled the stem of my wineglass between my fingers as I tried to figure out his angle. Was he about to tell me that he could make me happy? The thought sent a small tingle of anticipation running through me, but I didn’t believe it. He was too hot and cold, too confusing. And I wasn’t going to figure out what the hell he was thinking unless I flat-out asked.
“What makes you think I’m not happy?”
He lifted one shoulder in a small shrug. “I get why you’re dating Warner,” he said. “Political father. FBI agent boyfriend. It all fits. It all makes sense. The perfect daughter piece in the picture perfect puzzle that makes up your life.”
I’d gone completely tense, my throat tight, my chest heavy. I felt like a walking target that he’d just skewered with a dead-on bull’s-eye.
“Not that it’s any of your business, but Kevin’s wonderful,” I said tightly, determined not to let him see that his barb had hit home.
“No,” Evan said. We were still standing next to the counter in the kitchen, completely alone except for the few waiters who wandered in to refill their trays. Now he moved a step closer, and I swore I could feel the thrum of the air molecules buzzing between us. “For someone, maybe. But he’s not for you.”
“What would you know about it?” I’d intended to sound indignant. I didn’t even come close.
“I know enough,” he said, closing the distance between us even more. “I know you need a man who’s strong enough to anchor you. A man who understands what you need, in bed and out of it.” A deliciously sexy smile eased across his mouth. “You need a man who can just look at you and get you hot. And, Angie,” he said, “I also know that Kevin Warner isn’t that man.”
Kevin’s palm cupped my cheek, his smile gentle. “Sweetheart, you look ripped to pieces.”
I nodded. I was. Just not for the reason Kevin thought.
I glanced around the room, searching out Evan. Wanting to know that he’d seen. Wanting him to be as twisted and tied up in knots as I was.
But he wasn’t even there.
“Angelina, my dear, the young waitress said I might find you in here. It’s so good to see you again, even under such sad circumstances.”
The Southern-smooth voice rolled over me, and I grimaced. I’d escaped to the kitchen—which was technically off limits to guests—with the hope of squeezing out just one tiny little moment alone. Apparently, that wasn’t going to happen.
Forcing a political-daughter smile onto my face, I turned away from the counter and greeted Edwin Mulberry, a congressman from either Alabama or Mississippi or some other state that most definitely wasn’t the Midwest.
“Congressman Mulberry. What a pleasure,” I lied. I willed my smile wider. “I didn’t realize you knew my uncle.”
He had silver hair and an audience-ready smile that I only half-believed was genuine. “Your uncle was an amazing man,” he said. “Very well connected. When I spoke to your father yesterday and he told me he couldn’t be here, I knew I had to come by.”
“I appreciate that,” I said. Mulberry was a representative with an eye on the Senate, and though my father was still on his first six-year term, he had forged powerful allies, including several who had started tossing his name around as a potential vice presidential candidate. I didn’t need to rely on my poli sci degree to realize that Mulberry was more interested in getting in good with the flavor of the month than he was in paying his respects to my uncle.
“It’s been what? Almost five years since I’ve seen you? I have to say, you’ve grown into quite the lovely young woman.”
“Thank you,” I said, managing to keep my smile bright though it had become significantly harder. “It’s been almost eight,” I added, unable to help myself. I’d seen Mulberry last at my sister’s funeral, and the memory of that day bumped up against the one I was currently living in a way that made me feel cold and hollow.
I hugged myself tight, trying to remember all my various bits of social training, but now feeling too lost to make small talk. “Well,” I said, and then just let the word hang there, suddenly unable to come up with a single thing to say.
It was Evan who rescued me.
“Congressman Mulberry?” The older man turned to Evan, who stood in the doorway looking as dark and mysterious as still water at midnight. “There’s a young woman out there looking for you. She seems very anxious to speak to you.”
“Is there?” The congressman perked up, his hand rising to straighten his tie as I bit back a grin.
“Long blond hair, short black dress.” He moved into the kitchen to stand near us. “She was heading into the library as I left her.”
“Well,” Mulberry said. He turned to me. “My dear, it’s been a pleasure, but if this young woman is a constituent, I should go see what she has on her mind.”
“Of course,” I said. “It was lovely seeing you again. Thank you for coming.”
As soon as he was out the door, I turned to Evan. “You are a very smooth liar.”
“Apparently not as smooth as I thought if you found me out so easily.”
“Maybe I just know you too well,” I quipped.
He looked at me for a moment, then took a single step closer. My breath hitched and my pulse began to pick up tempo, and when he reached out an arm toward me I stood perfectly still, anticipating a touch that never came—it wasn’t me he was reaching for, but a bottle of wine.
Idiot, idiot, idiot. But at least I could breathe easy again.
“Too well?” he said, as he poured a glass of pinot noir and passed it to me. “Does that mean you’ve figured out all my secrets?”
Our fingers brushed as I took the wine from him, and I shivered from the spark of connection that seemed to shoot through me, all the way from my fingers to the very tips of my toes.
I saw the quick flash of awareness in his eyes and wanted to kick myself. Because it wasn’t me that knew his secrets—it was the other way around. And damned if I didn’t feel confused and exposed and vulnerable.
“Secrets?” I repeated. I stood up straighter, determined to snatch back some measure of control. “Like the mystery behind why you’ve barely said two words to me all night? Why you’ve looked everywhere but me?”
He tilted his head as if considering my words, then he poured his own glass of wine and took a long, slow sip. “I’m looking at you now.”
I swallowed. He damn sure was. His cloudy gray eyes were fixed on my face, and I saw the tension in his body, as if he was fighting the coming violence of a storm.
Against my better judgment, I took a drink of my own wine. Yes, I needed a clear head for tonight, but right then I needed courage more. “You are,” I agreed. “What do you see?”
“A beautiful woman,” he said, his tone making my heart flutter as much as his words. “A beautiful woman,” he continued, “who needs to take a step back and think about what the hell she’s doing and why she’s doing it.”
“Excuse me?” His tone had shifted only slightly, but it was enough to totally erase that flutter. “Excuse me?” I repeated, because he had so completely flummoxed me that I couldn’t seem to conjure any other words.
“You’ve had a hard time of it, Angie,” he said. “You deserve to be happy.”
I twirled the stem of my wineglass between my fingers as I tried to figure out his angle. Was he about to tell me that he could make me happy? The thought sent a small tingle of anticipation running through me, but I didn’t believe it. He was too hot and cold, too confusing. And I wasn’t going to figure out what the hell he was thinking unless I flat-out asked.
“What makes you think I’m not happy?”
He lifted one shoulder in a small shrug. “I get why you’re dating Warner,” he said. “Political father. FBI agent boyfriend. It all fits. It all makes sense. The perfect daughter piece in the picture perfect puzzle that makes up your life.”
I’d gone completely tense, my throat tight, my chest heavy. I felt like a walking target that he’d just skewered with a dead-on bull’s-eye.
“Not that it’s any of your business, but Kevin’s wonderful,” I said tightly, determined not to let him see that his barb had hit home.
“No,” Evan said. We were still standing next to the counter in the kitchen, completely alone except for the few waiters who wandered in to refill their trays. Now he moved a step closer, and I swore I could feel the thrum of the air molecules buzzing between us. “For someone, maybe. But he’s not for you.”
“What would you know about it?” I’d intended to sound indignant. I didn’t even come close.
“I know enough,” he said, closing the distance between us even more. “I know you need a man who’s strong enough to anchor you. A man who understands what you need, in bed and out of it.” A deliciously sexy smile eased across his mouth. “You need a man who can just look at you and get you hot. And, Angie,” he said, “I also know that Kevin Warner isn’t that man.”
