said as he moved to join her. "Robert Campbell was your father?"
"Yes, did you know him?"
"Of him. I was still in college when he was killed. I've met your mother, of course. She's a lovely woman."
"Yes, she is." Shelby sipped. The Scotch was dark and smooth. "I've often wondered why she never ran for office herself. She's always loved the life." He caught it
the very, very faint edge of resentment. That was something to explore
—
later, Alan decided. Timing was often the ultimate reason for success or failure in any campaign. "You have a brother, don't you?"
"Grant?" For a moment, her gaze touched on the newspaper. "Yes, he steers clear of Washington for the most part." A siren screamed outside the window, echoing then fading. "He prefers the relative peace of Maine." A flicker of amusement crossed her face
a secret that intrigued Alan. Instinct told him he wouldn't learn it yet. Then logic
—
reminded him he had no real interest in her secrets. "In any case, neither of us seem to have inherited the public servant syndrome."
"Is that what you call it?" Alan shifted. The pillow against his back was cool and satin. He imagined her skin would feel like that against his.
"Doesn't it fit?" she countered. "A dedication to the masses, a fetish for paperwork. A taste for power."
It was there again, that light arrogance touched with disdain. "You haven't a taste for power?"
"Just over my own life. I don't like to interfere with other people's." Alan toyed with the leather thong in her hair until he'd loosened it. Perhaps he had come to debate with her after all. She seemed to urge him to defend what he'd always believed in. "Do you think any of us go through the cycle without touching off ripples in other lives?"
Shelby said nothing as her hair fell free. It tickled her neck, reminding her of the feel of his fingers on almost the same spot. She discovered it was as simple as she had thought it would be to sit beside him with those lean muscles naked and within easy reach.
"It's up to everyone to ward off or work with the ripples in their own way," she said at length. "Well, that does in my philosophy for the day; I'll see if your shirt's dry." Alan tightened his grip on her hair as she started to rise. Shelby turned her head to find those brooding, considering eyes on her face. "The ripples haven't even started between us," he said quietly. "Perhaps you'd better start working with them."
"Alan
tient as excitement ripped through her. "I've
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already told you, nothing's going to get started between us. Don't take it personally," she added with a half-smile. "You're very attractive. I'm just not interested."
"No?" With his free hand, he circled her wrist. "Your pulse is racing." Her annoyance was quick, mirrored in the sudden flare in her eyes, the sudden jerk of her chin. "I'm always happy to boost an ego," she said evenly. "Now, I'll get your shirt."
"Boost it a little higher," he suggested and drew her closer. One kiss, he thought, and he'd be satisfied. Flamboyant, overly aggressive women held no appeal for him. Shelby was certainly that. One kiss, he thought again, and he'd be satisfied on all counts. She hadn't expected him to be stubborn, any more than she'd expected that fierce tug of longing when his breath fluttered over her lips. She let out a quick sigh of annoyance that she hoped would infuriate him. So, the Senator from Massachusetts wants to try his luck with a free-thinking artist, just for variety. Relaxing, she tilted up her chin. All right, then, she decided. She'd give him a kiss that would knock him flat right before
—
she bundled him up and hauled him out the door.
But he didn't touch his lips to hers yet, only looked at her. Why wasn't she handling him? she wondered as his mouth slowly lowered. Why wasn't she
?
…
Then his tongue traced a lazy line over her lips and she wasn't capable of
Stephanie Hoffman McManus