"You catch on quick."

"I could help," he offered.

"But you have to work," she said sadly.

"I'm not feeling well. Fever. Very bad. Must go soon."

Mercedes kicked off her heels.

"What was that?" he asked, not sounding remotely ill.

"My shoes."

"I'll be there in seven minutes."

10.

THE CANDLES WERE NOTHING but tiny stubs, the ziti sat uneaten on the table, and the wine was still unopened. Towels were strewn like bread crumbs from the bath to the couch, where Mercedes was curled up next to Sam, all transgressions now easily forgiven. A few well-timed o.r.g.a.s.ms would do that to a girl.

He tightened his arms around her. "Next time I think you need to come to Jersey, and learn how real people live."

"Next time...hmmmm, I like the sound of that." She perched up on his chest to study his face. The light was almost non-existent, but she didn't need it. Her fantasy man wasn't a hazy figment in her head anymore. The details were being filled in, her own Sam-portrait in progress.

There was the slightly crooked left eyebrow that most of his viewing audience a.s.sumed was his intelligent, quizzical look, but seeing him relaxed, even sleeping, she now realized it just grew that way. His lashes were golden-tipped, although she didn't dare tell him that, because he would think it was girly. Then there was the way he brushed his hand through his hair when he was thinking, and didn't know anyone was watching.

Mercedes was always watching. She ran her hands up over his torso, twirling a finger in the chest hair. The golden-tipped lashes opened, and sated green (not hazel) eyes gleamed.

"Let's not rush past 'this time,'" he said. "The night isn't over."

"I could stay like this forever."

He sighed, and she could feel the slow rise and fall of his chest beneath her. "See, this is how I know that what you write is fiction. I have no warm spot on this couch. Don't you have a bed?"

"It's a Murphy bed, and I don't usually fold it out, and you were in a hurry."

He started to laugh. "I should've guessed. This place suits you."

"I'm a wreck?"

"No, your priorities aren't the same as normal people," he said, softening the words with a kiss to her hair.

They stayed there quietly, and she wondered why she'd never appreciated the steely security of a man's arms before, the curve of his bicep, the hard lines of his chest. Lying here with Sam, the view out the window looked like paradise dusted in stars, rather than a rusted fire escape. Tonight her old couch was the most perfect place in the world. Sam stirred, their legs tangled together in a knot she was in no hurry to untie.

"Are you hungry?"

"Food?" he asked, his hand sweeping over the curve of her back, up and over, long, languid strokes.

"Ziti, in particular," she answered. If she moved just an inch to the left...

"Maybe in a minute. I'm treasuring my warm spot here."

"You're making fun again."

"Only because you make me smile."

"How was the interview with the law professor?"

"Pretty sharp. He had some good case points on capital punishment. The Supreme Court has got a case in a few months, we'll see what happens."

"We could turn the television on to watch the show."

"Bite your tongue. I'm quite happy here."

"Short sofa and all."

"It's the 'all' part that I'm happy about."

"What kept you tonight?"

"A meeting with Charlie."

"What was that?"

"What?"

"It was not an enthusiastic answer. Like it was a really bad meeting and you just don't want to whine."

"I don't mind whining, but it was actually a good meeting."

"So why the lack of enthusiasm?"

"I'm enthusiastic."

"That's not enthusiasm. That's brooding."

"I don't brood."

"Morose. Melancholy. Down in the dumps. Life in the c.r.a.pper. Pick a word, any word."

"I didn't want to say anything yet-"

"Aha! It was a bad meeting."

"No, it was good. But things are going to change."

"Good change or bad change?"

"It depends on your point of view."

"Just tell me."

"I'm running for Congress. One of the candidates has dropped out at the last minute. They want me in," he said.

"Oh! Oh." Congress. Just the word gave her hives.

Sam studied her face. "What do you think?"

"Are you serious?" she asked, but she knew he was. It was wonderful, it was daunting, it scared her senseless.

"Yeah. I met with the party chairman and a campaign manager yesterday. What do you think?"

"Wait a minute."

Mercedes reluctantly disengaged from his arms and fumbled through her purse. Then she came back, and handed him a twenty-dollar bill.

"If you're running for Congress, I want a lifetime tax exemption for Mercedes Brooks. No, that's too selfish. I want one for the entire Brooks family-except for Andrew. With his money, the pork police would be all over you."

He looked down at the twenty. "I can't do that."

She folded up the bill and smiled. "Okay, you pa.s.sed. You're not for sale. I like that in my elected representatives."

"That's all you have to say?"

She climbed up on him, and happily engaged herself back in his arms. "You're nervous about this, aren't you?"

"Yeah."

"Why?"

"What if I lose?"

"Sam, that'd be like George Washington losing, or Abraham Lincoln losing, or Thomas Jefferson losing. Of course you're going to win."

"Those are all dead guys. Name a guy who's still alive."

She stayed silent.

"What's wrong?"

"You're the only non-dead guy I know of that's a shoo-in to win. Oh, my G.o.d. I'd be sleeping with a member of Congress. a.s.suming you still want to sleep with me after you win."

"The election's three months away. I've got a lot of campaigning to catch up on."

"Oh, yeah, make me feel better." Then she broached the one issue that was forecasting rain for her parade. "Campaigning?"

"Yeah."

"Oh."

"Don't 'oh,'" he said, and she could hear the worry in his voice.

This was his shining moment, and she was raining on not only her parade, but his as well. Mercedes smiled at him, shoving her own problems to tomorrow when she'd be alone.

"I think you'll make a great Congressman, Sam Porter. The people of New York couldn't ask for anything better."

"New Jersey."

"What do you mean, New Jersey?"

"I live in Jersey. That's my home state."

"But what about the people of New York? Don't we deserve honest representatives, too?" It was one thing when he was going to be her Congressman, but he was going to be someone else's Congressman, not hers?

"New York has good representatives."

"But not as good as you, Sam. We deserve the best."

"Move to Jersey."

She snuggled closer, because New York's loss was New Jersey's gain, but right at the moment, she was the one laying naked with him. "No way."

"Yeah, I can see how all your creature comforts would be so appealing," he said, his hand moving lower with nefarious intentions.

"You're mocking me," she said, but the words had no sting because his nefarious intentions were no longer just intentions. One finger teased between her thighs, circling and stroking, feather-light touches that slipped higher and higher.

Sam switched their positions, so she was flat on her back. He straddled over her, diamond-sharp eyes watching as he teased with his hand. The noise of the city faded to nothing, her senses focused on the sound of his breathing, the touch of his hand, the musky smell of arousal in the air.

The steadfast touch continued, sliding in between her wet crease, circling, then sliding further, her hips rolling upwards to meet him. He would touch her just so, not enough, never enough.

Then he waited, and a moan broke free from her lips at the loss. His lips curved up in a smile, all male, all knowing, as if she were his puppet on a string, but oh, he knew exactly which strings to pull.

The ache inside her was growing, and she moaned restlessly, wanting to come, but every time she was close, he would pull back, and the torment would start all over again.

Back and forth, back and forth. Her head moved from side to side, words coming from her mouth, cursing him because she needed to come so badly, and all he would do was laugh. A soft, whisper of a laugh that skimmed over her body, over her b.r.e.a.s.t.s, settling in her mind, thudding in her c.l.i.t.

His lips came down over hers, his tongue thrusting inside her, and as her hips ground against his finger, his tongue made love in her mouth. The thrill of him, his mouth, his hand, his touch, took her up and up, so close to falling, so close....

This time, he knew, and was merciful. The lovely, lovely finger moved faster and faster against her, and she was so ready to come. There. There.

But then it wasn't his finger any more. He thrust his c.o.c.k inside her, his mouth still covering hers, and the pure relief was instant. Her thighs clamped against him while he moved deep and strong, and the first flush of the o.r.g.a.s.m rolled through her. Tension radiated from him, muscles corded, and slick with sweat. He raised his head, stared, and she fell deeply into his eyes at the same time the climax took over. So much there, so strong, so gentle, so perfect.

When she moaned, it didn't come from her body, but her heart.