"I didn't bring a suit."

"Why would you need one?'

AFTER DINNER, SHE SETTLED next to him on the couch, and this was no ordinary couch. It was puffy and fluffy and seated forty, as compared to her small Murphy bed, which only seated one on a good day.

He was just promising to show her his etchings when the phone rang.

"Hey, Martin. Yeah, this is a bad time. What did you need?

"No, can't tonight. What for?

"A campaign speech? Already?

"Well, yes, I know the election's coming up, and I did a.s.sume there would be campaigning, only I didn't think about it so soon.

"Where?

"I can be there. You don't mind if I bring a friend?" he said, looking in her direction.

Mercedes scowled. Sam scowled back. "Or two? My business manager and his date.

"Yeah. Sounds great. I'll put you down for breakfast this week.

"Thanks," he said, and hung up. "Sorry about that."

"It's okay. You're a busy guy," she murmured.

He sat down next to her, pulled her close. "This would be much easier if you weren't pasty white with fright. You're lucky that my ego is as big as it is."

"That was your campaign manager?"

"Yeah. Martin. He's everything you think a campaign manager should be. Smooth, well-funded, and always willing to change opinions on a dime."

"When are you going to announce to the world that you're running?"

"Early next week. Monday. Martin's setting up the press conference now."

"He's good?"

"The best," he said sadly.

"You deserve the best."

"I have the best," he told her, his eyes intent before stealing a kiss.

Mercedes let herself go, let herself float away on the pleasure of his mouth. He undressed her, and she thought they would make love on the couch. Easy enough. But Sam had other ideas. He picked her up and carried her to the pool, setting her down in the shallow end. Quickly he shed his clothes, and she watched, because he was such a beautiful man to her. His body was long, with shoulders that were made to pillow her head, a wide chest tapering to narrow hips. Long legs. And then there was his s.e.x...

He came into the water, and guided her in. It was heavenly soft and warm against her skin. So easy to float away.

"Twelve months ago when you were on the show, I wanted to see you like this. All that dark hair floating in the water. Nipples teasing the surface. Your eyes looking, gleaming up at me. I wanted to have you here, Mercedes."

His hands skimmed over her b.r.e.a.s.t.s, over her shoulders, drawing her closer. He kissed her in the water, slowly, soothing, and she couldn't resist. She could never resist him. Never resist the things that he promised with his eyes.

He made love to her in the water, everything warm, light, weightless. Here there were no worries. Here, she didn't need to think about the tomorrows. Afterwards, he bundled her in a fluffy towel and led her to bed. She lay down next to him, curled in his arms. She was so tired of fighting her feelings, so tired of pretending she didn't care. She cared.

She loved.

12.

THE NEXT MORNING, MERCEDES woke up to nothing but a Sam-sized dent on the pillow next to her. She stretched out on the bed, amazed at how far an arm could actually extend in a king-size bed. She kept scootching and reaching over the side, like Christopher Columbus, just to see how far it was before she found the new world, and her hand eventually dropped off the edge. She wiggled her fingers in the air, and was rewarded with a wet lick of a tongue on her palm. Mercedes lifted her head, opened her eyes, and peeked.

Max wagged his tail at her, hope shining in his dark eyes.

"Good morning, Max. I suppose you're hungry."

His tail wagged even faster.

Next to her pillow was a note from Sam.

Your computer is in the office. Feel free to use whatever you need. The cleaning lady comes around lunch time, but I normally hide in the bas.e.m.e.nt, and she ignores me. You may be braver. I'll be home early. n.o.body important on the show tonight, so I'll be there by seven.

Mercedes kept rereading the words over and over. It was no declaration of love, but in many ways, it was scarier. He was establishing her here at his house, as if she belonged. It wouldn't be hard to belong here, she thought to herself, picking up his pillow, holding it close.

Max looked at her, and barked.

"You're laughing at me, aren't you? I know."

She sighed, and started to get out of bed, but she wasn't dressed. She looked at Max and considered. Mercedes was something of a dog novice, and she debated the effect of female nudity on a dog's fragile psyche, but eventually concluded that she was being ridiculous.

She got up, and went to the window, looking outside at the trees. Max followed her, sniffing.

Mercedes stared balefully. "h.o.r.n.y like your owner, aren't you? Can you go away while I get dressed?"

Max barked.

"Yeah, Sam wouldn't have bought that either. Fine, just grow up to be damaged goods, but don't rat me out, huh?"

She threw on some clothes and wandered through the house. It felt strange being in a house, not weird strange, but unfamiliar strange. She'd lived her entire life in an apartment, and never thought twice about it. But this...

He wasn't kidding about the trees and the foliage. The leaves were beginning to turn for fall, green and gold and brown, all mixed together, colors as far as the eye could see.

And the quiet. A writer could get some serious work done out here, with nothing but trees, and one hungry dog.

"Where's your food?" she asked, and he led her out to the door between the kitchen and the garage.

She opened the door, and Max ran out into the garage. She looked around, and then noticed the rows upon rows of boxes lined up neatly against the wall. There must have been two or three hundred boxes there, all the same. And familiar.

Mercedes went over to one, looked at the label. These were her books. Thousands of copies.

Oh.

Her hand lifted to her chest, because her heart was filling so quickly, and she knew it would burst. Knew that no small organ could contain that much and survive. She stayed there stupidly frozen, one hand to her heart.

He'd done this for her. Mercedes.

Sam Porter, America's conservative talk show host, had bought over ten thousand copies of a book that some people considered p.o.r.nographic. He hadn't done it for a s.e.xual thrill. He'd done it for her.

THAT NIGHT, SAM CAME HOME to a dark house. His first thought was that Mercedes had left, but then he saw the candles flickering on the table, and he smelled the aroma of something warm and Italian.

"h.e.l.lo, Sam," she said, and he turned to see her, not nearly prepared for the sight of Mercedes standing in his kitchen, holding a wooden spoon, and wearing-nothing.

"I looked for an ap.r.o.n, but you didn't have any, so I improvised."

He nodded stupidly.

"Why don't you sit down and eat?" she asked in a husky voice that slid down his spine.

Obediently Sam sat.

She put down a plate of food in front of him, and he wasn't sure what it was, because he could feel her nipples burning a hole in his back. She handed him a fork, and then sat in the chair next to him, long dark hair falling over her b.r.e.a.s.t.s, her legs slightly parted, exposing a dark, downy triangle, and Sam, finally unable to deny what his c.o.c.k was crying for, put down his fork with resolute purpose.

He had priorities; food wasn't one of them.

When he stood, she pushed a hand against him in mock protest. "No, not yet."

"You've got to be kidding."

"No," she answered, and turned to walk away. His eyeb.a.l.l.s were glued to her bouncy b.u.t.t hypnotizing him with the s.e.xy pitch and roll.

Having no choice, Sam followed.

She took him over to the couch, and with a one-finger press knocked him down. Then her hands were at his fly, pushing at his jeans. She reached beneath his boxers and freed him, her hands cupping him, stroking, and Sam groaned from the velvet touch. She licked her lips, slowly, deliberately, and leaned over and took him in her mouth. He shuddered in relief at the softness of her lips, the cunning of her tongue. She was thorough, sending him beyond reason. He knew he was close to coming, and he didn't want to, didn't want to. He pulled back, but her hands held him down, her lips moved down further on his c.o.c.k, and he had no choice. He shuddered from the intensity, and Mercedes took from him, her mouth sucking hard, until he had nothing more to give.

IT TOOK A MOMENT FOR SAM to recover, but when he did, the green eyes (not hazel) were lit with wicked intent. Mercedes arched a brow.

He shook his head slowly.

Mercedes took a step back, preparing to flee.

Sam swept her up in his arms, Rhett Butler to her Scarlett, and took her to the bedroom, where he dumped her on the bed.

"What was that for?"

He put a finger to her lips. "Don't talk."

He was back in a moment, lying down on top of her, pulling her hands over her head. He kissed her then, a fierce, opened-mouth kiss that took her by surprise. He probed her with his tongue, one knee parting her thighs, and she moaned into his mouth. She pulled at her hands, wanting to touch him, hold him, but his hands were tight on her wrist. Her blood pumped like hot oil, pouring fire through her veins.

There was a wildness about him that she'd never known before, and it called to an answering wildness within her. Her body was throbbing with need, and she rubbed against the hard ridge of his flesh, desperate to have him. His mouth clamped down on one nipple, sucking hard, and Mercedes nearly flew off the bed. Oh, it was almost painful, but such a perfectly beautiful pain. All she wanted was to relieve that ache. Relieve that pain. Her back arched, and she stretched, finding....

...her hands were tied to the bed.

Sam smiled. "Payback," he said, in that beautifully modulated voice. A voice that on its own could bring her to o.r.g.a.s.m at certain times-like now.

He kissed her again, not quite so fierce, but she still could feel the edge inside him. His lips suckled against her neck, against her ear, whispering words she wanted to hear. Then he moved to her b.r.e.a.s.t.s again, pulling, and she felt liquid pools of pleasure, dripping within her. Inside her. Around her. Through her.

She kicked up against him, but found his c.o.c.k instead, and she nestled against him, wanting to feel him inside her. Around her. Through her.

His lips moved down lower, his tongue trailing over her skin, shooting sensation wherever he stroked. His hand parted her thighs, her folds slick and plump, waiting.... His tongue traced up her thigh, his stubble rasping against her skin, hard against soft. She wanted so much, wanted his mouth, wanted his touch, wanted him. All the want piling inside her, waiting...

Ice. He touched her with his tongue, and she nearly flew out of her skin. His mouth was so cold, so liquid, so painfully beautiful. He had ice. He sucked against her c.l.i.t, slower now, but the cold was making her shake, making her shudder. She rolled against him, needing this, needing to come, and he stroked again, the water mingling with her own juices, and he held her close, pulling her over, pulling her over, pulling her over the edge.

THAT WEEKEND, HE TOOK HER up to his cabin on Lake George, their last time alone before the press conference on Monday. Mercedes didn't want to think about the looming complications, and actually not thinking about it fit well into her current emotional platform: One day at a time. Not in a relationship. Someday he'll be gone, but this isn't it.

The cabin sat on the east side of the lake, reclusive, and set far from the main road, with several miles of woods in all directions. No doubt about it, Sam liked his privacy. When they pulled up the long, gravel drive, Mercedes eyed the rustic structure nervously, but after they went inside, she was pleasantly surprised.

"What? You expected post-1970s Deliverance?"

Mercedes blushed. "I expected something less comfortable."

And it was comfortable. There was a huge cedar and stone fireplace that ran to the ceiling. Great beams spanned the top of the room. The floor was wooden, covered in a woolen Indian rug, and the walls were spa.r.s.ely covered in old landscape photos. "No hunting trophies? Deer heads, stuffed bears?"

"They don't impress the ladies."

It should have been a joke, should have made her laugh. Instead it ticked her off, p.r.i.c.ked at her insides like ten thousand tiny needles. "So you take all the ladies up here?"

"You're the first," he said, the words thrilling her and scaring her all at the same time.