"And you do?"

He set his glass on the nightstand and reached for the lamp switch. Avery's hand shot out and grabbed his. "I'm sorry. Don't. . .don't go back to bed yet. It's been a long, tiring day for many reasons. We're both feeling the pressure. I didn't mean to lash out at you."

"You probably should have gone home with Mom and Dad, too."

"No," she said quickly, "my place is with you."

"Today was just a sample of what it's going to be like between now and November, Carole. It's only going to get tougher."

"I can handle it." Smiling, she impulsively reached up and ran her finger across the cleft in his chin. "I wish I had a nickel for every time today you said, 'Hi, I'm Tate Rutledge, running for U.S. senator.' Wonder how many hands you shook?"

"This many." He held up his right hand. It was bent into a cramped claw.

She laughed softly. "I believe we bore up very well during that visit to the Galleria, considering we'd just ended our visit with Dr. Webster and told Mandy good-bye."

As soon as they had returned to the hotel from the psychologist's office, they had given Mandy over to her grandparents. Zee went beyond being a white-knuckle flier. She refused to fly altogether, so they had come to Houston by car. They had wanted to start the drive home so they would arrive before dark.

No sooner had she and Tate waved them off than Eddy hustled them into a car and sped toward the sprawling, multilayered shopping mall.

Volunteers, under Eddy's supervision, had heralded their arrival. Tate made a short speech from a raised platform, introduced his wife to the crowd that had gathered, then moved among them, shaking hands and soliciting votes.

It had gone so well that Eddy was mollified after having to decline the Rotary Club's invitation. Even that had turned out well. The civic club had extended Tate an invitation to speak at one of their meetings later in the month.

"Eddy went nuts over all the television coverage you got today," Avery said, reflecting on it.

"They gave us twenty seconds during the six o'clock broadcast. Doesn't sound like much, but I'm told that's good."

"It is. So I'm told," she hastily added.

She'd been stunned to see Van Lovejoy and a political reporter from KTEX at the longshoremen's breakfast. All day, they'd stayed hot on Tate's trail. "Why did they come all the way from San Antonio?" she had asked Eddy.

"Don't knock the free publicity. Smile into the camera every chance you get."

Instead, she tried to avoid Van's camera. But he seemed bent on getting her image on tape. The cat-and-mouse game she played with him all day, coupled with the shock Dr. Webster had dealt her, had chafed her nerves raw. She had been so nervous that, later, when she couldn't find a pair of earrings, she had overreacted.

"I know they were in here the day before I left," she cried to Tate.

"Look again."

She did better than that. She upended the satin pouch and raked through the contents. "They're not here."

"What do they look like?"

They were due to leave for a fund-raising barbecue dinner being hosted by a wealthy rancher outside the city. Tate had been dressed and waiting for half an hour. She was running late.

"Big silver loops." Tate gave the room a cursory onceover. "You won't find them lying on the surface," she had told him with exasperation. "I haven't worn them yet. I brought them specifically for this outfit."

"Can't you substitute something else?"

"I guess I'll have to." She made a selection from the pile of jewelry she'd spilled onto the dresser. By then she was so flustered, she had had difficulty fitting the post into the back. Three attempts proved to be misses. "Shit!"

"Carole, for heaven's sake, calm down," Tate said, raising his voice. Up till then he'd been infuriatingly calm. "You forgot a pair of earrings. It's not the end of the world."

"I didn't forget them." Drawing a deep breath, she faced him. "This isn't the first time something has mysteriously disappeared."

"You should have told me. I'll call hotel security right away."

She caught his arm before he could reach for the telephone. "Not just here. At home, too. Somebody's been sneaking into my room and going through my things."

His reaction was what she had expected. "That's ridiculous. Are you crazy?"

"No. And I'm not imagining it, either. I'm missing several thingsasmall, insignificant things. Like this pair of earrings that I know damn good and well I packed. I checked and double-checked my accessories before I put them in the suitcases."

Sensitive to any criticism of his family, he folded his arms across his chest. "Who are you accusing of stealing?"

"I don't mind the missing objects so much as the violation of my privacy."

Just then a knock had sounded on their doorathe perfect culmination for a frazzling day. "Case in point," she had said irritably. "Why can't we ever finish a private conversation before we're interrupted?"

"Keep your voice down. Eddy'll hear you."

"To hell with Eddy," she had said, meaning it.

Tate pulled the door open and Eddy came striding in. "Ready, guys?"

By way of explanation for their being late, Tate said, "Carole lost her earrings."

She shot him a look that clearly stated she had not lost them.

"Well, wear some others or go without, but we've got to get downstairs." Eddy held the door open. "Jack's waiting with the car. It's an hour's drive."

They rushed for the elevator. Thankfully, another hotel guest saw them coming and politely held it for them. Jack was pacing the length of the limo parked in the porte-cochere.

For the duration of the drive they discussed polls and campaign strategy. She could have been invisible, for all the attention she was given. Once, when she offered an unsolicited opinion, it was met with three impassive stares, then summarily ignored.

Surprisingly, the party had been fun. No press was allowed. Since she didn't have to concentrate on dodging Van's camera, she relaxed and enjoyed herself. There was a plethora of good Texana food, friendly people who likened Tate to a young John Kennedy, and live music. She even got to dance with Tate. Eddy had pressured him into it.

"Come on. It'll look good to the crowd."

For the time Tate held her in his arms and twirled her around the dance floor, she pretended it had been his idea. Heads thrown back, they had smiled at each other as their feet kept time to the lively tune. She believed he was actually enjoying himself. As the music reached a crescendo, he lifted her against him and whirled her around to the exuberant applause of everyone watching. Then he had bent down and kissed her cheek.

When he pulled back, there was an odd expression on his face. He appeared surprised by his own spontaneity.

On the return trip into the city, however, she sat in the corner of the limousine's backseat, staring through the dark patch of tinted window while he, Jack, and Eddy analyzed how well the day had gone and assessed what effect it might have on the outcome of the election.

She had gone to bed feeling exhausted and glum. She'd had difficulty falling asleep. The nightmareaand she could count on one hand the others she had had in her lifetimeawas the product of a physically and emotionally taxing day.

She treasured this uninterrupted moment with Tate. They were continually surrounded by other people. Even in their own suite, they were rarely alone.

"I think the Bailey's is going to do the trick." She handed him her empty glass and lay back against the pillows.

"Feeling sleepy?"

"Hmm." She flung her arms up so that her hands were lying on either side of her head, palms up, fingers curled inward, a position both provocative and defenseless. Tate's eyes turned dark as they moved from her face down the front of her body.

"Thank you for dancing with me," she said drowsily. "I enjoyed you holding me."

"You used to say I had no rhythm."

"I was wrong."

He continued to watch her for a moment, then switched out the lamp. He was about to leave her bed when she laid a restraining hand on his bare thigh. "Tate?"

He froze. His motionless silhouette was limned by the bluish light leaking through the drapes from the parking lot. Invitingly, she repeated his name on a breath of a whisper.

Slowly, he lowered himself to the mattress again and leaned over her. With a soft exclamation, she bicycled her legs to kick off the covers so there would be nothing between them.

"Tate,Ia"

"Don't," he commanded gruffly. "Don't say anything to change my mind." His head moved so close that she felt his breath against her lips."Iwant you, so don't say a word."

Fiercely possessive, his lips rubbed hers apart. His tongue probed and explored, dipping into her mouth on deep and daring forays. Avery clutched handfuls of his hair and pressed her mouth up into his kiss.

He relaxed his arms, which had been stiffly bridging her head. Gradually, his body stretched out along hers. His hard thigh crowded her hip; she turner her lower body into it. He nudged her moist cleft with his knee.

"Is it me you're wet for?"

Avery gasped, unspeakably aroused by his boldness. "You told me not to say anything."

"Who are you wet for?"

She ran her hand down his thigh, placed it beneath his hip, and invitingly drew him closer.

Groaning in need, he ended the kiss with several rough glances of his lips across hers. He kissed his way down her throat and chest and nuzzled her breasts as he filled his hands with them. His open mouth sought the raised center of one and tugged on it through the fabric of her gown. It beaded against his flicking tongue.

Reflexively, her body bowed off the bed. His hands slid between the pillow and her head, his palms cradling it, his thumbs meeting beneath her chin. He tilted her face up and fastened his mouth to hers again, giving her a scorching, searching kiss as he moved to lie between her spreading thighs.

Avery's body quickened to the splendor of feeling the full extension of his sex stroking the dell of her femininity. There was even a certain sexiness to the friction of his cotton briefs sliding against her silk underpants.

Heat shimmied through her and was conveyed to him through her skin. His kiss delved deeper, and the rocking motions of his body grew more desperate. Too impatient to be leisurely and inquisitive, her hands clutched his sleek, supple back. She fitted his calf muscles into the arches of her feet and receptively angled her hips up.

Hostile, hard, and hot, Tate slid his hand into the damp silk prohibiting his entrance.

The telephone rang.

He withdrew his hand, but she still lay trapped beneath him. While they lay breathing heavily against each other, the phone continued to ring.

Eventually, Tate rolled to the edge of the bed and jerked the receiver to his ear. "Hello?" After a brief pause, he cursed. "Yeah, Jack," he growled. "I'm awake. What is it?"

Avery emitted a small, anguished cry and moved to the far side of the bed, putting her back to him.

TWENTY-SIX.

"I'm coming."

Eddy left his comfortable hotel room chair and rounded the matching hassock. Stacked on top if it were computer readouts, newspaper clippings, demographic charts. Thinking the knock signaled the arrival of his room service order, he pulled the door open without first checking the peephole.

Fancy stood on the threshold. "I'd pay to see that."

Not bothering to conceal his annoyance, he barred her entrance by placing his forearm on the doorjamb. "See what?"

"You coming."

"Cute."

"Thanks," she replied cheekily. Then her blue eyes darkened. "Who were you expecting?"

"None of your business. What are you doing so far away from home, little girl?"

The bell on the elevator down the hall chimed, and the room service waiter emerged, carrying a tray on his shoulder. He approached them on soundless footsteps. "Mr. Paschal?"

"Here." When Eddy stepped aside to let him in, Fancy slipped inside, too. She went into the bathroom and locked the door. Eddy scrawled his signature on the bottom of the tab and showed the waiter to the door.

"Have a good night." The youth gave him an elbow-in-the-ribs grin and a sly wink.

Eddy closed the door a little too suddenly and a little too loudly to be polite. "Fancy?" He rapped on the bathroom.

"I'll be out in a sec."

He heard the commode flush. She opened the door while still tugging the tight, short skirt of her tube dress over her hips. The dress was made of stretchy, clingy stuff that conformed to her body like a second skin. It had a wide cuff across the top that could be worn off the shoulders. She was wearing it way off.

The dress was red. So was her lipstick, her high-heeled pumps, and the dozens of plastic bangle bracelets encircling her arms. With her mane of blond hair even more unruly than usual, she looked like a whore.

"What did you order? I'm starved."

"You're not invited." Eddy intercepted her on her way toward the room service tray the waiter had left on the table near the easy chair. He gripped her upper arm. "What are you doing here?"

"Well, first I was peeing. Now I'm going to scope out what you've got to eat."

His fingers pinched tighter and he strained her name through his teeth. "What are you doing in Houston?"

"It got boring at home," she said, wresting her arm free, "with nobody but Mona and Mother around. Mother's in a stupor half the time. The other half she's crying over Daddy not loving her anymore. Frankly, I doubt he ever did. You know he thought she was knocked up with me when they got married." She lifted the silver metal lid off one of the plates and picked up a cherry tomatoaa garnish for his club sandwich.

"What's. . .hmm, a chocolate sundae," she cooed with pleasure as she investigated beneath another lid. "How do you eat like this late at night and keep your belly so nice and flat?"

Her practiced eyes moved down his smooth, muscled torso, seen through his unbuttoned shirt. Suggestively, Fancy licked her lips.

"Anyway, Mother believes Daddy has the hots for Aunt Carole, which I think is downright scandalous, don't you?" She shiveredanot from repugnance, but with delight. "It's so, so Old Testament for a man to covet his brother's wife."