Scandalous Passion
“He’s been in office more than thirty years. He ought to retire.” And give someone more open-minded a chance. But Carter kept the last to himself.
Her long fingers curled around the glass. “What are you doing with yourself these days, Carter?”
He sipped and nodded, silently acknowledging her change of topic. She wanted chitchat? He could do chitchat. “Computers. What else?”
They’d met when he’d been assigned to tutor her in computer science during college. She’d been the first female he’d met whose eyes hadn’t glazed over when he nervously rambled on about motherboards, memory chips and hard drives. And she hadn’t laughed at him when he’d lost track of his words each time they’d accidentally brushed against each other.
“What exactly do you do with them?”
“I’m a cyber-cop.” The surprise arching her eyebrows grated on his nerves. Had she, like his father, expected him to amount to nothing? Probably. His father had always claimed Carter’s infatuation with computers would lead nowhere. Well, he’d proven good ol’ Dad wrong, hadn’t he?
“You investigate computer crimes?”
“Got it in one.”
“You must be good.” And then she flushed as if she realized that wasn’t exactly a politically correct comment. Jeez, somebody needed to loosen her up. Her candid comments had been only one of the things he used to love about her.
“I own my company, but computers aren’t the only thing I’m good at.” He flashed a carnal grin and watched another wave of peach spread from her neck over her cheeks. Teasing Phoebe had always been fun, and now that she seemed determined to ignore the passion that had once flowed between them, he took perverse pleasure in getting a rise out of her.
He set down his glass and laced his fingers over his abs. “Why should I give you the pictures, Phoebe?”
The taste of her name on his tongue made him think of hot nights and tangled sheets, of quickies in the car or anywhere else they could grab a moment’s privacy vertically, horizontally or otherwise. His pulse quickened. His inability to control his response only increased his anger. Why, dammit, did she still rev his motor? She’d been his first lover, but she hadn’t been his last. He’d been a slow starter, but he’d made up for lost time. There had been plenty of willing women, sweaty sex and tussles between the sheets since.
“I need to be certain they won’t turn up in the press.”
The insult raised his blood pressure. “You think I’d sell our pictures to the highest bidder?”
He practically could see her weighing her words. “Perhaps not, but someone else could get their hands on them and—”
“It won’t happen. The pictures are under lock and key. They have been since we said goodbye. If I didn’t sell them then, when I was seriously pis—peeved with you, I’m not likely to now.”
She wet her lips—one slick swipe of her pink tongue—and fire flickered behind his zipper. Phoebe had once had an amazingly talented mouth. She’d perfected her technique on him, and she’d allowed him the pleasure of returning the favor.
“Carter, please, let me have the pictures.”
He rocked back in his chair and steepled his hands. Tapping his bottom lip with one finger, he pretended to consider her request, but there was no way in hell he’d casually hand over the pictures for her to shred. He didn’t look at them often, hadn’t seen them since he’d moved into this house three years ago, in fact, but they represented the first time in his life when he hadn’t felt like a failure. Phoebe’s betrayal had cut deep and made him feel like a shameful dirty secret, but for a while she’d made him feel like a king.
A spark of an idea began to form. He’d been an untried boy twelve years ago when he and Phoebe lost their virginity together. Afterward they’d explored the boundaries of their newfound sexuality and shared some amazingly uninhibited sex. He hadn’t met a woman since who could ignite him to such a fever pitch or coax him into the unknown with nothing more than a naughty twinkle in her eyes. No woman in the past twelve years had pushed him beyond his rigidly imposed self-control.
Surely his memories of their time together had exaggerated her potency? No way could this buttoned-up, every-hair-in-place woman have the same power over the experienced man he’d become that she’d held over the wet-behind-the-ears boy he’d been. So he’d slake his curiosity and then kiss her goodbye. In the process, maybe he could loosen up Phoebe and teach her a lesson at the same time. Ms. Phoebe Lancaster Drew needed to learn how it felt to be used and tossed aside.
Vengeance could indeed be sweet. And sexually satisfying.
Carter rolled the cool glass in his palms when what he really wanted to do was to cup Phoebe’s rigid jaw and test the texture of her skin. “I’ll make you a deal.”
Her grip on the glass tightened and her eyes narrowed suspiciously. “What kind of deal?”
“Go out with me and I’ll give you the pictures. Let’s say, one picture for each date. There are roughly a dozen photos.”
Her laugh sounded choked. “You’re joking, of course.”
He held her gaze, noting the angry gold flecks sparkling in the green of her irises, but said nothing.
“Why?”
He shrugged one shoulder and set down his tea. “Because I said so.”
She rolled her eyes. “That’s so juvenile.”
“No dates. No pictures. No negotiation.”
Her pale-pink manicured nails pressed dents into her palms. “That’s blackmail.”
“So sue me. But then, of course, the pictures would become evidence and public knowledge.” He abruptly rocked forward and covered her fists with his hands. He stroked the satiny skin inside her wrists with his thumbs, and her pulse leaped beneath his touch. His echoed the rapid beat.
“Remember how much fun we used to have, Phoebe?”
She jerked her hands free, but he didn’t miss the irregularity of her breathing or the pulse fluttering at the base of her throat. It all boiled down to how badly she wanted those pictures.
She lifted her chin. “I won’t sleep with you.”
A smile of anticipation tugged his lips. He’d learned a lot about women in the past decade—specifically, how to recognize when one found him attractive. And Phoebe had definitely been checking him out. Not only would she have sex with him, he planned to make her beg for it. “I didn’t ask you to, but I appreciate you making your views clear up front so I don’t get my hopes—or anything else—up.”
Her cheeks turned crimson and she shifted in her seat. “One date per picture. I get to choose which picture.”
He mashed his lips together. “No deal. I set up the dates. I choose the pictures.”
The muscle in her jaw flexed as she clenched her teeth. “I want to see them.”
Gotcha. He grinned so hard his cheek muscles ached.
“Do you, now?” he asked in a teasing lilt and could practically hear her molars grinding in response.
“I want proof that you still have them.”
He rose and gestured toward the den. “They’re in my bedroom.”
She remained seated. “Is that your version of ‘Come and see my etchings’?”
For the first time in a long time he couldn’t stop smiling. “I don’t have etchings. I have Kodak moments.”
She looked ready to explode. Her nose inched higher. “Who else has seen them?”
He scowled. Another insult. “You think I’d kiss and tell?”
She primly folded her hands in her lap. “Get the pictures, Carter. I’ll wait here.”
He didn’t call her a coward, but he let his eyes say it for him. Her spine stiffened. Message received.
“Make yourself comfortable. I’ll be right back.”
Carter glanced at his waterproof watch as he crossed the den. Operation Seduction under way at 1700 hours.
Let the games begin.
Two
Phoebe put her head in her hands. She had to be out of her mind to agree to Carter’s ridiculous terms. Could she grab the photos and run? Hardly. Carter might have been a geek twelve years ago, but he looked to be in peak physical condition now. He’d outrun her. Besides, he could always print more pictures from the negatives. She needed the pictures and the negatives.
Her grandfather had always said that if you couldn’t change your opponent’s mind, then you had to wear him down. So Phoebe decided she’d play Carter’s childish game. As luck would have it, her grandfather would be at his Bald Head Island retreat for the next month preparing campaign strategies and meeting with his advisers. She’d stayed behind to research his most likely opponents and to look for good quotes for his next speech. Odds were that she could probably recover the pictures without having to explain her whereabouts.
As far as Carter’s abundant sex appeal went, she hadn’t made it to the age of thirty without learning how to handle her physical needs. Messy, complicated relationships were not required. Resisting him wouldn’t be easy, but it was within her capabilities. All she had to do was to focus and get to know her opponent—another of her grandfather’s maxims.
From her seat at the table Phoebe examined Carter’s house, looking for clues to the man he’d become. In college he’d claimed he wanted a place to put down the roots his childhood hadn’t permitted. He’d certainly achieved that goal. Sunlight flooded his kitchen, illuminating very traditional oak cabinets and gleaming hardwood floors. Wooden beams supported the vaulted ceiling of the spacious den to her right, and a huge brick fireplace flanked by tall windows covered most of the outside wall. The leather sofa and chairs looked masculine and expensive, but the room begged for color and softness, for a woman’s touch.
The lack of decorative elements inside led Phoebe to believe Carter didn’t have a woman in his life. But the flowers surrounding his porches and the hummingbird feeder contradicted the lonely bachelor theory. Carter had never been a birds-and-blooms kind of guy. She didn’t think he’d become one. And she couldn’t imagine a man with his sex appeal being alone. So who was the woman in his life? Or did he keep more than one on a string?
Never mind. It didn’t matter. This was a business transaction not a courtship. A barter agreement. Nothing more. She had to uncover his true motive. What did he want in exchange for the pictures? She didn’t believe for one minute that all he wanted was the pleasure of her company.
Carter reappeared with the pictures fanned out in his fingers like playing cards, the backs facing Phoebe. He looked mouthwateringly gorgeous with his shoulder and arm muscles displayed like a handsome hunk calendar model’s. And that tattoo… She couldn’t believe it turned her on. Did he have more? Where? Her pulse quickened.
Your curiosity will bring you nothing but trouble, Phoebe Lancaster Drew, her grandmother’s voice, which often doubled as Phoebe’s conscience, chided. And her grandmother always had been right. Besides, Phoebe had seen most of Carter in his swimsuit. If he had tattoos beneath the brief trunks, she wouldn’t be seeing them.
She didn’t want to look at the pictures, didn’t want to be reminded of how deeply she’d trusted Carter or how unimportant she’d been to him, but for all she knew he could be bluffing. She held out her hand. He thumped the rectangles into a neat stack and passed them to her. The brush of his fingertips against her palm forced the air from her lungs. Phoebe averted her gaze from his and found herself looking at the worn denim to the left of Carter’s zipper. A jolt of energy shot through her. She gulped. Looking at the pictures hadn’t left him unaffected. Well—she squared her shoulders—she would have more control over her baser instincts.
Bracing herself, she turned the rectangles over. Her heart skipped a beat and her hand wobbled. The picture on top of the stack was probably the most innocent of all the photos they’d taken with Carter’s old camera set on a timer. Carter stood straight, tall and completely nude with his back to the camera. Phoebe couldn’t help contrasting the lanky frame in the photograph with the muscle-packed body in front of her. She’d been standing in front of him, completely concealed from the camera by his body except for her forearms and hands. She’d wrapped her arms around his waist to cup his buttocks. Those pale hands could have belonged to anyone except for the identifying heirloom signet ring on her right ring finger—the same ring she wore every day of her life.
Phoebe curled her fist by her side, but it was no use trying to hide the ring. Heat swept through her as she remembered how his thick erection had burned against her stomach, her nipples had scraped his bare chest and how his own hands had cupped her bottom. Moments after the shutter clicked he’d lifted her, filled her with one deep stroke, and loved her until they’d both collapsed on the floor, too weak to move until the sound of his roommate’s key grating in the lock had sent them scrambling for their clothing.
She’d loved Carter Jones beyond reason and this picture brought those feelings rushing back with a force she couldn’t dam. Fast on the heels of the hot, fizzy arousal racing through her blood came pain—the pain of his desertion. He hadn’t loved her enough.
She always lost the ones she loved. She’d been abandoned by her fun-loving parents when she was seven. They’d been killed in a rebel uprising in some godforsaken land six years later. The signet ring was the only memento she had of her mother. Her grandmother, who’d become Phoebe’s surrogate mother, had passed away quickly and unexpectedly four months after Phoebe started at the university, and then Phoebe had lost Carter five months later.
Her grandfather was the only family Phoebe had left, and now it seemed her grandfather’s approval hinged on her standing beside him in his presidential bid. Heaven only knew what would happen if these pictures leaked out and Phoebe’s indiscretion tainted his campaign. Would he abandon her, too, or did he love her enough to forgive her for her wild and impetuous first love? It wasn’t a chance she was willing to take.
“I’ll buy them from you. How much do you want?”
“The pictures aren’t for sale.” His hard expression warned her not to waste time arguing.
Unable to bear looking through the rest of the photos, Phoebe passed them back. “Then I want the negatives as a show of good faith.”
“No can do, sugar. Not until the last date.”
Sugar. Sweet to the taste and habit-forming. She closed her eyes against the memory of him looking up at her from between her legs with a smile slanting his damp lips as he uttered those words. She lifted her eyelids and met Carter’s gaze. The watchful expression on his face told her he also remembered the often-repeated phrase and its context.
“I want your word that you won’t show these pictures to anyone else.”
“You have it,” he replied without hesitation.
Phoebe bolstered her resistance. “When do we start?”
“Tomorrow. Where are you staying?”
“My grandfather’s home in Raleigh.”
“I’ll pick you up at six.”
“No.” Alarm raced through her bloodstream. “That’s not necessary. I’ll meet you.”
Carter’s jaw turned to granite. “Still worried what Granddad will say if your former classmate turns up on your doorstep?”
He remembered the awkward introduction to her grandfather, but he hadn’t waited around long enough for Phoebe to explain why she’d been so cautious. “He’s out of town.”
His lips curled in disgust. “Figures. I pick my dates up and I see them back to their door…unless they spend the night with me.”
A nerve beneath her right eye twitched—a telltale sign of stress she’d never been able to conquer. “That will not be the case. I’ll meet you here and then you can see me back to my car door.”
His mouth set in a militant line and he looked ready to argue, but then he acquiesced with a sharp nod. “Fine. Six.”
Her heart stuttered. One battle won, but certainly not the war. Phoebe Lancaster Drew, what have you gotten yourself into?
He’d expected Phoebe to chicken out. Instead she arrived thirty-three minutes early.
Carter lowered the dumbbell to the floor and wiped the sweat from his face with a towel. The slamming of his heart had nothing to do with his strenuous workout and everything to do with the slender woman striding up his front walk. The knowledge didn’t please him.
It had been a bitch of a day—mainly because he couldn’t keep his mind off tonight. Jes, his executive assistant, had threatened to quit if Carter didn’t stop barking commands. Jes had claimed it was bad enough he was working on a Sunday to finish a last-minute proposal. Finally, Carter had left work and come home to take out his frustration on his free weights. He descended the stairs from his upstairs workout room and opened the door before Phoebe could ring the bell.
Her dark brows lifted as she inspected his sweaty workout tank and shorts. She tilted her head and firmed her mouth. “Am I overdressed?”
He checked out her tailored dress—a close twin to yesterday’s stuffy and uptight suit. The navy-blue fabric gently draped her breasts, but it couldn’t hide the pebbling of her nipples. Unfortunately the concealing garment skimmed past the curve of her hips to cover most of her long legs. Too bad. Phoebe had first-class legs.
“You’re early. I need to get ready.”
“I allowed extra time for traffic but there wasn’t any. Besides, the sooner we start, the sooner I can get home.”
Her barb caught him like a sucker punch, but damn if he’d let it show. He hid his irritation by wiping his sweaty face with the towel and gesturing for her to come inside. “You want to look around while I shower and dress or do you want to wait for the guided tour?”
“Neither, thanks.” She declined and insulted so politely Carter just shook his head.
“Give me ten minutes. There’s iced tea in the fridge. Help yourself.” He gestured toward the kitchen and then headed for the master suite.
Carter stripped and stepped under the shower spray, pondering how he could still find Phoebe attractive after all this time. Soaping his shoulders, he shrugged. Probably because they’d explored all kinds of uncharted territory with an uninhibited thirst for knowledge that he hadn’t experienced since. Blood pooled in his groin and his heart pumped double-time at the mythological proportions of his memories. What better way to debunk that myth than by spending a month in her company? Then he’d find himself a sweet local gal, settle down and have kids.
Roots. That’s what this old house was all about. He’d spent most of his life traveling the globe, and it was time to put down roots, to make his own history. Surely a family of his own would fill the void inside him? His parents didn’t count since his dad was stationed halfway around the world and Carter rarely saw them.
He wanted a love like theirs—the kind that meant no sacrifice was too great. In all the years of their marriage, Carter had never heard his mother complain about any of the hell-holes his father had dragged her through, and there’d been dozens of them. She’d packed and moved on command like a good military wife, happy to go anywhere as long as it meant staying by her husband’s side. Even when she had to stay behind she’d been a pillar of strength, a rock he could rely on. At each new base she’d thrown herself into the wives clubs with enthusiasm.
As a shy kid, Carter hadn’t made new friends as easily. He’d turned to books and cameras and, later, to computers. He’d been shy and tongue-tied around girls and hadn’t made any real, lasting friendships until college. He and his college buddies Sawyer and Rick had remained tight until recently when both men had married and started families of their own, leaving Carter the odd man out once again. He hated being a fifth wheel.
He wanted a life partner, and as soon as he proved that his memories of Phoebe were nothing more than exaggerated fantasies, he’d find the right woman—a woman who wouldn’t look down her straight, pedigreed nose at him or be ashamed to introduce him to her family. The timing was right. He had the home, and after three years of damned hard work, CyberSniper was on solid footing.
Phoebe wasn’t that woman. Hell, she hadn’t even been able to look beyond the first photo in the stack he’d handed her yesterday. Was he such a repugnant part of her past?
He rinsed the shampoo from his hair, stepped out of the shower and dried off. After a quick shave, he pulled on a custom-tailored suit, shoved his feet into his Gucci loafers and headed for the kitchen and a little “hair of the dog that bit you.”
Phoebe heard Carter return, but she couldn’t look away from the picture of the adorable dark-haired, blue-eyed boy on Carter’s refrigerator. Carter had said he wasn’t married, but that didn’t mean he didn’t have an ex-wife and children somewhere. He was thirty-three and statistically likely to have married at least once by now.
“Is he yours?” Getting the words past the unexpected lump in her throat was harder than it should have been. Of course Carter would have children one day and they would not be hers. She’d buried those dreams long ago.
“No. J.C.—Joshua Carter—belongs to Sawyer Riggan. You remember my college roommate? He married a few years back. Sawyer and his wife Lynn are my neighbors. J.C.’s two years old, and he’s my godson.” Pride filled his voice.
“He’s adorable.” Phoebe turned from the picture and shock erased whatever she’d been about to say from her mind. Carter wore a charcoal-gray suit that fit his frame perfectly. His crisp white shirt accentuated his tanned face, and he’d knotted a sapphire-blue tie the exact shade of his eyes at his neck. A lock of damp dark hair fell over his forehead. He could have been any politician on Capitol Hill, only she’d never met a congressman this gorgeous.
His prosperous appearance threw her off balance and piqued her curiosity. Carter looked nothing like the rumpled, jeans-clad college student she used to know or the jock she’d encountered yesterday and again today when she’d arrived.
She blinked to clear the fog of unwanted attraction from her brain. Repeating past mistakes wasn’t on the agenda. “You and Sawyer bought houses on the same street? You must have stayed close after school.”
“Yeah. And Rick Faulkner and his wife own the third house on the street. Remember him?”
“The tall blonde?” She remembered Carter’s two handsome friends, but she hadn’t been interested in either of them back then. She’d been too busy losing herself in Carter’s eyes, in his smile and, later, in his body. Unwelcome warmth settled low in her abdomen.
He nodded. “Want a drink? We have a few minutes before our reservation.”
“No, thank you. As I said, I would really like to get home early tonight. I’m expecting a call from my grandfather.”
His lips flat-lined. “Right. Let’s go. I’ll bring the car around front.”
“There’s no need, Carter. This isn’t a real date. I can get into the car in the garage when you do.”
A muscle in his jaw twitched, and then he jerked a nod. “Let me lock up.”
He disappeared into the foyer and returned seconds later—long before Phoebe could come up with a way to convince him to hand over the pictures and cancel this outing. After opening the door leading from the kitchen to the garage, he activated the security keypad by the door. A custom-tailored suit, an alarm system and a sports car all added up to affluence.
He led Phoebe to his car and opened the door. Carefully avoiding his touch, she slid into the bucket seat and inhaled a subtle blend of leather and Carter’s cologne—a costly designer fragrance unless she missed her guess. His company must be successful. Had money changed the man? And why did she care? Because Carter had never valued her for her old-moneyed family or her grandfather’s clout. He’d seen her, not the senator’s granddaughter. The men she’d met since were only interested in her connection to the most powerful senator in Washington—a lesson she’d learned the hard way.
Carter settled in the driver’s seat. His large frame took up most of the interior and drained the oxygen from the enclosed space. How many times had they fogged up the windows making out in his old economy car or her sedate sedan twelve years ago? She shook off the memory.