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"No, but I want my sugars ahead of time."

Mandy kissed Carole's mouth noisily, then scampered back to her grandmother. Ordinarily, Carole complained when Mandy ruined her makeup or mussed her clothing. All she did now was lightly dab at her lips with a Kleenex.

He couldn't figure it, except that she was playing the good-mother role to the hilt. God only knew what her motive was. This newfound affection for Mandy was probably phony as hell. No doubt she had picked up pointers from talk shows and magazine articles during her convalescence.

He placed his hand beneath her elbow and guided her toward the front door. "It might be late before we're back."

"Drive carefully," Zee called after them.

Nelson left his detective with gun drawn and followed them to the door. "If this was a beauty contest and ballots were handed out tonight, y'all would win. Can't tell you how proud and pleased I am to see the two of you stepping out with each other all dressed up."

Was his father suggesting that whatever had come between them should be forgiven and forgotten? Tate appreciated his concern; he just didn't think he could oblige him. Forgive? He'd always found that hard to do. Forget? It just wasn't in his nature.

But as he seated Carole in the silver leather interior of his car, he wished he could. If he could erase all the anger, pain, and contempt, and start over with this woman tonight, would he want to?

Tate had always been as scrupulously honest with himself as he was with everyone. Looking and behaving as Carole did tonight, yes, he told himself, he would want to make a new start.

Plainly, he wanted her. He liked her when she was like this, soft-spoken and even-tempered and sexy. He didn't expect her to be a doormat. She had too much vivacity and intelligence to be a silent, submissive partner. He didn'twant her to be. He liked sparks—of anger, of humor. Without them, a relationship was as bland as unseasoned food.

She smiled at him as he slid behind the wheel. "Nelson's right. You look very nice tonight, Tate."

"Thanks." And just because he was weary of being scornful all the time, he added, "So do you."

She dazzled him with a smile. In the old days, he would have said, "Screw being late, I'm going to make love to my wife," and taken her right there in the car.

A fantasy of doing that flashed into his mind: nuzzling her flushed breasts; sinking into her deep, wet heat; hearing her gasps of pleasure when she came.

He groaned, quickly covering it with a cough.

He missed the spontaneity, the fun of having hot sex with someone he loved.

To conceal the fierce light in his eyes, which she would instantly recognize as arousal, he slid on his sunglasses, even though the sun had already set.

Driving away from the house, he admitted that he missed what they had had, but he didn't missher.Because while the sex had been hot and good and frequent, there had been little real intimacy. That cerebral exchange and spiritual bonding had been lacking in their marriage from the very beginning, though he hadn't put a name to the missing component until much later.

He couldn't miss what he'd never had, but he still yearned for it. Winning the Senate seat was going to be sweet. It would mark the beginning of what he hoped would be a lifetime career in public service. But the victory would be tainted by his marital unhappiness.

It would be much sweeter, and his political future would look much brighter, if he could share it with a loving, supportive wife.

He might just as well wish for the moon, he thought. Even if Carole had that kind of love to give, which she didn't, he wouldn't take it. She had destroyed any possibility of that long ago.

The physical attraction was still there, inexplicably stronger than ever, but the emotional attachments were dead. Andhe'd be damned if he would accept one while being cheated of the other.

He figured the resolution just hadn't reached his cock yet.

He glanced at Carole from out of the corner of his eye. She looked fantastic. His mother had called it correctly. She had too much poise and sophistication and sexiness for a bride.

She looked like a well-loved, well-sated wife—very unlike Carole.

NINETEEN

Eddy Paschal stepped out of his shower. He quickly patted the towel over his arms and chest and down both legs. Flinging it over his shoulder, he caught the other end and rubbed it back and forth across his back as he moved from bathroom to bedroom. As soon as he cleared the door, he drew up short. "What the—"

"Hi, there. Didn't know you were into dirty pictures."

Fancy was stretched diagonally across his bed. She was propped up on one elbow, thumbing through thePenthouseshe had found lying on his nightstand. After a dispassionate glance at one particularly provocative pose, she looked up at him and smiled slyly. "You naughty boy, you."

"What the hell are you doing in here?" He hastily secured the towel around his middle.

Fancy stretched with feline laziness. "I was sunbathing out by the pool and came in here to get cool."

Eddy lived in an apartment over the ranch's garage. Shortly after he was hired to be Tate's campaign manager, he had asked if he could rent the efficiency. The Rutledges had vehemently protested.

Zee had been the most vocal. "Servant's quarters?Iwouldn't hear of it."

Tate had added his own protests, stating that if Eddy was going to live at the ranch, he would live in the house with the family.

Eddy had explained that he needed the convenience of living close to them while maintaining his privacy. The garage apartment satisfied both requirements. They had relented and he had moved in.

His privacy had now been invaded. "Why cool off in here?" he asked querulously. "Is the air conditioner in the house on the blink?"

"Don't be tacky." Fancy tossed the magazine aside and came to a sitting position. "Aren't you glad to see me?"

"There's certainly plenty to see," he muttered, ruffling his wet hair. It was fine, straight, and pale. "I've seen Band-Aids bigger than that bikini. Does Nelson approve of you running around like that?" Abundant flesh was overflowing the skimpy swimsuit.

"Grandpa doesn't approve of anything erogenous," she snorted. "I swear I don't know how my daddy and Uncle Tate ever got conceived. I bet Grandpa sings 'The Battle Hymn of the Republic' while he's balling Grandma. Or maybe 'Off We Go, into the Wild, Blue Yonder.'" She drew a thoughtful expression. "I just can't imagine her coming, can you?"

"You're hopeless, Fancy." In spite of himself, he chuckled at the images she had conjured. Then he propped his hands on his hips and looked at her reprovingly. "Will you please scram so I can dress? I told Tate I'd meet him and Carole at the Waller Creek, and I'm already running late."

"Can I go with you?"

"No."

"Why?" she wheedled. "No more tickets."

"You could manage it." He shook his head no. "Why not? I could get ready in a jiff."

"It'll be a stuffy, grown-up affair, Fancy. You'd be bored stiff."

"You'd be stiff if I went along. But I guarantee you wouldn't be bored." She gave him a licentious wink.

"Are you going to leave, or what?"

"What, I think," she replied flippantly. She unclasped her bikini bra and let it fall. Leaning back, she propped herself up on her elbows. "How do you like my. . . tan?"

Her breasts were full and soft, rising from a band of baby pinkness between her suntanned chest and stomach. The areolas were oversized, and her nipples were rosy and raised.

Tilting his face ceilingward , Eddy pinched his eyes shut. "Why are you doing this now? Come on, get up. Put your top back on and get the hell out of here."

He moved toward the bed and extended his hand down to assist her up. Fancy took his hand, but she didn't use it as leverage. Instead, she carried it to her breast and pressed his palm against the distended center. Her eyes were alight with mischief and arousal. As she slowly rotated his palm over her nipple, she used her other hand to pull away his towel and affected a gasp of surprised pleasure.

"Hmm, Eddy, you have a beautiful cock."

She gazed at it avidly as she inched to the edge of the bed. Her fingers encircled his penis, then she squeezed it through her fist, elongating and stretching it. "So big. Who are you saving it for? That ugly redhead down at headquarters? Or my Aunt Carole?"

She flung her head back and looked up the length of his torso. The cold glint in his eyes alarmed her for an instant before she decided that she liked him best when he was being a bastard. He posed more of a challenge that way.

"I can and will do more for you than either of them." Having made that breathy pledge, she bent her head over him to prove it.

At the first deft, damp stroke of her tongue, Eddy's knees buckled. In seconds, Fancy was on her back in the middle of his bed and he was lying above her, his tongue inside her mouth, spearing toward the back of her throat.

"Oh, God. Oh, Jesus. Yes. Yes," Fancy panted when his hands roughly caressed her.

He threw her arms behind her head and attacked her breasts with his mouth, sucking ardently, biting hungrily, licking furiously while the girl writhed beneath him. She became so lost in his rowdy foreplay that it took several seconds for her to realize that he was no longer doing it.

She opened her eyes. Once again he was standing at the foot of the bed, smiling with amusement.

" Wha— "

Only when she tried to sit up did she discover that her arms were tied above her head. She swung them forward. Her bikini bra was wrapped around her wrists, the ends knotted.

"You son of a bitch," she yelled. "Untie my fuckin ' hands."

Calmly, Eddy went to the bureau and took a pair of briefs from the top drawer. As he pulled them on, he made a tsking sound. "Such language."

"Untie me, you bastard."

"I'm sure that a resourceful younglady,"he stressed with one eyebrow skeptically raised, "will think of a way to free herself."

He took his rented tuxedo out of the plastic bag and began dressing. For as long as that took, Fancy lambasted him with every epithet her fertile mind and unlimited vocabulary could produce.

"Save it," Eddy said tersely when the crude tirade had ceased to be amusing. "I just want to know one thing."

"Screw you."

"What did you mean by that remark about Carole and me?"

"What do you think?"

He reached the bed in three strides, grabbed a handful of Fancy's hair, and wound it around his fist until it pulled against her scalp. "I don't know what to think. That's why I'm asking."

He frightened her. She lost some of her defiance. "You're getting it from somewhere. Why not from Aunt Carole?"

"First and foremost, because she doesn't appeal to me."

"That's bullshit."

"Why bullshit?"

"Because you watch her like a hawk, especially since she came home."

Eddy continued to stare at her coldly. "She's my best friend's wife. They've had their problems. I'm concerned how their marriage might effect the outcome of the campaign."

"Some marriage," Fancy scoffed. "He can't stand her because she's screwed around on him. My true blue Uncle Tate won't put up with that kind of crap from his wife. He's only staying married to her until the election is over."

Then Fancy smiled. She was almost purring. "But, you know what? If you do want in Carole's pants, I think you're out of luck. I think they're patching things up. I think she's giving to him—if he wants it—what she was giving to you before the airplane crash."

Gradually, his hand relaxed and he released her hair. "That's quiteatheory, Fancy." His voice was cool and calm. He moved to the dresser, stuffed a handkerchief into his pants pocket, and slid on his wristwatch. "It just happens to be wrong. There never has been or will be anything between Carole and me."

"I might ask her and see what she says."

"If I were you," he said softly, addressing her over his shoulder, "I'd keep my jealous speculations to myself."

Without the benefit of her hands to assist her, Fancy wiggled off the bed and came to her feet. "This is getting old, Eddy. Untie my hands."

He angled his head to one side, as though giving her demand careful consideration. "No, I don't believe so. I think I'd rather put some distance between us before you get loose."

"I can't leave here until I get my hands free."

"That's right."

She padded after him to the door. "Please, Eddy," she wailed. Tears formed in her large blue eyes. "You're being cruel. This isn'tagame to me. I know you think I'maslut for throwing myself at you, but I felt like I had to make the first move or you never would. I love you. Please love me back. Please."

He laid his hand in the curve of her waist and squeezed it gently. "I'm sure you can find some other guy who'll appreciate me warming you up for him."

Her cheeks bloomed scarlet. "You son of a bitch." The wheedling humility vanished. Her low voice now vibrated with rage. "You're goddamn right I'll find a man. I'll fuck his brains out. I'll suck him dry. I'll—"

"Have a good evening, Fancy." Unceremoniously, he pushed her out of his way and jogged down the exterior stairs to his parked car.

Fancy put her foot to the door and slammed it hard behind him.

As Avery came out of the ladies' room, she didn't even notice the man at the pay telephone. She was anxious to get back to the party. The banquet had been interminable, the after-dinner speaker ponderous.

However, once they were free to mingle, Tate had been the center of attention. It seemed that everyone in the room wanted to meet him and shake his hand, whether they shared a party affiliation or not. Even political rivals were friendly. None was hostile—certainly not enough to want him dead.

He was respected even if his ideas weren't unanimously popular. It was a heady feeling just to be standing next to him as his wife. Each time he made an introduction, he did so with a certain degree of pride that thrilled her. She hadn't made any social blunders. She had covertly taken her cues from him when someone Carole would have known approached. Everything was going splendidly.