The President's Secret Son (Bad Boy Romance) Read online

  It was a good question, and knowing Stan Reitman, Helen already knew the answer. If she knew, and she was bringing it up, there was something there. But she was going to enjoy her little home dentistry experiment until she'd sucked everything out of him and then she might, finally, tell him something.

  He wasn't going to stand for that, so the conversation was over. He made a note of it. Maybe there was something there, or maybe there wasn't, but he wasn't going to play Helen's game any more than he had to.

  20

  There was something unusual about the glint in Paul's eye when Lara saw him next. Something she wasn't sure she liked. Something she wasn't sure she could do without. He looked interested in her, and he looked like he was terribly pleased with himself.

  The first was something that she was growing accustomed to, though every time it seemed to catch her by surprise again. She shouldn't have been interesting to anyone, but to a man with the power that Paul Green had… power that could literally drop any woman's panties with little more than a word, she thought. And his looks were no worse than that.

  To think she could interest a man like that, even for a minute, it was still a welcome surprise, even if she saw the same look in his eyes every time that he looked at her.

  "How was your rest? Did you manage to get any sleep? Shower?"

  Her hair was still damp, hanging around her shoulders in rings that she should have been more careful in brushing out.

  "No sleep, sadly," she answered him. "But we'll see. Is something the matter?"

  He laid his face into the crook of her shoulder and wrapped his arms around her and as far as she could tell he ignored the question. They stayed like that for a long time, quietly standing together. There was so much that she wanted to tell him, standing there like that.

  She wanted to be hard and mean and cruel and take whatever she wanted. It was proving to be more challenging than she had expected. So she did the next best thing and kept her mouth shut as well as she could manage. That was going to have to be enough because she wasn't sure that she could be any more of a bitch than that.

  He seemed so vulnerable in that moment. It was odd to say about a man that much bigger than her, both in size and in political might. He was powerful in every sense of the word, and now he was standing there like she was the only thing keeping her on his feet.

  "What's this about?"

  "I told you before. I missed you."

  "You keep saying it like that," she teased, running her fingers through his hair, "and I might just believe you."

  "Don't say things that you don't mean," Paul mumbled into the crook of your shoulder. His breath on her skin tickled her, and she skated away, giggling.

  "No, not my neck."

  He smiled, his expression tired and almost withered. "Oh yeah? A new weakness? What's this?"

  "No," she repeated. "Don't."

  "Oh, I'm going to," he said. His arms wrapped around her, tight enough that she couldn't let go. The feeling was almost comforting, even as it restricted her. There was something in that grip even as his neck ducked in to kiss her neck, and she felt her body starting to squirm away before she could even stop herself. He pressed in and the same tickling sensation screamed through her.

  "No," she said. Her hands pushed at him halfheartedly and he kept on holding her. She didn't think she could get away if she wanted to, but something about the whole thing made her not want to try very hard to find out.

  "Alright, I'll be good," he said. His head lifted a little bit and a kiss pressed against her cheek. "Just let me stay like this a little longer."

  His chin rested on her head and she was pressed up against him. He'd changed colognes some time in the years that intervened. No longer smelling of musk and cinnamon and roughness and sex. He smelled of sandalwood, now, a comforting smell, with hints of something flowery underneath.

  She didn't usually smell it on him. She didn't realize he wore anything at all any more until just now, as she stood there in his arms, her nose pressed practically into his chest. It was as if they were sharing some private secret when she caught the scent. As if it were something that only she and he shared.

  "You smell good," she murmured.

  "Yeah?"

  "Yeah."

  She let him stay like that as long as he wanted. It was a long time, and yet when he finally pulled away she wasn't sure which of them regretted it more. He stood back. "I got you something."

  "Oh?"

  "You can't look, though."

  "I've played this game with you before, Paul. I'm not covering my eyes and opening my mouth, and besides you're tall and you're big but you're not that tall and you're not that big."

  "Not a present like that."

  "What, then?"

  "I told you: you can't be watching."

  "So, what, then?"

  "Close your eyes and put your hand out."

  "I thought you said it wasn't that kind of gift."

  "It's not," he said. He leaned his head down and pressed his lips against her forehead. "Just trust me, will you?"

  "You're being awfully sweet all of a sudden," she said.

  "And I'm going to be a whole lot of other things if you don't close your eyes and put your hand out."

  She finally did as she was told. There was a limit to teasing, and she was suspecting that she might be about to find that limit. She didn't want to actually cause him any grief, and she didn't want to find herself getting a spanking, either.

  "Are you ready? Eyes closed?"

  "I'm ready. Eyes closed."

  "No peeking."

  When he said it, it made her want to peek, just to spite him. It would have served him right, after all this time. What right did he have to give her any kind of orders? But she didn't want to piss him off any more than she wanted to upset him, and she knew that whatever it was, he clearly had this whole thing planned out in his head.

  "Should I get a blindfold before you do this?"

  "I don't know," Paul said, his voice low and husky and all too knowing for the hallway of a public hotel. "Do you want a blindfold? I've got a few other ideas of what we could put that to use for, if that's what you're thinking about."

  "Not in the least, Paul, now will you just–"

  Something in the dark took her outstretched hand and turned it over, palm up. Something pressed into it, hard and metallic and cool to the touch.

  "Open them," he said, and Lara did as she was told. There was a gold circle in her hand. On the one side of it was an inset stone, deep dark red. It shone like fire when she turned it in the light.

  "What's this?"

  "It's for you."

  "I don't understand."

  "Try putting it on. I'm afraid I don't know your size, but–"

  She slipped it onto a finger. It was too small to get past her second knuckle except on her pinkies, where it was too big.

  "Too small? Damn."

  Lara looked at it for a long moment. "But what is this?"

  "It's just a gift. I saw it and I thought of you."

  "Paul, I don't–"

  "It doesn't mean anything, Lara. When you're done with me, you go and you keep the ring. Keep it to remember me by."

  She looked up at him curiously. "I don't know if I understand."

  "Ten years ago doesn't matter any more. I just wanted you to know, I do… I did miss you. And I did care for you."

  She looked down at the ring. It reflected the light as she moved, the gold polished to a mirror-like shine and the ruby cut into a perfect square. It was beautiful, she thought. Impossibly beautiful. And she couldn't begin to understand why she had it. But she wasn't going to question it.

  "Thank you," she said, finally. That was the only answer she had, and it was going to have to be good enough.

  "Don't thank me," Paul said softly. "You'll make me think that I've done something right."

  21

  'Can we talk about something?'

  The message on his phone was unexpe
cted, but not completely out of the realm of possibility. The ring was a surprise, he knew. It would have surprised just about anyone, and Lara seemed like she never quite knew where she stood.

  It wasn't hard to guess why. After the way things ended, completely ambiguous all those years ago, and all that time passed…

  Never mind, of course, that it wasn't exactly likely that she'd somehow managed to avoid hearing about his reputation for womanizing. Hell, he'd had it when she knew him, so it wasn't as if that could have been a surprise to her. She was one of the same women who had helped form that reputation. The most important of them, but when you were stuck in the forest it was hard to be certain that you could see the trees.

  He slipped the phone into his coat.

  "I'm sorry, I'm listening."

  "Did you need to take that?"

  "No," he answered. It was probably the truth, too. He hoped he sounded believable.

  "Well, then, I guess… let's eat?"

  The woman on the other side of the table wasn't on the menu, though if she'd offered then Paul wasn't entirely certain that he would have refused her. She wasn't as young as his usual preference. She couldn't have been much younger than Lara, but unlike Lara she'd had enough work done that she could pass for a woman much younger.

  "Alright, but I do have to make it a little quick. I've got another meeting in an hour."

  "Of course, Senator."

  "As long as we're clear on that from the beginning."

  "Clear as crystal." The woman turned on a tape recorder.

  "So we've been getting reports from our man on your plane that you've been… what, having some kind of shakeup in your organization?"

  "I'm not sure what you mean, Alice."

  "A new woman on board, with her son? Something about her being involved in the campaign somehow?"

  "Not at all," Paul answered. "I'd rather not talk about her if it's possible."

  Alice Rogan's hand reached out and clicked the button to pause her recording.

  "I'd definitely appreciate the scoop, Senator, if you don't mind."

  "I just said I do mind, Alice."

  "I could promise you that the coverage we give you as a result of this interview would be favorable. If she's a friend–"

  "That's all she is. An old friend."

  "We could definitely promise that she would see some positives out of this."

  He took a breath. He'd known that eventually the question would have to be addressed at some point. When someone who was a known face showed up on your airplane, it was easy for people to start speculating that there was a good reason they were there.

  If Stan Reitman was there, well, he was an old friend of Helen's. Maybe he was there to have a little pow-wow with Paul and talk about what the marching orders for Stan's people were going to be.

  Maybe he was going to share some secret; Reitman was well-known first and foremost as a snitch of the highest order, and if you wanted to know something then the chances were that you could find out through him. It was almost a time-honored rite of passage to trade information with him.

  But when a stranger showed up, some normal everyday person, there were questions to answer. People tended to want to know why they were there, and they tended, in the end, to get those answers one way or another. It was easier when you just came clean about it, but he wasn't sure that any of them on that plane were ready to really discuss what Lara was.

  "How positive are we talking, exactly?"

  "How positive do you think we're talking?"

  "It wouldn't look good to be colluding with the press, Miss Rogan."

  "Please, Alice."

  "Alice or not, it wouldn't look good, would it?"

  "No, it wouldn't, which is why I'm just making conversation."

  "So you're telling me, if I talk to you about my friend, that she stays out of the mud, right?"

  "Of course," Alice said. Her lips twisted into a smile.

  He still didn't know. But the fact of the matter was, at some point someone was going to find out what was going on with her. Someone was going to talk, or someone was going to identify her from a Facebook photo, and then there wouldn't be any controlling the message.

  "Alright, fine. You can turn that back on, then."

  "Thank you, you're very kind, Senator." Her thumb moved over and un-clicked the pause button. The red light turned back on and the reels started spinning again. It was strange to see someone using a physical cassette in this day and age, but he wasn't about to question it. Reporters had their way.

  "So, about your friend."

  "She's an old acquaintance of mine, from when I was living in Salt Lake City."

  "This would be…"

  "Well, I was living in Salt Lake City a long time, you know," he laughed. "About ten years ago, during my tenure as District Attorney."

  "Right. How did the two of you meet?"

  "She was in court one day, wanted to ask me a few questions. I've always got room in my schedule for a pretty face, as you well know, Alice."

  She laughed politely. Flirting was something that came naturally to Paul, but it came naturally to anyone sitting with Alice Rogan, and she knew it. She knew that coming from Paul it probably didn't mean anything, and she was right about that.

  "So what's the story?"

  "She was a protege for a little while, I suppose you could say. She and I talked about the law over coffee, things like that."

  "And why is she with you now?"

  "That's easy, Alice. Because someone on that airplane needs to have a conscience."

  She laughed again. It was a musical laugh and one that she'd practiced for a long time to get it to work on television, he knew. It was no different for anyone in politics or show business. She was practiced at everything that could get her ratings.

  He wondered idly if she were practiced at other ways to get ahead as well. If there were any place that was as corrupted to the core as politics, after all, it had to be television.

  "Of course, of course. And about the rumors that Stan Reitman has something to do with these allegations about President Noble?"

  "I don't know anything about that," he answered flatly. "If Stan Reitman wants to spread stories, that's his business, but I don't keep track of what stories he spreads."

  "Is he not a close family friend?"

  Paul wanted to tell her exactly how close he was to Helen's friends. He couldn't stand Stan, and anyone who could stomach Helen had to be touched in the head. That was the sort of answer that got people in trouble.

  "I know that Helen's terribly fond of him," Paul answered instead. "But I've only met him once or twice, at parties. He seems like a decent enough guy, but…"

  "Just never really had the pleasure of taking to him at length?"

  "Not really," Paul agreed. "No."

  "Uh… one more thing."

  "Okay, shoot." Whatever she had on the docket last couldn't possibly be as sensitive as the first two questions she'd asked. Yet, she'd saved it for last as if this was the perfect place to end her interview prep.

  "We just got a poll back from ABC, showing a…" she fished in her pocket for a moment and pulled a notebook loose, flipped through the pages and looked down her nose at the page. "3 point lead for the incumbent. Are you and your people worried about that, or…?"

  He made a face. It wasn't the sort of question he liked answering, but he wasn't going to pretend he hadn't heard it either. Which might be what he should do, because the alternative was to lie.

  "Not worried, no. It's a long time before November. We've got plenty of time to make up any temporary difference."

  "Thanks," she said. He smiled as the waitress set down a steak in front of him. "Of course."

  "See you this evening?"

  "Live, right? Not taped?"

  "Live, yeah."

  "So I should avoid cursing, then," he said, and dug into his food with a smile that wasn't entirely faked. Not entirely, anyway. The text from Lara, at least temp
orarily, forgotten.

  22

  Tim's head was so warm that Lara could feel it through the fabric of her skirt, as it rested in her lap. Her jaw worked itself loose and tight again in a cycle that never seemed quite to stop. She needed someone here, and she needed them here yesterday. Should she call Paul again? Or… if he hadn't picked up the last three times, then there was probably some reason. Number four wasn't likely to change anything.

  She looked down at Tim, laid her head on his forehead. It was hot to the touch, hot enough that she didn't want to touch it again. What was she supposed to do now?

  She took a deep breath. There weren't any other options, not really. She needed to get him to a doctor and she needed to do it now. If there was no way to drive, and there wasn't in spite of her hopes, then she needed an ambulance and it didn't much matter what she was 'supposed' to do.

  She dialed 9-1-1, her hands shaking.

  "Yes, ma'am, what is your emergency?"

  "My son is sick," she said. She tried to tighten her jaw.

  "Where are you?"

  Lara told her, and the woman on the other side of the line answered quickly. "Okay, ma'am, we've got an ambulance on the way to your location."

  "He's got a fever of… god, I don't even know. I'm from out of town, and I just. He's so hot, and I didn't really know what to do. I don't have a car so–"

  "Ma'am, calm down. Is there anything else that I should tell the EMTs before they arrive?"

  Lara took a breath and tried to calm down. That was good advice. If she wasn't calm then it was only going to cause more trouble in the end.

  "I don't know. Nothing that I can tell. He's very hot to the touch and the past few hours he's just been very… blah. I assume that's a result of the fever."

  "You mean he's been very…"

  "Non-responsive? Like he's been just laying there for the most part. I can get him to respond, but it's just… small."

  "Okay, thank you. I'll stay on the line with you while you wait, to make sure, okay?"

  "Of course."

  "What are you in town for?"