She brushed her hair more severely and toned down her makeup. She wouldn’t stand out; she would look like thousands of businesswomen or lobbyists. She didn’t want to be memorable, should anyone see her. It was, perhaps, a foolish precaution on her part, but then she had never before blackmailed anyone and she thought some discretion was needed.
Today was Margo’s regular day at Elizabeth Arden; since the trip to Rome had been postponed, she would go about her normal routine, and Margo was a fanatic about pampering her looks. With Margo safely in New York, Candra didn’t worry that Carson had told her to come to his town house in the capital. Doing so actually suited her better, because she wouldn’t have enjoyed the crassness, the utter distastefulness, of being screwed on an office desk with a troop of aides just outside the door.
At the airport, she hailed a taxi and sat quietly in the backseat, not encouraging the driver’s occasional attempts at conversation. To her surprise, she felt the beginning flutters of excitement and anticipation she normally felt when she knew she was going to have sex. Until now her mind had been completely on what she would say afterward, but now she began to think about the act itself. Carson had little technique but a lot of vigor, and sometimes, when she was feeling a little nasty, that was just what she wanted.
He had to be in his office at ten-thirty. She would have an hour with him. That would be sufficient.
Carson met her at the door himself, smiling and saying all the inane social things in case anyone was listening. He had staff here, of course, at least a cook and a housekeeper. He was very good looking, Candra thought, smiling up into that almost classical face. How odd that she actually preferred Richard’s more rugged looks. Richard was one of those men who was so overtly male a woman couldn’t help looking at him. She gave herself a small mental shake; she had to stop thinking about him, because she had lost him. That part of her life was over, and she had to make a success of this new chapter or lose everything.
“You said there was something urgent you needed to discuss with me,” Carson said for the benefit of anyone listening, smiling smugly as he escorted her into his office and shut the door, locking it behind him. He thought he was being smooth about it, but Candra was listening for that small click. She was glad he was taking care they wouldn’t be interrupted, and if he hadn’t locked the door, she would have done it herself.
He grabbed her breasts the moment he turned around, and maneuvered her toward the large sofa. She barely had time to place her bag on the floor before he bore her down on the expensively upholstered cushions, already tugging her skirt up and his zipper down. “We have to hurry,” he panted, shoving into her and immediately moving into a fast, pounding rhythm. “Before Margo comes down.”
“What?” Candra gasped, instinctively pushing against his shoulders. All her initial excitement was gone. Ugly scenes didn’t appeal to her, and she had no doubt Margo could enact the ugliest of ugly scenes.
The senator pulled her hands away from his shoulders and pinned them to the sofa, his face set. He didn’t intend to let a little thing like his wife’s presence in the house keep him from doing what he wanted. Candra held herself still and silent, not wanting to either slow him down or draw attention to the office. Mentally she urged him to hurry God, the stupid arrogance of the man! Regardless of how much Margo enjoyed the status of being a senator’s wife, or how much she looked forward to the White House, there was a limit to what she would turn a blind eye to. Knowing about Carson’s indiscretions was one thing; seeing them for herself was very different.
Clinically she watched as his face turned red from effort, and the veins in his neck stood out. He hadn’t even loosened his tie. His thrusts moved her back and forth on the sofa.
If he noticed her lack of response, he didn’t care. Within two minutes he stiffened, his pelvis jerking and his face twisting into a carnal parody of pain. Odd, she thought, how something that was exciting when she was turned on was distasteful when she wasn’t.
He pulled out of her, panting, and took out a handkerchief to wipe himself clean. “Do you have another of those?” she murmured, and seeing his blank look, added, “The handkerchief.”
“No, this is the only one.” He started to fold it and return it to his pocket—disgusting—but Candra took it from him and folded it herself, touching it as little as possible, and tucked it between her legs.
He looked uneasy. “It’s monogrammed.”
“I’ll give it back to you,” she said impatiently. “Or would you rather I destroy it?”
“Burn it,” he said, but he still looked unhappy about her having his handkerchief. Too bad he didn’t apply that caution to the rest of his behavior, she thought.
She sat up and straightened her clothing, within moments looking as if nothing had happened. Nothing had, for her, she thought.
“Sit down,” she said. “I do have something to discuss with you.”
“Of course, anything I can do to help.” His own clothing restored to respectability, he sat down behind his desk, made of good old American oak. He was always careful not to flaunt his wealth where his constituents might see, here in his D.C. home and in his office. His home in New York, however, was as luxurious as a palace, with imported everything.
He smiled at her now, the smooth, urbane smile of a man who knows he has power. In coming to him like this, he thought she was going to ask him for a favor. His hazel eyes glittered; during their sporadic relationship, Candra had firmly refused to do anything more than occasionally accommodate him. Carson was accustomed to calling the shots, accustomed to having women do his bidding, and her cool distance both annoyed and challenged him. Of course, she had further annoyed him by making their encounters as memorable as possible.