She gasped in protest, but his mouth covered hers, and objection quickly turned to obsession as desire bit into her.
He came fast and hard, trembling under the intensity of his own passion, wondering at the pinnacle if he would live through it, wondering if a man could survive loving a woman like this.
Still on the kitchen table, they slowly became aware of their surroundings. Coffee and cereal had been flung from one end of the kitchen to the other, dishes lay broken on the floor, chairs had been overturned.
There was the sound of a car pulling into the driveway, and Daisy and Steve looked into each other’s eyes and saw panic.
“Elsie and Kevin,” Daisy whispered.
They scrambled to their feet and adjusted their clothes. They both glanced furtively at the only escape route which would lead to a shower and knew they’d never make it. Elsie was already in the foyer.
“Just act like nothing happened,” Steve said. “We can pull this off.”
Daisy clapped a hand to her mouth to stop a hysterical giggle. He had smashed Froot Loops on his knees and his shirt was torn.
Elsie stopped in her tracks at the kitchen door, and Kevin looked over her shoulder. “Whoa,” he said, “who trashed the kitchen?”
“Bob,” Steve told him. “Bob did it.”
Chapter 7
Steve took his eyes off the road for a moment to smile at Daisy. She was wearing a little white number that hugged her body in all the right places and still miraculously projected an image of classy respectability. The slim skirt stopped a few inches above her knee, showing off long, tanned legs and dainty feet trapped in gold strappy sandals. The top of the dress was off-the-shoulder, with a band of material that wrapped across her upper arms and slanted down to her full breasts. The dress was entirely devoid of ornamentation, proving the old adage that less is sometimes more. She wore dangly gold earrings and wide gold bands at each wrist.
She was a knockout, and Aunt Zena would love her, Steve thought. Zena would also be suspicious and nosy as hell, but an impetuous love-at-first-sight romance would appeal to her.
They rolled through Potomac, Maryland, in the racy black car, down wide streets where high six-digit incomes and suburban sprawl had spawned the tract mansion. Steve turned into a gated driveway and followed the smooth blacktop to a monster of a house riddled with columns and porticos and upgraded window trim. It rose phoenixlike, in redbrick splendor, from silver-dollar-sized wood chips and a great expanse of manicured lawn, its nether parts obscured by professionally tended azalea, holly, and rhododendron.
“An architectural masterpiece,” Steve said. “Neobeltway.”
Daisy gaped at it. “I’m glad I don’t have to deliver papers here.”
A white-coated attendant helped her from the car and ran around to the driver’s side.
“Is this Zena’s house?” Daisy asked Steve.
“No. Aunt Zena has a condo in Georgetown. This little honey belongs to George and Ethel Begley. They’re really very nice people. I don’t know why they chose to live at Tara here.”
They walked into the vaulted foyer and were greeted by Ethel. She gave Steve a cheek-kiss, rewarded Daisy with a dazzling smile, and propelled them forward into the cool interior of the house.
A sideboard held liver pate, salmon mousse, and French bread crusts. The pate and mousse looked fresh on their lettuce beds, and Steve took a crust and scooped up some mousse.
An older woman barreled through the French doors leading to the patio. Her hair was black and pulled into a tight knot at the nape of her neck. She wore dark red lipstick and plum eye shadow. Her gray silk suit firmly whispered designer original. Daisy knew it was Aunt Zena from the first moment. She was a big, handsome woman. Near seventy, Daisy guessed, and still going strong.
Zena hugged her nephew. “I’ve been waiting for you.”
Steve returned the hug, then slid his arm around Daisy’s shoulders. “Aunt Zena, I’d like you to meet my friend Daisy Adams.”
“Daisy Adams, that name sounds so familiar. Are you a Republican?” she asked Daisy.
“No,” Daisy said, “I’m a graduate student.”
“Daisy Adams, Daisy Adams,” Zena repeated. “Oh my Lord, you’re the Dog Lady!”
A small crowd was forming behind Zena. “Is it really the Dog Lady?” someone asked. “It’s the Roach killer,” someone else exclaimed.
“I didn’t actually kill him,” Daisy murmured.
Zena clasped Daisy to her ample bosom. “This is so exciting. We need to make an announcement. I want everyone to know my nephew is dating the city’s leading crime-stopper.”
Daisy grabbed Steve by the lapel and mouthed the word “help.”
“Maybe we don’t want to make a public announcement just yet,” Steve suggested.
A flash went off, a minicam appeared, more people pressed into the dining room. The junior senator came forward to shake Daisy’s hand. “This is a real honor,” he said. “This country needs more people like you-people with a commitment to ridding our streets of drug dealers.”
“Thank you, but I was just driving along…”
Steve muscled his way through the group, pulling Daisy after him. He didn’t want Daisy to receive any more publicity. He didn’t want her made into a hero. He didn’t want her to become hot news. Someone was threatening her, and splashing her face across a TV screen again would only make things worse. He got her onto the patio and used his body to shield her from the people filtering out behind them. It was an effective device. This wasn’t a pushy mob. These people were used to rubbing elbows with politicians and minor celebrities; they were masters at waiting for the right moment, seizing it, and backing away.
Daisy didn’t mind the attention from the press. She figured that was their job, just as reporting traffic was her job. For a while she was news. She didn’t fully understand it, but it was okay. She knew it would fade.
She held tight to Steve’s hand, not because she disliked the crush of people, but because she was thrilled that he wanted to protect her. She’d never considered herself to be fragile, had never asked to be cosseted, never before wanted it. And no man had ever assumed such a macho role on her behalf. She was surprised to find herself enjoying it now.
She accepted a glass of champagne from a waitress and looked around. It was a pretty yard with lots of flowers and shrubs and delicate white wrought-iron furniture. The people were pretty, too. And polite. They’d left her alone when Steve had dragged her off to the patio. “Is there anyone famous here?” she asked.
“You mean besides you?”
“I mean really famous.”
He took a fast survey. “There are lots of people here who are well-known. Senators, members of Congress, business moguls, but I don’t see anybody I’d classify as movie-star famous.” He took a sip of her champagne. “I suppose the most newsworthy person is that little guy over there in the dark suit. The guy with the thick mustache and swarthy complexion. That’s Abdul Rhaman…”
“Abdul Rhaman! I saw his picture in the
Steve’s smile was tight. “He’s in town drumming up money to equip an army,” he said quietly. “That’s probably why he’s at this party, and that’s probably the reason for the press contingent. You don’t usually find them at parties like this one.”
Daisy’s eyes grew wide. “I should interview him!”
“What?”
“I have the tape recorder in the car. I could get an interview from him, and we could send it over to the station.”
His protective instincts were screaming to take her home and lock her in a closet, but that wasn’t a viable alternative, he told himself. He looked at her face, flushed with excitement, and knew he couldn’t deny her the interview. Besides, he had to admit, it was a good idea. It didn’t relate to drugs or the Roach, so she wouldn’t be
