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If he had to fall in love, why couldn’t it be with someone ordinary? But, no. Not him. Not Mr. Lunkhead. Because that would be too frigging easy! Instead, he had to fall in love with the most famous woman in America!
For the rest of the morning, Ann hovered around him, a pitying look in her eyes. Every once in a while he saw her lips move and knew she was praying over him, which made him want to tell her to keep her damn prayers to herself, except he’d never needed them more, so he pretended not to notice.
He took his sisters to lunch at one of the city’s trendy Clark Street bistros, then fought the urge to ask them not to leave as they headed for their cars or the airport. They kissed him and hugged him and smeared their makeup on another one of his shirts.
That night, his house seemed even lonelier than usual. No sisters ambushing him with their problems. No diapers to change or smart-mouthed teenager to keep an eye on. Even worse, there were no patriot-blue eyes smiling at him.
How could he have been so blind? From the moment they’d met, he’d been drawn to her like hot fudge to ice cream. He’d never enjoyed a woman’s company more, never been so aroused by one. And not just physically, but intellectually and emotionally. If some evil genie came up to him right this minute and said he could have Nealy forever, but they could never make love again, he’d still take her. And what kind of thing was that?
He had it bad.
He couldn’t stand being cooped up inside, so he grabbed his jacket, headed outside, and climbed in the Ford Explorer he’d bought to replace his sports convertible. The car was badly suited to downtown Chicago’s crowded parking, but he’d justified buying it because it handled well
on the expressways, and it was almost big enough to fit him. The truth was, he liked the memories it brought back.
As he drove aimlessly through the narrow streets of Lincoln Park, he tried to figure out what he was supposed to do. He had no idea how deeply Nealy’s feelings ran toward him. She’d enjoyed his company, and she sure as hell liked his lovemaking, but he’d also argued with her, deceived her, and manhandled her, so he could hardly expect her to run into his arms. He could hardly expect her to . . .
Marry him.
He nearly rear-ended a white Subaru. Did he really expect America’s uncrowned queen to bind herself for life to an overgrown Slovak roughneck?
You’re damned right he did.
The next morning he packed up his laptop and his cell phone, threw some clothes in a suitcase, and tossed everything into the Explorer. He called his editor from the road to give him some mumbo-jumbo about a follow-up piece, promised not to blow his deadline for Wednesday’s column, and set the cruise control. He and America’s former First Lady had some serious talking to do.
Nealy’s attorney refused to give him her address, so he used his connections in the Washington press corps, and by the next day he was in Middleburg, Virginia. The house wasn’t visible from the road, but the eight-foot fence that surrounded it was plain to see, along with an elaborate set of electronic gates. He pulled the Explorer into the drive. Her press conference was tomorrow; he prayed she was home getting ready for it.
Above his head, a set of video cameras zeroed in on him. He hoped the fence was electrified, too, and a pack of Dobermans ran loose behind it. He had nightmares about her safety.
“Can I help you?” A man’s voice came from a panel set in the brick.
“Mat Jorik. I’m here to see Mrs. Case.”
“Is she expecting you?”
“Yes,” he lied.
There was a brief pause. “You don’t seem to be on the list.”
“I wasn’t sure when I’d get here. If you ask her, she’ll tell you it’s all right.”
“Hold on.”
He hoped he looked more confident than he felt. Seeing these gates and the spacious grounds that stretched behind them made the gap between him and Nealy real instead of theoretical. He drummed his hands on the steering wheel. Why was it taking so long?
“Mr. Jorik?”
“Yes.”
“I’m sorry, sir, but Mrs. Case won’t be able to see you.”
Mat gripped the wheel. “I’ll come back later today.”
“No, sir.”
He waited, and the longer he waited, the more uneasy he felt. “How about tomorrow morning?”
“No. Mrs. Case won’t see you at all.”
