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The way he said her name should be a sin.
“You, too, senator.”
“Please, call me Blane.” His smile was friendly and you-can-totally-trust-me. His eyes said he was a hungry tiger who’d just spotted a solitary antelope meandering across the savannah.
Anne didn’t bat an eye. This wasn’t her first rodeo. “Goodnight, senator.”
She took the glasses and empty wine bottle, gave him one more bland smile, and headed for the back. By the time she’d returned, he was gone and she could breathe again.
The lobbyists had paid the check but there was money sitting on the table.
He’d left her a three-hundred-dollar cash tip.
Well.
* * *
Blane unlocked the door to his Georgetown townhouse and walked inside. The house was dark and still, which bothered him. By this time of his life, he’d imagined a lit house with the riotous sound of children’s voices and laughter. A woman in the kitchen with a sweet smile and welcoming arms. Home and hearth, full of love and warmth.
Life didn’t always turn out how you planned.
For some reason, the waitress’s face flickered inside his head. It wasn’t just that she was pretty. Pretty girls were common enough. She had an air of innocence about her. Unspoiled and sweet. It wasn’t a common thing. As a matter of fact, she reminded him of someone.
He searched his memory as he shed his coat and tie, reaching for the decanter of scotch on the sideboard. It didn’t strike him until he’d poured two fingers of the amber liquid and replaced the stopper.
Kathleen.
That’s who she reminded him of. She had the same aura of a guppy swimming with sharks that Kathleen had had, years ago. Once, the woman he’d loved and wanted to marry. Now, his sister-in-law and mother of his nephews.
That gave him pause.
Kathleen had been a turning point in his life. There was before her, and after her. He wasn’t the same man afterwards. He liked to think he was better than he used to be, but first he’d had to work through the heartache and bitterness. Not as much towards her as towards himself.
It had taken time—and distance—but things were good between them now. He was her sister-in-law and friend. That was all. And it felt right.
A few women since Kathleen. Branna—who’d used him to assuage her own hurt and bitterness as much as Blane had used her. He didn’t want to examine too closely how much she had reminded him of his brother Kade. That made it weird.
They’d both moved on after a time and Blane had seen a handful of other women. Wealthy, accomplished, successful women groomed to be a politician’s wife.
None of them lasted more than a few months.
The days of taking a woman home for the night were out, too. Voters didn’t like to think of their senator as a love-‘em-and-leave-‘em kind of guy. The last thing he needed was to be the recipient of the “manwhore” appellation, which the media would be all too ready to fling his way.
Carrying his drink upstairs, he stripped and climbed into bed, forgoing the lights. The sheets were smooth and cool against his skin. Folding his arms underneath his head, he stared at the darkened ceiling. The empty spot next to him felt ten times larger than it was. He’d tried for years to sleep in the middle, but inevitably he’d gravitated to one side by morning. As though making room for the ghost of someone who’d never been there.
It was past time he faced facts: that spot may never be filled.
His mind wandered. He had his sights set on a much more ambitious office, but he had to be careful. In D.C., everyone was out for blood and it wouldn’t take but a scratch to spill his demons.
Political enemies weren’t just the ones that scourged you in the media, but also worked behind badges and the aura of justice to achieve their ends, even if it meant obtaining evidence illegally. The media didn’t care. They just wanted their ratings.
Blane had taken great care that the past stayed firmly where it was…in the past. But like so many ghosts and skeletons in the closet, did they ever really go away? And someone knew about at least one of them, the one he had to hide at all costs.
It was a long time before he slept.
* * *
Anne’s feet ached as she unlocked the door to her apartment and turned off her alarm. She’d had to stay at the restaurant later than usual. The dishwasher had broken so what was left of the staff at closing had pitched in to help clean up. Well, they’d been volun-told to help.
