Chapter 11
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When a knock sounded on Congressman Alister Petrie's office door, he tossed down his pen and frowned. He had specifically asked not to be disturbed.
"I'm sorry, Congressman," his secretary said hurriedly when she poked her head through the door. "There's someone here to see you. I know you requested that no calls be put through, but I thought you'd want me to make an exception."
She was usually so mousy and reserved that her excitement got his attention immediately. Her lined face was flushed and there was an unusual twinkle in her colorless eyes. Whoever was paying him this unexpected Tuesday-afternoon visit must be damned important.
He stood and adjusted his necktie. "I trust your discretion, Ms. Baines. If it's someone I should see, then by all means show him in."
She ducked out of sight. Mister almost peed in his pants when Yasmine appeared in the open doorway. Like an idiot, he cut a guilty glance toward the sterling silver frame holding the photograph of Belle and the children in the place of honor on his desk.
Thankfully, Ms. Baines, who stumbled in behind Yasmine, was too star-struck to notice his guilty reaction. She was yammering about how surprised she'd been when the famous fashion model—her personal favorite for years—had strolled into the office and asked for an audience with Congressman Petrie.
Alister, partially recovered from his initial shock, plastered on the smile that had helped him win his first congressional seat. "This is indeed an honor, Miss…"
"Just Yasmine, Congressman Petrie. It's a rare privilege to see you, too."
It sounded like a cordial greeting, but it blared its double meaning to Alister, especially with the emphasis she placed on the words rare and see. There was a sly glint in her spectacular eyes as he rounded his desk and approached her. If his gait appeared rubbery to Ms. Baines, he hoped she attributed it to his meeting a star and not to his confronting a mistress obviously up to mischief.
Yasmine was wearing a white dress made of some soft, clinging fabric that hugged her body. The vee where it overlapped across her chest was filled with gold chains of varied designs. Her trademark bangles encircled both wrists. Gold spheres the size of golf balls dangled from her ears. A leopard-print scarf as large as a tablecloth draped one shoulder and extended to the hem of her dress in both front and back.
She looked fabulous and she knew it. As cool and haughty as a temple priestess, she stood her ground and let him come to her, which he did, hand extended like a penitent. The bitch.
He clasped her hand. In high heels she was a couple of inches taller than he. He resented having to look up, even slightly, to meet her eye to eye.
"I'd love to flatter myself and think this is a social call." She laughed, tossing her ebony mane. "I heard one of your campaign speeches last week. I liked what you had to say and decided to contribute to your campaign. We need more men like you in Congress."
"Thank you. I'm … speechless," he stammered, grinning disarmingly for the sake of his still-gaping secretary.
"May I?" Without waiting for permission, Yasmine moved to a maroon leather seating ensemble that Belle had given him for his last birthday.
"Of course, Yasmine, sit down. Ms. Baines, you'll excuse us please?"
"Certainly. Would you like something to drink? Coffee? Tea?"
"No, thank you," Yasmine replied, flashing her brilliant smile. "But you might ask my escorts if they would like something." She slid the slender strap of her lizard handbag off her shoulder and laid it in her lap.
"Escorts?" Alister asked thinly. Jesus, this must be a nightmare. How many people knew she was here? Had she led a frigging parade down Pennsylvania Avenue?
"Bodyguards, from the looks of them," Ms. Baines whispered. "I'm sure that because of who she is, she has to take them with her everywhere she goes."
Yasmine merely smiled placidly, letting the woman draw her own dramatic conclusions. The secretary, grinning giddily, backed out and pulled the door closed behind her.
Mister's hands were clenched into fists at his sides. As he approached Yasmine, he wished he could hit her very hard across her flawless face. "What the fuck do you think you're doing?" He kept his volume low, but his fierce expression conveyed the full measure of his rage.
He had never used gutter language in front of her except playfully in bed. But in the neighborhood where she'd grown up, that was the vernacular and she wasn't intimidated by it. She came out of the chair like a shot, dumping her handbag onto the floor. The scarf slipped from her shoulder and also fell to the floor.
"What's the matter, sugar?" she sneered. "Aren't you glad to see me?"
"I want to know if you've lost your frigging mind. Are you trying to ruin me? Who saw you come strutting in here? Jesus, did the press get wind of this?" He dragged his hand down his face as one horrendous possibility after another flashed through his mind like a hellish slide show. "What are you doing here?"
"Making my campaign contribution." She unbuttoned the cuffs of her sleeves and, before he realized what she was about to do, peeled the bodice of her dress off her shoulders. It dropped to her waist, caught there by her wide belt. She smiled as she slowly withdrew her arms from the sleeves.
His anger metamorphosed into lust. His eyes moved down to her thrusting, conical breasts. The nipples were dark and pointed, arrogantly offered to him.
"I've been missing you so bad, sugar," she crooned as she slowly inched the skirt of her dress up her thighs.
Heart pounding, lungs laboring, palms sweating, blood rushing to concentrate in his loins, Alister tracked the slow ascent of her hemline with his eyes. Her hosiery came to midthigh, where it was clipped to the suspenders of a garter belt. He groaned involuntarily when she revealed the small triangle of lace that insufficiently covered her mound and its dense thatch of curls.
"Christ," he muttered. Sweat was oozing from his forehead and trickling down his face. "If someone walks in—"
"No one will. Even the president couldn't get past Hans and Franz out there. I told them nobody, but nofuckingbody, was to come through that door."
While he stood transfixed, she hooked her thumbs beneath the elastic band of her panties and pulled them down her legs. After stepping out of them she twirled them around her index finger. "You'd better sit down, sugar. You're looking a little pale."
She gave his chest a light push and he toppled over backward, landing on the leather love seat—the gift from his wife. He didn't think about that. He didn't think about anything except the thundering desire in his cock. He reached for her.
"Not so fast." She stood in front of him, fists propped on her hips, legs slightly spread. "Why haven't you been to see me, you lousy bastard?"
"Yasmine, be reasonable," he panted. "Can you imagine what my schedule has been like? I'm campaigning, for Christ's sake."
"With your smiling wife at your side?"
"What am I supposed to do, leave her at home?"
"Yes!" she hissed angrily.
"Wouldn't that make everyone, especially her, a little suspicious? Think about it." He reached for her again, and this time she allowed his hands to fold around her derriere. "Do you think this separation has been easy for me? Christ, you're insane to come here, but you can't imagine how glad I am to see you."
"You didn't seem so glad at first," she reminded him. "I thought you were about to have a stroke."
"I was shocked, stunned. This is dangerous as hell, but… Ah, God, I can smell you." He leaned forward and burrowed his face in the cleft of her thighs, nuzzling, gnawing, kissing her madly through the giving fabric of her dress. "Too bad you can't bottle this."
Yasmine clasped his head between her long, slender hands. "Sugar, I've been miserable. Couldn't eat. Couldn't sleep. I lived for a phone call."
"I couldn't risk it." He raised his head to her breasts and took one of her nipples into his mouth.
"Yes," she moaned. "Hard, baby, suck hard."
He took a breast in each hand and squeezed hard while he suckled until his jaws ached. She straddled his lap and grappled with his clothes until his throbbing penis was sandwiched between her stroking hands.
He shoved his hands beneath her skirt, grabbed her hips, and brought them down hard as he thrust into her. She tore at the buttons of his monogrammed shirt, then sank her long nails into his chest. He grunted with a mix of pleasure and pain, and roughly scraped his chin against her raised nipples, burning them with his whisker stubble.
She rode him frantically, squeezing and pulling like a tight, wet fist, like a mouth. Through the fog of passion, he dimly heard the telephone in the anteroom ring and his secretary's muffled answer: "Congressman Petrie's office. I'm sorry but the congressman is presently engaged."
Alister almost laughed as Yasmine rolled her hips forward, then backward, as she crammed her breast into his mouth. I'm "presently engaged" fucking my brains out with my mistress, he thought. Wouldn't that rock the foundations of the Capitol? Wouldn't his constituents be astonished? Wouldn't his foes have a field day?
She came before he did. Closing her arms tightly around his head, she whispered an erotic chant in his ear, "Ohsugarohbabyohgodohyesohfuck," while one spasm after another gripped him deeper and tighter inside her.
His climax wasn't as vocal but was just as tempestuous. For a full sixty seconds afterward she clung to him, her head resting on his shoulder.
When she sat up, her torso was gleaming with perspiration, the sheen enhanced by the gold chains suspended from her neck. Her tiger eyes still smoldered. She was so damned gorgeous she took his breath … what was left of it.
"I love you, you son of a bitch."
He chuckled, wincing slightly as he slipped out of her and realized they'd made quite a mess. "I love you, too." Ever aware that there was nothing between him and ruination except a door, he wondered worriedly how long they'd been in there. Nevertheless, he couldn't hustle her out without dispensing some reassurances.
"When I don't call, I'm only protecting you. You've got to believe that, Yasmine. I'm constantly surrounded by people. I can barely take a leak without somebody following me into the john. I'm working day and night when I'm here. And it's even tougher to see you in New Orleans."
She cupped his face and brought his mouth up to hers for a slow, wet kiss. "I understand. Truly I do. It's just that I've been so lonesome for you. Can we spend the night together tonight?"
He was torn by indecision. It might be wise to indulge her. On the other hand, the risks of getting caught in Washington were tremendous. "I really can't. I'm scheduled on a five o'clock plane this afternoon. There's a fund-raising function tonight in New Orleans that I can't miss."
"What flight are you taking? I'll go, too. We can meet tonight after your function."
Damn! The situation was getting treacherous. "I can't, Yasmine. It takes days to set up our meetings. You know that." She looked angry and crestfallen and suspicious. Quickly he drew her against him and kissed her again. "Jesus, I wish we could. Later in the week, I'll come to New York. Give me a few days to make the arrangements."
"Promise?"
"Promise."
She pulled her dress back into place and replaced the scarf on her shoulder. Alister's shirt was hopelessly wrinkled; he hoped it wouldn't be noticeable beneath his suit jacket. His lap was uncomfortably sticky, too, but there was no help for that.
Yasmine withdrew a check from her handbag and placed it on his desk. "I hope this contribution doesn't get me into trouble."
"Trouble?" He was readjusting his necktie.
"Hmm. One's come back to haunt me. Remember my telling you that I sent an offering to Jackson Wilde under my real name?"
"Yeah? So? You said you thought it might be worth a try to bribe him."
"Well, it wasn't. I lost a thousand dollars I couldn't afford to lose. My follow-up letter was returned with a handwritten message: 'Nice try.' I never knew if Wilde himself or one of his flunkies wrote it, but apparently he wasn't into taking bribes."
"Either that, or you didn't offer enough."
"Right. Anyway, Assistant D.A. Cassidy found out about it. He called me in New York. I admitted that I had halfheartedly tried to bribe Wilde so he'd leave Claire and me alone. He asked to see the letter, which I'd thrown away the minute I read it.
"That's only half of it. Unknown to me, Claire had also sent Wilde money. She chewed my ass for not telling her about my offering. I turned it around and reminded her that she hadn't told me about hers, either. We had a quite a row over it."
"What's the big deal?"
"The big deal is that Cassidy isn't buying our explanations and is reading more into it."
"According to the newspapers, he's trying to scrape up a case out of nothing. Don't worry about it."
"I'm not. It'll blow over." She gave him a sidelong look and winked. "Besides, I had a damn good alibi the night the preacher was killed, remember?"
"Right. You were in New York."
"No, I was sixty-nining with you." Laughing, she opened his lap drawer and dropped her panties inside. "A little something to remember me by, Congressman."
"I don't need anything to remember you by." He wasn't a politician for nothing. He knew when to stoke and just how much. Feigning urgency, he pulled her against him. They embraced and kissed once more. He tried to hide the impatience behind his kiss and ignore the desperation behind hers.
At last she was prepared to go. Then, with her hand on the doorknob, she turned back. "Alister, if I ever found out you were lying to me, I'd be pissed."
"Lying?" He took her hand and rubbed it against his fly. In a low voice he said, "There are some things a man can't lie about."
For once she didn't welcome the chance to fondle him. When he let go of her hand, she let it fall listlessly to her side. "I just thought you ought to be forewarned, sugar," she said. "I don't get mad. I get even."
Her throaty contralto had an undertone that bothered him. Before opening the door, he assumed another hearty smile for the sake of his secretary. He and Yasmine shook hands. He thanked her profusely for her financial support, even though she didn't even reside in his state. She left, flanked by two bulging body builders stuffed like sausages into cheap black suits.
"Well, I'm flabbergasted," Ms. Baines gushed, laying a hand against her bony chest. "Can you believe that?"
"No, I can't."
"And she's so nice. You'd expect somebody famous like her to be conceited, but she's like normal folks."
"Hmm. Well, back to work, Ms. Baines. Please hold all calls unless you hear from Mrs. Petrie."
"Oh, she called while you were with Yasmine."
Panic and nausea seized him. "I'll call her back right now."
"That won't be necessary. She only called to confirm the time of your flight. She said she'd be at the airport to pick you up."
"Oh, fine." He turned toward his private office, but came back around as though it were an afterthought. "Did you mention that Yasmine had come to see me?"
"No, I didn't."
"I'll tell her tonight. I've heard Belle talk about this model. She's always saying she wishes she were that thin." Chuckling, he tugged on his earlobe in a way he knew looked boyish and endearing. "Women always want to be as skinny as models. Can't for the life of me understand why. It's so unattractive. Oh, by the way, she left a check for five hundred dollars. Every penny counts, of course, but it's hardly worth making a big deal over. Probably just a publicity stunt."
He went in and closed his door, hoping that he'd left Ms. Baines with the proper impression—that he'd dismissed Yasmine's visit and campaign contribution as nothing but an isolated gesture from a quirky celebrity.
Behind his desk once again, he opened his lap drawer and took out the panties, crushing the lace in his fist. This thing had gone too far. At some point, it had gotten way out of hand. He didn't need this shit on top of all his other pressures. It was a problem that had to be dealt with soon. But how?
Yasmine had already caused him more trouble than all his other mistresses put together. Until now, this extramarital affair had been worth the additional trouble. Although her veiled threats didn't really frighten him, who could predict what a volatile woman like her might do? He had to take her warnings with some degree of seriousness.
If she wanted to, she could make his life hell. She had the media contacts and the high public profile to wreak havoc on his chances for reelection. She could destroy his family. Dammit, he liked things the way they were and he wanted them to stay that way.
"Hell," he muttered, plowing his fingers through his hair. This time, he didn't see a way out.
The only solution was to call quits to the affair. He'd be sacrificing some quality *, but the flip side to that coin was that he'd be sacrificing his lifestyle and career if he was caught. As he stashed Yasmine's underwear in his suit coat pocket for later disposal, he resolved that at his earliest opportunity he'd tell her their affair was over.
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