Chapter 6

 

A dark-eyed, balding man with an affable smile and an intense manner swooped down on them the minute they entered the Peacock Court of the Mark Hopkins hotel. Or swooped down on Matt, rather. He didn't appear to notice Susannah at all.

"Where in hell have you been?" he said to Matt. "You're about to give me a heart attack. Councilman Leeland was asking about you a few minutes ago. And Mr. Hoi Lung Kwong wants to discuss your opinions on the recent court rulings regarding illegal immigration from China. Hell of a thing," he grumbled, "when the man of the hour is late."

"Susannah, this extremely rude man is Harry Gasparini, my campaign manager," Matt said calmly, unperturbed by the older man's air of impending doom. "Harry, this is Susannah Bennington. My date. And we are not late." He glanced pointedly at his watch. "It's barely seven-thirty."

"Your date?" Harry's expression grew even more disapproving as he turned to stare at Susannah.

She smiled sweetly, showing lots of perfect white teeth.

"Bennington? Of Bennington Plastics?"

"My father is Roger Bennington, yes," she admitted.

"Then your mother must be Audrey Stanhope Bennington Harper?"

"Yes," Susannah said, surprised he'd made the connection that quickly. Not many people did.

Harry shook his head. "Never would have guessed it," he said, looking her up and down. His expression was not admiring.

"Thank you," Susannah said with another sugary-sweet smile. Her sarcasm was wasted. Harry had already turned his attention back to Matt.

"Come on over and say hello to the councilman," he said. "He's got some people he wants you to meet."

"Go on," Susannah said, clearly reading Matt's reluctance to leave her on her own in a room full of strangers. "I'll get myself a glass of champagne—" she summoned a passing waiter with the lift of an eyebrow "—and mingle. Maybe I'll run into your mother or Mr. Elliott."

"Wouldn't you like to meet the councilman?"

"I've met him," she said, lifting a glass of champagne off the waiter's tray. "We had a slight disagreement a few years back." She'd been part of a committee that had lobbied the councilman's office in support of a bill for increased funding for battered women's shelters and police-sensitivity training in handling domestic-violence cases. The bill had been defeated, with Councilman Leeland heading up the opposition. She took a sip of her champagne. "You go do your political duty," she said to Matt. "I'll meet up with you when it's time for dinner."

Susannah wandered around the edges of the crowd for the next half hour or so, deliberately keeping to the fringes of the groups that formed and reformed, listening in as people discussed politics, social change, the latest tabloid headlines, restaurants, movies, gay rights, their friends' affairs and what should be done about San Francisco's growing homeless problem.

"I think they should make those wretched people stay out of Union Square," said a voice Susannah recognized as Barbara Filbert's. "It's bad for the tourist trade. And it makes shopping so unpleasant."

Stupid cow, Susannah thought, edging away from that particular group before Mrs. Filbert noticed her.

"Did you see that latest Tom Cruise movie? I read he and his wife are going to—"

"He pleaded nolo contendere. I heard the judge threw the book at him anyway, though, so..."

"It's ridiculous to think that everyone can be covered by the same health plan. What about..."

"I heard that she caught him in the act. In flagrante delicto," the speaker said with relish. "Wouldn't you just love to have been a fly on the wall?"

"Some of those gay activists are going too far. Imagine, them wanting to marry each other!"

"God, isn't Matthew Ryan just the hunkiest thing you ever saw?" one young female politico said to another. "He makes you think about straying from the straight and narrow just so you could have him as a lawyer."

Susannah edged a little closer to listen to the conversation.

"He's a prosecuting attorney," her friend said. "He goes after criminals. He doesn't defend them."

"Well, he can come after me, anytime."

Me, too, Susannah thought. Anytime at all.

"My goodness. Susannah," said an all-too-familiar voice from behind her, "is that you?"

She turned around. "Hello, Mother." She leaned in for the obligatory kiss on the cheek. "How are you?"

"I'm fine." Which you'd know if you came to visit more often.

The words weren't spoken but Susannah heard them. "You look more than fine," she said, meaning it sincerely. Her mother was a beautiful woman. "I like what you've done with your hair. It's very attractive."

Audrey lifted a hand to smooth the coiffure that hadn't changed since Susannah was a child. "I had my hairdresser add a little drabber to the color this time. It was getting too brassy." She reached out and touched Susannah's springing corkscrew curls, trying to brush them back from her face. "You might want to try it on your hair next time you go in."

"I don't use anything on my hair but shampoo and conditioner, Mother," Susannah said dryly. Audrey was always trying to get her to use something to tone down her color. "You know that."

"Well..." Audrey looked her over consideringly. "Perhaps if you didn't insist on wearing such unsuitable colors your hair might not be so noticeable. There's a reason redheads shouldn't wear pink, you know."

"How's Brian?" Susannah asked. Brian was Audrey's husband. "Is he here tonight?"

"Oh, he's around here somewhere." She waved her hand languidly. "Talking business, as usual. He loves this sort of function." She gave her daughter a searching look. "I wouldn't have thought it would be your type of affair, though."

"No, it isn't," Susannah agreed. "I came with a friend."

"Oh?" Audrey gave her daughter an arch, inquiring look. "Anyone I know?"

Meaning, Susannah thought, anyone worth knowing? "No, I don't think you know him, Mother. Although I'm sure you've heard of his family. He's—"

She felt a hand at her back, on the bare skin just above the waistline of her dress. She started slightly but she didn't pull away. She knew exactly who it was. "They're going to start serving dinner in just few minutes, Susannah," Matt said into her ear. "We should find our table."

Susannah didn't know whether to be grateful he'd rescued her or appalled that her mother now knew who her friend was. Audrey would consider Matthew Ryan a bigger, better catch than that guy from three years ago—not that Susannah could blame her exactly. He was a better catch. But she wasn't trying to catch him.

"Aren't you going to introduce us, Susannah?"

"Yes, of course. Mother, this is Matthew Ryan. Matt, my mother, Audrey Stanhope Bennington Harper." Unlike most women who'd been divorced and remarried, Audrey had continued to use her first husband's name along with that of her new husband. She said it was because she wanted the connection with her daughter. Susannah thought it was because she didn't want anyone to forget her connection with Bennington Plastics.

"Mrs. Harper," Matt said politely. "It's a pleasure. I hope we get a chance to talk more after dinner. Susannah?" he said, indicating the direction she was to take with the hand on her back. "We're up near the podium."

"Of course." She hesitated long enough to lean forward and gave her mother another kiss on the cheek. "I'll see you later, Mother."

"Now I know who you were trying to imitate the other night," Matt whispered from behind her.

She glanced back over her shoulder at him. "Imitate?"

"The prim little black dress. The bun. You were playing dress-up with your mommy's clothes."

She stopped between the tables to turn around and confront him more directly. "Dress-up?" she said indignantly. "I'll have you know I dressed that way to put your mother at ease. It's my Nob Hill, society-matron disguise."

"Dress-up," Matt said. "But we can argue about it later." He put his hands on her shoulders and turned her around, then kept them there, steering her through the close-packed tables to the one nearest the podium.

"My, don't you look lovely, Susannah," Millicent Ryan said by way of greeting. "That's a stunning dress." She gazed up at her son. "Don't you think she looks stunning, Matthew?"

Matt surreptitiously ran a finger down Susannah's spine as he seated her. "Stunning," he said to his mother as he slipped into the seat between the two women.

Susannah pointedly ignored him, looking instead across both him and Millicent to the man sitting on the older woman's other side. "Mr. Elliott," she said warmly. "I'm glad you could make it."

"Do you two know each other?" Millicent asked.

"I meet this lovely young lady not long after I moved here from Iowa," Carlisle Elliott said with a twinkling smile.

Matt thought he looked a bit like Cesar Romero, as Susannah had said, only Anglo and not so tall. His hair was thick and almost pure white. His skin was weathered and deeply tanned. His tuxedo looked custom-made and his brightly patterned bow tie and cummerbund were of designer quality. Matt decided to run a background check on him the first thing in the morning.

"Susannah's been helping me get acquainted with my new city. Introducing me to people," Mr. Elliott said. "And I keep telling her to call me Carly."

"Carly," Susannah repeated obediently. "I take it you've already met Mrs. Ryan?"

"Oh, my, yes," said Millicent. "We've been sitting here having the nicest chat. Carly used to own a nursery in Iowa," she said to her son, "and you'll never guess what his specialty was. Roses!" she said, not waiting for him to guess. "Can you believe that?"

"Sounds like you two have a lot in common," Matt said. He reached around behind his mother and offered his hand to the older man. "I'm Matt Ryan, by the way. Millicent's son."

"Carlisle Elliott."

* * *

The talk at the table became general after that. There were eight other people seated with them, mostly the captains of industry and political bigwigs Susannah had once accused Matt of knowing. One of them was Councilman Leeland. He looked at Susannah searchingly once or twice but never seemed able to place her. Fortunately, he was seated far enough away that conversation between them was impractical. The hotel kitchen proved more than equal to its reputation for fine French food, making for a superb meal. And then, finally, the dishes were cleared away and the real purpose of the evening was at hand.

Councilman Leeland spoke first, thanking everyone for coming and contributing so generously to the campaign coffers. He craftily pontificated on his own career and achievements first. He praised Matt's father next, extolling his record and his rulings, his political savvy and know-how, his ability to get out there and get out the vote.

Then, finally, he got to the reason they were all there.

He started with Matt's outstanding scholastic record, his beginnings with the DA.'s office, his rapid rise and many successes, his most recent convictions. He touched on his fine legal mind, his spotless integrity, his dedication, his ferocity and tenacity when it came to prosecuting society's worst criminals, comparing it favorably with that of his father, who'd been known as a stern but fair judge.

Susannah sat next to Matt, listening to the accolades being heaped upon him, and wondered if the man Councilman Leeland was praising, this ruthless crusader for truth and justice, this dedicated public servant he spoke of could possibly be the man who sat beside her, playing with her fingers under the table.

Oh, she had no doubt he could be ruthless. He'd have to be to have attained the position he held. She knew he could be judgmental, skeptical and suspicious because she'd seen it in his reaction to Judy's past. But she also knew he was capable of compassion and tenderness because she'd seen that, too, in the way he'd dealt with Heather. And with her.

She wondered if any of the political pundits and society bigwigs saw him as she did. Did they see his compassion? His humor? His sexiness. His simple humanness? Or did they even consider those things important in the political scheme of things?

Her musings were interrupted when Councilman Leeland introduced the man of the hour, bringing him to the podium on a rousing swell of applause. Matt squeezed her hand under the table and rose to his feet, striding toward his destiny with firm, unhurried steps.

His speech was short and to the point. If elected, he promised to do his best to justify their faith in him and to execute his judicial responsibilities with as much fairness and impartiality as humanly possible. And then he thanked them all for their support and quit the podium.

The audience was a little stunned at the brevity of his speech but none could doubt its sincerity. And, as an added bonus, they all got to go home a little earlier.

It took another forty-five minutes for the crowd to disperse and the room to empty. Everyone wanted to come up and exchange a word or two with the candidate, some to express their support and their hopes for his success, some to lobby for future goodwill. Matt was unfailingly polite and gracious to everyone, but Susannah could sense his eagerness to be gone.

She wondered if it was simply too many hours in a crowded room that made him feel so restless, or whether it was something more serious and long-lasting. She wondered whether he was feeling the weight of everyone's expectations, perhaps, or the burden of his father's legacy bearing down on him? Despite what he said, she still wasn't entirely convinced Matt wanted to be a judge.

He nudged her lightly with his elbow, jogging her out of her abstraction. "Ready to go?"

Susannah looked around the room. It was empty except for the two of them and half a dozen hotel staffers busily dismantling tables and stacking chairs. "Where's your mother?"

Matt gave her a crooked grin. "It looks like your matchmaking was a success this time. She accepted Elliott's offer to see her home."

Susannah grinned back. "See what a little one-on-one can accomplish?"

He held out his hand. "Let's go get your cape," he said, thinking about a little one-on-one he was going to pursue as soon as he got her back to his apartment.

* * *

There was no attendant in the coatroom, an unusual occurrence at the Mark Hopkins. They waited for a moment or two, in case the attendant came back from wherever he had gone.

"Keep a lookout," Matt said playfully. "I'm going in."

Susannah waited for a few seconds, then a few seconds more, wondering what was taking him so long. How difficult could it be to find a velvet cape? Especially when the coatroom had to be very nearly empty. She leaned over the counter, trying to see. "Matt? Can't you find it?"

"What color is it?"

"Dark wine-red."

There was a second or two of silence.

"I can't find it," he said. "You'd better come and look."

Susannah sighed with amused exasperation. Men! They all had some sort of hereditary, gender-specific blindness when it came to things that were right in front of them. She saw the cape as soon as she entered the coatroom. "For goodness' sake, it's right—"

Her words were abruptly cut off as Matt yanked her into his arms and pressed his mouth to hers. Susannah forgot all about her cape. She wrapped her arms around him and kissed him back, just as fiercely as he was kissing her.

"God, I've been wanting to do that all night long," Matt breathed when he finally raised his head. "I couldn't wait another minute to taste you. Not another second."

"Kiss me again," Susannah demanded fiercely. She threaded her hands through his hair and pulled his head down to hers.

Matt kissed her again. And then again. And again. He ran his hands over the bodice of her dress, lightly, aware of its delicacy, but fervently, too, looking for a way under the heavily beaded chiffon. He settled, finally, for easing one of the fragile beaded straps down to her biceps, nudging it gently until, finally, he could ease his hand up under her arm and slide it inside the bodice of her dress.

She wasn't wearing a bra. He didn't know why he would have thought she was, given the construction of the dress, but it hadn't even occurred to him that she might be bare under all that beading. He was glad he hadn't thought of it. He'd have gone stark, raving crazy during dinner if he'd thought of it. He wouldn't have been able to stand up and give his speech if he'd thought of it. He brushed his thumb over the underside of her breast, his fingers caressing the full upper curves. Her swollen nipple rested in the notch between his thumb and index finger. He squeezed gently.

Susannah moaned and pressed herself into his hand. He was driving her crazy. The ravenous demand of his mouth, hungry and hard, contrasted so deliciously with the delicate touch of his hand on her flesh. Passion and tenderness. Savagery and subtlety. The combination was more erotic than anything she'd ever experienced before.

She shifted her hold on him, running one hand down his side, slipping it between them to caress his penis. He was rock-hard and ready under her hand. She moaned again and squeezed him.

He responded by groaning like a man mortally wounded and backed her up against the wall between the coats. His hand left her breast, eased out from under her bodice and headed downward, gathering up the diaphanous layers of her skirt so he could reach what lay beneath. His questing fingers brushed over a lacy stocking top, and then he hesitated, shocked and delighted to discover the smooth bare skin of her thigh. He groaned again.

"Let's get a room," he whispered against her mouth. His voice was raspy with need and sexual desire.

"Yes," Susannah whispered, her voice as raspy as his.

"It'll take too long to get back to my place. And I can't wait." He kissed her again—deeply, erotically—and brushed his fingertips against the silk that guarded her most feminine secrets. "I don't want to wait."

Susannah's whole body tensed at the delicate, butterfly caress. "Yes," she said again. "I can't wait, either. I don't want to wait. I—"

"He's a little resistant to a heavy campaign schedule but I can wo—Jesus H. Christ!" Harry Gasparini's curse bounced off the walls of the coatroom like a Ping-Pong ball gone wild, ricocheting around the two people locked in a torrid embrace. "What the hell's going on in here?" he demanded.

It was a purely rhetorical question. Any damn fool could see what was going on.

Susannah closed her eyes and hid her face in Matt's shoulder. Matt tensed and turned his body to better shield her from sight. "Give us a minute, please, Harry," he said quietly.

But Harry wasn't about to be so easily dismissed. "You just about gave me a goddamned heart attack," he complained. "What the hell were you think—"

"Now, Harry," Matt said in a voice that brooked no argument. He waited until he heard the muffled sound of retreating footsteps, then eased his fierce hold on the woman in his arms.

Susannah looked up at him. "He wasn't alone," she said.

He raised an eyebrow.

"Councilman Leeland."

"Ah, well," he said, reaching to lift her beaded strap back into place on her shoulder. "It could be worse."

She eyed him skeptically.

"It could have been my mother. Or yours. Or—" he smiled wickedly "—Barbara Filbert."

"That isn't funny," Susannah said. But she giggled. "Oh, God, don't get me started. This isn't anything to laugh about."

Matt shook his head. "The only possible response to a situation like this is laughter."

"But your career. Your campaign. The newspapers will have a field day with this."

"With what?" he asked reasonably. "I'm not married. You're not married. They didn't catch me in here with a guy. Or by myself." He smiled teasingly and Susannah couldn't help but smile in return. "So what can they say? Candidate Matthew Ryan was caught in a passionate clinch with a gorgeous woman? They might question my judgment as regards to time and place. If they knew about it." He shrugged. "Which they won't because Harry certainly isn't going to tell anyone. Nor will Leeland. It'd be counterproductive to the campaign."

"You find your coats yet?" Harry called loudly, more loudly than he needed to.

"The attendant must be back," Matt said. "I found it," he hollered back, grabbing Susannah's cape off the hanger just as the attendant entered the coatroom.

"I'm sorry I wasn't here, Mr. Ryan," he apologized. "I didn't think I'd be gone that long. I hope you weren't too inconvenienced."

"Not at all," Matt assured him as he settled the cape around Susannah's shoulders. He pulled it close around her, smiling into her eyes as he freed her hair and then tied the velvet cords under her chin. "No inconvenience at all."

He reached into his pants pocket as they left the coatroom, extracting the folded bills he'd put there earlier, and casually dropped Heather's fifteen dollars into the tip basket as he passed it. Those few moments of heated intimacy in the coatroom would have been a bargain at twice the price.

* * *

Matt fastened his seat belt and reached for the ignition key. "Come home and spend the night with me?" he said, glancing over at his passenger.

"I shouldn't."

"Probably not."

"You know that old saying about politics making strange bedfellows?" she asked him. "That's us. We're crazy if we take this any further. Absolutely mad."

"Very likely."

"I'm against the death penalty."

"I figured you probably were," Matt said, understanding the seeming non sequitur perfectly. He'd publicly stated he was in favor of it for specific crimes.

"I'm a liberal Democrat," she elaborated, thinking that perhaps he hadn't quite understood.

"And I'm a middle-of-the-road Republican. So? It could get a little loud if we decide to talk politics but it's not exactly the Capulets and Montagues."

"I'm for stringent gun-control laws."

"Within reason," he agreed.

"I believe there's no such thing as a bad boy. Or girl."

"A little naive, but praiseworthy."

"I think there should be term limits for most elected offices so men like Councilman Leeland can't obstruct progress for years and years."

"I can understand that." He waited for a beat. "Anything else?"

"I think gays and lesbians should have equal rights under the law. And women have the right to choose. I think the term family values should apply to all families, not just the traditional mommy-daddy-and-two-kids kind. I don't believe in the trickle-down theory of economics. I do believe that Bush knew about Iran-Contra." She slanted a glance at him out of the corner of her eye. "I think each state should have one male and one female senator."

Matt's eyebrow rose. "Mandated by law?"

"If that's what it takes to get fair and equal representation."

Matt shook his head. "Well, I admit, I'd have to argue that last one with you, but we basically agree on the rest. Is that it?"

Susannah considered for a moment. "Yes, that's pretty much it. We don't have enough in common to start a civil conversation. And even if by some miracle, we did manage to build some kind of relationship, it wouldn't last."

"How do you figure that?"

"I wouldn't be good for your career, Matt. I don't mean because of what happened tonight. Passion like that will burn itself out, sooner or later." She waved her hand, brushing aside the objection she sensed he was about to make. "I mean in the long run. I'm not a political helpmate. I'm not docile. I'm not unassuming. I won't sit back and keep my mouth shut if some jackass says something I disagree with. Not for long, anyway. And if someone asks me for my opinion, I'll give it to him, even if it's different from yours. I'm not inconspicuous and I don't want to be. My mother tried to make me all those things when I was growing up—and you can see how well that worked."

Matt couldn't stop the grin that tugged at his lips. "Sweetheart, you couldn't be inconspicuous if you tried."

"Well, there, you see? I'm right. It would never work."

He just looked at her. "Come home and spend the night with me?"

"Yes."