High Stakes (13 page)

“This year? How long have you been offering the class?”

Rachel shrugged. “A while.”

Sitting back, he sipped the very smooth liquor, enjoying its tart taste. He took his time, trying to assemble all the pieces of the puzzle that were Rachel Scott. The result was turning out to be multidimensional and…appealing.

At his silence, embarrassment tinged her cheeks, making them even pinker. “It’s not a big deal. Only a few hours one morning.”

“Sounds like it’s a big deal for those eight little girls.”

“I guess.”

He leaned forward. “My ma and Pa drilled into us that it’s important to help others less fortunate than we are. Hogan and I work to supply food baskets during the holidays and I’ve been a Big Brother. Aidan’s one, too. Liam and his wife Kitty did all sorts of things. And Pat spends a lot of time at his kids’ school, volunteering, and is part of a committee for the St. Patrick’s Day Parade.”

“A family of do-gooders.”

“Yeah.” He grinned. “It feels right, doesn’t it?”

She nodded. He noted the line of fatigue around her mouth. And those lovely shoulders were slumping.

“You’ve had quite a night.” He set his drink on the table and stood. “I’ll head out and let you get some sleep. For what it’s worth, I admire you.”

“For the studio?”

“Yeah, and, I don’t know, enduring your parents’ condescension. You deserve better than that.”

She swallowed hard but didn’t say anything.

She followed him to the door. When he opened it, he turned to face her. Her eyes were glittering despite the exhaustion in them. Her lips trembled a bit when he tipped her chin up. He wanted to kiss her in the worst way, drag her to him and drown himself in the feel and scent of her.

But he didn’t. Instead, he was going to do something equally unwise. “I told you my parents separated when I was little, but what I didn’t reveal is that the experience changed my whole life. I still dream about the day Pa left. And because of that, I’ve been overly protective of my family. I don’t know”—he raised his eyes to the ceiling—”like nobody will do it if I don’t. I try to cover it with bravado and arrogance, but down deep, I’m a wimp about them. Pat’s the same way, but he expresses it differently.”

She gave him a look so full of feeling it almost destroyed his control not to reach for her.

Almost. He gave her a quick peck on the cheek, turned and walked out.

Leaving her tonight wasn’t the hardest thing he’d ever had to do, but it ranked up there.

Pat rolled over in the big sleigh bed, drew his wife to him and settled back with her onto the pillows. The air was cool, so he pulled up the sheet and blanket.

“Wow!” she whispered, laying her head on his bare chest.

He chuckled. “Not bad for forty-seven.”

“Not bad at all.” She giggled like a schoolgirl. “We still got it, Patrick O’Neil.”

He kissed the top of her head. “That we do.” And thank God for that. These days, they needed the closeness sex had always brought, though they were in one of their mellow periods. “And God bless our educational system.” Sinead was at college and Sean and Kathleen had been picked up by the school bus.

“And nannies.” The woman who watched Isabella, their youngest, had taken her to a play date. “Coffee?”

“Hmm. Love some.”

Stacking the pillows behind him, Pat sat up and watched Brie slide out of bed. She was tall and slender, though her body bore some of the signs of childbearing—a bit of a rounded tummy and fuller breasts. Which he liked. It made her look earthy. Throwing on a robe, she headed out of their bedroom.

He liked their room, too. Their sanctuary. Although they’d had some bad fights in here, they’d had a hell of a lot more fun, like the lovemaking this morning, which had left him limp and satisfied. When they got back together after a separation nearly two years ago, they’d redecorated. Now skylights let in the morning sun, which bounced off the light oak dressers. Plush quilts in browns and tans covered a monster of a bed. Brie had finished the room with some light peach accents. He’d gotten a fifty-inch TV set.

He grabbed for its remote. Pat liked to watch the news before he went to work. With his sister as acting First Lady, he spent a lot of time checking up on her and her husband.

CNN came on-screen. “In global news, another story on Bridgegate.”

Hell, how stupid could a governor be? Pat was sick of all the slurs and accusations spouted by pundits or other politicians, so he changed channels. He watched a sports recap on ESPN, and swore at the Knicks losing another game last night.

He switched again—hell, he was a man and channel surfing was in his genes. This time, a morning news anchor on NSMBC was beginning coverage for the hour. “Last night, Acting President Clayton Wainwright attended a gala at the Kennedy Center to help raise funds for at-risk teens.”

Brie caught the lead when she returned with their coffee, handed him his and slid back in bed next to him. “Bailey’s influence.”

“Yeah, she keeps them hoppin’ in D.C.” He smiled. He was proud of his little sister and what she’d accomplished.

“Wow, look at that dress.” Bailey wore a blue, shiny thing that fit her…tight.

“Clay must’ve drooled all night. That man’s got it bad.”

Now Bailey and Clay danced, while the voice-over recounted their “fairy-tale marriage.” Pat knew there was no such thing.

“And in other gala news, NSMBC’s own Rachel Scott attended a fundraiser sponsored by her renowned parents for the Children’s Hospital. Marian Scott is the lead scientist, who’s done miraculous genome research.”

Pat’s blood pressure sped up as shots of Scott in silver and jewels came on—her in a reception line, talking with a senator. Then…

A little gasp next to him. “Pat, is that Dylan?”

He squinted. “What? Where?”

“The camera panned the crowd, and I think I saw Dylan.”

“He wouldn’t.”

“You said he was spending the week with Rachel.”

“But…” Goddamn it, there he was, sitting at a table with Scott. They were deep in discussion and neither was smiling. “How the hell could he do this? Be photographed with her like that? No telling what the media’ll make of it.”

“I doubt he even saw the cameraman.”

Scowling, Pat took a gulp of the coffee. “He should’ve known better.”

Picking up the remote, Brie switched off the TV.

“What’d you do that for?”

Setting aside her coffee, she crooked her arm, slid down and put her cheek on her hand. “I want to talk to you about Dylan.”

He didn’t like the sound of that. But Brie had her own mind, and when she wanted to discuss something, she always got her way. “What about him?”

“Honey, he’s just trying to make things right.”

God, this whole situation bothered him. “He can’t make anything right with her.”

“Sophie and C.J. said they didn’t mind.”

Pat sat up straighter. “You talked to them about this?”

“We had lunch yesterday. We’re family and have a lot in common. Hell, we like getting together. Since they were Rachel’s two last victims, I think their opinions should count most.”

Again, he leaned back and stared up through the skylights. “I guess. It just goes against my grain.”

“You do hold grudges.”

Now he stiffened. “What does that mean?”

“You know what it means. We’ve had problems because you cling to the past.”

Silence seemed best right now, because if he said what he was feeling, they’d fight big-time.

“Pat, you can’t keep trying to run your family’s lives.”

“Or yours.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“No, but you were thinkin’ it.”

A heavy sigh. “Don’t ruin the morning, Patrick.”

“I’m not. You brought up my
grudges
. Which I’m over.”

“You still haven’t forgiven my parents for supporting me when I didn’t want to get married right away.”

“That’s not
my
grudge, darlin’. It’s theirs. Against me for knocking you up.”

“All that happened almost twenty years ago. And they’ve forgotten about it. Look how much they love Sinead. They’d never want for him not to have been born.”

“No, they just wish he had another father.”

“Stop, Pat. Please.” She’d gentled her tone as if she was calming a skittish horse. Her tone irked him.

“I don’t want to talk about this anymore.”

“Of course not.” She threw back the covers and stood again. “Why…
why
do we have to keep rehashing the past?”

“You brought up grudges.”

She shook her head, sending her blunt-cut bob around her chin. “I can’t win with you. When I try to be honest, you shut me down.”

She started toward the bathroom. “I’m going to work.”

Shit. Shit. Shit. Bolting off the bed, Pat caught her before she reached the door. Grasping her arm gently, he turned her around and pressed her up against the wood. “I’m sorry,
a ghra
. I’ve been tryin’ to be better.”

Her pretty green eyes closed briefly. “I know. But sometimes it’s like walking through minefields with you. I try to help with your feelings about what Dylan’s doing, and old stuff crops up.”

“I gotta do better, I know. With you and with my family.”

“We could go back to marriage counseling.”

He met his forehead with hers. “I hated that.”

“I know you did.” She cupped her hand behind his neck, nuzzling in. “But it helped.”

“Give me another chance. We been doin’ good for a while.”

She sighed. “All right.”

Because he knew he disappointed her, he reached for the sash on her robe, untied it and eased the rest from her shoulders.

“What are you doing?”

“I want you again. Now. Here against the wall.”

Her eyes flamed, not with anger. “Against the wall, huh?”

“Yep, wrap those beautiful arms and legs around me and love me again.”

“Always, Patrick. And forever.”

Who would have thought it?
The notion hit Bailey whenever she walked into the impressive Oval Office with its heavy dark wood furniture, comfortable couches and a view of the Capitol out the windows. A middle-class girl turned city social worker welcome here in the room where world-altering decisions were made. The notion made her smile.

Her husband sat behind the president’s desk, his chair at an angle, so she could see only his profile. “Yes, Senator. I know. Yes, but President Langley—” A long pause. “I understand. All right, I’ll see you then.”

Swiveling around, he hung up and swore. Then he glanced over at her. And his demeanor changed completely. A huge smile claimed his chiseled features—all for her. He could still make her heart swell with that look. “Well, hello, love. What brings you into this neck of the woods?”

“I had to meet with Michelle’s press secretary to see what First Lady duties I have to take over this week.”

“Your favorite thing,” he said knowingly.

“It’s okay. I like Lucy. She’s trying to make this transition as easy as possible on all of us.”

“I like her, too.”

Bailey moved closer, circled the desk and plunked herself down in his lap.

“Such breach of decorum, Ms. O’Neil.”

Looping her arms around his neck, she gave him a huge smack on the lips. “Which you love, Mr. Wainwright.”

“Hmm. Give me another.”

Before she could, the door burst open and in walked Thorn, aka Jack Thornton, Clay’s chief of staff. His face colored when he saw the two of them. “Oh, I’ll, um, just….”

“Come on in, Thorn.” Bailey slid off Clay’s lap and he swatted her ass behind the desk, which covered his action. “I’m not staying. I just wanted to see my husband for a few minutes.”

“I’m sorry, Ms. O’Neil, but something important needs to be addressed…” he glanced at his watch. “Now.”

Her pulse sped up.

“Is it serious?” Clay wanted to know.

“You have to go to Russia for the Trade Summit.”

His brow furrowed, Clay tensed. “I thought we agreed I didn’t have to.”

“The Russian president announced this morning he’d only attend if the United States is represented.”

Giving Bailey a doleful look, Clay shook his head. “I’m sorry, Bay.” To Thorn, he added, “Bailey’s fortieth birthday is in two days.”

“Damn.”

“I understand.” But she felt bad. “And Thorn, if you don’t start calling me Bailey, I’m gonna slap you upside the head.”

He chuckled.

Clay said, “I have an idea. Why don’t you go home for the days I’ll be gone?”

“There’s a lot to do for Michelle, Clay.”

“Anything that can’t be put off for a while?”

Bailey mentally reviewed her meeting with Lucy. “Well, there
is
a fundraiser in New York for Mayor Jacobs that Lucy wishes you’d attend. I can go in your place and then get to spend time with my family.” She gave him a half smile. “It’s the consolation prize, but if I can’t have you here on my big day, at least I can celebrate with the boys.”

“Be good, Bailey Ann.”

“With my brothers? Hardly. But I think I
will
go.”

“You have to leave tonight, Clay,” Thorne interrupted.

“Then get out of here while I kiss my almost over-the-hill wife good-bye.”

Thorne exited and Clay pulled Bailey back into his lap. “I am sorry, love.”

“I know. Now, kiss me properly so you can go make nice with the rest of the rulers of the universe.”

“How’s it going, Dyl?” Sophie asked the question from behind the bar at the pub. God, she looked good—happy, healthy, satisfied. He’d seen her car in the driveway this morning, so a roll in the hay with his brother must have put the joy on her face. Now her hair hung in a messy braid down her back, and her eyes were alight with good cheer.

“Hanging in there.”

“Listen, about this stuff with Rachel Scott.”

He stiffened. He adored Sophie and hoped she wouldn’t give him a hard time.

“I wish you would make peace with her.” Frown lines marred her brow. “I hate all the tension. I want everybody to be as happy as me.”

“I know. I’m trying.”

He wondered briefly about happiness. Would he ever feel like Sophie? A quick flash of Rachel, looking up at him in the doorway two days ago when he confessed the truth about his family made his heartbeat quicken. He’d seen her twice, for another static story and another about the now-infamous governor. But he’d left her as soon as the work was done so he didn’t get caught in her web again. He’d made a promise, after all, to stay distanced.