Midnight (McKenna Chronicles Book 1) (9 page)

He nods just at
the moment voices enter the room. I slip off his jacket, handing it to him. Our
fingers touch during the transition, and the sharp unexpected pang of lust,
desire, and whatever else the hell it is travels sharply up my arm, warming me
everywhere.

“I feel it too,”
he whispers, finding my eyes. His are confused, bewildered almost, and for a
second I understand him. I’m the unknown factor. He had his life planned out, a
very specific path laid before him and not anywhere on his road to travel did
Charlie Carter exist. Yet here I am, and his struggle is one of diversion.
Should he divert from the path he meticulously planned or digress for an
unknown draw toward a stranger, someone so unlike anyone he’s met before? I’m
not anywhere near the social category of the women within his circle, further
complicating his struggle.

“Colin, there you
are.” Raquel’s voice is smooth, high-society syrup. When I glance toward her I
notice Evan hovering at the outskirts of the room. He must have led her to
Colin. “Oh, I didn’t expect to find you with someone. Who is your little
friend?” she asks as she not-so-subtly checks me out, unable to hide the
belittling tone in her voice.

I respond before
Colin does, “No one of your concern.” I lift the corner of my mouth in a small
smile as I take in her shocked expression. Turning to Colin, I note his mouth
is lifted in a similar smirk.

“Thanks for the
history lesson.” And with that I head out the door to find Molly and her boys,
bypassing Evan without so much as a glance. He catches up to me clutching my
shoulder in the empty hallway.

“Charlie, I’m
sorry . . .”

“What is it with
everyone and their
I’m sorrys
?” I ask him, exasperated. “And exactly why
are
you
sorry? For telling Colin where I was in the first place or
taking Raquel back in to save him from me?” Evan is another thing I don’t
understand. What is his role in the play I seem to be cast in?

“I’m trying to
help him and you, Charlie. It may not seem that way, but I am. Colin’s my best
friend and I want to see him happy.”

“And I’m the key
to his happiness? Is that what you’re saying?” He doesn’t respond so I keep
going. “Listen, Evan, I don’t have casual relationships with men and I’m not
interested in starting one now. Don’t push him to me because you think it
might
be good for him; try to think about me too as you map out Colin’s path. I won’t
let him play with me. I know for certain I deserve more than that.”

Evan’s eyes widen
and without another word I slip back to the party, side-stepping Tim who’s
waiting near the entrance, hoping to get swallowed back up by the crowd to
become invisible.

FOR THE UNFORESEEABLE
future I’ll live out of a suitcase from city to city, campaigning with Colin. I
was told to pack a large trunk of personal items and a smaller bag that can
easily be taken from place to place, changing out items as needed from the larger
luggage remaining on the plane. This is a whole new world. Since my adoption at
age fourteen I have lived in two places: with my parents, and my condo, which I
bought only a couple of years ago. Astonishingly, from this moment forward, I
will stay or stopover in most of the states in the continental U.S.

First
stop: New Jersey. Colin, Evan, Ella and John arrived there this morning after a
long weekend campaigning in the Carolina’s. Colin’s private plane is en route
to pick me up in Indiana.

My
nerves are reckless on the way to the airport. I haven’t been alone with Colin
in the last week since his party; actually, I’ve barely seen him. He’s been
busy in and out of the office, leaving no time for us to talk, and maybe that’s
a good thing. We should move forward and forget the nonsense that’s happened in
the short time we’ve known each other.

Traffic
offers no opposition, and all too soon the car is routed to a lesser-used
runway where a large private jet awaits departure. Emblazoned on the side, the
words
McKenna, for the People
are prominently displayed.

After
assisting me out of the car, the driver gestures toward a steep staircase.
“I’ll ensure your luggage is stowed safely, Ms. Carter.”

He
leaves me to climb the steps to the entrance of the plane alone, pulling my
carry-on behind me. I stare in awe at the impressive jet. I’ve never dreamed of
working on a presidential campaign, let alone fly on a private plane. Grinning,
I carefully take the first step. The smile holds until I walk through the door
and I’m struck again by the grandeur of it all.

“Welcome
aboard.” It’s a deep resonating greeting from a man I assume is the pilot,
given his uniform. “Captain John Green.” His hand is warm and firm when he
shakes mine, then introduces me quickly to a very proficient flight attendant
with round, warm brown eyes and bobbed blond hair, Jane Brenner. I’m relieved
to hear the co-pilot is on board running system checks. Flying is not my thing,
and I silently acknowledge grudgingly I’ll be doing it more times than I care
to consider over the next few months.

Ms.
Brenner waves me into the luxurious, over-the-top decked-out space. My eyes
grow large as I take in the interior. At the forefront, where Ms. Brenner
stands, is a kitchen, housing state-of-the-art stainless-steel appliances,
nicer than any I have ever owned. Moving on past the kitchen there’s a long
sectional on my left, flanked by two reclining chairs. A large, flat-screen TV
hangs from the back wall of the kitchen, facing the couch. Beyond the seating arrangement
begins an area housing six large seats, four to the left facing off of each
other, and the other two on the right. Both sets of seats have a cream, marble
table between them. Just past that are two doors, one of which I assume is a
bathroom and the other that is a mystery.

Ms.
Brenner waves me into one of the plump, tan leather seats. “Is there anything I
can get for you, Ms. Carter?”

I
shake my head, as my nerves are back with a vengeance. I sit rather heavily to
look out the window, wondering how long before we’re in the air.

Apparently
not long. The roar of the jet’s engines charge, and suddenly the captain’s
voice rings out through speakers on the wall. “Please fasten your seatbelt, Ms.
Carter, I’ve received word from the tower we’re slated as the next to take off.
The weather looks clear from here to New Jersey, so I expect a smooth ride. Ms.
Brenner, prepare for takeoff.”

I
haven’t flown often, and it still frightens me. My nerves bunch in my belly and
I grip the armrest tightly, my head pushed back into the seat with eyes
squeezed shut. This is going to be an interesting few months.

~

A
loud knock on the door jolts me awake. I must have fallen asleep, for how long
I don’t know.  Blinking my eyes repeatedly, the dull browns and beige of
the hotel room come into focus. Hopping down from the large, king size bed I
pull open the door without looking to see who it is. I’m surprised it’s Evan.

“Hi,
Charlie. Good flight?” His demeanor is friendly, as always. He isn’t tense or
uncomfortable from the last conversation we had together.

“Yes,
thanks, Evan. It was very . . .” I search for the right word to describe the
luxury, “accommodating.”

He
laughs. “I’m headed to the lobby bar for a drink. Care to join me?” I hesitate
a moment, wondering if this is a good idea. I like Evan, but certainly not in
the
he’s hot and I want him
kind of way. I don’t think he’s inclined in
that direction either, especially since he told me last week he’s trying to
connect me with his best friend.

“Sure.
I’ll meet you there in a few minutes. I’d like to freshen up a bit.”

“Sounds
good, see you there.” He turns to leave as the phone in his hand rings.

Walking
back into the room I take a few minutes to brush my teeth, wash my face, neck
and arms with a hot washcloth, before turning my head upside down to vigorously
brush my hair. When I flip upright it’s full, flaming waves down my back.

Another
knock at the door halts my progress; this time it’s my luggage. I reward the
steward with a grin and a tip, thrilled to have a change of clothes. Returning
to the mirror, I rework the little make-up I had on earlier and slip into a
silk camisole, my favorite pair of slim jeans and black pumps. It’s taken years
of practice to walk safely in high heels and I’ve mastered it quite well—for
the most part anyway. My worn, slim, motorcycle-inspired black leather jacket
is the final layer. This is my favorite, most comfortable style.

It’s
not hard to find the lounge in the hotel, the entrance tucked away opposite of
the front desk. Dark contemporary wood covers the floor, reflecting delicate
light cast from small glass pendant lamps. Standing at the entrance, I pause to
let my eyes adjust to the darkened room. There aren’t many people here. A
basketball game is playing on a flat-screen TV with a man sitting on a stool
pulled to the bar top to watch it.

Further
down the long expanse of granite I find Colin, not Evan. He’s reclined against
the bar, elbow coolly carrying his weight as his long, lean legs stretch out
before him. Casually, he brings a beer to his mouth, taking a long drag from
the bottle as he stares sightless into the distance. His face is hard, deep in
concentration. Gripping his bottom lip with his fingers, he pulls at it gently,
a habit which, in the short time I’ve known him, I’ve learned to associate to a
mood when he’s contemplating a decision. I don’t move; can’t move. Just the
sight of him increases the speed of my heart. He’s absolutely gorgeous, wearing
relaxed jeans that skim over his muscled thighs, hanging low on his waist, with
a white shirt tucked in loosely, sleeves rolled up to his elbows. The two top
buttons of his shirt are open, exposing his neck and a light patch of hair
covering the top of his chest.

I’m
unsure if I should go in; maybe he doesn’t want me here. The last time we
actually spoke I asked him to stay away from me and now here I am, hoping
foolishly he wants me here.

Unbidden
he raises his head, registering surprise as our eyes meet, but he closes them
for the briefest moment and they’re clear when he looks to me again. His
expression softens, beckoning me into the room, watching me intently as I walk
slowly toward him. I blush as his gaze travels rather appreciatively over my
body and back again to connect with my eyes.

“Hi,”
I say simply in greeting, tilting my head back to look at him.

His
broad smile is my reward and my breath hitches. “Hi, yourself,” he says in
return and the now unsurprising electricity reverberates between us. I bask in
the warmth of our connection and the heat of his stare.

“Did
you have a good flight?”

“Yes.
Thank you for sending your plane. I feel spoiled.”

“You’re
welcome, Charlie. I wouldn’t have it any other way.” Colin’s response is
sincere, his voice and manners serious.

Before
I can reply Evan appears, slapping him on the back, his face mischievous.
“Ready to get started?”

Colin
nods, leaning back on his elbow again, his mood shifting a hundred degrees. His
features settle on content, an easy relaxed mood. Evan is good for him, a
balance between the stressors of his life, Colin’s naturally serious nature and
the comical relief needed to deal with it all.

Evan
orders a round of drinks and begins recapping tales from Notre Dame where he
and Colin met and became friends. Colin unwinds and joins in the storytelling.
They have a great group of college friends that still talk and get together
periodically. Before I know it, I’ve finished my third beer and without eating
since noon, I’m bolstered by the effects of the alcohol.

Without
looking away from Colin I ask his friend, “Has Colin always been so serious?”

Staring
at me as he brings his beer to his beautiful lips, right brow lifting in wait
of Evan’s answer, Colin playfully shakes his head.

“Yes
and no.” Evan studies him, as if contemplating how much to reveal. “He’s always
been serious about his education and career, but on occasion he would let loose
and have some fun.”

“Really,
Evan? You want to go there?” Colin is serious now, staring him down.

“Just
tell me one story,” I plead, laughing.

“Okay,
here’s a good one, and I’ll cut to the chase. A freshman crashes our party.
Granted we’re only sophomores, but he’s a complete ass when he’s not drunk and
an even bigger ass when he is. After he passed out we were determined to play a
prank on him. Keep in mind we were not trying to hurt or embarrass anyone.” He
holds his hands up in front of him to drive home the point.

“Got
it. No pain, no embarrassment.” I laugh. Colin is smiling now as he remembers
the story. He looks young and happy; the stress present when I first arrived has
all but disappeared.

“So
this guy is passed out on our couch. Aiden doesn’t want to take him home and he
was the dick that brought him over. Mr. Genius over here,” he nods at Colin,
and I can’t help but giggle at the two of them—they really look like college
frat boys, “decides we should duct tape the two of them together after Aiden
passes out, so he remembers to take the ass home in the morning. Charlie,” he
pauses for effect, “it was the funniest damn thing you have ever seen when the
two of them woke up in the morning, wiggling on the floor, taped together.”

I’m
laughing, not necessarily at the story, but at Colin and Evan, the mirth and
friendship between them evident. Holding a finger up so they’ll wait I lean
down to my purse to remove a small pad of paper and a pen.

“What
are you doing?” Evan asks.

“Oh,
taking notes so I can remember the details for the website. I have every
confidence America would love to know Colin’s sense of humor,” I say with the
straightest face possible. For one moment they look horrified and I can’t help
but laugh at their expressions.