More Than Rivals (15 page)

His smile grew when she sent her reply.

Do you even cook?

He tapped away at his phone.
 

No, but my favorite restaurants do.

She was quick.
 

What’s your address? I’m off at six.

When Jack answered his door on Sunday evening, he was cheery. “Good evening, Supervisor Robles. Come on in.”

Lily looked out to the sidewalk. Several people strode up and down the streets of the nice neighborhood, but none of them gave Jack and Lily any notice. She smirked at his precautionary formality. “Thank you, Senator Bengston.”

As he shut the door behind her, she quickly apologized. “I’m sorry I’m a little late and didn’t change.”

“No apologies accepted.” He smiled and helped her out of her coat. “I was also working, and besides, I like you in scrubs.”

“You don’t think I’m going to come after you with a scalpel?”

“No, I don’t think you’re the crazy type.”

“Huh. It sounds like you speak from experience.”

“I’ve dated enough women to have come across one or two who seemed like they might have those tendencies.”

“This is a good a conversation for a visit to your home. You can tell me all about the women you’ve brought over to your swinging bachelor pad.”

“Hey. I live in a lovely old home in the Marina. This isn’t a bachelor pad in a high-rise downtown.”

“It
is
a gorgeous home. You should be proud of it.”
 
Lily smiled and looked at the stark black and white cityscape photographs lining the entryway. “But whether or not it’s a bachelor pad—I’ll be the judge of that. Take me on a tour.”

“Okay. First to the kitchen, what would you like to drink? Wine, beer, water?”

“I’d love some wine.”

“Red or white?”

“Either. Whatever you have open is fine.”

“Coming right up,” he said and led her through the arched doorway toward the kitchen. He gestured as they walked inside the living area. “This is living room. It doesn’t look too bachelor-like does it?”

She glanced around the room with its black leather sofa and chairs, and her voice became apologetic. “Yeah, actually, it does.”

“How so?”

“It’s pretty Spartan, and the only things in here with any color are the books in the bookcase.” She chuckled. “Have you thought about a throw pillow or were you going for a cliché single, over thirty male look?”

“Don’t be a smartass,” he laughed and pointed a finger. “Or I won’t get you your wine.”

“I’ll keep my comments to myself,” she said, pretending to be reprimanded. “Can I have my wine now?”

“Sure. Let me show you the dining room first.”

As they walked through another archway, he watched as she began a silent appraisal of the room. Her eyes lingered on the large, rough-hewn wooden table. He knew it was a special piece of furniture. Made of old, reclaimed boards, the new stain was warm and brought out the character of the wood. She noticed the steel chairs tucked under the table and quickly looked away.
 

“You hate the chairs,” he grumbled.

“I didn’t say anything.” She shook her head.

“Do you like anything in this room?”

“I think the table is gorgeous.” She bent down to study the wood and maybe to hide a smile. “Why did you choose the chairs?”

“I don’t know. It’s kind of an industrial looking, don’t you think?”

“Ah, okay.” Nodding, she grinned as if he made perfect sense. “How about you show me the kitchen?”

When they entered the kitchen, she turned to him immediately and said, “This is my favorite room in the house. I love it.”

“Really?”

“Yes.”

“Are you just saying that because it doesn’t have any furniture?”

“Well, that probably helps my opinion.” She touched a cupboard made of cherry wood. “But it’s really nicely done.”

“Thanks, I had a designer.” He quickly added, “But I picked everything out.”

“Good work.” She smiled. “Do I get my wine now?”

“I guess so, though the tour isn’t over.”

“How big is the house?”

“Two bedrooms, and I use one for an office.” He walked over to a cabinet and took out two wine glasses. “I’ll get you a drink for the rest of the tour.”

“So you have this beautiful kitchen and you don’t cook in it?”

“The microwave.” he said, as he surveyed the bottles on his wine rack looking for the perfect red. “I guess that’s kind of sad. I really don’t use the stove at all.”

“I’ll have to cook for you,” she mumbled demurely.

“You will? That would be great. What do you cook?”

“Everything.”

“Mexican?”

“Of course. My father is an excellent cook. He taught my mother, and they both taught me.”

“Like tamales?” His face brightened as his stomach responded to the idea.

“Yes.” She laughed. “What kind?”

“Any kind. I love them. I go to the Mission whenever I can to pick some up.”

“I’ll have to save some for you next time I make them.”

“Wonderful.” As he uncorked his chosen wine, he smiled and nodded at the stove. “You could also come here and make them.”

“I don’t know… Tamales are a production, and I’d hate to get your beautiful stove dirty.”

“I’d be happy to clean it up.” Pouring her wine, he grinned, “So you’re coming over again. That’s great.”

“I don’t know yet. You still haven’t finished the tour of your place.”

“Ah, we’ll get right back at it then.”

With wine in hand, the two walked down the short hall of his house. He was always a little hesitant showing a woman his bedroom. It was latent anxiety from high school—a girl didn’t usually enter your bedroom unless the two of you were up to no good. With Lily, he thought it would be a little too forward for the tour to end with them staring at his bed.

The door to his bedroom was ajar, and he gently pushed it open. “The bedroom.”

Lily’s mouth twisted into a smile. “This I have to see,” she said and marched inside.

He laughed at how she’d perfectly handled a potentially awkward situation. “It’s not that exciting, I assure you.”

“Oh come on,” she said, taking in the photography covering the walls. “I was sort of hoping you’d feed me some line like ‘this is where the magic happens’ or ‘this is where I spend most of my time.’”

“I spend most of my time in the office.”

She waved a finger at him. “Now that could also be seen as a line—like you’re so busy you’re just a lonely guy.”

“I promise it’s not a line. It really is my favorite room in the house.” He gestured to the gray walls which were only a few shades lighter than the gray sheets and comforter. “Before we go there, what do you think of this room?”

“Very masculine.” She shrugged.
 

“The sales lady told me to get these sheets.”

“See. She picked them because of your bachelor demographic.”

He rolled his eyes. “Let’s go to the office then.”

As they left the room, he pointed to a door on the right. “Bathroom. Not exciting.”

“I need to look. I’m nosy.” She poked her head into the bathroom which had been a disaster an hour before. “Very clean and nice.” She stepped back out. “Do you not use that either?”

“Smartass. I know how to clean a bathroom.”

“This would be a departure from your demographic.”

“I can’t argue with that,” he said and pushed open the next door. “So what do you think of the office?”

He waited for her to react, just as he expected, and she did. Her mouth gaped and soon formed a smile. “It’s gorgeous.” She walked inside, her eyes in wonder at the dark bookshelves lining the walls, packed with books. A grand, old desk and its elegant chair sat off to the side, and the center of the room held a cozy sitting area. Along one wall was a fireplace, and an antique Turkish rug with an elaborate tribal pattern graced the floor. “This is amazing,” she said, turning to him. “Did a designer do this as well?”

“Nope. All me,” he said proudly. “That’s my grandfather’s desk.”

“It’s beautiful.” The desk sat next to a window with a view of the backyard. After peeking out the window, she turned to him, but her eye caught a glimpse of the array of photos above the desk. “Wow. What are these?”

“Some family, some friends, and a few ancestors.”

She pointed to the daguerreotypes closest to the desk. “Who are they?”

Jack stood beside her as she stared at the dark, technologically ancient images of a haggard miner and his poor family. “That’s the original John Bengston, or at least the first in California.”

She leaned over the desk to study the images. “So this is what it means when you say you’re a fifth generation Californian?”

“Yup. John Bengston was a dirt poor 49er from Ohio. He came to California with dreams of gold like everyone else.”

“Did he strike it rich?”

Jack chuckled. “Does that family look rich to you?” He pointed to other old photographs. “What about these folks? That’s my mother’s side of the family. Russian immigrants.” Though not as old as the daguerreotypes, they also showed somber families in front of dilapidated houses.
 

“No, not really.”

“Let’s just say it took a couple of generations before my family figured out how not to starve.”

“Your ancestors would approve.”

“It’s funny because my dad has always been adamant that we have those old pictures out. He says he wants us to remember where we came from.”

Lily turned to him, but said nothing. The quizzical look on her face was one of someone who’d just discovered a surprise—as if there was more to something than she ever expected. She then spoke slowly, her voice admiring. “I think that’s wonderful. My dad is that way too. He’s always telling Luke about how he grew up with nothing in Mexico City and how hard he worked to get an education.”

“When did he emigrate?”

“After medical school.”

“And where did your parents meet?”

“In a hospital. She was a nurse…” Her voice trailed off as she began looking at the more recent photos. “This one is your family?” she asked when she reached a color photo.

“Yup. Mom, Dad, my brother Jim, and me when I was in law school.”

“Jim is in New York, right?”
 

“That’s right. He’s an investment banker.”

She nodded and returned to the photos. As she examined the remaining images, it dawned on Jack she would know one of the people in the photos. Alarm bells rang in his head, realizing what he thought was no big deal might be a concern for Lily.
 

Only a few seconds later, her eyes settled on a photo of his father with a young man in the short-shorts of seventies tennis whites. “That’s your dad, but who is the guy? He looks familiar.”

Jack cleared his throat. “That’s Kingsley.”

She swiveled her body around in surprise. “Who?”

“Charles Kingsley.”

“That’s what I thought you said.”

“I think I mentioned we go way back. Charles clerked for my dad when he was in law school.”

Her expression was one of confused disbelief. “Why are you running against him?”

“I told you I thought it was one of my only chances. Of course, I talked to him about it first. Charles is a politician. He understood, and he agreed it was good to get my name out there.”

“Huh,” she said before she turned and leaned on the desk. She seemed to be processing this new tidbit of information. “It’s sort of funny we’re both in a race we’ll surely lose.”

He smiled and touched the sleeve of her scrubs. “That’s the whole reason you can be here, right?”

“It is,” she said, returning the smile.

Happy that she’d taken the news of Kingsley in stride, he nodded to the sofa. “How about you sit down, and I’ll light a fire and order some food?”

“That sounds great,” she said.

The rest of the evening, including dinner, was spent in Jack’s office in front of a mellow fire. The takeout Chinese and his Turkish rug started a long post-dinner conversation about their mutual love of travel, and when the clock struck nine, Lily laughed. “We’ve been in this same room for hours. You really do spend all your time in here.”
 

“You said you liked it.”

“I do.” She glanced again at the clock. “But I should go.”

“Too bad. I haven’t even tried to steal a kiss yet.” Kissing her had been in the back of his mind from the moment she walked in.

“You didn’t have to steal one. All you had to do was ask.”

His eyes met hers, as he contemplated the invitation. He asked permission, even though her expression told him the answer would be yes. “May I?” he asked, his voice deepening.

“Sure.”
 

She leaned over, and he met her half-way. While the kiss started as gentle as their first in his car, it began to simmer. Tongues eventually touched and played, but Jack remained in control of himself, though it took some effort. After a few minutes, he pulled away. “Are you teasing me again?”

“Teasing you?” She chuckled. “That was only a kiss.”

“A teasing kiss.”

“No. That’s not what I would do if I was going to tease you.”

“Dare I ask what that would be?”

She raised a brow. “I don’t think you want that.”

“Try me.”

She sniffed as if she was debating whether or not to accept the challenge. After a moment, she flashed him a confident look. “Well, I think if I was going to tease you, I’d do something like this.”

As she turned her body, Jack wondered what she was going to do, until she moved closer to him and straddled his legs. His eyes widened at the prospect. With her knees on the sofa, she rose above him and looked down, saying, “What do you think so far?”

“I’d say it’s promising.”

She smiled and sat back on her heels before they met again for another kiss. He’d expected the kiss and hoped for a little more, but when she lowered her body against his, he groaned in sweet surprise. Without thinking, he grabbed her behind and pulled her closer, offering up some friction. She clenched her legs in acceptance, and they moved together for a moment until she abruptly stopped everything. She lifted herself from him and chuckled. “I don’t think this teasing is a good idea.”