Bedroom Diplomacy. Michelle Celmer
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take care of yourself.”
“I promise. Love you, Matty, and give my best to Mother.”
“Love you, too.”
He disconnected, slid his phone back into his pants pocket and closed his eyes, going over in his head all that they had covered this afternoon, and how much more work they had ahead of them. Thorough as the senator was, he insisted they pick the treaty apart, section by section, line by line. It would be a slow and agonizing process. And it would be given the same scrutiny in the U.K. before anything was set in stone.
At some point he must have drifted off, because he was startled awake by a loud splash. He jerked up in the chair, blinking furiously, briefly disoriented by his surroundings. He’d lived so many places that at times they all blurred together, and when he woke from a deep sleep it took him a moment to get his bearings.
Senator’s mansion. Pool deck. Got it.
Had he actually heard a splash, or had it just been a dream? He noticed movement in the water at the far end of the pool. Backlit by the glow emanating from under the surface, the blurry outline of a figure cut though the water. Then, as the swimmer came up for air, he saw the unmistakable flash of flaming red hair.
Rowena dove back under, then resurfaced when she reached the opposite side, not ten feet from where he sat. She flipped over, arms slicing through the water as she pushed off the side. He sat there, transfixed, hypnotized by the graceful glide of her body, the practiced, even strokes that took her to the opposite end of the pool, then back again. It went on like that for a while, until she finally stopped at the end farthest from him and hung on to the edge, seemingly exhausted and out of breath. But she couldn’t have rested more than a minute before she started the process all over again.
After a few more laps he began to think about the senator, his ridiculous ground rules, and how Colin’s sitting there watching his daughter might be misconstrued. And the more he thought about it, the more it seemed inappropriate. He could sneak away, but if someone were to see him that would definitely make it seem as if he had something to hide. By not leaving the second she dove into the pool, without even realizing it, he had created something of a dilemma for himself. At this point, it seemed that the wise thing to do would be to politely announce his presence, then get the hell out.
Still fuming over the berating she’d received from her father in front of her staff today when he learned that she’d gone thirty dollars over budget on art supplies for the month, Rowena pushed herself harder than usual, working out her frustration, swimming until her arms and legs felt rubbery and her shoulders ached.
Three years, two months and six days sober, and the senator was still waiting for her to fail.
And while she wasn’t denying she’d made a lot of mistakes, they were mistakes that she had since owned up to, and paid her penance for a million times over.
She had done everything her father had asked of her, but it still wasn’t enough. Maybe it would never be enough for him. She would always be the bad seed, always chasing after his love, trying to please him, but never quite making the cut.
It was tough to impress a man who didn’t want to be impressed.
By the time she was finished swimming she was so exhausted she barely had the strength to hoist herself up over the side and out of the water.
“That was quite a workout,” an unfamiliar and sinister-sounding voice said from somewhere behind her in the dark.
Startled, she whipped around, seeing only the shadow of a very large and intimidating figure. Her heart stopped, then picked up triple time, alarm flooding her veins with adrenaline, her automatic first thought being rapist or serial killer. In that split second she imagined José the pool boy finding her bloated, discolored corpse floating in the water the following morning, or some unfortunate jogger finding her in the woods along the jogging path in one of the city parks.
Her brain said run, and she took an instinctive step back—right off the edge of the pool. She felt herself falling backward, thought, Okay, now what? and then a hand shot out of the darkness and locked firmly around her wrist, tugging her upright, to her imminent doom.
She jerked her arm back, expecting him to let go. Instead she managed to knock both herself and her would-be attacker off balance and sent them both careening into the pool.
They landed with a splash, the voice she’d heard suddenly replaying like a tape recorder in her head, only this time it sounded vaguely familiar. This time she heard the crisp accent, the smooth-as-caramel tone that really wasn’t sinister after all. And as he surfaced beside her, sputtering and cursing, all she could think was that her father was going to kill her.
If Colin didn’t get to her first.
“Why in the bloody hell did you do that?” he said, treading water.
“I’m so sorry,” she said.
He grabbed the edge of the pool and hoisted himself up. But the fact that she wasn’t about to be murdered left her so weak with relief that when she tried to pull herself up onto the deck, her arms crumpled and she slid back into the water instead.
“Allow me,” he said, reaching down to help her. When she hesitated, he said in an exasperated voice, “Just take my hand, for God’s sake.”
It was either accept his help or swim to the steps at the opposite end, and she honestly wasn’t sure she had the strength.
She grabbed his outstretched hand and with hardly any effort at all he hauled her out of the water. He was strong, which had her questioning how she’d managed to get him into the water in the first place. Maybe the adrenaline had given her superhuman strength. Now she felt weak and trembly and cold.
Colin grabbed her towel from the chair where she’d left it, but instead of using it on himself, he wrapped it around her shoulders. Her modest one-piece could hardly be considered revealing, yet she couldn’t help feeling exposed.
His soggy slacks and sweater were a pretty good indication that he hadn’t been out there to swim. Unless he’d been planning to skinny-dip.
She wouldn’t have minded seeing that.
He pulled an expensive-looking cell phone from the pocket of his soggy slacks. She cringed as he gave it a shake, jabbed the home button a few times and got nothing.
If he told her father about this, she was dead meat.
“I am so sorry. I didn’t know anyone else was out here. I usually have the pool all to myself.”
“I didn’t mean to startle you,” he said, ringing water from the sleeves of his sweater. “I was sitting by the pool and I must have dozed off. I woke up when you dove in.”
“Your phone—can it be salvaged?”
“I doubt it,” he said, and shoved it back into his pocket.
His sweater wasn’t looking too promising, either. Her father was going to have a field day with this one. “I am so sorry, Colin. First your pants, now this.”
He gave up on the sweater, which had gone all saggy and misshapen, and said, “Could you spare me a towel?”
“Of course!” Where were her manners? It was the least she could do, since, in the process of trying not to get herself murdered, she had murdered his phone instead and, from the looks of it, his sweater… and were those leather shoes?
“They’re in the pool house.”
He followed her, his soles squeaking against the ceramic tile. She prayed he wasn’t wearing an expensive and non-waterproof wristwatch.
The door was locked, and she didn’t have her keys, so she dug behind the loose strip of siding beside the door frame and pulled out the spare. Once inside, she switched on the lights, blinking against the sudden brightness.
While it was technically a pool house, it was the size, and had all the amenities,