The Duchess Diaries: The Diplomat's Pregnant Bride / Her Unforgettable Royal Lover / The Texan's Royal M.D.. Merline Lovelace
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who stuck to the star’s side like a barnacle and made a point of steering him over to Jack.
“This is Ambassador John Harris Mason,” he said by way of introduction. “He’s the man who faced down a cell of armed insurgents in Mali a few years ago.”
“I read about that.” West crunched Jack’s hand in his. “Sounded like a pretty hairy situation. I might have to send a script writer to ferret out the details that didn’t get into print.”
Jack could have told him not to bother since most of the details were still classified but West had already turned his attention to Gina.
“And who’s this?”
The bronze-edged name tag pinned to her lapel should have given him a clue. He ignored it, concentrating all his star power on her face.
“Gina St. Sebastian.” She held out her hand and had it enfolded. “I’m with the Tremayne Group. We’re coordinating this event.”
West’s appreciative gaze made a quick trip south, edged back up. “You ever considered taking a shot at acting, Ms. St. Sebastian?”
“I’ve toyed with the idea once or twice.”
“If you decide to do more than toy, you give me a call.”
Global’s CEO was more interested in Jack’s connections at the State Department than the acting aspirations of the hired hands.
“I hear you’ve got a meeting with the Senate Intelligence Committee next week regarding embassy security, Ambassador. I’ve got some ideas in that regard.”
“I’m sure you do.”
“I’d like to discuss them with you. I’ll have my people call and set up an appointment.”
His mission accomplished, he steered West to the next group. Jack waited until they were out of earshot to fill Gina in on his conversation with his parents.
“I got ahold of my folks. They’re anxious to meet you, but mother’s chairing a charity auction tomorrow evening so I told them we’d drive down for Sunday brunch.”
“Sunday brunch works for me.”
“Good. That leaves tomorrow for just you and me.”
She started to comment, but spotted the plump brunette with the radio clipped to her waist signaling from across the plaza.
“Gotta go. It’s almost showtime.”
She turned, spun back and flashed one of her megawatt smiles.
“Thanks for helping out earlier. Remind me to pay you for services rendered.”
“I will,” he murmured to her retreating back. “I most certainly will.”
* * *
Jack carried fantasies of the various forms that payment might take with him into the plush media hall. They teased his thoughts all through Dirk West’s explosive attempts to single-handedly save the world from evil. But not even his wildest imaginings could compete with reality when a tired but triumphant Gina invited him up to the bridal suite several hours later.
Gina had tried to convince Jack he didn’t need to hang around while she signed off on the final tally sheets and supervised the breakdown. She’d honestly tried. Yet she couldn’t suppress a little thrill of pleasure when he insisted on waiting for her to finish up.
So she’d extended the invitation to join her upstairs. When they entered the lushly appointed suite, though, all she wanted to do was plop down on the sofa, kick off her shoes and plunk her feet on the coffee table. Which was exactly what she did. And all she would have done if Jack hadn’t plopped down beside her!
“That’s some view,” he commented lazily, his eyes on the dramatic vista of the floodlit capital dome framed by the suite’s windows.
“Mmm.”
She only half heard him. Her mind was still decompressing after the pressure-packed night. He responded by tugging loose his bow tie and popping the top button of his dress shirt before patting his lap.
“Here.”
She blinked, suddenly very much in the present. She didn’t trust either his simple gesture or her body’s instant response to it. He read the sudden wariness in her face and patted his thighs again.
“I’ve been told I give a pretty good foot massage. Swing your feet up and see if you agree.”
Oooooh, yeah! Gina most definitely agreed. Ten seconds after he went to work on her toes and arch, she was approaching nirvana. Groaning with pleasure, she wedged deeper into the corner of the sofa.
“If you ever decide to give up ambassadoring, you could make a bundle plying the foot trade.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
Curious, she eyed him through the screen of her lashes. “What are you going to do when you give up ambassadoring?”
“Good question.”
His clever, clever fingers worked magic on the balls of her right foot before moving to the left.
“What about those PACs I read about?” she asked. “The ones that think you’ve got the makings of a future president?”
“Future being the operative word. There are a few steps I’d have to take in between.”
“Such as?”
“Running for public office, to start with. I’ve been just a career bureaucrat up to this point.”
“Su-u-ure you have. I wonder how many career bureaucrats go toe-to-toe with armed terrorists.”
“Too many, unfortunately. Still, elected office is almost a required stepping stone to anything higher. Except for the war heroes like Washington and Eisenhower, almost all of our presidents served as either governors or members of Congress.”
“So run for governor. Or Congress. You’d make a great senator or representative. More to the point, someone’s got to get in there and straighten out that mess.”
“Am I hearing right?” Ginning, he pulled on her toes. “This enthusiastic endorsement can’t be coming from the same woman who’s called me obnoxious and uptight and a few other adjectives I won’t repeat.”
“You are obnoxious and uptight at times. Other times...” She circled a hand in the air, trying to pluck out one or two of his less irritating traits. “Other times you surprise me, Mr. Ambassador. Like tonight, for instance, when you got behind the bar. You went above and beyond the call of duty there.”
“I’m a man of many talents,” he said smugly. “And that reminds me. I was promised payment for services rendered.”
“So you were. Have you given any thought to what form that payment should take?”
“Oh, sweetheart, I haven’t thought of anything else all evening.”
Red flags went up instantly. Gina knew she was playing with fire. Knew the last thing she should do was slide her feet off his lap and curl them under her, rising to her knees in the process.
All she had to do was look at him. The tanned skin, the white squint lines at the corners of his eyes, the square chin and the strong, sure column of his throat. Like a vampire hit with a ravenous hunger, her weariness disappeared in a red flash. She had to taste him. Had to lean forward and press her mouth to the warm skin in the V of his shirt. Had to nip the tendons in his neck, the prickly underside of his chin, the corner of his mouth.
And of course, he had to turn his head and capture her lips with his. There was nothing gentle about the kiss. Nothing tentative. It went from zero to white-hot in less than a heartbeat.