These Arms of Mine. Judy Lynn Hubbard
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his lips. Cam was right—Derrick could always count on him to say what others dared not to. He supposed that was one of the reasons he liked him so much. That and the fact that he had always been intensely loyal and dependable—two attributes Derrick valued greatly.
Picking up from his desktop a manila folder containing information on his running mate, he reclined in his plush black-leather chair as he began to leaf through the pages carefully, familiarizing himself with every detail—it was always best to know one’s opponent better than oneself.
Curious as raised voices wafted through the closed door to his assistant’s office, Derrick wondered what had prompted the argument. Seconds later, the door abruptly swung open to admit a woman he thought he would never see again—Alesha Robinson. Automatically, he stood and his icy eyes locked with her uneasy ones.
“It’s all right, Dorothy. I’ll see Miss Robinson.”
He broke eye contact and nodded curtly in his assistant’s direction. The woman glanced angrily at Alesha before firmly closing the door as she left.
He felt as if he had been punched hard in the gut, and it wasn’t a pleasant feeling. Alesha Robinson was here, standing a few feet away from him, looking as beautiful as he remembered. Damn her! Damn himself for wanting to quickly close the distance between them, crush her in his arms and fuse his starving mouth with hers.
“What brings you to my door, Alesha?” He silently blessed his voice for sounding coolly controlled, when he felt anything but.
She looked lovelier than he remembered, dressed in a plain white sweater and black slacks. That silky light brown skin of hers begged to be caressed. His fingers itched to oblige. Her thick black hair was pulled back from her face, held in a clasp at her nape. He knew from experience that her hair was soft—softer than anything else this world had to offer. To keep from walking over to her he sat back down in his chair. His eyes then went to her left hand and he wasn’t sure whether he was relieved or angered that no engagement or wedding ring rested there.
He continued to survey her hungrily. His eyes drank in every aspect of her face, afraid she was a mirage he had to memorize before she quickly disappeared. He had sometimes wondered if the predicament her brother had gotten himself into would force them to see each other again. He couldn’t decide if he was glad or angry that outside pressure had precipitated her return to his life, instead of her own desire.
Her steps faltered as her eyes refamiliarized themselves with Derrick’s extremely handsome face—she had almost forgotten the effect the mere sight of him had on her. Since their first chance meeting when they had both stopped to help out at the scene of a multicar accident, he had done strange things to her equilibrium. Although currently his face was hard and foreboding, she remembered how his infectious smile could send her heart racing frantically. He sat before her after all this time like a statue—a beautiful bronze statue, she amended. She recalled how unbending his body had been against the yielding softness of hers—they had been the perfect complement for each other in so many ways. That is, until everything had fallen apart by her own hands.
Her stomach churned queasily and her heart began beating faster and louder in her ears as she stopped just in front of the mahogany desk behind which he sat. Her heart leaped in her chest, but was it from anxiety or happiness at seeing him again? Anxiety, definitely. She was here for business—to ask him for a monumental favor—and for no other reason.
“Mr. Chandler, I need to speak with you.” She was pleased with the steadiness of her precise and crisply articulated sentence.
“Why so formal, Alesha?”
“I’m here to discuss business, Mr. Chandler.”
She made her voice curt, hoping the tone would end his unnerving inspection of her, which was causing every nerve ending in her body to silently cry out for what she knew from experience was his masterful touch.
He had an almost irrepressible desire to trace his fingers down that silky skin of hers—it couldn’t possibly be as soft as he remembered. Yet, instinctively, he knew it was. And her full, faintly tinted brown lips—would kissing her still feel like exquisite torture? Pure heaven, that was how he remembered feeling with her in his arms, and he was sure that observation was still accurate.
She waited uneasily for him to say something, anything. He seemed content to just stare at her. Piercing eyes traveled leisurely over her. What was he thinking? Instinctively, she knew she didn’t want to know. Was he as disconcerted by seeing her again as she was at seeing him? She couldn’t tell—he seemed cold, almost frigid. She felt like fleeing. Why didn’t he say or do something?
“Mr. Chandler?”
“I’m busy.”
He was annoyed at himself for behaving like a moonstruck idiot. With great effort, he tore his eyes away from her lovely face and angrily picked up a piece of paper from his desk. It took all his self-restraint to totally ignore her.
She bit back the angry retort that sprang to her lips at his callous actions. One thing she didn’t need was to put him on the defensive. She had come to him for help, after all—help that she really didn’t deserve.
“Surely you can spare me a few moments.” Her tone indicated she would accept nothing less.
He returned the paper to his desk and reluctantly looked at her once again. He mentally scolded himself as he felt his pulse rate increase as she ran her tongue over her upper lip.
“What do you want?”
She silently cursed him for asking a question he obviously knew the answer to. You might offer me a seat first, she silently fumed.
“I’m here about Robert.”
At the mention of her brother’s name, he closed the folder in front of him and motioned for her to be seated in the chair Cam had just vacated. She was painfully aware of the intense focus of his eyes and an emotion she dared not name hidden in their now-frigid depths.
“I was wondering when he would send you in to plead his case.” In fact, he had been counting on it.
Her spine stiffened in the soft leather chair and quickly contradicted him. “He didn’t. I came on my own to ask you not to press charges against him.”
He smiled slightly at that. “You must be as mad as your brother is if you think I’m going to allow him to embezzle $100,000 from my campaign fund and just walk away, free as a bird.”
“If you will just let me explain…” She squared her shoulders for a fight she had known was inevitable.
“There’s no explanation you have that I am interested in hearing. He took the money—that’s all I need to know.”
“Regardless, I’m going to tell you the reason my brother borrowed the money from you.”
His eyes narrowed at the slight edge evident in her tone. What did she have to be bent out of shape about? He was the one who had been wronged by her brother—and by her. What right did she have to treat him as the villain or even to be here asking anything of him?
“Borrowed? That’s an interesting choice of words. Go on. Tell me, why did your brother borrow the money?” He crossed his arms across his broad chest, drawing attention to his muscular physique.
She had the feeling she was wasting her time, but she had to try, for her family’s sake. Maybe he would be sympathetic once he learned why Robert had stolen from him. At least she prayed he would.
“Well?” he prompted. “Let me guess. He used it to bet on the ponies.” At her blank stare he tried again. “The slots? Sports? Cards?”
“I don’t approve of my brother’s actions.”
“Neither do I and I intend to make my disapproval a matter of public record by filing charges against him.” When she remained silent, he continued, “I don’t know what you hoped to accomplish by coming here.” Except to remind me of what you needlessly