one of the reasons I invited you here. I know that modern-day politics have been reduced to negative ads and smear campaigns. But that’s not my style. And while I don’t know very much about you—the second reason why I requested the pleasure of your company—I get the feeling that it’s not your style, either.”
“I definitely plan to run on the merits of my education, experience and qualifications to lead this town into an exciting and prosperous future.”
“What type of excitement do you have planned?”
There it was again, a flirtatiousness executed so deftly and gone so quickly that she questioned whether it was real or imagined. Perhaps this was just his personality and, as such, she shouldn’t get her hopes up that he was interested in her in that way.
And just what way is that, Monique Slater? This question in her mind she heard in her mother’s no-nonsense voice. It was a good question. Because Monique wasn’t interested in Niko like that. She’d had a crush on him, sure. Probably along with thousands of other college-aged girls. She found him attractive. So what? Anyone with eyes would feel the same. But any thoughts of anything ever happening between the two of them were beyond wishful thinking; they were flat-out ridiculous. She wasn’t his type, nor he hers if she really thought about it. Even though she’d ended their relationship, she belonged with a man more like Rob: solid, steady and...safe. And most of all? They were adversaries in a political campaign. It would be the height of scandal if anything untoward ever happened between them. No, their interactions would be totally innocent and strictly professional. How it should be. How it must be.
So why did this thought make Monique feel like crap?
“Strategizing against me?”
Monique looked up from the wineglass, where she’d been idly running her finger around the rim. She hadn’t realized she’d grown silent, had no idea how long she’d been lost in her own thoughts. “Forgive me. There’s a lot on my mind.”
“Running for elected office is definitely hard work.”
“I also have a couple cases to wrap up before I can immerse my head totally in the game.”
“You’re still handling clients?”
“I took a leave of absence from the firm but retained a couple cases that I felt too involved in to turn over. I’m also mentoring a young man who was paroled to my care. His name is Devante.”
“He lives with you?”
Monique shook her head. “He and another young man share an apartment.”
“That’s dedication.”
“Or narcissism. Right now, I can’t tell which.”
“Ha!” A waiter entered the room pushing a tray containing a bowl of wilted arugula salad and warm, freshly baked rolls. “I hope you don’t mind that I took the liberty of planning our menu. The choices in here are different than those offered in main dining.”
“Really? I’d looked forward to the chef’s succulent filet mignon.”
“Ah, so you’re familiar with Esteban’s culinary skills.”
“Probably not as intimately as you are, but I really enjoy the way he prepares that cut of meat. I’m not that picky of an eater, however. I’m sure that whatever you’ve ordered is fine.”
She enjoyed a bite of the salad that had been placed down in front of her. “This is delicious. I love the blend of sweet and bitter.”
“Yes, that’s one of Esteban’s signature dressings, a pomegranate vinaigrette.”
“So you’re not only successful, but cultured, too.”
“I guess you can say that my mama raised me right.” Monique laughed and he continued. “We were always learning, school or no. The world was our classroom and it was always in session. She encouraged us to be curious, to ask questions and to not be afraid to try new things. Then, it wasn’t always appreciated, but now I’m reminded of the foundation she and Dad provided every single day.”
“Do you personally know the other men running? Dick Schneider and Buddy Gao?”
“Dick’s a good old boy I’ve known for most of my life. He’s old-school, traditional, conservative. His father’s a retired judge with connections. Fortunately they’re largely Republican while ours is a more liberal town.”
“And Buddy?”
“Good kid, former immigrant reform activist who cut his political chops in Berkeley after graduating from the university there. He’s only twenty-six years old, but will probably be a contender in the future.”
“He’s twenty-six and you call him a kid? How old are you?”
Niko smiled. “Thirty-one. My grandparents say I have an old soul. What about you? Or are you one of those women?”
“Thirty-three,” she responded, ignoring his jab. “And, by the way, you do look good.”
“Thank you,” he responded, obviously appreciative of her remark.
“For an old man.”
“Ha!”
The easy banter continued through an entrée of perfectly prepared chateaubriand served with grilled asparagus and jasmine rice, and a three-berry crisp with whipped cream for dessert. They talked generally about the political landscape and the upcoming national elections, but also learned a bit more about each other. Niko was pleased to learn that Monique was an avid tennis fan who played on occasion, and Monique found it interesting that the chic, fashion-forward Niko rode horses and liked to fish. One topic was pointedly not discussed: their romantic lives.
After being let out through a private side door, Niko walked with Monique through the parking lot. “Thanks again for a lovely evening,” she said, after he’d insisted on opening her car door. She held out her hand.
He looked at it and then at her. “My roots are Southern,” he said easily. “We prefer hugs to handshakes.”
He took a step and in the next second she was enveloped in his strong, comfortable arms. As soon as her soft breasts met his hard chest, she felt it, an attraction so strong it was electric and real, traveling from her core to her toes and back up to her heart. Her nipples pebbled and once again muscles that hadn’t been used for months tightened with desire, even as she felt her mouth go dry. Niko must have felt something too because he abruptly ended the hug and stepped back.
She didn’t want to look at him, sure that blatant desire, ardent lust and thoughts of good old booty bumping showed on her face. But since it would seem even stranger to say goodbye with her face obscured, she did face him, totally prepared to see a cocky, knowing look in his eye.
But she saw something different—hunger, desire—before he blinked and the moment was gone.
“See you on the campaign trail,” she sang, trying to sound casual and unaffected, getting into her car before she did something crazy like throw caution to the wind and kiss the lips that had tempted her all evening.
“Be
