The Last White Knight Read online

  Finally, his temper erupted and he simply wheeled on her, backing her toward the counter.

  “I don’t play games, Ms. Shaw,” he said through clenched teeth, his voice as tight as piano wire. “I don’t expect sexual favors. Not to brag, but I hardly need to blackmail women to get them into my bed. I’m here because I believe in your cause. I’d be here if you were a frumpy little toad of a woman with B.O. and a big hairy wart on your chin.

  “But the cause has nothing to do with what goes on between us,” he whispered, leaning down close, hands braced on the counter on either side of her. “Do you understand me? What goes on between us—if anything goes on between us—has nothing to do with politics or Horizon House. It has to do with us. You and me. A woman and a man. Is that clear?”

  Lynn stared up at him, her eyes as wide as twin moons. Her heart was thumping like a trip-hammer in her chest. He was no more than a deep breath away, the scant space between them hot and electric with tension. His chest was heaving with the exertion of his outburst, nearly touching her with every inhalation. She leaned back harder against the countertop, the metal molding strip biting into her back.

  He didn’t seem like the kind of man to lose his temper. She’d have taken him for the type to hang on to his emotions, never swinging too far one way or the other, always maintaining that sterling image. But she’d struck a nerve—two in one night, lucky her—and the calm, perfect facade had cracked to reveal a real man. She would have congratulated herself if this had been her office and she had been struggling for a breakthrough with him as a patient. Only he wasn’t a patient, and she was pretty sure she didn’t want to know what the man beneath the image was like. She didn’t want anything to do with him at all.

  “Have I made myself understood, Ms. Shaw?” Erik asked again.

  On one plane of awareness it occurred to him that this entire scene was somehow out of sync and out of character. They had only just met. But from the moment he had realized she wasn’t a juvenile delinquent, he had felt himself drawn to her, the way males had been drawn to females since time immemorial. They had been skirting the issue of attraction all night, circling around it like two cats wrangling for a tussle, feeling each other out in subtle ways. It seemed imperative that she understand now, before they knew each other a minute longer, that this electricity between them had nothing to do with anything except nature.

  He stared down at her, taking in the luminous green eyes that were fringed by thick, sooty lashes, the slim retroussé nose, the delicately carved cheekbones. Her skin was pale, a rose-and-cream hue that looked so soft his fingertips itched to caress it. And her mouth, oh, her mouth … It was naturally sultry, naturally pouty, not too wide but perfectly sculpted. Her lips were slightly parted now as she watched him, her breath slipping between them in shallow puffs.

  The ground seemed to shift slowly beneath his feet. The air around them grew dense and warm. Thoughts of their argument, of Horizon House, of everything else in the world spun away, allowing his mind to focus on one idea—he wanted to kiss her.

  Lynn saw it coming in the darkening of his eyes. She felt it coming as he leaned even closer, his head slowly ducking down toward hers. She felt it within herself, in the tingling of her breasts and the sudden sweet ache in the pit of her belly. She told herself this was the last thing she wanted, but she made no move to prevent it from happening.

  His lips brushed across hers in a gentle, testing kiss, a preliminary phase that allowed her to end it there if she wanted. He pulled back slightly, his gaze, hooded and liquid blue, searching hers, silently asking permission. For the life of her, Lynn didn’t know what her answer would be, but it didn’t matter, because she never got the chance to give it.

  The glass in the window behind her suddenly exploded, shards flying into the room like crystal daggers. Time fragmented along with the glass, seeming swift and slow at once. Instinctively, Lynn flinched, but she didn’t scream. Her brain couldn’t seem to assimilate the events taking place. All messages stalled out, shocked to a halt. The next thing she knew, she was on the floor, pinned to the linoleum by the solid masculine weight of Erik Gunther.

  The silence that came in its wake was nearly as deafening as the crash had been. For an instant, absolute stillness pressed in on Lynn’s ears. Then she became aware of the sound of her blood rushing in her head, her breath coming in ragged gasps. She turned her head away from the smothering warmth of Erik’s shoulder, her gaze taking in the broken glass scattered, jagged and glittering, on the kitchen floor. Still unable to comprehend what had just happened, she tried to rise, her mind latching on to the idea that she should get a broom and clean up the mess.

  Erik held her in place with his body. “Stay down,” he whispered. His breath was coming hard and fast. He twisted his head around to glimpse the damage, cursing under his breath. The light switch was on the other side of the room, right next to the telephone. There was no getting to either one without either crawling across a bed of broken glass or becoming a moving target in front of the window.

  “What was it?” Lynn asked, finally shaking off the astonishment. “A bullet? Is somebody shooting at us?”

  “I don’t know. It happened too fast.” He propped himself up on his elbows and looked down at her, concern knitting his brows. “Are you all right?”

  The question struck Lynn as absurd. She was flat on her back on the linoleum with the political hunk of the year sprawled on top of her. Her legs were sandwiched between his, her belly pressed to his belly. There was certainly no question of his gender; the proof was nudging her in a very sensitive spot. Sexual heat mingled with the adrenaline surging through her veins, making her feel vaguely dizzy.

  “I’ll be fine as soon as you get off me,” she said, covering her anxiety with annoyance.

  Erik eased himself off her carefully, turning to crouch beside the cupboard. Lynn pushed herself up into a sitting position with her back against the cabinet door. The only sounds that came in through the broken window were night sounds—the distant bark of a dog, someone’s television mumbling through an open window, a car driving past in the street—no shots, no voices, no footsteps in retreat. A gray rock the size of a tennis ball lay on the floor by the refrigerator. There was an ugly dent in the refrigerator door at about head height. The impact had taken out a scab of white paint, leaving a gray spot in the center of the indentation.

  Lynn muttered a curse. “That’s just great. Now we’ve got to pay for a new refrigerator door.”

  “You could be paying for neurosurgery,” Erik said. “That had to have damn near hit you in the head.”

  An involuntary shudder skittered down Lynn’s back. “Nice neighborhood. Instead of a welcoming committee they send out stoning brigades. Charming people.”

  “I’m calling the cops,” Erik said decisively, moving in a crouch along the cupboard toward the other side of the room.

  “What for?” Lynn stood up and began dusting herself off, trying to brush away the lingering feel of his body against hers. “They’ll take one look, tell us it’s a rock, and leave.”

  Erik straightened, frowning, irked by her attitude. “We can’t let a crime go unreported.”

  Lynn said nothing. She had an aversion to men in uniforms that dated back to her days as a juvenile offender, when she’d gone through a pattern of destructive behavior to get her father’s attention—shoplifting, skipping school, drinking … the kind of things guaranteed to raise a Notre Dame professor’s ire, if nothing else. Her experiences with law enforcement had not been happy ones, but she said nothing as Erik lifted the receiver from its cradle and punched 911. She had a feeling he wouldn’t understand, any more than her father had.

  He was a straight arrow, Senator Gunther. Even more so than she had first imagined, if his righteous anger over her insinuation about his motives was anything to go by. Upholder of laws, defender of good. He had to be the last white knight on earth. And she had to be the last woman he would want anything to do with. He just
didn’t know it yet.

  “It’s a rock.”

  Erik scowled as he caught the “I told you so” look Lynn rolled his way. “We know it’s a rock, Officer Reuter. What do you intend to do about it?”

  The cop heaved a weary sigh, as if he had been asked to explain the theory of relativity in twenty words or less. He was a short, stocky man in his forties with just a little too much middle for his fitted uniform shirt. He scratched his pocket notebook back through his mop of curly red hair. “We’ll take it with us as evidence. Dust it for prints.”

  His partner came in through the kitchen door, a tall, slim man with a Dennis Weaver mustache. “I didn’t see anybody. It was probably just some kid screwing around. Too bad about the fridge.”

  They stayed for another twenty minutes, going through the motions of taking statements, doing what they could to soothe Erik’s temper. Lynn hung back out of their way, rubbing at the ache that had broken through the haze of her medication. Unless they came back to ingratiate themselves with Erik by feigning diligence, this would be the last she’d see of Officers Reuter and Briggs. No one had seen the perpetrator. There was no realistic hope of catching whoever had launched that fastball through the window.

  Father Bartholomew, the priest who had offered the use of the house to Horizon, came over from the rectory to express his concern and to cast pained looks at the dented refrigerator. He was a small man in his fifties with kind, dark eyes and a general aura of dishevelment. His clothes were always slightly rumpled, his thinning dark hair never quite in place, glasses forever askew. He had the pointed face and bright, anxious look of a cartoon mouse.

  Lynn knew he had gone out on a limb offering them the use of the house, and she felt terrible that his kindness had brought him so much trouble. Bravery wasn’t something that came easily to Father Bartholomew. She wished he could have been rewarded for his effort instead of ridiculed. She told him as much as they stood paying their respects to the disfigured refrigerator.

  He flashed her a preoccupied little smile. “Our rewards are greater in heaven than on earth, Lynn. Oh, my, yes.” He reached a finger out toward the dent, but pulled up abruptly, as if he were afraid to touch it, and pushed his round-rimmed glasses up on his nose instead.

  “That won’t take much,” Lynn muttered. “From what I’ve seen in this life, no good deed goes unpunished.”

  Father Bartholomew clicked his tongue like an angry squirrel, his face awash in disappointment. He looked ready to admonish her for her pessimism, but was distracted as Officer Reuter bent over to pick up the rock with a kitchen tongs. The priest went a little pale and backed away, his thick-soled shoes crunching on the broken glass.

  “Angels in heaven,” he mumbled, crossing himself. “Thank goodness no one was hurt.” His gaze darted anxiously to Lynn. “You’re certain you’re not hurt?” As she nodded, his head swiveled toward Erik. “Senator?”

  “I’m fine, Father.”

  “Thank goodness.” The little priest wagged his head in dismay. “I don’t want to know what the bishop will have to say about this. He can be a real tiger, I can tell you.”

  Lynn was more curious about what the bishop would say to Elliot Graham’s petition, but she held her tongue, not wanting to upset Father Bartholomew any more.

  He left with the police, who were carrying the offending rock in a plastic sandwich bag like an item for show-and-tell at school. Lynn stood at the front door and watched them go, her gaze reaching out beyond them to the neighboring houses, where people peered out windows and doors. The patrol car sat at the curb with its lights flashing like an oversize Christmas toy, a beacon to herald trouble. In her state of exhaustion and frustration, she could imagine the neighbors were staring right past the car, directing malevolent looks at her, as if it were her fault someone had vandalized the house, as if no one had ever before had to call the police in this fine, upstanding neighborhood.

  She slowly stepped back inside and turned toward Erik. He looked tired and disappointed that his precious system of jurisprudence had let him down. It was all Lynn could do to keep herself from giving him a conciliatory hug.

  “Now that you’ve done your civic duty, Senator,” she said dryly, “can we call it a night?”

  He stuffed his hands in his pockets and sighed, shoulders sagging. “Yeah, let’s call it a night. Where do you want me to bed down?”

  The question hit Lynn square in the chest, jolting the breath from her. She looked at him with a careful poker face, hoping to heaven she’d heard him wrong. “In your own little bed across town, or wherever it is you live,” she said evenly.

  Erik shook his head. “Uh-uh. You could have been hurt tonight. I’m not going anywhere.”

  Lynn gaped at him, incredulous. “Well, you’re not staying here!”

  “Guess again, counselor.” He planted himself in the doorway to the living room, feet spread, back against the door frame, looking for all the world like the original immovable object.

  “You can’t stay here with me,” Lynn argued vehemently. “My God, what if the press got hold of that?”

  “Someone attacked this house tonight and may very well have meant to attack you personally. What kind of man would I be if I just said ‘so long’ and went home?”

  “The kind who has a healthy respect for gossipmongers.”

  “I don’t have any respect for gossipmongers. I’m staying here to protect you. It’s perfectly innocent.”

  “Famous last words,” Lynn muttered, pacing the hall, her sneakers squeaking on the hardwood floor, her right hand rubbing anxiously at her forehead. “ ‘It was perfectly innocent.’ That’s what Gary Hart said. One day he’s running for president, the next he’s sitting in an office somewhere making paper-clip chains.”

  Erik stepped out to block her path, taking hold of her shoulders. He looked her in the eyes, his expression curiously sweet. “Why don’t you let me worry about my reputation?”

  Lynn gave a bark of laughter. “Because you obviously won’t do it! You came here to help us. I won’t be the ruination of your public image.”

  That won her a chuckle that made her want to kick him in the shin. She tried to pull out of his grasp, but he held her in place with ridiculous ease.

  “An hour ago you accused me of using my offer of help as a ruse to get you into my bed!” he exclaimed, blue eyes glittering with humor. “Now you’re worried about ruining me?”

  She scowled at him. “So I was wrong. So sue me. You’re a stand-up guy. Now go home.”

  “Nope. I’m not letting you stay here alone. You can go back to the other house and I’ll keep watch here or you can stay here with me.”

  “I’ll call Lillian,” Lynn said, having no intention of following through. The initial burst of fear had long since burned off. She didn’t feel endangered, and neither did she feel incapable of staying alone. The rock hurler had made his point and gone home. She doubted he would be back tonight.

  “Does Lillian have a husband who can come with her?”

  “No. He died four or five years ago.”

  “Then you can call Lillian and the three of us will stay here together. I’m not leaving women here unprotected.”

  A sigh slipped from between Lynn’s lips as she regarded the man before her. She supposed she could have lied to him and told him Lillian had a husband, but she doubted it would have done her any good. For one thing, she was out of practice. Lies didn’t trip that easily from her tongue anymore. For another, the stubborn set of that granite jaw told her Erik wouldn’t leave until he was satisfied as to her safety. The idea touched her in a place she hadn’t allowed anyone near in a long, long time.

  “Oh, for crying out loud,” she complained, looking everywhere but at Erik. “All the rotten, unscrupulous politicians in the world and I have to get the one who thinks he’s Lancelot.”

  Erik chuckled to himself. The lady didn’t like being thwarted. She was too stubborn and too brave for her own good. Her eyes glittered with suppress
ed anger. Her soft, pretty mouth turned down in a slight exaggeration of its natural pout. She had the temper of a hellcat. It was a wonder she hadn’t jumped out the kitchen window, run the culprit to the ground, and pounded the snot out of him. He had little doubt that she could do it if she really wanted to. Despite her size and the impression of physical fragility, he had the feeling she was one tough little cookie, a sleek little cat who could hold her own in a fight. The trouble was, he wanted to hold it for her, and she didn’t like the idea one little bit.

  Well, tough, Ms. Shaw, because you’re going to have to put up with me.

  She was too intriguing a package to walk away from. Too pretty, too wary. Her combination of toughness and vulnerability tugged at his heart in a way that was a unique experience for him.

  No, he wasn’t leaving her alone tonight, or tomorrow, or any day soon.

  “Faint heart never won fair lady,” he said, gentling his hold on her shoulders as she sighed, apparently resigning herself to her fate.

  A sad smile tilted one corner of her mouth. “You don’t want to win me, Sir Erik,” she said softly, her eyes looking suddenly very old and very weary. “I’m no vestal virgin.”

  “Did I say I was looking for one?”

  No, Lynn thought, but that was what he needed: someone chaste of heart, pure as the driven snow—or at least as pure as the average citizen—someone good and golden to stand beside him on the campaign trail.

  “I hear they’re highly overrated, those vestal virgins,” he murmured, lowering his head. “No spark.” He brushed his mouth across hers, making her shiver as the contact sent a rain of stardust along her nerve endings. “No fire,” he whispered, repeating the caress.

  She should have walked away. She scolded herself for not doing it even as she tipped her head back. She should have moved and maintained a sane, safe distance. But she didn’t. She was tired, and an old, too-familiar loneliness was wearing through her armor in big rusty patches. The idea of being held for a moment was too appealing. To feel his masculine warmth envelop her and take her away from reality for just a minute was too tempting. It’s just a kiss, she told herself. What harm could there be in one kiss?