Page 60 of The Senator's Wife

“Not so fast.” She unzipped the one-piece outfit she wore and let it drop to the floor, standing naked before him. “I may not be able to force you to pleasure me, but if you want these back, you’ll have to watch a little show.”

Her hands moved to her breasts, and she fondled herself while he watched, feeling like he was going to erupt. “Stop,” he whispered. “I’m leaving.”

“You’ve been a bad boy. Don’t you dare move.”

She continued to explore her body while he stared, unable to tear his gaze away, until she moaned in ecstasy. He stood openmouthed, watching her perfectly rounded ass as she walked toward the staircase, the signature cards still clutched in one hand. “I’ll go change. Fred’s car should be pulling up about now. I’ll be back with these,” she said, waving the cards. “And then we can have a cozy threesome and watch the veep do his thing.”

Madelyn reached the top of the stairs just as the front door chimed “The Yellow Rose of Texas.” Fred changed the music according to his mood and the season, Madelyn had once told him. The man had some bizarre quirks.

“Mr. Senator,” Fred bellowed as he came lumbering through the door and into the grand foyer. “Ready for Bishop’s little show tonight?”

“Been looking forward to it all day,” Whit replied.

Fred shrugged out of his coat and threw it onto a low bench in the hall. “C’mon.” He motioned for Whit to follow him into the living room. “Sit. I’ll make drinks.” Fred went to the bar cart and poured two bourbons. “Where’s Madelyn?” he asked, handing Whit a glass and plunking down onto the sofa.

“Here I am, darling.” Madelyn’s voice dripped with honey as she waltzed into the room, dressed in flowing silk pants and top. She planted a kiss on the top of Fred’s bald head. “Where’smydrink, lovey?”

Fred huffed breathlessly as he got up and went back to the cart,and Madelyn took the opportunity to sit so she would be between the two men. She gave Whit a flirtatious smile and squeezed his thigh.

“It’s almost seven,” Whit said, trying to ignore her. “We should turn on the TV, Fred.”

“Yup.” Fred picked up the remote and settled into the sofa cushions. From that moment, they stayed glued to the screen.

Vice President Bishop stood before a ten-foot bronze sculpture memorializing those who had perished in the horrific fire that ravaged a Section 8 apartment building two years ago. The statue depicting men, women, and children holding hands was backed by a granite wall inscribed with the names of those who had died. Bishop expressed his condolences to the families of those who’d lost their lives and asked for a moment of silence in remembrance. “We have put measures into place to assure a tragedy like this never occurs again,” he began in conclusion. “This was a failure not only on the part of the contractor and the building inspectors but on the part of our system. We are introducing legislation that would require that the wiring on the buildings is checked, and triple-checked. We have also inspected all the buildings constructed by the same contractor and have been assured that the wiring is safe.”

“Bishop kept his word. The contractor really got thrown under the bus,” Fred said.

“As he should have! What kind of an asshole uses copper terminals with aluminum wiring? He should have waited for the proper terminals to come through, but he was in a hurry to get paid, so he used what he could get his hands on. He put us all in jeopardy,” Whit said.

“Not to mention all the lives lost,” Madelyn added. “Doesn’t that bother either of you?”

Fred rolled his eyes. “That’s not our fault. Won’t do no good to cry about it now.”

The last news item showed a clip of the vice president making a short farewell speech and boarding Air Force Two for the trip backto Washington. Oozing sincerity, he looked sorrowful, and spoke with heartfelt poignancy.

Fred clicked the remote, and the screen went dark. “Bishop had another meeting with the new contractor before he left Chicago. Enough time has elapsed since the fire for us to form a new LLC with him and get things rolling again.”

“Sounds good.” Whit downed the rest of his drink and rose. “Well, I need to get going. I told Sloane I wouldn’t be late.” He hadn’t, but Whit was ready to leave.

“HowisSloane? Madelyn says she’s not doing too well.”

“She’s having a rough time, but she’s going to get through it.”

“Give her my regards. She was a mighty fine catch, Whit.” Fred’s eyes twinkled with mischief.

“I’ll walk you to the door,” Madelyn said, taking Whit’s arm. When they reached the front door, Madelyn dug her fingernails into his arm. “Are you rushing home to be with that trash-bag health aide you hired?” she said with petulance.

Whit felt his impatience surging, but he knew he had to be careful. He looked at Madelyn again, seeing the lust in her eyes. “There are other things more important than giving in to temptation.”

She reached out and grabbed him by the balls, squeezing. “After Peg died you told me we’d be together, but then you went and married that stuck-up bitch. I’m running out of patience. Maybe I should look for a new candidate to back.” She let go and shoved him away from her.

He was still fuming on the ride home. She hadn’t given him the signed signature cards. Madelyn was totally out of control. He needed to be free of her clutches sooner rather than later.

- 47 -

SLOANE

“Breakfast already?” Sloane said as Athena came in with her tray. “I’m not very hungry.”

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