Heat

I lifted an eyebrow at this, feeling acutely peeved and opening my mouth to protest. He grinned and spoke faster to keep me from interrupting. “…touching you, kissing you, watching you come, making love to you…you make everything right.”

I felt my cheeks warm as he held my gaze and his lips slowly descended to mine. I lifted my chin to meet his mouth, anticipating his kiss, hungry for it.

Martin released my wrists as his mouth slid over mine, his greedy hands moving under my shirt to the bare skin of my torso. When we parted, my fingers were twisted in his hair and I was breathless; as well, he’d built a fire in the vicinity of my pants.

He was basically an Eagle Scout of pants fires.

So I groaned and pleaded, sounding silly and pathetic to my own ears, “I miss you already. Will you stay? I could spend some time calling you on your bullshit, or we could study chemistry.”

“Or make out.”

“Isn’t that what I just said?”

He laughed, stole a fast kiss, and then hugged me to him. I returned his embrace and felt him speak against my hair. “I have to go back to the house, make a few calls, take care of some business. But then I’ll come back and stay as long as you want me to stay.”

I nodded, nuzzling his chest, and smiled, thinking how intoxicatingly wonderful it was to have the promise of an evening with Martin in my immediate future.

***

I was in a much better mood when we walked into the suite area of my dorm room, and right into the tall, straight, hard chest of a secret service agent.

No one ever expects the secret service.

I backed up, excusing myself, and stepped on Martin’s foot as he was following close behind me. He held my shoulder with one hand, and shifted us both away from the agent. My mind went around the Ferris wheel of confusion only twice before I realized that the presence of the secret service could only mean that my mother was someplace nearby.

I was expecting her for brunch on Sunday, as per our earlier discussion.

Her plans must’ve changed.

“Oh, hello,” I said automatically, reaching out my hand to the man, “I’m Kaitlyn Parker.”

The man was dressed in a black suit, black tie, and white shirt; his sunglasses were tucked in his coat pocket and I caught my reflection in half of the lens peeking out of its home.

“I’m Stevens.” Stevens accepted my hand for an efficient shake, his dark brown eyes skating over Martin then back to me. His tone was equally efficient. “Ms. Parker, the senator is waiting for you in your room.”

“Okay.” I nodded and glanced at Martin over my shoulder as I searched for the handle of my suitcase behind me. “Hey, you want to meet my mom?”

His eyebrows jumped and he shifted on his feet, relinquishing the luggage to my care. “Uh…sssssure.”

It was easy to see he was caught by surprise, so I waited for a beat, turned, and studied his face. “You don’t have to. You can go make your calls and come back later. There is no pressure here. She can be kind of intimidating.”

He gave me a bantam smile, really just a hint of one whispering over his lips, and his tone turned teasing. “Really? Intimidating? I hadn’t heard that about your mother…who is a US senator.”

I narrowed my eyes at him and pressed my mouth into a flat line to keep from laughing; I turned back to the agent and asked, “Do you need to frisk him? I can do it for you if you want.”

Martin made a choking sound behind me.

The agent did not smile. “Yes, ma’am. I will need to search him before he approaches the senator.”

I nodded and walked around the secret service agent, then turned and walked backward toward my dorm room door.

“See you inside,” I said cheerfully. I also winked at him.

He scowled at me, but then had to move his attention to the agent who was instructing him to put his hands out, palms up.

I snickered and walked into my room. I found my mom sitting in the chair next to my microwave talking on her cell phone. She was dressed in her typical outfit: an expensive, nicely tailored pantsuit accessorized simply with an American flag lapel pin. The cut and style remained constant, but the color varied between blues, black, and greys. Today she was in black.

Her eyes lifted to mine as I entered and she smiled warmly, pointing to her phone then lifting her index finger in the universal sign for, give me one minute.

I nodded and placed my suitcase on my bed, returning her smile. I unzipped the bag and began emptying its contents to keep myself busy…because I found I was equal parts nervous and excited. I really, really wanted her to like Martin—so, nervous. And I was certain she would like him—so, excited.

Everything with Martin had happened so fast; in some ways I was still on that speeding train, because it didn’t occur to me that my mother meeting Martin would yield anything but stellar results.

Turns out, she really did only need a minute to end her call. In fact, I think she clicked off without saying goodbye.

As she stood and pulled me into a quick hug, she said, “I hope you don’t mind, I asked Sam and her friend if we could have the room for a few minutes. She dropped her things off just a moment ago.”

I shrugged and returned her fast embrace. “No, no. That’s fine. I think she has to go check in with her tennis coach anyway.”

She released me and folded her hands in front of her. She never crossed her arms. When she stood still she always folded her hands. She told me once that early in her career folding her hands kept her from fidgeting. Now she did it out of habit.

“Good. You must be wondering why I’m here a day early and without your father.” Her gray gaze moved over me searchingly, like she was cataloguing changes in my appearance.

“I told George I wouldn’t be back until today when I called him last week. I hope you got the message.”

“Yes. Your unexpected trip. That’s partially why I’m here.” My mother’s eyes finally settled on mine and I detected a slight hesitation in her usually confident voice.

I frowned, casting her a sideways glance. “Is everything all right?”

Her eyes softened in an alarming way, and she opened her mouth to respond. But then she quickly snapped it shut and glanced at the door over my shoulder. I followed her gaze and found Martin hovering at the entrance to my room. I couldn’t help my giant smile.

“Oh!” I reached for his hand, not really registering the stoic mask that had slipped over his features as I tugged him into the room and turned back to my mother. “Mom, this is Martin Sandeke. Martin, this is my mom, Joss Parker.”

I knew I sounded positively giddy as I made the introductions, but I couldn’t help it. I was so excited. I loved my mother, and was so proud of her. She was my superhero. I was her biggest fan.

And now I was introducing my Martin to her, this boy I loved so much.

I figured that since they were both amazing and brilliant, and had wonderful thoughts about the future of Big Telecom and technology, the two of them would immediately fall into a stimulating conversation on the subject. I ignored the fact that Martin’s intentions weren’t entirely altruistic because the outcome of his plans would benefit society just the same.

I glanced between them as they shook hands, grinning, waiting for the stimulating conversation to begin.

It didn’t begin.

Instead I watched as my mother became Senator Parker, her gray eyes adopting their steely and coldly assessing glint as she looked Martin up and down.

“Senator Parker,” he said.

“Mr. Sandeke,” she said.

My stomach sank at their mirrored frowns and frosty posturing. I winced and tried to swallow, a thick, foggy numbness unfurling in my stomach as comprehension struggled to dawn and silence stretched.

No one said anything for a full minute. Actually, no one said anything verbally for a full minute. Instead they stared at each other and a form of silent communication passed between them. My heart thumped uncomfortably as I struggled to find words to make everything better, explain that Martin was a good guy, that he wasn’t his father.

But just as I opened my mouth to voice this as fact, Martin bent, gave me a soft kiss on my cheek, and whispered in my ear, “I’ll see you tonight.”

He gave me a tight, apologetic smile that didn’t reach his eyes. He turned away. He left.

I stared after him, blinking at the door, wondering how everything could have gone horribly wrong in one and a half minutes when absolutely nothing had been said.

My mother’s soft sigh pulled my attention back to her and I struggled to speak. Finally I blurted, “He’s wonderful. He’s really wonderful. He hates his father, and you’re going to love him. He has ideas about satellites and he invented lazy fishing poles…and I don’t understand what just happened.”

She gave me a sad smile—hers didn’t reach her eyes either—as she crossed the three steps to the door and shut it; she turned back to me and folded her hands.

“Kaitlyn, Martin Sandeke is why I am here, one day early, and without your father.”

I frowned at her, searching her face for a clue but found only patient concern; at a loss, I vocalized my confusion. “I don’t understand.”

She sighed again. She hardly ever sighed. I felt a nagging sense of disquiet.

My mom placed a hand on my shoulder and guided us both to the bed until we were sitting, facing each other; then she said in her normal, businesslike tone, “My office received a call from a reporter at the Washington Post yesterday asking me to comment on my conflict of interest regarding the affordable telecom bill. He questioned my ethics if I remained in the chair position on the Commerce, Science, and Transportation committee because my daughter is in a serious relationship with the son of this country’s largest telecom provider’s CEO.”