Falling for the Enemy (Private Pleasures 3)

Someone called out, “True dat,” and the room dissolved into laughter.

An angry red flush stained Tom’s cheeks. “My personal life has never interfered with my duties. My path to true love has been bumpy at times, but I’ve never been ashamed of the company I kept. Unlike my opponent, I’m an open book.”

An invisible band tightened across her chest. He knew about her and Shaun—or he suspected based on whatever innuendos Justin had provided. He wouldn’t dare call her out on it. Not here. “I’ve got nothing to be ashamed of.” It was perhaps a cautious reply, but technically true. Too bad she didn’t succeed in keeping her eyes from straying to Shaun. He still stood at the back of the room, arms crossed, his attention locked on her.

“Really? Well, then, since you’ve seen fit to drag my personal life into this debate, and you’re not ashamed of your own, why not tell everyone who you’ve been spending time with lately?”

“You’re the one who introduced the topic of personal lives, Tom, not me.” The room grew restless. Yes, she was evading the question, and no, he wasn’t going to let her get away with it.

“I understand you’re involved with someone…how should I put it?” He absently tapped his chin. “Someone very close to home?”

The room went pin-drop silent, and every eye in the place swung to her. Her heartbeat stopped, and then kicked in again with a slow, heavy thud. “I-I refuse to dignify such a ridiculously inappropriate question with an answer.”

“Goodness, that’s all our time,” Ms. Van Hendler said into her microphone. “Please join me in thanking our candidates for an informative and i

mpassioned debate!”

The audience applauded. Ginny got to her feet and risked a glance to the back of the room, but found only an empty space where Shaun had been standing. Quickly, she scanned the room, hoping he’d simply shifted positions, but before she could locate him, Tom was in her face to offer a perfunctory handshake. After that, she fielded questions and congratulations from a number of attendees.

Ms. Van Hendler bustled over—as much as an eighty-something woman with brittle bones could bustle—and handed her a bottle of water. “That was the best debate I’ve seen since Nixon sweated all over Kennedy in 1960. To think, when I booked you and Tom for today, all these old fogies complained about interrupting afternoon Bridge for a boring political dog-and-pony show, but when Tom called you a round-heel, and you fired back with what a faithless hound dog he is, believe me, not a soul in this room wished they’d spent the afternoon bidding on tricks.”

Now she didn’t have to wonder how the highlights of the debate would be recounted on the local grapevine. “Well, you know, I don’t think I used those exact words…”

“No, you were very civilized, but you got your point across nonetheless. A fair point considering he went there first, criticizing your personal life. Well played, Virginia dear.”

“Thank you, Ms. V.” What the heck is a round-heel? She took a gulp of water as possibilities—none of them flattering—floated through her mind. She could almost hear Grandma saying, “Her heels are so round, any man gives her the least little push and she ends up flat on her back.”

“Speaking of your personal life, have you got a new beau?”

She swallowed and exhaled at the same time, and nearly sprayed water out her nose. “What? Good Lord, Ms. V, you can’t believe the desperate accusations of a man like Tom.”

“Oh, I know that dear. But I believe my own eyes. I usually get up at least once a night to let Rocky in or out.” She shrugged. “The cat refuses to give up his nocturnal ways. Just lately I’ve noticed a car parked at the end of the street. Now, my vision isn’t what it used to be, especially in the dark, so I don’t recognize the vehicle from my distance, and it’s always gone by morning, but I started wondering if you had a new boyfriend. And then I thought about the strapping young man I met a while back at your salon. Heaven knows, when I was your age, I wouldn’t have let a specimen like him pass my way without trying for…how do you young people phrase it these days? A booty call?”

Ms. V blinked up at her from behind her bifocals. In Ginny’s imagination a pair of night-vision goggles replaced the glasses, and she got the uncomfortable feeling Ms. V knew exactly what was going on. Since that put the older woman at least one step ahead of her, she decided to take refuge in deflection. “Ms. V, I hear in your day you left a trail of broken hearts wherever you went.”

“I had my fun. I won’t deny. But I’m more curious about your fun, at the moment.”

“I know better than to try and get anything past you.” She did now, at any rate. Ginny took another sip of water and wished she’d worn something other than the green, sleeveless silk tie-neck blouse. The fabric encircling her throat suddenly seemed to be cutting off all the air to her head. She resisted the urge to loosen it, and instead scanned the crowd again in another fruitless search for Shaun.

She caught a man at the back of the room eyeing her from behind mirrored sunglasses. She didn’t recognize him, but there was something familiar, and slightly disapproving, about him.

“Ms. V,” she leaned close, and lowered her voice, “who’s that man over there by the exit.”

The older woman craned her neck to see. “Oh, my. How interesting.”

“Why? What’s so interesting?”

“That’s Jim Bob Butler, the county sheriff.”

…

“How late do you think you’ll stay at the engagement party?”

Shaun’s question flowed over the Escape’s speakers as Ginny pulled into Rawley’s parking lot. “No later than ten. Three hours is plenty of time to congratulate Melody and Josh.”

“Just so we’re clear, that was me determining how soon I can expect to have you naked, wrists tied to my headboard, panting my name.”

The image he described caused a hormone cascade so powerful her knees went weak, and she thanked God she was already sitting down. “Sooner than you imagine if you keep being so clear,” she said, and cut the engine. “Though I’m not really a tie-me-to-the-headboard kind of girl.”