When Drew looked her straight in the eye and repeated his vow, “I would never ask a woman to sacrifice her life for me,” she was stunned. Yet her own suffering was too fresh in her mind to disagree.

  “You shouldn’t. It would be very cruel.” Her thoughts were on Bill, that he should have been the one making the vow now. Only when Drew seemed to snap from his own anger to send her a puzzled glance did she realize how far her emotions had strayed. Eager to make amends, she smiled as warmly as possible. “I’m sorry. I was thinking of something else. That sounded terrible.”

  A pulse in his temple throbbed visibly. “You have every right to believe what you want.”

  “But that’s not what I believe—that is, I’m not sure…” In fact, she was not. For years now, her being had been hardened to men in general, and this political maelstrom in particular. Now she was not quite sure.

  After what seemed an eternal pause, Drew grinned. “When Dr. Daran Patterson isn’t sure about something, it must mean that she has either had too much wine or that she is exhausted. In either case, I’d better drive you home.”

  Fearful of protesting, lest he push her to discuss her quandary, she accompanied him without argument, this time in his car, a sober navy sedan which was a far cry from the sporty silver one he kept in Connecticut.

  “Laura Speranzo will be by to pick you up at seven-thirty tomorrow morning. Once a month I get all my aides together for a breakfast. You happened to arrive at the right time.” A bright grin flashed her way as one hand left the wheel to squeeze hers, which lay idly in her lap. His touch was enough to reawaken any senses that might have succumbed to the wine. “Senator Brande, from New Mexico, will be speaking. And you’ll have a chance to meet all the others in the office.” Nodding, Daran accepted the fact that he would not be picking her up himself. Why she had hoped it, she was reluctant to say. Reading her thoughts, he said as he pulled the car up just across the street from her hotel, “I’d give you a lift myself if it weren’t for the petty jealousies it might cause.” He was teasing at first, then he sobered enough to convey the truth of his message. “It’s a very delicate thing—balancing the egos of one’s staff. And a staff is critical to the success and power of any senator. You’ll see that for yourself.” Once more she had to admire him for the sensitivity that his words suggested.

  Silently she reached for the door to let herself out. Never one to sit on ceremony, it had seemed perfectly natural. When Drew’s long torso stretched across to still her departure, she looked back in surprise. “Can you get up to your room all right?” One hand was on the back of the seat by her head, the other covering hers on the door handle. His face was mere inches from hers, its nearness sending shock waves through her which had nothing to do with the suddenness of his move.

  “I think so.” Then she teased back in a frail attempt at diluting the sensuous havoc he caused. “After all, we wouldn’t want to give fuel for gossip.” Had he not mentioned but moments before the existence of jealousies among the in-group, the quip would never have surfaced. It was taken, mercifully, in the good humor in which it had been offered.

  “To hell with gossip,” he growled playfully. “If I see you to your room, I won’t leave. You know how much I want you…” The last was uttered with a depth of desire which, in truth, had been building all evening. Even in spite of the negativity of the discussion at his home earlier, the fact of the chemical attraction between the two was undeniable. At that moment Daran would mindlessly have invited him to walk her in, drugged as she was by his nearness.

  His body was all male, sending a telltale tingle through her. Remembrance of the touch of his lips on hers deepened that tingle to a shudder he could not have missed, bent intimately around her as he was. When the hand behind curved about her neck and he straightened, drawing her toward him, she went willingly. Earlier his kiss had been one of reacquaintance; now there was pure hunger in it.

  The dark of night held from her all things visual. Sensation reigned supreme. Receiving and returning his embrace in kind, she dove happily into the sea of his passion, wishing nothing more than to drown there. Yet he held her afloat, teasing her with a new twist of his lips or a deeper forage of his tongue. His hand caressed her shoulder, then fell to mold gently the full curve of her breast.

  “Drew, please…” she began breathlessly when he finally released her lips. A large forefinger instantly straightened against them to still her words, be they invitation or protest. For some reason he did not wish to know. Rather, firmly pulling himself away from her, he cleared his throat.

  “You’d better go on up, Daran. We’ve got an early morning tomorrow.” It seemed, indeed, a repetition of the past; once more, politics had made its grand intrusion on her life. This time, however, it may have been a godsend.

  “Drew—” she began again, her purpose a mystery even to herself, only knowing that she did not want the evening to end on that last jarring note. Again he silenced her.

  “Shh. Let me be noble … just for tonight.” For a brief moment his head turned her way. Even in the flickering beam of a passing headlight the strain on his face was evident. Perhaps he was right; enough had been said and done for one evening.

  Sliding back over the seat, she let herself out, ran across the street, and disappeared into the hotel lobby without a backward glance, intent only on seeking the solace of her room and its privacy to ponder her feelings.

  But those feelings were far from simple, as was the man who sparked them. If only he were the typical political devil she had envisioned that very first day in her office at Trinity. Negative as her dealings with him might have been, he would at least have been predictable. And resistible. Drew Charles was neither. And there was yet another side of the man to be seen, one to which she would be introduced the following morning. It was her perverse prayer that he would prove to be every bit as offensive a senator-in-action as the very worst of the lot. Somehow, however, she doubted that that would be the case.

  CHAPTER 6

  The next few days left Daran little time to ponder the depths of her own feelings. Whereas as at home in Connecticut she was, by virtue of the professional roles in which she found herself, an organizer, an adviser, a leader, here in Washington she was one of the group. If she had expected that less executive status to be a more passive one, however, she was mistaken. From the start, the life of the governmental servant took her by storm, both intellectually and physically. Not only were there a myriad of varying issues to be considered at any given time, but the rigor of meetings, fact-finding, telephoning, and chasing after one legislator or another would try the energy of even the most conditioned athlete.

  It began with the staff breakfast the following morning. The young woman whom she had met so briefly the day before was at her door five minutes ahead of time. Fortunately Daran’s own excitement had woken her long before the official call came through. Showered, and dressed in a safari-style shirtwaist dress of lightweight cotton, she labored for long minutes with her hair, fastening it at the nape of her neck both for coolness and for a continuation of the mature image that the simple bone sandals, the gold chain and hoop earrings, and the wide obi-like sash imparted. A dash of cologne and a dash of makeup concluded her dallying. When she opened the door for Laura Speranzo, she felt confidence in the properly poised appearance she made.

  Of the many surprises in store for her, the first was the overall youth of the workers who comprised the senator’s staff. Aside from the major legislative aides, of which there appeared at fast count to be five, the second echelon of assistants were young—most younger than herself—and enthusiastic. The friendly hand of John Hollings, who seemed to manage the others, was at her elbow from the moment she entered the room, guiding her from one to the other, making the introductions with an unmistakable flair, telling her just enough about each one to help her keep them straight. A cup of coffee and a cheese danish mysteriously found their way into her hands. So preoccupied was she in meeting these new people that Drew, for a large part, escaped her attention. Only later, after Senator Brande had given a short talk on the pending defense-spending bill, and the general milling commenced once more, did she note that, as host, he had moved quietly from one guest to another, shunning the spotlight himself, chatting personally with his staff.

  As Daran was diverted, she had missed the intermittent glances he cast her way as he made his rounds. When the tall form suddenly materialized by her side, she was—for the first time that morning—strangely unsure of herself. Up to that point self-assurance had come naturally. For all the competitive spirit that had to exist in a group such as this, its members had welcomed her with courtesy and interest. But Drew she already knew, in a fashion; how was she to act toward him?

  To her immediate relief, the senator himself established the guideline. “How are you, Daran?” The rhetorical question, overheard both by John Hollings and by Leo Alteris, with whom she had been talking moments before, was rapidly followed up by more very deliberate chatter. “It was fortunate that you came in yesterday and were able make it this morning. You won’t find any better danish in all of Washington.” The gleam in his eye touched on both other faces before returning to hers. “I see you’ve met Leo. John must have told you that he is in charge of matters before the Judiciary Committee. You’ll be working primarily with him while you’re here.” The tone of voice was smooth and even, carrying the same warmth—and no more—that it had to the ears of each of his other staffers. There was a hand on neither her elbow, her waist, nor her shoulder. In his office setting Drew Charles observed all proprieties. Not so, necessarily, his staff.

  Before Daran knew what was happening, the man named Leo, who was evidently to be her overseer, stepped closer and did put a casually intimate arm over her slim shoulders. “I owe you my thanks, Senator. Dr. Patterson may be just what we need.” The hint of a deeper mischief, written so blatantly in his features, went much further than his words. For the first time Daran took a good look at him. Perhaps in his early thirties, the man was of average height and build and very good looking by all normal standards. Why Daran had not noticed this when she had first met him was no mystery; in this office, those normal standards were sadly relegated to the paper-shredder—for the boss of the office set an entirely new and far higher standard.

  It was the senator’s voice, a bit stronger now, as though in echo of her thoughts. “Dr. Patterson is here to work, Leo. Keep that in mind. I’ll be expecting twice as much work from both of you before those hearings are over.” A chill of premonition passed through Daran, not so much inspired by his words as by the sharp eye which, with an awesome visual touch, removed the tentative weight of her coworker’s arm from her shoulder. It was obvious that the senator would stand for no mixing of business and pleasure when it came to his office. But then, isn’t that what she had known all along? Where politics was the name of the game, romance was ruled out. In Bill’s case, politics had been his be-all and end-all; there was nothing else. Drew had already proven that he was a human being as well as a politician. Yet his reaction in this particular situation, she was sure, had been intended as a lesson for her. While she worked for him, there would be no fooling around—it was as blunt as that. And, for the time being at least, she could live with that ground rule. For if she was to be working as hard as he suggested, sleepless nights such as the last one would definitely be detrimental.

  The gathering lasted no more than an hour, with Drew excusing himself promptly at eight-thirty to attend an informal briefing at the State Department. With the dispersal of the others, Daran found herself closeted with a more sober Leo Alteris and two other research assistants. Assuming either that Drew’s warning had made its mark on the other man, or that the weight of the workload beneath which they now struggled had erased any amorous imaginings, she breathed a sigh of relief. It was enough that she did not have to worry about the unwanted advances of an ardent admirer; there was too much to deal with, of a more critical nature, concerning the Rights of Minors Act.

  Her hotel room never looked as good as it did that night when, exhausted, she finally returned there. For the greater part of the day she had not left the office, painstakingly explaining then arguing her views before an often skeptical Leo Alteris. It came as some surprise to her to learn that he had himself been responsible for much of the original wording of the bill. That accounted for some of his resistance to change. The rest was due to Drew’s occasional joining in the discussion. While the words may have been Leo’s, the ideas were irrevocably those of the senator. At long last the multitude of arguments that Daran had prepared before that original meeting in Hartford were of use to her. Staunchly she held her ground, offering specifics and statistics to illustrate why a particular item in the bill would be ineffective or another would be too weak to make a permanent dent in the situation which had been building for years.

  One source of contention was the juvenile court system. It was this problem that occupied her thoughts that night, then carried over into her attack the following morning when, following a short break to afford a group of Connecticut Boy Scouts a tour of the office, the think tank on the Rights of Minors Act met again.

  “But, Leo,” she began, laying papers out before the dark head bent at the desk, “it’s not enough to state that cases must be brought before a judge within a ‘reasonable period of time,’ or even ‘three months from the date of the complaint.’” You have no idea what I see out there over and over and over again. A complaint is brought against a juvenile, perhaps a runaway charge brought by a parent, an assault charge brought by an elderly man in a housing development, even a larceny charge brought by a store owner, and a process begins that is nearly endless.” Sitting forward in her seat, she pleaded her case vehemently.

  “First the determination has to be made that the defendant is a juvenile. Then, if he needs it, court counsel must be appointed. And if you think that the average lawyer who represents the juvenile offender on a court-appointed basis is truly committed to serving the best interests of that child, you’re mistaken. I’m not even sure whether, given the mass of red tape to be waded through, any lawyer could do better. When the case is finally brought before a judge, it may be heard, held over until the next day or the next week or three months from then. It’s a disgrace, what some call justice.”

  She paused for a breath. Leo’s dark eyes held hers, the only concession he made to the arrival of the senator being the passing of several charts and pages of statistics to the lean form that moved silently from the door to the corner of the desk.

  “Go on.” It was Drew’s voice, bearing that same self-control that characterized his comings and goings in the office. For a split second she was taken aback. In the times they had spent together, she and Drew had never gotten as far as the specifics of her fault-finding with his bill. Now he sat before her, resplendent in his navy blue blazer, white shirt, and dark gray pants. Features intent, yet with a definite kindness to them, he awaited the resumption of her discourse. This was why she was here—for the discussions she now held with the man and his aides. The deep breath she took caught for just a minute as the knowing twinkle beamed her way from the warm gray of Drew’s gaze. It was the first truly personal gesture he had made since the night they had dined together. It was more in self-defense against what threatened to disconcert her even more that she ventured on.

  For the better part of half an hour, Drew sat with them. His questions to Daran were well-timed and pithy, shearing the excess from the discussion as he pondered the core of her arguments. His head was bent, deep in thought, when his personal secretary, Antonia Brown, poked her head into the office to remind him of a hearing he was to attend on the matter of farming subsidies.

  Daran’s amber eyes followed the lithe form as it disappeared down the hall. “How can he switch from one topic to another like that, at the snap of a finger?”

  “They’re all like that—or, the good ones, at least,” Leo quickly explained. “I could never do it; I have a one-track mind.” Daran ignored his potential for a double-meaning, fascinated as she was in the insight he could provide into the workings of the mind of Drew Charles. “The senator has the ability to siphon out the crux of a matter, absorb it, then spit it back in improved form. He can turn on and off at will”—another double-meaning, she was to wonder later—“and has the uncanny ability to be on top of a score of things at once. You’ll see, if you stick around!”

  The only things she saw, however, before her flight back to Connecticut late Thursday evening, were the four walls of that office, the functional cafeteria where the aides habitually ate, and the silent comfort of her hotel suite, which saw her eyes closed for the night within fifteen minutes of her return there. At this point, Leo had pointed out, she was merely being introduced to the process. The physical demands would be minimal, with the bulk of the brainwork being ground out in the office. Later in the month, the legwork would begin.

  Back in Connecticut, on familiar ground, Friday and Saturday passed as quickly. Once again Daran was in command—of her counseling sessions, of her Child Advocacy Project, of her garden, where green shoots had begun to spring up in healthy array. The silence at home pleased her, particularly after the pace of the work week just over. Drew’s presence in the state for the weekend was deliberately pushed to the back of her mind, where it lingered with gnawing persistence. Despite his original invitation for her to accompany him on some of his rounds, the incident at the office that first morning had convinced her of his second thoughts. She was startled, therefore, to hear the deep voice at the other end of the phone at mid-afternoon on Saturday.

  “Where have you been?” His anger surprised her even more than the call itself. “I’ve been trying you on and off for most of the day.”