American tax dollars at work…

  They trailed Todd through a long, barrel-ceilinged hallway and into another lavish room, this one huge and over-the-top, peppered with plush rugs, heirloom-quality furniture, a trio of chandeliers ringed by gold medallions, and seating for twenty. Heavy red drapes added to the heavy feel, ensuring it was the sort of place everyone knew to gawk at but not touch.

  In one oversized chair, a waif in her forties slouched, a book laid over her chest as she softly snored. Matt spotted an empty wineglass on her right. Beside her, a slightly older man with a graying beard scowled at something on the oversized tablet in his hands. From his fact-finding, Matt knew these were Todd’s parents, Roger and Cynthia.

  Roger spared Madison a wary glance, then peeked across the room at an older woman on the sofa, as if seeking permission. She sat center stage, seemingly perched on her throne, ankles crossed perfectly, wearing designer everything without a single hair out of place.

  The woman ignored Roger. “Hello, Todd.”

  She didn’t spare a word or glance for Madison.

  “Evening, Grandmother.”

  “What sort of greeting is that? Come kiss me.”

  Dutifully, Todd did. “Grandpa around?”

  “In his office, on the phone. Negotiations for that damn immigration bill. Currently, it’s a House problem. But if our illustrious speaker wasn’t so inept, your grandfather wouldn’t have to get involved.” She sighed in displeasure. “The Westbrooks will be here for cocktails before dinner. Try to get him out of there to play cordial host.”

  “Will do.”

  Once Todd disappeared to another corner of the estate, the senator’s wife finally addressed Madison, pinning her with a glare of displeasure. “So you’re back.”

  “Not by choice. I would rather have stayed in Louisiana.”

  “Appearances must be maintained. This will be Winston’s tightest election in over two decades. Even your father’s illness wouldn’t excuse your prolonged absence. We must look like a united family.” She huffed in annoyance. “Who are these big brutes trailing after you?”

  “Bodyguards. They’re for my protection until this farce is over. This is Ethan Garrison.” She pointed. “And Matt Montgomery.”

  The old woman’s steel-trap stare narrowed on him. “The same Matt Montgomery you fucked before you married my grandson?”

  “The Matt Montgomery who’s earned my trust, worked as a bodyguard for years, and will keep me safe.”

  “From who, Todd?” She scoffed. “You’re overreacting.”

  “You can say that after what he did to Brent?”

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about. He would never hurt you.”

  Madison didn’t bother calling Agatha a liar. Instead, she studied the garish clock on the mantle. “I’d like to get Matt and Ethan fed before everyone else arrives for dinner. Is Ramona in the kitchen?”

  Agatha scowled. “Probably. That is where she belongs.”

  Matt couldn’t miss how much Agatha’s condescending attitude irritated Madison.

  “Fine. I’ll see you at five thirty.”

  “Unfortunately, yes.” the old bag drawled. “If Todd didn’t make it clear, you can’t mention your…current arrangement with my grandson to anyone or there will be no divorce. We can’t have word of this leaking before the midterms. Understood?”

  “Yes,” Madison snapped. Then she ignored every Pershing in the room, motioning for him and Ethan to follow her.

  “What a bitch,” Matt muttered as he trailed Madison down a different hallway than Todd.

  “That was Agatha on a good day.” Madison paused in front of a narrow doorway.

  Then she pushed it open, revealing a small white kitchen with a massive, professional-grade stove, double-ovens, and a sleek, European-made salamander. Behind a narrow island, a fifty-something woman with salt-and-pepper curls bouncing around her shoulders and lively dark eyes stirred something in an enormous bowl.

  “Ramona?”

  The woman’s stare zipped up. When she caught sight of Madison, she frowned. “You’re back.”

  She gave the woman a sad smile. “As you see. I missed you.”

  The woman set her bowl and spoon aside, wiped her hands on her apron, then rounded the island to hug Madison. “I missed you, too. When I didn’t see you for a couple of weeks, I’d hoped⁠—”

  “Me, too. But here I am.” She stepped out of the chef’s embrace, doing her best to paste on a neutral expression. “Ramona, these are my bodyguards.”

  When she introduced them, Ramona shook their hands with welcoming nods, giving them an appreciative once-over. “Girl, you’ve got some fine-looking protectors. If I were thirty years younger…”

  “Ramona!” Madison giggled.

  “I’m just saying…” Then she leaned in and murmured in Madison’s ear. “If that’s the same Matt you knew before you married Todd⁠—”

  “It is. And I can’t say more.” She glanced at the ceiling, reminding everyone they were being surveilled.

  Ramona sighed with resignation. “What can I get you?”

  “Thank you for understanding.” Madison squeezed Ramona’s hand. “I know you’re busy fixing dinner for the weekly family shindig⁠—”

  “Shindig is one way to describe it,” she cut in tartly.

  Ethan grinned. Matt followed suit when Madison swallowed a laugh. “Do you have anything you could feed them before the guests arrive?”

  “Because the help doesn’t sit at the table. Right…” She turned to him and Ethan. “You boys like a good rare roast beef? I made lunch, and no one ate it. Seems like a shame to waste all this food.”

  “Roast beef? You’re speaking my love language.” Ethan winked.

  “I’d appreciate some,” Matt replied.

  “Good. I’ll whip you up a heaping helping of mashed potatoes, too. How about green beans, fruit salad, and some homemade peach pie to go with that?”

  Matt’s mouth watered. “A lot of carbs, but that would be fantastic.”

  Ethan groaned. “Could I talk you into adopting me? My mother is a terrible cook. I went to live with my father when I was sixteen, only to realize he was even worse. I’ve been starving for good food my whole life…”

  Ramona cackled. “You are a little on the skinny side. We’ll see if I can’t fatten you up some.”

  Madison smiled fondly. “She will, too. The first six months after I was married, I gained fifteen pounds. I had to tell her to stop making butterscotch chess pie for me every Sunday.”

  “I would have kept making them if Agatha hadn’t scolded you for your weight in front of the whole family.” Then Ramona’s grin turned sly. “But her sharp tongue won’t stop me from making one tonight.”

  Madison shook her head. “I know you. You already have tonight’s dessert made. Don’t go to the extra trouble⁠—”

  “It’s no trouble. I was in a mood this morning, and I made a chocolate raspberry torte. You know it will be better if I don’t serve the damn thing.”

  Matt sent Madison a questioning stare. “Because?”

  She whispered in his ear, “Agatha hates raspberries.”

  “Ah.” He grinned at Ramona.

  She shrugged. “Shit happens.”

  “Every day and twice on Sunday.”

  “Exactly.” Madison grinned. “I’d like to say hello to Willa. Any idea where I can find her?”

  “Probably setting up the dining room.”

  Madison glanced at her watch. “Since it’s nearly five, you’re probably right. I’ll be back.”

  “I’ll go with you,” Matt insisted.

  Ethan leaned across the island, planting his elbows on the pristine white quartz counters. “And I’ll stay here and see if I can sweet-talk Ramona into taking in a grown son.”

  As Matt left the kitchen with Madison, he clenched his fists, resisting the urge to fit his hand to the small of her back. Fuck, he was dying to touch her. As if sensing his turmoil, she glanced over her shoulder and shook her head.

  Biting back a curse, he dropped his hand and trailed her to another section of the enormous house, eventually emerging through another arch into a dining room fit for royalty. Elaborate dark wood paneling gleamed like new, despite the fact he’d bet they’d been hand-carved at least a century ago. Paintings of a nineteenth-century hunt flanked a giant credenza topped by a pair of over-the-top candelabras. A quartet of glass shelves floated above. The rest of the furniture was ornately black with gold inlays and gleaming feet. The red upholstery on the chairs echoed the bold patterns visible in everything around them. A giant flower arrangement dominated the middle of the table, centered between two massive crystal-drop chandeliers.

  Matt studied the room, marking entry and exit points, possible weapons, hiding places, and areas where he could watch over Madison while she ate with the sharks she called family.

  “It’s a lot, isn’t it?” she asked into the silence.

  He wasn’t interested in small talk. Normally, he’d study a house for days—or at least hours—before he had to protect someone inside. He didn’t like operating on the fly, especially when he didn’t one-hundred-percent understand the dynamics of everyone who lived here and hadn’t had the chance to vet the staff. “Too much. No Willa?”

  He spoke too soon.

  Through another archway, a petite black woman emerged, carrying a stack of plate chargers, her expression harried. She stopped when she saw Madison, then sighed unhappily. “I’d hoped it wasn’t true.”

  Madison shrugged. “I’m back. Willa, this is Matt Montgomery. He’ll be one of my bodyguards through the midterms.”

  At his name, recognition lit her dark eyes. “Nice to meet you.”

  “Likewise.” He nodded deferentially.

  “I suppose you’re staying for dinner?” she asked Madison.

  “Do I really have a choice?”

  “I suppose not. Sorry, honey.”

  “I’m fine.” Madison waved away the woman’s concern. “I haven’t spoken to Sadie in forever. How is she?”

  Matt knew subtext when he heard it. Madison was really inquiring about Sadie’s safety after the girl had helped her escape.

  A ghost of a smile played at Willa’s face as she set the plate chargers around the table. “Good. Staying on campus this summer. She’s got a job and is taking a class. She’s determined to be the first in our family to graduate from college.”

  Without spelling it out, Willa had let Madison know that her daughter was not only okay but thriving. Matt was glad to hear it. Like Madison, he didn’t want any harm to befall the brave girl who had chosen to aid Madison in fleeing these cutthroats.

  Madison smiled. “Georgetown is a great school. I’m sure she’ll be a huge success, whatever she chooses to do.”

  “Thank you.” Willa sent her grin rife with more fondness than her words suggested. “I’ll tell her you send your best.”

  “Please do.”

  The two women exchanged a glance. They wanted to embrace. The older woman hurt for Madison since she’d been dragged away from friends, family, and home in Louisiana and back to the snake pit of DC. Madison did her best to assure Willa that she would be all right. But both exercised caution to allay suspicion and keep Sadie safe.

  When Madison headed for the exit, Matt followed, giving Willa a nod. He hoped the maid got the message that he was an ally if something went astray. The housekeeper gave him a parting smile.

  Once he and Madison returned to the kitchen, more stilted small talk ensued since no one could say what they truly wanted to. The room fell silent when Ramona set steaming plates in front of him and Ethan on a nearby eat-in bar. Everything looked divine, and Matt hadn’t realized how starved he was until he smelled the tender roast beef.

  As he washed all the delicious chow down with iced tea, Ramona glanced at her watch, then scanned Madison’s appearance. “You better get dressed for dinner.”

  Matt scowled. Her prim white pantsuit wasn’t dressy enough?

  “I supposed that means Agatha set aside a dress for me?”

  Ramona’s smile turned brittle. “Naturally. And you’ve only got a few minutes before the Westbrooks arrive.”

  “Then I better get to it.” Madison turned to him and Ethan. “Enjoy your dinner, guys.”

  Was she insane? Matt leapt to his feet. “I’m going with you.”

  Ethan swallowed down a big bite of potato, then gulped half his tea. “Dude, you eat. I’ll go.”

  Matt glared. Was the little weasel hoping to see Madison naked? “No.”

  The new guy rolled his eyes. “They won’t allow both of us to guard her in the dining room. You’ve had a chance to look the place over, get the lay of the land. She’d be safer with you during dinner. So I’ll have plenty of time to finish stuffing my face and kissing up to Ramona while you shadow Madison.”

  Matt crossed his arms over his chest. He might not like Ethan…but the guy wasn’t wrong. “All right.”

  He hated watching Ethan hop to his feet and lead Madison away to an unfamiliar corner of the house where he’d safeguard her while she got naked before sliding into a dinner dress and heels. Then again, Matt didn’t have much strength when it came to resisting Madison, so maybe Ethan’s idea was better.

  “Where will cocktails be once the Westbrooks arrive?” he asked Ramona.

  “In what Mrs. Pershing—Agatha—calls the parlor. It’s just off the dining room. I’ll show you there once the guard at the gate tells me we have company.” Ramona slid Ethan’s plate under the salamander, then retrieved a walkie-talkie and informed someone named Horace to let her know once the Westbrooks passed through the exterior gates.

  “Thank you.”

  She nodded. “I hope you and the flashy kid know what you’re getting into.”

  Matt hoped so, too. He’d known these people were rich and powerful, but holy shit. Since they seemingly didn’t do much for it, their wealth was a giant fuck-you to every hardworking American struggling to make ends meet.

  Ramona busied herself around the kitchen while Matt chowed down the rest of his incredibly well-cooked dinner. As he finished the last bite, the radio blared with static. After she answered the guard, she guided him to the parlor. And thank god. The house was a fucking maze of hallways behind gargantuan rooms that would make any Architectural Digest connoisseur’s eyes pop.

  She left him with a nod. Cynthia and Roger appeared a moment later, dressed for dinner. Their faces were completely blank as they looked through him like he didn’t exist.

  Agatha appeared next, now in a gray asymmetrical dress complete with a matching sheer cardigan-shaped wrap and sensible black heels. She sniffed at him and poured herself a scotch before turning to her son and daughter-in-law. “Roger, have a goddamn drink and lighten up.” When a maid entered the room, Agatha pinned her with a stare, pointing to Cynthia. “She’s been drinking since two. No more wine for her until after dinner.”

  “Yes, ma’am. I’ll let the others know.”

  “I don’t drink so I can stay on my toes, Mother.” He spit the last word bitterly, as if he cursed it.

  “Your glowering isn’t conducive to a cordial gathering. Drink.”

  “Nothing is ever good enough for you. If you want me sloppy, fine. Just stop belittling my wife.”

  Agatha cast him a withering glance. “Oh, it’s far too late for you to grow a spine, and I assume you’d like to continue living in style and comfort?”

  Rage tightened Roger’s face, but he bit his tongue and blanked his expression as his mother handed him a snifter of scotch. He tossed it back in two swallows.

  “That’s what I thought,” Agatha drawled. “Though you could be a little more discerning. That scotch was old enough to vote.”

  And expensive as fuck.

  Matt did his best to blend into the walls while he waited for Madison. When she appeared with Ethan by her side, he had to catch his goddamn breath. She always looked beautiful to him, but…wow. Tonight, she was a goddess.

  The top of the burgundy-red cocktail dress wrapped around her neck like a collar. The rest of the sleeveless bodice hugged her tits as if it had been hand-stitched to show them off. The silky fabric gathered at her small waist. The tulip skirt flirted with her thighs inches above her knees and made her legs look miles long. She wore a pair of silver stilettos that screamed “fuck me.” They matched her ostentatious wedding ring and the ornate dangling earrings that winked in the room’s sedate lighting. She’d arranged her hair in a loose bun and painted her lips with a dark, vampy gloss that echoed her dress. And when she turned to pour herself a glass of wine from the sideboard, Matt nearly swallowed his tongue. The fucking dress was backless and showed off her pearly satin skin.

  His cock jerked. He ached to touch her. He didn’t want anyone else looking at her.

  Son of a bitch, he needed to focus, keep Madison safe and protected. But in that moment, all Matt wanted to do was strip her bare, get her on her knees, and remind her in a hundred filthy ways that she belonged to him.

  Ethan cleared his throat. “You all right, buddy?”

  He tried not to sound like he was dying to fuck Madison. “Yeah. Thanks.”

  With a nod, Ethan disappeared toward the kitchen. Matt held his breath until Madison slowly turned, hoping she’d meet his stare. But she didn’t. In fact, she acted as if he didn’t exist. Her tense body language told a different story, though. He felt her awareness of him as a man, as her lover, as the only person she trusted in this room full of vipers and assholes.

  Fuck, this was going to be the longest three months of his life.

  An older couple entered then. The man, likely pushing seventy, was still tall and trim, dressed in a designer suit with a dark, astute stare as he skimmed the room. The woman clinging to his arm looked at least two decades younger. Her hair, floating around her shoulders, was such a pure shade of blond Matt doubted it was real, but it fit her surprisingly soft face. He’d bet she’d had Botox and lip injections and maybe a facelift, too. But he’d also suspected she’d done that because she’d once been the trophy wife of the stiff at her side. She scanned the room with sorrowful eyes, then dropped her stare to the intricately patterned carpet.