LITMIR.BIZ

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* *

      They could only spend so many hours in bed. Theoretically, anyway. Jack would have kept Gina there all day Saturday but even he had to come up for air. Since they wouldn’t drive down to his parents’ house in Richmond until the following day, he offered to show her his favorite spots in D.C. She approved the proposed agenda, with two quick amendments.

      “I’d like to see where you live. And where you work.”

      Jack had no problem with either. Gina had packed clothes for the weekend but he had to get rid of his tux before he could appear in public again. That naturally lent itself to a first stop at his town house.

      It was classic Georgetown. Three narrow stories, all brick. Black shutters. Solid brass door knocker in the shape of a horse’s head. Gina’s nose wrinkled when Jack mentioned that the detached garage at the back had once been slave quarters, but she was gracious enough to acknowledge he’d taken occupancy of the ivy-covered premises long after those tragic days.

      The framed photo of Catherine still occupying a place of honor on the entryway table gave her pause, though. Almost as much as it gave Jack. He stood next to Gina as she gazed at the black-and-white photo.

      It was one of his favorite shots. He’d taken it after losing yet another tennis match to his hypercompetitive wife. She laughed at the camera, her racquet resting on her shoulder. Her dark hair was caught back in a ponytail. A sweatband circled her forehead. All her energy, all her pulsing life, shone in her eyes.

      “I bet she kept you jumping,” Gina murmured.

      “She did.”

      Almost too much.

      The thought darted into Jack’s mind before he could block it. That energy, that formidable legal mind, the all-consuming passion for politics. He’d had to march double time to keep up with her. More than once he’d wished she’d just relax and drift for a while.

      The thought generated a sharp jab of guilt. Jack had to work to shrug it off as he left Gina to explore the town house’s main floor and went upstairs to change. He came back down a half hour later, showered and shaved and feeling comfortable in jeans and his favorite University of Virginia crewneck.

      “You sure you want to swing by my office? There’s not a whole lot to see but we can make a quick visit if you want.”

      Gina forced a smile. The pictures of his wife scattered around the town house had gotten to her more than she would admit. She’d spotted several shots of Catherine alone. Several more of Catherine with Jack. The perfect marriage of smarts and ambition.

      And here Gina was, trying desperately to anchor herself after years of flitting from job to job, man to man. Her life to this point seemed so frivolous, so self-centered. How could Jack have any respect for her?

      She buried her crushing doubts behind a bright smile. “I’ve never been to the State Department. I’d like to see it.”

      “Okay, but don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

      * * *

      Gina took Jack’s disclaimer with a grain of salt. It should have been a teaspoon, she decided when he escorted her through State’s echoing marble halls and into his impressive suite of offices.

      The first thing she noticed was the view from the windows of the outer office. It cut straight down 21st Street to the Lincoln Memorial Reflecting Pool and presented a narrow, if spectacular, slice of Washington.

      The second item that caught her attention was the individual in jeans, a button-down yellow shirt and round eyeglasses hunched over a computer. She shouldn’t have been surprised that Jack’s people were dedicated enough to come in on weekends. And when he introduced her to his chief of staff, she tried hard to bury her antipathy behind a friendly smile.

      “I’m glad to finally meet you, Dale.”

      That was true enough. She’d been curious about this man. More than curious. She wasn’t usually into stereotypes, but her first glimpse of Dale Vickers pegged him immediately as a very short, very insecure male suffering from a rampaging Napoleon complex. He kept his desk between him and his boss. Also between him and Gina. She had to reach across it to shake his hand. He acknowledged her greeting with a condescending nod and turned to his boss.

      “I didn’t know you were coming in this morning.”

      What a prick! Gina couldn’t see why Jack put up with him until she spotted the framed 4x6 snapshot on the man’s workstation. Catherine and Jack and Dale Vickers with their arms looped over each other’s shoulders. All smiling. All wearing crimson sweatshirts emblazoned with the Harvard logo.

      * * *

      Images of Catherine Mason hovered at the back of Gina’s mind for the rest of the day. She managed to suppress them while Jack gave her a private tour of the State Department’s hallowed halls. Ditto when they took advantage of the glorious June afternoon to stroll the banks of the Potomac and cheer the scullers pushing against the vicious current.

      After browsing the upscale shops in Georgetown Mall, Jack took Gina to his favorite Thai restaurant later that evening. The owner greeted him with a delighted hand pump.

      “Mr. Ambassador! Long time since we see you.”

      “Too long, Mr. Preecha.”

      The slender Asian whipped around, checked his tables and beamed. “You want by the window, yes? You and...?”

      He made a heroic effort to conceal his curiosity when Jack introduced Gina. She felt it, though, and as soon as they were seated and their drink order taken, the question tumbled out.

      “Did you and Catherine come here often?”

      “Not often. We’d only lived in D.C. four or five months before she died. Do you like shumai? They serve them here with steamed rice and a peanut ginger sauce that’ll make you swear you were in Bangkok.”

      The change of subject was too deliberate to ignore. Gina followed the lead.

      “Since I have no idea what shumai are and have never been to Bangkok, I’ll take your word on both.”

      Shumai turned out to be an assortment of steamed dumplings filled with diced pork, chicken or shrimp. She followed Jack’s lead and dipped each morsel in ginger or soy sauce before gobbling it down. Between the dumplings, steamed rice, golden fried tofu triangles, some kind of root vegetable Gina couldn’t begin to pronounce and endless cups of tea, she rolled out of the restaurant feeling like a python just fed its monthly meal. Too stuffed for any more wandering through Georgetown. Almost too stuffed for sex. When she tried to convince Jack of that sad state of affairs, though, he just laughed and promised to do all the work.

      He followed through on his promise. The chocolate-brown sheets were a tangled mess and Gina was boneless with pleasure when he finally collapsed beside her.

      * * *

      For the second night in a row she fell asleep in his arms. And for the second morning in a row, she greeted the day cradled in the same warm cocoon.

      She came awake slowly, breathing in Jack’s scent, twitching her nose when his springy chest hair tickled her nose. It felt right to cuddle against his side. Safe and warm and right.

      Slowly, without Gina willing them, the images she’d glimpsed of Jack’s wife yesterday took form and shape in her mind. For an uneasy moment, she almost sensed Catherine’s presence. Not hostile, not heartbroken at seeing her husband in bed with another woman, but not real happy, either.

      “We’d better get up and get moving.”

      Jack’s voice rumbled up from the chest wall her ear was pressed against. “Sunday brunch is a long-standing family tradition,” he warned, stroking her hair with a lazy touch. “Hopefully, it’ll just be us and my parents today but you should be prepared for the worst.”

      “Great! Now he tells me.”

      She could do this, Gina told herself

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