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how long?”

      He did smile now, and his expression was that of a gambler letting his fortune ride on the roll of the dice.

      “How about forever?”

      Chapter Two

      WHAT had she done?

      Serena woke in the strange hotel room with a start. Clutching the sheet to her chest, she jackknifed to a sitting position and turned her head. Even knowing what she would find, she felt her mouth gape open at the sight that greeted her.

       Oh. My. God!

      It hadn’t been a dream. Jonas Benjamin was splayed out on his side of the bed beside her—shirtless and then some. Since his eyes were closed, she allowed her gaze to follow the length of his spine down his nicely muscled back. The sheet interfered with her view when it reached his hips, but what she couldn’t see now she clearly remembered seeing—and touching—last night. With her memory working overtime, Serena became uncomfortably aware of her own nakedness.

      It wasn’t the vivid recollections of their passionate lovemaking that had her panicking. It was what had happened just prior to it. Jonas’s right hand was tucked beneath the pillow, but his left one was clearly visible, and the third finger sported a cheap band identical to the one on hers.

       They were married!

      The magic of the previous night leaked away, leaving stark reality in its place. She, the woman who couldn’t commit to anything, had stood in a tacky Vegas chapel and promised to love, honor and cherish for a lifetime a man she hadn’t even known for a day.

      It was only in the past year that she’d committed to a hair color, going back to her natural red after trying out shades that ran the gamut from Goth black to punk purple. Or that she’d committed to a job. She’d worked full-time decorating cakes at the upscale Bonaventure Creations in La Jolla for a solid eleven months—a record on her part, especially since she still loved it. But marriage? She couldn’t do marriage—even if for a brief time last night it had seemed like a really good idea.

      Serena smothered a groan with her hand. She’d done a lot of bone-headed things in her life. Leaping without looking was a specialty of hers. But this wouldn’t be as easy to fix as the bad neon-green dye job she’d sported two St Patrick’s Days ago. Nor would it be as easy to hide as the dragonfly tattoo that hovered low on her right hip—the result of one too many margaritas on her twenty-first birthday.

      What was she going to do?

      Her gaze followed the trail of their discarded clothing back to the room’s door. The only thing that came through loud and clear was she needed to leave. Now. Before Jonas woke. Before he smiled and said something sweet or funny. Before he was able to change her mind. Because maybe he could…for a little while anyway.

      His tie caught her notice. It hung from the corner of the headboard. Serena frowned as she studied it. They were so different. Too different. Likely upon his waking reality would smack the professional and very put-together Jonas Benjamin upside the head, as it had her, and he would be as eager as she was to extricate himself from this situation.

      Pride demanded she be the one to leave first. Serena slipped from the bed and gathered up what she could find of her clothing. A few minutes later she was dressed, minus her bra and one of her earrings. She heard him stir as she bent to slip a hastily penned note of explanation into one of his size-eleven wingtips.

      “Who…who’s there?” he called sleepily.

      He didn’t even recall her name! Her heart sank even as her resolve strengthened.

      “Nobody worth remembering,” she whispered, and closed the door.

      The lock snicked shut before Jonas made it off the bed. Cursing, he flopped back on the mattress, rubbed the sleep from his eyes and tried to get his bearings. The events of the previous evening came back to him with the force of a fast-moving freight train and made him grateful to already be prone.

      Serena. His wife.

      He’d only gotten a peek at her pale face before the door closed, but he knew this much for certain: she wasn’t going out for coffee and bagels. She’d bolted.

      He wasn’t sure how he felt about that. Truth be told, he wasn’t sure how he felt about anything. He’d married a woman he’d known for a handful of hours. Talk about acting out of character. He preferred his Is dotted, his Ts neatly crossed. Tidy and well-ordered—that was how he liked his life. Every move he’d made since graduating from law school had been planned out carefully and methodically. Or every move until he’d walked into that lounge the previous night and spied a vivacious redhead. For a handful of stolen hours she’d been his sole reality. He hadn’t lost himself in a woman like that ever. As thrilling and baffling as he’d found the sensation the evening before, right now he felt confused and oddly vulnerable.

      A cellphone trilled and pulled him back to the present. The ringer was low and muffled, and came from beneath his wrinkled trousers.

      “Benjamin here,” he said, after retrieving it.

      “Where are you?” Jameson Culver demanded by way of a greeting. “We agreed to meet first thing this morning at campaign headquarters, to go over the radio spots you’ll be taping tomorrow. It’s after nine.”

      “Ah…right. Sorry. I’ve been…tied up.” It wasn’t a complete lie, he decided as he recalled one of the inventive uses Serena had found for his necktie. His campaign manager, however, was far from mollified.

      “Well, get untied,” Jameson boomed. “This is important, Jonas.”

      As if he needed reminding. “I know my lines forward and backward. That’s the benefit of speaking from the heart.”

      “I want to be sure you punch the right words. Now that former Mayor Cloverfield has endorsed you, Davenport is going to pull out all the stops to discredit you. You need to come across as confident and authoritative. He’s going to keep hitting on your youth and relative political inexperience. He’s going to make it seem as if you’re trying to cash in on your family’s name recognition with voters in this region.”

      “This election is about me.” Jonas had gone out of his way to keep his father out of his campaign. All of his life he’d lived in his father’s shadow. He wanted to win on his own merit.

      “Maybe you should ask Corbin to do a commercial spot. His public endorsement could sway some of the fence-sitters,” Jameson said.

      “No. Absolutely not.”

      “You’ve pulled ahead a little in the polls after last week’s town hall debate, but it’s still anyone’s race.”

      “I know that.” The words came out sharp.

      Jameson wasn’t deterred. “There’s a strategy for winning elections. Hand-shaking and babykissing only get you so far. Your father is political gold, Jonas.”

      “My answer remains no.”

      His campaign manager sighed dramatically. “Fine, but keep this in mind. Voters say they want change, but when it comes right down to it they often go with what they know. Davenport’s work on the council makes him less of a mystery. You’re untried, Jonas, which means they want to know anything and everything there is to know about you.”

      A lead weight settled in the pit of Jonas’s stomach as he spied the white envelope sticking out of one his shoes. “About that…” he began.

      “Is there a problem?”

      “I’m not sure.”

      After ending the call, Jonas dressed. His clothes were a little the worse for wear, though not in as sorry a state as the lacey lavender bra he discovered under his shirt. It hooked in the front. He remembered helping Serena out of it and helping himself to…

      He closed his eyes, groaned, and lowered himself to the side of the mattress.

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