Free Where There's Smoke by Sandra Brown Page B

Didn't ol' Randall become suspicious when you insisted on spending that night in Virginia instead of returning to Washington with the other guests?"
     
    "It was Clark's idea.   He and Randall were scheduled to play golf the following day.   It would have been ludicrous to drive back to D.C then return early the next morning.   Randall saw the logic."
     
    "That must have been real convenient for you, Doc.   I mean, to have your husband accommodate you like that.   Did you also fuck him that night just to throw him off track?"
     
    She slapped him, hard.   The slap startled her as much as it did Key.
     
    In her entire life she'd never struck anyone.   She wouldn't have thought she was capable of it.
     
    Learning to control herself had been a critical part of her upbringing.
     
    Giving over to one's emotions had been unthinkable in her parents' house.   Crying jags, uproarious laughter, any form of unbridled emotional expression was considered unacceptable behavior.
     
    That ability to detach herself had served her well in Washington.
     
    She didn't know how Key had managed to breach her conditioned restraint, but he had.   If the palm of her hand hadn't been smarting so badly, she wouldn't have believed she'd really slapped him.
     
    Faster than her thoughts could register this, he encircled her wrist, drew her against him, and pushed her arm up behind her back.
     
    "Don't ever do that again."   The words were precisely enunciated through straight, thin lips that barely moved.   His eyes were as direct and brilliant as laser beams.
     
    "You can't talk to me like that."
     
    "Oh yeah?   Why not?"
     
    "You haven't got the right to judge me.
     
    "The hell I don't.   In some parts of the world they still stone women for being unfaithful to their husbands."
     
    "Would it have evened the score for you if I'd been stoned?   Believe me, being brutalized by the media is just as deadly."   The hand within his grip was becoming numb.   She flexed her fingers.   "You're hurting me.
     
    Slowly he released her and took a step back.   "Reflexes."
     
    That was as close as she was going to get to an apology.   Strange under the circumstances, but she thought he sincerely regretted hurting her.
     
    He winced and pressed his hand against his side.
     
    "Are you in pain?"
     
    "It's nothing."
     
    "Do you want something?"
     
    As a physician, her instinct was to reach out and lay her hands on him, render assistance.   But she didn't.   For one thing, he would shun her concern.   But primarily she was apprehensive about touching him for any reason.   Only now that the contact had been broken did she realize how closely he'd held her against him.
     
    As she massaged circulation back into her hand, she tried to make a joke of it, as much to reassure herself as him.   "I don't ordinarily slap my patients."
     
    The attempted levity didn't work.   He didn't even smile.   Indeed, he was single-mindedly scrutinizing her face.   "I didn't recognize you last night from the pictures I'd seen," he said.   "You look different now.
     
    "I've aged five years."
     
    He shook his head.   "It's more than that.   Your hair's different."
     
    She touched her hair self-consciously.   "I don't lighten it anymore.
     
    Randall liked my hair lighter."
     
    "Back to the husband.   Poor Randall.   Guess he felt like the rug had been yanked out from under him, huh?   Wonder why he stayed with you?"
     
    His voice had regained the underpinnings of sarcasm.
     
    "I mean there you were, Randall Porter's lawfully wedded wife, featured on the cover of the National Enquirer, being exposed as Senator Clark Tackett's married lover.   The photos showed Randall hustling you away from the cottage, wrapped up in your nightie."
     
    "You don't need to reacquaint me with the reports.   I remember them well."
     
    "And what does Randall do?"   he asked as though she hadn't spoken.
     
    "He's with the State Department, right?   A