Free Home Free by Fern Michaels Page B

in the sandy hair at his temples. Interesting face. A Kirk Douglas cleft in his strong chin. Killer teeth some dentist somewhere was proud of. Winsome smile, masculine laugh. Nails blunt cut, buffed but not polished. Strong hands. Dressed well, spit shine to his shoes. Nothing ostentatious. Drove a Lexus. That was what she saw. Three-bedroom apartment in the Watergate. That was her guess. Nikki and Alexis—now, that was different. They didn’t know Jason Parker was a good kisser, didn’t know that he was attentive, that he held her chair for her, opened the car door for her. They would think his smile was practiced. Maybe even calculating.
    To her dismay, Ted had already formed an opinion, without even knowing she was seeing and kissing Jason Parker.
    Crap!
    â€œLooks like I came by at a bad time,” Parker said, getting to his feet. “I’ll call before I stop by again. At least this little visit allowed me to warm up. I walked all the way from the office. This is where you’re supposed to feel sorry for me. Ah, I see that isn’t working.” A second later he was on his feet. “Dinner this evening?”
    â€œI can’t. Listen, Jason, I . . . How would you like to go to Camp David for Thanksgiving dinner?”
    Parker’s eyes almost bugged out of his head! Maggie knew the man was rarely if ever surprised at anything, but at that moment he was stunned as well as speechless.
    â€œ The Camp David?”
    â€œThat’s the one. Here,” she said, pressing a key on her computer to print out another copy of the e-mail she’d just read. She watched as he read the terse instructions.
    â€œWell, this would certainly look good on a résumé if I was ever going to send one out. I’d be delighted to accompany you, Maggie, and thank you for inviting me.”
    â€œYeah,” Maggie drawled. “Look, I really have to get to work. I guess I’ll see you in a few days.”
    â€œBreakfast tomorrow?”
    â€œNo, I have an early engagement. I’ll see you Thursday morning at seven thirty.”
    Parker was dismissed, and he knew it. He was out the door and almost to the elevator before Maggie got her wits about her. Her insides churning, she made her way down the hall to the kitchen. Ted was paying the bakery clerk for an oversize box of pastries. The coffee smelled wonderful. She watched as Ted poured out two cups, then reached up for the paper plates. Maggie felt a catch in her throat. She’d always loved these little meetings in the kitchen.
    â€œSo, what did that guy want?”
    Maggie cleared her throat. Sometimes, a white lie was okay. “To tell me he was going to Camp David for Thanksgiving and thought it would make a good article for the Life section. He does like to beat the bushes for self-promotion.”
    â€œTo which you said . . . ?”
    â€œ ‘I might see you there since I’m also invited, ’ and no, I didn’t think it was noteworthy enough to put in our Life section. I think he was disappointed.”
    Ted eyed the box of cream puffs as he decided if he should opt for a third or not. “And you think this means what? Is there something you aren’t telling me? I’m sort of not liking what I’m thinking right now, Maggie.”
    â€œAnd what are you thinking, Ted?” Maggie snapped.
    â€œIs this personal? Are you involved with this guy?”
    That question didn’t come under the heading of a white lie. Involved to Ted meant sex. She could truthfully answer that question, but she was splitting hairs and knew it. “No, I am not involved .”
    She justified her answer to herself by saying that she had breakfast and dinner with a lot of people. And if you wanted to split hairs even further, she kissed some of those people. Maybe not on the lips, but on the cheek or one of those air kisses. So she was guilty of lip kissing, tongue kissing, but that didn’t mean she was