Page 3 of Smoke Screen
This time, Maddy laughed. “Good one. But this is serious.”
“Whateverthisis.”
She leaned in. His cue to dip his head in anticipation of whatever apparently naughty secret she’d like to share. He had a few of his own, if she’d be willing to play.
“I’m the acquisitions manager at the Thompson Center,” she said, her breath warm on his neck.
And oooh-eeee.Phin concentrated on staying in character. Mr. Smooth. Mr. I-see-this-all-the-time-and-am-not-completely-fucking-stunned.
“As in President Thompson?” he asked.
“Exactly.”
Phin straightened and considered her words.
After two terms that ended three years ago, former United States President Gerald Thompson shook things up in Washington by forgoing a traditional presidential library. Instead, he’d opted to spend the twenty months before leaving office fundraising for a presidentialcenter. One housing memorabilia, clothing he and his wife had worn, exhibits, a theater. A gym to get kids off the street.
Thompson’s vision? To revive the Charlotte area he’d grown up in, which now suffered from the killer combo of economic decline and rising crime.
Phin cocked his head, his curiosity exciting him for reasons that suddenly had nothing to do with Maddy’s hair. “What can I help you with?”
Please let it be what I think it is.
“I’ll assume you’ve heard about the robbery at the Center?”
“Priceless jewels designed by a former president’s father? You bet I have.”
She leaned in again and he dipped his head, letting her get right next to his ear. “Can we talk in private?”
They sure could.
Maddy followedPhin Blackwell down a long hallway lined with eclectic art she never would have comingled, but somehow worked. The Warhol to her left slowed her steps. On the way back, she’d stop and savor it.
She kept moving and, ooohhh, stopped cold in front of an oil painting.
ATitian.
In front of her, Phin looked back. “Titian,” he said. “I know. Who puts a Warhol next to Italian Renaissance? That’s Kayla.”
“It’s … stunning.”
And darn it, she had soooo many questions. The first being how the heck much did Kayla make as a lobbyist that she could afford a Titian?
Phin pointed to a staircase leading to the lower level of the enormous house. “This way.”
The man knew his way around. What that little factoid had to do with anything, she wasn’t sure, but she took a second to ponder it because what single woman wouldn’t?
A man like Phin, tall and fit with his movie-star good looks, electric smile, and slick suit?
Dangerous.
Before she’d even been introduced, from a good five feet away he’d managed to get into her space, all that insane hotness and male energy sending tiny shocks shooting along her skin.
At the staircase, Phin paused, holding his hand out. She moved past him and he set his hand on her lower back. A simple gesture that probably didn’t mean one teeny thing to him, but ignited a fresh wave of tingles over her and, well, hardened her nipples.
What am I doing?
The same thing she always did, that’s what.
