The Maverick: The Maverick / Magnate’s Make-Believe Mistress

His body was already taut with desire, but it was too soon for a heated interlude. He didn’t want to rush her. She was the most fascinating woman he’d ever known. He had to go slow.

He drew back after a minute and his hands tightened on her arms. “Suppose we take in another movie next week?” he asked.

She brightened. “A whole movie?”

He laughed softly. “At least.”

“I’d like that.”

“We’ll try another restaurant. Just to sample the ones that are available until we find one we approve of,” he teased.

“What a lovely idea! We can write reviews and put them online, too.”

He pursed his lips. “What an entertaining thought.”

“Nice reviews,” she said, divining his mischievous thoughts.

“Spoilsport.”

He winked at her, and she blushed.

“Don’t forget,” she said. “About finding me a way to interview that woman, okay?”

“Okay,” he said. “Good night.”

“Good night.”

She stood, sighing, as he walked back to his truck. But when he got inside and started it, he didn’t drive away. She realized belatedly that he was waiting until she went inside and locked the door. She laughed and waved. She liked that streak of protectiveness in him. It might not be modern, but it certainly made her feel cherished. She slept like a charm.

The next morning, he called her on his cell phone before she left the motel. “I’ve got us invited to a cocktail party tonight,” he told her. “A fundraiser for the senator.”

“Us? But we can’t contribute to that sort of thing! Can we?” she added.

“We don’t have to. We’re representing a contributor who’s out of the country,” he added with a chuckle. “Do you have a nice cocktail dress?”

“I do, but it’s in San Antonio, in my apartment.”

“No worries. You can go up and get it and I’ll pick you up there at six.”

“Fantastic! I’ll wear something nice and I won’t burp the theme songs to any television shows,” she promised.

“Oh, that’s good to know,” he teased. “Got to get back to work. I told Mr. Parks I had to go to San Antonio this afternoon, so he’s giving me a half day off. I didn’t tell him why I needed the vacation time, but I think he suspects something.”

“Don’t mention this to anybody else, okay?” she asked. “If Jon Blackhawk or Kilraven find out, my goose will be cooked.”

“I won’t tell a soul.”

“See you later. I owe you one, Harley.”

“Yes,” he drawled softly. “You do, don’t you? I’ll phone you later and get directions to your apartment.”

“Okay.”

She laughed and hung up.

The senator lived in a mansion. It was two stories high, with columns, and it had a front porch bigger than Alice’s whole apartment. Lights burned in every room, and in the gloomy, rainy night, it looked welcoming and beautiful.

Luxury sedans were parked up and down the driveway. Harley’s pickup truck wasn’t in the same class, but he didn’t seem to feel intimidated. He parked on the street and helped Alice out of the truck. He was wearing evening clothes, with a black bow tie and highly polished black wingtip shoes. He looked elegant. Alice was wearing a simple black cocktail dress with her best winter coat, the one she wore to work, a black one with a fur collar. She carried her best black evening bag and she wore black pumps that she’d polished, hoping to cover the scuff marks. On her salary, although it was a good one, she could hardly afford haute couture.

They were met at the door by a butler in uniform. Harley handed him an invitation and the man hesitated and did a double take, but he didn’t say anything.

Once they were inside, Alice looked worriedly at Harley.

“It’s okay,” he assured her, smiling as he cradled her hand in his protectively. “No problem.”

“Gosh,” she said, awestruck as she looked around her at the company she was in. “There’s a movie star over there,” she said under her breath. “I recognize at least two models and a Country-Western singing star, and there’s the guy who won the golf tournament…!”

“They’re just people, Alice,” he said gently.

She gaped at him. “Just people? You’re joking, right?” She turned too fast and bumped into somebody. She looked up to apologize and her eyes almost popped. “S-sorry,” she stammered.

A movie star with a martial arts background grinned at her. “No problem. It’s easy to get knocked down in here. What a crowd, huh?”

“Y-yes,” she agreed, nodding.

He laughed, smiled at Harley, and drew his date, a gorgeous blonde, along with him toward the buffet table.

Harley curled his fingers into Alice’s. “Rube,” he teased softly. “You’re starstruck.”

“I am, I am,” she agreed at once. “I’ve never been in such a place in my life. I don’t hang out with the upper echelons of society in my job. You seem very much at home,” she added, “for a man who spends his time with horses and cattle.”

“Not a bad analogy, actually,” he said under his breath. “Wouldn’t a cattle prod come in handy around here, though?”

“Harley!” She laughed.

“Just kidding.” He was looking around the room. After a minute, he spotted someone. “Let’s go ask that woman if they know your employee.”

“Okay.”

“What’s her name?” he whispered.

She dug for it. “Dolores.”

He slid his arm around her shoulders and led her forward. She felt the warmth of his jacketed arm around her with real pleasure. She felt chilled at this party, with all this elegance. Her father had been a banker, and he hadn’t been poor, but this was beyond the dreams of most people. Crystal chandeliers, Persian carpets, original oil paintings—was that a Renoir?!

“Hi,” Harley said to one of the women pouring more punch into the Waterford crystal bowl. “Does Dolores still work here?”

The woman stared at him for a minute, but without recognition. “Dolores? Yes. She’s in the kitchen, making canapés. You look familiar. Do I know you?”