The Scandal and Carter O'Neill

He nearly laughed at her understatement. Nothing about this was fun, except maybe looking at her legs.

“All right,” she said, stepping into the hallway. She grabbed a tiny pea-green bag off a small table and emerged from the shadows. “I’m ready for steak.”

She was lovely, more than lovely, really. She was like a rare creature. All eyes and legs and lips. Her black hair shone like an oil slick, and her skin glowed as if there were a candle burning inside her.

If this were a real date, he’d say something now. Kiss her hand and breathe a compliment across her skin. Truthfully, if this were a real date he’d back her into those shadows and up against a wall and he’d explore the secrets of those endless legs. Thinking about it, his fingers twitched. His pulse hitched.

But this wasn’t a date, and this woman was doing a number on his reputation and future political career.

“Good,” he said, brusquely, holding open the door for her. “Bring a coat. It’s raining.”

They went down the stairs and in the main hallway she turned left to head for the back door but he stopped her. “We’re going out the front.”

She leaned out of the corridor, looking at the small crowd of photographers visible through the safety glass door.

“Really?” she asked, clearly hesitant.

“It’s sort of the point.”

“But—” she licked her lips, her fingers fluttering over her belly “—can’t we go slow or something?” she asked. “Ease into it?”

He shook his head, but faced by her nerves and beauty he found himself weakening. He took her hand where it rested against the swell of her stomach. He tried not to, but he couldn’t help briefly noticing the taut warmth of that belly.

A baby, he thought. There’s a baby in there.

“You’re going to be fine,” he said. “Just smile.”

She didn’t smile. Didn’t joke. He realized she was really rattled. “You okay?” he asked, stroking the chilled skin of her wrist.

“Tell me something,” she said. “Anything. About yourself.”

“What?”

“You know everything about me. Well, not everything, but lots. Lots more than I know about you.”

“Why does that matter?” he asked.

“Because we’re supposed to be dating!” she cried. “And you’re holding my hand, and they’re going to take pictures of us, and we’re supposed to make it convincing. And I think maybe that convincing needs to start right now. With me. So spill, Carter. Give me something.”

“I…ah…have a younger sister,” he said, not entirely sure why he was indulging her. “And a brother.”

“You do?” she asked, her eyes wide.

“Why is that such a surprise?”

“I don’t know.” She smiled and shrugged one elegant shoulder. “You seem kind of like a lone wolf, you know. Not exactly the big brother type.”

Oh, but he was. He was a big brother, all the way down to his core.

And if that meant staying away from his family in order to keep his mother away from them, no matter how much it might hurt him—then so be it. He could handle it. Because he knew better than to take something he wanted. He lived every minute of his life under sublimation of want. Compromise of need.

Christmas was simply another day. Another day without his family.

“Carter?” she asked. Her hand, no longer chilled, squeezed his.

“I miss them,” he said and felt as if he’d jumped off a cliff, nothing but air under his feet. He cleared his throat, wishing he could suck the words back into his mouth.

But Zoe’s smile was wide and sincere and some of the confidence bloomed back into her eyes, making the green shine bright. Lovely, he thought, slightly spellbound. So lovely.

“All right,” she said, and took a deep breath. “That’s good stuff to know. We can go now.”

She grabbed his hand and tugged, pulling him down the narrow hallway to the front door where the flashbulbs and journalists waited like sharks in shallow water.

They pushed through the front door and the flashes exploded. Zoe stumbled slightly and lifted a hand to cover her eyes.

“Oh wow,” she whispered, sounding lost.

It wasn’t totally an act when he put his arm around her, curling her toward him.

“Mayor Pro Tem?” someone shouted. “Are you the father of the baby?”

Zoe stiffened, a fire igniting in her eyes. It was ugly, the speculation about the baby, and he wished, oddly, that he could spare her some of that—despite the fact that she’d brought it on herself, however unwittingly. She opened her mouth, no doubt about to get them deeper into trouble, and he squeezed her arm.

“The father of Zoe’s baby is no one’s business but Zoe’s,” he said.

“How long have you two been dating?” another person shouted and Carter glanced down at Zoe.

“Five minutes?” she whispered, and he laughed. Flashbulbs exploded again.

“A few weeks,” he finally said. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, we’re going to get some dinner.”

Questions were hurled after them, but he ignored them. Why he kept his arm around Zoe, he wasn’t entirely sure.

SHE’D NEVER BEEN TO BOLA, but what Phillip had told her didn’t do the place justice.

Bola was gorgeous, if one liked art deco, red velvet and mahogany floors, and Zoe did. The dark lighting made her want to purr and sashay across the floor, a mink trailing behind her. She could imagine Carter, his blond hair slicked back, his big shoulders tucked into one of those exquisite tuxes from the era.