An Irresistible Bachelor (An Unforgettable Lady #2)(72)

He reached for her, pulling her down.

“Me, too,” he said, against her mouth.

He kissed her once, but then stopped.

“About the election.” He smoothed her hair back. “If I decide to run, it’s going to get rough. If you’re going to be at my side, you need to be ready.”

“To duck and cover if they pelt you with tomatoes?”

“Well, yes.” He laughed softly. “But I was thinking more about the press. You should be prepared to get hit with some inquiries into your life.”

Cold dread coursed through Callie, wiping out the rush of relief she’d felt a moment before.

“What do you mean?”

“The media, my opponents, they’re going to crawl all over me. My past, our relationship, your background—everything’s going to be examined closely.”

She jerked upright, trying to imagine what would happen if anyone looked into her life. Her father’s secret, the thing she had protected for so long, would be prime fodder for reporters if it was discovered. She could just imagine the coverage.

And there was Grace to consider. Callie had promised never to betray her, and even though she wouldn’t be selling out her half sister on purpose, the end result would be the same. The whole world would know the details of their father’s infidelity, and Grace would be the target of more tell-alls.

Jack sat up, having obviously caught the wave of her concern. “I’ll take the brunt of it, of course, and Gray and I will take care of you.”

She searched his face. “You said if you decide to run. Is there a chance you might not?”

He seemed taken aback. “Why don’t you tell me what you’re worried about?”

She thought about explaining everything to him and felt her throat close up. It was probably just as well that she keep quiet. The story wasn’t hers alone to tell. Jack and Grace might have been friends, but exactly how close were they? After having made a promise never to speak of the past to anyone, she wasn’t about to break her word.

“I just don’t want the press in my life,” she said. “That’s all.”

Jack frowned, his eyes growing shrewd. “What exactly do you have to hide?”

She looked away.

“Tell me, Callie.”

“I can’t.”

There was a long, tense silence.

“Why not?”

When she remained quiet, he got out of bed and roughly pulled on his pants.

“Where are you going?” she asked.

“I don’t know what happened in your past, but it’s hard to imagine what you can’t share with me.”

“Jack, don’t be like this.” She reached out to him, but he brushed her hand away and yanked his shirt on. “Look, I don’t know why this has to be a big deal. You haven’t decided to run yet, right?”

He shot her a harsh look. “What I’m worried about right now is how little you trust me.”

“But I do trust you.”

“Then tell me.”

When she remained quiet, he looked away.

“Christ,” he muttered, stuffing his feet into his loafers. “I thought honesty was something I’d never have to worry about with you. I can’t believe you’re being like this.”

How she was being? As if she’d asked to be born to a father who was horrified by her very existence?

A surge of defensive anger got her out of bed and she wrapped a blanket around her body.

“What’s really going on here, Jack? Are you just concerned about us? Or are you worried about how my past might influence your success at the polls?”

He stopped moving. “I’m going to try and forget you said that.”

She closed her eyes, immediately wishing she could take it back.

“I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, so am I,” he said, heading for the door.

“Jack, wait—”

“I don’t really want to talk right now, if you don’t mind.”

After he’d left, Callie sat down on the bed and closed her eyes, feeling her heart pound.

Keeping her father a secret had been drilled into her for so long, she couldn’t imagine talking to anyone about him. Even Jack.

God, how well she’d been trained. And how early.

She could remember being eleven years old and standing in Grand Central Station with her mother. As they’d waited for their train, Callie had looked over at a businessman who was getting his shoes shined. The man had had a paper up in front of his face, but she could tell he was someone like her father because he dressed in the same kind of clothes.

She’d been watching him, wondering what it felt like to have shoes cleaned while they were on your feet, when he’d flipped the paper around and she’d seen a picture of her father. Excited by the image, she’d hurried over and proudly started to explain to the man just whose daughter she was.

Her mother had pulled her back sharply, making excuses and smiling. “She thinks everyone in a tie is her father.”

“No, I don’t.”

“Excuse us.”

The man had nodded and gone back to reading but, as Callie was dragged off, he’d dropped the corner of his paper and had given them a measured stare. Her mother had caught the look and done her best to block his view, drawing Callie into a corner.