French Silk(62)

Her throaty contralto had an undertone that bothered him. Before opening the door, he assumed another hearty smile for the sake of his secretary. He and Yasmine shook hands. He thanked her profusely for her financial support, even though she didn't even reside in his state. She left, flanked by two bulging body builders stuffed like sausages into cheap black suits.

"Well, I'm flabbergasted," Ms. Baines gushed, laying a hand against her bony chest. "Can you believe that?"

"No, I can't."

"And she's so nice. You'd expect somebody famous like her to be conceited, but she's like normal folks."

"Hmm. Well, back to work, Ms. Baines. Please hold all calls unless you hear from Mrs. Petrie."

"Oh, she called while you were with Yasmine."

Panic and nausea seized him. "I'll call her back right now."

"That won't be necessary. She only called to confirm the time of your flight. She said she'd be at the airport to pick you up."

"Oh, fine." He turned toward his private office, but came back around as though it were an afterthought. "Did you mention that Yasmine had come to see me?"

"No, I didn't."

"I'll tell her tonight. I've heard Belle talk about this model. She's always saying she wishes she were that thin." Chuckling, he tugged on his earlobe in a way he knew looked boyish and endearing. "Women always want to be as skinny as models. Can't for the life of me understand why. It's so unattractive. Oh, by the way, she left a check for five hundred dollars. Every penny counts, of course, but it's hardly worth making a big deal over. Probably just a publicity stunt."

He went in and closed his door, hoping that he'd left Ms. Baines with the proper impression—that he'd dismissed Yasmine's visit and campaign contribution as nothing but an isolated gesture from a quirky celebrity.

Behind his desk once again, he opened his lap drawer and took out the panties, crushing the lace in his fist. This thing had gone too far. At some point, it had gotten way out of hand. He didn't need this shit on top of all his other pressures. It was a problem that had to be dealt with soon. But how?

Yasmine had already caused him more trouble than all his other mistresses put together. Until now, this extramarital affair had been worth the additional trouble. Although her veiled threats didn't really frighten him, who could predict what a volatile woman like her might do? He had to take her warnings with some degree of seriousness.

If she wanted to, she could make his life hell. She had the media contacts and the high public profile to wreak havoc on his chances for reelection. She could destroy his family. Dammit, he liked things the way they were and he wanted them to stay that way.

"Hell," he muttered, plowing his fingers through his hair. This time, he didn't see a way out.

The only solution was to call quits to the affair. He'd be sacrificing some quality *, but the flip side to that coin was that he'd be sacrificing his lifestyle and career if he was caught. As he stashed Yasmine's underwear in his suit coat pocket for later disposal, he resolved that at his earliest opportunity he'd tell her their affair was over.





* * *



Chapter 12

? ^ ?

Claire was fitting a pattern on one of the dress forms in her studio when the telephone rang.

"Claire, turn on CNN. Quick." It was Yasmine. They hadn't spoken for several days, since their quarrel when Claire had confronted her about making a generous contribution to Jackson Wilde's ministry.

"What's going on?"

"You'll find out soon enough, and you're going to shit a brick. Hurry or you'll miss it." She hung up.

Intrigued, Claire switched on the portable TV that kept her company when she worked into the wee hours. Because Yasmine had prepared her, she wasn't surprised to see Ariel Wilde on the screen. The interviewer was asking her about the recent demonstration outside French Silk, which she freely admitted having instigated.

"Our adversaries would like to believe that since Jackson's death we've retreated from the fight against pornography. Let me assure them that we haven't. This ministry, under my leadership, intends to double its efforts to stamp out all forms of obscene material."

The reporter asked, "Why did you pick up the cause with the French Silk catalog? There are other publications much more graphic."

Ariel smiled sweetly. "The publishers of the more graphic magazines make no bones about being prurient. They don't try to disguise what they are. While I abhor their products, I admire their honesty. At least they aren't hypocritical, like Ms. Laurent, who doesn't even have the courage to debate me."

"Her catalog is tastefully done, Mrs. Wilde. It's sensual, but I'd hardly call it prurient."

"It pictures men and women on the verge of coitus. How lewd can you get?"

Evidently embarrassed, the reporter cleared his throat. "The photos merely suggest—"

"Then you agree that the pictures are suggestive?"

"I didn't say that." He hastily referred to his notes, but before he could pose another question, Ariel said, "I think it's significant that Ms. Laurent's business is headquartered in New Orleans."

The interviewer pounced on the bait. "Significant in what way?"