Now You See Her Linda Howard(8)
She almost sniffed her own disdain, but caught herself in time. Candra had put herself out for this, so the least Sweeney could do was be polite. She switched her gaze to Mrs. McMillan, already inclined to feel sorry for the woman.
Her inclination was wasted. Mrs. McMillan obviously considered herself so superior that sympathy from lesser beings was unthinkable. The senator had worked on his public persona; his wife hadn't bothered. She was utterly secure in her position; there wouldn't be any young trophy wife taking her place, unless her husband wanted to risk losing his career. Any divorce proceedings involving this woman, Sweeney thought, would be messy, bitter, and extremely public. Mrs. McMillan would personally see to it.
The senator's wife was fashionably thin, stylish, bored. Her hair was champagne blond, at least this week, and cut in a classic bob that dipped just short of her shoulders and was swept back from her face to reveal ornate gold earrings studded with tiny diamonds. A good New Yorker, she wore a simple black sheath that made her seem thin to the point of emaciation, and which probably cost more than Sweeney's entire wardrobe as well as part of her furniture.
Kai returned with a tray bearing tea and coffee, and noticed Sweeney standing there, joining the McMillans in silence. "I'm sorry, I didn't introduce you," he exclaimed. "Senator, Mrs. McMillan, this is Sweeney, the portrait artist Candra wanted you to meet. Sweeney, Senator Carson McMillan and his wife, Margo."
Sweeney held out her hand to Mrs. McMillan, feeling like a dog offering its paw, and from the look the senator's wife gave her, she might as well have been. Mrs. McMillan offered only her fingertips, probably to lessen the risk of contagion. If the senator ever did run for the presidency, his handlers would have to do some heavy-duty work with his wife to make her constituentfriendly and keep her from being a hindrance to the campaign.
The senator's handshake, on the other hand, was both brisk and firm without being crushing. He had a very nice handshake. It was probably one of the first things a career politician worked to achieve. She had a sudden vision of a classroom full of deadly earnest young politicians, with a sign on the door saying "Handshakes 101. " He ruined the effect, however, by eyeing her breasts again. She was beginning to think the scarlet sweater was more than just dangerous; the damn thing was cursed.
Maybe she shouldn't have combed her hair or put on lipstick, either, though the lipstick probably hadn't survived the hot dog.
Candra's office door opened once more, and Sweeney turned, glad of the interruption. Candra swept out, her face tight with fury, but the expression in her eyes, oddly, was almost frightened. The expression was fleeting; as soon as she saw the McMillans, her face changed into its usual warm, friendly lines.
Richard loomed in the doorway behind her. Sweeney didn't want to look at him, in case that odd thing happened again, but curiosity and compulsion switched her gaze to him. To her relief, this time he didn't return her gaze. His face was much more controlled, as if Candra's upset in no way touched him.
His eyes were hooded as he took in the small group with one glance, then leisurely walked toward them. He was a tall man, but he didn't shamble; like an athlete, he was in control of his height and his body. Remembering the Diet Coke commercial, Sweeney wondered how Richard would look without his shirt.
That funny little jolt tightened her stomach again. She wasn't in the least hungry, but her mouth began watering as if she hadn't eaten at all that day and had just caught the scent of freshbaked bread. A woman could feast all day on Richard. Don't go there, she silently warned herself, both alarmed and embarrassed, but she had taken too many art classes not to be able to accurately picture him without his clothes. From the way his clothes fit, she could tell he was a muscular man who hadn't let himself get soft. In her mind's eye she saw him naked and flat on his back, and it was a fine sight indeed. The disturbing part was seeing herself crawling over him, intent on kissing him from head to toe and not missing an inch in between. He would have several very interesting inches that would require a lot of attention—
"Carson, Margo, how good of you to come." Candra's voice jerked Sweeney out of her lascivious little daydream. Hastily she looked away from Richard, aware that she had been staring at him. She felt her cheeks heat and hoped her entire face wasn't red, to match the accursed sweater.
Candra came toward them, her lovely legs showcased by the short skirt of a tailored suit in a beautiful shade of coppery beige that made her complexion glow. Distracting herself, Sweeney studied the color, noting the richness of the material. She couldn't tell one designer's clothes from another's, but she never forgot a color.
Candra and Margo exchanged air kisses, then Candra turned her megawatt charm on the senator. He took both her hands and leaned forward to kiss her cheek, and there was nothing airish about it.
Standing where she was, Sweeney saw the senator's hands tighten on Candra's before she subtly freed herself and turned to Sweeney.
"I see Kai has already offered refreshments—"
"Richard," the senator said heartily, his rounded, speech-therapist moderated tones completely overpowering Candra's lighter voice, just as they had hiswife's. Sweeney wondered if he made a habit of interrupting women. He held out his hand; she saw the flicker of Richard's eyes that said he was reluctant to stop and chat, but good manners compelled him to accept the senator's hand.
Senator McMillan put everything he had into the handshake, even covering their clasped hands with his free one in a gesture his handlers had no doubt told him imparted a sense of empathy. It didn't work with Richard. If anything, his face became even more impassive. "You're looking great."