weeks.”
She cringed now at the memory of her initial, awestruck admiration for the silver-maned legislator. Maybe she had flirted a little. Maybe her eagerness to be considered a team player could have been interpreted as a come-on.
Then there was that business with her blouse.
“We were working late on draft legislation,” Mallory related. “I’d slipped off my suit jacket. I didn’t notice the top button on my blouse had come undone until Congressman Kent leaned over my shoulder and got an eyeful. That was the first time he fondled me.”
Cutter said nothing, for which Mallory was profoundly grateful. The telling was difficult enough without editorial commentary.
“I was as surprised as I was embarrassed, but made it clear I wasn’t interested. That’s when the congressman informed me that I hadn’t been hired for my brains.”
Her listener broke his silence then. The pithy, one-syllable oath eased the tight knot in Mallory’s chest.
“That’s pretty much what I thought, too. So the second time Kent grabbed me, I filed a complaint. What followed wasn’t pretty.”
“No,” Cutter growled, “I would imagine it wasn’t.”
She slumped against her chair back, relieved she didn’t have to hide her dirty little secret from him any longer. “I’m surprised you didn’t recognize me. My face, my personal history and detailed accounts of my sexual proclivities made just about every paper in the country.”
“I travel a lot.” His glance softened as it swept over her. “I’m guessing the media were a lot harder on you than they were on the congressman.”
“You got that right. He came out looking like the poster boy for Viagra. I was painted as the promiscuous slut who tempted the poor man to sin.”
Her dinner companion snorted. “Who in their right mind would believe Kent was a helpless victim?”
“His wife, for one. The arbitrator, for another. And a dozen or so jerks like the one who hit on me at Mont St. Michel, all convinced Mallory Dawes was good for some raunchy, no-holds-barred sex.”
Cutter toyed with his aperitif glass. He had strong hands, she thought, big and blunt-fingered.
“You sure that’s why that guy hit on you?”
“I’m sure.”
“He didn’t just spot a beautiful woman sitting by herself and forget his manners?”
“Thanks for the compliment. God knows, I wish that was all it was. He made it clear, though, that he recognized me from the news stories and fully expected me to live up—or down—to my reputation.”
She shrugged, feeling fifty pounds lighter now that she’d unburdened herself. “Sorry, Cutter. I guess I should have warned you that you were hooking up with the next best thing to a porn star.”
She didn’t expect the laughter that rumbled around in his chest. His gray eyes invited her to share in the joke.
“I didn’t know there was a next best thing,” he commented, grinning.
An answering chuckle gurgled up, surprising Mallory. She couldn’t believe she was actually trading jokes about the degrading incident that had left a permanent stain on her psyche.
Okay, maybe not so permanent. The blot seemed to lighten a little more with each hour spent in Cutter’s company. She was searching for a way to express her gratitude when Gilbért returned and held the door open for his wife to roll in a heavily laden cart.
The antipasto tray was whisked away. Wine goblets replaced the pastis glasses. Domes came off an array of silver serving dishes. With a beaming smile for his wife, the majordomo presented a platter garnished with parsley and cleverly carved lemon swans.
“I give you le veau de la Normandie. ”
Chapter 8
M allory’s account of her run-in with Congressman Kent gave Cutter a good deal more to chew on than Madame Picard’s succulent veal.
Her account, brief as it was, tallied with the detailed summary in the background dossier OMEGA had put together on the Kent incident. She hadn’t tried to gloss things over or minimize
She cringed now at the memory of her initial, awestruck admiration for the silver-maned legislator. Maybe she had flirted a little. Maybe her eagerness to be considered a team player could have been interpreted as a come-on.
Then there was that business with her blouse.
“We were working late on draft legislation,” Mallory related. “I’d slipped off my suit jacket. I didn’t notice the top button on my blouse had come undone until Congressman Kent leaned over my shoulder and got an eyeful. That was the first time he fondled me.”
Cutter said nothing, for which Mallory was profoundly grateful. The telling was difficult enough without editorial commentary.
“I was as surprised as I was embarrassed, but made it clear I wasn’t interested. That’s when the congressman informed me that I hadn’t been hired for my brains.”
Her listener broke his silence then. The pithy, one-syllable oath eased the tight knot in Mallory’s chest.
“That’s pretty much what I thought, too. So the second time Kent grabbed me, I filed a complaint. What followed wasn’t pretty.”
“No,” Cutter growled, “I would imagine it wasn’t.”
She slumped against her chair back, relieved she didn’t have to hide her dirty little secret from him any longer. “I’m surprised you didn’t recognize me. My face, my personal history and detailed accounts of my sexual proclivities made just about every paper in the country.”
“I travel a lot.” His glance softened as it swept over her. “I’m guessing the media were a lot harder on you than they were on the congressman.”
“You got that right. He came out looking like the poster boy for Viagra. I was painted as the promiscuous slut who tempted the poor man to sin.”
Her dinner companion snorted. “Who in their right mind would believe Kent was a helpless victim?”
“His wife, for one. The arbitrator, for another. And a dozen or so jerks like the one who hit on me at Mont St. Michel, all convinced Mallory Dawes was good for some raunchy, no-holds-barred sex.”
Cutter toyed with his aperitif glass. He had strong hands, she thought, big and blunt-fingered.
“You sure that’s why that guy hit on you?”
“I’m sure.”
“He didn’t just spot a beautiful woman sitting by herself and forget his manners?”
“Thanks for the compliment. God knows, I wish that was all it was. He made it clear, though, that he recognized me from the news stories and fully expected me to live up—or down—to my reputation.”
She shrugged, feeling fifty pounds lighter now that she’d unburdened herself. “Sorry, Cutter. I guess I should have warned you that you were hooking up with the next best thing to a porn star.”
She didn’t expect the laughter that rumbled around in his chest. His gray eyes invited her to share in the joke.
“I didn’t know there was a next best thing,” he commented, grinning.
An answering chuckle gurgled up, surprising Mallory. She couldn’t believe she was actually trading jokes about the degrading incident that had left a permanent stain on her psyche.
Okay, maybe not so permanent. The blot seemed to lighten a little more with each hour spent in Cutter’s company. She was searching for a way to express her gratitude when Gilbért returned and held the door open for his wife to roll in a heavily laden cart.
The antipasto tray was whisked away. Wine goblets replaced the pastis glasses. Domes came off an array of silver serving dishes. With a beaming smile for his wife, the majordomo presented a platter garnished with parsley and cleverly carved lemon swans.
“I give you le veau de la Normandie. ”
Chapter 8
M allory’s account of her run-in with Congressman Kent gave Cutter a good deal more to chew on than Madame Picard’s succulent veal.
Her account, brief as it was, tallied with the detailed summary in the background dossier OMEGA had put together on the Kent incident. She hadn’t tried to gloss things over or minimize
Similar Books
