Bedroom Diplomacy. Michelle Celmer

She walked back out just as Colin was peeling the wet sweater over his head, uncovering a chest and midriff that were a testament to years of dedication to fitness, and an abdomen hard with rippling muscles. Slim hips and lean, strong arms gave proportion to what, under the clingy fabric of his slacks, were clearly long and muscular legs. Then he turned to toss the ruined garment out the door, and she sucked in a quiet breath.

      Patchy, pink burn scars that were fully healed, yet somehow still looked painfully fresh, started just below his shoulders and ran down the entire width of his back, disappearing beneath the waist of his pants.

      She wiped the surprise from her face as he turned back around. Aside from the scars, his body couldn’t have been more perfect.

      He held out his hand and said, “Towel?”

      She handed it to him. “I’m sorry.”

      “You’re forgiven,” he said, sounding exasperated. “Now would you please stop apologizing.”

      “Sorr—”

      He shot her a look.

      She shrugged. “Habit.”

      Watching him dry his magnificently toned pecs and thick arms, she felt a shimmery za-zing of awareness, in places that hadn’t za-zinged in a long time. Which was the absolute last thing she should be thinking about right now.

      He seemed like a pretty reasonable guy. She went out on a limb and asked, “Is there any way that we could maybe not tell my father about this?”

      He flashed her one of those adorable grins. “It’ll be our little secret.”

      The idea of having a secret with him, big or little, made her heart skip. Here she was, twenty-six and reacting like a schoolgirl with a crush.

      “The senator, he demands perfection?” Colin asked.

      That was something of an understatement. “He does have very high standards.”

      “For what it’s worth, I was impressed. With the day care, I mean.”

      “Thanks.” And for some stupid reason, she heard herself saying, “It was my idea.”

      Rather than a brush-off, or a sure it was look, he appeared genuinely interested. “Was it?”

      She should quit while she was ahead, but she couldn’t seem to make her mouth stop moving. “My father has always run on an all-American family-man platform.” Ironic, considering what a negligent father he actually was. Work always came first. “Among other things one of his causes has been affordable day care for working families. His own staff was no exception. So opening a day care for them seemed like a logical solution. It would be good for his career, and for the people who work for him. And it has been.”

      “So it’s as much your project as his?”

      Uh oh. She shook her head, laughed nervously. “No, no, not at all, it’s definitely his project. Although I did have fun helping with the plans, then watching it all come together. I toured day-care centers all over the city and scoured the internet for ideas.”

      Looking puzzled, he said, “So how then is it not your project?”

      She really needed to stop talking. “It’s not my name on the checks.”

      “Writing the checks is the easy part,” he said, as though he knew that from experience. “It sounds as if you did the hard part. All the real work.”

      If it got back to the senator that she was taking credit for the day care, he would come unhinged.

      “My part of it was nothing, really.”

      “For nothing, you seem quite proud of what you’ve done. And it sounds as if you should be.”

      But it wasn’t worth the hassle if it meant stepping on her father’s very large toes. Why had she even brought this up in the first place?

      “You look nervous,” he said.

      “Sometimes my mouth works independently from my brain, and I say things I shouldn’t.”

      “Would it help to say that what you and I discuss in private will never reach the senator’s ears?”

      She blew out a relieved breath. “I would really appreciate that.”

      “Though it’s a shame you feel the need to hide your accomplishments.”

      It was a survival instinct. “My father and I, our relationship is… complicated. It’s easier for everyone if I don’t rock the boat.”

      “I think I understand.”

      Did he? Really?

      She looked at the clock. “Wow, I didn’t realize how late it is. I really have to get inside or Betty is going to think I drowned.”

      “Betty, the housekeeper?”

      She nodded. “She sits with Dylan while I do my laps. I’m usually only gone forty minutes.…” She paused, working the time out in her head. “Did you say that you woke up when I dove into the water?”

      “The splash roused me.”

      Yet he didn’t say anything to her until after she swam her laps. So what was he doing all that time?

      “Yes,” he said, as if he were reading her mind. “I was watching you swim, which I know was a violation of your privacy. My only excuse, flimsy as it is, is that I was mesmerized.” He reached for her hand, drawing it between his, and… talk about tingles. His hands were big and strong and a little rough. “I hope you’ll accept my apology.”

      Damn, this guy was good. She made the mistake of looking up into his eyes, and felt herself being sucked into their unearthly blue depths. A woman could drown in eyes like that.

      His eyes never leaving hers, he said, “Why is it that when something is forbidden, it makes you want it that much more?”

      Come and get me, she wanted to say. Then she reminded herself that he was a politician, and no matter how sincere he may have looked or sounded, he possessed the ability to lie through his royal teeth. And very convincingly.

      But a little innocent flirting never hurt anyone. Right?

      His eyes searched hers, then dipped lower, settling on her mouth, which of course made her look at his mouth, and all she could think was how kissable his lips looked, and how much she wanted to be the one kissing them.

      He lifted her hand to his lips, brushing a kiss across the back, and the earth pitched under her feet. It had been a long time since a man’s lips had touched any part of her body.

      “It was a pleasure talking with you,” he said.

      Yes it was. “Maybe we could do it again.”

      “Maybe,” he said, letting go of her hand. But he did it slowly, his fingers sliding across hers, pausing as they reached the very tips.

      Don’t go, she thought. Only because she didn’t have the guts to say it out loud. But apparently he wasn’t a mind reader after all, because he turned, grabbed his shoes and sweater and walked away.

      She watched in silence as he disappeared into the dark, wishing they really could do it again, but knowing that it was better if they didn’t. Not that it hadn’t been fun flirting with him. But it could never be more than that.

      When Rowena got to her suite, Betty, their live-in maid, was stretched out on the sofa watching Dynasty reruns on cable.

      “That must have been some swim,” she said, sitting up and switching off the television, her tight gray curls pressed flat against the back of her head.

      “Betty, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to take so long.”

      “As if I have somewhere more exciting to