From the Heart

sizzled, new flames licking at wood. Wind rattled at the windows. They heard nothing, felt nothing, but each other. Lips sought, then devoured; hands explored, then possessed. There was no time for a slow reacquaintance. Hungry, they came together swiftly, letting sharp pleasure cleanse all doubts. They remained close, body to body and mouth to mouth, until need drifted to contentment.
    Jessica held him against her when he would have shifted to her side. “No, don’t move,” she murmured.
    “I’m crushing you.”
    “Only a little.”
    Slade lifted his head to grin at her and found himself lost in the cloudy amber of her eyes. Slowly, he traced the slanted line of her cheekbone. “I love you, Jess.”
    “Still angry about it?” she asked.
    Before he buried his face at her throat, she caught the grin. “Resigned.”
    On a small gasp, she punched his shoulder. “Resigned, huh? That’s very flattering. Well, let me tell you, I didn’t picture myself falling in love with a bad-tempered ex-cop who tries to order me around.”
    That musky, woodsy fragrance of her skin distracted him. He began to nuzzle at her neck, wallowing in it. “Who did you picture yourself falling in love with?”
    “A cross between Albert Schweitzer and Clark Gable,” she told him.
    Slade gave a snort before raising his head again. “Yeah? Well, you came close. Are you going to marry me?”
    Jessica lifted a brow. “Do I have a choice?”
    Bending, he nibbled on her lips. “Aren’t you the one who says a person always has a choice?”
    “Mmm, so I am.” She pulled him closer for one long, satisfying kiss. “I suppose we both have one to make, don’t we?”
    Their eyes met, then they spoke together. “You.”



1
    “ A White House source has confirmed the imminent retirement of Secretary of State George Larkin. Secretary Larkin underwent extensive cardiac surgery last week and is currently recovering at Bethesda Naval Hospital. His health is given as the reason for his midterm retirement. Stan Richardson has an on-the-scene report from Bethesda Naval.”
    Liv watched the monitor switch to the location shot before she turned to her co-anchor. “Brian, this could be the biggest thing to hit since the Malloy scandal last October. There must be five viable replacements for Larkin. The scrambling’s going to start.”
    Brian Jones flipped through his notes, running over his timing. He was a thirty-five-year-old black with a flare for clothes and ten years of television news experience. Though he had grown up in Queens, he considered himself a Washingtonian. “Nothing you love better than a good scramble.”
    “Nothing,” Liv agreed, and turned back to the camera as control gave her her cue.
    “The president had no comment today on Secretary Larkin’s replacement. Speculation from a high official lists Beaumont Dell, former ambassador to France, and General Robert J. Fitzhugh as top candidates. Neither could be reached for comment.”
    “A twenty-five-year-old man was found slain in hisapartment in Northeast Washington this afternoon.” Brian took over his first segment of their anchor partnership.
    Liv listened with half an ear while her mind raced with possibilities. Beaumont Dell was her choice. His aides had given her the classic runaround that afternoon, but she was determined to be parked on his doorstep the next morning. As a reporter, she was accustomed to runarounds, waiting, and having doors shut in her face. Nothing, absolutely nothing, she told herself, was going to stop her from interviewing Dell.
    Hearing her next cue, Liv turned to camera three and began her lead-in. In their homes, viewers saw the head and shoulders of an elegant brunette. Her voice was low-key, her pace unhurried. They would have no idea how carefully the minute and fifteen seconds had been timed and edited. They saw sincerity and beauty. In the television news game one was often as important as the other. Liv’s hair was short and sculptured around a finely boned face. Her eyes were cool blue, serious and direct. A viewer could easily believe she spoke especially for him.
    Her television audience found her classy, a little remote, and accurate. Liv was satisfied with the consensus on her role as co-anchor of the local evening news. As a reporter, she wanted more, much more.
    A colleague had once described her as having “that wealthy, Connecticut look.” Indeed, she had come from a well-off New England family, and her degree in