Jack & Jill

important. It was history. And it was happening right now in this Jefferson Hotel suite.
    This irresistible, dangerous game he was playing, this was his life. It was something with meaning, and he felt fulfilled. No, he
felt,
for the first time in years.
    “Hi there, Scott Cookson. Did we lose you for a sec?”
    “No, no. I’m right here. I’m a here-and-now kind of person. Just admiring the wonderful view you have here. Washington in the wee hours.”
    “It’s our view for tonight. Yours and mine.”
    Natalie made the first physical move, which was also as he had predicted and was therefore reassuring to him.
    She came up close to him, from behind. She placed her long slender arms around his chest, bracelets jangling. It was extremely nice. She was highly desirable, almost overpoweringly so, and she knew it. He felt himself become aroused, become extremely hard down the left side of his trousers. That kind of arousal was like a small itch compared to everything else he was feeling now. Besides, he could use it.
Let her feel your excitement. Let her touch you.
    “Are you okay with this?” she asked. She actually
was
nice, wasn’t she? Thoughtful, considerate. It was too bad, really. Too late to change the plan, to switch targets. Bad luck, Natalie.
    “I’m very okay with this, Natalie.”
    “Can I take your tie off, tasteful as it is?” she asked.
    “I think that ties should be done away with altogether,” he answered.
    “No, ties definitely have a place. First Communions, funerals, coronations.”
    Natalie was standing very close to him. She could be so sweetly, gently seductive—and that was sad. He liked her more than he’d thought he would. Once upon a time, she had probably been the simple Midwestern beauty she now half pretended to be. He had felt nothing but revulsion for Daniel Fitzpatrick, but he felt a great deal tonight. Guilt, regret, second thoughts, compassion.
The hardest thing was killing up close like this.
    “How about white pima cotton shirts? Are you a white-shirt man?” Natalie asked.
    “Don’t like white shirts at all. White shirts
are
for funerals and coronations. And charity balls.”
    “I agree a thousand percent with that sentiment,” Natalie said as she slowly unbuttoned his white shirt. He let her fingers do the walking. They trailed down to his belt. Teasing. Expert at this. She rubbed her palm across his crotch, then quickly took her hand away.
    “How about high heels?” Natalie asked.
    “Actually, I like those on the right occasion, and on the right woman,” he said. “But I like going barefoot, too.”
    “Nicely put Give a girl her choice. I like that.”
    She kicked off just
one
black slingback, then laughed at her joke. A
choice
—one shoe on, one off.
    “Silk dresses?” she whispered against his neck. He was rock-hard now. His breathing was labored. So was Natalie’s. He considered making love to her first Was that fair game? Or was it rape? Natalie had managed to confuse the issue for him.
    “I can do without those, depending on the occasion, of course,” he whispered back.
    “Mmm. We seem to agree on a lot of things.”
    Natalie Sheehan slid out of her dress. Then she was in her blue lacy underwear, one shoe, black stockings. Around her neck was a thin gold chain and cross that looked as if it had come with her all the way from Ohio.
    Jack still had his trousers on. But no white shirt, no tie. “Can we go in there?” she whispered, indicating the bedroom. “It’s really nice in there. Same view, only with a fireplace. The fireplace even
works.
Something actually works in Washington.”
    “Okay. Well, let’s start a fire, then.”
    Jack picked her up as if she weighed nothing, as if they were both elegant dancers, which in a way they were. He didn’t want to care about her, but he did.
He forced the thought out of his mind. He couldn’t think like that, like a schoolboy, a Pollyanna, a normal human being.
    “Strong, too. Hmmm,” she sighed, finally kicking off the other shoe.
    The picture window in the bedroom was astonishing to behold. The view was north up Sixteenth Street The streets and Scott Circle below were like a lovely and expensive necklace, jewelry by Harry Winston or Tiffany. Something Princess Di might wear.
    Jack had to remind himself that he was stalking Natalie. Nothing must stop this from happening now. The final decision had been made. The die was cast. Literally.
    He forced himself not to be sentimental. Just like