Mirror Image

instantly recognize as arousal, he slid on his sunglasses, even though the sun had already set.
    Driving away from the house, he admitted that he missed what they had had, but he didn’t miss
her.
Because while the sex had been hot and good and frequent, there had been little real intimacy. That cerebral exchange and spiritual bonding had been lacking in their marriage from the very beginning, though he hadn’t put a name to the missing component until much later.
    He couldn’t miss what he’d never had, but he still yearned for it. Winning the Senate seat was going to be sweet. It would mark the beginning of what he hoped would be a lifetime career in public service. But the victory would be tainted by his marital unhappiness.
    It would be much sweeter, and his political future would look much brighter, if he could share it with a loving, supportive wife.
    He might just as well wish for the moon, he thought. Even if Carole had that kind of love to give, which she didn’t, he wouldn’t take it. She had destroyed any possibility of that long ago.
    The physical attraction was still there, inexplicably stronger than ever, but the emotional attachments were dead. And he’d be damned if he would accept one while being cheated of the other.
    He figured the resolution just hadn’t reached his cock yet.
    He glanced at Carole from out of the corner of his eye. She looked fantastic. His mother had called it correctly. She had too much poise and sophistication and sexiness for a bride.
    She looked like a well-loved, well-sated wife—very unlike Carole.

Nineteen
    Eddy Paschal stepped out of his shower. He quickly patted the towel over his arms and chest and down both legs. Flinging it over his shoulder, he caught the other end and rubbed it back and forth across his back as he moved from bathroom to bedroom. As soon as he cleared the door, he drew up short. “What the—”
    “Hi, there. Didn’t know you were into dirty pictures.”
    Fancy was stretched diagonally across his bed. She was propped up on one elbow, thumbing through the
Penthouse
she had found lying on his nightstand. After a dispassionate glance at one particularly provocative pose, she looked up at him and smiled slyly. “You naughty boy, you.”
    “What the hell are you doing in here?” He hastily secured the towel around his middle.
    Fancy stretched with feline laziness. “I was sunbathing out by the pool and came in here to get cool.”
    Eddy lived in an apartment over the ranch’s garage. Shortly after he was hired to be Tate’s campaign manager, he had asked if he could rent the efficiency. The Rutledges had vehemently protested.
    Zee had been the most vocal. “Servant’s quarters? I wouldn’t hear of it.”
    Tate had added his own protests, stating that if Eddy was going to live at the ranch, he would live in the house with the family.
    Eddy had explained that he needed the convenience of living close to them while maintaining his privacy. The garage apartment satisfied both requirements. They had relented and he had moved in.
    His privacy had now been invaded. “Why cool off in here?” he asked querulously. “Is the air conditioner in the house on the blink?”
    “Don’t be tacky.” Fancy tossed the magazine aside and came to a sitting position. “Aren’t you glad to see me?”
    “There’s certainly plenty to see,” he muttered, ruffling his wet hair. It was fine, straight, and pale. “I’ve seen Band-Aids bigger than that bikini. Does Nelson approve of you running around like that?” Abundant flesh was overflowing the skimpy swimsuit.
    “Grandpa doesn’t approve of anything erogenous,” she snorted. “I swear I don’t know how my daddy and Uncle Tate ever got conceived. I bet Grandpa sings ‘The Battle Hymn of the Republic’ while he’s balling Grandma. Or maybe ‘Off We Go, into the Wild, Blue Yonder.’ ” She drew a thoughtful expression. “I just can’t imagine her coming, can you?”
    “You’re hopeless, Fancy.” In spite of himself, he chuckled at the images she had conjured. Then he propped his hands on his hips and looked at her reprovingly. “Will you please scram so I can dress? I told Tate I’d meet him and Carole at the Waller Creek, and I’m already running late.”
    “Can I go with you?”
    “No.”
    “Why?” she wheedled.
    “No more tickets.”
    “You could manage it.” He shook his head no. “Why not? I could get ready in a jiff.”
    “It’ll be a stuffy, grown-up affair,