Private Scandals

and just feel.
    She could smell him—soap and light, clean sweat. His hair was soft and full, and seemed to beckon her fingers to comb through and hold on. When his mouth became less patient, when she heard his quiet groan of pleasure, she responded heedlessly, mating her tongue with his, nipping at his lip to add the dark excitement of pain to the pleasure.
    She thought he trembled, but could no longer find the will to soothe.
    “Deanna.” Desperately, he took his mouth over her face, along her throat, where her pulse beat like wings. “Again.”
    His lips crushed down on hers again, absorbing the flavor, the warmth. Shaken, he drew back just enough to rest his brow against hers, to hold her another moment where he felt so oddly centered, so curiously right.
    “Goddamn,” he whispered. “I’m going to miss you.”
    “This wasn’t supposed to happen.”
    “Too late.” He lifted his head, brushed his lips over her forehead. “I’ll call when I can.” As soon as he’d said it, Finn realized he’d never made that promise before. It was the kind of unstated commitment that had him stepping back, tucking his hands safely in his pockets. “Good luck next week.”
    “Thanks.” She took a step back herself so that they took each other’s measure like two boxers after a blood-pumping round in the ring. “I know it’s a useless thing to say, but be careful.”
    “I’ll be good.” His grin was quick and reckless. “That’s more important.” He walked to the door, then stopped, his hand on the knob. “Listen, Deanna, if that asshole shrink does happen to call back—”
    “You were eavesdropping.”
    “Of course I was, I’m a reporter. Anyway, if he does call back, brush him off, will you? I don’t want to have to kill him.”
    She smiled, but the smile faded quickly. Something in Finn’s eyes told her he was serious. “That’s a ridiculous thing to say. It happens that I’m not interested in Marshall, but—”
    “Lucky for him.” He touched a finger to his brow in salute. “Stay tuned, Kansas. I’ll be back.”
    “Arrogant idiot,” Deanna muttered. When her eyes began to sting, she turned to stare out at Chicago. There might be a war on the other side of the world, she thought as the first tear spilled over. And a show to produce right here.
    So what in the hell was she doing falling in love?
     
    “Okay, Dee, we’re nearly ready for you.” Fran scooted back into the dressing room. “The studio audience is all in.”
    “Great.” Deanna continued to stare blindly at the mirror as Marcie put the finishing touches on her hair. “Just great.”
    “They’re wearing Cubs hats and White Sox T-shirts. Some people even brought banners, and they’re waving them around. I’m telling you, they’re revved.”
    “Great. Just great.”
    Smiling to herself, Fran glanced down at her clipboard. “All six of the wives are in the green room. They’re really chummy. Simon’s in there now, going over the setup with them.”
    “I went in to introduce myself to them earlier.” Her voice was a monotone. She could feel the nausea building like a tidal wave. “Oh God, Fran, I really think I’m going to be sick.”
    “No, you’re not. You don’t have time. Marcie, her hair looks fabulous. Maybe you can give me some tips on mine later. Come on, champ.” Fran gave Deanna a tug that brought her out of the chair. “You need to go out and give the audience a pep talk, get them on your side.”
    “I should have worn the navy suit,” Deanna said as Fran dragged her along. “The orange and kiwi is too much.”
    “It’s gorgeous—and it’s bright and young. Just the right combo. You look hip, but not trendy, friendly but not homespun. Now look.” Making a little island of intimacy in the midst of backstage chaos, Fran took Deanna by the shoulders. “This is what we’ve all been slaving for over the last couple of months—what you’ve been aiming toward for years. Now go out there and make them love you.”
    “I keep thinking about all this stuff. What if a fight breaks out? You know how rabid Sox and Cubs fans can be. What if I run out of questions? Or can’t control the crowd? What if someone asks why the hell I’m doing a silly show about baseball when we’re sending troops to the Middle East?”
    “Number one, nobody’s going to fight because they’re going to be having too much fun. Number two, you never run out of questions, and you can control any crowd. And finally,