Vixen 03 Read Free Page B

sprawling backward onto her sculptured bottom. “Vťhich way is the nearest lake?”
    “Lake?”
    “Sure.” Pitt laughed at her confused expression. “Where there’s a lake, there’s fish. We can’t waste the day dallying in bed when a juicy rainbow trout lies in breathless anticipation of biting a hook.”
    She tilted her head questioningly and looked up at him. He stood tall, over six foot three, his trim body tanned except for the white band around his hips. His shaggy black hair framed a face that seemed eter—
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    nally grim and yet was capable of providing a smile that could warm a crowded room. He was not smiling now, but Loren knew Pitt well enough to read the mirth in the crinkles around his incredibly green eyes.
    “You big conceited jock,” she lashed out. “You’re putting me on.”
    She launched herself off the floor, ramming her head into his stomach, shoving him backward onto the bed. She wasn’t fooling herself for a second with her seemingly super strength. If Pitt hadn’t relaxed and accepted her momentum, she would have bounced off him like a voile yball.
    Before he could fake a protest, Loren climbed over his chest and straddled him, her hands pressing against his shoulders. He tensed himself, circled his hands behind her, and squeezed her soft cheek bottoms. She felt him grow beneath her and his heat seemed to radiate through her skin.
    “Fishing,” she said in a husky voice. “The only rod you know how to use doesn’t have a reel.”
    They had breakfast at noon. Pitt showered and dressed and returned to the kitchen. Loren was bent over the sink, vigorously scrubbing a blackened pan. She wore an apron and nothing else. He stood in the doorway, watching her small breasts jiggle, taking his time about buttoning his shirt.
    “I wonder what your constituency would say if they could see you now,” he said.
    “Screw my constituency,” she said, grinning devilishly. “My private life is none of their damned business.”
    ” ‘Screw my constituency,’ ” Pitt repeated solemnly, gesturing as though he were taking notes. “Another entry in the scandalous life of little Loren Smith, congressional representative of Colorado’s graft-ridden seventh district.”
    “You’re not funny.” She turned and threatened him with the dishpan. “There is no political hanky-panky in the seventh district, and I am the last one on Capitol Hill who can be accused of being on the take.”
    “Ah … but your sexual excesses. Think what journalistic hay the media might make out of that. I may even expose you myself and write a best-selling book.”
    “As long as I don’t keep my lovers on office payroll or entertain them on my congressional expense account, I can’t be touched.” ‘
    “What about me?”
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    “You paid your half of the groceries, remember?” She dried the pan and set it in the cupboard.
    “How can I build a business out of being kept,” Pitt said sadly, “if I have a cheap screw for a mistress?”
    She put her arms around his neck and kissed his chin. “The next time you pick up a horny girl at a Washington cocktail party, I suggest you demand an accounting of her financial assets.”
    Good lord, she recalled, that awful party thrown by the Secretary of Environment. She hated the Capital social scene. Unless a function was tied in to Colorado interests or one of her committee assignments, she usually went home after work to a mangy cat named Ichabod and whatever movie was playing on television.
    Loren’s eyes had been magnetically drawn to him as he stood in the flickering light of the lawn torches. She had stared brazenly while carrying on a partisan conversation with another Independent Party congressman, Morton Shaw, of Florida.
    She felt a strange quickening of her pulse. That seldom happened and she wondered why it was happening now. He was not handsome, not in a ‘ Paul Newman sort of way, and yet there was a virile, no-nonsense aura about him