his students were young women who spent a good portion of the class looking at him adoringly. But she couldn’t blame them for their interest. Had she not been married to him, she’d be here for every class he taught too. That was not to say that she didn’t have the occasional bout of jealousy since she was, after all, only human. And then, like right now, those steel-blue eyes looked right at her and she realized how silly she was being.
Ember watched as a smile spread over his face before he excused himself and started over to her; but the closer he got the less he was smiling, until he was downright frowning as he stood before her.
“What’s wrong? You don’t look so good.”
“That is just what every wife wants to hear from her husband. Thank you for that.”
She didn’t miss the twitching of his lips. “Seriously, Em, what’s wrong?”
The truth was, she was exhausted. She had given up her hours waitressing at Clover, but she’d been putting in long hours on writing her book and working as a correspondent at Trace’s uncle, Charles Michaels’s, campaign headquarters twenty hours a week. She was coming to realize that five hours of sleep a night wasn’t enough. “I’m tired.”
“I’m guessing you’re on your way home. If you wait for a few minutes, I can take you because this class is almost over.”
“I’d like that, but aren’t you worried about disappointing your students? Several of whom are not looking too thrilled that you’re over here talking to me. I guess it sort of bursts the illusion when you chat with your wife.”
“What illusion?”
“That you’re available and interested.”
In a blur of movement he wrapped her in his arms and lifted her off her feet seconds before his mouth claimed hers. She pulled her hands through his hair and gave back as good as she was getting. She could feel the grin on his lips as his mouth lingered just above hers.
“Not interested and not available.”
She was still reeling from that kiss, so the best she was able to offer was, “Yeah, I get that.”
“Good. Give me ten and I’ll see you home.”
“Okay.”
He dropped her to her feet before he kissed her hard one last time and then he turned and started back over to his students.
“Let’s wrap this up.”
“It stops now, Dane, or we cut you off completely.”
Dane Carmichael shifted in his seat as he glared at his persecutors. His father, a senator; his uncle, the district attorney for New York; and his grandfather, the circuit court judge.
“You get high and you lose control.”
“What the hell does that mean?” Dane demanded.
Irritation met his gaze as his dad continued, “You’ve had three women this year alone claim you raped them.”
The women in question, except for one, never reported him to the cops. They only shared their “stories” with his family. Why his dad and grandfather refused to acknowledge the shakedown always baffled and annoyed Dane. Rape, like hell. He liked it rough and they wanted it the same way, flaunting their assets and teasing him. Besides, when he was balls to the wall inside them, it was too late to say no. Funny that he needed to explain his behavior to his father, affectionately termed the playboy senator—handsome, charming, and a total hound dog. “It’s not rape,” Dane said to his relatives. He pointed at his dad. “He is no different than me.”
“His dates don’t scream rape.” The condemnation in the judge’s voice made Dane grind his teeth.
“Funny coming from the man who has always told me that women are only good for one thing.”
The judge leaned up as his hard eyes speared Dane from across the expanse of his walnut desk. “Willing women. There’s a difference.”
“And I’m supposed to know the difference when you claim my own mother was a whore.”
The judge didn’t miss a beat. “She was a whore. Pimped herself out and got pregnant so that she had a legal claim to the Carmichael name and fortune.” Dane turned from his grandfather to see his dad, whose attention was on the floor, his jaw clenched—but whether that was for his dad’s father or wife, Dane didn’t know. What enraged Dane was that his father had never defended her, not once.
“You’re going to let him defile my mother’s name?”
His father remained silent, his face completely unreadable.
“Am I supposed to follow in his footsteps”—Dane gestured to his uncle—“and not date at all?”
“Horace works hard and maintains the good name of this family. He