After Candy disappeared into the kitchen, Gwenyth turned her attention toward another pair of opposites who were suitably matched. Trouble was, Harry hadn’t figured out exactly how well suited he and Monique truly were yet. She sighed. Her brother was a terrific guy and Gwenyth was certain he’d make a hell of a good senator, but when it came to women, the man was as blind as she didn’t know what.
Of course, Gwenyth mused, it would help matters considerably if Monique at least attempted to pretty herself up. Poor woman obviously didn’t know the first thing about flirting and seducing. And that was a definite shame; especially in light of the fact that the first person Harry had called after leaving the events of this evening behind was his assistant. Come to think of it, her brother always turned to Monique when he needed comforting.
Even now, Monique was standing behind Harry, coddling him with her hands and cooing to him with her voice. Rather than turning away from her ministrations, Harry was nuzzling his face closer, like a kitten that wants petted. Gwenyth stifled a chuckle; Monique was shy enough as it was without being made to feel embarrassed about her seemingly instinctive behavior.
Clearing her throat, Gwenyth turned toward her husband, who was watching Harry and Monique with a bemused expression on his face, and smiled. “Detective Anderson said he would call as soon as he got an ID on the plate, right?”
A frown marred Sam’s face, making Gwenyth wonder if she should have reminded him of the day’s earlier events. “Yeah. And I for one can’t wait to get some answers.” Clutching his wife’s hand in his own, he peered harshly into her eyes. “I about had a heart attack when I realized what was goin’ on, Gwen. That man, whoever he is, is damn lucky he decided to break off his pursuit of you, otherwise I can’t say what I’d have done when I got my hands on him.”
Sam drew in a breath to steady his nerves. In the hour since the police detective had left, there had already been several moments when he’d silently wondered if he had made the right decision by letting the white sedan get away rather than chasing it down. Sam’s only thought at the time had been to make sure Gwen was unhurt. Deep down he realized that he couldn’t have done anything else, but the vengeful part of him wished he’d followed the sedan. “I don’t want you goin’ anywhere alone until this guy’s caught, Gwen.” He slashed his hand tersely through the air. “End of story, no discussion.”
Gwenyth merely patted his hand and nodded—a gesture Sam had come to realize meant his wife was humoring him. His gaze narrowed. “I’m serious Gwen.” He threw his hand toward Harry and Monique. “Don’t try to coddle me like she’s doin’ to your brother.”
Harry opened one eye and scowled at Sam. “She is not coddling me,” he bit out.
Monique ran her fingers through Harry’s silky light-brown hair until he closed his eye again, purring his contentment. “I never coddle him,” she insisted stiffly, blushing all the while. “It’s just that Harry’s is a very delicate soul and he needs to be treated accordingly.”
Sam lowered his eyes to the ground to keep from laughing. That Harry was over six feet tall and thickly muscled, no doubt outweighing Monique by close to a hundred pounds, gave her impassioned plea an ironic ring to it.
“Delicate?” Harry’s eyes flew open in alarm. His masculinity clearly affronted, he grabbed Monique’s slight wrist and frowned. “I am a man. I am not delicate. Not by any stretch of the imagination.”
Monique smiled wistfully, apparently a pro at dealing with the senator’s reactions. “I didn’t mean physically, Harry, and I didn’t mean it in a bad way.” She gently released her wrist from his tight grip and continued her fussing. “It’s just that I know how much you care for Gwen and how frightened you were for her.” She sighed dreamily. “It’s your heightened sensitivity that makes you the perfect man to represent Florida in Washington.”
Appeased, Harry grunted. He closed his eyes again and allowed Monique to work her magic on his temples and scalp.
With an amused shake of her head, Gwenyth decided not to comment on the spectacle the pair made. Monique was going to have to realize for herself that Harry would never notice her as a woman until she stopped mothering him. Gwenyth just wished she could be a fly on the wall the day her brother finally did realize it.
Turning toward her husband to meet his disgruntled gaze, Gwenyth smiled reassuringly. “I wasn’t trying to placate you, Sam. I was merely being supportive.” She rolled her eyes with a chuckle and amended her statement. “Okay, maybe I was trying to placate you, but unless they catch this guy tonight, it’s going to be impossible for me to keep an escort at all times.”
“You’ll manage.”
Gwenyth shook her head with a sigh. “What about work?”
“I’ll take you.”
“And you plan to stay, to watch over me for the length of an entire shoot?”
Sam shrugged dismissively. “That goes without sayin’.”
Gwenyth was about to comment on the implausibility of that plan when Candy yelled from the vicinity of the kitchen that dinner was ready. She patted her husband on the knee before taking to her feet. “We’ll talk about this later, Sam.”
Sam smiled sweetly. “Whatever you say, sweetheart.”
Gwenyth narrowed her eyes suspiciously. “Are you trying to placate me?”
“Nah, baby, I’m just bein’ supportive.”
* * * * *
It took all of an hour into the following day’s photo shoot for Gwenyth to rapidly tire of her husband’s brand of support. The Prima Don modeled swimwear one time and suddenly he knew her job better than she did. Annoyed, Gwenyth gritted her teeth as she watched her husband make suggestions to the male model she was photographing for a New York based men’s underwear line. Making matters worse, it was apparent that her model Claude was actually paying attention to her husband’s idiotic advice.
“I know what you’re thinkin’,” Sam reasoned aloud as he rubbed his chin and regarded Claude. “You’re thinkin’ that the women who read this catalog will want to see more of you, not less of you, but there’s where you’re wrong C-man.” Sam propped his leg up on the chair next to Claude and impaled him with his icy blue orbs. “Leave somethin’ to the imagination is what I’ve always said.” He splayed his hands at his sides. “Kinda like a family motto.”
Thoroughly exasperated, Gwenyth rolled her eyes. It couldn’t be more obvious to her that Sam was jealous of the younger model. His possessiveness apparently taking over what was left of his brain, his only thought was to keep the perfectly honed man fully clothed in his wife’s presence.
“But Mr. Tremont,” Claude stammered out, “if I wear my blue jeans, how will anyone know what the underwear beneath it looks like?”
Gwenyth folded her arms under her breasts and smiled like a Cheshire cat. “Yes, Claude, a fine point you’ve made.” Blinking sweetly, she gestured towards her husband. “Sam?”
