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autonomy that might have been frightening, yet
wasn't. She felt complemented and strengthened
by Justin, but her own identity remained firmly
intact. Perhaps too much intact, she thought
bleakly. It would be infinitely easier if she could
submerge herself in him, lose herself in the delu-
sion that all she needed in life was him. But it
wasn't, and she knew it. Justin in the world of poli-
tics was the antithesis of all she'd ever wanted.
They would inevitably make each other miserable.
"Stacey, don't go," he said urgently, easing her
back on the pillows. "Stay tonight, darling."
Stacey swallowed. She would have to give him up
soon enough, for politics was about to reclaim him
once again. But she could have one more night
with him. Just one more night, her heart pleaded.
"Brynn," she said into the phone, "if I stayed
here tonight, I could call my mother back." Justin
touched her breast and Stacey inhaled sharply as
pleasure flowed through her. "If you wouldn't mind
telling anyone else who calls that I'm still uh
shopping." Justin was kissing her neck and she
was melting. A small sigh escaped from her lips.
Brynn chuckled. "Ill tell them you've found the
sale of the century, Stace."
"Thanks, Brynn. Ill see you tomorrow." Stacey
replaced the receiver and wrapped herself around
Justin with a hungry little moan.
Stacey arrived at her father's office at noon the
next day, stuffed into Brynn's jeans and an over-
sized, banana-yellow knit sweater. Diana Drew,
the receptionist, glanced at her disapprovingly,
but made no comment on the lateness of the hour
or Stacey's attire. Stacey gave her a little wave and
proceeded directly to Justin's office.
He was sitting at his desk, dressed in his perpet-
ual gray, white, and blue, surrounded by stacks of
paper that he was diligently sorting through.
Stacey's heart gave a queer little leap at the sight of
him. They'd been apart nearly five hours. She'd
last seen him when he'd kissed her good-bye that
morning as she lay in his bed. He'd been Justin,
her lover, then. Now he was Justin Marks, the
administrative aide and campaign manager. How
would the dichotomy affect their relationship? she
wondered as she closed the door behind her and
crossed the office to climb into his lap.
"Diana Drew glanced pointedly at her watch as I
came in," she said as she settled herself in his
arms. She was nervous, she admitted to herself. "I
almost told her that the boss gave me special per-
mission to come in at noon while we were in bed
this morning."
Justin laughed and kissed her cheek. "Yes, I did,
didn't I?" He flipped over a paper, scanned it, then
threw it away. "Stacey, honey, I called Cord
Marshall this morning and canceled your alleged
appearance on his television show tomorrow."
"Oh, well, I suppose it doesn't matter." She
shrugged. It occurred to her that her usual reac-
tion to such a Justin edict would have been to pro-
test forcefully his actions. He hadn't discussed
canceling her appearance with her. He hadn't even
asked her not to appear. He'd simply canceled the
whole thing and told her after the fact. But she
hadn't wanted to do the show, anyway, and the
matter seemed trivial, certainly not worth quarrel-
ing about. "Brynn thinks that Cord Marshall is
some creepy species that's cultivated in a petri
dish," she added with a grin.
"I happen to agree with her." Justin cupped her
chin in his hand and tilted her face upward to kiss
her mouth lightly. "I'm glad you realize that your
appearance on that show was out of the question,
sweet. Thank you for not throwing a tantrum over
it."
"I don't throw tantrums," she told him loftily as
she teased his lips with her tongue. "I may um
express my displeasure from time to time, but I
don't have tantrums."
"Thank you for clarifying that for me." He
smiled. One big hand moved over the curve of her
hip, then stopped to rest on her thigh. "Stacey?
Sweetheart?"
She lay against him, blissfully content. Maybe
Justin wasn't going to be so different in the office,
after all, she thought. Maybe . . . "Yes, love?" she
asked, her voice tender.
"About these jeans."
She sat up a little. "What about them?"
"You went back to your apartment this morning
to change into something appropriate to wear to
the office, remember, darling? Well, you must be
aware that this. . . costume is as inappropriate for
Senator Lipton's office as the sweat suit or that
black-and-red disco dress are."
She clamped her lips over her teeth to prevent
herself from impulsively uttering the retort that
sprang instantly to mind. He was telling her nicely,
she reminded herself. She and Brynn both knew
that conservative dare she say drab? garb was
deemed the appropriate attire for Bradford
Lipton's office. She should not tell Justin to take
himself to the top of the Washington Monument
and throw himself off.
She summoned a smile. "All right, Justin. I
won't wear jeans to the office again, I promise." His
warm smile and even warmer kiss were more than
enough reward for her restraint. Stacey pressed
closer to him and nuzzled his neck.
"Oh!"
Stacey and Justin both looked up at the sound of
the startled exclamation.
"I'm terribly sorry! Excuse me! I I sh-should
have knocked!" Fred Rhodes stood on the thresh-
old, his expression almost comical with shock.
"You certainly should have knocked, Freddie,"
Stacey agreed. She was about to rise from Justin's
lap when he stood up abruptly, almost dumping
her off. She clutched the side of the desk for sup-
port. Justin's face was fast becoming crimson.
Fred's face already was. "I uh had" the man
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