It Takes a Hero Read online

  Nothing she saw in her reflection in the mirror gave her immediate cause for concern. She’d chosen to wear a loose ecru jacket over a matching shell and soft pleated slacks. She’d added a gold chain and small gold hoop earrings, leaving her hair loose to her shoulders. It was an outfit that was comfortable and yet sophisticated enough for almost anything Perry had planned for the day.

  Pushing her sleeves up on her arms, she donned her watch and a gold bracelet, then slipped a gold-and-ruby ring on her right hand. After sliding her feet into bone pumps, she was ready. And she was seriously tempted to call Perry and cancel the whole thing. Wouldn’t it be best to quit while she was ahead? she wondered, knowing her mother would be scandalized at the very idea.

  Her telephone rang and she picked it up, wondering if Perry had already made it from the television studio—or if he, perhaps, had found it necessary to cancel their plans. A cowardly part of her almost hoped that was it.

  But it was Sophie who spoke when Kristin answered. “Oh, good, you’re still in. How’s your ten-thousand-dollar date going?”

  Sophie had returned to her home in Raleigh, North Carolina, but she’d been reluctant to leave New York. She had wanted to stay and meet Perry Goodman, and be on the scene to make sure Kristin took full advantage of the weekend. Kristin had been relieved that her mother’s social obligations had required her to return home. “Everything is fine, Mother.”

  “Details, darling. I want details. I’ve been reading the society reports about the gala last night. Was it as fabulous as it sounds? Did you get to meet anyone famous?”

  “Everyone I met was famous, I think,” Kristin answered wryly. “And, yes, it was fabulous. Like something out of a glitz novel.” The kind of book she had never particularly wanted to write, she couldn’t help thinking.

  “And what’s on the agenda for today?”

  “I’m not sure. The date package said only that it was to include a champagne brunch, followed by ’a day of surprises.’” And Kristin had already vowed that she was drinking no more than a sip of the champagne.

  “That sounds enticing. I can’t wait to hear all about it.”

  “I’ll call you as soon as I get back home tomorrow,” Kristin promised. “What about your own date? When are you planning to jump out of that plane? I’d like-to know so I’ll be sure and spend that entire day in church, praying to the patron saint of crazy women.”

  Sophie laughed. “We’re going next weekend. And I am not crazy, thank you very much. I’m simply adventurous. As I’ve tried unsuccessfully to raise you to be.”

  “Hey, I’m spending a weekend with a politician, aren’t I? I consider that pretty adventurous.”

  “I saw him on Friday Morning Update. The man is divine, Kristin. I certainly hope he’s as charming in person as he appears on screen.”

  “Yes, he’s quite charming.” She didn’t add that he could have taught classes in the trait probably did so with his candidates, for all she knew.

  “Do you like him?”

  “He’s very nice.”

  “Does he like you?”

  “Mother, he doesn’t even know me. We’ve only spent a few hours together.”

  “Did he kiss you?”

  “Mother!”

  “That means he did,” Sophie concluded in satisfaction. “Was he good?”

  “I am not having this conversation.”

  “He didn’t happen to spend the night, did he?”

  “Mother!”

  “He didn’t,” Sophie sighed, easily interpreting her daughter’s responses. “Oh, well, there’s always tonight.”

  “I’m hanging up now.”

  “I’m only trying to put a little spice in your life, darling. One really can’t have an on-going relationship with a computer.”

  “Nor do I expect to have an on-going relationship with Perry Goodman,” Kristin replied tartly. “This weekend is strictly to benefit charity—on both of our parts. After today, I doubt that we’ll ever see each other again.”

  Sophie sighed gustily. “A mother can dream, can’t she?”

  “I’ll repeat had no intention of buying a boyfriend last weekend. I made a donation to my favorite charity, and this weekend is part of the package. Maybe I’ll even get some material for a book out of it. But that’s all. Okay?”

  Sophie muttered something Kristin didn’t quite understand. She did not ask her to repeat it. “I have to go now, Mother. Perry’s picking me up soon. I’ll call you when I get home tomorrow.”

  She hung up before her mother could harass her further. And then she pushed a hand through her hair and grimaced, wondering what Perry had thought of her after she’d responded so fervently to his kisses. She certainly hoped he didn’t con sider her some sort of a political groupie or a desperate single woman who’d tried to buy a romance.

  Maybe last night she’d been Cinderella at the ball. But Perry would find her very different today. She was as serious about her job as he was about his. She put her notebook in her purse, along with one of the lightweight disposable cameras she favored on research outings.

  This wasn’t a date, she told herself firmly. The whole purpose of this weekend—other than the charity donation, of course—was to help her with her book. She would not forget that today. Which meant no more kisses, she told herself, tossing her head in renewed determination. No matter how tempting they might be.

  Her telephone rang again. Hoping it wasn’t her mother, she answered warily.

  “Ms. Cole? Mr. Goodman is waiting for you in the lobby,” a rather mechanical voice informed her.

  “Thank you. I’ll be right down.”

  She hung up the phone and drew a deep breath, then tucked her purse beneath her arm and headed for the door.

  3

  THE WAY HER PULSE fluttered when Kristin saw Perry waiting in the lobby let her know she hadn’t been entirely successful in convincing herself that today was “strictly business.” He looked every bit as delicious in a Polo shirt and neatly pressed khakis as he looked in formal evening clothes. And when he gave her a warm smile of greeting, her mind was flooded with memories of the kisses they had shared only hours before.

  In reaction to her unwelcome physical responses, her voice was even cooler than she’d intended. “Good morning, Perry.”

  His left eyebrow rose just a fraction, but his own greeting was much friendlier. “Good morning, Kristin. You look lovely.”

  “Thank you.” She could think of nothing to add.

  “Ready for your ‘day of surprises’?” he asked with a chuckle, quoting the bachelor auction brochure.

  “Yes,” she lied. “What will we be doing?”

  He shook a finger at her. “If I tell you now, it won’t be a surprise.”

  She hoped her smile didn’t look as forced as it felt. She was ready to have this day behind her, to stop playing at being charming with Perry Goodman and get back to her work. At least, she hoped she would be able to work now. She didn’t want to face the possibility that she would return to her computer only to discover that her creativity was still on an extended vacation.

  Perry escorted her out of the hotel to a limousine. “Champagne?” he asked, once they were settled inside the car.

  Still blaming the beverage for her recent uncharacteristic behavior, Kristin shook her head. “No, thank you.”

  “We have fruit juice, sodas or sparkling water,” he offered instead, peering into the tiny refrigerator.

  “I’m fine, thank you. I had coffee and juice in my room.”

  Perry settled back in his seat. “We didn’t have a chance to talk much last night. Tell me about yourself, Kristin.”

  He sounded like one of the talk show hosts he spent so much time with. “What do you want to know?”

  Undeterred by her reserved manner, he forged on. “You’ve written a dozen books, I understand. How long have you been writing?”

  “I’ve been published for five years,” she replied; not bothering to add that she’d been
penning stories almost since the day she’d first learned to hold a pencil. Telling stories had always been such a joy for her. So easy—until about two months ago.

  “What made you choose to write romance novels? ”

  “I write what I enjoy reading. Romance addresses issues that appeal to me—love, friendship, loyalty, family connections, children. Within the framework of a love story, I have the freedom to write comedy, drama, adventure, fantasy... anything I want. I find it both satisfying and challenging.”

  More challenging than satisfying at the moment, but she was hoping to correct that.

  “Do you think you’ll ever write a real book?”

  She raised both eyebrows. It wasn’t the first time she’d been asked that insensitive question, but she hadn’t expected it from Perry. “I’ve written twelve ‘real’ books.”

  He had the grace to flush. “I didn’t mean that the way it sounded. I, er, meant to ask if you had any plans to write something other than a romance.”

  “Not at this point. It just depends on where my muse takes me in the future.”

  He cleared his throat, still looking a bit disconcerted. Kristin found herself almost relieved that he could say something awkward occasionally, even if it was at her expense. His faux pas made him seem a bit less perfect.

  He deliberately changed the subject. “You said last night you live in Raleigh, North Carolina?”

  “Not in Raleigh. I have a home in a small town just west of Raleigh, in the Carolina foothills.”

  “What’s the name of the town? Maybe I’ve heard of it.”

  “I doubt it,” she answered wryly. “Cutter’s Point, North Carolina. Population just under five thousand. I grew up there.”

  “Does your family still live there?”

  “I have a few cousins still in the area. My father passed away several years ago, and my mother lives in Raleigh now.”

  “No brothers or sisters?”

  “No.”

  “I see.” He looked out the window beside him, obviously trying to think of something else to say.

  Kristin realized she was being rude. She had subconsciously started using a tactic she’d learned to discourage annoying conversations—answering questions without elaboration, asking no questions of her own. She had let her worry over her writing and her embarrassment about those unexpected kisses overcome her usual good manners.

  “I can’t quite place your accent, Perry. You’re not originally from New York, are you?”

  He seemed relieved that she’d made an effort. He turned back to her with a renewed smile. “I grew up in Denver, but I’ve traveled quite a bit since I left high school. Earned my undergraduate degree from Stanford, attended Harvard School of Law, taught for a couple of years at Rice University in Houston, and I’ve traveled from place to place since, working on various political campaigns. I keep an apartment in D.C. now, though I don’t spend a lot of time there.”

  She was almost tempted to ask if he’d ever considered getting a “real” job. But that would be unforgivably rude, even if it was basically what he had asked her earlier. Instead, she asked, “will you ever run for office yourself?”

  “I haven’t ruled it out, but I have no plans to do so at this time. To be honest, I think I can make a greater contribution to my party by helping get several of our candidates elected rather than filling an office myself. I have a talent for organizing campaigns. I enjoy it and I’ve been quite successful with it so far.”

  “Would you ever run a campaign for someone you don’t like or agree with ideologically?”

  “Am I for sale to the highest bidder?” His expression remained pleasant, a glint of amusement in his eyes. “No, I’m not. If I don’t genuinely support a candidate and consider him—or her—the best qualified choice for the office, I won’t take the job.”

  “You’ve turned down candidates who’ve asked for your help?”

  “Several times. I believe in what I do, Kristin. It isn’t just a job for me.”

  She still wasn’t entirely convinced that Perry wasn’t drawn more to the fame and glamour of his career than to any ideological calling, but she merely nodded and murmured something noncommittal. And then she glanced out the window and realized where the driver was taking them. “We’re going to the airport?”

  Perry’s dimples flashed—and her pulse tripped in automatic response. “Yes.”

  With a stern, silent reprimand to her recalcitrant hormones, she continued evenly, “Will we be get ting on an airplane?”

  “Yes. That’s not a problem for you, is it?”

  “I’m not afraid to fly, if that’s what you’re asking. But where are we going? When will we be back?”

  “We’ll be back in New York later today,” he assured her.

  Another, more troublesome question suddenly occurred to her. “This surprise of yours doesn’t involve parachutes, does it?”

  He laughed. “No. That was one of the other date packages.”

  “I know. My mother bought it,” Kristin said rather grimly.

  Perry looked startled. “Your mother?”

  “She said it was something she always meant to try.”

  Perry shook his head. “I’m trying to picture my mother jumping out of a plane. I can’t see it, unless the plane was in flames and going down.”

  “Your mother isn’t the adventurous type?”

  He laughed again. “Hardly. Her idea of high adventure is trying a new restaurant.”

  “And your father?”

  “He does a little fishing. Even catches one occasionally. That, and his business pursuits, are all the adventure he claims to need.”

  “Do you have brothers or sisters?”

  “Two sisters. Both older. Both married, both mothers. Both quite convinced that their younger brother is never going to grow up and settle down.”

  Kristin was still thinking about that tidbit when Perry ushered her out of the limo and into a beautifully appointed Lear jet.

  She could feel her eyes widen as she took in the plush seats and the glossy wood trim inside the airplane. She’d never been on a private jet before—had never flown in anything except a commercial airliner, actually. “Is this yours?”

  Perry smiled and shook his head. “No. It belongs to a friend. He donated its use for today as his contribution to the literacy fund-raiser.”

  Kristin noticed that Perry seemed to take the accommodations for granted. He might not own this plane, but it certainly wasn’t the first time he’d flown in it, or others like it, perhaps.

  She was reminded again of how different Perry Goodman’s jet-setting, publicity-seeking routine was from her own quiet, private, often solitary life. Her job involved long hours alone at her computer, with the occasional writers’ conference or book-signing or speech to schools and civic clubs thrown in. She’d been interviewed by a few newspapers and had twice appeared on television programs to discuss the romance industry—and to plug her own books, of course. But she’d never hired a publicist, never sought fame or constant attention. All she’d wanted to do was write and have readers enjoy her stories. Being published had been the culmination of her dreams.

  She wanted that contentment back.

  Reminded yet again of her work, she dug into her purse and pulled out her notebook while Perry went forward to speak with the pilot. She began to describe the interior of the plane in concise phrases. While she was at it, she made a few notations about Perry. She wasn’t worried that he would accidentally read her notes—no one could decipher the shorthand she’d developed for research.

  Youngest child. Only son, she wrote. Young prince? Accustomed to attention. Used to having own way. Under pressure from family to settle down?

  All of those observations could be helpful in further developing her hero, Nick O’Donnell, she reflected.

  “Writing your will?” Perry dropped into the seat opposite her. “I assure you, this plane is quite safe.”

  She closed her notebook. “I’m sure
it is. Where did you say we’re going?”

  “I didn’t,” he reminded her with a chuckle. “But I’ll tell you now. We’re going to Washington, D.C.”

  She wasn’t particularly surprised by his answer, considering his job. She hadn’t been to D.C. since she was a teenager and that had been a school trip. It might be interesting to see it from an insider’s point of view. And she could definitely do research while she was there.

  Strictly business, she reminded herself with a surreptitious look at her companion. This day was for charity and for research. It was not a date—no matter what her mother had said.

  PERRY WAS HAVING A LITTLE trouble figuring out Kristin Cole. He had always prided himself on his talent for getting to know people quickly, summing them up after spending only a short time with them. It was one of his strengths as a campaign adviser, clueing his candidates in on the people around them, both opponents and supporters, giving advice about how to handle certain individuals. But darned if he could quite make out what went on inside Kristin’s head.

  She was certainly pleasant enough during the hours he spent with her. Impeccably polite, if a bit reserved. But she was obviously holding back a great deal about herself. He didn’t know her true political affiliations, or how she felt about some of the key issues they heard discussed during their “insider’s tour” of Washington, D.C. He didn’t know what had made her bid for him at the bachelor auction—or why she’d paid so much to spend time with him, when he thought it was quite glaringly obvious that she wasn’t romantically interested in him.

  Several times during the day, she pulled a small notebook out of her purse and began to make notes in a shorthand she must have developed on her own. He’d sneaked a few peeks over her shoulder, trying to figure out what she was writing, hoping to discover something, anything, about the real Kristin Cole. He couldn’t read a word of it.

  It was like being on a date with a reporter. No, not a date. That implied something personal. It was more as if he were being interviewed for a feature article—The Life and Times of Perry Goodman.

  He’d been followed around by reporters before and he didn’t usually mind—after all, getting maximum publicity was one of the goals of his job—but this was different. This wasn’t supposed to be an interview. This was supposed to be a date. And yes, maybe his ego was somewhat bruised because Kristin didn’t seem to be the least bit attracted to him. With the exception of those two spectacular kisses last night—which had seemed to surprise Kristin even more than him—she had shown little more interest in him than...than in that notebook she kept pulling out.