“Now that we know what we want, let’s start over,” Allen said, pulling a piece of ham from one of the dishes to one of the smaller plates, proceeding to cut it into bite-sized bits. “I’m Allen Bourke.”
“I’m Nicollina,” she answered, unfurling her legs and scooting up a bit, eyeing the ham Allen still worked at while she took one of the glasses and sipped its contents. She cleared her throat, chewed her upper lip, and looked everywhere but at him. “Nicollina Cartwright.”
Stopping mid-cut, Allen cringed inwardly at his oversight in putting two and two together sooner. He looked up to find a blush as rosy as the one on her ass had settled across her cheeks. “As in Senator James Cartwright?”
Every red flag in Allen’s world flew to full-mast at once and while everything in him screamed at him to make his apologies, get up, and leave never to look back, another piece of Allen whispered to his heart and teased him. It told him that part of his life was over, to stop worrying about it. That everything would be fine if he’d just allow it to be.
“Yes, one in the same. Are you still so sure you want to play?” Setting her glass back down, she clasped her hands together in her lap so tightly her knuckles turned white. “I’ll understand if you don’t. Who the hell decent wants to play hide and seek with someone like me? Can I have something a little stronger? Than water?”
Aside from the ramifications that could erupt from pursuing this woman against his better judgment, there was certainly no danger of Allen becoming a sugar daddy in this relationship. Her trust fund probably entailed enough money to buy and run a small island for years. She most definitely wasn’t after his money. How the hell had he missed how much she favored James? Probably because he hadn’t seen James in nearly thirty years and didn’t keep a running tab on politics now, although he was sure up until a few years ago James had kept extremely close tabs on him.