Dutch and Gina: The Power of Love Read online

  And then, when they were convinced it could not possibly get any more intense than it already was, he poured into her all of that passion, all of that love. And he continued to pound, as she moaned and he groaned, and their rhythm became frenetic and desperate and exhilarating too.

  He thrashed her with a final, deepest of deep push that caused his engorged penis to throb with such a throbbing that it strained every muscle in his body. He wanted to scream her name in gratitude for the way she made him feel.

  And Gina wanted to scream too, as she felt every inch of his engorgement deeply inside of her. It electrified her. She clamped down tightly around his rod as she became overcome with the rush of the feeling. And her entire body shuttered, and then lifted, as she felt the full impact of the overwhelming sweetness of his final, deepest of deep thrusts.

  And when they both lost all energy and collapsed down, they knew it was just the beginning. Just the warm up act. Just one of many pleasures they were determined to allow themselves this last night of their vacation. And what was to become their long night’s journey into day.

  FOUR

  The private fundraiser for Senate Democrats was held at the Burk Hotel in San Francisco, California, and Dutch dazzled the crowd of big money donors with his wit and optimism. The mid-term congressional elections, he insisted, was the most important of its kind in a generation. He wanted his party to regain control of the Senate so that legislation could move through both houses of Congress much faster, and his agenda could finally get back on track. It was a bold assertion, all of the donors knew it, but they bought into it just the same. All out of respect for Dutch Harber.

  But as soon as he left the stage to meet and greet those deep pocket supporters, he thought he saw someone very familiar out of the corner of his eye. But he kept meeting and greeting, working the room, laughing with some, agreeing with others, being the expert politician he was known to be when he had to be.

  But by the time he worked his way to the back of the room, Allison Shearer, his press secretary and one of his most trusted aides, approached him.

  “I need you to see somebody, sir,” she said, shoveling her long, blonde hair out of her face.

  “And who is this somebody?”

  She leaned toward his ear, her voice lowered. “Liz Sinclair,” she said.

  Dutch frowned. “And why exactly would I want to see her?”

  “She’s in a state, sir. I’ve never seen her in such a state.”

  Dutch stared at Allison. She was no drama queen. She was never the kind of woman given to hyperbole or exaggerations. If Allison said it was serious, it was serious.

  “Lead the way,” he said. And then smiled when one of the donors blocked his path.

  The Secret Service agents blanketed him as he and Allison headed out of the room, down a short corridor, and up to the door of a small office. The owner of that office, a hotel supervisor, had kindly vacated when Liz was told to wait there.

  Dutch and Allison went inside, along with two of Allison’s assistants. As soon as Dutch saw Liz Sinclair sitting in that small room, he stopped in his tracks. He hadn’t seen her in months, not since Brussels, and he had been too busy to have any of his people check on her. Especially since their last meeting was a difficult one. But he never dreamed he’d find her like this.

  She was drunk, for one thing. The stench of the liquor met all of their nostrils as soon as they entered the room. And she didn’t look like the gorgeous, vivacious Liz he was accustomed to seeing. She still had that tall, elegant sophistication she was known for. Her brown skin was still smooth and unblemished. But her once sharp hazel eyes looked murky. And her clothes, some thrown together white jumpsuit with a big, gaudy belt around her waist, looked cheap and well-worn. Everything that made her who she was known to be, from her flawless style to her almost arrogant sense of self-assurance, was gone.

  She attempted to smile when Dutch entered the room, but even that took considerable effort for her. “Dutch,” she said, rising shakily to her feet. “Thanks for seeing me.”

  Dutch, feeling a sudden twinge of pain, broke away from Allison and the aides and walked up to her. The alcohol, mixed with the perfume she wore, made for a toxic combination. “Hello, Liz.”

  “Thanks for seeing me,” she said again.

  “You’re drunk.”

  She actually chuckled. “I wish that was all I was.”

  Dutch considered her. She was clutching a small black purse, as if in it held all she had in this world. And from the looks of her Dutch wouldn’t doubt if it did.

  “What’s the matter, babe?” he asked her. “Why are you here like this?”

  “I had to see you. Because you’re the only one.”

  “I’m the only one?”

  “You’re the only one who ever liked me. You’re the only one who ever cared.”

  Allison rolled her eyes and moved to stand alongside the president. “Really, Liz, you asked to see the president to tell him that?”

  “I’m just trying to hold on,” Liz said, and Dutch could see that her thumb was nervously flicking the purse. “I’m just trying to let him know that I appreciate what he did for me.”

  “Fine” Allison said. “You told him. Is that it?”

  “I did it wrong,” she said, looking from Allison to Dutch.

  Dutch stared at her.

  “I did it all so wrong.”

  “I would not have disturbed the president, Liz, if I knew this was all you had to say. Now is there anything of any substance you need to tell him?”

  Liz looked at Allison as if she didn’t comprehend. And it was that look, so fraught with despair and anguish, that caught Dutch short.

  “Liz, what’s wrong?” he asked her. But she just stood there, a faraway look in her unfocused eyes.

  “Do you need to talk to me?”

  It was only then did she look at the president. She was still confused, still puzzled, but with enough within her to nod. “Talk. Yes. I need to talk.”

  “Then we shall,” he said.

  Liz nodded. “Okay. Thank-you, Dutch, for seeing me. Even when I don’t look my best. I don’t look very well right now, do I? I know I don’t. But you never cared about that. You always liked me for who I was, good and bad. You always did. You’re the only one.”

  Dutch looked at Allison. “Take her to my room.”

  “But, sir,” Allison was ready to object. When she saw that the president wasn’t about to change his mind, she frowned. “But why, sir?”

  Dutch looked at Liz again. They were close friends for so many years, and had been through a lot together. She disappointed him mightily, especially in Brussels, but something was wrong. Something was so off about her now, she was so obviously begging for help, that it broke his heart. This was no ordinary she had too much to drink moment. This went far deeper. He could see it in her eyes.

  “I’m not turning her out like this,” he said to his press secretary. “She’s my friend. Good or bad, she’s my friend. Take her to my room. And stay with her until I get there.”

  Liz’s heart melted with gratitude, as tears came. “Thank-you, Dutch,” she said.

  Crader McKenzie entered the room just as Liz was thanking the president. He was amazed that she was even there, but was too much of a pro to show it. He, instead, began steering Dutch away from her, and back to his paying guests.

  “Ed Deviney wants to personally present you with a check,” he whispered to the president, and Dutch headed for the door. As soon as he opened it, Ed Deviney was waiting.

  “Ed, you son of a gun,” Dutch said, extending his hand, “how’s that back nine been treating you lately?”

  “Terrible,” Ed said as he and the president shook hands. “Not even one birdy last game out. And the back nine used to be when I came alive.”

  The door was closed, with Allison and her aides, and Liz, closed inside.

  The aides were staring at Allison.

  “You heard the president,” she said sna
ppishly. “Let’s get her to his room.”

  Gina and LaLa didn’t see anything remarkable in the entire catalogue. The designer had brought it over and Gina’s stylist had marked some of the more exceptional designs. But Gina wasn’t impressed. She closed the book altogether and leaned back. She and LaLa were in the White House Residence, seated on the sofa inside the family livingroom, and selecting from this American designer who was supposed to be the newest new thing wasn’t working out at all.

  “I could get better designed clothes off of one of those picnic tables at Wal-Mart,” LaLa said and Gina smiled. “They’re just awful. And look so cheap.”

  “I hear you, girl,” Gina said. “I don’t know what Maggie was thinking.”

  “You should fire her. Your stylist should have more style than that. She’ll have you going to that ball looking like some hoochie mama.”

  Gina laughed. “Come on, La. It’s not as bad as all that.”

  LaLa looked at her. “What’s the matter?”

  “Who says anything’s the matter?”

  “I do. What is it?”

  Gina sighed. “I miss Dutch.”

  “Miss him? He just left a day ago.”

  “And I miss him!” She sighed again. “He makes me feel good.”

  “Oh, and what do I do?” LaLa asked. “Makes you feel bad?”

  Knocks were heard on the door. “No,” Gina said with a smile, “but you certainly can’t make me feel the way Dutch can make me feel. Now that’s a fact.”

  “Oh,” LaLa said, getting it. “You mean that kind of good.”

  Gina laughed. Then turned toward the door. “Yes?” she yelled.

  The door opened and Christian stepped inside. “I’m sorry to disturb you, ma’am---”

  “Christian, my goodness. You don’t have to knock. You’re family.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Where’s Jade?”

  “She went on home.”

  “You need to go on home too.”

  “I was headed that way but I got a call that Mr. Rand is waiting downstairs.”

  Gina and LaLa looked at each other.

  LaLa frowned. “Robert Rand? What’s he doing here?”

  “I don’t know, but bring him up, Chris,” Gina stated. “Then you go on home to your new bride.”

  Christian smiled. “Yes ma’am. ‘Night, La.”

  “See you later, Chris,” LaLa said and then turned to Gina when Christian was gone. “Has he ever popped up like this before?”

  “Never,” Gina said. Then she smiled. “But he’s never met you before, either.”

  LaLa wanted to believe that. She wanted to believe that a billionaire funny man like Robert Rand could be interested in her like that. But somehow, after spending that time in the Caribbean with him, she doubted it. There was more to Mr. Rand’s agenda, she was willing to bet, than he was showing now.

  Gina looked at LaLa. “Maybe he calls himself wooing you.”

  “Yeah, right. He can have supermodels but he wants me, instead.”

  “He might. Crader can have supermodels, but he wants you.”

  “That’s not the same thing. Please do not compare Crader McKenzie to Robert Rand.”

  “Robert isn’t all that, in my humble opinion,” Gina said. “Crader is the total package: looks, brains, heart, and he’s rich. Robert’s just rich.”

  LaLa wasn’t suggesting that Robert was the better pick over Crader. Just the opposite, in fact. But Gina was already a big Crader fan as it was. She didn’t need to give her any more of that you ought to give Crader another chance ammunition. “Whatever,” LaLa said instead.

  “But why else would he be here, La? He had to know Dutch was on the west coast tonight. I’m sure Dutch told him where he was going when we left the Virgin Islands. And even if he didn’t tell him, the president’s schedule is public information.”

  “But I don’t know, G,” LaLa said, shaking her head. “Why would a jet-setting, can have any woman he wants man like that want me?”

  Gina looked at LaLa with concern in her eyes. “Don’t you ever say something that harsh, La. You’re a great catch. Just because Demps didn’t realize it and Crader didn’t realize it when he had a chance, doesn’t mean you’re not a great catch.”

  “But it hasn’t just been those two men. It’s been man after man after man after man that I can’t count how many men anymore. They all break my heart in the end, G. All of them. So either I’m just the most unlucky female in the universe to always pick the absolute wrong men, or men just aren’t that into me. It’s either them or it’s me. It can’t be both. And I’m the only common denominator here.”

  Gina’s heart felt heavy for her beloved friend. “Well, it’s not you,” she said assuredly. But she knew LaLa wasn’t at all convinced.

  After Christian deposited Robert inside the Residence and said his goodbyes again, Robert took a seat in the chair flanking the two ladies.

  “So how have you been, Loretta?” he asked as he sat down.

  “I’ve been good. How about you?”

  “Great. Wonderful. I take it your bodyguard is with the president?”

  LaLa looked at him askance. She knew he meant Crader, but for some reason she didn’t find his joke funny at all. “Crader is with the president, yes,” she said.

  Gina smiled. “Why would you call Crader McKenzie LaLa’s bodyguard?”

  “Because that’s exactly the way he was behaving. That night, after the cookout, I took this wonderful lady for a drive around the island. Then, like a gentleman, I walked her back to her bungalow. And there he was just standing there. Waiting like her protector. He said it was business, White House business he called it, but that, it seemed to me, was a dubious assertion at best.”

  “I think it’s sweet,” Gina said smilingly as she looked at LaLa, surprised that she didn’t mention the fact that Crader stayed up waiting for her return the night she went for a drive with Robert.

  LaLa felt flushed with embarrassment. She knew Crader cared about her, and perhaps cared about her deeply, but that didn’t automatically translate into love. She didn’t know a lot, she’d be the first to acknowledge that she wasn’t the most knowledgeable person around, but she knew you wouldn’t hurt the one you loved. Not if you truly loved them.

  Gina saw her distress, and decided to move on. “So what brings you to our neck of the woods, Robert?” she asked.

  Robert looked down the length of LaLa, but it all just seemed contrived to LaLa. Then he looked at Gina. “You, actually,” he said.

  “Me?”

  “Yes, ma’am. I know Dutch was out in California, and I had some business in New York. So I decided it would be the perfect time to come over and proposition you.”

  LaLa cut Robert a hard look. Dutch Harber would kill him, absolutely murder him if Robert so much as thought about propositioning Gina.

  “Not that kind of proposition,” Robert said with a laugh. “So keep your shirt on, Loretta, I’m not being disrespectful of my friend’s wife.”

  “Oh,” LaLa said, loaded with attitude. “Tell me something.”

  Gina laughed too. “She’s my bodyguard,” she said to Robert.

  “I see,” replied Robert. The bitch, he wanted to add.

  “And what does this proposition entails?” Gina asked.

  “Marcus Rance,” he said.

  LaLa looked at Gina. Gina was staring at Robert. Marcus Rance was Gina’s half-brother, her deceased father’s only son, and he was currently in a Texas prison doing a life sentence for murder. It was a crime Marcus declared he didn’t commit, and the evidence seemed to support his declaration. But Texas still would not grant him a new trial. The idea that her brother was in prison for a crime she believed he didn’t commit, still horrified her.

  “What about Marcus?” she asked him.

  Robert inwardly smiled. From the change in her entire demeanor, he knew he had her exactly where he wanted her. “I have a very close friend who happens to be the gove
rnor of Texas.”

  “And?”

  “He doesn’t plan to seek reelection.”

  “And?” Gina asked again, her eyes unable to leave his.

  “And,” Robert said, “he’s open to a favor.”

  Gina’s heart began to pound. “What kind of favor? You mean. . . Are you saying that Governor Feingold, the governor of Texas, is open to a pardon, for instance?“

  Robert smiled. Quick lady. “He’s open to the possibility of pardoning your brother, yes.”

  LaLa could hardly believe it. She looked at Gina. But Gina was staring at Robert. “What’s the catch?” she asked.

  Ah, Robert thought. Smart too. “He’ll be at the Rand Foundation dinner. It’s scheduled to be held in Montreal, Canada, the first week in July. The catch is that I’m hoping you’ll be there, too, as our keynote speaker. I will facilitate a private, one-on-one meeting. And the governor has been kind enough to agree to give you an opportunity to convince him why Marcus Rance should be pardoned.”

  Gina was still unconvinced. “And what’s in it for you?” she asked.

  Robert smiled. “I told you. You will be the keynote speaker at the Rand Foundation dinner. I don’t know if you realize this but having the First Lady as your keynote speaker is considered a big get.”

  “What’s in it for you?” Gina asked again.

  Damn, she’s good, Robert thought. “And you will encourage your husband, as only you can, to sign the Helm Amendment into law.”

  LaLa frowned. “Why would you care about an amendment that gives block grants to state commissioned shovel-ready projects?”

  “Because,” Gina began, her eyes never leaving Robert’s, “buried in that amendment is a proviso that changes the status of Atlantic City’s Parchmore settlement from historic land to public land, land that would then be up for grabs to the highest bidder. Land so strategically placed,” Gina went on, “that the next Rand Casino would be guaranteed successful by its location alone.”

  LaLa was surprised and pleased that Gina was able to go deep into the weeds on such mundane legislation.

  “Is it a deal, madam?” Robert asked Gina. “All you have to do is encourage your husband, and yes, exactly for the reasons you outlined, and to attend our little dinner the first week in July. That’s it. That’s all.”