Unfinished Business by Karyn Langhorne

own.
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    Waging war to stop terrorism is like using gasoline to put out a fire.
    â€”Antiwar slogan
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Chapter 5
    â€œNo.” Erica turned on her heel and walked away from him, even though she knew it would be useless. Mark Newman was certainly one of the most arrogant, self-aggrandizing men she’d ever met, but he was also one of the most tenacious. And Angelique had had the nerve to back out on her. Stood in the doorway of her classroom, with that stupid little grin on her face and insisted she had other plans for the evening. Which Erica knew fully well was a bald-faced lie. Angelique never had any plans, any evening.
    â€œCome on…” his voice had shifted from a commanding to a wheedling tone. “Why not?”
    â€œDon’t you have somewhere else to be?” she asked him in exasperation. “Isn’t there a vote on the Hill or a cocktail party with a bunch of lobbyists or something that desperately needs your attention?”
    That quirky little grin covered the lower half of his face. “Nope. Turns out my schedule is clear.”
    â€œIt’s been clear all day,” Erica muttered. “I’m beginning to wonder just what the taxpayers pay you for.” She turned away from him again, trudging quickly toward her car, her head down.
    â€œI cleared the day for you and your class,” he said and she heard the cane crunching the gravel of the parking lot as he followed her. “Most women would be flattered.”
    Erica whirled on him. “In case you hadn’t noticed, Senator. I’m not most women. I really wish you’d just—just—”
    â€œWas I that bad at teaching?” he asked.
    No, you’re actually rather it good at it , she almost admitted, but she swallowed the words knowing full well they’d swell his head to unmanageable proportions if she spoke them aloud. The kids had actually seemed to enjoy having him around after she’d allowed him to become a “resource” for their assignments. And, if she wanted to be honest about it, once he’d stripped off that suit jacket that looked like it had cost a couple of million dollars at some custom men’s store, loosened his tie and rolled up his sleeves and started bending over desks, helping her students with the nuances of civics and language arts, math and science, he’d been maddeningly sexy.
    â€œYou were…okay,” she said grudgingly.
    â€œOkay?” His voice rose in mock insult as he smirked down at her. “I was better than okay. I was good .” He sighed a little and rubbed his forehead. “But I gotta admit, I don’t know how you do it every day. Those kids are exhausting.” His eyes swept over her body, taking in more than muscle and bone, but he confined his remarks on it to, “You must be tougher than you look.”
    Erica rolled her eyes. “Gee, thanks. I think.”
    â€œSeriously,” he asked in a tone to match the word. “It’s hard work, but you do it well. Those kids adore you.”
    There was something more than the compliment in his eyes and in his tone. Something, suddenly intimate, suddenly real. It made that warm, fluttery feeling kick up again in the pit of Erica’s stomach—and she wasn’t about to have it.
    â€œGo home, Senator,” she said, turning her back on him again.
    â€œCan’t,” he said. “No car.’”
    Erica rolled her eyes. “Fine. Call your driver. One of the perks of office, I’m guessing.”
    â€œCan’t,” he said in the same easy way and still just a step behind her. For a tired man with a cane, he moved surprisingly fast when he wanted to be annoying. “No driver.”
    â€œThen get a cab!” Erica shouted over her shoulder.
    â€œMs. Johnson—Erica—may I call you Erica?”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œErica,” he continued as though she had given him permission, “I don’t