Pandora's Pleasure: An Enemies-to-Lovers Romance

by Vanessa Fewings

  But he hadn’t fallen yet. Or maybe he had, and he was refusing to admit it. Though showing it seemed inevitable. The way he was with me felt more intense, more connected. His affection flowing freely.

  Away from the shower, he dried me off and wrapped a towel around me, then dried himself off.

  Reluctantly, I headed off in the opposite direction, wrung out from sex, glancing behind me to see his long, confident stride carry him away from me.

  In the bedroom, I blow-dried my hair into waves and applied some light make-up. I decided to put on my flowery sundress and pumps.

  Sounds from the kitchen drew me in that direction.

  Damien stood at the central island preparing a large salad in a wooden bowl, filling it with lettuce, tomatoes, cucumbers and olives. Other vegetables waited on the counter to be chopped and added. The faint scent of garlic and roasting chicken filled the kitchen.

  “You’re cooking?”

  “Don’t sound so surprised.”

  “I want to help.”

  Glancing over to the main table that we’d not sat at once since we’d been here, I spied eight place settings.

  “You invited people over?” I thought we didn’t know anyone.

  Damien uncorked a second bottle of wine and placed it on the dinner table. “I know it’s our last evening, but we’ve had two days alone together.” He came over and planted a kiss on the top of my head. “You’ve had fun, right?”

  “You know I have.”

  He smiled. “I’ll see that you have everything you need when we return to Washington.”

  “I want you to be happy, too, Damien.”

  “Then no more talk of escaping.” He gave a nod of conviction. “We must show a united front.”

  I swallowed hard and pointed to the dinner settings. “Who’s coming?”

  “You and I weren’t alone, even if we wanted to pretend we were. There were secret service agents working around the clock protecting us.”

  “You invited them to dinner?”

  “Yes, this is how we thank them—preparing a home-cooked dinner to show our gratitude.”

  “Have you done this before?”

  “It’s what my family’s always done. Yours don’t?”

  “We give bonuses.” It came out wrong. “Unless they’re paid by the government.”

  “Never forget what we do.” He pressed a fingertip to my chest. “We’re here to serve.”

  Hugging him, I tried to fathom how I’d gotten this man so wrong. That time I’d been in his oceanside home, I’d seen a vicious man who was hell-bent on ruining my life, and now he was acting like some kind of gentleman.

  A knock sounded at the door.

  “Ask them what they want to drink. Two of them are still on duty so they’ll decline alcohol. Help me make them feel welcome.” He pointed a finger at me. “You can’t drink in front of them. It’s illegal in Florida.”

  “Sneak in a sip?”

  “No.” He grinned. “Not until they’ve gone.”

  “What will we talk about?”

  He looked surprised. “Them. We make this about them. Because it is.”

  This was spontaneity; the ability to mingle with whomever I wanted. The normalcy I’d chased after.

  With a wide grin, I headed for the door, opening it to be greeted by the warm smiles of the men, and one woman, who had protected us all this time.

  I welcomed them in.

  The only person I wanted to see was her.

  I searched the faces of the guests at this prestigious cocktail party, the burning sensation in my throat from this glass of Macallan doing nothing to distract me from thinking of the woman I wanted in my sights.

  I’d missed her.

  I’d gone four days without seeing her. How was it Friday already?

  She’d be here soon. I wouldn’t have to endure this black-tie event alone. Having all these people in my dad’s home was stifling, even though the place was vast. I’d never been one for all this luxury; the lavish furnishings and parquet floors, the staff with endless drinks being offered to loosen tongues.

  My fingers dug beneath my bowtie. It was hard to tolerate this stifling tuxedo after the casual T-shirts and shorts I wore during our brief escape to Florida.

  We’d returned to Washington on Monday to the bleakness of the city…to the intensity of all that waited. With tensions flying high and tempers frayed from the chaos of the campaign, men had been broken by less. A billion dollars had been pumped into this endeavor and human lives were at stake from the policies we hoped to implement.

  Losing wasn’t an option.

  I’d dived right in to join Dad’s staff, spending my days and nights here. Giving over my soul to help see his vision realized as he ran for office.

  Pandora had remained at her parents’ place all week. The decision had been mine so she’d not feel lonely at my Foxhall house, since I’d not be able to visit.

  I’d been working twenty-four hours a day—or so it felt.

  We’d not seen each other since our return, only sharing a few cordial texts here and there. That was it.

  Within the confines of that Sanibel cottage, my desires had taken over all reason. I’d been shaken, well enough to see what I wanted my life to look like.

  My family hoped to carry America through a profound political awakening and there was no bandwidth for fragility.

  Many of the guests had brought along their agendas that only my father could see realized. This was a playground of sharks. Scanning the crowd for the worst of them all, I looked around for Salvatore Galante. I’d grab some time with him later and try to extract what he had on Pandora’s family. If anyone could persuade that fucker to drop the story on her dad, it was me. I’d go for diplomacy.

  I’d do anything for her.

  I downed the rest my Macallan to get rid of the taste of bitterness. Avoiding the more nefarious guests, I resigned to at least mingle and seek out the policy changers. The men with integrity. The game changers who genuinely cared about social issues. Equality, fairness, and a respect for humanity.

  Hushed whispers hinted that someone important had arrived. It was her.

  Like a breath of fresh air.

  Dazzling.

  My heart stuttered at the beauty of Pandora as she gracefully entered the ballroom.

  She held her head high until she saw me, then she broke into an iridescent smile, looking stunning in a shimmering silver gown that matched her delicate clutch purse. Her hair was styled in a chignon, making her look both youthful and sophisticated, her classic style complemented by twinkling Van Cleef jewels. Pandora behaved like a queen about to greet her people—regal and haughty, with that same closed-off demeanor I knew her for.

  Both of us were starkly aware of the stares locked on us.

  “Hi,” I greeted her, reaching out and taking her hand.

  “Damien.” If her chilliness was meant to intrigue, it did.

  I felt a rising desire to fuck her red pouty mouth with the burn of passion I’d suppressed for days. Somehow, I’d find the time for us to be together tonight.

  My hand slid from the middle of her back to her lower spine…a physical prelude to what I was going to do to this woman later. I would start slow and then ravage her. Taste and devour her. Make her come again and again. Have her forget there’d been any lost time between us.

  Her cautious eyes threw me a warning.

  I followed the direction of her gaze and saw her parents standing amongst an elite crowd of billionaires. They were sipping champagne and making small talk. Many of the guests were hoping to find time alone with my father to offer their demands in exchange for helping pave his way into the White House. That door was closing fast.

  For her parents, I was willing to accommodate a meeting with my father. After all, it was something she would want. Even now when my dad was being dragged in every direction, I would make it a priority.

  I pulled her aside. “How are you?”

  “Fine, tha
nk you.”

  “Everything okay?”

  “Yes, of course.”

  “You seem a little…chilly.”

  “It’s cold.” She turned from me and perused the room.

  The ice maiden was back.

  “Want my jacket?” I went to shrug it off.

  She put a hand on my arm to stop me. “You can’t be seen without it.” Her expression softened. “But thank you.”

  “Let your father know I’ve secured time with the Senator tonight.”

  “The Senator?” She narrowed her glare. “You’re so formal at these things.”

  I pointed to my chest. “I’m formal? If you were any more formal, we’d be calling you Your Majesty.”

  She threw me a sideways glance. “You must be pleased. Our trip to Sanibel was a success. How did the New York Times put it? ‘The haughty daughter of Brenan Bardot finally knows her place.’”

  I cringed. “Thought you didn’t read the news.”

  “You encouraged me to.”

  “The photos of us by the pool were quite something.”

  “I noticed.”

  “At least they had the decency to print the ones of us with our clothes on.” I flashed a carefree smile.

  “You used me at Sanibel. For your father’s campaign.”

  I nudged Pandora into an alcove. “Not true.”

  “The press insinuated it.”

  “Fuck them. The public saw another side to you.”

  She read my face carefully.

  “I had fun,” I said with a playful smirk. “You didn’t?”

  “I respect the fact that things are busy for you—”

  “Really? Because you seem to have no idea what really goes on in the world.”

  She went to walk away, but I grabbed her arm, smiling at a few guests who might have caught it. “Don’t walk away from me.”

  She turned and faced me. “The polls are rising. You must be pleased, Mr. Godman. I’m no longer needed, apparently.”

  “We still have a week to go.”

  Her expression filled with pain as she eased out of my grip. “Darling, I’m off to powder my nose.”

  Her stride was as elegant as it was swift and full of pride.

  Immediately, I regretted not sharing the truth—I’d fucking missed her. That every night I’d woken in a cold sweat because it was too late for me. Our weekend away had driven a passionate stake through my heart and somehow gotten it to beat again.

  I’d been thwapping my cock in the darkness at night as I’d tried to ease the strain of obsessing over her. Whatever spell she’d cast had burrowed deep.

  I should go after her, demand she listened to the truth of what she’d done to me and how I really felt about her.

  I’d fallen.

  Like a million men before me with everything to lose.

  Go tell her that.

  Damn it.

  Dad was signaling me from across the room—there was someone he wanted me to meet.

  Telling Pandora my feelings would have to wait.

  If she didn’t leave before I got to her.

  Confusion now clouded my mind and my heart had been pulverized by Damien’s coldness. I walked away from him, keeping my expression stony-faced to hide the pain I was feeling from all the people who watched me pass by. The agony of rejection wedged itself deep in my chest.

  I’d been counting down the days and minutes and seconds until I could see Damien again. But the man who’d swept me off to a romantic getaway on Sanibel Island was now gone. Maybe my perception of him had only been an illusion.

  More agonizing still, I’d fallen for his ruse to get me to appear carefree in that lush vacation setting, giving the press all they needed to present the Godmans as kings of Washington.

  They had needed me to perform and Damien’s charm had been a sure bet to get the ice maiden to crack so they could use me for his family’s gain. He’d snagged a living, breathing Bardot.

  Tears stung my eyes as I pushed onward toward the restroom. Ironically, it was the same one Damien had brought me into during their last event three weeks ago. He’d stood over me as I’d peed with the same quiet contempt he had shown tonight.

  Staring at my reflection in the mirror, I realized how much of my heart I’d given to him.

  All of me.

  Every facet of myself had been given to Damien and delivered with my own hands, no less. Those dark circles beneath my eyes, hidden by makeup, were evidence of all the sleepless nights I’d suffered.

  Leaving the event wasn’t an option. Last time I’d left a Godman party, I’d been summoned into the Senator’s study.

  I looked into bright eyes that were good at faking happiness—I’d had many years of practice to master the art of suppressing emotions. All I had to do was return to the ballroom and search out a glass of water to swallow this lump in my throat. Then I would continue to perform my duty, offer a willing smile at anyone who looked my way and engage in pleasant conversation.

  Damien doesn’t love you.

  I struggled to hide my grief for a relationship that could never be, dealing with regret because I’d promised myself I’d escape. Being away from him hurt. But what hurt more was knowing we could never have a truly loving relationship.

  I left the restroom and saw Theo Tamer halfway down the hallway. He was leaning against the wall staring at his phone with his earbuds in, seemingly lost in thought.

  I kept my eyes down as I walked past him.

  “Hey,” he called to me.

  Pausing, I turned and gave him a wary look. “Hi.”

  Tamer was no doubt part of this conspiracy to manipulate me for the Godmans’ benefit. We’d had an “interesting time” at the Ritz Hotel but he’d proven he was on Damien’s side.

  He removed his earbuds. “Heard you had fun on Sanibel.”

  “You shouldn’t believe everything you read.”

  “That came from Damien.”

  “He set up some great on-camera moments.”

  “You okay?”

  “Don’t I look it?”

  He stared at me. “Who upset you? I will hunt them down and make them pay.”

  My response was a slight shrug and a nothing can be done expression.

  “Give me a whirl. I’m the go-to guy for the Powers That Be when shit needs fixing.”

  “Something tells me I’m one of the problems.”

  He closed the gap between us. “Haven’t I proven my loyalty?”

  I stepped away. “To everyone else, yes.”

  “Did someone say something?”

  I headed down the hall. “Sorry to have interrupted your phone call.”

  He caught up and walked alongside me. “I’m listening to Duran Duran while I wait for someone.”

  “Who?”

  “You’ve never heard of Duran Duran?”

  I shook my head. “Who are you waiting for?”

  “A new staffer needs briefing.” Theo raised his phone. “Duran Duran’s an 80s band.” He looked amused. “You make me feel old.”

  “You’re the same age as Damien.”

  “I’m older by three years. You make him feel old, too.”

  The tears I’d been trying to suppress stung my eyes. “I believed him. I believed he was enjoying himself on the island. That it wasn’t just me who felt this way.”

  “You love him?”

  I let out a sob. That’s why it hurts.

  “This is a good thing, right?” he soothed.

  “He doesn’t feel the same way.”

  “You guys had fun. Once this is over you’ll have your entire life ahead of you. You’ll meet someone super cool.”

  I took off down the hallway, not wanting to cry in front of him.

  Theo shouted. “Pandora!”

  Needing to compose myself, I quickly put distance between us, heading in the opposite direction of the event. I needed time to figure things out.

  There was no other way—I was going to have to find another solutio
n to my dad’s looming scandal and stop that news story from going live. There had to be some kind of leverage I could use. I had the means, too. Access to contacts. The ability to dig deeper using tech.

  I’d do it myself.

  Oh, no.

  Damien’s brother was talking with someone at the end of the hallway.

  Pivoting fast, I turned right, lifting my hem and scurrying off. A security guard stood at a doorway gesturing I couldn’t go that way. I tried to retrace my steps but I couldn’t remember which way I’d come.

  I picked up speed as I rounded a corner—and bumped right into Carter’s chest.

  “Steady,” he said, grabbing my arm and leading me away. “You can’t be here. My dad’s having a drink with the Ambassador of Germany. Security’s a bitch.”

  “Let go.” I was dragged behind his tall frame.

  He glanced left and right as though checking to make sure no one was looking, and then he opened a door and pulled me inside an empty room, shoving me up against the wall.

  Trapping me.

  My breaths came short and sharp against the pressure of his firm chest as my arms pushed against him, my heart rate thundering in my ears. I tried to break free but he was too strong, too tall and too threatening.

  “I heard about Sanibel.” He whistled.

  “Get off.”

  “No, I don’t think so. My family paid for you fair and square.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “You for a seat at the table. I’m just taking what’s ours.”

  “The last I heard my father wasn’t in the running anymore.”

  “I know Damien is doing what he can to deal with that dumpster fire.”

  “He is?” It came out wistful.

  He clutched my jaw. “Anything to get you to open your legs.”

  My face twisted in disgust, his touch causing sickness to roil in my stomach.

  His lips snarled in a rebuke. “Those photos of you were something else.” He dug his fingernails into my jaw.

  “What?”

  “You didn’t see yourself in The Inquirer?”

  My breath caught in my throat as the door flew open.

  Damien barreled toward us and grabbed his brother by the scruff of the neck, yanking him back and thrusting him up against the door.