She escorted him out of the side door, shutting it behind them. Glancing around the sparsely lit alcove, she spied a lone chair and shoved it beneath the door handle.
“There isn’t a phone call, is there?”
Zora shook her head. “No. I just wanted a moment alone with you.”
He brushed a finger along her cheek. “I’m afraid I’m going to need more than a moment.”
He lowered his head and captured her mouth.
When Zora sighed and melted into his embrace, he groaned at the rightness of kissing her. Wanting to savor the moment and the feel of her full lips pressed against his, he took his time and didn’t rush to deepen the caress. He nibbled, tasted and suckled until she moaned and gripped his upper arms. But once she opened her mouth and invited him in, he forgot about everything except the sensation of her in his arms.
Her tongue rasped against his and he shivered, his heart suddenly thundering in his chest. His fingers tightened on her hips and he swallowed her soft sighs, growing to crave the little sounds of pleasure. Her fingers moved from his biceps to tangle in the lapels of his jacket and she pressed her full length against him.
The thought that he’d almost missed out on this, on being with her, was unbearable. He ended the kiss and buried his nose in the curve of her neck, their harsh breathing the only sound between them. She smelled amazing, her scent making his mouth water and his tongue ache to sweep all over body and discover if she smelled that heavenly everywhere.
“If we don’t stop, I’m going to back you against this wall and take you like some horny teenager.”
She flicked her tongue against his jaw. “Would that be such a bad thing?”
His knees went weak. Then he slid his hands down the sides of her dress, gathering the material against her outer thighs and—
There was a knock on the door.
“Sir?” Larry voice was an unwelcome but expected intrusion.
“Fuck!” Ethan groaned.
“I wish,” Zora muttered.
“Yeah?” he called out, chuckling at Zora’s comment. He held her loosely in his arms, willing his body to settle down. If Larry hadn’t interrupted them…
“I thought you’d want to know your speech is already up on YouTube and you’re trending on Twitter in Virginia.”
“Is that good or bad?” he whispered, resting his forehead against Zora’s.
“I don’t know,” she said, “but we’ll soon find out. Together.”
They laughed and Ethan thanked whichever God was responsible for bringing Zora into his life. He cupped her cheek and stared deep into her eyes. “Are you ready for this?”
He wanted to spend the rest of his life with her, but it was probably too soon to ask her to marry him. He could wait. He wanted to court her, take her out on dates, and in general make up for the years he’d taken her for granted. Plus, she’d need some time to get herself established in whatever job she chose next. Zora had proven she would be an asset to anyone on the Hill. Once word got out that she was no longer working for him, offers would pour in.
But when the time was right, a weekend in Virginia wine country would be the perfect way to propose.
“Definitely.” She ran her fingers over his hair, and swiped her thumb over his lips. “Perfect. Now, let’s go and get you re-elected. Oh, and Ethan? I love you, too. I always have.”
One more kiss and then, with the love of his life by his side, Ethan took a huge breath, opened the door, and headed out to reclaim their country.
THE END
Thank you!
Thank you for reading Ethan and Zora’s story. I hope you enjoyed it!
Readers love picking up books with good word of mouth. If you have a moment, please review For Love and Country at the store where you bought it. I would be ever so grateful for any words you might be willing to share!
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Other Books by Tracey
The Tycoon’s Socialite Bride
Pretending with the Playboy
Love On My Mind
Along Came Love
Love Will Always Remember
Acknowledgments
Heartfelt thanks to Tamsen Parker and Amy Jo Cousins for allowing me to participate in this anthology. I LOVE these stories and it’s an honor to call myself a Rogue Anthology author.
I want to give the biggest of thanks to Rochelle French, my amazing editor, who helped shape this story from my passionate ramblings into a wonderful, coherent plotline. This book is better because of her input.
I also want to thank my amazing beta reader and fellow author, Alleyne Dickens. Her comments were insightful and precise and her eagle eyes caught mistakes I’d never have picked up on.
About Tracey Livesay
Tracey’s novel, Love Will Always Remember, was the winner of the 2018 Emma Award for Best Interracial Romance. She writes smart, sexy and emotional contemporary romances where strong, successful heroines find love with powerful, passionate heroes. She’s been featured in The New York Times, The Washington Post, Entertainment Weekly and on CBS This Morning. A former criminal defense attorney, she finds crafting believable happily ever afters slightly more challenging than protecting our constitutional rights, but she's never regretted following her heart instead of her law degree. Tracey lives in Virginia with her husband--who she met on the very first day of law school--and their three children. When not answering the call of wife, mother or author, she watches planner videos on YouTube and daydreams about her next designer purse purchase.
Ipso Facto ILU
Hudson Lin
About This Story
PhD student Brandon Ng knows that “sexy” and “political science” don't often overlap, so when his celebrity crush, Jonny Lim, shows up on campus to scope out a potential new job, Brandon can't believe his luck. Sexy and smart and super nice, the political pundit and podcaster is way out of Brandon’s league, but there’s a spark between them that makes him hope for the impossible.
Brandon’s adorable awkwardness and peak nerdery is Jonny’s kryptonite. Yet, as tempting as Brandon is, the city of Toronto is a hard no, not when he has a perfectly good job offer and lovely weather back in Vancouver.
When a snowstorm leaves Jonny stranded, he finds himself crashing in Brandon’s apartment, where they fend off the cold with heated debates and even hotter kisses. But one night together isn’t enough to convince Jonny to move to Toronto—is it?
For all the fanbies freaking out over celebrity crushes.
1
Hello, my progressives! Welcome to another episode of Not Sorry, where we’re progressive, and we’re not sorry about it. Before we dive into this week’s episode, I have an announcement! On Thursday, February thirteenth, I will be at the University of Toronto for a panel discussion on The Impact of Social Media in Contemporary Elections. So, if you happen to be in The Six—that’s what you guys are calling it these days, right?—stop by and say hi. I don’t want to be talking to an empty room, yo.
I nearly tripped over my feet and landed smack on the hard concrete sidewalk. What did he just say? I scrolled back the podcast and replayed it. Yep, I’d heard it correctly. Jonny was coming to Toronto, to my school to be exact.
A blast of cold January air barreled over me like an oncoming freight train, and I hunched my shoulders against its attack.
Brandon, don’t freak out.
I braced myself, scurried down the block to School Grounds, the coffee shop where I worked part-time, and slipped inside. Sometimes winter in Toronto really sucked.
“Hi, Simone,” I greeted my boss who stood behind the front counter as I made my way to the back.
I hung up my coat and pulled out my phone to look for the event Jonny had mentioned. Sure en
ough, it was right there on the school’s website, cosponsored by the Department of Political Science and the Munk School of Global Affairs. It listed Jonny’s name with a link to his social media. Political commentator and podcaster. His photo was a simple headshot where his lips were curled in an enigmatic smile, his eyes were dark yet teasing, and his hair had so much volume it stood an extra four inches above his forehead.
I sighed. Smart and cute. And totally, completely, absolutely unattainable and out of my league.
“Hey, are you here to help me or to spend the whole morning back there?” Simone called from the front of the store.
I stuffed my phone into my pocket and grabbed my apron. The event was on a Thursday. I usually had office hours on Thursdays. Maybe I could skip out early and make it on time. Jonny might be out of my league, but I wasn’t giving up the chance to be in the same room as him.
* * *
I ended up rescheduling office hours. My students could rearrange their lives—Jonny Lim didn’t come to Toronto every day. I was way too early though. The only person in the lecture hall was the AV guy playing with the lights. Grabbing a seat inside looked too eager. Loitering outside the room felt too creepy. So I crept back to the lobby and found an empty chair in the corner.
With my phone in hand, I pulled up Instagram on autopilot and navigated to Jonny’s page. He'd landed in Toronto that morning, evidenced by photos from the plane and the obligatory selfie with the CN Tower looming in the background. His lips were oh-so-slightly pursed, head angled just so, like he was about to make out with the camera. It would have looked ridiculous on anyone else, but there was always a hint of a joke behind Jonny’s eyes, a touch of irony that drew me in and held me captive. I could stare at his picture all day and never tire of it.
The next picture on his Instagram feed had been taken in Vancouver, at the airport before he left. He was giving goodbye kisses to his pug, Lydia, a scrunched up, wrinkly thing with creamy white fur, a dark face, and a tongue she couldn't seem to keep in her mouth. He loved that dog to pieces, and I'd expected him to bring her along. My disappointment was a real thing. I wasn’t much of an animal person, but I'd make an exception for Lydia.
A familiar voice broke through my Instagram-induced haze. “Seriously, it's so hella cold here, I don't know how you people can stand it.”
My head snapped up, and I froze. Jonny Lim, in the flesh, wearing a stylish yet completely-useless-against-the-sub-freezing-temperatures wool coat, shivered as he crossed the lobby. He was with a group of students—I recognized a few political science undergrads—and Dr. Fernandez, my academic advisor. I hadn’t known that Dr. Fernandez was involved with this event. One student said something, Jonny laughed, and I gasped. I was in the same room as Jonny Lim.
I tracked their progress across the lobby in stunned paralysis until they disappeared around the corner, and my body kicked back into high gear. My lungs sucked in so much oxygen my head spun.
He was here. I would get to hear him speak. In person. He wouldn’t only be seductive dulcet tones in my ear anymore. So this was what being star struck felt like.
A trickle of people followed the same path Jonny took from the front door to the corner leading to the lecture hall. A trickle that was soon becoming a wave.
Get up Brandon. You need to get a good seat.
I forced myself up, took a moment to settle my nerves, and joined the crowd.
I had already thought through the best seating options for the event. I needed to be close enough to get a good view of Jonny, but not too close for him to notice me. I was already fanboying like crazy by seeing him across the lobby; I didn’t think I’d be able to survive actual eye contact with him.
I had to elbow my way past some indecisive undergrads to make it into the third row. I eyed the front of the room and picked a seat that gave me a clear view of both the podium and the set of low-slung armchairs. Perfect. As long as I didn't get someone tall sitting right in front of me.
“Hey Brandon,” came a female voice.
I turned to find Yulia and several of my classmates filing into the row behind me.
“Oh, hi.”
Yulia was a year ahead of me, some of the others a year behind, but we’d all been slogging through the same political science PhD for a while now. Somehow, I'd forgotten that people I knew could show up. Jonny was a minor celebrity with Canadian political youth. He was funny, social media savvy, and talked about politics in a way that made it relevant for young people. Pretty much everyone in my department listened to his podcast. I probably wasn’t the only one with a massive crush.
A few of my classmates were doing dissertations in public policy and would definitely have opinions on how social media was swaying public political opinion. My research was in political theory. Give me Plato and Aristotle, Hobbes and Locke, the meaning of life and the nature of man; practical applications of theory were not my forte.
“I didn’t know you were coming to this,” Yulia said as she peeled off her winter coat.
“Yeah, I didn’t know you guys were coming either.”
“You want to sit with us?”
I glanced across to the only empty seat left in their row, but it was too far to the right to give me a clear line of sight. “No, I’m okay. Thanks though.” Besides, I had little interest in engaging in small talk. I wanted to reserve my attention for Jonny alone.
Someone approached the podium. “Thank you all for coming this evening . . .”
Jonny sat in an armchair, legs crossed, a couple fingers of one hand delicately placed right under his chin. He pursed his lips in his signature look and he scanned the crowd as if he were searching for someone he knew.
His glance glided over me and my cheeks heated with an irrational blush. It's not like he saw me or anything. A kernel of sadness lodged in my chest. That brief pass of his gaze over me would be the closest I'd ever get to him. Other people might ask him a question later, they might even approach him after to say hi and ask for a photo. I wouldn’t be one of those people. My natural introversion was too strong for me to put myself out there like that.
Can't have it both ways, Brandon.
I shoved the sadness away. Getting to see Jonny live was enough. It was more than I’d ever thought I’d get.
Jonny stood, shook hands with the host, and approached the podium. I held my breath, my fingers tangled into a tight knot in my lap. He spoke, and nervous anticipation tingled over my skin like I'd eaten a pound of fizzy candy.
“. . . I like to think of myself as a Robin Hood of a sort, trolling haters on social media for the good of the people . . .”
The audience broke out in quiet laughter. I had to bite my lip to keep my giggles from spilling out.
He talked about young people engaging with politics through social media and how the method of delivery was as important as the message. It was more philosophical than his typical podcasts, almost a treatise on how people absorb and internalize information rather than a rant about how the alt-right would destroy us all. He was cool and smart and sexy. Admiration and longing welled up inside me, feeding my not-so-little crush.
After Jonny spoke, he sat back down, leaned back into the armchair, and crossed his legs. There should have been a roaring fireplace next to him, a fluffy sheepskin rug under his feet, and a wall of bookshelves behind him. In my dreams, I'd be sitting in the armchair, him in my lap, and he’d talk while I rested my chin on his shoulder. I’d laugh at his jokes, and he wouldn’t laugh at my deep dives into theoretical nerdery.
Instead, I had to suffer through the other panelist droning on.
When it came time for questions and answers, Jonny held the microphone close to his mouth, speaking into it in almost a whisper. The corners of his smile peeked out from behind the mic. My mouth grew dry. What I wouldn't have given to be that microphone.
“Hi, thanks for coming to speak to us.” Yulia had snagged a mic from one of the event organizers and spoke from right behind me. She’d scooted forw
ard in her seat so she was nearly on top of me.
“Since you're both arguing that social media has become the primary medium through which much of the population gets their news, what responsibility do social media platforms have to make sure the news they get is accurate?”
Jonny was staring at me. Not you. Yulia, behind you. Yeah, okay, fine, but close enough. Her head was inches from my own and there was no way he didn't see me or my wide-eyed attempt to camouflage myself into the lecture hall chair. Jonny's smile grew like he saw what I was trying to do and it amused him to no end.
“How would you respond to the claims of social media companies that they are not publishers, so do not have the same obligations to truth as traditional media outlets do?”
I couldn’t even hear his answer to Yulia’s question. Blood rushed past my ears so loud that my heart was on the brink of failing. I swore his gaze drifted back to me several times after that. I couldn't be sure though, since I could no longer look directly at him. If we made eye contact, it would be the end of me.
I finally looked up again when applause sounded around me and people began gathering their things. Already, there was a crowd forming at the front, obstructing my view of Jonny. I sucked in a breath and waited for my heart rate to slow back down to normal.
“Hey Brandon. We’re going to get drinks. Want to come with us?”
Rogue Ever After (The Rogue Series Book 7) Page 6
