“That’s all?” he asks. “They didn’t make any demands?”
“Not yet,” I tell him. “I think they’re going to use this to ruin me.”
“Ruin you?” he asks. “How?”
“My reputation is flawless,” I explain. I’m not wrong, and we both know it.
“It is.”
“My reputation is how I sway juries and fix the problems of powerful people,” I tell him. “If that reputation is ruined, I have nothing.” And I will never let that happen. I would burn everything to the ground before I let some nameless asshole take everything I have worked so hard for from me. It depends on how things unfold from here on out.
“And you think this… person wants to ruin you?” he asks again. “For what goal?”
“I have some pretty big cases coming up.”
“Like what?”
I shoot him an incredulous look. He should know better than to ask me such a stupid question. Of course I can’t tell him. And especially not in such a public setting.
“You know I can’t answer that.”
“True, I figured it never hurts to try,” he says with a shrug. “And how do you think these pictures could… ruin you?” Just hearing the words is like a punch to the gut.
“Those pictures don’t paint a pretty picture,” I say by way of an explanation. I don’t want him to know how real the look on my face is in those pictures.
“They’re sexy as hell, I’ll give you that,” he tells me the truth as I look at them again. I kind of want to keep one for my own personal viewing, but that feels a little dirty. For him, I know I could be dirty. “But how could it ruin you?”
I sit across from him and look at him for a long while. Why doesn’t he understand how serious this is? Is he not taking me seriously on purpose? How can I make him see reason?
“I can’t be seen as another notch in your bedpost,” I finally reply in such a quiet voice that he can barely hear me. “No one will ever take me seriously again. And I don’t know how to fix it. I need your help, and I absolutely hate everything about that.”
“Lucky for you I have an idea,” he says as he watches me to gauge my reaction, and I hope he fucking does have an answer, because I feel like I’m drowning without a life jacket.
“And what would that be?” I ask. “I’m all ears.”
“You marry me, of course.”
I had just reached for the water glass in front of me and taken a sip when he told me that his answer to all of my problems was to marry the king of the alley cats, the man who has had a record amount of bedmates and couldn’t possibly be faithful to someone as boring as me. The mouthful of water I just took, I spit all across the table and all over him.
“W-w-what?” I stammer.
“I’m not into spit play, sweetheart, but I can come up with something you’ll like a whole lot more. I promise,” he says to me with a straight face as he reaches for the napkin in front of him and pats his face dry.
“Explain yourself right now,” I demand.
“I’d much prefer you swallow,” Chancellor adds with a devious smirk playing at the corner of his mouth. He is obviously being obtuse in an effort to be cute or flirty, and I just can’t handle that right now. I need clear facts and straight talk right now.
“That’s not what I’m talking about and you know it.”
“If we come out as a serious couple and eventually get engaged, no one will see you as another woman in my bed. You will be the only woman in my bed,” he explains.
“No one will believe it,” I rationalize. This is what I need. I need to hash out the details and come up with a clear plan. What I do not need is to marry a man who could never love me, just for the sake of looks. “A woman just sold more pictures of you the other day. We can’t get engaged right now. Everyone will think that I’m pregnant.”
And now it’s his turn to choke on the sip of water he just swallowed, obviously because the idea of having a baby with me is abhorrent. Way to make a girl feel good about herself, Senator.
“We’ve known each other for years,” he rallies. “We’ll tell people we’ve been circling around our attraction for years and we only just finally decided to give into it, but the feelings are real. We are very real.”
“Maybe,” I say. I don’t want to see the logic of his crazy-ass plan. He looks like he can feel the win coming, and I cannot stand it. This can’t be it. My whole life can’t boil down to a political match that neither of us ever wanted. I have to find a way out of this predicament before Jake Chancellor talks me out of my panties and my pride.
“After a short while, we will get engaged, and by then the press will eat it up with a spoon. You’ll be the darling of New York again.”
“And then what?” I ask. I feel the hope that is shining in my eyes, and I pray I can find my way out of this mess before it’s too late. I can “date” him for a while and show the world he’s a reformed rake and I’m not just another notch in his bedpost. It’ll all be fake—for show—obviously, and then he’ll go on to win his election, because even though he’s a tom cat on the prowl, he’s also a great politician and the people love him. The polls show it. I just have to get through this, and then I can go back to my quiet life with my cats.
“And then we get married and win a presidential election,” he explains, effectively crushing my hope. Why would he want to get married? That’s utterly ridiculous.
“We can’t possibly get married,” I say for lack of anything else.
“And why is that?” Chancellor counters. “People of our station get married all the time for political reasons.”
“You sound like a historical romance novel,” I inform him. “‘People of our station.’ Who talks like that?”
“I do. And it’s true. It’s not like I don’t admire you. I find you smart and driven, not to mention beautiful,” he says. “I know you turn me on and so do you, because you felt how hard I was last night when you were pressed up against me.”
I can’t help the gasp that slips from my lips at his crude words, but I pull myself together as best as I can.
“A mild breeze would probably make you hard,” I tell him as I roll my eyes.
“Ouch!” He puts a hand to his chest. “You wound me.”
“I think you’ll survive,” I droll.
“So you don’t find me attractive?” he counters my argument.
“I never said that.” And I do my best to bury the excitement I feel when bantering with Jake Chancellor as deep as I possibly can, because the temptation of giving in to him is oh so tempting.
“And I don’t turn you on?” he asks me. “Because from here it looks like your nipples were hard little points in that tiny black dress, and I felt them against me.”
“It was cold,” I say, looking away from him as my cheeks turn pink. I don’t want to give him any possible indication I might want him like he says he wants me. But I have a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach that not much gets by Jake Chancellor.
“And there was that pretty pink blush,” he explains as he points to his own cheeks. “Here.” And then he points to the base of his neck. “And here. I can’t help but wonder if you blush like that all over.”
“Jacob.” My voice is rough, and my eyes close as I try to shut out his words. I can’t let them affect me like they do.
“You can call me Jake,” he tells me. “Everyone else does.”
“I think I prefer Jacob,” I answer, and in that moment, he looks like he does too.
“What will you call me late at night?” he asks me after a moment, and his voice is husky and sultry. I know instinctively that this is how he sounds late at night, in bed after hours with a woman.
“Jacob.”
“And what will you call me in bed?” he furthers.
“Jacob,” I breathe, and I can feel myself giving in to him. He knows it, and so do I, but still… “I haven’t agreed yet.”
“But you will,” he predicts. “What other choice do you
have? Besides, imagine what you could do to change the world as First Lady.”
“That is alarmingly tempting,” I concede, but if I take up his offer to make me his First Lady, I will be doing it for all the wrong reasons. I could change the world, yes; we both know that I’m capable of anything. But without love, would it even matter? “Somehow, I bet you could tempt the devil himself.”
“I don’t want to tempt the devil. I just want to tempt you.”
I look back at him, because his words, spoken quietly and without a hidden agenda, ring truer than anything else said tonight between us.
“And I like that you call me Jacob.”
“And what happens when someone else sells a story from your bed when you’re supposed to be hopelessly in love with me?” I ask, and I can’t help but feel like a fool for looking more than a little vulnerable as I speak the question. I can’t believe I let it slip that his affairs would bother me so much. I can only hope he reads my reluctance as worry over our image and not that his extramarital affairs would cut me deep when we’re not even in a relationship to begin with. It all sounds so silly.
“There won’t be any other women in my bed.” His voice is strong and sure. He sounds so confident in himself and his ability to be faithful to a marriage with no love or intimacy.
“Why?” I blurt out before I can stop myself. I really should be more mindful of my words, but around Jacob Chancellor, I just can’t seem to help myself.
“Because you’ll be in my bed.”
“You can’t mean—” I start. I open and close my mouth a few times, but that seems to be all I can get out. He has me totally stunned.
“I do,” he answers me calmly. It feels like he’s thought about all of this before, but that can’t be. He couldn’t have known about the blackmail pictures before today. I know he’s wanted me in his bed for a while now, but I had always assumed he wanted me there for a night or two, not installed in it for the rest of my life.
“But why?”
“Because I want you,” he explains. “And because we’re going to be a couple. When I marry you, there won’t be anyone else in our marriage but us, regardless of how it came to be.”
“Are you ready to order now?” the waiter asks.
“Grace?” Jacob prompts.
“How is the hummus basket?” I ask after clearing my throat.
“Freaking fantastic,” he answers, making the waiter smile.
“And the buffalo wings?”
“Also amazing.”
“Care to split them with me?” I need carbs and junk food in order to process the drastic left turn my life seems to have just taken.
“I’d love to.” He smiles back at me before turning to the waiter. “The wings sampler and the hummus basket please.”
“Got it,” he says. “Anything to drink for you guys?” And this must be why he likes to come here. No one stands on ceremony for him here. He is just like everyone else.
“The IPA,” I answer.
“Me too, please.”
“Coming right up.”
“Maybe we won’t need to get married,” I say hesitantly when he walks away. “Maybe the dust will blow over and we can consciously uncouple like the celebrities do and still see you settled in the White House.”
“Sure,” he replies, but the way he says it is more like “Not a fucking chance in hell.”
I eye him warily, and I can’t help but wonder if he has even more nefarious motives than trying to fuck me while I repair my reputation.
“Now, let’s talk details,” he says, sitting back in his seat and making himself more comfortable. He’s clearly at ease here, and that puts me firmly on my guard.
“What about the details? We go on a few fake dates, maybe give a press release, right?”
“Here’s your IPAs,” the waiter interrupts, placing them on the table between us before walking away again.
“I don’t think that will work,” he hedges.
“Why not?” I ask as I tip my head and ponder our predicament a little more.
“I’m seen on casual dates all the time,” he explains. “I think we need to be more proactive. We need to appear more involved. More serious.”
And there goes the final nail in my coffin.
“What did you have in mind?” I ask before taking a sip from my glass.
“I think you should move in with me,” he says calmly, and I choke on my beer. He can’t be serious.
“Excuse me?” I wipe at my mouth with a napkin. “I think I misheard you.”
“No,” he responds. “You heard me correctly. I think you should move in with me.”
“You would be miserable,” I promise. He couldn’t possibly want to live with me. I’m messy and disorganized. I love to eat takeout and read in ratty old sweats from my alma mater. And my cats. Oh holy shit in a giant litter box—he has not idea I live with a ton of cats, and I won’t give them up.
“I highly doubt that.” He smirks. He looks at me with a ridiculous look on his face that can only mean he thinks I’m so cute while trying to get out of moving in with him. But I’m not ready to give up just yet, even though we both know he is going to walk away the victor here.
“Here are your appetizers,” the waiter says as he places a bunch of dishes in front of us on the table. “And also some plates.”
“Thank you,” I say softly. “It looks lovely.”
“Thank you,” Jacob tells the waiter also.
“Okay, I’m going to be miserable.” I change my previous statement as soon as he’s gone. Chancellor begins to dish up several things and hands the full plate to me. It’s actually a very sweet gesture from this alpha male. “Thank you,” I tell him. I didn’t expect him to serve me, to take care of me like this. I hope I never get used to it, because when he’s finally bored with me and moves on, I will never be able to get over him.
“I’m not so sure about that.” He fills up a plate for himself.
“Oh yeah?” I roll my eyes.
“Yes.” He smiles. He’s barely holding in his laughter at my frustration. “My brownstone is huge. We may never see each other,” he promises.
God, I hope that’s true. He might not find my little babies as wonderful as I do. I’m hoping he doesn’t notice they’re even there.
“Really?”
“Oh yeah.” He grins. “My brownstone is one of the biggest on the block. There is plenty of room for all of your belongings and even room for you to have your own home office.”
He trails off for a moment, and I can tell he is thinking very dirty thoughts about me in his home. I, on the other hand, am wondering how I can make him pay for using my own personal nightmare to maneuver me into this situation. And if he was paying any attention at all instead of getting lost down the rabbit hole of his own personal fantasies, Jake Chancellor would have seen the wicked gleam in my eyes that could only spell trouble. Oh yeah, I am definitely going to make him pay.
“Okay,” I say after he’s paid the tab and our plates have been cleared away.
“Okay?” he repeats like he’s unsure of what I am saying.
Sure, I could fight more, but I’m lulling him into a false sense of security. I smile brightly at him like everything is going to be okay, when nothing is ever going to be all right again.
“Okay, I’ll move in with you,” I say, suddenly sounding confident.
“You will?” he asks in a sudden show of doubt.
“Yes.”
“Tomorrow then,” he tells me as I stand from the booth and reach for my leather jacket.
“Tomorrow?” I gasp. “You can’t be serious. I need time to pack and prepare.”
“As serious as a heart attack” He takes the jacket from my frozen hands and holds it out for me to slip into.
“Fine,” I snap a little. I’ve had enough for one evening. I need to go home and plot his tragic demise while I snuggle on the sofa with my pretty babies.
“I’ll see you tomorrow at ten in the morning.”
“I’ll do my best,” I say after clenching my jaw so tight I’m surprised I didn’t hear my teeth crack.
“Good,” he says before pushing me just a little bit more. “Oh, and one more thing.”
“What’s that?” I ask on another roll of my eyes. My mom always used to tell me that I was going to break something important if I didn’t stop doing that so much. But still, I can’t help myself when it comes to him.
“Just a little practice,” he says cryptically.
“Practice?” I ask, clearly losing my hold on my patience. “What practice?”
“This,” he replies, and then he hauls me into his arms and crushes his mouth to mine. I had told myself I would avoid this, that I wouldn’t let him break down my walls, but there is just something about Jacob Chancellor that makes me a little… wild.
He kisses me like a savage, his mouth plundering mine. And I know without a doubt I never stood a chance where he was concerned.
I melt into his body and my lips part under his. I just let go. He licks into my mouth and tastes like a sin waiting to happen. I moan into his mouth and take from him more and more. I want it all. Not just his body but everything. I want all of his laughter and secrets. I want to share his worries and fears. I want all of his tomorrows. Yet it’s something I know I absolutely cannot have.
And for a stolen moment, here in a place hidden deep in the city, I think that maybe, just maybe, he might want that too. But that is the lie I would tell myself when I’m home alone late tonight and trying to force myself to believe I didn’t just make the biggest mistake of my life.
That is, until one of his Secret Service agents whispers, “Senator, you have eyes on you.” And it’s like a bucket of cold water thrown over not only me but Jacob, and I curse myself for being all kinds of stupid, because this is exactly what I do not want or need in my life.
He pulls me tightly into him and holds me in his arms with my face tucked safely in the crook of his neck as he rubs his hands up and down my back. I let out a shuddering breath before standing up on my own, and I instantly miss his strength holding my weight up.
The Senator's Secret (A Presidential Affair Book 1) Page 5
