The campaign event was held in the town hall of a city in northeast Ohio and the room was packed. I was sweating from the heat of so many people packed into one room. The sleeves of my white dress shirt were rolled up. My tie had been discarded in the back of the car. It was evening and I was exhausted after having spent the entire day working to identify donors, and then contacting them with the invitation to attend the event.
For a few hours, I sort of felt like Ellen or Oprah, granting people’s wishes and requests. What a person asked for depended on their circumstances, but we were prepared. I wanted them to see my commitment to making their lives better, so if that meant paying for groceries or paying their rent, then I did it. A few attendees even surprised me by asking for help for others, like neighbors or family members. I stood in awe of those selfless people. When did politics get so selfish?
After the last person left, I stepped off the stage and immediately went back to work, arranging to have things done in each remaining town that we were scheduled to visit. I wanted the rest of this campaign to be about showing and not telling. Georgie had set the bar high when she delivered school supplies to the teachers.
In the car, I checked the news because I wanted to see how Georgie and Avon were doing. I could always talk to Lewis or Jenkins, but I enjoyed seeing the news reports because then I could see her. Today, Georgie and Avon visited another school, as well as a hospital. There was footage of Georgie sitting with a patient who had breast cancer and the patient’s family. Georgie held the hand of the woman’s daughter as they all talked. She had brought the woman a gorgeous bouquet of pink roses and half a dozen pink balloons. The rest of the news report indicated that several similar visits had been made to other patients.
Her selflessness filled me with pride and my ache to be close to her grew exponentially as the rest of the week wore on.
“Where are you?” Jameson’s booming voice filled the hotel suite. I was in the bathroom, changing clothes, washing away the grime of the day when I heard him. I hurried to finish, especially when I heard him yell my name. “Georgie! Where are you?”
I emerged from the suite’s master bedroom, wearing a pair of heather-gray yoga pants and a loose, pale pink T-shirt. My hair was still in the perfectly coiffed ponytail I’d worn all week long, but that was the only trace of my last campaign appearance for the day.
“Jesus, you don’t have to yell,” I playfully scolded him.
Jameson dropped the white grocery bag he held onto the floor and rushed toward me, wrapping his large arms around me, enveloping my slender frame in his massive embrace. He buried his face in my neck and we stood there, draped in each other for what felt like forever.
Then Jameson’s lips made contact with my skin, leaving scorching trails of wet kisses up my neck and across my cheek until our lips finally connected. His kiss was hard and deep, reconnecting and reacquainting us. He became hungrier, nibbling on my bottom lip, sucking on it before giving me another searing kiss. My lips opened willingly to his probing tongue, welcoming it into my mouth. I reached up and wrapped my arms around his neck, and I had to stand on tiptoes so I didn’t break the kiss or the connection. His hands made their way to my bottom, squeezing and kneading my flesh until he lifted me. My legs wrapped around his waist and we walked back into the bedroom where he deposited me on the large king-sized bed. I let out a squeal of delight as I landed on the fluffy comforter with an audible thud.
Jameson wasted no time in removing his brilliant white dress shirt and the navy blue trousers. Within seconds, he was down to only the black boxer briefs that clung to his powerful, lean thighs and straining erection. I wiggled out of my pants and slipped the T-shirt over my head until I was spread out before him in my lacy pink bra and matching panties. Jameson let out a hungry groan before slipping his hands under my ass and pulling me forward.
“I missed you more than you know,” Jameson murmured before placing hot, open-mouthed kisses on my bare stomach. He continued his haphazard path across my chest while his mischievous fingers pulled at the lace of my underwear. There was a distinct rip as he tore them from my body, discarding them carelessly onto the carpet.
His lips made their way up my body, latching onto a nipple through the cup of my bra. A hiss escaped my lips as I arched my back, pushing myself into him. Jameson’s fingers disappeared between my thighs and he stroked the saturated, delicate flesh, which elicited another hiss, followed by a moan. The decadent combination of Jameson’s hot mouth against my skin and his fingers working between my legs was an intoxicating recipe.
“I don’t think I can be patient right now,” Jameson growled.
I nodded in understanding, as he discarded his boxer briefs onto the floor. There would be time to take our time later, but right now, we both wanted the same thing. He placed a hand on the inside of my thigh and spread my legs, opening me up for him.
I watched as Jameson gripped his cock in his fist and guided it toward me, notching himself against my entrance. My body gorged on each delicious inch of him until he was firmly rooted inside. We had been apart for an entire week and the night of Jameson’s departure was not a happy memory. I grasped at him, starved to have him close. His large hands covered my body, pulling it tightly against his. Our groans and moans synched together to form one sound as our bodies molded together. Jameson consumed me until I felt him everywhere.
I felt the distinct tightness in my core that signaled my impending orgasm. I latched onto Jameson, urging him closer because every inch that separated us was too much. He was buried completely inside me and with every thrust, his balls slapped against my sensitive flesh, sending deliciously sharp tremors up my body.
“I’m so close,” I panted.
Jameson’s lips were all over me, devouring every inch of me.
“Me too.” His voice was hoarse and ragged, his breath coming out hot and heavy
I gave in because I couldn’t stand the fire that consumed me entirely. I needed release and I needed it badly. Jameson wasn’t far behind me and together, we collided and tumbled over the edge, right into sheer ecstasy.
We collapsed in a sweaty, messy heap, limbs tangled together. Jameson ran his fingers through my hair before lightly trailing them down my bare back. He continued this for quite some time while our breaths evened out and our hearts started to beat normally again. I was perfectly content to stay wrapped up in him until the morning. Except, one thing bothered me.
“What was in the bag you dropped on the floor?” I asked, curious about its contents.
“Hmm?” Jameson murmured. His fingers traced lazy circles on my bare flesh, which elicited a fresh round of shivers and goosebumps on my overly sensitive skin. I tried to squirm away, but he held me firmly in place, refusing to let even a fraction of an inch separate us. He nuzzled into my neck and placed light, lazy kisses along my collarbone. This was the very definition of heaven.
“You had a bag when you got here that you just dropped. What was in it?”
“Oh. Brownies.”
“Jameson!”
“And tiramisu.”
I leapt from the bed, dragging the top sheet with me. I hastily covered myself and headed into the living room in search of the bag. I found it just in the entryway and looked inside. Sure enough, there were two containers. Jameson had been right. One contained two of the largest brownies I had ever seen in my life and in the other was a huge slice of tiramisu that most people would share.
I walked back into the bedroom armed with forks, napkins, and the bag of desserts. I was disappointed to find Jameson tugging on his underwear. I really wanted post-coital naked dessert eating time.
“I hope you like brownies.” I sat down on the bed, scooting until my back hit the headboard. I pulled out the box with the tiramisu and plunged my fork right in. The first bite was heavenly.
“We do have some plans to discuss while you feast. And yes, I like brownies.”
I pretended to pout because I didn’t want to have to focus on
the campaign right now. I just wanted to be Georgie and Jameson, the couple who’d just had amazing I-haven’t-seen-you-in-a-week-and-I-missed-you sex. You know, like a normal couple.
Jameson occupied the spot next to me and took out the second box. Over dessert and eventually coffee, which he ordered from room service at my insistence, we discussed the schedule because it was all about the debate. We were leaving New York and heading to Boston, to his home and the location of the first debate. He wanted to spend a few days strategizing with his advisors, and of course, I had yet to meet his parents.
The next morning, we checked out of the hotel and our caravan of black SUVs with heavily-tinted windows waited for us outside of the hotel. It didn’t take long before we were off and for the next four hours, I grilled Jameson about various topics, helping him prepare for the debate.
Once we reached Boston, we stopped at the waterfront hotel where our engagement had been announced. All the campaign staff were staying there. I remained in the back of the SUV while Jameson talked briefly with Sean. Then he climbed back into the car and we made our way to his home.
Nervous butterflies filled my belly the closer we got to Jameson’s townhouse in Beacon Hill. We had lived our life together in hotel rooms and the back of a campaign bus. There was nothing personal about any of that, but now I was going to get a glimpse of a side to Jameson I had yet to encounter. I was going to see where he lived, and I wasn’t entirely sure I was ready for that.
The car pulled up in front of a lovely red brick townhouse that had striking black shutters. The front double doors were painted a brilliant robin’s egg blue and contrasted beautifully with the rest of the home’s exterior. Jameson led me through the front doors, which revealed a sort of second entrance with a gorgeous, glossy dark mahogany door. This door opened to a foyer with gleaming hardwood floors. The house was bathed in an abundance of natural light that reflected off the cream-colored walls. The spaces were all too formal and exquisitely furnished, and felt so impersonal. I had a hard time believing that Jameson actually lived here.
“What’s wrong?”
We stopped in the kitchen while Jameson sorted through a large stack of mail. I took in the white cabinetry and beautiful white Carrera marble countertops. The appliances were all high-end stainless steel and everything just seemed too perfect.
“I just wasn’t expecting all of this.” I turned in a circle, holding out my hands to indicate to the flawless kitchen that looked like it belonged in a magazine spread. “It’s gorgeous, Jameson. But I have a hard time believing you live here.”
“I don’t live here.”
My mouth hung open in disbelief. What did he mean, he didn’t live here? Whose house was this?
I was sure my face did nothing to hide my confusion, as he continued, “I live most of the year in Washington. I rarely spend any time here, but I do own this home. Do you want to see the mortgage statement?”
I made a choking noise. I absolutely didn’t want to see that mortgage statement. I knew how prestigious a place like Beacon Hill was and I could only guess at how much this home cost. I also knew that Jameson came from money and that he could easily afford to own multiple properties.
“The company I hired to gut this place and remodel it is the same one I hired to remodel your family home.”
I had completely forgotten about my own life. How was that even possible? Back in New Hampshire, my little town still existed and my family home sat empty. The night I agreed to pose as Jameson’s fiancée, he mentioned a company that specialized in restoring older homes. I never heard from them, so I assumed it never happened. Now I longed to see my home even more.
“This remodel has only been finished for a year.”
I looked at him, roused from my own thoughts, and realized he’d finished talking.
“I didn’t realize you had people working on my house,” I managed.
Jameson easily closed the distance between us in two strides before he wrapped me up tightly in the cocoon of his embrace.
“I’m sorry that there isn’t enough time to go there.” His voice was quiet and I nodded in understanding.
“Finish the tour.”
The rest of the house was just as impeccably decorated as the second floor, which was actually the main living area of the home. Downstairs, there was a room with a gigantic pool table that had a set of glass double doors, which opened onto a brick-paved courtyard. Backyards were hard to come by in a neighborhood like this.
Jameson grabbed my hand and led me up a marvelous oval staircase until we were on the third floor of the home. His boyish grin made me think that he was up to something and as soon as he opened a set of doors, I knew. This was the master suite, his bedroom.
I took one step into the room and I finally felt him. The space represented him and his style. The walls were painted a rich midnight blue that was almost black, and the windows and baseboards were all finished with wide, stark-white molding. The bed was a massive affair completely upholstered in a light, dove gray, and it had a towering tufted headboard. An armchair in the same gray fabric sat in a sunny corner of the room. The floors were a gleaming gray oak and a simple white rug was placed at the foot of the bed. Despite the dark hue on the walls, there was so much natural light that I soon forgot the color altogether.
“This is so breathtaking,” I sighed. I eyed the bed. It was seriously huge and I wanted to fall back against it and sleep.
“Wait until you see the bathroom.” Jameson’s eyes gleamed. He was excited to have me in his home, in his bedroom, which made me feel at ease.
I nearly died when I walked into the bathroom. I dreamed of having a bathroom just like this. A large, glass enclosed walk-in shower and an even larger soaker tub dominated one whole side of the room. The walls were a soothing gray tone with just the faintest hint of blue. A wide double vanity with a white Carrera marble top was placed on the opposite wall, and above it were two large mirrors and chrome light fixtures. I looked down to notice the penny tile that covered the floor, also white Carrera marble.
“It’s like you crawled inside my head and plucked out my dream master bathroom,” I said, still enamored by the luxury of the room.
“That can be arranged,” Jameson added matter-of-factly.
“Only, it needs to be pink.”
“Pink?” One of his thick eyebrows shot up and he looked confused.
I shook my head eagerly. “Yes. The palest pink. Pink is my favorite color.”
I don’t think Jameson knew that pink was my favorite color and I had absolutely no idea what his was; there were so many gaps in our knowledge of each other, but if he won the election, we would have at least four years to fill in those blanks. We needed time just to be ourselves, the man and the woman, and I hoped the time we spent in his home meant just that.
We spent the rest of the afternoon in a comfortable silence. We made our way to the bottom level of the house where Jameson stretched his long body out on a large, beige sectional and worked. I curled up in a corner with my tablet and read, something I hadn’t done in what felt like forever. Being with him, doing nothing, felt comfortable. When he got up to make himself a cup of coffee, he brought me a cup already properly doctored with just the right amount of cream and sugar. He also brought me a plate of cookies.
Around dinnertime, Jameson announced that he was going to order takeout. We went through the stack of menus in the kitchen together, discovering that more than a few had closed. It made me wonder just how long it had been since Jameson was last in the house. We finally settled on a Chinese place. When our dinner arrived, we sat at a round mahogany table and feasted. The table sat in an alcove made by a bay window, which overlooked the back of the house. The neighborhood quieted down as dusk cast the city in a rosy glow.
“What’s your favorite color,” I asked in between mouthfuls of lo mein.
“Blue,” Jameson replied matter-of-factly. “But I’ve recently found myself drawn to the color green.”
&nb
sp; His lips twisted into a smirk and I looked away, trying to hide my blush.
“And what about sports? Favorite teams? Do you watch football on Sundays?”
“Baseball. I love it. I have season tickets to the Nationals. Whenever I can get to a game, I leave the office and just go.”
“That’s surprising. I would have bet that you were a Red Sox fan.”
Jameson grinned. “I love the Red Sox too. There’s nothing like watching a game from the Green Monster. I try to catch a couple home games every year. And if they play the Orioles, then I’ll drive up to Camden Yards.”
Jameson stood and began clearing away our dishes. I followed, closing the containers and putting them in the refrigerator. We moved around the kitchen, around each other, as if we had been together for years, not weeks. I felt at home with him, like I belonged there. I hoped he felt that too.
Dimming the lights in the kitchen, Jameson grabbed my hand and led me toward the impressive staircase. We ascended, making our way up to the bedroom. I walked in front of him and I could feel his eyes on me, carefully watching every movement I made. When I placed my hand on the banister, his hand was right there, ghosting over mine. We reached the landing and he pulled me toward him, planting his lips firmly over mine.
“I like you in my space.” His voice was husky, practically a growl. His eyes danced as they scanned my face before landing on my lips. He nipped at them, teasing me, sucking them into his mouth before quickly releasing them.
“I like being in your space.” I ran a hand up his chest, around his neck, and up the back of his head. I loved running my fingers through his dark, thick hair. It was a little longer than when we first met, which meant more to tug.
“I’m going to like having you in my bed even more.” He let go of my body but kept a firm grasp on my hand as he led me through the double doors of his bedroom.
Sconces on either side of the bed were lit, giving the room a soft glow. Jameson started to undress, untucking the casual button-down he wore from his khakis. He went about his business, as if we were a totally normal couple. I watched him with wonder as he completed the most mundane of tasks.
Presidential Bargain (The Presidential Promises Duet Book 1) Page 14
