Flirting With Scandal

by Chanel Cleeton

  “Fuck me,” I whispered against his mouth, my hands stroking up his neck, gathering in his hair, tugging on the ends. I couldn’t resist. I moved forward, my breasts brushing against the front of his shirt, my nipples pebbling instantly. I raked my teeth across the skin at the base of his neck exposed by his shirt’s opened buttons. Will’s fingers fisted in my hair, pulling my head back, his lips swooping down to ravage my mouth.

  Gone was the restraint, the teasing. This was what I wanted. To get to the man under his preppy, polished facade. I didn’t know what it was, probably some slightly fucked-up part of me, but I wanted to rumple him, watch him get messy, shatter his control. I wrapped my legs around his waist, pulling him even closer, wanting him inside me, filling me. He throbbed against me and I rocked forward, desperate to come.

  “Fuck. We can’t do this. Not here.” Will released me, leaving me spread open on the edge of the counter, feeling empty and horribly deprived.

  The sound of our breathing filled the break room as we stared at each other.

  His hair was a mess from my hands, his lips swollen, his eyes wide. The faintest of red marks colored his skin at the base of his neck where I’d dragged my teeth against his flesh. He looked like a walking contradiction—his outfit so staid and conservative, his eyes filled with a heat that left no doubt what he wanted.

  We’d created something wild here, something dark and dangerous that wound its way through me, tempting me to break every rule I’d ever set for myself. And we’d just kissed.

  Will ran a hand through his hair, his eyes wide. “Obviously we need to set some ground rules.”

  I couldn’t think right now.

  “We probably shouldn’t be alone during office hours. I seem to uh—have a problem with self-control.”

  “And outside of office hours?”

  His eyes gleamed. “Oh, I definitely plan on seeing lots of you outside of office hours. I want to see all of you.”

  It sounded amazing, and yet I couldn’t help but worry about how all of this was going to play out.

  As much as I wanted it, it wasn’t a great idea. We worked together, and even though he wasn’t exactly my boss, it would make things messy—messier than they already were, at least. And there was a part of me—a part I hated—that wondered if this wasn’t history repeating itself. If I was doomed to be exactly like my mother, drawn to powerful men I could never have. But I wasn’t drawn to powerful men. Not really. I just wanted Will, and no matter what the logical part of my brain screamed, a bigger part of me was dying to kiss him again.

  So really, my decision had been made once my lips touched his a few minutes ago.

  I cleared my throat. “As someone on your campaign staff, I think we both need to keep things discreet. If Price gets wind of this, they’ll fire me. And trust me, the last thing you need is the media finding out you’re involved with a staffer. And I’m not exactly the kind of girl people expect a state senator to be involved with,” I joked, struggling to ease the tension between us.

  He didn’t laugh. Instead he tore the rug out from under my feet.

  “Anyone would be lucky to be involved with you. I’m lucky you kissed me. So fucking lucky.”

  I flushed. With each word he laid siege to my resolve. I fought for composure, clung to the logic and instinct that made me good at what I did. It was all I had when I was too shaken for anything else.

  I struggled for sanity.

  “Let’s just keep this casual between us. Obviously we’re attracted to each other, but neither one of us is looking for a relationship from each other. My career is the most important thing in my life, and if you’re going to be a state senator, you need the proper woman on your arm, someone who can help your campaign. So let’s just have fun with this, okay? No one needs to know.”

  Will was quiet for a long moment and then he blinked, his mouth tight. “So let me get this straight, you want to have a fling?”

  I nodded, trying to lighten the tension with humor. “And just think, you get to have sex and not worry that I’m going to spill all of your dirty little secrets when it’s over.”

  He frowned. “’Cause you don’t do boyfriends, right? No strings attached?”

  There wasn’t judgment in his tone, but there was something . . . I couldn’t put my finger on it, but it was something that made me uneasy. I couldn’t very well explain that I had the kind of skeletons in my closet that would destroy his career. And at the same time, I couldn’t help but think that if I’d ever want anyone to be my boyfriend, it would be him.

  Will

  I couldn’t say why her no-boyfriends rule pissed me off, but for some reason it did. In a way she was right . . . I wasn’t looking for a casual girlfriend, not with the campaign going on. My relationship would be front and center, especially since I was unmarried and young. And yeah, there was something about her that screamed sex in a way that probably wouldn’t endear me to my constituents. But I didn’t really care. I liked her, wanted to get to know her, not just the sexy bits, but all of her.

  “So just to be clear, if I’m fucking you, no one else is.”

  Yep, I was pissed. Before her I’d never said the phrase, fucking you, to a girl. It was dirty, and crude, and my mother would have died if she heard me. And yet, there it was. I wanted to be dirty and crude with her. She made me feel like someone I’d never been before. Someone out of control. Maybe it was the way she made me feel like she held all the cards, like she was managing me. It pissed me off and turned me on at the same time.

  Her gaze flared with heat, and I knew I’d struck a nerve. And at the same time, I watched as desire rose in her pretty blue eyes.

  “Oh, really?” Her tone was frosty, and the sound of it had my dick hard again. There was something seriously wrong with me. “What makes you think you’re going to be fucking me at all?”

  Jesus. I’d been dating the wrong girls.

  My voice hitched as desire rammed through me. “Those little breathless moans you make when I kiss you. Or because your lips are swollen, and your cheeks are flushed, and all I did was kiss you. Imagine what it’ll be like when I make you come. That’s how I know I’ll be fucking you. Only me.”

  Her lips parted, and it took everything I had not to walk over and take her mouth again.

  I shrugged. “You want this to be casual? You want to pretend like this is just fun between us? Fine. But I’m the only one touching you, kissing you, fucking you. I don’t share.”

  Her eyebrow arched. “And I’m assuming the same rule applies for you then? You want to go out on dates, go to campaign events with other women, fine. But if you’re expecting me not to screw around, then I expect the same from you.”

  “Deal.” My lips twitched. “Besides, I have a feeling you’re going to be more than enough to keep my hands full.”

  Chapter Seven

  Looking for a new man-crush? Look no further than the state of Virginia.

  —Capital Confessions blog

  Will

  I hated doing interviews. Did my prospective constituents really care if I preferred tea or coffee? Were they really dying to know what kind of girl I was looking for? Even if I did get to talk about the issues, there was a good chance the question would get buried between my favorite food and favorite movie.

  “You ready for this?” Jackie asked, her ever-present clipboard in hand.

  It had only been a few days since she’d joined the campaign and she was already invaluable. She was possibly the only person on my staff who actually liked doing research, and she was amazing at prepping me for interviews and events.

  I grinned. “No. I’d rather have my teeth drilled without Novocain.”

  She shot me the look I now recognized as her no-nonsense face. She lived and breathed this stuff.

  “When you’re asked a painful question, focus on why you wanted to get into politics in the first place. Keep your eye on the prize, on the change you want to bring your future constituents. That helps when you’r
e dealing with bullshit questions or prying eyes.”

  I grinned, loving how capable she was. We were in her wheelhouse now, and I was happy to follow her lead.

  “Do you want to go over the questions again?” she asked.

  “I think I’ve got them.”

  “It’s always better to be over-prepared, rather than under-prepared.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” I leaned closer to her, my voice dropping to a mock whisper. “They’re all in awe of you, you know.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  I gestured behind us. “The staff. Everyone. Even Mitch.”

  My campaign manager, Mitch, was one of the most intense people I’d ever met, but even he seemed impressed by Jackie. She worked insane hours without complaint. When I was her age I was going to parties and football games. She worked what had to be a nearly seventy-hour week, and we weren’t paying her in more than free meals and crappy “Vote for William Clayton” T-shirts. The first time I saw my name written across her chest, I’d about had a heart attack.

  “You look like your mind is always running, like you’re never resting, always thinking about the next move, the next plan, the next strategy.” At times it was exhausting; it was also seriously fucking hot.

  “Maybe I am.”

  “Yeah, but what do you do for fun? What’s your version of downtime?”

  She grinned, her eyes sparkling. “I have my moments.”

  I knew we both thought of that night, of her in my entryway. I thought about it every time I walked in the door and plenty of times in between. She was a hard memory to forget.

  “So what else do you like to do? Besides the obvious,” I teased.

  The more I saw of her, the more interesting I found her to be. She came from a totally different world from the one I knew. I’d grown up around women like my mother—proper, polite, elegant. Jackie was something else entirely, different in an irresistible package.

  She shot me that look again. “I’m supposed to be prepping you for your interview, not the other way around.”

  “Maybe it will help relax me. Take some of the pressure off.”

  “Please. You never look anything but relaxed in these interviews. You charm every reporter we throw your way.”

  I grimaced. “I sound like a douche.”

  “Shh,” she hissed. “Do you want that to be the sound bite that gets picked up by a stray microphone?”

  “No, ma’am.” I tried to look properly contrite.

  She shook her head in exasperation.

  “Come on. Something you like to do.” My voice lowered. “Something that involves clothing,” I amended with a grin.

  She reached out and hit me in the arm. “Very funny.”

  “I’m serious. We’ll make it a game. You tell me something, I’ll tell you something you can add to your giant notebook filled with all of my secrets.”

  She grinned. “I haven’t discovered any of your secrets—yet.”

  “You know one.”

  She blushed. “I thought we weren’t supposed to talk about that.”

  “Sorry. I forgot.” I sounded anything but.

  She laughed. “Don’t try to charm me. You forget, I’ve seen it all.”

  “Come on, then. Give me something.”

  “Fine. I like to run.”

  That explained her body. “Where do you run?”

  She shot me an arch look. “That’s not how this works. I get to ask you a question now.”

  “Do you need to write it down?” I gestured to her notebook.

  “I think I can handle it on my own.”

  “Shoot.”

  “Tea or coffee?”

  I grinned, the smile impossible to resist. “You heard me bitching about the interview questions to Mitch.”

  “I did no such thing. It’s a serious, important question. If I’m going to throw big business your way, I at least need to know which side to shill to.”

  “Coffee. Black. Where do you like to run?”

  “I’m a treadmill girl.”

  “Treadmill? That’s disappointing.”

  “What’s wrong with the treadmill?”

  “Where’s the wind in your face? The smell of burned leaves?”

  “I’m not really outdoorsy.”

  “I’m starting to see that.”

  She frowned at me. “You aren’t one of those guys, are you?”

  “What guys?”

  “You know the type—loves camping, hiking, that sort of thing. Thinks a moose head counts as decorating.”

  I laughed. “Nope. I’m pretty much a city boy through and through. I do like to sail, though.”

  “I had a feeling.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Are you always going to give me a hard time for having money?”

  “No. Maybe.” She grinned. “I don’t mean to give you a hard time. Honestly. You just seem so—”

  “Worthy of mocking?”

  “Perfect. Golden.” Her eyes danced with mischief. “It makes me want to rumple you a bit. Screw with all that perfectly ordered control.”

  Christ. It was a completely inappropriate conversation for me to have with an intern. Everything with her was inappropriate. She was so dangerous—to me, my campaign. Everything about this screamed really fucking bad idea. And god help me, I leaned in toward her when I should have walked away. I lowered my voice, my words for her alone.

  “I haven’t had much control since you flashed me that fuck me smile at the Hay-Adams.”

  Her eyes widened, her cheeks coloring. Her teeth bit down on her lower lip—plump, lush—and my dick got hard. She opened her mouth to speak, but no words came out. She just stared at me, her gaze unflinching. It wasn’t embarrassment I read in her reaction, and the second I recognized the emotion simmering around her, I had to restrain myself from grabbing her and carrying her off somewhere. She was just as turned on as I was.

  Mitch walked over and interrupted us. “How’s the prep going?”

  It took every ounce of well-honed self-control to keep from jumping away from her like a boy with his hand caught in the cookie jar. But as fucked as I would be if word got out about me flirting with my very young, very pretty intern, it would be even worse for her. It was obvious that this internship meant everything to her and the last thing I wanted was to be the reason she lost it.

  “Excellent. Jackie is doing a great job, as usual.”

  She looked down at the floor, refusing to meet either of our gazes.

  Mitch nodded. “They’re ready for you.”

  Jackie

  He was good—really good.

  He was young, and as far as problems went, that was his biggest one. But the camera—and reporters—loved him. Hell, I was half in love with him after watching the segment.

  The reporter was an excellent choice. She was old enough to be his grandmother, and within a minute of sitting down with her, Will had her eating out of his palm. And nothing about it seemed fake. I’d been around enough politicians to tell the difference, so had everyone else in this room. He was genuinely a nice guy and it showed. When he laughed at her jokes, his dimples flashing, there was no doubt his reaction was sincere. He may not have realized it, but he was made for politics. Voters—especially female voters—would love him.

  “You did a good job prepping him.”

  I turned as Mitch sat down beside me.

  “Thanks.”

  In politics, Mitch Anders was kind of a legend. He didn’t work at a fancy consulting firm like Price; instead he had his own firm with a skeleton staff, but he was known for winning campaigns. He was the epitome of behind-the-scenes D.C. His suit wasn’t flashy, his haircut a little too long in the front. He had a perpetually disheveled look about him—as if he were too busy mucking around in the D.C. filth to care about anything else. He had a name people feared and a reputation everyone respected. A good word from him would take my career far.

  “How long is your internship with Price?”

  “Just
through December.”

  “And you graduate next May? Political Science major?”

  “Yes.”

  “You’re looking for a full-time position at Price?”

  “It’s the only place I’ve ever wanted to work.”

  “Because it’s the best?”

  I considered his question. “Maybe. It’s a really great place to get started and it’ll look amazing on my resume. I eventually want to go out on my own. Experience working at a firm like Price would go a long way to making that happen.”

  “You’re good enough to work at Price.”

  Omg, Mitch Anders thinks I’m good enough to work at Price.

  I tried to calm my inner fangirl. “Thank you.”

  “Piece of advice? You’re good enough, but think really hard on whether you want to work there. They may be the best, but it’s a tough place. They lack imagination and want their consultants to fit the Price mold. You may find it’s not a good fit for you.”

  It was a familiar criticism. Honestly, after interning there for a few weeks, I got where it came from. They were intense, but that was why they were the best. And I could be intense, too.

  “Is that why you went out on your own?” I hadn’t really had a chance to pick his brain yet, and I couldn’t resist the opportunity. I’d been following his career for years.

  “Part of it. I fucking love this business. Love the game. But I want to play it on my terms, not someone else’s. There’s too much red tape, too much bullshit associated with firms like Price. It can wear you down.”

  “Makes sense.”

  “This industry is a beast. It’ll cut you to the bone.” His gaze ran over me, and I couldn’t help but feel like I was being tested. “Why do you want to do it? Pretty girl like you, smart as a whip. You could do anything you wanted. Why do you want to get your hands dirty in other people’s secrets and scandals?”

  I wasn’t offended by the comment. Politics was a very male industry, and I’d learned early on that getting judged by my looks was often part of the territory. It sucked and it pissed me off, but the truth was, it was all part of the game. If they wanted to underestimate me and think I was just a dumb blonde with a pretty face and an empty head, fine. It just gave me that many more opportunities to catch them off guard.