Prime Minister (Frisky Beavers #1)

by Ainsley Booth

  Gavin

  I don’t think I’ve never been so grateful for Lachlan as I am now. He’s pulled all kinds of strings and arranged a number of distractions for the press so Ellie and I can have our first date in peace.

  Lachlan gets us to Ellie’s with ten minutes to spare. My palms are sweaty and my pulse is erratic. I have no idea where these nerves came from. It’s not like this is my first date ever. Except it is. It’s my first date ever with Ellie. It might even be my first date ever with someone I’ve already had kinky sex with. And it’s definitely my first date ever with someone I already love to distraction.

  Sasha answers the door and says “Have a seat. She’ll be out in a few minutes.” Then disappears down the hall.

  I don’t want to have a seat. I want to storm down that fucking hall to Ellie’s room and drag her off to bed so I can do all the bad things that make her feel so good. But I behave. Because I’ve done it all backwards and I need to make it up to her. Ellie deserves proper courting and romance to go along with all the dirty, kinky stuff.

  I wonder if she’s as anxious as I am. I assume the answer is yes when she comes into the living room five minutes early, looking absolutely gorgeous in black capris and a silky green t-shirt that makes her grey eyes pop.

  "Does this work?" she asks softly, searching my face. I'd given her vague instructions—we're going out for dinner, but she should plan to dress comfortably all the same. And while I didn't spell it out, we both know that our photograph might get taken tonight.

  "You're perfect." My voice is husky and I don't care.

  I wanted to take her on a picnic, but add in the required security detail, and that would have drawn too much attention. Instead we’ll go to a nice little bistro on the Quebec side of the Ottawa River.

  I walk across the room to meet her. Taking her hands in mine, I buss her cheek and start to lead her out of the room.

  “Not so fast,” Sasha says, her arms crossed. “What are your intentions towards my best friend?”

  Ellie does a slow head shake and rolls her eyes. “You can’t be serious?”

  “You hush up. This is between me and Mr. Prime Minister.” Jesus, the way she says it sounds like an insult.

  “My intentions are to do whatever is within my power to make her happy.”

  “Sure, until the next bright, shiny new intern with the right equipment shows up in your office.”

  Right now, I’m thinking I’d rather have an irate father waving a twelve-gauge in my face than Ellie’s razor-tongued roommate.

  And Lachlan’s unrestrained smirk is only making it fucking worse. I need to reel this in.

  “I get that you’re concerned—that’s fair and reasonable. But the only person I need to prove myself to is Ellie. And that starts here and now.”

  Sasha pauses for a moment, her shoulders sag a little. Resignation. “See that you do.” The threat may be left unsaid, but there’s no question there’s an or else.

  As we walk out the door, Ellie pulls me close and whispers, “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be. She’s worried about you. And I respect that.”

  The bistro is just across the Portage Bridge, on Rue Laval. The thirty minute drive from Ellie’s is exquisite torture. I’m hard as a rock, and Ellie keeps snaking a hand across my thigh.

  I take both her hands in mine. They’re warm and soft. I love these hands, but they need to stay well away from my cock tonight. “Enough, Sprite. This is our first date, so we need to act the part.”

  “Are you really going to hold us to that?”

  “Absolutely. I want there to be more than just sex between us. Don’t get me wrong, I want lots and lots of raunchy, dirty, mind-blowing sex between us. But relationships can’t survive on that alone.”

  “But what if I’m a sex on the first date kinda woman?”

  “I guess you’ll just have to wait. Same as me.”

  “You’re actually serious about this?”

  I nod. “I am.”

  “Wow. I thought this was another game.”

  “I told you last week—no games.”

  When we arrive at the restaurant, Tim is there waiting with a parking spot cleared out front. He and Lachlan escort us in and we are met by the owner, who leads us through to a quiet corner.

  Tim leans in and whispers in my ear. “This guy is awesome. He rearranged the seating to allow you and Ellie extra space and privacy from the other patrons and still seat us at a table near enough to maintain security."

  “Good to know. I’ll make sure to come up with an appropriate way to thank him.”

  The owner himself waits us, filling our water glasses as he explains the specials. Then he leaves us alone for a few minutes.

  "This place is nice," Ellie says.

  "I discovered it when I was a new MP, suddenly thrust into the spotlight. Cross the river and nobody cares."

  "Smart." She takes a sip of her water and I just watch her because I can. I don't know how many of these moments we'll get before the entire country is watching. I want to savour the experience of wooing Ellie Montague for as long as I can.

  "You're from Montreal, right?"

  She nods. "Born and raised."

  "Do you miss it? Montreal is an amazing city. I did a semester just outside the city in high school. A language exchange, because we didn't have French Immersion yet in BC."

  "No?" She gives me an appalled look. This might be the first time since we met that I've been acutely aware of the fourteen years between us.

  I laugh. "When I was a kid, the value of a bilingual education wasn't as widely understood as it is today."

  "And yet you're fluent. That's amazing."

  "It helped that my mother knows French. She was one of the pioneers on the west coast who pushed for French Immersion to be available through the public school system."

  "Your parents are quite the force."

  "Now they spend most of their time at a place in the mountains and limit their politicking to phone calls."

  "Convenient to have a direct line to the PM." She grins. "Your mother must like your Children First initiative."

  "She thinks it doesn't go far enough." She's not wrong, and I have plans. I tell Ellie some of them, and she listens more attentively than any of my advisors.

  "Was it intense growing up a child of Vince and Barbara Strong?"

  I shake my head. "I think more so for my sister Pia. She's the oldest, and she did well at school out of the gate, so they piled tutors on her. I got some of that when I showed an aptitude for languages, but she had a tutor for absolutely everything. Math and music and science. It was intense."

  "I saw her TED talk last year. It was fabulous.”

  That's my sister. "I always say she's the one who should have gone into politics."

  Ellie laughs. "That seems like the last thing she'd like."

  "Indeed. She's more like you." Pia's a scientist and a writer. She had a TED Talk on sexism in science go viral last year, right around the release of a non-fiction book she wrote on the same topic. "I get phone calls from her, too."

  "I bet."

  "I welcome them, you know. And the ones from my mother, too. They're incredible women."

  This time her laugh is longer, lower, and totally contagious. "You don't need to impress me, Gavin. You've already done that in spades."

  "So I don't need to pretend that I know what wine goes with what on the menu?"

  She shakes her head slowly, her eyes glued on my face. "Not at all."

  We order food. I'm hardly aware of what it is, but it's tasty and Ellie likes it. That's all that matters. She kicks her feet under the table at the first bite of her pumpkin ravioli and my dick chubs up. Those sounds should only be made in the privacy of my bedroom.

  But then she smiles at me again, her eyes lighting up, and I think damn, she should make those sounds and give me that look wherever and whenever she wants.

  "How's your food?"

  Zero clue. "It's good."


  "You've hardly touched it."

  "I'm watching you."

  She rolls her eyes. "You'll be hungry later."

  "They do a very nice doggie bag here."

  "You really like leftovers, don't you?"

  "I do." I take a bite of my steak and think about that. It's not like I wanted for much growing up. But my parents were constantly on the go. "Sometimes my mother would bring back some of her dinner from an event, and I'd sit on the stool in the kitchen and eat it—because it was always better than whatever the babysitter had made us—and she'd tell me about the important thing they'd gone to support. I learned a lot over those leftovers. And I also learned that most working dinners are more about working than actual dinner."

  "Fascinating."

  "What was your childhood like?"

  "The complete opposite of that." She pushes her plate forward a bit and rubs her fingertips against the edge of the table. I reach my hand across the tablecloth and offer her fingers to hold instead. Her smile is the sweetest bit of sunshine I've ever seen. She relaxes back against her chair as she continues. "My mother makes dinner every night at half past five. The only excuse for missing is if you’re literally not in the city. She hated my night classes in undergrad because they didn’t fit into her suburban paradigm.”

  “How often do you go home to visit?”

  “A couple times a year. I love my parents, but we’re not super close. I have an older sister, too, and she’s provided them with two adorable grandchildren to dote on. They barely miss me.”

  “I’m sure that’s not true.” I miss her right now because she’s not in my lap. “Nieces? Nephews?”

  “One of each. A six-year-old boy, Robert, and a three-year-old girl, Amie.” She pronounces them with the French pronunciation.

  “They’re not Anglophones as well?”

  “No, my sister married a man from the Quebec countryside, although they live in Montreal now. The kids will be bilingual, of course, but they’re being raised in French.”

  “Good that I’m fluent, then.”

  “You want to meet my niece and nephew?” She blinks at me in surprise.

  “I want to meet your entire family. And introduce you to mine, of course. They will adore you.”

  Her cheeks stain pink and she takes a sip of wine. I can see her mind whirring. She knows more about my family than I do hers. My entire family tree is detailed on Wikipedia. “Pia’s intimidating.”

  “Does it help if I tell you that she constantly worries she’s a terrible mother?”

  “No!” But she grins. “Her kids are older, right?”

  Didn’t see the tiger trap until I was falling into it. I answer carefully. “The youngest, Jamie, is….thirteen? Fourteen maybe. I’m a terrible uncle, clearly.”

  Her brain is still whirring. Damn it. “So the older ones are closer to my age.”

  I think Sabrina is probably six months younger than Ellie. “Yeah, something like that.”

  “And you think your family will adore me?” She winces. “Maybe we can hold off on the formal introductions for a bit.”

  “My niece is a Rhodes Scholar and I was practically a kid when she was born, so I don’t think they’re going to come to the same salacious conclusion you’ve gone to in your head, Sprite.”

  The pink stain grows and she takes another sip of wine. “Maybe.”

  “We’re more like siblings.”

  “I’m sure your sister, the feminist flag-bearer, will see it just like that.” Ellie’s brow knits together.

  “If she doesn’t like it, she’ll talk to me and I’ll set her straight.”

  “Does mansplaining go over well with Pia?”

  Ha. “No, fair point. But she’s more understanding than you’d think. Pia was a very young mother.”

  “We can stop talking about this any time now.”

  I’m not stopping until she’s laughing and having a good time again. “Plus I’m terribly immature.”

  She rolls her eyes. “You are not.”

  “I am. Six weeks ago I was in my morning briefing with my staff and this intern was talking about what I’m sure was a really great idea, and all I could think about was getting her naked and spreading her out on my desk.”

  Her mouth drops open in outrage, but her eyes are twinkling. “You didn’t hear anything I said?”

  “You were fidgeting. It was irresistible.”

  “I do that a lot.”

  “I know. I spend a lot of time with a hard-on around you.”

  Her hair falls around her face like a curtain as she ducks her head, and I’m about to change the subject when she says, “It’s for the best that I’ve gone back to the university.”

  “No.”

  “Yes.”

  “We could have controlled ourselves,” I say firmly. “But—”

  “We didn’t want to,” she says, finishing my thought. “I didn’t, anyway.”

  “I’ve been waiting for you a long time, Ellie. I could wait longer.”

  “That sounds terrible. Waiting longer, I mean.” Her tongue peeks out the corner of her mouth as she pauses for a few seconds. “The rest makes me melt.”

  “Good. That’s my goal tonight.”

  We finish eating, then get the rest packed into doggie bags and head for the waiting car. None of the bistro’s clientele give us even a second glance, and as we settle into the backseat of the town car, I think this is actually going to work.

  Ellie tangles her fingers in mine as we start the drive back. I watch her quietly for a minute before asking, "Are you ready to officially be the PM's girlfriend, and all that entails?"

  "Are you giving me an out?"

  "Not really."

  A smile curls up her face at that. "Yes, I'm ready. I don't really have any other choice—and not because you're bossy—but because I tried, Gavin. I tried to save you from me, and maybe me from you a little too. But I don’t want to be a martyr. I want to be with you, whatever the cost.”

  Alarm grows inside as the words spill out of her like water down a mountainside in the spring. Slippery and fast. Dangerous, too. “What do you mean, save me from you?"

  She gives me a little shrug. “I’m a liability."

  Jesus, no. “Is that what you think? Ellie, you're one of the smartest people I've ever met. Accomplished and kind, funny and sexy as hell. There will be a storm of interest in you once our relationship is out in the open. And Canadians are going to love you just as much as I do."

  "Well, that's probably an overstatement, but that's not what I mean. Yes, I worry about being called names and having my identity reduced to a woman who had sex with a powerful leader. But I'm more concerned about your mandate. I don't want what you did with an intern to derail the fall session of Parliament. The climate change push, the Children First initiative…the entire platform will suffer if the government needs to go on the defensive."

  "Oh, my little policy wonk." I weave my fingers around hers and squeeze. "Do I look like someone that goes on the defensive?"

  She blushes, and with the setting sun backlighting her hair through the car window, she looks like an innocent angel. When it comes to the game of politics, she is.

  I am not.

  Wonks care about policy. Hacks—that's me—we obsess over how to get that policy done. The game, the players, the manipulation. It's why lawyers make such excellent politicians—and if we go too far, why the public ends up hating us. I never want to violate anyone's trust in me, but I'll do whatever I have to do to make sure that the right thing happens at the end of the day.

  "Anyway, enough of that worry for tonight. I only asked because we'll wait until it's dark to join the crowd, but there's a chance we may be seen."

  "The crowd…" She swivels her head around, returning her attention to where we're going. We're a block away now, and understanding dawns on her face. "The Sound and Light Show? We're going to end our first date on the lawn in front of the Parliament buildings?"

  I grin at he
r. "The best defence is a good offense.”

  30

  Ellie

  We get dropped off at Centre Block, but we don’t go upstairs to Gavin’s office. The sun’s rapidly setting, and there’s a small bag waiting for us, so we just wait inside.

  The security detail gives us enough privacy that we can keep talking about family and work, until Gavin points out that we only talk about family and work.

  “Hopelessly uninteresting, aren’t we?” I whisper as he pulls me into his side.

  He kisses my forehead. “What was the last movie you went to see?”

  I can’t remember. “Maybe Star Wars.”

  “Me too.”

  “Maybe I should take you to the movies. Sneak you in or something.”

  “Dating me isn’t that complicated. The hardest part will be me finding the time you deserve.”

  “Oh, that’s not…I’m going to be busy too. I have a conference in September, another one in November. I’m not going to be needy about your time.”

  “You could be if you wanted. Throw a little tantrum in my office late at night…”

  Desire pools low in my belly. “You looking for an excuse to punish me, Sir?”

  “Not tonight. But soon. And I don’t need an excuse—”

  “And it’s not punishment. I know.”

  “Back talk?”

  I grin wickedly. “You already told me you won’t be doing anything to me tonight.”

  “I have a long memory.” He winks and glances at the door, where a guard has surreptitiously moved into place. “That’s our cue.”

  He grabs the bag and laces his fingers through mine, leading me out onto the lawn. We go around the crowd, about halfway back, and we stop next to two men in suits sitting in lawn chairs.

  I try not to laugh as Tim and Lachlan get up in synchronized fashion, fold up their chairs, and get out of our way—leaving a perfect space for Gavin to spread a blanket for us.

  “That wasn’t very subtle,” I giggle as he settles me in front of him, between his bent legs.

  He wraps his arms around my waist and sets his chin on my shoulder. “I’m not trying to be subtle. I’m wooing you.”

  Warm, sizzling pleasure zips through me at his words. “I’m pretty wooed.”