Campaign For Seduction

by Ann Christopher

  Breathless and all but levitating with excitement, she at least had the good sense to click off the lamp nearest the window before she peered out through the blinds.

  The sight on her quiet street, which was normally dark and sleepy at this time of night, nearly knocked her on her freshly washed butt: six or seven huge black SUVs with blacked-out windows trailed a couple of motorcycle cops with flashing lights.

  Gaping, she watched as all the vehicles stopped at her curb and various doors began to open. Secret service agents emerged, one after the other, and fanned out around her house. The scene reminded her of clowns emerging from a Volkswagen Beetle at the circus, and she had to stifle a hysterical giggle.

  But then the senator appeared in his shirtsleeves with his jacket slung over his shoulder, and there was nothing funny about anything, especially when she saw the hard determination in his jaw as he jogged up her front steps from the sidewalk.

  Goose bumps broke out over her entire body and, manic now with jitters, she turned in a tight circle, wondering what was happening to her life tonight. They’d wanted to go public with their relationship and, by God, that was public; only the sitting president rolled quite like that. And now the whole world knew—it’d be in the papers by the morning and on the Internet tonight—and John was coming for her like he’d said he would, and she had no idea what she would do now.

  That hysteria rose again in her chest, and she had to let it out. Flopping onto the sofa, she buried her face in a pillow and screamed until her throat burned. Then she screamed again. On the third scream she also kicked her feet, and that helped. By the time the senator knocked, she was calm again and ready to face him.

  Standing, she tossed the pillow aside, walked to the door and let him in.

  He came inside and bolted the lock. Then he turned to face her, their gazes connected and Liza felt that familiar surge of electricity between them. He seemed to feel it, too, because he was as breathless as she was and didn’t speak, or maybe it was just that in this moment words were unnecessary.

  Several seconds passed, marked by the relentless beat of Liza’s heart.

  Those unsmiling eyes held hers with a possessive glitter that left nothing to her imagination. Oh, God. Oh—

  Without warning, he flung his jacket to the floor and reached for her, his big hands claiming her hips and butt while his mouth claimed hers. Liza cried out, already frantic with need and mindless in her desire to make this man a part of her body. She clutched his head and neck and opened for him as they nipped, licked and stroked their way deep into each other’s mouths.

  His taste was the same—a familiar intoxicating combination of mints and man that almost had her sobbing in remembrance. She sucked his tongue and gave him her own because she would die if she didn’t have everything, and he crooned with approval. The primitive sound resonated in her aching breasts and tightened in her belly, and she teetered on the edge of a cataclysm even before he tightened his grip on her butt and rubbed her against a heart-stopping erection.

  They grappled with each other for a minute, their eager hands everywhere at once and yet nowhere in particular. In rising desperation, she searched for skin and got none—only the starchy cotton of a dress shirt that made her wonder why in God’s name this man would come to her with so many unyielding clothes on. He, meanwhile, sank his fingers in her hair and angled her head, taking her mouth as though he’d never kissed before and never would again.

  It was all too much. By some silent but mutual understanding, they broke apart long enough to stare at each other and pant their way to a deep breath, but then the dance began again.

  John reached for her and, stooping, pressed his face to her breasts and dragged his open mouth over her nipples. Clothing did not slow him down. Suckling hard, he used his tongue to rub a nipple against the roof of his mouth, and the unspeakable abrasion of the soft cotton against her sensitive flesh made her come in a blinding wave of pleasure that radiated from her pulsing sex to her contracting belly and up out of her mouth in an astonished cry.

  Groaning, John stooped lower, pressed his lips to the curve of her stomach and slid his hands under the waistband of her pants and panties. In a flash, he had them down her legs and off and she kicked them away.

  She froze, agonized, as he buried his face in her nest of curls and nuzzled, rooting for her scent. She was soaking wet and now he knew it. Running two fingers between her legs, he spread her hot honey around, lubricating the swollen flesh and making her more ready for him than she already was. And then he straightened, stared her in the face and sucked his fingers into his mouth. His eyes rolled closed in unmistakable ecstasy.

  Liza almost swooned, but he didn’t give her time.

  In a surge of movement, he gripped her butt and hefted her until she wrapped her thighs around his hips and her arms around his neck. Staring down into his gleaming eyes as he carried her through the foyer and into the living room, she saw the sheen of sweat on his brow, the glisten of her juices on his swollen lips and the warmth of his expression. She opened her mouth to tell him how she felt about him but couldn’t find the words.

  And then he lowered her to her back on the sofa, and she spread her legs wide and waited as he unzipped his pants and freed himself. When she saw that heavy dark length straining for her, throbbing for her, she hissed out a breathless “yesss” and reached for him.

  He didn’t need the encouragement. With a quick thrust he was inside and she was coming all over again, arching back into the pillows and undone by the tight friction of his body’s slide into hers.

  John levered himself up on his elbows and watched her, catching her endless cries in his mouth as though he meant to keep each one forever.

  When she’d recovered and settled a little, he drew back and spoke to her, with only the slight tremble in his arms telling her how much it cost him to keep himself in check at this moment.

  “I’m not going to lose you, Liza,” he whispered. “Not to stupid rumors or your doubts or your fears. Do you understand?”

  “Yes.” She writhed against him because the tension was building inside her again, demanding release, but there was no point.

  “You have to trust me.” Locking his hips, he resisted all her efforts to drive the pace. “I’ve never given you a reason not to trust me. Have I?”

  “No.” She stroked his face and palmed his cheeks. “I’m sorry I didn’t believe you.”

  The reward for this apology was a nice long stroke. He pulled slowly out…out…out…and then eased in again, inching back inside as though he had a millennium to rub against her sweet spot and bring her to the edge of insanity.

  “Oh, God.” She arched away from him again because she just couldn’t take it, not one more second of this torture.

  The trembling in his arms increased, but he did not succumb to it. “You’re mine, Liza. You know that, right? You’ll always be mine.”

  Gasping in a breath, she demanded her due.

  “And you’ll always be mine, won’t you?”

  “Darlin.’” The ghost of a smile flickered across his face and disappeared. “I’ve been yours since I laid eyes on you. You just didn’t know it.”

  She smiled her joy up at him and watched him fly apart in response.

  Calling her name in a hoarse voice, he let himself go in a frenzy of pumping that rasped the tender insides of her thighs with the fine wool of his suit. Liza held on, angling her hips to take him deeper…deeper. Dropping his head into the hollow between her neck and shoulder, he came in one convulsive shudder that stiffened his body to stone.

  Liza held him, absorbing his body and his love and everything he gave her.

  They quieted and remained like that for a long time, stroking each other and part of each other. The thrilling heavy weight of him encompassed and protected her, and she rejoiced in it.

  Finally he lifted his head. “So…we’re getting married, right?”

  “Right.”

  Her easy agreement seeme
d to bewilder him. Quirking his brows, he stared down at her. “I hate to press my luck, but…am I going to be a presidential candidate or a plain-old-vanilla senator? There are a few people I should tell one way or the other.”

  “Yeah,” Liza said. “I’ve been thinking about that.”

  He waited.

  “Have I ever told you that Rocky II is one of my favorite movies?”

  His eyes lit with interest. “Is that right?”

  “Have you seen it?”

  “Once or twice,” he said dryly. “What’s this got to do with us?”

  “Remember that part where they’re in the hospital after Rocky Jr. is born and Rocky volunteers to withdraw from the rematch with Apollo Creed if Adrian wants him to?”

  He went very still as he studied her face, hardly seemed to breathe. “Yes.”

  “And Adrian says there’s one thing she wants Rocky to do for her?”

  He didn’t move, was incapable of answering as far as she could tell, but it didn’t matter. Pulling his head lower, she brushed his mouth with hers and loved him just a little bit more.

  “Well, Senator,” she said, “There’s one thing I want you to do for me.”

  It took a very long time for him to speak. “What’s that?”

  “Win,” she told him. “Win.”

  Epilogue

  Epilogue

  Washington, D.C.

  January 20

  T he walk down Pennsylvania Avenue was longer than John had expected, but he floated most of the way anyway. The bright blue sky was icy, but once he registered that it was cold and cataloged the weather for his memory, he didn’t care at all. He had Liza to keep him warm.

  Two things—and only two things—held his attention: his wife’s hand in his and the cheering crowds of people. They lined the streets, waving and cheering for them, at least a hundred deep. He and Liza had ridden part of the way in the limousine, of course, and they’d get back in it in a minute so they’d get to the Capitol in time. The secret service had grumbled about the security issues, of course. Plus, several of his advisers had mentioned that the president normally walked after the swearing in, not before.

  To which John said: who cared?

  So he’d prevailed and he wouldn’t have missed a moment of this walk for anything. What was a little cold compared with the chance to meet some of their well-wishers and receive their blessings for their new marriage and the presidency?

  Every now and then, when they’d stop to shake a few hands—the secret service really loved that—the people seemed more interested in Liza. What was she wearing? What would she say next? Was she really as beautiful in person?

  “Liza, Liza, Liza,” the people chanted.

  He couldn’t blame them.

  What had President Kennedy said? Presidential history was very much on John’s mind this morning, but he didn’t think anyone would blame him for that. JFK had said something about being the man that accompanied Jackie Kennedy to Paris. John felt exactly like that—proud and fortunate. Other men might not like being overshadowed by their wives, but not him. He wouldn’t be here now without her support and faith, her relentless campaigning for him despite what she’d said about not wanting to. God had truly favored him with the presidency, yes, but the greater blessing was Liza, and he wanted the world to know it.

  “You’re beautiful.” He leaned in to brush her face with his lips as he spoke, to make sure she was really there, really his, to smell the flowers on her skin.

  She’d been waving to the crowds on her side of the road, her hand high overhead, but now she turned to face him, a pretty flush staining her cheeks that had nothing to do with the cold.

  “The purple’s okay, then?”

  She was referring to her long wool coat and sexy-as-hell black high-heeled boots. The selections had been the subject of intense press interest for the last few weeks. Before that, the press had been obsessed about the gown for their simple Christmas Eve wedding, an ivory satin number that had almost made him drool onto his suit and tie.

  Anyway, he hoped Liza never had the heart to tell anyone that she’d chosen the purple for today because it had the deepest pockets for carrying tissues and lipstick.

  “The purple’s pretty, Mrs. Warner,” he told her. “You’re beautiful.”

  And Liza, who’d been doing less and less scowling lately, grinned like a thirteen-year-old with her first boyfriend. “Are you flirting with me, Senator?” she asked, raising her voice above a gaggle of particularly loud teens waving Warner banners.

  Squeezing her fingers in his gloved hand, he pulled her a little closer to his side. “You’re not going to be able to call me Senator anymore in a few minutes. You know that, right? Although…I did love hearing you say it over and over again last night, I must admit.”

  Now she was simpering, her face nearly as bright as her dress, and she squeezed his hand back in warning. “Stop it, John. You know they’ve probably got analysts trying to read our lips right now and tell people at home what we’re saying to each other.”

  “Hmm.” At the edge of the crowd he saw a father with his young daughter—she looked about threeish—riding on his shoulders. John waved and smiled. “Maybe I should enunciate more clearly so everyone will know that tonight, after all the balls, I’m going to strip you out of your slinky back panties and kiss your—”

  “John!”

  Laughing and delighted, he decided that was enough teasing for now. He tried to remember the topic at hand as they neared the Capitol.

  “So your days of calling me Senator are about over, Mrs. Warner.”

  “That’s fine,” she said sweetly. “Mr. President.”

  Decorum was one thing, but they were honeymooners and he was in love with his wife. Startling her, he pulled her in for a quick brush of his lips across hers—a reminder of last night and a promise for tonight—and enjoyed her peep of surprise.

  Then they got back into the warm limo and rode the rest of the way.

  “See you soon.”

  Inside the rotunda, Liza kissed him as she left to take her seat and he mingled with the former presidents, waiting for their formal introductions to the crowd outside.

  It all happened so fast.

  All the other officials were introduced, while he, the guest of honor, was saved for last. And then he was walking through the dark waiting area and out into the blinding sunlight on the balcony, where the ceremonies were held.

  A deafening cheer rose up the moment he came into view, and it humbled him as nothing in his life ever had before.

  Waving, he made his way through the members of Congress, to the seats up front, where his family and Liza’s dad were standing and applauding with everyone else.

  There was the Colonel with his attendant. He thankfully seemed to be having a good day and was beaming at everyone he saw. Aunt Arnetta was pretty in pink, with Bishop looking sharp in a fedora tilted low over one eye. Andrew and Viveca were there, and so were Eric and Isabella, all smiling at him, all clapping, and…

  There was Jillian.

  She was divorced now, thank God. And a mother. A child was always a blessing, especially to Jillian, and especially after all she’d been through, and baby Allegra had saved her from complete despair these past few months.

  Jillian’s ecstatic grin couldn’t’ve been wider. John hoped some of her excitement was due to the bed-and-breakfast she would soon own outside Atlanta. That would keep her challenged and busy.

  One of his biggest wishes, now that he had Liza and the presidency, was that Jillian could find happiness with a man who appreciated her for the jewel she was. God knew she deserved it.

  Catching John’s eye, Jillian winked at him, and he winked back.

  Then it was time for songs, poems and the vice-president’s swearing-in. John enjoyed the songs the most. He’d chosen “America the Beautiful,” among others—Liza had expressly forbidden the theme song from Rocky—and he listened to them with tears in his eyes and his heart in his
throat.

  He just wanted to be worthy of all this.

  There was nothing more sobering than knowing so many people had put their faith in him. Trusted him.

  He would give this country his very best effort or die trying. With Liza by his side, he could be a great president.

  And then it was time.

  Was it time—already?

  The chief justice of the Supreme Court, Marva Jones, signaled to him, and Liza held the massive Warner family Bible that had been in Aunt Arnetta’s library for the last thousand years or so.

  John’s heart thundered with sudden nerves—Jesus, Lord, what had he gotten himself into?—and he faltered for a millisecond.

  But then Liza squeezed his hand, winked and mouthed all the encouragement he needed: You can do it.

  Yeah.

  With Liza’s love and faith shining so brightly in her eyes, he could do it.

  Turning to the chief justice, he smiled. “I’m ready, ma’am.”

  The chief justice supervised while he put his left hand on the Bible and raised his right, and then she gave him a crisp nod.

  “I, Jonathan Matheson Warner,” she began.

  “I, Jonathan Matheson Warner,” he echoed and then, because he knew the oath by heart, continued without prompting. “Do solemnly swear that I will faithfully execute the office of President of the United States, and will, to the best of my ability, protect and defend the Constitution of the United States.”

  Chief Justice Jones, looking startled, added the end—“So help me, God.”

  “So help me, God.”

  That was it. It was done.

  He was president. Of the United States. The greatest country in the world.

  A deafening roar erupted around him on all sides while the band played “Hail to the Chief” and happy chaos reigned for a minute.

  He had eyes only for his wife.

  For that one joyous second, he even forgot about the speech he was about to give, the one he’d written and reworked and prayed would inspire Americans for years to come.

  Turning to Liza, he leaned in to kiss her over the huge Bible.