by Amy Faye
There was absolutely no reason he would. She was being downright silly to think that there was any chance, she chastised herself. Then she introduced herself, and was immediately whisked away to a car that could have cost a million dollars.
Linda had seen a thousand stretch limos, cars that were so ostentatious that you couldn't miss them if you were blind. This wasn't anything like that. From the outside, it could have been any luxury car—Linda had to admit to herself that she didn't know all that much about cars—but as soon as she got inside, it differentiated itself from any Buick or Jaguar she'd ever sat in.
The only clue that showed that the engine kicked to life was that the car started, ever so gently, to roll forward, and then picked up speed without a sound.
The feeling, as well, as like being whisked on a flying carpet. The road was hardly perfect in any part of DC., and yet for the first time in her life, she couldn't feel one of them. In any other circumstance, it would have been a fairy tale experience from start to finish.
But this wasn't any other circumstance, and all she wanted now was to get to Adam and get to work.
From the beginning, Adam Quinn was impervious to any real attack. The traditional mudslinging just wouldn't work on him. He was a known womanizer, a man who was as amorous as Pan and just as fickle. He was a famed eccentric. He spoke too brusquely and too directly to be branded a liar.
But if there was one thing that he was, the lynchpin that held his entire reputation together, it was his history as a technology innovator.
If you could topple that reputation, or even cast some doubt on it, even for a moment…
She took a deep breath.
Just get to work, and stop worrying about how bad it could go. That was the rule in all of politics. Working for Adam Quinn, where the heights got so much more dizzying, 'don't look down' went without saying.
Chapter Forty-Seven
Linda's expression tells the whole story. Adam allows himself a momentary distraction, watching her. He can't help the soft shadow of a smile that pulls itself across his face, watching the way that she's jerking between panic and confidence, like someone who's stuck in gear.
"What are we going to do to get around this," she repeats.
"We're still trying to make a hard decision," Adam responds. "Somewhere between 'shut it down,' and 'do nothing,' I think. We've taken 'retire from public life' and 'die of humiliation' off the table."
She purses her lips together, and Adam feels a grin spread across his face even wider. "Really? Sarcasm, now?"
"Oh, I wasn't being sarcastic," Adam responds. "I'm pretty sure that my career is safe from Terry Johnson's vicious onslaught."
"I'm glad you're so confident. Now, what are we actually going to do about this? And don't say 'do nothing.'"
Tom pipes up, then. "We've got an invitation to sit down with him on television."
"I don't know if that will work out?"
"Why the hell not?" Linda's face is twisted up in frustrated exasperation.
"Because he wouldn't show up."
"What makes you so sure?"
"He knows me, knows I'll school him, and doesn't want to do anything that would embarrass himself."
"Are you sure?"
"Sure I'm sure. But if you want me to go on the show, we can just give him the chance to not show up of his own accord, rather than just taking my word for it."
"I'm sure you know exactly what you're talking about, Adam, but I think I'd like that."
"May as well," Tom pipes in. He's out of his element with this.
Tom Delaney's good for stirring the pot, but when it's time to respond, he's more than happy to step aside and let someone else get it settled so that he can throw his own, personal monkey wrench into the gears.
"Well, let me get on the phone. Should I go for their offer, or make some public counter on a more favorable program?"
Linda looks at him hard. He tries not to look too happy that all of this is happening. There's got to be at least part of her that dislikes the chaos. Adam doesn't. It makes his teeth feel sharp. It fits with everything he does, everything he's been doing for decades.
"How do you feel about it?"
Adam shrugs. "It makes no difference to me."
"Then why not go with something more favorable?"
"The way I see it, right now if he doesn't show up on the show he picked for himself, Terry looks like a real moron. If I change the terms, he gets an out. Says, I changed it because I wanted someone biased in my favor."
"Okay."
"If I stick with his show, and he doesn't show up, he looks like a coward or an idiot. Shows right off the bat that he wasn't a serious detractor. If he does show up—"
"I got it, I said."
"I know you got it." Adam's voice is low and soft. "But that doesn't change anything. What do you think I should do?"
"I think you should… how confident are you? This guy doesn't have some ace in the hole that makes you look like an idiot?"
He leans back in his chair and lets out a long breath. "No chance. There's nothing to have."
"Okay, then. Do Ray's show. Just be prepared for something."
Adam grins. "I'm always prepared for something."
Chapter Forty-Eight
The lights were hot. There had been a time, once, when Adam Quinn had wanted to be on television. When he was young. The first time under the lights, so bright that no matter where you look you feel a little blinded, he'd learned his lesson. By then, though, everything else had dug in until there wasn't much choice about whether or not he'd go back under them.
Almost forty years later, they're still too bright. It's still miserable. But so are a great many things—and like most of them, he's gotten used to it.
Linda's sitting off to the side, of course. She wasn't happy about the last time Adam went off on an interviewing adventure, and it's not likely to happen again, not alone.
She stands up when she sees him looking and walks over. "You feeling alright?"
"Feeling fine, sure."
"Do you know the plan?"
"No plan," Adam answers. He shrugs. "Why?"
She looks at him flatly. Words aren't absolutely necessary.
"I have a rough idea."
"I'm not going to like it, am I?"
"You'll love it, if you give it a chance."
She takes a breath. Adam can see by the look on her face that she's not comfortable with it. Maybe she's right not to be. But that doesn't mean that he's going to change anything.
There's a very simple plan, and no—she isn't going to like it.
The plan is, at the end of a ten minute interview, to make Terry Johnson wish that he'd never been born. Adam prided himself, he had to admit, on his self-control. On his ability to keep himself calm, to keep himself from flying off the handle with people.
Even people who might have deserved it, like Terry Johnson certainly did. Adam Quinn had been born a great many things. Talent wasn't something he was proud of. He hadn't earned it. But that control, that was something that he'd worked on for some time.
And now he was going to use that skill, that he'd had to train so much. And it would work. He'd be able to do it, without too much trouble, as long as he kept himself separate from the situation.
If he didn't, then things could go badly. So he had to make sure that they wouldn't go badly. Simple as that.
He took a breath as the producers and makeup people started to separate, and a young woman with a panicked look in her eyes—typical of television people, Adam had discovered over the years—came to wave him to follow. They sat him down on a couch. It was moderately comfortable, he had to admit. And then, a moment later, the hot lights kicked on and he buckled in.
This was going to be interesting. Linda wasn't going to like it, but when it was done…
He smiled. She could have stopped him, he knew. But she hadn't.
Epilogue
Linda sits back in her chair. The sun's beating down
, too hot for January. It should be cold. A week ago, it had been, but the weather's always been fickle, and of course, for Adam, it always seems to do what he wants. If it's hot, then he must have wanted it that way. It seems like superstition, but Linda's learned enough not to question it.
She shields her eyes against the sun and leans back, her coat pulled tight around her shoulders. They've gone over his inaugural address every day for the past month, and if she's lucky, that's the speech that he's going to give.
If she's not lucky, then… well, the entire campaign's been full of surprises from the beginning. What's one more?
The ceremony finally gets started with the swearing-in. Some part of her jumps into Linda's throat as his hand falls on the bible. A fear that shoots through her, asking what would happen if he did something unexpected. What are the odds he would decide to surprise her? She doesn't want to think about it.
Her body starts to recover, just for a moment, as he repeats faithfully. A little voice inside reminds her that for surprise, he's shown that he can keep himself under control when it counts, and it certainly counts now.
The speech begins as-expected, too. She allows herself a little swelling in her chest, the pride of a job well-done. It all sounds crazy, but somehow… well, they made it this far, she supposes.
And then everything falls apart when he turns away from the podium and points back. Her mind plays back the past sentence, trying to figure out what she had missed. She can hear it, once she thinks about it.
"I'd like Miss Owens to join me at the podium," he said. That wasn't part of the speech they'd discussed.
Her face goes red immediately. He knew better than this. The cameras, the glitz, none of that was something she wanted. It was part of his life, but it wasn't part of hers. He knew that. He'd promised—
She stood up and waved, stepped down to him.
He dropped to one knee in a practiced, easy motion, reached into his pocket, and pulled out a little black box, and Linda's vision went white for an instant as the crowd started to roar in the distance.
He'd always had a flare for the dramatic. Now if only she could get away from it.
"Will you marry me, Linda?"
She can hear his voice going out across the speakers, her breath coming in short, sharp bursts.
She takes in the deepest breath she can, one that almost manages to fill her lungs, and steadies herself long enough to get one sentence out as a hot tear streaks down her cheek.
"Yes, Mr. President."
The President’s Secret Son
Bad Boy Romance
Amy Faye
Published by Heartthrob Publishing
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Here’s a preview of the sexy love story you’re about to read…
"You fucking asshole," she breathed in his ear, moving herself up to straddle him. The seats were big enough to accommodate both of them. "I can't fucking stand you."
The words came out of her mouth and she wanted to believe them. But they lacked any punch. They lacked truth, and she knew it as well as he did.
"I know," he said. His hand cupped her ass and she hovered over him, her weight pressing him to the chair.
"Then fuck me," she growled, and dipped her head to nip at his neck. She was the one in control now, she told herself. She was the one in charge and she was the one setting the pace. But if he pushed back, she knew that it wouldn't be long before she was the one who was eating out of the palm of his hand, no matter what Lara tried to tell herself.
He pulled her shirt off and threw it aside. She worked the clasp on her bra easily and as soon as it had slipped from her shoulders he claimed one nipple in between his lips. Her hips ground down into him, feeling his cock stiffening against her.
That was what she wanted. That was what she needed, even after all this time. He held her roughly, forcing her hips down harder. Her skirt had already ridden up around her hips, her stockings and his pants the only things separating them. He moved a hand between them, exploring the outside of her lips with his hand.
"You've been looking forward to this," he accused, and she ground herself against his fingers in answer.
She slipped off his lap and between his knees. She had no trouble with his belt. Ten years hadn't dulled her memories of taking off a belt very much like this, from trousers very much like these. Hadn't dulled the memory of freeing his cock from his trousers.
The smell of sex was heady and immediate and she couldn't help herself from wanting a little bit more. She took him into her mouth without hesitating and moved quickly. There was something inside her that needed it, needed him, and she hated it but she couldn't deny it either. That was her reality now, whether she liked it or not, and she was going to have to accept it.
His fingers dug into her hair taking a fistful and using it to force her head where he wanted it. Lara couldn't help letting her voice out a little bit as he fucked her face, claiming her as his. Some part of her kept repeating in her mind that she should have known better. That she wasn't going to be taken in like she was before. But she was going to be, she knew. That was the reality.
His cock moved into her mouth, entering her throat. She was practically choking on it and she didn't think she could have made him stop if she wanted to. She didn't think that she could have stopped herself if he was trying to stop her, either.
She slurped as he pulled back and then he entered her mouth again. Taking her. If she wasn't going to be his, and he wasn't going to be hers, then she could at least outdo that stupid bitch of a stewardess.
Tears started to run down her cheeks, purely from the sensations shooting through her. She pulled herself away, climbed up and rubbed herself against his hard cock, slick with her saliva and pressing against her through the sheer fabric of her hose she enjoyed the feeling of him against her.
Paul didn't wait, apparently didn't have any interest in teasing. He grabbed her hose and ripped. He seemed to be experienced with it. She rubbed back again and the feeling of his skin directly on hers, even before he entered her, was electric.
He lowered his hips as she pulled forward, and when she pushed back again he entered her easily, between her own arousal and the wetness of his cock. She rocked back and forth, her weight pressing constantly to get his cock to hit her right where she wanted it, to take the pleasure as much as she could. His lips found her nipples and bit down.
Lara bit down on her finger again. She had never been quiet during lovemaking, but then she'd never been surrounded by so many people, so many of them who must have been wondering whether or not she was fucking him.
Well, they would have their answer as soon as they came into the front cabin, she supposed. Was that a problem? She didn't know. It could cause trouble for Paul if it got out, but so could any of the other affairs that she knew he was having. There must have been plenty. But here she was, no doubt almost twice their age, and she was the one that had him this time.
There was a sort of feral victory in that. She moved harder, faster. His mouth unlatched from her breast and his head pressed back into the chair as she moved. His breath came in hard rasps and his hips moved to meet hers with every thrust, anticipating her coming back by a second as the orgasm that was building inside him threatened to overtake him.
Lara was close, too, she knew. There was one thing that would do it. One thing that had always done it. It had gotten her into trouble once, and if she had kept track properly, today was the furthest thing from a safe day.
The very idea made her shudder, sent her spiraling closer and closer to the edge of the orgasm that had been building up in her the entire time.
"Lara," he breathed. "You should-"
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1
Paul Green watched out the window of the private plane. There was nothing else to be done yet
. They had a good sense of how much needed to be done, and he was going to do it. That was enough, for now. Four months out of the election and he'd already gotten through all the trouble that they could throw at him.
If his opponents wanted to make something up, sure. They could do that. But otherwise, he'd been careful since he entered the public eye. Helen looked over and smiled. There wasn't a hint of anything in that smile. It was like a mask that she was putting on.
"Ready?"
He took a breath and wished that there was anyone else on the other side of the plane, next to him. There were a thousand women he'd rather have been with. Women whose names he didn't even know had been better company than his wife.
"We'd better do this," he said, his voice low and tired. He had to put on a face for the public. A face that never tired, a face that moved as fast as the nightly news coverage did. A political candidate for a generation raised on MTV, where thirty seconds was too long to pay attention.
She kissed his cheek. Paul dutifully allowed it. They'd never had children, and there were a thousand reasons for it. Even at her most drunken, Helen had never let him touch her. She seemed disgusted by the entire idea, and as Paul looked at her, a body like a boy's and a heart made out of a lump of coal, he wasn't much less put off by it on his part.
He turned away and she put a hand on his shoulder. Her grip was tight and she pulled until he turned back to face her. "Something wrong, dear?"
Her expression was dark and angry. Like it usually was, he thought, but he kept his thoughts inside his head. "Don't you fuck this up for me, you fucking asshole. I'm counting on this."
"Yes, dear," he said. Maybe once he had been put off by that attitude, too. As if she were owed something. As if he owed her something. But now it was something that he was used to. Something he'd known when he was still just a Utah District Attorney.
