by PE Kavanagh
Surprise wasn’t the right word. “No. I’ve always known that’s what you wanted. I didn’t know you wanted it with me.”
“Oh, Mowgli, you are everything to me. You’ve always been. If I thought for one second you’d want to marry me, I’d whisk you off to a Justice of the Peace before you could finish saying yes.”
Ramona imagined the scene in her head: them running down the street, then up the steps of a grand building, hand in hand, like some TV version of a City Hall wedding. Then she added in a baby in her arms. Or maybe in one of those cute baby backpacks. Or maybe she was hugely pregnant and toddling down the sidewalk instead of running. Or maybe she was just a little bit pregnant. Or maybe…
“What are you plotting, my darling?”
Busted. “I’m imagining what that would look like.”
He pulled her into him. “I know this has been a hard year for you, but it’s been a dream come true for me. I’m going to do everything in my power to give you the life you’ve always dreamed of.”
She couldn’t have imagined anything like the life she was living or the life she could so clearly see in her future. But she knew it was exactly what she wanted. “I think that, just for planning purposes, of course, if you thought about making our arrangement official, I could guarantee you better than fifty-fifty odds of success.”
His smile reached well past those gleaming eyes. “Fifty-fifty? Not even seventy-thirty? Or sixty-forty?”
“Okay. I’ll give you a solid sixty-forty.”
Eyebrows rose. “In the project plan I’m sure you’ve created, is there a timing element I should know about?”
“There’s always a timing element, darling.”
“Fair enough.” His fingers threaded through her hair. “So, if there should happen to be a gathering of all of our loved ones in our home, celebrating the start of a new year, would that be a good time?”
That assessment wouldn’t require a single list. No pros, cons, or research. No checking her calendar or weighing options. Nothing could have been more clear or right. “I’d say your chances are quite good, Baloo.”
* * *
Dearest Reader,
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If you can't wait to find out what happens next, just turn the page to find an excerpt to Claiming Power, which features Connor and Jenna!
Thank you again, and I hope to see you soon between the pages of my steamy love stories.
Excerpt from CLAIMING POWER
Book Three of the Friends & Lovers Series
* * *
CONNOR
Connor adjusted himself while waiting for Stanley to get off the phone. They’d been sitting in the limo for long enough that things were getting uncomfortable down there. But it didn’t look like Stanley was going to stop screaming into his cell anytime soon.
Maybe he could just step out for a second, stretch his legs, air out his parts, maybe even clear his head before going back to get the scolding he knew was coming. His reach for the door was stopped by the firm grip of Stanley’s hand. Connor could have punched him in the face. Who did this guy think he was?
A twist of the wrist freed him from the hold, a kick of the door freed him from the stifling car.
Connor slammed the door, shutting off the string of profanities coming from inside the sleek black Towncar. He looked up to find himself at a rather seedy-looking loading dock, swarmed with young people in uniforms unloading three white panel trucks. Must be the caterers and he must be in the back of Mellon Auditorium, the location for his next political rally.
Connor matched his breaths to each long stride. This was a big night. When his campaign for Senate became real. He’d be asking people for money and votes. Asking for them to trust him.
A cold sweat broke out across his forehead. What was he thinking? He wasn’t ready for this. He was a small-town Mayor. Sure, he had a political legacy, and yes, he’d done great things for his community, but this… This was another league entirely.
He paused at his reflection in the blackened car windows and ran a hand over his hair. No reason, as he was always perfectly groomed. Just to make sure his head was still screwed on, perhaps.
“Dad,” he whispered. “I need your help, here. I might have gotten myself into something way over my head.”
He didn’t expect a response, considering his father had died three weeks before. But what he saw in the reflection looked more like his long-gone grandfather, the one the streets and buildings were named after. The one who’d terrorized his childhood.
“Grow a set! You’re not just any boy,” he would say. “You’re Connor Barrett. Eldest grandson of Virginia’s most beloved Governor and the face of a new generation of leadership. So stop acting like a pussy and go out there and show them what a leader looks like!”
Connor shook out his head, desperately wanting the image to dissolve in the cold day. Except for the fact that the man he’d hired as his campaign manager, the inimitable Stanley Grayson, known in political circles as the Kingmaker, was more like his grandfather than Connor would ever be.
It was an honor that Stanley agreed to work with him. Certainly, his best friend’s dad, Congressman Winston, had called in some big favors to make it happen. But only two weeks into the campaign and they were already butting heads. Stanley wanted to run things old school - and by old school, he meant wheeling, dealing, and dirty - while Connor wanted to do it better. He wanted to show all the people disillusioned by politics and their leaders that someone would have their back.
It wasn’t working. Maybe he wasn’t cut out for this after all.
The door to the limo swung open. The man wasn’t visible but his voice boomed across the lot. “Get your ass back in here!”
Connor paused before sauntering back to the car.
“I was just waiting for you to finish your phone call, Stanley. No need to speak to me that way.”
“You better get your head in the game, Barrett! I was on the phone with the morning show, arguing for you to get top billing. This is NOT the time to be checking out.”
Connor exhaled, praying for patience. “I’m not checking out.”
Stanley tightened his lips to a nearly invisible line. “Could have fooled me… Anyway. Tonight is extremely important. Many of the critical influencers will be here, deciding whether you’re going to be their chosen horse in this race.”
Connor flinched at being referred to as a horse. This guy was disgusting. “I understand that.”
“Do you? Because you’ve turned it into a family party. This is not the time to socialize with your buddies. This is the time to make an impression on the power players with deep pockets. They are going to determine whether you even make it to the primaries, much less the main election.”
No shit. It was exhausting having this conversation over and over. “That’s clear. And that’s why Ramona is here. She-”
“Your knocked up sister? She’s the problem, not the solution, Barrett. No one wants to see a woman flaunting her promiscuity around like that. As if the scandal with the Winston boy wasn’t bad enough…”
Connor slid forward in his seat, fist clenched against his side. It had been decades since he’d hit someone but it might not be much longer. “Don’t you fucking dare talk about my sister that way! You and I both know she is the most talented fundraiser on this planet. I’m lucky she agreed to do anything for me, after the stunt you pulled on New Year’s Eve. You,” he pointed right in the man’s face, “are not allowed within ten feet
of her. Understood?”
The older man slid back in his seat, that self-satisfied smirk on his face. Again. “Now, that’s more like it. That’s the kind of fire people are waiting to see in you. That’s the stuff that’s going to get you a seat in that very impressive building down the street.”
And this was how it went. Stanley got to be as offensive as he wanted to be, then shrugged it off as part of the plan. Connor pulled off his glasses and rubbed his eyes, working to manage the rage that brought a twitch around his temples. If this was the price he had to pay to get elected, he would have to pay it. There just didn’t seem like another option.
* * *
The caterers were scurrying as he wound his way through the prep kitchen. Only a few stopped what they were doing to stare and whisper. He walked a little taller and put on his ‘future Senator’ face. Looking the part was half the game.
Stanley walked him into the green room, where he’d wait until it was time for him to speak. He wasn’t allowed out until that point. He assumed it was because Stanley didn’t trust him to not say something wrong. As if. Connor didn’t say the wrong thing. Ever.
Connor was grateful Stanley had to step out to deal with some emergency or another. A minute away from that man was good for his mental health. Congressman Winston arrived a few minutes later. During all those hard years when his family was shredded - Mom fleeing to California, Dad lost in the bottle, Grandfather on the war path - he’d depended more and more on his best friend’s family. Lucas Winston was more like a brother than a friend and his dad, longtime Congressman, had been the one to support Connor in his political journey. He’d done so much to make this evening happen and would be giving the opening speech.
“Uncle Robert. So glad to see you.”
The man put his palm on Connor’s face. “Lookin’ good, kid. Are you excited?”
Excited? Terrified, more like it. “Yes, I am. We’ve got a full house and-.”
“You know, I remember my first big rally, when I decided to leave my position in the State Senate and run for the House. I don’t think I stopped shaking for days. I get what a big deal this is. But your time has come. Virginia needs you. Our government needs you.”
The two men hugged briefly before Robert pulled away. “Now, who do I have to fuck to get a drink around here?”
* * *
Two young women carried trays into the room minutes after Connor’s call down to the kitchen. He was surprised Stanley didn’t breeze in after them, admonishing him about the food they’d requested.
“Never eat before a speech,” he’d say. “It makes you look fat and lazy. You want to look hungry. That’s what sells.”
The women set up the table in the center of the room with the bottle of Scotch, several bottles of water, and an assortment of the appetizers he assumed were being served to the guests. He caught Robert enjoying the view, a bit too much. A pat on the back pulled his attention from an admittedly fine derriere back to Connor.
“Did you get the draft of my speech?”
“Sure did. Looks good.” A quick glance back over at the women. “I’d say it’s better to err on the side of too little than too much. These folks won’t be lingering over their decisions. And our speeches are just going to get in the way of them eating, drinking, and talking about themselves.”
He was probably right. You didn’t get to be a Congressman for so many decades if you didn’t know what to do in these situations. “Okay, maybe I’ll cut some from the middle.”
Robert slapped him on the back. “Just be yourself, Connor. Have a conversation with the crowd. You’re naturally charismatic. Use it. The women will be swooning, the men will remember when they were as young and handsome as you. It’ll be fine. Just fine.”
The two women snuck a look before disappearing out the door. He could have sworn the blonde actually winked at him.
Robert smirked. “It’s good we got some nice looking waitresses, too. That always helps. Especially, if you’re looking for some company tonight.” He winked. “After the rally.”
Not going to happen. By the time the private after-party was done, it was going to be late. Then he had his Crossfit workout first thing in the morning and a day full of appointments. Although it had been so long since he’d had another outlet for all that energy. Young and single was not necessarily a kiss of death for a male Senator, but it rarely helped. He had to make sure he wasn’t coming across as a player. Gotta promote those conservative values, as Stanley reminded him. Frequently.
He pulled out his phone and jotted down a note to talk to Lorena, his matchmaker, the next day. So far, all her offerings had been duds. Too boring. Too chatty. Too wild. Too power hungry. Dating, when you were on a fast track to a serious political position, was much more complicated than finding someone to warm your bed. He needed a woman who was smart, serious, and driven, but not too much of either. Someone who understood the life of a political wife and wanted all that came with it. A tall, leggy brunette would be great. One would have thought in this part of the world, streets would be teeming with that type of woman. So far, no luck. Especially since Lorena kept insisting on sending him blondes, who were almost always an immediate no.
This woman, wherever she was, had to be White House ready.
* * *
JENNA
Jenna fought her way through the crowd like a salmon swimming upstream. She had no interest in following everyone toward the stage, where an older man was droning on. With everyone’s attention on Mr. Boring Pants, it was a perfect time to head toward the now empty bar.
Not bad. Off to one side of the enormous event space, that setup could rival any of the fanciest bars she’d seen. Not that she liked fancy bars. Dark and dirty was more her speed. This being her very first political rally, she wasn’t aware of the high caliber alcohol they would serve. Her favorite Tequila, in fact.
She eyed the young bartender. Also not bad. Maybe she could rescue this ultra-dull evening after all.
“A shot of Patron platinum, please.”
He nodded and turned to retrieve the recognizable bottle. “Aren’t you interested in hearing the candidate speak?”
“Not even a little bit.”
“Then why are you here?” he asked with a smirk.
She preferred her bartenders hot and silent, and this one was only fulfilling one of those requirements. “He’s a friend of the family, supposedly. And they’re all here to support him. But we don’t even live in this state and can’t vote for him. I don’t see the point, honestly.”
The crowd burst into applause as the generous shot slid down her grateful throat. The opening act must have finished and the main guy - aka the candidate - would be speaking next. Oh, yay. More political speeches about governing this tiny, inconsequential state.
The huddled bodies separated just enough for her to see the tall, dark-haired man stride across the stage. Her eyes followed his every move as she became aware of three things.
He had terrible taste in clothes.
She remembered him from old family photos, running circles in their backyard wearing thick glasses and a bright red cape.
That swagger communicated something to her body that she would never have expected.
She turned away, slightly disturbed. That guy was not her type at all. Unless of course underneath that dull blue suit and nerdy glasses was a wild streak and a back full of tattoos. But the way he owned the stage and captured the crowd was impressive. She ended up listening, rapt, to his thankfully brief speech about his candidacy for Senate. People were excited. I guess having a young, almost-hot Senator might not be so bad if you were forced to live there.
The applause continued long after he’d walked off the stage. Maybe he was even making his way around the crowd. She couldn’t tell.
She’d need to find the rest of her family at some point. Almost certainly, there would be some other event right after this one. More schmoozing, smiling, and hopefully high quality booze.
A run to the bathroom might work before the crowd’s attention moved off the stage. She spun around and bumped directly into the center of a broad chest. Boring blue filled her vision. It was him.
“Oh, sorry, I didn’t know you were right behind me.”
A squint was followed by one of the goofiest smiles she’d ever seen. All loopy and happy, with no smolder whatsoever. “Jenna King, right? Wow, you look so much like your mom. And your Aunt Olivia. It’s uncanny.”
Right. Olivia Winston was his best friend’s mom. Resident bitch of Virginia, far as Jenna could tell. She ran her hand over the mass of her hair currently contained in a low bun. The only similarity she had with those two women was the platinum blonde hair no one ever believed was real.
“I’m Connor Barrett. Thanks so much for coming. Your family has been amazingly supportive.”
“Hey.” She returned his handshake. “Oh, and congratulations on the… running for office.”
He laughed. “Thanks. What are you drinking?”
“Oh, you did well with the bar selection. Patron platinum. Yumm. Way to schmooze the voters.”
He put up two fingers for the bartender who was standing at attention, and had finally figured out how to keep his mouth shut.
Two overfull shot glasses appeared on the bar.
He tipped his head toward her. “Cheers.”
Even though it hadn’t even been minutes since her last shot, it went down oh, so smoothly. She licked a drop of tequila from her top lip and grinned.
He threw his down and instead of the flinch and gag she expected, he smiled right back at her. “Only the best for my supporters.”
That look was so hard to decipher. And it was impossible to see his eyes behind those thick, dark frames. “I think we met when we were kids. I don’t really remember it, though.”
