“I know you liked Bobby better than Jack,” I whisper into his ear. His arm tightens at my back, and laughter rumbles through him. “I know the exact spot of the very first windmill you ever bought, Doc Quixote.”
“Wind turbine, Nix. It’s not a windmill.”
“Whatever. I know where it is.”
My laughter dies down, and I reach for his arm, pushing back the cuff of his shirt. I run my fingers over the small strip of silvery skin marking his forearm. “I know you got this scar protecting a girl you didn’t even know in a fight that wasn’t yours.”
I bend my head and kiss the small reminder of how we met. “I know that your father is the biggest prick asshole I’ve ever met, and I cannot stand him,” I say, icing my tone and then gradually thawing my eyes. “And I know that you still love and miss him.”
Shadows flicker in his eyes, the same green as Warren Cade’s. He presses his forehead to mine and cups the back of my head, releasing a heavy sigh. His fingers sift into my hair and I feel his lips at my ear, ghosting kisses along my neck. “So do I get my second chance?” he asks.
This maze is as convoluted as our journey, as our circumstances. The winding path to this moment runs over sacred grounds turned to battlefields, through Amsterdam’s cobblestone streets and canals, through a frozen tundra under midnight suns. Through our nation’s capital. Every step led to me sitting here in Maxim’s lap, letting him chase my fears away. Letting him tempt me into a second chance.
The corners of my mouth lift and so does my heart. I feel lighter than I have since he came to town.
“I don’t know,” I tease. “You’re not the simple graduate student I knew before. There’s the problem of all that money you’ve gone and made. You know what they say. More money, more problems.”
“I give a lot of it away, if that helps.” He laughs and strokes one finger along my bare knee under my dress.
“You’re a lot to take.”
“I seem to remember you taking me just fine,” he says, his voice husky. “It was a tight fit, but we worked it out.”
I shift in his lap, my laugh echoing through the network of bushes.
“God, Nix. If you keep squirming like that, we’ll find out right now if you can still take it. I’m dying here. Are we or are we not doing this?”
I pull back enough to look into those gemstone eyes, watching me so intently. “Yes.”
The word is barely out of my mouth before his lips are on mine. It’s a claiming kiss. I knew it would be. It declares that I’m his, and with every answering stroke of my tongue, I accept his terms and warn him that he’s mine, too. He turns me so my legs fall on either side of his, and our chests press flush. There’s a language between our heartbeats I have no translation for—no words, just a thumping communion.
I pull back and place my hand between our lips.
“Doc, wait,” I say, a playful note in my voice when I glance at my watch. “It’s not midnight. We’re not supposed to kiss until midnight.”
“Screw that,” he says, leaning forward to mutter against my lips. “It may not be midnight, but it’s about damn time.”
It’s finally our time.
His hunger is voracious, an open-mouthed consumption swallowing me. I feed him my whimpers and moans, my desperate pleasure. His hands roam over my body, deliberately laying claim to every part of me, squeezing my ass, cupping my breasts through my strapless dress, pinching my nipples, kissing my neck, and reminding my body of his possession. He slides his hand between us, reaching under my dress and into my panties, thrusting two fingers inside.
“Doc.” I drop my head to kiss our temples together and start riding his hand.
He tugs the bodice of my dress until the chill night air kisses my breasts, and then he dips to suck them one at a time, never letting up between my legs.
“I’m gonna come,” I pant.
“We both are,” he says, his voice and body hard. “I plan to fuck you out here right now.”
“Doc.”
“Tell me no.” He pulls back to search my eyes, checking to see what I want. “And we won’t.”
My father said I should find something for myself. Well, this man is for me. On the cusp of a new year, he’s all I want. A future with him, this moment with him, is what I want most. I undo his belt and unbutton, unzip his pants.
“You’re sure?” he asks, his eyes heavy-lidded.
The last time we made love, anger clogged the air and I called it a mistake when we were done. There’s no doubt in my mind right now this is what I want.
“I’m sure.” I bring my knees up on the bench beside his legs, positioning myself, raising up over him. “Let’s see if you still fit.”
Beneath my dress, he drags my panties aside and pushes in. The air whooshes between our mouths. His hands at my hips keep me still when I start to move.
“I missed this,” he says softly and shifts to kiss my jaw. “I missed you.”
“Same,” I say, breathless from the way he fills me up, stretches me.
“Same?” He laughs and guides my hips into a rhythm. “Damn, that feels good.”
I hook my elbow at his neck and deepen the wave of my body over him, arching my back and increasing the pace. I light up like he’s flipped a switch no one else has ever found.
“It’s never like this,” I whisper, tears christening the corners of my eyes.
“It’s never like this,” he agrees, linking our fingers and pressing our hands between our chests, between my breasts. He finds my eyes in the weak illumination of moonlight. “This feeling belongs to you, Lennix.”
“Yes.” I lay my forehead against his again, thrust my fingers into his hair. “You’re mine, Maxim Cade.”
He kisses the curve of my neck and squeezes my ass. “Yours.”
“Tell your Russian princess . . .” I tighten my thighs at his hips and ride him harder. “. . . and your teenage pageant queen to back the fuck off.”
His chuckle is breathless as our bodies battle, struggle to get closer, push for a deeper mating of flesh and soul.
“Only you, Nix,” he says, leaving the promise in my hair. “No one else.”
“And I’m yours,” I offer before he has to ask. “Only you, Cade.”’
He stills, and I realize I used the last name that has caused us so many problems and may cause more in the future. That name in my mouth has always been a curse, but here in this convolution of hedges under a new year of stars, I make it mine. It’s my way of telling him I want, I accept every part of him. Even the last name that represents everything I hate. Even the baggage that comes with his family.
“Maxim,” I say, my thighs spread wide over him, my knees leveraged on the stone bench. “Kingsman.”
I pull back enough to show him my acceptance of the part he tried to hide—to show him the part that came between us before won’t separate us now. “Cade.”
It seems to set something off in him, his last name on my lips while he’s buried inside me, and his hands tighten on me, the thrusts more urgent, deeper, faster. I hold on tighter, my body clamped around him possessively. He reaches between us to find the place where our bodies are joined, and strokes my clit, his thumb fast and sure.
“Maxim,” I scream, my hoarse voice tearing through the privacy of our night in this maze. Wave after wave of ungovernable pleasure overwhelms me, overtakes me, until I’m quaking with it, shaking and sobbing into the warm curve of his neck.
He keeps going, every thrust more aggressive and deeper, my bare breasts grazing his shirt, the nipples piquing while he takes his own pleasure. A growl tears from him when he comes, going impossibly harder and bigger and stiffer inside me.
“Shit, shit, shit,” he chants, his hands like steel, his breaths harsh and fast. He groans long and rough, emptying himself inside me, a hot, wet rush of passion. I receive him, trembling with wonder at the blend of our bodies. I don’t want to move because he’ll run out of me. I want to keep him, to keep these moments and t
hese emotions as long as I can.
He was my first. Ten years ago when we made love, I didn’t know a passion like this was rare, something to be coveted and chased and clutched, but tonight, I know it’s a comet shooting across the sky and all we can do is ride its fiery trail.
Now I know.
47
Lennix
“There’s been a slight change of plans,” Kimba says.
I study her face on my phone. It’s our third FaceTime of the day. She’s been holding it down in DC, and I’m in San Francisco, about to fly to Ohio. Owen won’t make his official presidential announcement until February, but I’m running ahead and laying tracks for our ground game in some purple states where we’ll need as much of a head start as possible.
“Change of plans?” I frown and mentally review my meetings for the next day with volunteer coordinators in Ohio. “If we’re gonna stay on track for February, we have to stick to the schedule.”
“I’m well aware,” she says dryly.
I’m handpicking volunteer coordinators in our most crucial battleground states and starting to strategize. We’ll use technology to reach voters in as many innovative ways as possible, but I learned early on to never underestimate the importance of a strong ground game.
“I’m on my way to the airport now,” I say. “I’m so confused, and you know I hate being confused about as much as I hate Peanut Butter.”
“I’m not sure I trust people who don’t like Peanut Butter.”
“It sticks to the . . . never mind! What is the change of plans? I need to tell this driver what to do.”
“Oh, he already knows.”
“Excuse me, sir?” I catch the driver’s eye in the rearview mirror. “Where are we going?”
“We’re here, ma’am,” he says.
I look out the window of the SUV and realize we’re at an empty tarmac. Empty except for a jet with CadeCo emblazoned on the side.
“I’m going to get you both,” I tell Kimba when I look back to my screen and find her grinning. I’m grinning, too, though, so she can only take my threat so seriously.
Maxim was called away literally on New Year’s Day, almost as soon as the party was over because of some explosion at one of his Asia-based companies. A week into our “second chance” and we haven’t been in the same room once, not since the garden, and I leave for my service trip with Wallace in a few days.
“Get me?” Kimba pretends to consider it. “I think you mean thank me later.”
The driver, already carrying my suitcase, opens the door for me. I hesitate. Yes, the jet says CadeCo, but my Cade is nowhere in sight.
I’m about to dial Maxim when a hybrid SUV pulls up. Maxim opens the door and strides toward me with a grin I can only call wolfish—wide and wily, and like he plans to eat me. Scruff shadows that protractor jawline and his dark hair curls around his ears. I mentioned liking it longer. I hope he’s not growing it out for me. I love the silky hair any way I can feel it.
He’s wearing a cable-knit sweater the color of oatmeal, which should be illegal contrasting with his tanned skin that way. Dark-wash jeans and boots make him look so rugged and sexy, my thighs immediately clench with the need to clamp around him. I don’t know what he has planned, but sex better be on the agenda, or I’m making a motion to amend.
His arms encircle me and he dips his head for a kiss. His hands rove over my back, gripping low on my hips, just short of my ass, and urge me up onto my toes. He plunders my mouth, the heat of the kiss burning through my self-consciousness in seconds. I’m straining up, folding my arms at the elbows behind his neck, opening my mouth greedily under his, sucking his tongue in as deep and hard as humanly possible. I forget about our audience of two and grunt and moan and whimper the longer we kiss. He finally pulls back just enough to lay his forehead to mine, our labored breaths tangling between our lips.
“Hey,” he says.
“Hey.” I smile up at him and settle my hands on his shoulders.
“Keep kissing me like that and we won’t even make it to the plane.”
My cheeks warm as his words and our surroundings—the two watching, waiting men—sink in.
“You’re in trouble,” I tell him as sternly as I can feeling this turned on. “Nobody rearranges me.”
“I did.” He takes the handle of my suitcase from the driver, and pulls it toward the idling plane. “I mean, with the help of Kimba of course.”
“I have to be in Ohio for a meeting at nine o’clock tomorrow morning,” I say, trying to hold on to my sense of humor and adventure.
“And you will.” He takes my hand.
I squeeze his fingers and decide to enjoy myself. “Where are we going, Doc?”
“On a date,” he says, the boyish grin that unravels my heartstrings in evidence.
“I said where, not what, though thank you for telling me we’re going on a date. Some guys just ask, which is so boring.”
“Who are these guys who’ve had you making all those pesky choices about where you’ll go and what you’ll do? Don’t they know you have better things to do than think about dates? I handled all of that for you. You’re welcome.”
“Something about that isn’t right. I hate it when you charm the logic out of everything.”
He shrugs. “It’s a gift. And we’re flying to Ohio because that’s where you need to be. Our date will have to be in the air. I’m just getting you where you need to go and stealing some of your time.”
“You flew here just to pick up lil’ ol’ me?” I bat my lashes at him. “You’re supposed to be Mr. Clean and Green. I’m really disappointed in your carbon footprint.”
“You know what they say about a man with a big carbon footprint,” he says toggling his brows suggestively.
“Oh, God. That was awful. Your conservation jokes suck.”
“Who needs to make jokes when I can make money?” he asks, laughing when I roll my eyes. “And I’m manufacturing sports bras from plastic bottles. I think I’m okay flying every once in a while.”
“You are? How did I miss this? I need a good sports bra.”
“We can’t keep them in stock. Mill loves them, but I’m gonna go out on a limb and say you won’t be needing a bra tonight.”
“Wow.” I lift both brows and try to ignore how his words are flirting with sensitive spots on my body. “Aren’t you confident?”
He drops his eyes down over me and he draws his bottom lip between his teeth. “I like to think of it as hopeful.”
“Who am I to steal a man’s hope?”
We climb the short set of steps lowered from the plane. He snaps the curtain closed behind us, and I barely have time to absorb the luxuriously appointed cabin before he pulls me down into one of the oversize leather seats, across his lap. He thrusts one hand into my hair, guiding my face down to his, and licks hungrily into my mouth.
“Maxim.” I laugh into the kiss. “We haven’t even taken off yet.”
“I’m making up for lost time.”
“The last week?” I ask, kissing down his chin and to the strong rise of his throat from his sweater.
“The last week, the last decade. The last hour.” His hand ventures under my blouse to squeeze my breast. I gasp, leaning deeper into his palm. “You hungry?”
“Very.” I shift to straddle him, roll my hips over him, groaning at the way his hardness relieves some of the sexual pressure I feel, but also stokes it higher. He holds me still while he thrusts up, teasing me through my clothes with what I want naked. I want to tear his clothes off, burn mine, and celebrate this new thing between us right on this leather seat.
The curtain pulls open, and I glance over my shoulder to find a blond flight attendant who looks completely shocked to see some strange woman straddling her boss.
“Mr. Cade,” she gasps. “I’m so sorry.”
She starts backing out through the curtain.
“It’s okay, Laura,” Maxim breathes heavily into the curve of my neck. He strokes my back and tu
cks my head into his shoulder, hiding my flaming face. “Dinner?”
“Yes, sir. Cook says it’s ready.”
“Thank you. Bring it in.” He kisses my hair. “We’re starving.”
Once I hear the curtain close, I laugh and pull back to look at him. “Well that wasn’t embarrassing at all.”
“She’s paid not to be awkward.”
I thread my fingers through his, looking at our hands instead of at him. “You mean when you bring women on your plane to make out?”
“I’m thirty-eight years old. I don’t ‘make out’ anymore.” He lifts my chin and holds my stare. “And I haven’t brought a woman with me like this before.”
I roll my eyes. “Tell me another one, Doc. You expect me to believe you haven’t gone all mile-high club with other women?”
The humor fades from his expression, leaving a sober cast. “I do expect you to believe it. It’s true. I learned the hard way to be really careful about who I allow into my private space, into my private life. Even the most authentic people develop ulterior motives when they see just how much you could do for them.”
“I feel honored then,” I tell him softly. “Was there never a woman you thought might be the one? Your Russian princess maybe?” I pretend to study the cream and black leather and gold accents of the décor so he won’t see the jealousy I’m sure brews in my eyes.
“Katya’s a great girl. She really is, and I can’t deny we had a wild couple of days a few years ago.”
I stuff a feral scream and tamp down the urge to yank a handful of blond strands from her scalp.
“But she’s never been here.” He tips my chin up again. “Just you, Nix.”
I search his eyes and find what looks like the truth. Some of the tension in my shoulders drains and I smile. The curtain opens again, and Laura rolls in a large cart bearing several silver domes.
Maxim shifts me off his lap so he can get up and take the seat across from me. Laura rolls the table between us. There’s chicken, seafood, potatoes, asparagus, salad, and even some rich chocolate-ganache-looking thing.
“Thank you,” I murmur to Laura.
The Kingmaker Page 29
