“Now, there’s a man here from Archer Holdings to meet with you, and he’d like to talk with you-”
“Ms. Archer, they need some shots with some of the museum trustees.” I’m still shaking my head furiously, my mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water, when one of my staffers scurries over and starts to tug me by the arm; yanking me away from Donald before I can even come up with anything to say. I turn back, look over my shoulder to yell something like ‘We’re not done talking about this,’ but they’re already pushing me in front of the wall of flashing lights and clicking cameras and back into the spotlight where I can’t look like I want to break something.
By the time they’re done, my face is feeling sore from all the fake smiles, and my palms are slick from other people’s sweaty handshakes; the hazards of the campaign trail they never tell you about.
I’m extricating myself from the stuffy museum board of directors and scanning the room for another glass of champagne when I hear it - his voice; the voice from my past and the voice I haven’t heard in five years.
“Hey, Princess.”
I turn and he’s just there, standing in the flesh right in front of me. I feel my breath catch in my throat as I suddenly look up into the bluest, most piercing eyes I’ve ever seen, and then I feel my pulse actually skip a beat as I fully grasp the man they’re attached to. He’s even more gorgeous than he was back then, in that unbelievable, magazine-model way.
His dark hair is slicked back to one side, and beneath those stunning eyes is a cocky grin stretched across a strong, chiseled jaw, marked on one side by just the faintest white line of a scar across his clean-shaven chin. He’s the same infuriatingly hot dichotomy he was five years ago. The perfectly tailored tuxedo and gleaming silver watch on his wrist screaming money, but the teasing glimpses of tattoo ink creeping out from beneath his French cuff sleeves or the neck of his linen shirt. His lips part as he grins at me.
I know those lips.
Suddenly Donald is there, beaming at this stunningly good looking man as if he’s the one running for a Senate seat instead of me. “Ahh, good, you’ve met!”
I’d almost want to laugh if my body wasn’t suddenly frozen in time where I stand.
Yeah, we’ve met.
I completely tune Donald out as I lock eyes with the brooding and handsome man grinning that goddamn smug smile at me that hasn’t changed a bit in five fucking years. He might be a little bit older and a little bit more polished looking now, but suddenly my body is remembering exactly how I know Hudson Banks.
I know how his body feels pressed against mine, how his hands feel on the skin at the small of my back, and how his lips taste. This time, we’re sipping champagne at a $5,000 a ticket political fundraising event, instead of moaning into each other’s mouths as he grinds that hardness into my thigh, making my whole body melt for him.
It’s been five years since that night; five years since I was at my lowest - drunk, confused, and grieving. Five years since I completely embarrassed myself by dragging this man away from the crowds at my father’s wake and attacking him like some sort of hot mess, and five years since he pushed me away from him and suddenly walked out, leaving me utterly mortified and even worse than I was before.
And in five goddamn years, I haven’t been able to get him out of my head.
Donald is smiling benignly at me as he fawns over the smugly handsome man grinning that cocky smirk at me. “As I was saying, Mr. Banks, as you may know, works for your father’s comp-”
“We’ve met” I say it with an icy tone, trying to look everywhere else in the room but Hudson’s eyes. “And this isn’t happening, Donald.” I shake my head, my jaw set as I grind my teeth together. I’m furious, and of course embarrassed like I was that night all over again, and all I want to do is walk away from this entire horrible exchange right now.
“It is happening, Reagan.” Donald’s voice is firm and he shoots me a warning look. “This is happening or there is no campaign-”
“Then fine, there’s no campaign. It’s been a pleasure working with you, Donald.” I spit out.
“Well, nice to see you haven’t changed at all, Ray.” He says with a chuckle. He’s got that fucking smirk on his face, that cocky grin that I once found unbelievably attractive, and then I feel my face burn red as I realize I still do.
He’s even more attractive now than he was back then; healthier, his eyes even sharper, those broad shoulders even stronger looking as they stretch the tuxedo just enough to show off. I’m remembering those shoulders now, and the way my hand felt hot against that hard, chiseled chest; his hands on my skin as I breathed and whimpered into his mouth.