“Keep going.”
“Okay.” She coughed into her hand and pushed her glasses up to the bridge of her nose. “The Office of the President of the United States should be held by an individual who has actual solutions to change America for the better. We need to fix the things that are broken. We need to remember the principles upon which America was founded. This country needs a drastic new approach before it’s too late. Change is never easy, but if we do things as they’ve always been done, America will stagnate even more.
“If you’re sitting here tonight, it means you have questions and want answers. You’re here because you care, because you want to know what I plan to do. You want to make sure I have real solutions to the problems that matter—the economy, national security, the ability of future generations to fully embrace the freedoms past generations have fought and died for. No one can truly be free without economic security. No one can truly be free when our enemies threaten our very existence.”
Georgie pushed up, shifting her body so she was sitting cross-legged on the bed. “Ugh. It sucks. Totally and completely.”
“It doesn’t totally and completely suck.”
“But it sucks.” She sighed loudly, grabbed her hair and twisted it on top of her head. Jabbing her pen into the messy bun, she made a show of ripping up the top sheet of the yellow legal pad. “Maybe your father is right. Maybe you do need that team he keeps trying to shove down your throat.”
She looked so thoroughly disheartened and sad he wanted to wrap her up in his arms and assure her everything would be okay. He grabbed a washcloth and wiped the shaving cream off his face so he could do just that. Joining her on the bed, he pulled the pen from her hair so it cascaded around her shoulders. He loved the silken fall of it, loved the way it played through his fingers when he kissed her, which he did at that moment.
“Love your hair down,” he murmured. Leaning in, he teased her bottom lip, nipping lightly before claiming her mouth. “What’s wrong, sweet pea?”
“Nothing.”
“Georgie.”
She sighed and leaned against his shoulder. “I hate doctors.”
He furrowed his brow, trying to follow her non sequitur.
“My yearly checkup is this morning at ten,” she explained.
He zeroed in on her mouth again, this time using his tongue instead of his teeth. After a long moment he put enough space between them that he could see her face. “It’s just a physical, honey.”
“Guys have it easy,” she groused.
Only then did he understand. This wasn’t just a yearly physical, this was a yearly...exam. “Oh.”
Georgie nodded solemnly. “Oh is right.”
“Want me to go with you?”
Blushing furiously, she shoved at his shoulder and scrambled away. “Ewww. No! Nada. Nyet. Nope.” Then she laughed. “Thanks for the offer, but I’m a big girl and the tabloids would have a field day if they caught us together at my ob-gyn’s office.”
“Good point.”
“I get first dibs on the shower.”
“I have a better idea. Let’s save water.” He waggled his brows, rolled off the bed and scooped her into his arms, losing his towel along the way.
The shower was hot and steamy, which had nothing to do with the water temperature and everything to do with tongues and hands. Afterward, Clay dried Georgie off and sent her to get dressed with a pat on her very sweet, heart-shaped behind while he finally finished shaving. He had a meeting with that blasted election team so he could get them out of his hair. He didn’t need or want them and he’d counted on Georgie—and Boone—to be there, to show they were a team. Still, he couldn’t begrudge her the time for this appointment. He needed to take a page from his younger brothers and put his foot down where his father was concerned. He didn’t need backup for that. He could handle the old man. And he would. Or else.
Twelve
Had it only been a month? Georgie peeked out the curtains of Clay’s townhouse, frowning at the throng of photographers swarming the sidewalk outside his gate. She texted Hunt with the situation and received a reply that a car would pick them up in the alley behind Clay’s garage.
The story had snowballed after the blurry picture of them appeared in that tabloid after the state dinner, and Parker Grace had led the charge. Talk about the poster child for Women Scorned Anonymous. Even now, Parker was camped outside with a cameraman.
Clay jogged down the stairs and cocked his head. “Georgie?”
“We have to go out the back. Hunt’s bringing a car.”
“I take it the herd is restless?”