Especially that first one. The kiss. His lips have been all over my body, but never on my mouth. What the hell is that about? My eyes drop to his mouth, tracing the angles of his lips.
“You’re thinking dangerous thoughts, Grace. I can tell.” His hand skates along my lower back, stroking a sliver of exposed skin between my tank and shorts.
“Maybe I’m just thinking about the campaign. What it could be like.”
“It’s good to anticipate,” he says, and a hand darts out and flicks my nipple.
I pull back, trying to muster a little outrage. “What was that for?”
“Anticipation. I can see your thoughts. When your nipples got hard just looking at me.”
I drop my gaze to his chest, his stomach, and the obvious bulge in his shorts. I swallow and lick my lips. “You’re turning me into a horny teenager.”
“Maybe that’s not such a bad thing.” His hand returns to my breast, making little circles over my tank top. “As long as you can maintain some self-control…”
I gasp as he plucks my nipple into a hard bud, then his hand moves lower, over my stomach, flicking open the top button of my shorts.
“Self-control?” I manage through gritted teeth. “What is this? You’ve got no…”
I can’t make any more words, not when his fingers find me. Not when my moisture slicks my cleft as his fingers dive between my legs. He reignites the flame that’s been on a slow burn all day, the one that’s been denied not once but twice.
“We’re in public,” I hiss, fearful a kayaker or paddle boarder will navigate down the narrow channel and find us like this.
“We’re almost fully clothed.” Jared’s fingers move faster, twisting and plunging, flicking my clit so hard I squirm. “And you’ve earned a little agony after dumping me in the river.”
“Oh no.” I grab his hand a split second before he pulls it away. I force it back between my legs, grinding against his fingers, demanding. “You will finish what you fucking started.”
My breath comes in sharp pants and my nails dig into his arm where I’ve anchored him in place. His fingers move, no longer a tease but a lusty, demanding dance. I bite down on my lip and squeeze my eyes shut, feeling the exact moment when my spiral winds tight enough, when his frenzied flicking tips me over the edge, when I come undone.
I gasp and clench and hold him against me until my breathing slows. Then I open my eyes, staring into his liquid brown ones, a hint of amusement playing on his lips. “Don’t you dare tease me again,” I growl.
“Is that a threat?” He withdraws his hand from my shorts, skimming it up my belly, across my breasts. He opens his mouth and sucks, licking my taste off of them. “If this is what happens when I tease you, I’d like to see what happens when I give you everything you want.”
Chapter Ten
“Earth tones,” Jared mutters, tossing another suit onto the growing stack on my bed. He’s making a wreck of my closet as he builds two piles of clothes.
“Exactly what am I supposed to do with these?”
“Those you hang back up,” he says, pointing to one pile of clothes. “These”—he points to the other, larger pile—“you retire to storage. They’re not what’s going to work on the campaign.”
“But I love this dress!” I say, pulling a graphic-print Diane Von Furstenberg wrap dress from the “store” pile. Paired with heeled boots, it’s easy and chic.
“It’s too low-cut in front, not structured enough compared to a suit, and the print isn’t going to look good on TV,” Jared says.
“What’s wrong with this one?” I grab a lavender dress with black pick-stitching.
“Too frilly. Unless you’re hosting the Easter egg hunt on the White House lawn, it’s not appropriate for a VP. It’s a first lady dress.”
“Noted.” My mouth forms a thin line. I hold up the next offending garment. “And this green?”
“Green’s tricky—sometimes it suggests jealousy or greed, sometimes it suggests money or nature. That green’s too much of a jewel tone. You need more earth tones.”
“Well, thank you Mr. Fashion Consultant.” My voice drips with sarcasm. “So you hate some green, most purple, prints, stripes, metallics, and … gray’s an earth tone. What’s wrong with this?” I point to a pale gray suit.
“That suit will wash you out.”
“And this black one?”
“Doesn’t photograph well. The suit with the white piping works because it defines your lapel. But the all-black one is just going to look like a blob.”