The Phoenix Candidate(9)

Jared follows me to the living room, his eyes taking in the modern glass and leather furniture, the cacti that manage to survive while I’m gone in D.C., the lack of personalization.

“Homey,” he says, and his sarcasm gets my hackles up.

“It’s not like I have tons of time to decorate,” I snipe at him. “I have bigger issues to tackle.”

“Where’s the bedroom?” He ignores my attempt to have us sit at the dining room table and wanders to the back of my condo without waiting for permission.

“What are you doing?” I find him pushing open both closet doors, inspecting my clothes on hangers, pulling items out and tossing them across the bed.

He ignores me.

“I said, what are you doing?”

“Picking out clothes. What does it look like?” He shakes his head as if that’s all the explanation necessary and continues pawing through my closet.

“Don’t you think this is a bit too personal?” I intend it as a rhetorical question, but he takes it at face value, and he grasps the lapels of my gray silk jacket.

“I can assure you, Grace, that going through your closet is the least personal thing I’ll be doing with you.” He draws me closer, his drawl becoming a rasp. “Since it matters to voters what you wear, we’re going to do this. Now.”

I stand my ground even though his fingers distract me, stroking me through the suit’s material. “Cut it out.”

“No. You promised Senator Conover you’d cooperate.”

“And if I don’t?”

“There are plenty of other things we could be doing in this room.” He glances at my wide, white bed. He releases my lapel with one hand and fingers the edge of my yellow blouse by my collarbone, following its dip into my cleavage.

My nipples tighten and my sheer lace bra isn’t enough to disguise them. Jared sees my reaction and smiles, his thumb brushing one nipple’s tip.

“Then I’ll be reporting back to the senator on exactly what you are and are not willing to do.” He licks his lips, a glint in his eye.

“You wouldn’t dare.”

“Dare what? Dare to pick apart your wardrobe based on twenty years of polling data? That’s part of my job, Grace. Dare to touch you so I can hear you scream my name again? That has nothing to do with my job, Grace, but everything to do with what I need right now.”

I draw a ragged breath, thoroughly off-kilter by this man who runs hot and cold.

“This is wrong.” I push back against his chest, trying to give myself room to breathe when it feels like all of the air is gone.

“Really.” Jared runs his hand up the nape of my neck, plucking at my dark curls that I pinned into a twist before I went to meet the senator. “Tell me more.”

“It’s—we can’t—you’re supposed to be doing a job right now.” He pushes my jacket off my shoulders and it drops to the floor.

“And you don’t want to mix business with pleasure?” He pulls the yellow blouse from the waistband of my slacks, pushing it up my stomach and pulling it over my head.

“Yes.” He drops to one knee, his lips closing over my nipple. Even though it’s still encased in my bra, I whimper.

“Say that again.”

“What?”

“Yes.”

This time his teeth rake over my nipple and I hiss yessss as his tongue darts out, teasing the bud, flicking it.

“I have no problem mixing business with pleasure,” Jared says, sliding my bra down my arms. “Especially when there are so many possibilities.”

I hiss again and my breath comes fast as he licks and sucks and tortures my nipples with slow strokes. His teeth are out, nips that are not gentle, not innocent, and not enough.

I need more.

I press my thighs together, my lower half still completely dressed while my top half is naked. I was so close to climax in the hotel suite, and now I’m there again, spiraling as Jared pulls my nipple into his mouth. Each tug from his mouth pulls threads leading straight to my center, tugging at a ripcord, begging for release.

I sigh or cry, some kind of ahhh that begs him to never stop. My fingers wind through his hair and I make a mess of it, loving the feel of his stubble on my skin, the scratch and scrape that electrify me with each movement.

It makes my skin feel alive. It makes me feel alive. It’s Sunday morning and I’m half dressed and I’m moaning like a freaking teenager, begging him to just touch me and take me where I want and need to be. Right the hell now.

A knock on my front door freezes me. Fuck.

Who the hell? What the hell?

Jared’s lips quirk up, and doesn’t he know that I’m all hot and bothered and dying right now? “Expecting someone?”