When my eyes dip, following the curve of her neck, a tattoo on her shoulder catches my eye. For a moment, I’m in shock. Etched in cursive is the phraseCourage is endurance for one moment more…
I’m not sure what stuns me more—the fact that Reagan has a tattoo or that the words could just as easily decorate my skin because I’ve lived them.
Reagan stirs and I hold my breath, not ready for this moment to end. “Jude,” she whispers before she covers her eyes with the back of her hand to block out the sunlight. “What time is it?”
I peer out the window, seeing the sun just inches from the horizon. “It’s around seven.” My grip tightens before she has the chance to pull away.
“Lexi will be coming to my room soon.”
My face dips forward, and I rest my lips against the curve of her neck. She smiles, blinking away the sleep. “I have to shower.”
“You smell wonderful,” I tell her before kissing a trail up to her ear.
She squirms against me, and the hard-on that had finally vanished starts to reemerge. “I smell like you.”
There’s nothing between us but her thin nightie, my boxers, and my hard-as-rock dick. “Would it be so bad to smell like me the entire day?”
She closes her eyes, and pain flashes across her face. She wiggles free from my arms, rubbing just right against my cock, and I try to pull her back down. “Don’t,” she whispers, glancing down at me over her shoulder. “I have to go, Jude, before I can’t—” Her voice trails off.
I know she’s shutting down and already trying to mentally disconnect from me. “You don’t have to leave.” My hand trails a path down her back to avoid breaking contact.
She crawls to the other side of the bed and swings her legs over the edge. “We can’t do this again, Jude.” Her eyes are closed and her shoulders slumped, but I don’t believe a word she’s saying.
I resist the urge to reach for her and pull her back into my arms. There’s nothing I want more in this moment. “How can we not? I can’t deny there’s something more than lust between us, Reagan. My soul craves you.”
“Your body does. Don’t get them confused,” she replies, staring down at the carpeting with an unreadable expression.
“I won’t deny that I want you, but there’s more to it,” I admit hesitantly and rub my forehead before pushing myself upright into a sitting position in the middle of the bed.
She shakes her head and blows out a shaky breath. “It doesn’t matter.” Using her arms, she pushes herself off the bed and faces me but keeps her eyes cast downward. “We’re opponents in the biggest political race in the state, Jude. No matter what we feel, what we want…this can’t happen.”
My eyes can’t look anywhere else but her. I’m grief-stricken, memorizing this moment. “If things were different—if I weren’t your opponent, would youwantto be with me?”
She stops just inside the doorway connecting our rooms. She glances up and faces me, bringing her eyes to mine. “Yes.” She takes a step backward, and I hold out my hand to her.
“Reagan.”
A tear glistens on her cheek, and she wipes it away with the back of her fingers. “Good-bye, Jude,” she says softly and closes the door.
Chapter 14
The next coupleweeks fly by in a haze. I’m campaigning hard, my bus traveling up and down the state so I can meet with union groups, attend rallies, and try to reach new voters.
From the news coverage I catch up on every morning, I can see that Jude is working at the same pace. He seems to be in the zone, now comfortable answering questions from reporters. Photos show veterans rallying around him and women gazing at him like looks are all they need in their next senator.
I can’t deny I stare at those photos on my phone, remembering the night I slept in his arms. When I’m looking up at the ceiling of whatever hotel I’m in every night, I think of Jude and wonder if he’ll have another nightmare. I wonder if they happen every night. I wonder if anyone is there to comfort him if they do, and I secretly hope not. It’s selfish of me, but I can’t stand the thought of him finding solace in another woman’s arms.
We can’t be together, and yet his texts make my heart pound like nothing else. Whether they’re playful or serious, just seeing his messages on the screen of my phone stirs something in me I’ve never felt before.
I’m at my parents’ house for a rare day off. I’m stretched out on a patio lounger after helping my mom make lunch on the grill and clean up. Full of barbecue chicken and potato salad, I’m about to check out for a nap when my dad comes outside and sits down next to me.
“How’s it going?” he asks.
He means the campaign. My mom steered the conversation away from it during lunch, for which I was grateful. I have nothing else to talk about since the campaign is my life, but it was nice to hear Mom catch me up on what’s going on at home.
“Good,” I say cautiously. I dread these conversations, not knowing when he’ll pounce on my words.
“You’ve been doing outstanding, Reagan. Coming off really strong in interviews. Your poll numbers are solid, but I think we can edge them up some. Overall, I’m pleased, though.”
