I push her back against the wall, holding her body with the pressure of mine, and lift her arms straight into the air, holding them with one hand. “Reagan.” My lips are hovering above hers. “Say you’re mine and only mine.”
Her legs wrap tighter around my waist, and her chest is pushed up toward my face. “I’m only yours,” she says in a breathy tone, staring me straight in the eyes.
I pin her hands against the wall and bring my lips down to her neck. “I don’t share,” I growl against her skin as she digs her heels into my ass, pulling our bodies closer.
My lips blaze a path down her neck to her cleavage, and I instantly regret our position. I want to worship her body, but I can’t with her pinned against the wall. I release her hands, and my mouth connects with her as I carry her toward the couch.
“I’ve missed you,” she whispers into my mouth when her body lands against the cushions, and I cover her with my weight.
I lean on one arm and stare down into her beautiful big eyes. “I missed you too,” I confess as I trace the spot where her bra strap meets her flesh before pulling them down her arms one by one.
Just as I’m lowering my mouth to her nipple, there’s a knock at the door. Reagan goes rigid, and my eyes dart to hers. “It’s probably housekeeping. Ignore them,” I tell her because the last thing I want to do is stop.
She nods, pulling her lip into her mouth, and starts to settle back into the cushions.
Two more knocks, but louder this time. “Jude. Answer the damn door,” Carl says.
Reagan’s hands collide with my chest as she pushes me off her. “Fuck,” Reagan whispers. “What the fuck am I going to do?” She rushes to the pile of clothes on the floor and holds them in a bundle against her chest with a look of sheer panic.
I roll to my side and watch her. “Gimme a second!” I call out to Carl to pacify him for a few seconds.
“Hurry up,” he replies.
“Go into the bedroom. He won’t go in there.”
“Get rid of him,” she says, scurrying away with her bra still hanging down her shoulders and the clothes, including my shirt, in her hands.
After the door closes and Reagan’s tucked away, I adjust myself and open the door. “What?”
Carl’s standing outside with a giant smile and a manila folder. “I have it,” he says, brushing right by me.
“What do you have?”
He waves the folder in my face. “I have the very thing to bring down Senator Preston.”
“I’m not running against him, Carl. We’ve been through this shit before.” I walk over to the bar and pour myself a drink. “Want one?” I ask because if I don’t, something will seem off.
“No, I’m not staying. I just wanted to hand-deliver these myself. I know we’ve been over it and that you’re running against Reagan, but you’re running against the family name, not just a person.”
No matter how many times I’ve told him to stop digging into the Preston family, Carl hasn’t listened. “What do you think you have?” I ask, knowing full well Reagan can hear, but I don’t want to take any chances and have Carl stick around longer than he needs to be here. She’s my priority at the moment, not her father’s good name.
“He’s been having an affair with a much younger woman. I have photos that prove it.” Carl throws the folder onto the counter next to me and the photos slide out.
The first photo is of Reagan’s father with his arm slung around a woman’s shoulders, and he’s smiling. Using the back of my fingertips, I push aside the photo and reveal the next. He’s kissing the woman on the cheek while they embrace.
“So you want me to out her father as a philanderer?”
“Their entire platform is based on family values, and here’s the proof that it’s a lie. People are voting for her because of her name.” He moves to my side and spreads the photos out more. “Ruin the name, end the candidacy.”
“Leave these with me, and let me think about it overnight,” I tell him before taking a sip of whiskey.
“You passed up too many chances to bring her down, Jude. This is your last chance to tie up your victory before Election Day. If we put these photos out there, then the campaign is over.”
“I’ll think about it, Carl,” I growl.
“Don’t think too long.” He walks toward the door and pauses. “Election Day is near. We won’t have too many chances like this left,” he tells me before walking out, slamming the door on his way.
A few moments later, the bedroom door opens and Reagan walks out, dressed and crying. “It can’t be true. My dad wouldn’t do this to my mom.”
