Ironically, as with my boy, I quickly realize my plan regarding Susa needs rapid revision, a tactical response.
Owen wants her, but will never take steps on his own to claim her. Just like he really wants to hold office, but will never achieve it if left to his own devices. Besides not having an ounce of self-confidence, he doesn’t have the cut-throat DNA to make it through the grueling slog of a campaign.
I will need someone like Susa to help Owen’s career.
More accurately, I’ll need someone with Susa’s connections.
Meaning her father.
Plus, as convinced as I am that I can win Owen over, I know it would only be one part of the overall issue I’d have by doing so. It would make me happy—and I’d definitely kill myself to make Owen happy—but it would cause both of us problems in the process.
Meaning alienating my family.
Meaning sacrificing his dream career.
Meaning the fact that I know how much Owen wants kids.
At the close of the evening, when Owen excuses himself to the bathroom and leaves the living room, all of these things flash through my mind in the time it takes me to formulate the snap judgment to stand and silently approach Susa from behind.
I think that’s when I make the decision to claim Susa, and thereby guarantee I will win Owen’s heart. Walking away from Owen isn’t possible for me. Not when the more I learn about him, the more Ihaveto have him. I want to teach him about unconditional acceptance. I want to give him the stability and positive reinforcement he craves.
I want to hold him and breathe him in while he helps keep my nightmares at bay.
I want to show him the true face of love.
I’d be lying if I said I didn’t want to be the man standing in the shadows behind Owen when he gets elected as our state’s governor.
Selfish?
Absofuckinglutely. I’ll own that. Every bit of it. Unapologetically.
Iama bastard, after all.
I want him to bemine, and I know I’ll do nearly anything to have him. Including making sacrifices of my own to make his dreams come true and make him happy.
Step one stands directly in front of me.
When she turns and realizes I’m standing right behind her, the way her blue eyes widen hardens my cock. Not because she’s beautiful—which she is—but because of the fear I see sweep through her gaze before it flashes over to something else I can also recognize and appreciate.
Hunger.
Need.
Desire.
Her lips part as I stare down at her.
“Youreallywant to be governor?” I ask.
She nods, but it’s the way her pupils flare a little at that, her sharp intake of breath.
She doesn’t just want it—sheneedsit.
Sheneedsthat future to nourish her soul every bit as badly as I need Owen to nourish mine.
“I do,” she whispers.
“I want Owen to be governor. He wants it, but he’d never go for it on his own.” I let the pause hang in the space between us and make it more than obvious I’m checking her out. “I don’t want to hurt him.”
