I know Jordan won’t do something that will end up in the tabloids, nothing scandalous. That’s not him, not his style. I know he would never blemish what is supposed to be my big night.
Doesn’t mean he won’t put me through devious, sadistic hell to trigger my territorial instincts when it comes to him. Instincts he damned well knows I have.
When I focus on Leo again he’s talking to someone and turned away from me. The music is rocking now, too. The DJ has the crowd slamming. Everyone’s in a mood for a party.
I’m thinking about making my way toward Jordan when I get waylaid by the Speaker of the House, who wants to bend my ear for a moment. When I’m finally able to glance back at Jordan I see he’s already moved on to talk to someone else and now the man I’ve selected to nominate as my Secretary of Labor wants to introduce me to his wife.
I lose track of Jordan and Leo for the next fifteen minutes. When I locate Jordan he’s bouncing around in the middle of the dance floor with a couple hot guys I think are House or Senate staffers, along with a few women. In fact, I spot Senator Liam Davis and his hubby, congressional aide Daniel Walker, out there with everyone, dancing and living it up. It’s apparently turned into a dance off and Jordan’s deep in the middle of a very boisterous crowd who’s cheering for him and the others.
The DJ notices and starts egging them on, meaning the people watching them get into it even more and the crowd surrounding them deepens.
Liam Davis and Daniel Walker join the fray. My fingernails dig into my palms and I force myself to maintain my chill and keep a smile plastered on my face and pretend I don’t give a damn.
But I do.
I don’t want my Sir dancing with anyone other than Leo, innocently or not.
When Jordan’s gaze catches mine I spot his evil smile. He’s deliberately trying to bait me into coming over and dragging him off the dance floor.
Or join him. I’m sure Jordan would be happy either way.
Meanwhile I’m pretending I’m having a great time and not dying a little inside without Jordan and Leo flanking me.
Jordan’s tux jacket comes off, as do the jackets of several other guys, much to the joy of the women and a few of the men surrounding them.
Yeeeaaah, that’s not mere territoriality churning my gut.
It’s white-hot jealousy in an ugly shade of bright, screaming, neon green.
I now control our nation’s nuclear arsenal and I can’t muster the balls to step onto the dance floor between my guy and the guys—and girls—who are actively ogling him.
“He looks good out there, doesn’t he?” I somehow don’t startle when Leo softly speaks into my right ear.
My jaw clenches. I pretend like I’m taking a sip from my bottle of water so I can hide my mouth. “Can’t youdosomething?” I softly grit.
“‘Do something,’MisterPresident?”
“Yes,MisterCruz.Do.Something.”
I don’t have to look to know Leo’s grinning. “Oh, I don’t know,” he drawls. “Like what, would you suggest?”
I belatedly remember to put my hand up to my mouth, like I’m coughing this time. “Stophim!”
“Why?”
I check myself and lower my voice. “What do you meanwhy? Is it notobvious?”
Leo wears a smirk that normally hardens me but I can’t drag my gaze from the sight of Jordan dancing with some woman who’s grinding on him. When I realize my free hand’s making an angry fist I force myself to open it and shake it to relax. Under my right cuff I feel my chainmail bracelet against my wrist.
My day collar.
“I see people having fun, Mister President. Celebrating your inauguration.” He takes a sip of his drink. “Not sure why you think that’s a bad thing.”
“I didn’t say it’s a bad thing, I said—” I swallow back my indignation because I spot the gleam in his eyes.
The sadism.
Fuck.
