Jess groans, burying her face against my neck. “Do we have to? I’m not sure I can look your mom in the eye after what we did in your childhood bedroom.”
“Come on. Let’s shower.” I start to pull the sheets off of her, and her eyes darken momentarily before she shakes her head.
“Not unless you want to explain to your family why we’re both an hour late to breakfast.”
“Fine. Rain check, then.”
I watch as she gathers her clothes and disappears into the bathroom with one last glance over her shoulder.
Then I head into the hallway bath. There, under the spray of the shower, I try to make sense of what’s happening between us. When did Jess Lexington, the journalist who’s been the bane of my professional existence for years, become the woman I can’t stop thinking about?
I grow hard at the memory of her body pressed against mine, and I wrap my hands around my cock, stroking it to the thought of touching her again tonight. Jesus, we haven’t even slept together, and I’m already addicted to her. It doesn’t take long before I find my release and know it’s done little to curb my desire.
After the shower, I quickly dress and head downstairs, where I find my mother standing at the stove, peeking into the oven while Lance nurses a cup of coffee at the counter. Lucy and her husband are already seated at the table, deep in conversation about some political fundraiser they’re organizing next month.
And there, at the head of the table, sits my father.
Logan Carmichael is still an imposing figure at sixty-four: silver-haired, broad-shouldered, with the practiced smile of a career politician and eyes that miss nothing. He’s studying the morning paper, but his attention shifts immediately when I enter the room.
“The newlywed emerges,” he announces, his voice carrying that familiar cadence perfected over decades of campaign speeches. “I was beginning to think you’d sleep through my return.”
“Dad,” I acknowledge, pouring myself a coffee. “Thought you weren’t getting back until later.”
“The meeting wrapped early.” His eyes assess me with the calculating precision I’ve known all my life. “You look rested.”
I can’t help the smile that tugs at my lips. “I am.”
My mother glances over her shoulder, her expression warming. “Lucas, sweetheart, there you are. Where’s Jess?”
“Getting ready,” I answer as I take a seat across from Lucy. “She’ll be down soon.”
“She made quite an impression last night,” my mother says, pulling the casserole out of the oven. “She knew so much about all of us, even your brother and sister.”
“That’s Jess,” I say, feeling an unexpected surge of pride. “She does her research.”
“I suppose that’s useful in her line of work,” my father comments. His tone is neutral but loaded with unspoken judgment. “Entertainment journalism, is it?”
“She hosts one of the most respected industry podcasts in Los Angeles,” I reply, keeping my voice even. “She’s built it from nothing into a powerhouse.”
My father’s eyebrows lift slightly with an air of skepticism. “Hmm. A podcast. Isn’t that what everyone’s doing these days?”
Jess walks in, completely unbothered. “Maybe. But not everyone interviews Oscar winners, breaks exclusives, or gets invited to speak on industry panels. I do.”
She says it calmly, almost casually, like she’s listing the ingredients of a salad, not rattling off receipts that could silence a room.
Standing there in fitted jeans and a simple white blouse that somehow makes her eyes look even bluer, her hair is pulled back in a loose ponytail, she looks fresh and confident—and so goddamn beautiful that my heart actually skips.
My father rises, a professional smile firmly in place as he crosses to her. “Ms. Lexington, a pleasure to finally meet you. I’m Senator Logan Carmichael.”
“Senator.” She takes his outstretched hand firmly. “I believe we actually met briefly at a press conference in Sacramento three years ago. You dodged my question about campaign finance reform.”
A beat of silence falls over the kitchen before my father laughs. Its genuineness catches me off guard. “I don’t recall the incident, but it sounds entirely possible. Please, join us for breakfast.”
Jess slides into the chair beside me, and her hand finds mine under the table and squeezes briefly. The simple gesture steadies me in a way I wasn’t expecting.
“I look forward to seeing you both at the gala this evening. It’s our biggest fundraiser of the year for the foundation,” my father continues as he returns to his seat.
“I’ve been reading up on your education initiatives,” Jess says, accepting a plate from my mother with a warm smile. “It’s impressive how many people you are able to support each year.”
