Where There's Smoke

by L. A. Witt

  “I know the feeling.” He touched my face. “I’ve already put my wife through hell, and I could see a secret relationship being hell for you. I mean it when I say if you don’t want to deal with the drama, you don’t have to stay.”

  “If I wasn’t willing, I wouldn’t be here. Normally I’d never dream of getting involved with a candidate, but…” I trailed my fingertips down the side of his face. “We’ll figure this out somehow, but I’m not going anywhere.”

  Jesse exhaled, and I swore it sounded like a sigh of relief.

  “You sound surprised,” I said.

  He laughed, his cheeks coloring a little. “I guess I was kind of nervous after you went out tonight. With Slade.”

  “Why?”

  He shifted his gaze away. “Well, I mean, you and I never exactly laid down the…rules. And I got the impression you and he weren’t just ‘old friends,’ but I wasn’t sure…”

  I smiled and caressed his face with the backs of my fingers. “We did have something at one time, but that was years ago. We’re just friends.”

  Jesse moistened his lips. “So there’s not…now…”

  “Oh, Jesse,” I breathed, combing my fingers through his hair. “You have nothing to worry about. Not with Slade, not with any man.” I drew him close to me and finally kissed him. Really kissed him. He didn’t hesitate to pull me closer and surrendered to my mouth’s demands as we lost ourselves in a kiss that was as arousing as it was reassuring.

  We’re not going anywhere.

  This isn’t going away.

  I’m here. I want you. I need you.

  When we came up for air, Jesse whispered, “I just wish things were simpler.”

  “Nothing worth doing is ever simple.” I kissed him again, lightly this time. “And I have no idea how things will play out after the election. What I do know is that we’re here, the door is locked, and please tell me you have condoms.”

  “Plenty,” he growled and kissed me.

  We slipped out of our clothes and under the covers. For the longest time, we just held on to each other, hot skin against hot skin, and made out like we had all the time in the world. Maybe the secrecy wasn’t so bad. We couldn’t sit in a restaurant and stare longingly at each other or touch like other couples could. We couldn’t steal a kiss out in public or mention our relationship to anyone else.

  But this? Even if we’d shouted our relationship from the rooftops and plastered it all over the headlines, this was ours alone. A secret I’d gladly keep because no one in the world needed to know about it. This belonged to us and no one else.

  “You said you had condoms,” I murmured. “Where?”

  “Give me a sec.” He got out of bed and rifled through one of his suitcases. As he returned, an unopened box and a clear bottle in his hand, my mouth watered.

  Somehow, in spite of both of us shaking and trying to kiss and barely even being able to breathe, we got the condom and lube on. I started to tell him to get on his back, but he did so on his own and took me with him. We swore between kisses as I blindly tried to guide myself to him, and finally I made myself pull back and sit up. I wanted to taste him, but damn it, I needed to be inside him first.

  I held my breath as I pushed into him, and he offered no resistance. He reached back and grabbed the pillow, arching his back and swearing under his breath as I eased my cock into him. He was used to this now, taking me easily, and I didn’t worry at all that the whimper he released was one of pain.

  “Oh fuck, you feel amazing,” I whispered as I watched my cock slide deeper inside him. “God…”

  “So do you,” he said, his voice shaking. “Christ, Anthony, you’re…oh, Jesus…”

  I leaned down so I could kiss him, and Jesse wrapped his arms around me. Skin moved across skin, and we tried to kiss but failed, so we settled on moving. And breathing. And remembering how to breathe while he moved like that, and while my cock slid in and out of him, and while my body threatened to fall to pieces if Jesse took me any deeper.

  “Oh God, Jesse,” I moaned and screwed my eyes shut as I withdrew slowly. I pulled almost all the way out, then slid back in just as slowly, and I thought I whispered his name again but couldn’t be sure. I couldn’t be sure I’d breathed at all, never mind spoken.

  He lifted his head off the pillow and wrapped his arms around me, and when I kissed him, we both sank to the bed. I moved faster now, and Jesse moved with me, rocking his hips just right to complement my thrusts, keeping perfect time with me even as I picked up speed.

  I closed my eyes and buried my face against his neck, drawing in a long, deep breath through my nose, and the scent of his skin raised goose bumps along my arms. He dragged his hands down my back, the very edges of his nails burning lines down either side of my spine, and a shiver drove me deeper inside him.

  “Fuck,” he moaned. “Fuck, don’t stop…”

  I sat up and fucked him faster. Arching his back and biting his lip, Jesse stroked his cock in sync with my thrusts, and I was so close, so close, and I gritted my teeth as I fought to keep my orgasm from taking over quite yet.

  “Like that?” I asked.

  He just moaned and rolled his hips with mine, and then, just as I was sure I couldn’t hold back anymore, Jesse tensed, pulling in a sharp breath, and a second later, he shuddered. Semen dotted his abs, and I groaned as I threw my head back and let myself go. We both shook, both gasped, and I kept thrusting through my orgasm until I couldn’t hold myself up anymore and fell forward, catching myself on my arms. Then Jesse wrapped his arms around me and drew me all the way down on top of him. Our lips grazed each other, and in spite of both of us struggling to catch our breath, we kissed lazily and gently.

  I pulled out but didn’t get up. I could barely hold myself up on my arms, and I doubted my legs would be much better, so I indulged in another long-drawn-out kiss instead.

  “We really should do this more often,” I slurred.

  “Any chance we get,” he said, panting.

  “Just say the word.”

  “You won’t make me beg?”

  I laughed and bent to kiss him lightly. “Well, I never said I wouldn’t make you beg.”

  Jesse moistened his lips. “If I beg and plead now, will you do it again?” His tone was playful, but I didn’t miss the undercurrent of say the word and I’ll beg that sent electricity all the way up from the base of my spine. I had a feeling he’d beg and plead all night long if I made him, and that turned me on more than he could possibly imagine.

  “Oh, I won’t make you beg,” I murmured. Just before I kissed him, I added, “This time.”

  * * * *

  We hit the ground running the next day. A rally, a speech, an interview. Business as usual on the campaign trail, but I swore the weight on my shoulders was lighter today. The secrecy that had been gnawing me from the inside out wasn’t so bad now. Like it was no longer a burden, but a hot, sexy thing that no one needed to know about.

  Watching Jesse engage voters, speak on stages and television, and effortlessly give interviews, it wouldn’t have surprised me if everyone could see my feelings for him on my sleeve, but if they did, no one said a word. I couldn’t help it. The man mesmerized me like no one else. Charisma and stage presence like that were sexy anyway, but knowing what I did about him, he was even hotter. My mouth watered every time I watched him step into the shoes of Jesse Cameron, the future governor of California, because I knew Jesse, the insatiable, intense lover.

  And how easily he changed between personas too. For that matter, he adapted effortlessly to anything a situation demanded. Jesse was a master at shifting from a larger-than-life leader with an undeniable stage presence to a personable, down-to-earth guy in rolled-up sleeves and tennis shoes. Sitting on the edge of the stage, one hand resting casually beside him while the other held the microphone, he looked every bit like a young instructor or an older student. Maybe a graduate who’d come back to mentor current students, but certainly not a member of one of Hollywood’
s A-list dynasty or an upcoming governor.

  A microphone had been set up for students to approach and ask questions. With Jesse sitting on the edge of the stage instead of standing at the podium, he was closer to eye level instead of towering over them, and that effect wasn’t lost on the kids. Some were obviously nervous as they approached him, but not intimidated. A little stage fright, perhaps. Starstruck, maybe, especially judging by the number who asked for photos with him, which he always happily obliged.

  One by one, the students stepped up to the microphone, grilling him intently on every issue they could think of. A ponytailed girl in jeans and glasses approached. She took a deep breath, glanced at the note card in her hand, then looked up at Jesse. He offered a reassuring smile, and her posture relaxed.

  She cleared her throat. “I graduate next spring, and my biggest fear is being a barista with a bachelor’s degree.” She glanced at the card one more time before holding it behind her back and looking Jesse in the eye. “Can my classmates and I trust you with our state’s economy?”

  “Good question.” Jesse gave a slow nod, and the auditorium’s lights didn’t quite hide the blush that spread across the student’s cheeks. Alternately looking at her and the gathered students, he said, “I’d love to promise all of you that you’ll be rolling in jobs when you graduate. There’s nothing more daunting than the prospect of graduating college and not being able to find work. That said, it’s going to take time to get the economy back on its feet. Any overnight fixes you’ve heard about will ultimately end in disaster, and your generation—every generation—deserves better than that. So what I can promise you is that the economy is my absolute top priority, and I’m already working with economic experts and advisors to come up with a plan of action that we can start implementing when I’m in office. With any luck, we’ll see improvement by June, in which case, consider it my graduation gift to all of you.”

  Laughter rippled through the crowd, and the students applauded.

  The student returned to her seat, and another took her place. Jesse answered them one after another, staying personable and friendly while keeping his answers concise and beautifully devoid of political doublespeak.

  Eat your fucking heart out, John Casey.

  One student approached the microphone but had a different air about her than the others. She was nervous like they were, but somehow…different. Like there was more on her mind than just economic reform and educational funding. She clutched a small card in her hands, holding it like she was scared of both losing or destroying it.

  “I don’t have a question,” she said softly, and the unevenness in her voice wasn’t the same nervous waver a number of the other kids had had. “I just wanted to say…” She closed her eyes and took a long, deep breath. The silence lingered for a moment.

  “Go on,” Jesse said, his voice gentle.

  She opened her eyes. “I just wanted to say thank you for everything you’re doing for victims of abuse. My—” Her gaze dropped to the card in her hand, and she ran her thumb along its edge, holding it almost reverently. “My mother was…a victim. And if what you’re doing can keep other people from going through what she did—what we all did—then you definitely have my vote.”

  “Thank you,” Jesse said quietly. He gestured at the card in her hand. “Is that…”

  She looked at it again, jumping like she’d forgotten she had it at all. “My mother. I—” She put a shaking hand to her lips.

  The speakers around the auditorium echoed with a hollow tap as Jesse set his microphone on the stage beside him. Then he hoisted himself off the stage. No one in the room breathed or made a sound as Jesse crossed the short expanse of space to the distraught girl, and when he hugged her, I was sure I heard a few people sniffling.

  Jesse released her, and as she went to wipe her eyes, he quickly did the same. Then he put a hand on her shoulder and, with his other, turned her microphone away. He asked her something, and she nodded. I guessed he’d asked if she was all right, and didn’t want it broadcast to everyone present, at least not until he was sure she had collected her composure.

  From where I stood, I couldn’t hear the words they exchanged, but the student pressed the picture of her mother into Jesse’s hands. He took the photo from her, hugged her again, and she went back to her seat to the thunderous applause of her classmates.

  Still holding the photo in one hand, he picked up the microphone, and I swore his voice was a little ragged as he said, “A lot of people have asked me why domestic abuse is such an important issue to me.” He paused, possibly to collect himself, possibly to emphasize the next three words he spoke: “Now you know.”

  I swallowed hard. Under normal circumstances, their exchange would have moved anyone, even me. And under normal circumstances, moved or not, Anthony the Campaign Manager would have been mentally calculating the uptick in poll percentages that would inevitably follow once the footage hit the airwaves.

  I had no doubt the public would love this. There would be naysayers, of course. Those who claimed it was staged, those who doubted Jesse’s sincerity. With any other candidate, I wouldn’t have cared if it was sincere or staged so long as it meant more votes.

  But this time, fuck the votes. Fuck the naysayers. Fuck the election.

  Because Jesse had just made me fall that much harder for him.

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Jesse

  I’d probably never get the hang of all this campaigning crap. Political work, I could do. Elections? Still Greek to me.

  Which was why, the day after the visit to that community college, I was more than a little blown away when the story of my exchange with the student—Lisa; I’d remember her name until the day I died—hit the media like a match to kindling. I supposed I should have expected it, but it certainly hadn’t been on my mind when I’d offered her some comfort during the Q&A.

  Nothing in an election gets past anyone, though.

  Some said it was staged. A few commentators and critics insisted we had scripted everything, that we’d paid Lisa to put on that emotional display so I’d have the opportunity to endear myself to the cameras and, subsequently, the voters.

  Not everyone thought it was fake, though. Within days, letters were arriving from all over the state containing pictures of other victims and survivors. Anthony had to assign two staffers to do nothing but go through the letters and e-mails. Antiabuse groups came out of the woodwork, offering support and asking me for appearances all over the state.

  And even among those who knew the incident wasn’t staged, there were those who weren’t thrilled about it.

  “Sounds like you’ve got people’s attention,” Chris said, his voice taut, like he was gritting his teeth on the other end of the line.

  “Apparently so,” I said, leaning back in one of the chairs on my veranda. “Just wish fewer people thought it was a publicity stunt.”

  “Well, it’s not a far cry to accuse a politician of doing something strictly for votes and publicity.”

  The thinly veiled accusation set my teeth on edge, and I rolled my eyes. Maybe this wasn’t the best line of conversation to have with my brother. I took a breath, let it out, and changed the subject.

  “Listen, I’m in town for a couple of days,” I said. “Do you want to grab dinner or something?” Preferably without that creature you call a wife?

  “Sure, we can do that. When and where?”

  “Well, Anthony and Ranya are meeting me at the Landing on Heathercliff tonight.”

  “No Simone?”

  “She’s in San Diego, so it’s just us for the night.”

  He said nothing for a moment. “Yeah, I can try. What time?”

  “We’re meeting at seven.”

  “Okay, I’ll talk to Julie.”

  I mouthed a few silent curses.

  In the background, a door opened, and I swore I felt my brother tense. Then he said, “I’ll try. But no promises.” Pause. “I have to go for now. We’ll talk soon.” />
  And the line went dead.

  I sighed and set my phone on the glass-topped table. Folding my hands across my lap, I looked out at the familiar view of the Pacific. This was one of those increasingly rare afternoons when I was not only free for a few hours, but in my own home.

  And it was uncomfortable as hell.

  I’d spent the last two hours out here. Lounging. Swimming. Lounging again. I relished the downtime, but being in the house just felt weird. Maybe once the divorce was final, I’d buy a smaller place, because when this place was empty, it was downright cavernous. Hell, it was eerily empty when Simone and I were both here, but when it was just me? The emptiness fucking echoed.

  My mind drifted to Simone. I wondered how she was doing, so I glanced at the time on my phone. It was a little after four. Though I couldn’t remember the details of her schedule, maybe she was free right now. If not, I supposed she could call me back later, so I went ahead and speed-dialed her.

  After two rings, she picked up. “Hey, what’s up?”

  “Just calling to ask you the same thing,” I said.

  “Not much. Just keeping really, really busy.” Her voice was heavy and strained.

  My stomach twisted. “You holding up okay?”

  “Yeah, I’m just tired. I’m ready for a vacation, that’s for sure,” she slurred. “Anyone needs me when this election is over? Try some remote beach on Maui.”

  I laughed. “No kidding. I could use a vacation myself.”

  “Good luck with that, Governor.”

  “Gee, thanks.”

  “At least we only have a few more months of this shit,” she said, and the slur was more pronounced now. “Who knew campaigns were so damned exhausting?”

  “Yeah, I hear that.” I chewed my lip. “You sure you’re all right? You sound a little…I don’t know…”

  Like you’ve taken something. Or you’re sick. Or you’re about to pass out.

  “I’m fine, Jess. Just tired. You know how it is.”

  “Yeah, I know, but…”

  “I’m just tired,” she said. “I didn’t realize you were as tiring to promote as a film.”