Full Mountie

by Ainsley Booth

  “What?” I laugh as I lean in again, my mouth brushing his. “Come on. I promise I’ll make it dirty.”

  He jerks under my touch and his voice cracks. “I need some limits.”

  There’s something there that touches me and reminds me that deep down, even brashy, cocky Hugh has a sensitive, wounded soul inside. One we haven’t spent enough time thinking about, clearly.

  “Fair enough.” I drift my lips over his cheek and trace the curve of his ear with the tip of my tongue. “This is better anyway. Keeps my mouth free to be sassy.”

  “I can find something to keep your mouth occupied if need be.”

  “Mmm. Don’t make promises you can’t keep…”

  The taunt works. He flips me over and slides up my body, fast as lightning. He kneels beside me, half-straddling my upper body, his hips canted toward my face. His cock bounces against my mouth before I get my act together, but when he fists himself, I’m ready.

  I part my lips and he slides in roughly. I tamp down the rush of adrenaline and exhale as I swallow him. Jesus, he’s thick. But he tastes good, and I’m so greedy for this I’ll take it however I get it.

  He pumps his hips, fucking my face until I’m groaning around him. Then he pulls out and reaches for my condom drawer.

  Okay, so this is going to be a quickie.

  I can handle that.

  He kneels between my legs, staring at my pussy as he rolls the condom on. Before he presses the crown of his cock against me, he touches me first, and it’s an unexpected gentleness that cracks my heart.

  I roll my hips, trying to keep us on the no-feelings, just-fucking track. He doesn’t have any idea how he affects me. Protecting my heart is going to have to be my job alone.

  I’m a grown up. I can do that.

  I can pretend this is just sex.

  Amazing, incredible, dirty sex.

  “Now,” I tell him breathlessly.

  “Not gonna be gentle,” he warns.

  “Good.” No sooner is the word out of my mouth than he’s there, at my entrance, and then inside me in the next beat. A thick, hard intrusion that takes my breath away.

  And it is good. I curl my legs up, opening for him, welcoming the brutal pummelling. I want him to do this, to lose himself in me, to work out in our physical connection what he can’t find in words.

  He takes me with him, too. Wraps me in his arms as he moves his powerful body above me, into me. He finds all the spots that light me up and rubs against them, hard. Fucking come, his body says to mine. Come apart, come for me, come, come, come.

  And I do, because I’m his. I’m so easy for him, so open, that all it takes is his mouth on my tits, his cock in my pussy, and I’m pulled apart at the seams.

  After he deals with the condom, he pulls me into his side and I press my cheek against his chest.

  I listen to the pounding of his heart and wish I understood.

  We lie there, together, long enough for me to foolishly get my hopes up that maybe we can talk. “Hugh?”

  “Mmm.”

  “We miss you.”

  “No.” He swings his arm out from under my head and sits up.

  “What?”

  “Don’t do this.”

  I sigh. “Is this really your plan?”

  He gives me a warning look, but I might not get another chance. I press on.

  “Every time we reach out you'll turn it into just sex, nothing more? Pretend that's all we have?”

  “You weren't complaining a minute ago. And you summoned me.”

  That’s true. But he came. “I know…”

  He kisses the spot where my neck meets my back, then lower, down my spine. All the way until his hands are on my hips, and he’s urging me up.

  Onto my knees, so he can take me again.

  And I let him. I let him fuck me until I’m gripping him in another shuddering orgasm, until he pours himself into me, because I’ll take it.

  Then I don’t say anything more, not even when he rolls onto his back beside me and stares at the ceiling.

  And when he gets up and silently pulls on his jeans, I hold my breath. I hold it until he leaves, until the too-loud click of the lock promises he’s gone—tauntingly, because what was I expecting?

  That’s when I let my breath out, and the tears follow.

  45

  Lachlan

  Once again, I’m across the country from Beth—and Hugh, the grumpy ass—and I’m antsy to get back to Ottawa.

  Gavin, however, is enjoying his Sunday afternoon at home. His real home, in Vancouver, in the heart of his riding. His father bought him a new charcoal grill as a wedding gift, and he’s got it fired up.

  Ellie opens the slider and steps onto the deck. She’s got a yoga mat bag slung over her shoulder, and one of my men trailing behind her. “I’m off,” she says, pressing up on her tiptoes to give Gavin a kiss.

  “Have fun at yoga, wife.”

  She grins. “Will do, husband.”

  Yeah, I’m definitely ready to head home.

  Ten minutes later, another member of my team comes to the backyard. “Excuse me, sir, but there’s a visitor here to see you. Jack Benton.”

  Gavin frowns and rubs his jaw. “Sure, send him back.”

  The owner of the Vancouver Lumberjacks strides onto the deck a minute later, and Gavin extends his hand. “Jack, good to see you again, and so soon.”

  Benton grins. “Had a fantastic time at your wedding.”

  “Was our scotch up to snuff?”

  “Decent enough, thank you.”

  Gavin glances at me. “Have you met Lachlan Ross, my chief of security? He’ll be sticking around for this conversation.”

  “Yes, a few times.” He shakes my hand, then glances back at Gavin. “I’ve never known you to need a chaperone.”

  Jack says it with a laugh, but Gavin’s not kidding around.

  “Just keeping this strictly friendly. I am glad to see you again, but the timing is curious given my upcoming trade agenda and your scheduled visit to my office. When the press asks me about your impromptu visit to my house—and they will—I want to be crystal clear we didn’t talk business out of turn.”

  “Ah.” Jack clears his throat. “Right. That’s going to make what I say next kind of awkward.”

  “Don’t do it.” Gavin frowns. “Come on, man. You know I’m being raked over the coals about pay-to-play politics. Just because we go back nearly twenty years doesn’t mean I can make an exception for you.”

  “I’m selling the team.”

  My eyebrows hit the roof. Whoa. I’m a die-hard hockey fan, and I didn’t see that coming.

  Apparently, neither did Gavin. “Wow.”

  “So I am here to lobby you. But not about sports.”

  Gavin groaned. “You know I wasn’t worried about that. How about a beer? Tell me more about the sale.”

  “I’ve put the lumber yards in a blind trust, too.”

  Gavin gives me a pained look. “You’ve heard me trying to tell him to shut up, right?”

  I step forward. “You want me to toss him out?”

  Jack just laughs. “I definitely want a beer. Unless that would be too awkward for an informal job interview.”

  Gavin snorts. “This will be good. Follow me.”

  We head into the kitchen and he rifles through the fridge for three bottles of beer. I’m curious as hell, but my role here isn’t to ask any questions.

  Luckily Gavin asks them for me. “So what’s going on? You think my poll numbers are going to slide into oblivion and I’m going to need to be rescued after the next election? What’s your plan, Jack? Start a new environmental law firm, Strong & Benton?”

  “It would be Benton & Strong, if we ever did, and that’s not a bad retirement plan.” Jack holds out his beer. “But I’m not planning to retire for a few decades yet. I’m actually here to ask you for a job, prime minister.”

  Gavin silently holds out his own beer and they clink the glass necks together. His face
pulls tight into a frown.

  I’m not following.

  Frowns are, generally speaking, not something to toast.

  “You want to get into government. Foreign Affairs or International Trade?”

  Jack shrugs. “Wherever you’ll have me.”

  “You don’t want to run? I’d put you in my cabinet in a heartbeat.”

  He shakes his head. “Nah. The limelight has never been for me. I want to get my hands messy with policy.”

  “Oh, fuck me,” Gavin groans. “You want to fix softwood lumber.”

  “We never got it right, and you know it. There was only so much I could do when I was running my own businesses. Now I want to make it my sole focus. And you know we owe it to them.”

  “Yeah.” Gavin scrubs his hand over his face, then groans again. “Okay.” He shoots me a quick look. “Give us a few minutes alone, Lachlan.”

  I take my beer and head outside.

  I don’t know what this means politically. But Jack Benton is moving to Ottawa—and he flirts with Beth like he wants to lick her up for dessert.

  That’s my fucking job.

  Hugh’s, too.

  Things on Parliament Hill are going to get awkward this summer. And just when I thought getting past the wedding would mean things got easy for a while.

  46

  Beth

  Something is up with the prime minister. He arrived back in Ottawa late last night, but I got an email alert from Lachlan that he was on the move at half past five this morning. I’m not needed in the office when he goes in that early, but I drag myself out of bed just in case.

  I stop at the coffee place on the corner just as its opening.

  “Early Monday?” the barista asks.

  I nod, and I must look weary, because he gives me an extra espresso shot for free.

  I tip well.

  Stew is already in Gavin’s office when I poke my head in and wave.

  “Morning,” I say to them both. And then to the PM, “Did you eat breakfast?”

  He grimaces at me.

  “I’ll get you coffee. And a muffin?” He nods. “How about you, Stew?”

  “I’m good, thanks.” He waves a thermos in the air, but doesn’t look up from the report he’s poring over.

  An hour later, the morning briefing is extra short, just the bare necessities, and Stew and Gavin stay holed up once the senior staff disperse.

  My job, when they get like this, is to hold down the fort—sometimes pretend that nothing is going on, and sometimes carefully walk that line between denial and distraction, because something is going on, and it’ll break soon.

  I never care what it is. I’m vaguely political in the way anyone who lasts in Ottawa has to be. We want to know that tax dollars aren’t being wasted, and good policy is being enacted. But most of the time, we’re too cynical to get upset or excited when something new is announced. My attitude makes me a great executive assistant, because I care about keeping Gavin on schedule and on task, and couldn’t care less about the details of what he’s working on.

  So I spend the morning doing what I usually do, but I’m also keeping an eye on the schedule. Gavin pops out for the two can’t-miss events on his calendar, but on his way back in, he asks me to organize dinner for six people.

  Okay, long day it is.

  Lachlan re-appears at dinner time, and frowns when he sees me sitting at my desk.

  “How long have you been here?”

  “All day.”

  “That’s—”

  I hold up my hand and smile. “My business.”

  “I’m just saying, I got some downtime in the middle of my crazy split day.”

  “But you were up earlier and will be out later than I will tonight. And you do long shifts regularly. For me, this is a rare thing, but when he needs me, I’m here.” I point to my desk. “And I’m currently writing a list of pieces I want to add to my wardrobe, so I’m hardly working at all.”

  “Clothes?”

  “I did a big closet purge yesterday. It’s a long story.”

  He glances at his watch. “I’ve got time.”

  We’re alone in the outer office, but Gavin could pull the door open at any time. And Lachlan thinks he’s asking politely about my wardrobe overhaul when really, my yesterday story is explosive and is liable to just piss him off.

  Or turn him on.

  Maybe both.

  “Not now,” I murmur. “Not here.”

  He lowers his voice and leans in, his eyes searching my face. “Is it a scandalous shopping list?”

  I smile. “No. It’s the story that followed the closet purge that isn’t work appropriate.”

  “Now you have me hooked.” He sits on the edge of my desk. “Give me a hint.”

  “Call me tonight when you get home.”

  “Let me drag you into the copier room and you can spill all your dirty secrets right now.” He winks and stands up. “Or not. But I am calling you tonight.”

  And I will tell him what happened with Hugh.

  So that gives me two, maybe three hours to figure out just what exactly did happen, and how I want to frame it so Lachlan doesn’t lose his mind.

  47

  Lachlan

  I cheat and call her from the car after I drop the prime minister at 24 Sussex. It’s later than I thought, but I’m still taking the chance.

  “You’re driving,” she says.

  “I am.”

  “Then you’ll have to wait until you get home to hear my story.”

  I decide to just ask for what I want. “Or I could come to your place?”

  “I’m already in bed.”

  “That sounds perfect.”

  “We both have to up early tomorrow.”

  “I’ve got a change of clothes with me.” There’s a long pause before she answers, but I’m already driving back towards downtown.

  “Okay,” she finally says. “Let yourself up.”

  She answers the door in a robe and nothing else. The primal man inside me appreciates the long slice of soft, bare skin I can see, but I don’t miss the fatigue tugging at her eyes.

  Focus on what matters, I remind myself, and we head straight to bed.

  Naked, because why give up the opportunity to be skin-to-skin? But something tells me Beth isn’t in the mood for sex.

  I’m not wrong.

  She walks her fingers across my chest once we’re tucked in. “Okay, so…”

  I chuckle. “Yes?”

  “I was purging my closet. And then I came across some lingerie I’d bought when we started dating. A set I’d taken pictures of, and sent to Hugh—nothing identifying or revealing, don’t freak out.”

  “I’m wondering why I didn’t get the same pictures,” I grumble, and she kisses my skin.

  “How often is the PM in eyeball range to your phone screen?”

  “Good point.” Although the same could maybe said about Hugh, but I’m not going to argue the issue. “So did he like the pictures? Did he say anything?”

  “Oh, that was back in May. The photos. But finding the lingerie reminded me of them…so I sent him another one.” She presses against me. “Like this. Naked. But still…classy.”

  “You’re killing me. Classily. Go on.”

  “So he came over yesterday afternoon. Which feels like a lifetime ago now.”

  My heartbeat speeds up. “Yeah?”

  Instead of the good update I want to hear, though, I get a heavy sigh.

  “I think I messed things up,” she says softly. “We…had sex. And it was intense, and good, but full of rules. And then he just left at the end.”

  Shit. “I’m sorry.”

  “I thought it was a good idea.”

  “Yeah.” I press my lips against her forehead, ignoring the way my dick is thickening at the thought of Hugh here, being bossy and intense with Beth. But my flash of arousal doesn’t last long, because he left her again.

  “I should go kick his ass,” I say. I mean it, too. He needs
an attitude adjustment for using her.

  She pokes me in the side. “I invited him over. I knew what I was getting into once he was here.”

  “He hurt you.”

  “He hurt himself, more. I really think that somehow along the way, he’s convinced himself that he’s only temporary for you. For us. And he went into our relationship eyes wide open, convinced that was the case, but it got to be too much.”

  “That’s crazy.” I pull back and frown down at her when she doesn’t say anything. “Isn’t it?”

  “I don’t know. I think…maybe not crazy. Not true, of course. We love him.” Her voice drifts on a sigh. “But somehow I don’t think telling him that will be enough.”

  I think about what Beth said all the next day. And when I get off work, instead of going to my house, where Beth headed an hour earlier, I find myself at Hugh’s apartment building.

  It’s nothing like Beth’s lovely place. It’s a giant concrete building, probably twenty apartments on each floor. The front door doesn’t close all the way, so even though there is a buzzer system, I don’t need to call up and announce myself.

  This is good, because I don’t want him to have any advance warning that I’m here. I’d been prepared to wait until someone came out, but now I don’t need to.

  I make my way to the fifth floor and find his unit easily.

  I don’t even know if he’s home, but I knock anyway.

  There’s a long stretch of nothing, so I knock again. Official-like, so he thinks maybe it’s the landlord. Wonders if there’s a gas leak or something.

  I’m not sure it works, and I’m about to take a step back when the door swings open.

  We stare at each other for a long beat.

  Then I push my way past him, into his apartment, because I’m not taking no for an answer.

  “Hey,” he starts to say, but I’m not listening.

  I stalk down the short hallway and into the… what should be the living room.

  Except it’s empty, save for a weight bench.

  Behind me, I hear him sigh. “Sure, come on in.”

  “You don’t have any furniture,” I say as I turn back to look at him. This is not how I meant to open the conversation.