The Escape

by Alice Ward

  “Why, Senator,” she said with a wink, her hand brushing over the bulge at the front of my lounge pants. “Is that a post-election erection I feel?”

  Senator. Even two weeks after the election, it still hadn’t sunk in.

  I’d given up politics for a while, which had done me and my image a world of good. It turned out that a GIF of me loosening my tie and launching off the debate stage with the caption FUCK THIS SHIT became one of the top memes of the year. I couldn’t go on social media without seeing it. I’d suddenly become the figurehead for the person who’d had all he could take and wasn’t going to take any more, and a hero to anyone who’d ever thought of just walking away in the face of extreme bullshit. It was pretty hilarious, actually.

  Not only that, though Owen won the state Senate seat handily, the name Cameron Brice was the most written-in name during voting. There’d been a growing movement to elect me, anyway, despite bowing out. I’d actually gotten just under ten percent of the vote. I was incredibly popular, even among the Democrats, especially when word got out about how I’d effectively gotten the developers to delay the building of Hunter’s Hill for a few months, until a habitat had been created for the yellow-horned toads.

  So the following year, it only made sense for me to run for United States Senate.

  My victory was a landslide, and I’d beaten my opponent by the largest margin in the state’s history.

  Now, I was heading to Washington, D.C. And it was because of the woman in front of me. The woman who showed me how to be a human instead of a political machine. The woman who showed me how to inject a healthy dose of humility into my workday. The woman who meant everything to me, and who I’d gladly share the White House with, if by god’s grace, I ever made it there.

  I pulled her toward me, letting her feel the bulge in my pants, and her eyes narrowed with confusion. She pouted. “That’s not an erection. And here I thought you were happy to see me.”

  I grinned at her. “Believe me, I am very, very happy to see you. Every day. Even when you’re being an insufferable tree-hugger.”

  She smiled at me and admitted, mock-begrudgingly, “I suppose I still like you whenever you’re being a douche.”

  Brooke never went into the FBI. We argued so much and so well together, it convinced her that she wanted to be an attorney, like her parents. Her time with me had shown her that she did have convictions, and she wanted to fight for them.

  “The better to make sure all the toads are safe, my dear,” she’d said.

  She also said that she might even go into politics. Last fall, she’d applied to Villanova Law and had started her first semester a couple months ago. Though it was hard, and we’d spent most of the past few months apart due to my campaign trail and her schoolwork, she told me she’d never been happier.

  It helped that her parents had eventually come around, and she had them to support her. She’d always been very close to her family, and they hadn’t turned their backs on her, though they were suspicious of me at first, especially when they learned how we first met. Though I wasn’t yet on speaking terms with my father, and maybe never would be or inherit the Brice fortune, her parents had warmed up to me. I’d even gone golfing a few times with her father. Turns out, we had a lot in common. He told me that he thought Brooke would become a great environmental attorney, just like her mother.

  Maybe. After all, she’d done her part to save those toads.

  Save me.

  I took her wrist, holding her in front of me, gazing deep into her blue eyes, which reflected the moonlight. Then I reached into my pocket, and pulled out the hardness she had felt… the tiny velvet box. I thought of all those months ago when this was nothing but a pipe dream that could never come true. I thought of how close I’d come to a very different life, a life in chains, a life of complete damnation. It was enough to make me weak.

  And now I had everything I could possibly want.

  Everything, except one thing.

  I knelt in front of her, on one knee, finally able to propose in the way I wanted, to the woman I wanted.

  She was crying before I even lifted the lid on the modest but pure diamond, an oval-shaped solitaire in a plain platinum setting. Both hands flew to her mouth, and she let out a cry of pure surprise.

  “You drive me crazy, sometimes, with the things you say and think and do,” I told her, taking her quivering hand in mine as I held the box up to her. “But damn it, I love it. I honestly can’t imagine not having that in my life. You’ve made me a better politician, and a better person. Will you marry me, Brooke?”

  For once, I’d put her at a loss for words. She nodded as I took the diamond solitaire and slid it onto her finger. Then she yanked me up off my knees with incredible force and kissed me.

  “Yes. Even if you are a right-wing douche,” she said, sniffling and smiling through her tears. “I’d love to call you my right-wing douche.”

  We kissed long and hard out there on the patio, in front of the waves. It didn’t take long for me to get hard. I brought her body flush against mine so she could feel how much I wanted her, as if it wasn’t obvious, as if she wasn’t the driving force in my life. Nothing seemed to adequately convey how much I’d always want her, for now, and for the rest of our lives. She was everything to me, and as long as we kept working to find common ground, all I would ever want.

  She smiled at me deviously, delving her hand under my waistband. “I think I know how to fix this.”

  Yes. I groaned and licked my lips, wanting her hands all over me. Relishing the feeling of wanting her more and more with every passing day, and now knowing that she would be with me. That we would be together, wherever this road took us, whether it be to the White House or somewhere else entirely. “Then don’t keep me waiting.”

  Without warning, she stepped away from me. She lifted the hem of the sweater and pulled it up over her head. “Last one in is a rotten egg.”

  Then she started to edge toward the surf, giving me a wink as the wind blew her wild hair into her face.

  I stared openmouthed at her, at her gorgeous naked body, the now-risen moonlight splaying its adoring white light over every one of her sculpted curves. “You’re fucking insane. It’s November. The water’s freezing.”

  “What are you, chicken?” she challenged, both hands motioning me forward. She reached down and tossed a handful of sand at me. “Find the common ground, Senator Brice.”

  I drew the string on my waistband and let my pants fall to my feet, then kicked out of them. “You’re dead.”

  “Come get me,” she called, racing down the beach into the moonlit darkness.

  I caught her halfway there and wrestled her down to the ground. I held her in my arms, our warm bodies chasing the chill away, leaving nothing but the two of us, our two hearts beating in time.

  As one.

  As we made love on the beach, limbs entwined together under a million stars, she whispered, “I love you, my Apollo.”

  “Cassandra,” I groaned as I entered her. “I love you, too, my sweet Cassandra.”

  The following morning, when I finished the painting, I couldn’t help it. Maybe I’d never wear those slippers, but I’d learned a lot about compromise. Before I signed my name in the corner with a few simple strokes, I added a tiny green toad, swimming in the surf.

  THE END

  Continue on to read the next special bonus included in this copy.

  A Bonus Novel

  THE MATCHUP

  Alice Ward

  CHAPTER ONE

  Lucas

  “Ahh, here’s the playboy now.”

  My uncle sat behind his mattress-sized desk, king of his publishing empire. Harvey Huffman was a legend, and even at seventy-eight years old, his salacious blue eyes lit up when the door swung open.

  My eyes did something entirely different. They narrowed into slits of disgust as my cousin stepped into the posh office, looking like a women’s porn magazine’s dream with his dark wavy hair and friendl
y sky-blue eyes. One year my junior at thirty-three, Mason’s gray Armani suit and lighter gray silk tie screamed swanky bachelor.

  I gritted my teeth and adjusted my already perfect tie. Hopefully, this impromptu meeting wouldn’t take long. It wasn’t like Uncle Harvey to force us into such tight quarters together. He knew our history.

  They said that blood was thicker than water, but in our case, blood just boiled.

  Raised by my single-mother aunt, Mason had adopted his father’s ways — moving from one woman to the next, indulging in long vacations punctuated by fine wine and lots of females he was constantly helping out. He was a billionaire bad boy with a heart of gold, who hid his soft heart behind a long string of one-night stands.

  I’d never liked him. And the feeling had been mutual.

  Mason nodded as our eyes locked. A swift, silent communication passed between us as it only can with someone you’d spent time with regularly as a child, and was forced to reacquaint yourself with at every family function since adulthood. Neither of us knew what this unprecedented meeting was about. Both of us were expecting a big announcement. Both of us planned on being the last man standing.

  My leg jiggled, and I forced my muscles into submission before I caused the fine china on Uncle Harv’s sideboard to rattle. Even with Mason present, I could barely contain my excitement. There was only one reason Uncle Harv could have called us both into a meeting at the same time — unless he was jonesing for a bloodbath. He was getting up there in years, and he had to step down as head of his conglomerate sometime. With every fiber of my being, I knew he was about to name me as CEO and wanted to control the inevitable fallout from Mason.

  It was time to pass the torch. To me.

  I barely registered Uncle Harv welcoming Mason and offering him a seat in the plush leather chair beside me.

  Finally, I was going to be rewarded with the role I’d dreamed of all my life. I’d coveted the publishing enterprise. All of it. The fashion magazines, the news and gossip websites. But especially the online publication that catered to a naughty clientele. My cock pulsed as I thought of the fetishes, the bondage that the website was known for. I had groomed myself to take over, and finally, the time had come.

  Uncle Harv settled back in his massive desk chair and linked his fingers over his portly belly, a huge grin taking up most of his face. “Well, boys, it’s good to see you sitting next to each other in such an amicable manner.”

  Mason stiffened beside me, and the woody I’d been working on deflated. The last time I’d been this close to Mason, I’d been tempted to bloody his nose at the annual Thanksgiving gala. He’d hit on a woman I was going after. Not one I really wanted, but it was the principal of the thing. He’d forever been putting his capricious fingers on what was mine — my coveted model airplane set when I was a kid, my first car when I was a teenager. My mom’s attention and affection. Hell, when he’d charmed my sweet sixteen crush, Amber DeGrasse, into bed, it had been the last straw, and I hadn’t been able to let it go. We’d been at war ever since.

  Unc’s smile faltered at our silence, and he sat forward. “I’ll get right down to it. But first, I have a question.”

  We waited. The room was so quiet I could practically hear Mason sweating next to me. He was going to be pissed when Uncle Harvey named me as his successor.

  “What do you call a virgin on a waterbed?” Uncle Harv’s blue eyes beamed at us with humor, waiting for one of us to take the bait.

  I frowned. My uncle was famous for his dirty jokes. It went with the territory. When you were a tycoon with world-famous holdings ranging from fashion to tasteful men’s entertainment magazine to a guilty pleasure website, you were expected to behave somewhat lewdly.

  The question could be a test of some sort, but I’d never been too good at jokes. While I was wracking my brain and Mason was shifting around in his seat, the answer dropped like a K-Y Jelly-filled bomb.

  “A cherry float.”

  Unc reared back in his chair and roared as nausea joined the nervous clenching of my gut. This bawdy man had been my father figure since my dad, his older brother, died when I was nine.

  Mason rolled his eyes. “Ha ha. Like anyone has water beds anymore, Unc.”

  That was funny, but I refused to laugh at a damn thing Mason said. Uncle coughed then and took a handkerchief, hacking into it. Did he look a little paler than usual? Could something be wrong?

  Fear struck me numb so that I almost missed his next words.

  “Now, I know you boys don’t go after innocent virgins.” Unc chuckled and shook his head. “But I’m sure you can curtail the skirt chasing for a little while for what I have in mind.”

  “Anything for you, Uncle Harvey.” Mason’s jaw twitched.

  Good. It was costing him as much as it was costing me to hold up under the suspense. He was about to be crushed, but he hadn’t worked as hard as I had in the business world. He was known to cut out early, take longer than planned holidays at exotic locations.

  Uncle Harvey cleared his throat and took a long drink of water before leaning toward us, all humor gone. “I’ll be retiring, boys, stepping down.”

  I held my breath.

  “I’ve got two nephews and two potential heirs to my company, but neither of you — at the moment — are a perfect fit for the role as I envision it.” The words rolled off his tongue without a pause, impaling me like a spike to the gut.

  “I thought, I’d…” I choked on my words, scrambling for the right ones.

  His attention turned to me as heat bloomed in my chest and rose above my collar. “Yes, Lucas, I know you thought you’d be the one to run things here. I’m afraid you’d work yourself to death in under five years though, being the workaholic you are, never letting loose for some play.” His eyebrows jumped up and down, punctuating his meaning.

  “You said neither of us…” Mason chimed in, his hands gripping the chair arms. “I just assumed I would be the one.”

  What? My head swiveled toward Mason. He thought Uncle Harvey would give him the business? I snorted.

  Mason threw me a glare, which I met with my own.

  Uncle jumped in before we could get started. “I figured you’d both assume, and I’m sorry. I’ve grappled with choosing, but it would be a hard and perhaps unfair choice for me, and the both of you. So I’ve done the fair thing and created a friendly competition.”

  “Competition?” Of course, the crazy old coot would conceive of a competition. Mason and I couldn’t be in the same room without competing for something.

  A competition was no problem. My spoiled playboy cousin was no threat, never having had a stake in anything other than himself. This was going to be a no-brainer.

  Uncle eyed us from behind his desk, his well-known greedy I-can-do-anything-I-want stance making me nervous. He owned a good chunk of the publishing world, a corporation that was worth billions. His next words would seal my fate. There was no wiggling out of this — I was gonna have to play or walk away.

  “You’re not too old to run this company,” I surmised. “I expected you’d run the show until they dragged your dead body out of the boardroom. Why retire now?”

  “A man can’t live forever. I’ve developed some health issues—”

  Now it made sense. “Are you okay?”

  Mason sat up straighter. “What kind of health issues?”

  Uncle waved our concerns away. “Enough about me. You boys cooperating with what I have planned will go a long way in easing my concerns.” He’d always known just how to manipulate a person to his will.

  I’d spent my whole life preparing to take over his corporation. Having been too busy running his empire, he and my late aunt never had any children. I knew I was the mirror image of my deceased father — disciplined, conservative, and no-nonsense. Perfect for the CEO position.

  Mason, on the other hand, was a master of nothing except maybe defying the heights of his own ego. Uncle Harv’s younger sister, Marianne, raised Mason as a single mother a
fter a bitter divorce from Donovan Carver, a rich real estate monger. Mason was a wild child who wasn’t grounded in any career, had started and abandoned several. His father left him a hefty trust that he came into when he was in his mid-twenties, creating a billionaire party boy who didn’t know when to quit.

  The fact that Uncle Harv included Mason had me worried. Quality was the barometer by which Unc gauged all things. He maintained high standards, was fastidious. Had I been underestimating my cousin?

  “I’m going to host a little competition, as I mentioned, for the position of Chief Executive Officer of Huffman International Publishers. Since I expect excellence on all platforms, I need to ensure that the man who replaces me not only does as fine a job as I have over the years but does the job better.” He pinned us both with his stern and emphatic gaze. “Considering the gravity of the matter, I’ve added an element that will make this serious contest fun.”

  My insides melted into a mixture of fear and excitement. For the man sitting across from me, fun was a broadly defined expression — Uncle’s tastes ran from the exquisite to the extreme.

  “An ad for a contest was recently featured on Hedon.com.” The website, secretly my favorite of all Unc’s ventures, was infamous for its diverse collection of sexual intrigues and deviance. “There will be two winners, women who will join you at my ski chalet in Vail, Colorado. You will each be partnered with one of the winners, and together, you’ll be expected to complete a set of tasks, and will be scored on your competence.”

  I looked at Mason out of the corner of my eye as he chuckled. He was gloating, his smug face showing his delight at the prospect of a competition involving tasks to complete with a woman. Mason had never had anything but success with women, and he obviously thought he’d be running all my uncle’s businesses at the end of the contest.

  I wasn’t a womanizer. I had a… different appetite when it came to women. I liked to dominate in all things, especially in the bedroom, and my sexual desires ran toward the extreme. I kept my passions fiercely private, and any woman who consented to be with me signed a lengthy agreement ensuring her discretion and absolute secrecy regarding our sexual encounters.