Flirting With Scandal

by Chanel Cleeton

  Plus he didn’t really know me, didn’t understand the mess he was getting himself into if this went any further. My paternity was a closely guarded secret, but if Mitch Anders knew, I didn’t doubt someone else did. And the media could be ruthless when they scented blood in the water.

  The best thing for both of us was to call it a day. It sucked, but it was the only conclusion I could come to. Now I just had to convince Will of it.

  I walked down the stairs in search of him, following the noises until I came to the kitchen. I froze in the doorway.

  Will stood in front of me, dressed in a pair of gym shorts and a ratty Harvard Lacrosse T-shirt. His hair was rumpled, his feet bare, and he looked so adorable that I wanted to curl myself against him. Music played from speakers in the wall, the sound of R.E.M. filling the room. He turned and his gaze met mine. His lips curved, the hint of a dimple winking back at me.

  “Good morning.”

  How did he make that sound sexy?

  I didn’t even mean to smile; it just took over my face. “Morning.”

  “Want some coffee?”

  I hesitated. What the hell, it was just a cup of coffee. “Sure.”

  Will turned and gave me a mug, our fingers brushing as I took it from him. He leaned back against the countertop, crossing his arms over his chest, studying me. I looked away, my gaze taking in the beautiful space, struggling to focus on anything other than how good he looked and how badly I wanted him again.

  “Nice kitchen.”

  His smile deepened. “You really want to talk about my kitchen?”

  My cheeks flamed. I took a sip of the coffee—so good—hoping the caffeine would jump-start my brain. I felt off. My body was sore, my mind a clouded, jumbled mess. The resolve I’d felt upstairs wavered at the sight of him in the morning.

  “What time is it?” I asked.

  “About ten.”

  Shit. I never slept that late. “I should get going. I need to work today.”

  Political campaigns didn’t take weekends off.

  “You could eat breakfast first.” He gestured to the stove top behind him. “I made omelets.”

  My jaw dropped as I followed his gaze. Was this guy for real?

  “You made omelets?”

  “I told you I would.”

  “Yeah, but I thought that was just something you said—”

  “To get girls in bed?”

  I nodded.

  He flashed me a knowing grin. “I would think by now you would have figured out that I don’t have to lie to get a girl in bed with me . . . or to keep her there.”

  There it was again—that voice. It was his husky, I-can-make-a-woman-do-anything-I-want voice. It slid inside me, tempting me, seducing me.

  “I should go.”

  He rolled his eyes. “Are we going to do this again, the back-and-forth? You pulling away when you know that’s really the last thing you want?”

  I shrugged. “Nothing’s changed. All of our issues are still reasons why this shouldn’t be anything other than casual.” And after last night, I now understood how stupid I’d been to even think casual was a possibility. I craved him in a way that would massively fuck with my life.

  “Last night happened. Multiple times.”

  My body was all too aware of how many times last night had happened. That was the problem. But there was something in his tone, an arrogance I couldn’t resist. I hadn’t given him a free pass before, and I definitely wasn’t going to give him one now, even if he did hand out orgasms like they were candy.

  “So what, you think we had sex and now I’m so overcome with need for your magic penis that poof, all of our problems will magically disappear, and we can continue on, screwing like rabbits into a happily ever after?”

  His shout of laughter broke off the end of my little speech, but I figured I’d gotten my point across.

  He shook his head before stalking toward me. “Sorry, I know this is breaking your rules, but I have to.”

  His lips claimed mine in a fierce kiss. At least it started that way. His mouth fairly commanded mine to open, to welcome his tongue, his hands cupping my ass through the bottom of his shirt, pulling me against his hard, aroused body. Jesus. And then the kiss changed, his touch softening, his mouth relaxing into mine, until it stopped feeling like a conquest, and more like a slow unraveling—of my walls, my resolve, my heart.

  Just as quickly as he’d kissed me, he released me, turning back to the food on the stove, leaving me reeling from his touch, my body already hungry for more.

  Will served the food onto two plates, grabbing silverware and napkins. He turned to face me, a wicked smile on his face—

  “So you think I have a magic penis, huh?”

  Will

  Jackie may have had the upper hand when it came to political strategy, but I was beginning to learn how to manage her. She thrived on control, and any time I did something to throw her off balance or catch her off guard, a wall came down. I discovered more of her, bit by bit.

  Somehow I’d maneuvered her into breakfast. She sat in my formal dining room, staring at me across the table, dressed only in my shirt, her hair everywhere, her makeup smudged, her eyes bleary with sleep. She looked adorable, and for as many times as I’d had her last night, I wanted her again.

  “You’re a really good cook.” She gestured toward her plate. “This is one of the best omelets I’ve ever had.”

  I grinned. “Thanks. Although to be fair, just so you don’t get the wrong impression, breakfast is pretty much the only meal I can cook.”

  She snorted. “Let me guess, to keep the ladies happy?”

  “Can’t blame a guy for trying.”

  “I thought you weren’t a player,” she teased.

  “I’m not. Having some tools in your arsenal doesn’t make you a player. Even us boring nice guys need a trick or two up our sleeve.”

  She shot me a wry smile. “Somehow I don’t think you need any more tricks.”

  “Maybe it’s not about need, and more about want,” I countered.

  “Maybe not all of us can afford to place wants before needs. Maybe we all weren’t born with a silver spoon in our mouths.” She took a bite of her omelet with a meaningful expression on her face as if drawing my attention to the fancy flatware.

  “So is that what you think of me then, that I’m just some spoiled boy who always gets what he wants?”

  I tried to keep the edge out of my voice, and yet it was there despite my best intentions. I loved the banter between us, loved that Jackie was hard on me, and yet the last thing I wanted was for her to discount me when one of the things I liked most about her was how much I respected her.

  She set down her fork, meeting my gaze across the table. “I don’t think you’re spoiled. I see how hard you work, how nice you are to the staff. I’ve been around plenty of dickish politicians, and I know you’re not one of them. I’m sorry I give you shit about the money thing. It’s just . . .”

  “Just what?”

  She sighed. “I don’t fit in with all of this. I’ve been around politics my entire life. I know the drill. There’s a type of political girlfriend and wife. She’s proper, and polite, and went to the right schools, and wears the right clothes, and comes from the right family. She doesn’t swear, or wear neon yellow, or drink whiskey, or pick up strange men in bars.

  “I’m not that woman. And if you’re serious about this lifestyle, you can’t be the single guy out on the town with a different girl. You don’t even seem like you want to be that guy. So where is this going? I just don’t see a point.”

  I gave her a moment to catch her breath, and then I launched my attack.

  “Well, first off, did you ever consider that I like that you wear neon colors and curse? And maybe you weren’t picking me up; maybe I picked you up. I’ve dated the girl you described. She’s all I’ve ever dated. I like that girl. There’s nothing wrong with any of those things. But maybe that’s not what I want. I like that girl, but she
doesn’t fill my thoughts or drive me crazy. She doesn’t make me want to be better or work harder so I can impress her.

  “The truth? There’s a reason I’m a twenty-six-year-old politician who isn’t married. I’ve liked plenty of girls, but I’ve never found one I could imagine spending my life with. Not even close. So from where I’m sitting, maybe the right girl isn’t the right girl for me.

  “I like you. I want to get to know you better. Stop freaking out and give me a shot. From where I’m sitting, things were pretty fucking amazing between us last night. You want to pretend that doesn’t mean anything, fine. But you’re lying to yourself, and you’re lying to me. So think about what you really want, and stop telling me what you think I should want. I want you. I don’t give a shit about the rest of it.”

  Her jaw dropped. She stared at me like I was a puzzle she was trying to work out. It was a full minute before she spoke.

  “Okay.”

  “Okay? Just like that?”

  “No, not just like that. I still think this is a horrible idea, but I’m tired of trying to fight you.” She shook her head. “You speak and I forget everything I was going to say.”

  Triumph surged through me.

  “Maybe you should trust me,” I coaxed.

  “I’m not so good at trusting.”

  “Yeah, I’m getting that.” I hesitated, wondering where the line was between pushing her and trying to get her to see that she could open up to me. “Let’s play a game.”

  The look she shot me was pure suspicion. “What kind of a game?”

  “You tell me something you’re afraid of and I’ll tell you something I’m afraid of. Something I’ve never told anyone.”

  “That sounds horrible.”

  “You know in some circles this is considered dating, sharing parts of yourself with another person. It’s really not that barbaric or strange.”

  “It’s really personal.”

  I laughed softly. “I’ve been inside you, multiple times. I think we’re way past that point.”

  She flushed. “Fine. You first.”

  Success.

  I thought about it for a moment.

  “I’m afraid I’m not great at anything. I’m good at lots of things, but I don’t have—” I searched for the right words. “—I don’t have the kind of passion for anything that makes me truly great at it. My whole life doors have opened for me because of my family, because of my money. And things are fairly easy for me. But I’ve never been truly exceptional. And I’ve never loved anything, or been excited about anything, the way you are with politics.

  “Look at Mitch. The man eats, lives, and breathes this stuff. And he’s amazing at it. I envy finding that thing in your life that makes you feel complete, that feeling that it’s what you were born to do. I feel like I’m trying to figure it out, but I’m twenty-six, and at some point I should probably get my shit together. So yeah, I’m afraid I’m unremarkable.”

  Jackie

  It was strange to hear someone who I viewed as perfect express the same kinds of insecurities and doubts that plagued me on a daily basis. I didn’t totally get it—I mean, yeah, my whole life it had always been politics—but I understood the insecurity and the doubt. And as soon as he gave a voice to it, I wanted to take his fears away.

  “You’re not unremarkable.”

  Will shrugged. “I wasn’t fishing for compliments.”

  “I know. I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t mean it.” I needed him to know that I saw him. That for all the shit I gave him, I admired him. “You’re a good guy, a really good guy. Maybe that’s your thing. Being a good guy. Trust me, I wouldn’t underestimate it. I’ve been around enough politicians to appreciate that it’s not a given.

  “And for what it’s worth, I think you could be great at this. You just have to find a way to be comfortable with it. Elections suck. Consultants and advisors are the only people who actually like campaigns, and honestly, we get burned-out on them, too. Focus on the end result—getting elected, making changes. That’s what drew you to politics in the first place. Focus on that.”

  He smiled softly. “You’re really good at this.”

  “What? Giving pep talks?”

  “All of it.” He took a sip of his coffee, his gaze on me. “Okay, I shared mine, how about you?”

  When he’d originally suggested this, I’d thought about making up some BS. But now he’d trusted me with a part of himself I doubted he showed to many people, and it was hard to not feel like I should do the same with him.

  “I’m afraid I’m going to turn into my mother.”

  It was my biggest fear, the thing I’d never told anyone, and yet I gave it to him without hesitation.

  “Why? What’s wrong with your mother?”

  He’d met her. How could he not see it?

  “She dates powerful men who treat her like she’s no better than a mistress. Which she basically is.” It was the perfect opportunity for me to add the rest of it, and yet I couldn’t. Maybe I was an idiot, or a coward, or all of the above, but I couldn’t say the words, couldn’t let him see how ugly my origins really were.

  Something flickered in his eyes—understanding and what looked an awful lot like sympathy. “Jackie—”

  “Don’t feel sorry for me. It’s fucked up, and I hate it, and yeah, that’s why I don’t get into the politician thing.” The unspoken, except for you, hung between us. “But don’t feel sorry for me. It’s not the end of the world. It’s tawdry and cheap, but it’s fine. But now you get it. Why I am the way I am. It’s not you, it’s me.”

  “The whole drink thing at the Hay-Adams?”

  I nodded. “I pay my own way. Always. I don’t want some man taking care of me. I don’t need it.” The unspoken, not even you, hung between us, too.

  “And your father?”

  Will’s voice was gentle, completely devoid of judgment, and yet that word sent fear through me—fear and shame.

  “You never talk about him.”

  As wrong as I knew it was, I’d been telling the lie for long enough that the words just slipped out of my mouth, even as I knew I should have told him the truth.

  “My father’s dead.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Fuck me.

  —First draft, Capital Confessions blog

  Jackie

  Do not picture him naked. Do not picture him naked.

  We sat in the conference room, planning out Will’s next campaign stops. I’d been staring at a blank piece of paper for the last half hour. To say my mind was somewhere else would have been a massive understatement. I kept flashing back to Saturday night—to images of Will’s body, Will’s naked body, and of him thrusting into me, gripping my hips, of his mouth ravaging mine . . .

  Our gazes connected across the conference table and a flush spread over my cheeks. His eyes widened slightly, his lips twitching as if he’d read my mind. So much for self-control.

  I’d never been this girl before. I’d laughed at this girl. I’d liked guys, kissed guys, had sex with a few, and I’d never been the girl who was tied up in knots over a guy.

  Until now.

  I couldn’t fucking think. My Capital Confessions post was so overdue that I was avoiding angry emails from Sean, and my brain was seriously lagging. I was three freaking steps away from writing Will’s name on my notepad and drawing hearts around it.

  Fuck me.

  “Love to,” Will mouthed across the table. My cheeks flamed.

  I talked to myself when stressed; at least I hadn’t said it out loud. But still, mouthing it in a meeting was bad enough. I was officially losing it.

  “Excuse me,” I mumbled to no one in particular, getting up from my chair. Mitch droned on about some campaign mixer, and I opened the door, making my way through the empty office, heading for the bathroom. We’d been in the meeting for two hours now with only one break and I was starting to crack.

  Sitting across from Will had obviously been mistake number one. I was already
hyperaware of him, and two hours of staring at his hands, his lips, his mouth, was driving me crazy.

  I’d left his place Sunday afternoon and had spent all day and night giving myself a mental pep talk. I was the queen of compartmentalization; it should have been easy to keep my private life out of the office. Except he’d brought me a muffin and coffee this morning.

  It wasn’t a big deal; he did nice things like that for the staff all the time. But the smile he’d given me when he dropped them off at my desk was nothing like the smile he gave Mitch or anyone else. And it wasn’t just his smile, it was the hands that had brushed against mine, curving around my fingers as he handed me the cup. It was so easy to remember the feeling of those fingers inside me, stroking me, filling me. It was the scent of him that surrounded me as he leaned in and dropped the muffin on my desk.

  It had been a day since I’d last seen him, and I already wanted him again. Badly.

  This was such a fucking disaster.

  Mitch, who I was beginning to think was omniscient, kept shooting me looks throughout the meeting, and I worried everyone knew I’d been screwing Will Clayton’s brains out over the weekend.

  I stared at my reflection in the bathroom mirror, my hands gripping the edge of the countertop.

  “Stop freaking out. He’s just a guy. It was just sex.”

  I repeated the mantra over and over, hoping that if I said it enough, I’d believe it.

  Maybe I should hit the gym after work. A run was the perfect distraction to stave off the sexual frustration that was like a geyser waiting to explode. Sexual frustration? I’d just had sex with this guy. What was wrong with me? I leaned my forehead against the glass, my eyes shutting.

  “Fuck me.”

  And then I heard it, the sound of the bathroom door closing, followed by a lock turning. My eyes opened as I whirled around, coming face-to-face with Will. He just stared at me, his shoulder propped against the bathroom door, and then a slow smile, one that sent a tingle through my body, followed by a flash of heat, spread across his lips.