Heartless

by R. C. Martin

  Shaking my head slightly, I admit, “I wasn’t, but I’m glad to hear that.”

  “She’s finally seeing someone. I guess it’s pretty serious.”

  “Good for her,” I reply genuinely. “She deserves to be happy.”

  “All right—change of subject,” Gabe interjects, clapping his hands on his knees. Leaning forward once more, he looks at Abbie and adds, “Or I’ll tell Tamara you brought up Ronnie.”

  This time, it’s Abbie who concedes.

  “Mama!” cries MJ as he pushes himself up onto his feet.

  I follow the direction of his gaze and see Blaine and my mother enter the room together. My wife is beautiful every day, but I love the way she looks the most on the days when we’re laying low and she doesn’t feel the need to get dressed up. It reminds me of the Blaine I fell in love with—before she was my wife; before she was a mother; before she was the First Lady of Colorado—all roles in which she’s fallen into with such grace, strength, and love.

  Her wavy locks, draped well beyond her shoulders these days, are loose; and her face is completely free of makeup, which I’ve always preferred. The oversized, black t-shirt she’s got on reads: OMG Chill, the font written above a snowman. Her printed green leggings cling to her slim legs, and her feet are covered in thick, candy cane striped socks that she wears pulled up over her calves.

  She smiles in response to MJ’s greeting, stopping in her tracks as she leans over and holds out her hands in encouragement. “Hi, baby. Come here, handsome.”

  Abandoning his toys, as well as Aria, he toddles his way across the room, his arms lifted in the air as if to express exactly what he’s after. As soon as he’s in reaching distance, Blaine scoops him up and smothers his face in kisses. He giggles—one of my absolute favorite sounds in the whole world—happily accepting his mother’s affection.

  “My turn. Give mama kisses,” Blaine says before puckering her lips.

  MJ holds her face and delivers a smooch, making my wife light up with a gorgeous grin.

  “Thank you! Now, kisses for abuela?”

  She leans him over so he can reach my mother, and he plants a sweet kiss on her cheek.

  Mom gasps excitedly, her eyes glimmering at my son as she murmurs, “Gracias, Mikey!”

  He claps his hands, looking back to his mother for further approval, and she giggles—one of my absolute favorite sounds in the whole world—and touches her forehead to his as she tells him, “You’re my sweet boy. Ornery when the mood strikes,” she mumbles, shaking her head a little. “But so, so sweet. I love you.”

  As he jabbers his response, I feel Abigail nudge me with her elbow before she tells me, “This face I sort of love.”

  “What face?” I ask, my focus still trained across the room.

  Blaine catches my eye and smiles at me as she runs her fingers through MJ’s dark, curly hair.

  “You’re in Michael mode,” says Gabe, clapping a hand on my shoulder.

  Freeing a sigh, Abbie leans up against me, resting her head on my shoulder as she admits, “Estás tan feliz que haces que el resto de nosotros se vea patético.1”

  Finally looking away from my angel, I grin down at my sister and reply, “Yo tampoco lo siento.2”

  Blaine

  I PAUSE FOR A moment, standing at the foot of the stairs as I watch my husband of almost two years carry our sleeping baby boy up to his room. It’s during stolen moments like this one, where I can stop and admire the love of a father with his son, that my heart is so full I feel as though it could burst. Michael is incredible with our little Michael John; and every time I see them together, I feel blessed to have had the opportunity to give my great love the responsibility of fatherhood.

  When they disappear around the corner, I finally make my way up the stairs, too. It’s been a long day. After having spent our morning with my dad, and all afternoon with the Cavanaugh clan, I’m happy to be home. Once I’m in our room, I head straight for the bed. I kick off my boots and abandon my purse on the floor before laying out across the middle of the mattress. I’m far from tired, and as I lay staring up at the ceiling, I wait in anticipation for some alone time with my husband.

  We got really lucky with MJ. He’s been sleeping through the night since he was about four months old. Michael tries his best to make it home every night before MJ goes down, and then it’s just us. Sometimes our moments still feel stolen, like when we first met—especially when work gets particularly hectic—but at his core, my man is a family man. He’s always going out of his way to make up for the times when he can’t be with us.

  My thoughts of Michael are chased away by the man himself as he crawls on top of me, dipping his head to kiss and nibble on my neck. The whiskers of his beard tickle my skin, and I giggle, automatically wrapping myself around him. He’s grown out his facial hair even more than usual during this holiday season, and I think it’s sexy as hell. It feels really good, too. I can’t possibly explain how it is that after all this time, I’m just as enamored with him as I was when we first started seeing each other, but I totally am.

  “He’s knocked out,” Michael mumbles, kissing his way toward my lips.

  “Does that mean we can go play?” I ask breathily, just the thought causing a shiver of excitement to race down my spine.

  “It’s been a day or two. I think we should. Besides, I got you something I think you’ll like—something I couldn’t give you until we were alone. Another little something for our playroom.”

  He doesn’t give me a chance to respond as he closes his mouth around mine. I hum when he sweeps his tongue between my lips, tasting me and turning me on all at once. Reaching up, I sink my fingers into his hair, closing my fists around the strands and keeping him close.

  The house he bought us a few weeks after we were married has four bedrooms and a loft space upstairs, with all of our living accommodations downstairs. The basement has an additional two rooms, where Clay and Joseph stay. There had only been one previous owner before us, and the house had been an ideal find when we moved in.

  Then Michael suggested we make one of the spare rooms our playroom.

  Moving in and having the chance to decorate a nursery and furnish a playroom was pretty hilariously spectacular. We didn’t really get much use out of the playroom right away, with my progressing pregnancy, but as soon as I got the okay from the doctor after MJ was born, it quickly became one of my favorite rooms in the house. It’s nothing too crazy, as Michael and I aren’t what I would consider hardcore—but it’s sexy and it’s ours. It’s furnished with my old bed, always conducive for bondage, a bench with a matching dresser full of lingerie and toys, and a St. Andrew’s Cross. We keep it locked at all times—whether we’re in it or not—and there’s a video baby monitor mounted on the wall that we make sure to check between orgasms.

  “Kiss me for much longer, and we won’t make it to the playroom, baby,” I mutter, my lips still pressed to his.

  He chuckles and I feel his mouth stretch into a grin against mine before he kisses me once more and pulls away. He doesn’t lift himself off of me, but rather stares down into my eyes before he says, “I want to talk to you about something first.”

  “Okay,” I reply, tracing my fingers down his cheeks and into his beard. “What is it?”

  His smile fades and he takes a deep breath, his eyes dancing around my face before he speaks. He’s silent for so long, I furrow my brow a little in concern before I lift my head and kiss him softly.

  “Tell me, baby.”

  “I’m thinking about running for president.”

  My eyes grow wide, and my lips part with a gasp before I ask, “Like—United States President?”

  A smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth as he clarifies, “Yeah, angel. That one.”

  “Holy shit,” I breathe, taking a moment to process his confession.

  Gazing up at the man on top of me, it doesn’t take me long before I’m not so much surprised as I am afraid. Michael is, without a doubt, the s
martest man that I know. He still gets totally geeky and passionate at anything and everything related to politics, and I know how much he loves being governor. If I didn’t know before the campaign for his reelection commenced, I certainly knew it after. He fought so hard to earn another four years in office, and the sex we had after he won—it was the best of my life.

  “Angel,” he murmurs, tracing the tip of his nose along the length of mine, pulling me from my thoughts. “What are you thinking?”

  “I think—I think you would make a marvelous president. It’s just—I don’t know; it also scares me a little.”

  “That’s fair. Tell me why,” he insists, his dark blue eyes searching mine for understanding.

  My mind fills with memories of the backlash he received after coming clean about our affair. He lost a lot of support, and he had to battle through hell to earn the trust of many. I remember the protestors and the reporters who wouldn’t stop following us everywhere for months. Michael was incredible—as a governor, taking responsibility and working ten times harder than before—but even more so, he was incredible as my husband. Through it all, he kept his promise to stay at my side. He protected me, he fought for me, he fought for us. In the end, he didn’t simply win, he conquered.

  Except, running for president, being elected as president, that’s taking it to a whole new level. I’ve never really been one to throw myself into the spotlight. Fortunately for me, Michael shines so bright, I can go almost entirely unnoticed when I want to. I do my best to hold my own as his wife—as his partner in all things—but I’m not filled with the same political prowess as him.

  “It’s a huge responsibility,” I finally answer. “Like—huge.”

  “This is true; but you know me and a challenge.”

  “Yes, but it’s not just you. It’s a huge responsibility for all of us. I barely know what I’m doing standing as your First Lady now. If you became President, you’d be so far out of my league, it’s not even funny. I’m afraid of holding you back.”

  “Hey, don’t talk like that. I don’t want to hear that,” he states adamantly. “You don’t hold me back. You’ve never held me back. If anything, having you at my side has encouraged me to work harder—fight harder—every single day.”

  He delivers a slow, wet kiss, reminding my body of what we were doing just a moment ago. He then pulls away and informs me, “I love you. I can’t live without you, and I certainly would never think to run for president if I didn’t know that I could do it—if I didn’t know that we could get through the battle of the campaign trail and win, together.

  “You have to know that I wouldn’t even mention the idea if I didn’t think you were capable of holding your own at my side. My career is important to me, but my promise to you still stands. In my personal life, you come first. I don’t want to put you through hell for my own personal gain—but you’re better at being my First Lady than you think. Give yourself more credit. You’ve earned it.”

  I bite the inside of my cheek, staring up at him as my nervous anticipation makes my stomach flutter.

  “You really think that?”

  “Have I ever lied to you?”

  I shake my head, certain that he’s never been less than honest with me.

  He is my Honest Abe.

  “Do you…do you really think that you could win?”

  “It’s hard to say, for sure—but I think we have a chance. We just have to put our name in the ring.”

  I nod, pulling in a deep breath as I try and imagine life being married to the President of the United States. The longer the idea swirls around in my head, the more thrilled I become. The possibility of him winning still scares me, but he wouldn’t be my Michael if he wasn’t so ambitious—and I have to admit, it sort of turns me on, thinking of being married to the most powerful man in the country.

  “Would you have to shave this?” I ask teasingly, running my fingers through his beard.

  “Not if you don’t want me to.”

  Shrugging, I explain, “I don’t remember the last time we had a President who wasn’t clean shaven.”

  “Maybe it’s time,” he grins.

  “And when do you think was the last time there were two babies running around the White House?”

  He furrows his brow in confusion before he mutters, “I don’t—I don’t know. Why?”

  “Because, by my calculations, if you won, MJ would be two and a half, and his little brother or sister would be less than a year. Do you think it would be hard to baby proof the White House?”

  “Blaine…”

  I bite my lower lip, trying hard to fight my grin.

  “Angel?” he asks softly, his eyes clearly expressing his unasked question.

  “I’m pregnant, baby.”

  “Right now?”

  Giggling, I nod and reply, “I was waiting to tell you when we were alone. You kind of side tracked me with talk of the playroom and then the whole president thing.”

  Bringing his lips to mine, he kisses me hard, stealing my breath away.

  “You’re making me another baby?” he whispers.

  “Yes,” I hum into his mouth with a quiet laugh. “Merry Christmas, Michael.”

  He grins down at me before pushing himself up and standing to his feet. He then reaches for my hands, pulling me into a seated position and helping me to my feet. Hooking one arm around my waist, he slips another hand around the back of my neck, holding me close.

  “It’s time for your gift.”

  “Oh, yeah?” I lean into him further, already excited for the remainder of the night ahead of us.

  The hand around my waist slips down over my ass, and he squeezes me delightfully hard before he orders, “I want you in black, on the bed.”

  I mentally sort through my favorite black underwear, and then smile at him coyly when I think of the exact pair that I’ll wear. I lift up onto my tiptoes and press a kiss on the underside of his jaw before slowly backing out of his arms.

  I reach for the hem of my shirt, and then pull the fabric over my head. Turning away from my husband, I drop the garment on the floor before looking back at him from over my shoulder. I offer my love a wink and obediently start to take my leave, already slipping into character.

  With my eyes trained on his stormy blue ones, I murmur, “Yes, sir.”

  * * *

  1 You’re so happy, it makes the rest of us look pathetic.

  2 I’m not sorry about it, either.

  If you made it this far, all I can say is thank you. Thank you for giving me the chance to tell this story to completion. By nature, forbidden love is complicated, messy, ugly, and sometimes wrong. Nevertheless, we all have our stories to tell, our crosses to bear, and the grace to try again, to grow, and to be better people with the dawning of each new day.

  xoxo

  R.C.

  Made for Love Series

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  The O’Conners

  So Much More

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  Fool For You

  Chasing After Me

  Mountains & Men Series

  Encore Worthy

  Worthy of the Harmony

  Worthy of the Dissonance

  Worthy of the Melody

  Tennessee Grace Duet

  Background Noise: A Tennessee Grace Short

  Backwoods Belle

  The Savior Series

  Guarded

  Tethered (Coming Winter 2018)

  I'm a born and bred Coloradan. While I now reside in Virginia, the land of the Rocky Mountains is where I've left a piece of my heart and where my characters come to life. I started writing love stories when I was seventeen, and I haven't been able to stop! With me, you'll find that I dabble in a few different romance genres, but my voice is one that's all about the heart. Writing is my dream; and as a dreamer, you can rest assured that there are many more novels in my head that I can hardly wait to share.

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