by Tessa Bailey
His arms crossed over his chest. “Why do you need to prove that?”
“Because you were so sure I couldn’t.” Grace scanned the area behind Aaron, tilted her head in either direction. “Where is Old Man?”
“With my sister.” His smile was devilish. “Getting a bath.”
A smile passed over Grace’s lips, but she let it slide away. He was probably in a hurry, wondering how long he needed to feign interest in a girl he’d never see again. “This way, if you please,” she said, gesturing for him to follow her around the back of the school building. They were a good five-minute walk from where the action was taking place in the cafeteria. “I didn’t realize you were here with family.”
Aaron’s purposeful strides had him catching up beside her in seconds. “It’s a long story full of dysfunctional people and uncomfortable crying. I won’t bore you with it.”
“Don’t you know politicians never turn down a chance to talk?”
A corner of his mouth lifted. “How do you know so much about politicians?” He scrutinized her. “Matter of fact, what is your purpose for being in Iowa? I’m going on a lot of faith here, considering I know nothing about you, apart from your fear of bears.”
Grace separated from Aaron’s side briefly, so they could circumvent a tree stump. “Does that mean you’re desperate, Aaron?”
She wished she could tug back the question, but it was already out, too personal and too inappropriate. In keeping with her usual behavior, if you asked her mother, father, or any one of the myriad therapists she’d been shuffled in front of over the last six years. She started say, Forget I asked, but Aaron surprised her by answering, “I guess you could say I’m a touch anxious. But I won’t be for long.”
“I believe you,” Grace responded honestly.
Aaron’s body heat warmed her side and the sensation was so nice, Grace moved a little closer. Judging from their progress along the back of the school, they had only another minute or so. It wouldn’t hurt to savor his company just a little, would it? From Aaron’s narrow-eyed glance at the marginal distance between them, he noticed she’d edged nearer, but when he spoke, it wasn’t to reprimand her. Or explain that he had a girlfriend. Or whatever men did when a woman approached without encouragement. “We’re driving to New York. Me, my brother, sister, and her best friend.” He blew a sigh into the forest. “My mother passed away last year and we’re jumping into the Atlantic on New Year’s Day to fulfill her final wish.”
Grace halted, her mouth falling open. “Wow. Really? Wow.” It might have been the most glorious thing she’d ever heard. And definitely the last thing she’d expected from a man who seemed the farthest thing from whimsical. Or the type to indulge whimsy in the slightest. “Why?”
“Good question.” Aaron kept walking, so Grace did, too. “My mother had a weird sense of humor. I guess we’ll find out when we get there.”
Can I go? The pleading question was right there on the tip of her tongue, but she just managed to wrangle it back down her throat. “I hope you buy a jacket before then. You’re going to need it when you get out of the water.”
Aaron shook his head on a perplexed laugh, opened his mouth as if he wanted to say something in response, but closed it, his golden brown eyes shuttering. Closed for business.
She shouldn’t feel such disappointment over the very pointed end to their short association, should she? But it simply didn’t feel final yet. How would she find out why Aaron’s mother had sent him on such a crazy mission? And more important, she’d never find out what Aaron might have written on her clean slate. Or what she could have written on his, if he ever decided to hand his over. Her thoughts were so loud, she worried Aaron might hear them, so Grace put some breathing room between them and sighed over the loss of such delicious body heat. “When we get to the back door, try to look about ninety percent irritated and ten percent worried.”
His eyebrows shot up. “Worried about what?”
“Me.”
The security guard at the rear entrance came into view, his familiar hawk eyes zeroing in on Grace. Then Aaron. Exasperation moved over the guard’s features before he hid it by adjusting his earpiece. Activity swarmed on the front side of the building, the media, the shouted questions, the general scrape and hum of movement audible, even where they walked along the backside of the school.
Knowing once they were inside, she wouldn’t see Aaron again, Grace smiled up at him, noticing he didn’t look quite as confident as he had a moment before. “It was nice meeting you,” she whispered. “Thanks for not ratting me out.”
“I…” He smoothed a hand down the front of his ruby-colored tie. “I won’t see you…around again?”
Grace’s hands itched with the urge to burrow into her hair, latch on to the braids she’d completed this morning while waiting for Aaron to show. “Probably not. Why would you?”
Why was he frowning at her? She couldn’t ask him why, since they were within earshot of the guard and the walk had ended way too soon. With a final memorization of his furrowed brow, she transferred her focus. “Hey, Marcus.”
“Grace.” Marcus dipped his chin at Aaron. “Who’s this?”
Her neck grew stiff. “This is my handler for today. He’s new.”
Marcus split a look between her and Aaron, before consulting his clipboard. “No one ran a change in staff by me.”
Grace could feel Aaron’s sharp scrutiny and ignored it, attempting to breeze past Marcus with a casual smile. “I understand. I’ll just go grab my dad, so he can clear it up—”
“No. That’s okay.” As predicted, a harried Marcus blocked her path. “Your father is busy. Just…” He gave Aaron another once-over, lowering his voice to a conspiratorial whisper between men, as if Grace couldn’t hear every word. “You know the approved areas? Be sure to keep her within them.”
“Yes.” She was impressed when Aaron gave a brisk nod. “Will do.”
Aaron took her elbow and moved them into the back hallway, past the kitchen, where the local Boy Scouts were rushing to mix pancakes and pour them on the oversized, industrial griddle. Once they turned a corner and Marcus was no longer in view, Grace reluctantly tugged her elbow out of Aaron’s grip, rubbing the spot to keep the warmth alive awhile longer. “This is where we part ways.”
Aaron’s way too handsome face was the picture of bafflement. “Who are you, hippie?” The low, intense vibration of his voice made her shiver. “Why do you need a handler?”
She reached back and curled her fingers around the metal staircase handle. The one she knew was there—and where it led—thanks to last night’s expedition. Her intent was to slip away without answering, but after ignoring so many compulsions that morning already, she couldn’t deny the final one.
With a thready apology, Grace shot forward and up, locking her mouth with Aaron’s, memorizing the way his stiffness melted in one big deluge. The way he gave a rough exhale through his nose. That gruff sound that drummed from his throat, a split second before his lips opened, tongue teasing in to taste hers. Just some. The most perfect, slick greeting. The two of them hung there, mouths open, lips wet and fitted together, breath racing, kitchen clamoring behind them.
Two ends of a silk rope pulled taut beneath her belly button, a tempting lick of his tongue clenching muscles she’d never acquainted herself with, nor could she point them out on a diagram. Whoa Nelly. And with her heart slamming against her ribs like a wrecking ball, Grace cut out that snippet of time—so shimmering and unmarred—tucked it into her pocket, and stole down the staircase, wondering how long the memory of Aaron’s kiss would stay with her. Praying the answer was forever.
* * *
What the hell just happened?
Too many things. All sorts of…things. And he’d never—not a goddamn day in his life—had a problem articulating. He articulated and gesticulated and stipulated for a living. Truly, it was his gift. Yet when he attempted to weed through the last twelve hours, he came up empty. She’d kissed h
im. Okay, there was nothing out of the ordinary about that. Women kissed him all the time—the last heinous week of road trip hell notwithstanding. But the prospect of not seeing any of those kissers again didn’t make him want to slam a fist into the wall and shout why?
And there were a great number of reasons why he and Grace couldn’t share oxygen anymore. For one thing, he kind of wanted to bury his fists in that epic mess of hair and use it to pin her against a wall. So he could give her mouth hell for issuing that breathy, too-quick tease and having the nerve to walk away without a polite glance over her shoulder. But at the same time, applaud her for blowing him off after one kiss.
Aaron chose women based on their level of unavailability. The less they wanted a relationship, or even dinner and drinks, the better. If they were only interested in one thing—sex—they couldn’t peel back his surface and see nothing. A man who would rather walk across a bed of thorns than hold a woman while she cried or share a tub of popcorn at a rom com.
Getting close to another person was suicide, as far as he was concerned. People eventually walked away, although he wasn’t sure if that was a universal rule, or one that pertained only to him. His father had replaced Belmont as the male rock in his life, built him up, and then he’d gone and fucked off, too, hadn’t he? Left him bitter and self-sufficient. He was grateful for seeing human nature for what it was, deep down. The women he took to bed didn’t seem to mind, either.
Grace—whoever she was—didn’t have a place beneath him, being pressed down roughly into twisted sheets. He might have only made her acquaintance last night, but no way could she remain faceless, like the other women. Bed partners he respected, but didn’t feel the need to call again. Something told him he would never forget Grace’s face as long as he lived—and he didn’t like the rise of hot matter filling his chest at that realization. Or the prospect of how he could mar that sweetness with one mistake.
God, he didn’t even know if the way he felt about Grace was appropriate. How old was she? Early twenties, probably, but he hadn’t confirmed. Furthermore, there was a delicate quality to her that—when combined with the fact that she had a handler—brought on a healthy dose of self-disgust. Was she…sick in some way?
And why did that just make him want to see her more? Demand she explain and let him…plan a solution for her? Instead of running high speed in the opposite direction, as would be wise?
Didn’t matter. She was gone. Gone. And rather than slipping into the pancake breakfast like a phoenix from the ashes, he was standing there, actually considering going down the staircase after the girl. She would be surprised, too. For some strange reason, there was no doubt in his head about that. She wouldn’t expect him to come after her—and that kind of pissed him off. Made him want to go after her more. Grab her by the shoulders and tell her he hadn’t gotten hot from a single kiss since middle school and ask her to let his tongue in one more time…while he palmed her tits and listened to her whimper.
A loud crash in the kitchen tore the fabric of Aaron’s inner mayhem down the middle, jolting him backward and away from the stairway. Jesus Christ, had he actually succumbed to frostbite last night in the woods, and this whole morning was one big-ass delirious imagining? Look around you, man. You’re in. This was his shot. Some girl sure as shit wasn’t going to throw a mental roadblock into his path, not when his game needed to be flawless.
Aaron ran his right hand down the front of his tie, making sure the top button on his starched collar was buttoned. Ignoring the burning urge to throw one final look down the stairs, he sailed down the rest of the hallway, bypassed a series of utility closets, and entered the cafeteria. After giving his eyes a moment to adjust to the bright television lights, in addition to the buzzing halogens hanging from the ceiling, Aaron noticed he’d entered the giant space behind a row of photographers. One of them turned in the process of shoving a cigarette behind his ear, giving Aaron a nod.
“Bathroom’s the other way,” he said in a gravelly voice, but halfway through the sentence, he did a double take and snapped his fingers. “Wait a minute. Golden Boy, right? Million Dollar Smile…”
While scanning the room for Glen Pendleton, Aaron gave a brisk nod. “That would be me.”
The cameraman dug in his black canvas bag and produced a state-of-the-art Nikon, which was immediately put to use snapping pictures of Aaron. “Is it true you were fired from Senator Boggs’s office for—”
“No.” Stupid. Stupid to feel like the wind had been knocked out of him. He’d known his misdeeds would be put under a magnifying glass at some point, if he decided to remain in the political arena. Today was that day apparently. There was a twitch between his shoulder blades, however, that he hadn’t expected. A need to turn around, check to make sure Grace hadn’t followed him and overheard. Ridiculous. There was nothing behind him but a closed door leading to the hallway. “No, it’s not true. Would I be here this morning, looking so damn good, if it was?”
One final camera snap, before the Nikon was deposited back into the bag. “Guess not.”
Aaron spotted Pendleton across the cafeteria, his ex-military bearing fiercely rigid as he moved through a sea of admirers, reporters, and constituents—some of whom were offering up babies—toward his pancake-laden table. The Iowa senator had announced his candidacy for president a year prior and had been leading in the polls ever since. His military background, combined with his sharp sense of humor, had made him an immediate favorite with the press and voters alike. Unfortunately, his competitor was running a very effective campaign, creating doubt about Pendleton’s ability to win the nomination. This week in Iowa was intended to remind voters of Pendleton’s success as a senator and remind them how much his constituents loved him, by parading that affection across all forms of media. When this week was over, however, the senator would be getting back on the campaign trail. Every move, every statement and neck tie color, would be important, and Aaron intended to be a part of it.
“Excuse me,” Aaron said quietly, moving past the row of photographers.
He hung back during the meal, knowing he’d have to pick his moment. And that moment was not while Pendleton was mid-chew, his image being captured by a hundred news outlets. To the senator’s right sat his wife and daughter, both of them attractive in a quiet, polished way. Tasteful brown hair, pulled back in low buns, modest clothing, indulgent smiles.
Nothing like Grace, with her—
Goddammit. Stop thinking about her.
Except…he hadn’t said thank you. Had he? No. Had it been required? He’d done Grace a solid by not sounding the alarm that she’d been trespassing. In return, she’d snuck him into the event. A favor for a favor. So why did he feel like a prick?
Aaron realized he was licking his lower lip side to side, attempting to capture her taste, and groaned inwardly when he succeeded. Candy.
Pendleton pushed back from the cafeteria table, followed by his wife and daughter, although Aaron noticed they’d taken a grand total of one bite between them. “Don’t tell my wife,” Pendleton said with a sly wink. “But these might be the best pancakes I’ve ever had. We’ll see about sneaking the recipe into her cookbook.”
Everyone laughed on cue, then directed their applause toward the Boy Scouts who were hovering in various locations around the room, sweat dotting their brows, looking shell-shocked, but proud. After that, everyone moved at once. The pictures had been taken, sound bites captured, and now the herd moved to the next locale. Aaron knew the procedure well and his blood pumped, being so close to the action once again. Finally, back where I belong.
The senator moved through the press line and Aaron sidled left, through the gathering of supporters, who were beginning to dissipate, having gotten their prized shot for Instagram. When Aaron and the senator drew even, Aaron could see from the man’s lack of surprise that he’d been aware of Aaron throughout the whole breakfast.
Pendleton’s handshake was firm, but there was speculation in his intelligent gaze. “T
hought we’d seen the last of you, Clarkson.” His smile didn’t waver. “My short list of potential advisers definitely has.”
Aaron only smiled wider. “I’m here to change your mind about that.”
“You’ve got under a minute to explain how.” Pendleton sent a wave to someone beyond Aaron’s shoulder. “Considering the transgression you committed, it better be good. Hell, even if it dazzles me, your character will always be in question.”
His stomach pitched, but he didn’t let it show on his face. “If we took the time to hold everyone in this race accountable for their mistakes, we’d never get anything done. And we’re here to win an election.” Aaron waited until the senator stopped waving and returned his attention once again. “You were considering me once to help garner the youth vote. Whoever you chose in my stead isn’t getting it done or you wouldn’t be giving me the time of day right now.”
Pendleton laughed under his breath, shaking out his stance. “Let’s say that were true. What would you do differently?”
“If I weren’t up against my misdeeds, I would tell you to hire me and find out, but that’s not the case.” Aaron could see the man appreciated his honesty. Could see that he’d read Pendleton correctly. “Your social media presence is huge—bigger than your competitor’s—but you’re telling the eighteen to twenty-five demo what they should be outraged over. That’s not how it works.” The words were like honey rolling off his tongue. “Downplay your brand. Make them think they’re discovering you on their own. And then urge them to vote. Just vote. Young people smell desperation like sharks in the water. Whoever is working for you is going to lose you the leg you have dangling in the ocean right now.”
Aaron had statistics and ideas with which to hit the senator, but in the interest of practicing what he’d preached, he forced himself to ease off.
“Did you know your competitor is holding a Facebook rally this afternoon? Already has a million attendees logging in.” Aaron threw a look around the rapidly emptying cafeteria. “This is a clip on CNN later tonight and no under-forty is watching. This won’t make The Daily Show. Kimmel might make a joke about the way you hold a fork, if you’re lucky.” He gave the senator a final nod and stepped back. “If you’re interested in getting in front of the right eyes, interested in getting clicks, I can do that for you. You’ll have your own app by Friday.”