by Tessa Bailey
“Do you consider yourself a modern-day Robin Hood?”
Grace’s hands rose to cover her mouth, her head shaking in slow denial. Oh God. She…they hadn’t planned for the worst-case scenario, but they’d landed smack dab in the center of it nonetheless. The scene outside Aaron’s cabin faded, replaced by grainy camera footage of Aaron walking up the pathway to YouthAspire the night prior, two pillowcases dangling from his hands.
This couldn’t be happening. How was this happening?
She could read Aaron’s mind, knew he was asking himself the same questions. And not for the first time, she witnessed his intelligence without him having to say a single word. This was where he shined, even if she preferred him speaking without having a strategy. Saying whatever truth occurred to him without having a chance to censor himself. Yes, she could see engines cranking behind his tired eyes, see the way every reporter in the frame quieted and snapped to attention when he finally addressed them.
“I’m Aaron Clarkson.” His charming smile sent white streaking across the television screen. “Although given a choice, this isn’t how I would have made my first impression as Senator Pendleton’s newest advisor.”
A burst of questions and flashes, one of them breaking through as the most prominent. “If you work for the senator, why would you steal from his campaign?”
Aaron smoothed the wrinkled collar of his shirt. “Stealing is a strong word,” he admonished with a wink, making Grace fall back against the cushions, barely able to recognize him anymore. “The senator is well aware of the donation—it was his idea. Senator Pendleton is a passionate supporter of youth causes throughout Iowa and nationwide. This campaign is about giving back—about earning the respect of America’s young people—and this gesture was meant to bolster that foundation.” Another devastating smile that even had Grace sighing like a lovesick teenager flashed across the screen. “Unfortunately, the senator wasn’t interested in taking credit for his idea, so I was the lucky one sent out in the snowstorm to deliver his gift.”
An extended silence ensued, but the flashes didn’t stop. Without Aaron making any actual poses, Grace had no doubt he would look incredible in every shot. Several questions were fired at Aaron, but he deflected them with a good-natured wave. “If you’ll excuse me, I was in the middle of making myself look human.” Tentative laughter. “My boss is a stickler for punctuality, so I’m blaming all of you for making me late.”
With that, he turned and executed a perfect jog up the cabin steps and disappeared into the cabin, leaving Grace sitting openmouthed on her couch. The beginning of a smile had just started to warm her mouth when she heard the crunch of gravel in the distance. Intuition sparkling in her nerve endings, Grace rose from the couch and looked out the window, unsurprised to find Aaron climbing out of his Suburban in front of her family home. Not the guesthouse. Although, upon removing his sunglasses, he glanced in her direction, igniting a pulse in the southern region of her body. “Yowza,” she whispered, pressing a hand to the spot.
When Aaron continued up the porch to her parents’ front door, disappearing from view, Grace spun on a heel and ran toward the bedroom, jumping over her discarded boots along the way. A flood of thoughts and reactions to what Aaron had done on national television bombarded one another, but one took precedent. She couldn’t allow Aaron to face her father alone. Whatever her feelings toward his profession—and they hadn’t changed overnight—the theft and delivery of the campaign money had been her idea, her actions. Letting him take the fall would be wrong.
Grace threw her double closet doors open and scooped up the first two items of clothing she laid eyes on. Which happened to be a sweater…and tights with a pattern making them look like garter belts. She could change later, though, when her sole focus wasn’t being there for whatever went down between Aaron and her father. Making sure she took responsibility for what she’d done.
After slipping her feet into untied boots, Grace flew from the guesthouse, raced across the lawn, and went in through the back door leading to the kitchen. Her mother and sister were late risers and obviously still in bed or they would be drinking coffee at the table, going over the day’s agenda. When she heard raised male voices coming from her father’s den, Grace slowed her pace on the way through the house. It wasn’t eavesdropping, right? She was just taking her time getting down the hallway…
“Give me one reason why I shouldn’t have you arrested,” her father seethed.
Aaron didn’t miss a beat when he said, “Your resurgence in the polls this morning.” A light rustling of papers. “You’ve already gone up two percentage points since the segment began airing.”
“Oh, I don’t believe this. You’re actually here seeking gratitude?”
“I don’t want gratitude until you’re elected.” Aaron sounded so calm compared to how panicked he’d been last night, when she’d explained they couldn’t see each other again. How odd, when so much was at stake. His career. “Look, they put me on the spot and I ran with what I had. If you don’t see the value in that, maybe I should offer my services elsewhere.”
Grace realized she’d stopped breathing when her chest started to protest, her father’s rejoinder urging her closer to the den. “Even if I was a big enough moron to overlook your unauthorized distribution of funds…” A slam—fist hitting wood—jolted Grace back a step. “Spending time with you in any capacity does not benefit my daughter. Whatever has…happened, I don’t want to know. But it needs to end.”
That was her cue. With a deep breath, Grace stepped into the doorway, waiting for her father to acknowledge her presence. When it became obvious he was too absorbed in a stare down with Aaron, Grace rapped on the door frame. “Dad…”
If possible, his demeanor went even more rigid. “Grace, this does not—”
“Concern me? Yes, it does.” Aaron’s expression was guarded as he glanced over his shoulder, but she couldn’t focus on trying to read him now. She’d resolved last night to stop trying. Nothing had changed. Nothing. That reminder didn’t stop her from cataloging every detail of his appearance in one, quick sweep, however. He’d clearly showered and changed since the television interview. Face freshly shaven, hair styled, suit impeccable, he could have been a prince of some foreign country. Every maiden in the kingdom would swoon at his feet while he stepped over them, bored out of his mind. There was nothing boring in the way he looked at her, though. Oh no. She was locked in the prince’s crosshairs and a crack of lust’s whip tightened her muscles.
Focus. “Aaron…Mr. Clarkson…and I met two nights ago,” Grace started shakily. “He didn’t know who I was, but we made a deal. He didn’t realize keeping up his end of the bargain meant stealing the money. It’s my fault. I lied by omission. You know this whole plan was mine.”
“Of all places, Grace.” Her father deflated a little, massaging the back of his neck with a vigorous hand. “It had to be YouthAspire? After what happened to you there, I—”
“I know. You think I’m punishing you,” she interjected quickly, feeling Aaron’s attention zeroing in on her father’s words. “It’s the opposite, actually. I’m freeing all of us from what happened. I wish you could see it through my eyes.”
“I’m sorry.” He threw up his hands. “I can’t. I never will.”
Grace nodded, attempting to gather herself, but what Aaron said next silenced her. “I came here with a proposal, Senator. Would you like to hear it?”
Her father ran a hand over his mouth, grimacing when his office and cell phones began ringing at the same time. “Anything to avoid the goddamn fallout I’ll be dealing with from the contributors—who could very well want a refund on their donations, daughter.”
She flinched at the venom in her father’s tone, grateful for the way Aaron interceded smoothly, although there was definite tension around his mouth now. “We need to run with this, like it or not. There are news vans lined up down the block looking for a statement from the new, local hero. Not using this to your advanta
ge would be a wasted opportunity.” He rolled his neck, giving Grace a fleeting touch of eye contact. Fleeting, but powerful, because he couldn’t hide his irritation. At the way her father spoke to her? Yes. But there was more. It was reassurance. And coming from Aaron, it might as well have been a sword battle in her honor. Warmth spun around like a top in her stomach, picking up speed when he spoke again.
“Let’s get every available staffer on this. Let’s organize committees to find causes—such as YouthAspire—and show voters you’re a man of the people. Respect. Giving back. It’s your new platform and it will work, if we don’t let them get interested in something else first. Because believe me, your opponent it looking for a fucking dinner bell to ring as we speak.”
This was good. This reminder that Aaron didn’t see people, he saw numbers. Graphs. Polls. Demographics. She needed to remember that whenever his eyes threatened to convince her otherwise. And most of all, most important, she couldn’t let the good thing they’d done together last night be exploited. “I want in.”
Her father did a double take. “Excuse me?”
“I want to help.” She advanced farther into the room, noticing Aaron’s gaze dip to her legs. He quickly glued his attention above her neck, but not before he started a race of tingles speeding up her spine. “I know where volunteers and money will be put to the best use. Around Des Moines, especially. I can finally be useful to this campaign—”
Grace broke off when her father held up a hand. “I’m already questioning my sanity by considering Mr. Clarkson’s idea. If you think I’m going to reward your illegal behavior and total disregard for the rules, which were put in place for your own good, you have another think coming.”
Embarrassment was an emotion Grace rarely experienced, but the easy dismissal of her plea caused heat to bloom in her cheeks. Because Aaron was watching? Probably. Whatever the reason, her recessive stubborn gene chose that moment to go radioactive. Her spine turned to steel, her lungs seeming to expand with a sudden rush of energy. “I never ask you for anything. This is important to me.”
The office phone began ringing again, but when her father leaned down to answer, Grace placed a hand over the receiver to prevent him. “What are you doing?” he said.
“I’m not asking anymore.” Gripping tight to her courage, Grace lifted her chin. “You’ve kept everything about my experience away from the media, like it never happened. I’m not sure you did that for me, or yourself. But if you shut me up in that guesthouse and don’t give me this chance to—finally—do something I’m passionate about?” She wet her parched lips. “I’ll go public with everything. Believe me when I say, I don’t care who knows. But you do. This campaign does.”
Grace must have been desperate for comfort, because Aaron’s arm brushing against her left elbow forced her to stand her ground, remaining strong in the face of her father’s disbelief. And the longer she stood there, refusing to bat an eyelash, the easier it became, until she almost wanted to argue more.
Her father lowered his voice and moved close. “Grace, you know why we think it’s in your best interest to stay out of the public eye.”
“It’s not.” She shook her head. “I know I’m not polished like my mother. Or accomplished like Emily. But I have something to offer. You have to let me give it.”
A deafening pause ensued while her father scrutinized her. She could see the ideas popping into his head, being discarded. Strategies being dissected. Straightening to his full height, he looked over at Aaron and Grace’s stomach seized. “You haven’t given a shit about propriety so far. Don’t start now.” He tilted his head in Grace’s direction. “Will she hurt or help us?”
Grace became winded, reminding her of the time she’d gotten nailed in the stomach with a kickball. Feeling the remains of her courage slipping away, she pasted a calm expression onto her face and turned to Aaron, who watched her from behind an invisible brick wall. “Help.” His tone was brisk as he looked down, began arranging the paperwork he’d stacked on the desk. “If we want your name to stay in everyone’s mouth come tomorrow, we need someone who knows the local landscape. The Pendleton campaign has five days remaining in Iowa before the campaign gets back on the trail. I doubt she can do any damage between now and then.”
“See that she doesn’t.” Her father finally answered the phone, but kept one hand cupped over the receiver as he regarded Aaron for one beat, two. “I haven’t forgotten what landed you on your ass. Any sign of inappropriate behavior and I’ll cut you off at the knees, Clarkson.”
Chapter Eleven
Oh, that went fucking swimmingly.
Aaron’s internal sarcasm came to an abrupt halt when Grace followed him down the front steps of Pendleton’s porch. He only strode faster for the Suburban. No way. No, he couldn’t handle Grace right now. There were committees to assemble, research to perform, incentives to devise. And if he looked into Grace’s sad and brave and beautiful green eyes, he wouldn’t give a fuck about any of it.
God, she couldn’t be an actual, real person. Who just waltzed in and demanded to take the blame—for anything? In his experience, that was the exact opposite behavior most people exhibited. As if her act of selflessness hadn’t been enough to throw him for a loop, she’d actually…made his damn hands shake in there, standing up to her father the way she’d done. For a brief moment, he’d actually considered throwing up the sheaf of documents and shouting, Oh, the hell with it. No matter what he did, no matter who he helped get elected or arguments he won, he’d never feel the kind of pride in himself Grace deserved to feel after the scene in Pendleton’s office. Not even if he exhumed Abraham goddamn Lincoln and got his corpse reelected by a landslide.
Now, Aaron could get Pendleton into office, no sweat. He hadn’t anticipated the pressure of having a new superior, however. No wonder, after his last one had sliced him down the middle with a job termination and a parting shot. This is how you repay me?
Aaron swallowed the beginnings of guilt and picked up his pace.
“Hey, could you just wait?” Grace’s footfalls fell along the path behind Aaron, but he still didn’t turn around. He wouldn’t until they could no longer be seen from the house. Why? Because she was asking to be eye-fucked. Top to bottom. On top of the battle he’d been waging in the office, his cock nearly giving a full salute to those see-through tights had been just a tad inconvenient. And worse, she could have walked in wearing Mrs. Lincoln’s nightgown and his balls would still have filled with weight. Grace simply did that to him. Aroused him. Made him wish he’d been born with whatever vital DNA he clearly lacked. The kind that would allow him to witness her level of compassion and understand it. Or recognize the ability in himself.
He reached the Suburban and jerked open the driver’s side door, using it like a shield between himself and Grace. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a business card and penned his cell phone number on the back, handing it to her. Refusing to witness her reaction to such an obnoxious—but necessary—brush-off, he cut his gaze to the side. There were too many obstacles between them now, and any amount of time spent with her would only tempt Aaron to find ways around them. It couldn’t happen. He’d come too far to screw up now. Screw up again.
“What’s this?” Grace asked.
“My cell number. Do what you can on your end. Get me a list of places, contacts, and their specific causes so I can vet them.” He slid his hands into his jacket pockets, but jerked them free when he encountered the shredded red ribbons. “I’ll get on the phone and work my own angles, locate resources. We’ll touch base later.”
“No.” She leaned to the right, tossing his business card back into the Suburban like a Frisbee. “I’m coming with you.”
Just like that, Aaron’s temper spiked so dramatically, he could see the yellow slash of it paint his vision. “You’re the one. You said we couldn’t be alone together anymore. I’m just following the rules.” He jerked his chin toward the house. “Those rules are even more set in stone now tha
n they were last night.”
God, being this close to her, he could see every nuanced reaction flit across her face. A face that would never be duplicated or even resembled by someone else. She was nervous and excited and trying to be brave, all at once. Brave toward him. Which went another ten miles toward making him a bastard.
“If you leave without me, you’ll shut me out. Make a list?” She blinked up at the sky, which rained winter sunshine down onto her features. “I’m tired of being humored. Don’t do that to me.”
A growl vibrated in his throat, self-preservation clashing with the bitter distaste of picturing her back in the guesthouse, alone in the silence. He tapped his fist against the inside of the car door. “I thought after this morning, after I gave credit to your father for that donation, you wouldn’t lend me a hose if I was on fire.”
Grace’s head gave a slight tilt. “No. What you did, what you said…there was no other way to guarantee the shelter could keep the money.” She peered up at him. “Did you think about that? Was it part of your decision?”
Yeah. Crazy enough, it had been. When he’d opened the cabin door and seen the cameras, he’d had two simultaneous concerns. Keeping the hope of a job alive and making sure Grace didn’t…lose her moment. He’d actually wanted to punch himself in the face for the mental recitation of those words. Grace is going to have her moment taken away. Maybe all we have is moments. Perhaps he’d still been drunk on whiskey, but he’d sobered quick enough, the pleasurable surge of taking charge, solving a problem, overrunning that fleeting goodwill. Thank Christ. “No, Grace. I acted in the only way I could to secure my job on this campaign.” He pushed his fingers through his hair. “I thought the pressure was off after last night. Thought you’d finally stopped expecting good things from me.”
Her breath had created a circle of fog on the driver’s side window, and now she dragged a finger diagonally through the center, as if to say, Shut up, you bullshit artist. Or maybe he was the one projecting the sentiment. “It was only a question.” She dropped her hand and made a move to circle the Suburban. “Shotgun.”