Page 87 of Ready For His Rule

Chapter Fifteen

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Be careful whatyou ask for.

Should’ve been the lesson she’d learned thoroughly by now, right? Turn a crafting hobby into an online store, end up with a hundred employees and two warehouses. Take on Congress about security measures for foreign contractors, be appointed vice president of the country. Push John Franzen when the man had you bent over and writhing atop a desk, and the words “executive order” gained meaning beyond the wildest imagination.

But keep pushing the man, even when the desk wasn’t a factor, and get the strangest result of all.

A reaction, despite the sienna shade of the man’s face, feeling a hell of a lot like a Kansas prairie snow storm. Unreadable. Impenetrable. Eerie, even in the middle of the afternoon.

She forced down a deep breath for herself. Crazily, took heed of what she liked calling her “Capitol Hill Swami”: the inner voice responsible for keeping her grounded when she most longed to pummel herself into that ground. She usually only invited Swami out after putting her foot in her mouth during committee meetings, or pulling a dork move in front of the press like wearing different-colored shoes. Swami was most fond of telling her life really was going to be all right, no matter how she felt she’d just mucked it up.

Like right now.

No.

This wasn’t a muck-up, dammit. This wasn’t a sudden attack of needy, even if it looked exactly like that—though it occurred that maybe the man couldn’t read all her thoughts, and “clingy crazy” was exactly where he’d gotten busy slotting her in his mind.

“Okay, just—” She pushed away from him. It was not easy, dammit—as a matter of fact, it was agonizing—but she succeeded at getting a few inches between them. “Forget I asked, okay? I was really just curious, and—”

And really just a huge, freaking liar.

Because when she managed to push out another inch, it was beyond agony.

It was scary.

She shook, battling not to throw herself back against him. Forced down a sharp breath, opening her mouth from the effort to prevent her teeth from chattering. Less than five seconds from tearing herself from the sun of him, and the galaxy was already a cold, lonely, empty place.

But soon, the space suit would be waiting.

And presidents didn’t get time to alter any of the gear—or the course of the journey.

They were expected to latch in, hang on, and fly, no matter what the damn sun did. Or how beautiful he was doing it.

Or how glorious it felt when the sun flared, reaching out arms so forceful and knowing, and dragged them right back to his searing, soul-dissolving heat.

And rumbled a sound of warm satisfaction as soon as they sighed against the breadth of his chest.

The plane of such perfect light and heat, they could forget the space suit even existed.

Okay, maybe she was a little crazy clingy. And maybe she just had to be okay with that—for just another moment longer.

Then maybe another.

One more couldn’t hurt.

As if she needed another affirmation of that, aside from his heartbeat under her cheek and his arms wrapping her close, Franz’s kiss brought a rush of wonderful heat on the top of her head. He kept his lips there while finally murmuring, “I like it that you asked, popoki.”

She started, but only by a little. No way in hell was she giving up his closeness this time. “You do?”

He nodded. Kissed into her hair again. Began stroking the strands near her ear, which were still damp from how hard he’d worked her. The subtle reminder of their passion, along with his rhythmic combing, drenched her in a hazy languor. “I just want to give you an answer not involving ponies.”

She pouted. “What’s wrong with ponies?”

“Not a damn thing. I simply prefer felines over equines.”

She laughed softly. “Well-played, Captain Franzen.”

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