Page 77 of Where There's Smoke

I pushed myself off the door and reached for his waist, and in half a heartbeat, we were in each other’s arms. Clothes rustled and breath hissed across skin, but as we kissed for the first time in too long, my pounding heart threatened to drown out any sound we made.

I hauled him to me and leaned against the wall so we wouldn’t collapse. His kiss gave me a rush like that first drag after I caved to a long-resisted nicotine craving, but there was no guilt. No self-loathing, no sense of failure that inevitably accompanied a cigarette surrender. Just relief. Pure, blissful relief that was just as likely to drive me to tears as it was to drive me to my knees, but the wall kept me—us, thank God—upright.

Jesse broke the kiss, and we stared at each other, panting and shaking.

“I suppose,” he said between struggling to catch his breath, “there isn’t any point in mentioning we shouldn’t do this.”

“Not really. Can’t say it makes much difference.”

“Isn’t there some parable about forbidden fruit or something?” he murmured. “We want what we can’t have?”

“Mm-hmm.” I ran my fingers through his hair. “But that’s not why I can’t stay away from you.”

“Is that right?”

“Oh yeah.” I touched my forehead to his. “I’d want you this way whether I could have you or not,” I growled and kissed him.

Jesse whimpered and melted against me, pressing his hard-on against my own as his lips parted for my tongue.

When we separated again, just enough for me to speak, I said, “I want you so goddamned bad, Jesse. I can’t even…”

“Then don’t,” he whispered and kissed me.

It didn’t matter anymore if this was wrong. A bad idea. Unprofessional. Dangerous.

We needed to.

We would.

We did.

Chapter 16

Jesse

At a few minutestill five on the morning of the big televised debate with John Casey, I dove into the cool water of yet another hotel’s swimming pool. Sleep had eluded me for the last few hours, so I decided to hell with it. Better to get a jump on my daily swim instead of lying there staring at the ceiling in the darkness. Wasn’t the first extra early swim of my campaign, wouldn’t be the last, and I desperately needed some turquoise-tinted oblivion before I faced the universe today.

I concentrated on the black stripe running the length of the pool. On my strokes. On the cool water rushing past my skin. Whenever tonight’s debate—or anything relating to the election—tried to work its way into my mind, I focused on the water. The speed. The pleasant ache in my sides and shoulders as tension melted in favor of fatigue.

I swam until that ache told me it was time to stop before I wound up with a pulled muscle. Then I took a couple of slow, easy laps to cool down before getting out.

In the middle of hoisting myself out of the pool, I glanced up, and my uncle’s presence startled me so badly I damn near forgot what I was doing and dropped back into the water. I recovered, though, and without making too much of an ass of myself.

He was seated, casually and comfortably, in one of the plastic chairs beside the pool, his golf shirt and slacks belying the fact that it was crazy thirty in the morning.

I reached for my towel. “You’re up early.”

He shrugged. “I’m always up early on debate days.”

Scrubbing the back of my neck with the towel, I eyed him. “Except you’re not the one doing the debate.”

Another shrug, this time with just one shoulder. “No, but I do have a thing or two at stake tonight, don’t I?”

I scowled. “No pressure or anything.”

“Get used to it.” He pushed himself to his feet. “Politics is nothing if not pressure.” He gestured at his hair. “Why do you think I’m snow-white while your father still has a few dark strands?”

I laughed. “Well, I don’t imagine you make quite such judicious use of the best beauticians Hollywood has to offer.”

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