Page 28 of The Rebel King

“All the training you did for your Sunrise Dance? Running was probably one of the hardest parts of the ceremony.”

“For sure.” A sad smile settles on my lips. “That night, when it was over, I was so relieved, and Mama was so happy.”

“She was proud of you. Even if you hadn’t gone through the rite, she would have been proud, but that meant so much to her. I’m glad she got to see you become a woman before she crossed to the next world.”

“God, I thought she’d never stop taking pictures,” I say, laughingeven though tears well in my eyes. My emotions are so close to the surface, it feels like anything could make me cry, but I don’t fight the tears right now. Giving in to this memory of Mama, even though it stings my heart, makes me feel closer to her.

My bedroom door opens, and Maxim enters the living room. He’s on the phone, speaking what sounds like Chinese or Japanese. He strides into every room like he owns it—like there’s no one in it he can’t persuade, convince, or recruit. The force of his charisma is a tangible thing, a hook that lures you before you even feel it in your mouth.

Dark hair is brushed back from his handsome face, but one lock falls over his forehead like he got ready in a hurry because he usually does. He wears a navy-blue three-piece suit with a silvery-gray shirt that’s open and tieless.

Lord above, he looks delicious.

The vest molds to his broad chest and flat stomach, and the impeccably tailored trousers pull and flow with each step, emphasizing the powerful muscles of his thighs. I take a sip of my tea, watching over the rim of my glass, eating him up with my stare. He flashes us a smile, still talking on the phone in a language I don’t understand, before disappearing into the kitchen.

After that first time last night, I woke him before sunrise and fucked him again. Putting my knee down, I squirm in my seat, pulsing between my legs at the sight of him, at the memory of our bodies locking, grinding.

Is this trauma horniness? I can’t get enough.

He was worried about being too rough so soon after I returned from such a harrowing ordeal, but I wanted that physical reunion as much as he did. Maybe more. It feels like I’ve been pardoned from an execution. I felt the chilly breath of death, saw my gory end through the barrel of a gun, but was spared at the last second. And I want to take life by the balls, by the horns, by anything I can grab and make the most of it.

Maxim is definitelythe most.

“Get a room if you’re going to look at your boyfriend like that,” Mena says, a twist of humor to her lips.

I look at her, my eyes wide and my cheeks burning. Am I that obvious? “Excuse me?” I ask, trying to play it off.

“Oh, honey, don’t even.” Mena chuckles and pushes her empty plate away. “You’re lit up like the Vegas Strip. I know that look. I give it to my own husband every day.”

At that, we both let out throaty laughs and sit back in our seats. I enjoy her company the way I do few others’. She and Senator Nighthorse have a place here in DC, but she splits her time between being here in town and Oklahoma, the state Jim represents.

Maxim comes through the swinging door separating my kitchen and dining room, holding a glass of the orange juice Mena squeezed. “What’s so funny, ladies?”

“Just some girl talk,” Mena says with a smile. “Morning, Mr. Cade.”

“Morning, Mrs. Nighthorse,” he returns with a grin.

Mena knows my history with Maxim, and even though very few people know he and I are together now, she was one of the first and few I brought up to speed before I left for Costa Rica.

“Good morning,” he says to me, his green eyes darkening as he leans down to kiss me. He pulls away after a brief contact, but I reach up and bring him back for a kiss that lingers, exploring him for a few seconds even with Mena watching. I can’t help it. Seeing him dressed to leave makes me want to tie him to my bed so he can’t get away. I don’t know if it’s clinginess or neediness, but I want him as close as possible as much as possible.

“You have to go?” I murmur against his lips.

“Yes.” He looks down at me, eyes blazing with love and affection and desire. “Unless you want me to stay? I have a meeting at Café du Parc, but I can cancel if you need me to.”

“No, of course not. Power breakfast, huh?” I ask, lifting my brows at his meeting spot near the White House.

“Something like that,” he says wryly. “Peggy Newcombe was on that Antarctica expedition with me, and we’ve stayed in touch over the years.”

“Senator Newcombe?” I ask, surprised.

“Congresswoman then. She’s an ally for climate change and is sponsoring a bill I want to see pushed through. I’ve canceled on her three times already, and she’s leaving on a month-long trip, so I’d like to catch her.” He searches my face, a frown pinching between his thick brows. “But if you need me to stay—”

“No, I’ll be fine. I think I’ll go out a little later myself.”

His frown deepens. “You’ve only been home two days, Nix. You’ll get back to your routine soon enough. Get some rest. Schedule a session with your therapist. Take it slow.”

“I don’t have time for slow, Doc. Your brother’s announcing his campaign very soon.”

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