Page 60 of Power Play

How is he not wound up too? Does he not feel the thick sexual tension that’s only worsened these past few weeks? The easy smiles he's given me since that night, the sexy smirks and casual laughter, make me wonder if it's just me feeling it.

Surely not.

Surely.

Right?

“What, Mess?” Trey peeks an eye open. “Stop chewing your nails.”

I drop the finger from my nibbling teeth. “Okay, Dad.”

He closes his eye once again and smirks. Oh, how I want to smack—or kiss—that smirk right off his face.

Ugh, this man is driving me crazier then I already am.

I purse my lips and turn my focus back to the iPad. I've already memorized the possible questions for the debate tonight, but with a few hours to kill before I have to get ready, I might as well review them again. Being overly prepared is how I graduated with honors in undergrad and law school. For those seven years, I averaged three hours a sleep a night, but I did what I had to do. Unfortunately, that sleep cycle stayed with me after I graduated and moved back home. Nowadays, I get around four to five hours a night, but with the stress of the upcoming election, I've reverted back to the measly three.

I groan as the screen blurs once again and toss the iPad to the vacant chair beside me. Letting my head fall against the back of my chair, I close my eyes and press the heels of both hands against my lids.

“I'm so ready for this to be done,” I mutter.

“Tonight's the last debate before the election, right?”

Eyes still squeezed shut, I nod. “Thank fuck. I enjoy a good debate, don't get me wrong, but I'm so tired of monitoring the polls, constantly being on edge.”

“It won't stop if you win.”

I roll my head along the soft cushion and open my eyes, smiling up at T.

“Yes and no. It will be exhausting in a different way. I'm just tired of this posturing, the constant need to be invited to sit at the cool kids’ lunch table.”

Trey laughs from his spot on the couch.

“We need to leave in four hours,” T says, looking at his watch. “I'm meeting with the vice president’s alpha team lead downstairs in five to go over the security plans for tonight.” He shoots a glare at Trey before turning to me. “Can you two stay out of trouble while I'm gone?”

“Come on, big guy,” Trey says, swinging his legs over the side of the couch to sit up. “It's been weeks since 'the incident.' We've been good ever since.” I smile at the smirk and wink Trey tosses my way. “You go handle whatever you need. I promise we won't leave the condo.” Three fingers in the air, he adds, “Scout’s honor.”

“You were never a Boy Scout,” T grunts in an almost laugh. He runs a hand up and over his shiny bald head. “I don't have a choice, since the other guys are downstairs securing the building. I'll be back in an hour, two tops.” At the door, he turns with a resigned look.

“For fuck’s sake,” Trey grumbles. “We'll be fine. You act like she died in New York.”

I seal my lips together to hide my growing smile. We chose to keep the muggers and what happened after out of the story we gave T when we made it back to the jet that night. No need for him to worry when nothing bad happened.

“Keep him in line,” T says, eyes on me.

I hold up three fingers. “Scout’s honor.”

He grumbles something about us being ridiculous and an accident waiting to happen. I'm still giggling when the door clicks shut behind him and the snap of the deadbolt sounds. Smiling, I turn to Trey, but my smile falters at what I find. I swallow past the stalled breath caught in my throat.

His eyes sparkle with restrained lust. Arms stretched out wide along the back of the couch, he widens his legs and arches a brow. “Two hours alone. What trouble can we get into all alone, Mess?”

My heart thunders against my chest. Holy hell, is this the first time we've been alone since New York?

Untucking my knees from where I'm curled in the chair, I stand on shaking legs. Toes pressed into the thick carpet, I tiptoe to the couch, pausing between his legs. A breath catches in my chest, my eyes closing as his wide hands grip my waist.

“Every day I've watched you knowing what you feel like, smell like. Fucking torture.” He sits straight, pressing his face between my thighs into my thin cotton yoga pants. “I shouldn't be this wrapped up in you, Mess. But I can't stop wanting you.” He tilts his face up, locking on my eyes. I stroke a hand through his hair, savoring the way it slides between my fingers.

“Then don't,” I nearly plead. “I don't want you to hold back.” There's so much I want to tell him. How his touch means so much more than any others. How I don't want to pull away but grow more desperate with each passing minute, each day he doesn't hold me close.

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