Page 15 of Presidential Bargain
The oversized T-shirt I wore left one of my shoulders exposed. Jameson lowered his head and ran his nose along the ridge of exposed flesh, a whisper of contact that sent delicious tremors of pleasure through my body. I closed my eyes and inhaled his scent, relishing in being close to him again. I felt the warmth of his lips at the base of my neck. He gently kissed his way up to the edge of my jaw, stopping at my cheek. His hands moved to rest on the curve of my hips. I wanted more. More of his touch, his lips, hisscent.
“I have a very important question to ask you.” His voice was low and thick with desire. He placed one more kiss chastely on mycheek.
My lips were dry and I licked them before finding my voice. “What’s thequestion?”
“What’s your favorite Beatles song?” He grinned at me like aCheshirecat.
I sighed. “Today, it’s ‘Martha, My Dear’, but tomorrow it will probablychange.”
Jameson picked up the crystal tumbler with the remaining bourbon and swallowed it in one go. He set it back down next to me and winked. “Good answer.” Then he turnedandleft.
I remained standing there, propped against the granite bar top, weak-kneed, and in need of a clean pair ofpanties.
Iwasat war withmyself. The man who yearned to serve his country, who longed to sit in the Oval Office and serve the people, was currently competing with the man who desired the touch of a woman, who longed to lose himself in the warmth of her flesh. There was no balancing the two. I knew what had to be done because losing meant severe consequences for ourcountry.
It was also time for me to recognize that this country needed Georgie too. She was passionate about education and about finding a cure for the disease that had afflicted her mother. I’d been foolish to think that the role of the First Lady was marginal. Having a First Lady was more like having a second vice president. I made a mental note to discuss this with Sean and DeWayne in the morning because Georgie would need to learn all my policyproposals.
I looked at the king-sized bed with despair. I rarely got more than a few hours of sleep, not since I entered the war. The bourbon would help but only slightly. I grabbed my laptop and relaxed on the bed, stretching out my legs. I worked for a few hours, sending and answering emails, making notes about things on which I wanted more information, before I felt my eyes get heavy. I closed my computer, set it on the nightstand, and clicked off thelight.
The alarm woke me frommy first restful sleep in years. I only slept for four hours, but it was the best four hours. I was not plagued by an invasion of nightmares. The screams of my brothers didn’t haunt me. The phantom heat of fire burning the Humvee, while I pulled man after man from the blazing inferno, was quenched temporarily. It was only four hours, but I felt like a brand-newman.
I found a new pleasure in my morning ritual for the first time, taking my time with each task. I ignored the why—why had I gotten a few hours of decent, nightmare-free sleep? The answer was there, I just didn’t want toacknowledgeit.
I chose a light gray suit from the selection that had been brought for me. There was a freshly laundered and starched white shirt hanging in the closet, ready for me as well. I added a dark navy blue tie and my favorite battered Rolex. I looked down at the gold watch, which still shined brightly despite the scratches. My father gave it to me when I graduated West Point and it remained a permanent accessory sincethatday.
I emerged from my bedroom at the exact same time Georgie came from hers. She was still in the stretchy black pants that revealed her curves and the loose gray T-shirt that hinted at the swell of her breasts. Her hair was piled on top of her head in a messy bun and she wore a pair of black-framed glasses. She looked bright-eyed andfresh.
“Good morning. How did you sleep?” I asked, walking toward the dining room table. I picked up the room service menu and scanned it to see what theoptionswere.
“Pretty good, thank you. Howaboutyou?”
“I managed a few hours. Are youhungry?”
“I’d kill for some coffeerightnow.”
“That can be arranged. The stylists will be here within the hour. You should probably be showered and ready for them. I’ll take care of this.” I waved the menu and gave her a tightsmile.
“I like waffles,” she said, with a childlike grin, before retreating to her room. Of course she liked waffles. She also liked muffins. And dessert. Georgie had a serious sweettooth.
I ordered enough food to feed an army because, pretty soon, my own little army would descend upon the suite and my mother raised me to be a good host. Sean arrived first, followed by Lewis andJenkins.
“Dude, did you sleep at all?” Sean asked, greeting me with a firmhandshake.
“Four restfulhours.Why?”
“Emails at two a.m.?Really?”
“I do my best work atnight.”
“Well, one of the aides is bringing over the information you requested for Georgie. I had it all printed and boundforher.”
“Excellent. Breakfast and coffee will be here soon. I talked to Georgie about some things last night that may need to be added to theschedule.”
“Likewhat?”
“She agreed to theVanity Fairspread.” He seemed surprised by that bit of information. I too had been stunned by her agreement. I didn’t necessarily want to be featured inVanity Fairbut when they offered up Sierra Simmons, it was hard to turn down. “She also wants to make the rounds at hospitals, visiting with cancer patients and theirfamilies.”
“Good. This is good news for us, buddy!” He smiled gleefully and wrapped an arm around my shoulders,shakingme.
