Page 92 of Fight for Me

“Senator—” her mom began.

“Blane, please,” Blane corrected.

“Blane,” she smiled. “I understand that you’re running for president. You realize that will put an incredible strain on Anne, especially while pregnant.”

“Mom—”

“I need to speak my piece,” her mother interrupted. She addressed Blane and her voice took on a steely edge. “I need to know that, regardless of your candidacy—whatever scandal the press invents or whatever the polls say or what happens in the primaries—you willalwaysput Anne first. Her health, her happiness, her safety…all of it must come first in your life.”

Everyone was silent. When Blane answered, his voice rang with sincerity.

“Ma’am, I swear to you on my honor, that Anne and our child will be—are—the reasons I wake up in the morning. Nothing compares to how I love her. I would give up everything I have to be with her. I’ll work my job, but it’s just that. A job. An important job. But at the end of the day, your wife is the only one who gives a damn about me. I’ll never take that for granted. I’ll never takeAnnefor granted.”

Anne had choked up about halfway through that. Her mother’s eyes were wet. Her father cleared his throat.

“You hear that, Juanita?” he called out.

“It’s the least mybebitadeserves,” she replied from the kitchen, her voice proudly indignant.

Everyone at the table chuckled, which broke the solemnity of the moment. In a thrice, Juanita had cleared the plates and served crème brûlée for dessert. Anne was absolutely stuffed, but managed to clean her dish and barely refrained from licking it clean. Her appetite knew no limits.

Conversation resumed and it was nice. Blane easily conversed and charmed. She could see why he was such a good politician. By the end of the dinner, he had both her parents eating out of his hand.

They all gave effusive praise to Juanita, who looked embarrassed at all the attention, but pleased.

“Don’t worry about cleaning up,” her mom told her. “We’ll ask Nancy to take care of it in the morning. You head on home.”

Her mom and dad both paid their farewells to Blane and discreetly left them alone in the foyer.

Blane kissed her, slow and sensuous, his hand sliding up into her hair. Anne melted against him, her arms circling his neck. He felt so good pressed against her. Hard everywhere she was soft. The fit together like two puzzle pieces.

“Come home with me tonight,” he whispered against her lips.

“Yes,” she whispered back.

* * *

Blane was elated. He could take her home with him.

It took only a moment to bundle her into his car and speed away. Her hand landed on his thigh and her lips on his neck.

Sweet Jesus.

He drove as fast as he dared, mindful that his future wife and child were in the passenger seat.

Her hand drifted higher and stroked him through his slacks. Blane bit back a curse. Her tongue painted the skin under his ear and he nearly forgot to turn.

Not soon enough, they pulled into his driveway. Anne got out of the car without waiting for him to open the door for her. He scooped her into his arms and she let out an adorable little squeak.

“I thought this was supposed to be after the wedding not before,” she protested with a laugh as he strode towards the front door.

“I’ll do it every night of our lives because each day is precious when it’s with you.” And he meant it. He intended to treat her as the precious gift she was.

With that pronouncement, she reached up and locked her lips just underneath his Adam’s Apple and sucked. Blane sucked in a breath, which was totally unmanly, but he couldn’t help it.

Opening the door presented a bit of a logistics problem, but they persevered. Blane carried her over the threshold and deposited her feet gently on the floor.

“Soon, I’ll be too heavy to carry.” She grimaced.

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