Capitol Promises (The Presidential Promises Duet ) Read online

  “I’ll get right on it.”

  “And reach out to the families of the children too. Just in case.”

  “Not a problem.”

  “Thank you for helping her, Ron,” I said quietly.

  “She’s stubborn, isn’t she?”

  I snorted. “You have no idea.”

  The call ended, but I didn’t want to stay in the office anymore. Georgie had her groove back, and I wanted to be wherever she was; not stuck in the office, analyzing campaign strategy.

  The minute I stepped foot in the foyer, I was greeted with one of my favorite smells—my mother’s lobster and corn chowder. The comforting smell of the creamy deliciousness filled my home, making my mouth water and my heart full.

  I headed toward the kitchen and found my fiancée and my mother standing over a bubbling pot. Georgie had on a navy blue striped apron, her hair was up in a messy bun, and her cheeks were flushed. But most importantly, she had a smile on her beautiful face.

  My mother saw me first, but Georgie was oblivious, stirring away at the bubbling contents in the pot. I lifted a finger to my lips, a silent plea to my mother. I crept up behind Georgie on my tiptoes and wrapped my arms around her waist. I felt her tense and then once my lips connected with the sensitive skin of her neck, she relaxed into my embrace. Her hands held my forearms, and she leaned her head to the side, inviting more of my attention.

  “This is a sight I want to come home to every day,” I purred.

  “Me cooking in the kitchen with your mother?” Georgie teased me.

  “No. You smiling and happy.”

  Georgie moved in the tight space that I created until we were face to face. She was beaming, her smile filling her entire face, and her eyes once again twinkling. “My pity party is over. Thank you for your patience, Jameson.”

  “I told you, Georgie. I’d wait forever for you.”

  “I hate to break up your love fest,” my mother interrupted. “But your father will be here soon, and the bread is warmed and crispy.”

  Georgie and I shared the lobster chowder and a bottle of buttery chardonnay with my parents in the comfortable warmth of the kitchen. The tension that filled the house for the past few days had dissolved, and a weight that I didn’t realize I carried was lifted. I enjoyed watching Georgie interact with my parents. She was easy around them—talking to them without awkwardness and returning their affection without hesitation. It was if she had always belonged with us. With me.

  “I think it’s time for us to leave, Sam.” My mother’s voice stirred me from my thoughts, and I hadn’t realized that I was staring at Georgie, who was deep in conversation with my father about some tiny town in northern New Hampshire where Bette Davis once lived.

  My father was oblivious to my mother, completely captivated by Georgie’s charm. She placed a firm hand on his arm, which he noticed immediately and then looked at her. My mother gave him a look, and he nodded his understanding.

  “Thank you for the company, Georgie,” he said, placing a hand on her cheek.

  My father, the old-fashioned romantic, walked my mother to the front door and helped her with her coat. They didn’t waste time with long-drawn-out goodbyes. Once the door closed, Georgie and I were finally alone.

  I turned to see Georgie leaning against the bannister of the staircase. “Little darling.” My voice was a hungry growl. My gaze was firmly planted on her as I stalked toward her. When I reached her, I fingered the hem of her sweater before tugging it up and over her head. The swell of her breasts in her ivory lace bra as she sighed heavily made me ravenous. I suddenly felt like I hadn’t eaten for days, and I was hungry for the taste of her.

  But then my eyes landed on the bright pink scar that was still healing. A reminder of the attack that occurred only a few short weeks ago. The surgeons were top-notch, and luckily, the bullet did minimal damage. I placed my lips over the marred flesh, placing light, reverent kisses over it.

  “Jameson,” she whispered. “It’s okay. I’ll be okay.”

  I nodded my understanding, but it was hard not to remember the horrific events of that day or forget the way she sobbed in my arms.

  Shaking away the memories, I tossed her sweater on the floor and grasped the waistband of her jeans, pulling her toward me. I worked the button until it was free and then slid my hand inside, relishing the feel of her. I stroked her lightly, my fingers brushing her sensitive core through the flimsy fabric of her panties.

  “We should go upstairs,” she whispered breathlessly.

  I grinned. “Oh, we’re not going to make it upstairs.”

  Georgie

  “So what happened?” Jameson asked me, once we finally made it to the bedroom.

  We lay in bed, the room darkened except for the bright stream of moonlight from the bay window, our hearts finally beating normally again. After the stairs, the hallway and, at last, the bed, we both seemed content.

  “What do you mean ‘what happened’?” I traced lazy patterns on Jameson’s bare chest, careful not to wake his now-sated desire because I wasn’t sure I could physically handle round four.

  “You aren’t the same woman I left this morning,” he murmured, placing a soft kiss on top of my head.

  “I know. I had a ‘come to Jesus’ moment with myself.”

  “A what?” Jameson chuckled, and the vibration of his body rippled across mine. Laughter felt good.

  “An epiphany. I heard what someone shouted when you left this morning. It made me sick, and I wanted to run back into the bedroom and hide under the covers. But then I realized Russell Hunt was controlling this story. Every vile thing said about me, about us, meant that no one was paying attention to the agents who were killed or to the children. That needed to change. So I did something.”

  “So you did something,” Jameson repeated.

  “Are you mad?”

  “I was, at first. And then I realized everything you said was true. We have to control this story or, at least, regain enough control.”

  “And that wasn’t going to happen if I locked myself in this bedroom.”

  “I talked to Ron Engle today after your press conference.” This was news. I wondered if he was mad at Ron for helping me, for not calling to give him a small warning. “I’m going to pay him to represent the families of the agents if they want to pursue a civil case against Hunt.”

  “Oh, Jameson.” I felt breathless. The plea bargain Russell Hunt accepted meant those families would never get the justice they deserved. Russell Hunt would never truly pay for what he did. And now Jameson made it possible for them to get answers and a little bit of closure.

  “It was the right thing to do.” Jameson’s arms tightened around me. “And now, we have to focus on the campaign again. Any day now, the Republicans will announce Huntley’s replacement.”

  “Are you nervous?”

  Jameson was quiet for a long while, his eyes fixed on something unseen and full of thought. “Sean gave me a list of names that have been tossed out. None of them concern me.”

  Something in his voice betrayed him. “But …”

  “But there is a name, another senator. If they pick him, then the next few weeks will be nonstop work. Because he will challenge me in ways that Huntley never could.”

  “Who is it?”

  “Elias Garcia.”

  I gasped because I was very familiar with Elias Garcia. He’d been in the Senate longer than Jameson, but they had very similar political backgrounds. Both decorated veterans. Both dived straight into politics after finishing their service. Elias Garcia had an immigrant story, though, because his family came to the United States from Mexico. This made him a Republican rock star. They often invoked his parents’ story when talking about immigration reform. Senator Garcia, too, used his family to promote his policy. He was a conservative because his parents were strict. They scrimped and saved to give their children a good life, but they didn’t splurge on extravagance. Conservatives adored him for the lessons he learned from his
parents and brought to the Senate floor.

  “So you’ve heard of him then,” Jameson replied.

  “Yes. He’s the Republican version of you.”

  “I know. That’s why I think the Republicans will finally convince him to run. They want to beat me, and they know there’s not a single candidate who can do it. It’s what they should have done from the very beginning. Then this would be a real race.”

  “Things would definitely have been different,” I muttered. So many things might not have happened.

  I felt Jameson’s finger firmly under my chin, lifting it until our gazes locked. He read my thoughts.

  “Don’t think like that,” he commanded gently.

  Suddenly, I was too hot in his embrace, and I needed space. I scrambled across the bed and sat up, bringing my knees to my chest.

  “How can I not think like that, Jameson? Russell Hunt changed my life. He is the star of my every nightmare.” I ran a hand through my hair and sighed heavily. “Did others know about their relationship?”

  That question had often invaded my thoughts. Did other Republicans know about Governor Huntley and his son? Who knew their plans? Who else deserved to be punished? A silent rage seemed to bubble to life, startling me. I had never felt that kind of anger before, and it scared me.

  “I don’t know. The lawyers are handling the investigation. Do you want me to ask?”

  “No,” I said with finality. It was time to stop dwelling and start living.

  Jameson

  Georgie sounded angry. Her jaw was tense, and her eyes were trained on the wall across the room. She fell back against the bed and then rolled to her side, away from me. Where did this emotion come from?

  I placed a comforting hand on her shoulder and gently turned her so I could look into her eyes and find the source of this new rage.

  “Tell me,” I demanded.

  An unexpected tear rolled down the side of her face and disappeared into her hair. I wiped away what remained.

  “What if other people knew what Russell Hunt was going to do? What if they knew, and they didn’t stop him? So much hurt, so much pain could have been avoided if only someone had stopped him.”

  Georgie lay on her side, facing me and pulled the top sheet up to her chest. She fiddled nervously with the edge until I placed a hand over hers, stopping her. Her eyes met mine and I didn’t look away until she knew what I wanted. Honesty.

  “What if the only reason you love me is because Russell Hunt hurt me?” I sucked in a sharp breath. I hadn’t expected a confession like that to escape her lips. I had no idea Georgie even thought something like that.

  I slid down until my body was flush against hers. I cradled her in my arms and stroked her hair. “Is that what you really think, Georgie?”

  “A part of me does,” she admitted. I felt the wetness of her tears hit my bare chest. Her body trembled against mine, and I held her tighter.

  “I fell in love with you the moment you walked into that hotel suite and demanded a cabinet pick. You could have asked for more money or something totally extravagant, but you didn’t.” I bent my head to place a kiss on her hair. “How could I not love you after that?”

  The rest of our night dissolved into quiet murmurs until Georgie was asleep in my arms. Georgie had always been honest with me, but tonight, I was stunned by her brutal admission. How could she even doubt me? At times, I felt like she knew me better than I knew myself, yet a part of her thought I only loved her out of what? Pity? She had been pitied for years because of the tragic deaths of her parents. Maybe she’d expected the same from me.

  I watched her sleep while my brain kept working, processing the events of the day. Eventually, my body relaxed, and I fell into a dreamless, fitful sleep.

  I stopped fighting with myself just as dawn broke the horizon. Georgie remained curled up in a messy tangle of blankets while I slipped from the bed and started my day.

  Today was the second full day of the Republicans’ hastily thrown together convention. Party establishment was meeting, plus any delegates who could manage a last-minute trip to Washington. I had plans to meet with several policy advisors to keep working on my own agenda.

  Sean arrived early in the morning because we were working from my home office today. There was no point in going down to campaign headquarters when everything could be accomplished from the comfort of my favorite armchair.

  “That was quite the performance from Georgie,” Sean commented once we settled down to begin working.

  “She’s angry, and you know how she feels about being manipulated. Plus, she’s scared,” I added.

  Sean’s brow wrinkled in confusion. “Scared? What is she scared of?”

  “A lot of things. But mostly, she’s scared that I love her for all the wrong reasons.”

  Sean blew out a breath and looked away. “I don’t know anything about that, man.”

  “I know, man. You wouldn’t know what to do with a woman if she showed up naked in your bed,” I replied.

  “You know what? You’re an asshole, but you’re probably right.”

  “That’s sad, Sean. We need to fix that. I know some escorts who might be willing to help you out.” I winked, and he reminded me of my position in his life with his middle finger.

  “At least, you can joke about it now.”

  I heard the distant clanking and clattering of dishes in the kitchen, signaling Georgie was awake. I knew her well enough now to know that she wasn’t a morning person and needed a good hour to “wake up” before she was even approachable. So Sean and I kept planning the remainder of the campaign.

  “When do you think they’ll have a decision made?” I asked Sean.

  He glanced up from his phone with a frown. “I’m not sure. If they pick Garcia, like we suspect, he might take a while to accept the nomination. He didn’t want to run. Why would he run now?”

  That was the million-dollar question. Why would Elias Garcia suddenly agree to run, when he so adamantly said he’d never run before the primaries?

  “We need a plan for that. I can feel it in my gut that he’s going to be their nominee. Let’s start campaigning like he’s going to be their pick.”

  Lewis and Jenkins, two campaign advisors who now worked as presidential advisors, were summoned, along with a few other key players in the campaign. DeWayne arrived to the conversation via video chat and we all sat around my office brainstorming.

  “He’s Hispanic, so he’s going to appeal to the immigrant vote and to the Latinos. We need to visit those states where their voice is loudest,” Sean offered.

  Everyone agreed. That meant going back West. I didn’t think Georgie would have a problem with this new plan, but I’ve learned enough to know that she needed to be consulted. After everyone left, hours later, I found her curled up in a chair in our bedroom, staring out the bedroom window. Her posture and expression were eerily similar to how she looked only days ago, that I immediately thought something had happened.

  “Georgie? What’s wrong,” I asked cautiously. I approached slowly, and she turned to face me, finally. Thankfully, her green eyes shimmered with life.

  “Nothing. Did everyone leave?” She seemed a little out of it, and I took note of the laptop at her feet. She had a terrible habit of browsing gossip websites even after I told her not to, and I was starting to think that I needed to make good on a previous threat to block those sites.

  “Yes. We’re planning on leaving for the West Coast tomorrow. Is that all right?”

  “If that’s what you think is best, then it’s fine. I’ll start packing.”

  Georgie stood and started to walk past me, but I slipped a hand across her waist and held her. “Whoa, little darling. Not so fast. I have a very important question to ask you.”

  She smiled. This was a familiar game, one that we hadn’t played in what felt like ages. “Okay.”

  “Do you love me?” Normally, I asked her about a favorite song by a particular artist, but tonight, I wanted to he
ar those three little magical words.

  “Yes, Jameson.”

  “Then say it.”

  “I love you.”

  “Good. Now tell me your favorite Eric Clapton song.”

  She laughed, a hearty sound that seemed to come from deep within and travel up. “My favorite Eric Clapton song? That’s really tough because my dad absolutely loved him, you know?”

  “No, I didn’t. Thank you for telling me,” I said softly. It was rare for Georgie to discuss her parents, and when she was willing to part with some morsel of information, I was more than eager to listen.

  Her eyes grew wide with a memory, and she smiled brightly. “I’ve got it! My dad used to listen to ‘I Feel Free’ all the time. I think it would have to be that one.”

  “I Feel Free” could not have been a more a perfect choice for her. “Come on, little darling, let me bask in the sunshine of your love before we have to get on the road.”

  Georgie

  By the next morning, Jameson and I were back on the campaign trail, even if we didn’t know who our opponent was going to be. While the Republicans hemmed and hawed over their next nominee, Jameson worked hard to be seen. He put himself in front of crowds of people, unions, and veterans; anyone willing to listen to his message. Privately, he paced the floors of the countless hotel rooms we occupied, the constant worry of who would be picked written all over his handsome face.

  He talked every day to Sean and a team of advisors, their speculation rampant. One day, they were adamant it was this governor or that senator. The next day, those names were no longer viable. It was maddening, and Jameson turned distant.

  “Let’s go to dinner,” I begged Jameson during a campaign stop in Las Vegas. The glitz and glamour of the city called out to me, and I didn’t want to be cooped up inside a luxurious suite while Jameson planned and plotted against the unknown.