Capitol Promises Read online

  When I started to feel disconnected and weary from the near-constant smiling and handshakes, all I needed to do was look down at Jameson’s firm grip on my hand. If I tugged even the slightest, he gave me a piercing look that said, Don’t stray too far.

  Now I had him in front of me, with nothing to do for a few hours, and I only wanted to be with him, alone.

  I didn’t let him decide. I grabbed his hand and pulled him to the staircase.

  “Do not disturb, Sean!” I yelled out because he was the only one at the house. All the staff and volunteers were at the hotel, preparing for Election Day madness.

  If Sean responded, then we didn’t hear it, and I probably didn’t want to hear it anyway. Unless it was an extreme emergency, Jameson was all mine for the next few hours.

  In the bedroom, I pushed Jameson back onto the bed.

  “What are you doing, Georgie?” Jameson asked suspiciously.

  “We’re going to relax for a few hours. We’re going to just be together because by the end of the night, our lives will be changed.”

  “What do you have in mind?”

  I crawled over Jameson and let my thighs straddle his midsection. My hands rested on his chest, and I considered my options. I could strip him totally bare, and we could make love for the next few hours. I craved not only the feel of him filling me completely, but also the connection that existed during our most intimate moments. But there was something else that I desired; something far more intimate.

  “Talking,” I murmured, letting my fingers trace lazy patterns on his t-shirt covered chest.

  Jameson’s brows shot up with surprise. “Talking?”

  “Yes. I want to know more about Jameson the man.”

  “Like what?”

  “I hardly know any of your favorite songs.” I could only think of one, and that was because only a few days ago, we were dancing to it in Minnesota.

  “You don’t?”

  “You always ask me mine, but you never shared your own.”

  Jameson’s eyes filled with serious concentration. “Well, my favorite song by Bruce Springsteen is a three-way tie between ‘Tenth Avenue Freeze-Out,’ ‘Jungleland,’ and ‘I’m on Fire.’”

  “Really? I would have thought ‘Born in the U.S.A.’”

  “Too cliché.” Jameson slid his hands up my thighs and settled them on my waist. “You’d be surprised how many songs you named were also my favorites.”

  For some reason, that made me feel giddy. Oftentimes, I felt Jameson and I were worlds apart, but knowing we had this one thing in common made me happy.

  “And I love the music you added to my iPod. I don’t think I properly thanked you for bringing me into the twenty-first century.”

  I leaned forward and kissed him softly. “But why only classic rock?”

  Jameson shifted beneath me and slipped me from my perch. I landed next to him and instinctively curled into his side. He turned to face me and placed his large hand on my cheek. His fingers fanned through my hair for a few minutes; his eyes focused on the way the strands glided through them. “It was all my dad and his friends listened to when they got together. His buddies from the Army would come over on the weekends with their families, and we’d have these big cookouts in the backyard. We had an in-ground pool, so everyone came over to our house. They would hang out in the garage, turn on the stereo, and those songs became the soundtrack of every summer ever since I was little.”

  “And you wanted to be just like your dad?”

  Jameson nodded, a wistful gleam in his eye. “He’s my hero. Served two tours in Vietnam and remained enlisted until he decided to retire. He’s the reason I wanted to go to West Point.”

  “Did he want you to go into the Army?”

  “At the time, there wasn’t a war going on. The World Trade Center hadn’t been attacked, so he wasn’t too worried. When I reenlisted after my initial commitment, we had a long talk.”

  “Were your parents worried when you deployed?”

  Jameson nodded. “I think so, but they were never anything but supportive. And I got the best care packages.”

  I pictured Jameson’s mother carefully packaging his favorites, and then adding extra because that’s who she was; a nurturer. This talk made me feel content, and I hadn’t realized my own mind had been buzzing with Election Day anxiety until now. The worrying stopped. My mind felt quiet. I cuddled closer to Jameson, refusing to let even the slightest millimeter separate us.

  His arms closed tightly around me, and his hands lightly traced paths up and down my back. I felt the hardness of his chin rest on top of my head. “Are you scared?” he whispered.

  “Terrified,” I replied honestly.

  “Of becoming the first lady?”

  “Of losing the election.”

  Jameson sighed, and I felt his whole body shake. “Me too.”

  Jameson

  I was back in the same suite where I first met Georgie and where our relationship began. It felt like we were oddly coming full circle. This was where it all started, and now, it would be where it all ended. I looked over at Georgie; she felt it too. She let out a heavy breath and walked over to the wall of windows overlooking the waterfront. I followed and stood silently behind her.

  “So much has happened here,” she murmured.

  I reached out and placed a hand on her arm. “I know. It’s the perfect place to end it.”

  For the next few hours, we did a whole lot of nothing while America voted. Sean, Lewis, and Jenkins got updates from exit polls and were crowded around one small table while Georgie sat on the suite’s overstuffed sofa, focused on her computer. Me, I just paced the suite nervously.

  “Jameson,” Georgie called out. I stopped and looked over at her. She was giving me a look that said, “Enough already.”

  “Sorry. I’ve never been good at this,” I sheepishly replied.

  “I have something to tell you.” She patted the cushion next to her, both an invitation to join her and a command to stop wearing a path in the suite’s plush carpeting.

  When I took my spot next to her, placing an arm behind her to pull her close, she thrust her laptop in my direction. “Read this.” She pointed at an email on display in her inbox.

  I scanned it, quickly reading through its contents. Then I looked at Georgie, whose face was beaming with pure joy. “There’s another one.” She closed out the email I just read and opened another. I read that one too. I couldn’t believe what I was reading.

  “Are you kidding me?” I asked, astonished.

  Georgie pulled her bottom lip between her teeth to suppress a grin and shook her head vigorously.

  “Georgie, this is amazing,” I whispered.

  “Are you happy?” she asked, almost hesitantly.

  “Happy? I’m fucking ecstatic!”

  Georgie had managed to arrange to have some of my favorite bands, old and new, play at the official presidential inaugural ball. I couldn’t believe the names listed on the email and had absolutely no idea how she managed to do it or keep it a secret for all this time.

  “You have to win the election first,” she kidded.

  “Well, if I don’t, then we can still have one hell of a concert.”

  This news was enough to distract me for a while. Georgie told me every detail that she had planned and indicated that she emailed the management of several bands who were unable to perform at the event. She thought I would be disappointed, but truthfully, I felt like a kid on Christmas Eve. These people were my idols; they provided the soundtrack to my life, and they were going to play at a celebration in my honor. I didn’t deserve any of this.

  “It’s time, boys and girls,” Sean called out. A big screen TV was turned on, and several other TVs in the suite were tuned to different channels. Aides were assigned to keep track of the news coverage so that we could compare discrepancies. Georgie inched closer to me as people started to gather around us. I held her tighter to me as we watched the first results come in from some of the
Eastern states.

  These were states that I was expected to carry, so it wasn’t a surprise that several news outlets projected me the winner of them early.

  As the hours passed, and more and more results were announced, Georgie was practically in my lap. Her green eyes were filled with concern, and she constantly bit down on her lower lip.

  “Hey,” I murmured, placing a hand on her shoulder and gently shaking her until she looked at me. “Don’t worry, okay?”

  Georgie nodded, but the tears swimming in her eyes betrayed her. I gently caressed her cheek with the back of my fingers and let them trail into her honey colored hair. I cupped the back of her head and brought her face closer, pressing a firm kiss to her lips.

  “No matter what happens, we did everything we could.” I tried to reassure her, but I could tell that the worry and fear would stay in her expression until the election was officially called.

  Georgie

  The waiting was killing me. Watching the news report the same thing, and say the same thing over and over, was starting to irritate me, and I felt myself grow agitated. I looked around the suite; it was packed with campaign staff members. They were all glued to either the television screen or their phones, waiting for the endless stream of updates.

  Jameson was projected to pretty much win every New England state, which wasn’t surprising and didn’t amount to many electoral votes. He needed to win the battleground states; those were the results that had me tied up in knots.

  “We have to start getting ready to go down to the ballroom,” Jameson whispered in my ear. I was standing next to the wet bar, and its array of bottles tempted me. My hand hovered over one, but Jameson covered it with his and brought it up to his lips. It was my left hand.

  “I’ll help you with your dress,” he murmured.

  I was captivated by the way he was taking command of me, releasing me from my prison of nerves.

  Jameson led me to the suite’s master bedroom, then moved around me, setting his suit out on the bed and my dress right next to it. Then he started to change, and if he was expecting me to follow suit, he was dead wrong. I loved Jameson’s body, and I selfishly took any chance I got to appreciate it.

  First, he took off the casual t-shirt that he wore. It was just us and a small army of his campaign staff in the suite, so there was no need for him to dress formally. His muscles flexed and rippled as he pulled the garment over his head, baring his toned, taut abdomen. Then his hands moved to his belt. Deftly, his long fingers worked the buckle free before moving to the button at the waistband of his jeans. My mouth watered as his jeans slid down his lean thighs and landed on the carpeted floor.

  “Are you serious?” I asked, when he finally was stripped down to his boxer briefs. I nearly burst out laughing at the sight of tiny little American flags printed all over his underwear. I did not expect my serious politician to wear something like that.

  “These are my election pair,” he replied with a cheeky wink and shit-eating grin. And then they came off. “Let’s get showered, little darling. Nothing is going to get accomplished with you staring at me like that, and we can’t be late.”

  I quickly shed my own clothes and followed him to the master bathroom where he continued his command over me. The shower was started, and he got in first, letting the scalding water cascade over him before he adjusted the temperature. Jameson motioned for me, and when I stepped foot inside the steamy space, his domination continued. He washed and lathered my body, worshipping me with his hands and refusing any of my attempts at reciprocation.

  “No, Georgie. I can’t control the outcome of this election, but I can control what happens in this shower, in this space. Let me,” he ordered, his voice low and gravelly. I silently nodded and let him carry on with his tasks.

  Jameson led me under the spray of water and cradled my head in his hands, tilting it back to wet my hair. Then he turned me so my back faced his front, and his fingers delved into my hair, working shampoo through it. His hands were firm on my shoulders as they turned me back around so he could rinse the shampoo away.

  Our shower lasted much longer than was probably necessary, but the intimate experience made me feel closer to him. Every day, our connection solidified, and today, it felt like we couldn’t get any closer.

  Jameson reached around me and turned the water off. He got out first, wrapping a towel around his waist before holding one out for me. As I stepped out, he wrapped me in more than just the fluffy cotton material. His arms came around me and held me tightly against his damp chest.

  “Tell me we’re going to win.” The calm, cool, and controlled man was gone, replaced with a man terrified of defeat.

  I had my own fears and doubts about whether we would win. But I couldn’t share them now. “Yes, Jameson. We’re going to win.”

  Jameson exhaled, and I felt his entire body relax against mine. Then he stepped away so we could continue preparing.

  I turned down stylists because, just like Jameson, I wanted some control over tonight. And doing my own hair and makeup was one thing I had power over. When I was ready, Jameson helped zip up the white dress I’d selected for tonight’s event. It was short and sleeveless, and the middle of the dress was decorated with red flowers that trailed down the skirt.

  “I like you in this dress. And I like your hair like this,” Jameson whispered, examining with me with a heated gaze.

  “Thank you,” I exhaled. I hadn’t realized that his admiration of my appearance made me hold my breath. But when I was caught in Jameson’s line of sight, he often had that effect on me.

  I turned to inspect him and found myself breathless again. Slim-cut black suit, white shirt, and navy blue striped tie. He looked perfect.

  “You look amazing,” I commented. I reached out to needlessly straighten his tie and then ran my hands down the front of his suit jacket. Simultaneously, we both sighed as our hands locked.

  “It seems like you’ve been with me forever and not just a few months. What would I do without you? Where would I be without you? You made the difference in my life, Georgie, and I am beyond grateful.”

  Do not cry, I scolded myself. But one hot tear after another made its way down my cheeks. I had no control over my emotions. “Every day that we’re together, Jameson, I am thankful you saw something in me. You are an amazing man, and our country needs you. I am so proud of you, and I cannot wait to continue this journey with you.”

  Through my tears, I saw the sweetest smile on Jameson’s lips. And then I saw his tears. We were quite the pair, standing in the middle of a hotel suite’s bedroom, holding hands and crying. He let go of one my hands and wiped away the wetness from my cheeks with the pad of his thumb.

  “Are you ready?”

  “Do I have a choice?”

  “Not anymore.”

  The hotel ballroom was packed. An even bigger event was being held a few miles away at the Boston Convention Center. We would eventually make our way there, but for now, we remained in the ballroom, watching the results come in on large screens projecting various news channels.

  A stage had been assembled at one end of the ballroom. There was a podium where people were already speaking out about other Democratic candidates and the results of their campaigns. This wasn’t a party just for Jameson; it was meant to celebrate every Democratic candidate who was running during this election cycle. But Jameson was the main attraction.

  Our entrance interrupted the current speaker. As soon as Jameson stepped foot on the platform, holding my hand, the spotlight hit us, and the crowd cheered. Jameson smiled and waved proudly while I gave the crowd a timid smile. He led us over toward the podium and shook hands with the man who was speaking.

  “I didn’t mean to interrupt you,” Jameson practically shouted over the roar of the crowd. The gentleman just shook his head and smiled before stepping away.

  We approached the podium together, and Jameson waved again. I followed suit because I was fearful of looking like an idiot standing
next to him. So I pretended. My nerves were hidden behind the biggest, fakest smile, and I waved like a crazy person. Jameson waited calmly for the crowd to settle down.

  “Good evening! Thank you for being here tonight,” he began. The crowd roared, and Jameson patiently waited. “It’s going to be a long night, so I hope you’re comfortable. We’ve already picked up a few states, so thank you! But the West Coast is still voting. And we all know how many people live in California. Congratulations to all the candidates who have already won their races. Whether it’s a state or local race, you earned it, and I know you’re going to make a difference. Georgie and I are incredibly excited to share this night with you, and we’re grateful you’re a part of it. So sit tight, have a drink or two, and let’s hope for the only outcome we’re willing to accept.”

  Jameson stepped away from the podium and regained his grip on my hand. We walked to the edge of the stage, waving and smiling, while the crowd continued to cheer. He led me to a long banquet table where the other candidates waited. Jameson shook hands and made small talk, congratulating those who’d already won.

  I searched around the room, waiting for familiar faces to appear. My eyes immediately landed on the nearby agents, gauging how close they were to me and how long it would take me to get to one in the event something happened. But nothing was going to ruin Jameson’s night, I told myself. Not even my own newly developed neuroses. I had no clue when Sean would reappear or when DeWayne and Avon would arrive. Hell, I’d give anything to see my favorite spin doctors, Lewis and Jenkins, right about now. Jameson must have sensed my anxiety because he excused himself from a conversation he was having with a state senatorial candidate and led me to the side.

  “Are you okay?”

  I nodded my head a little too enthusiastically. “Yes, I’m fine.”

  “No, you’re not. I can see it written all over your face. What’s wrong?”

  “I’m sorry. I don’t do well with large crowds, and after everything that happened in Memphis, my anxiety is worse.” I bit my lip nervously and looked around to see if people were watching us.