Dirty Work (11 page)

“I’m sorry,” I say softly.

He meets my eyes for a brief second, and I see emotion swimming in his. It almost looks like regret.

“I’m no career politician,” he says to the audience. “But haven’t we all had enough of those? I think it’s time to elect an average person who’s worked for everything he’s got. No one’s spoon-feeding me answers or underwriting my campaign. This is just me, asking you to give me a chance to lead for you.”

The audience applauds loudly. I want to refute what he said, but I’m afraid to. I don’t know unequivocally that my father hasn’t seen to donations into my campaign. He’s told me he hasn’t, but he wants me to win so badly that I wouldn’t put it past him.

I’m gutted. I just got my ass kicked out here. That was the defining moment of the debate, and the momentum stays with Jude until the end. I keep my game face on, but it takes everything in me to remain composed. For the first time in this campaign, I want to cry angry tears. Jude is gaining on me, and instead of being the cutthroat badass I
thought
I was, I secretly fawn over him just like all the other women do.

Jude’s playing me. My weak spot is him because he wanted it that way. I feel like such an idiot for letting him set me up privately and then knock me down in a televised debate.

When we shake hands at the end of the debate, I still see emotions swimming in Jude’s eyes. I do what I have to do, posing for photos and doing two interviews before I go back to my small dressing room. And once there, I close the door and sit down, burying my face in my hands.

I’m falling apart, and the one person who could comfort me is also the reason I feel this way. I’ve never felt so backed against a wall—or so completely alone.

“
Y
ou killed it tonight
.” Carl’s almost buzzing with excitement as the crowd slowly migrates toward the exits of the auditorium. “Didn’t it feel amazing?” he asks and punches me playfully in the shoulder like he’s shed ten years from his life.

“Yeah.” My head’s nodding, but it’s a complete lie. There wasn’t much about the debate that made me feel amazing. I loved the response of the crowd, but I could see Reagan slowly slipping into herself, falling into my shadow at my side.

That’s the rub.

She’s my opponent.

It shouldn’t matter how she feels. All’s fair in love and war, right? But this is a mixture of the two. We’re not battling over who is picking the kids up for soccer practice. We’re fighting it out for one open Senate seat, and we can’t both come out on top.

Kissing her that night on the bench outside the inn seemed to be a great idea at the time, but it has us on a path that ends on a cliff, followed by nothingness.

There’s no outcome that will make both of us happy. Even though she walked out of my room weeks ago and said good-bye, I haven’t been able to get her off my mind.

There’s still a pull between us. That gravity that brings us back together, but over time, will rip us apart in spectacular fashion.

Seeing her face splashed across the papers and at night when I’m alone in my room on television has been a double-edged sword.

“Carl.” Martin Sanders, the chair of the Illinois Republican Party, interrupts us, and I’ve never been so thankful to be able to break free.

“Hey, Marty. How the hell are ya, buddy?” Carl shakes his hand and turns his back to me.

I step backward and loosen my tie. “I’m going to go backstage. I’ll meet you out front in fifteen, Carl.”

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll be there,” he says, paying absolutely no attention and waving me off. “Marty and I need to catch up.”

My tie feels as if it’s choking me, working with my dress shirt to strangle the life out of me. I’m undoing the buttons as I head backstage, straight for the dressing rooms.

Lexi’s on the phone, pacing in front of Reagan’s room when she catches sight of me. “Can I help you?” Her voice is anything but friendly. It’s not even cordial.

I glance around the corridor. “I need to talk to her,” I say, running my fingers through my hair.

Her glare is even less friendly than her tone. “Lemme call you back. I have a problem I need to take care of.” She stabs the screen of her phone, and as soon as she drops her hand to her side, she’s in my face. “She doesn’t want to see you.”

I won’t let Lexi’s proximity stop me from seeing her. “Did she say that, or are you her keeper?”

“I know her better than anyone, Mr. Titan. After what just happened out there—” she points toward the stage and takes another step closer, dropping her voice to a whisper “—she’s never going to want to speak to you again.”

I throw my hands up and confess, “I know. I’m sorry. I need to talk to Reagan, Lexi. I won’t leave until I do.”

“I can have security remove you,” she threatens.

“You aren’t going to cause a scene, Lexi. Let me see her, and if she doesn’t want to speak to me ever again, I’ll leave her in peace,” I plead.

She stares at me for a beat, her eyes narrowing on me. “I’ll give you ten minutes, Titan. If you upset her…” Her bony digit pokes me in the chest, and her glare deepens. “I’ll ruin you.”

“Just give us a few minutes alone, and don’t let anyone down here, please.”

Her eyebrows draw together. “Why?”

“Because it wouldn’t look good if people saw me leaving her dressing room.”

Her eyes roam over the expansive hallway, but her finger’s still firmly pressed against my chest. “I’ll make sure no one sees, for Reagan’s sake. Don’t pull any shit, or you’ll be sorry.”

I can’t control my grin. “I’ll be an absolute gentleman.”

“I don’t know if it’s in your nature to be a gentleman. Hurry,” she says, looking around my shoulder before peering up at me. “You have ten minutes before I come in there.”

As I reach for the door, I turn around and face her. “Thanks, Lexi.”

She glances around and shoos me. “Go, before I change my mind.”

One hand’s on the doorknob, and I raise my other hand, about to knock, when I change my mind. Reagan will never welcome me inside, not after the debate—not after the way I belittled her.

Slowly I turn the knob, praying she doesn’t start screaming before I get inside the room. When the door is cracked just a few inches, I catch a glimpse of her.

She’s hunched over the desk, holding her head in her hands and sniffling.
Oh God, she’s crying.
It’s my fault. I’m the cause of her sadness, and it guts me.

We were both fools for not thinking ahead. Of course, a political debate is going to get nasty. It’s cutthroat.

She doesn’t hear me enter over her muffled sobs or the click of the door as it closes behind me. My hands are balled into fists, and I want to kick my own ass for hurting her.

“Reagan,” I say, my voice almost a whisper.

Slowly she lifts her head and locks eyes with me in the mirror. “Jude,” she whispers and stifles her tears. Her beautiful face is covered in streaked mascara, which is made worse when she wipes her cheeks with her fingertips. The sadness in her eyes morphs, and her gaze turns icy. “I don’t want to see you.”

Stepping forward, I keep my eyes pinned on her. “We need to talk.”

Her body stiffens when I’m in her personal space. “No. There’s nothing left to say.”

Reaching out, I brush the tiny strands of hair that have fallen loose from her bun, and she closes her eyes and pulls away. “There are too many words to say in the few minutes we have.” She peers up at me in the reflection, but all I want is for her to turn around.

“It’s too late for ‘I’m sorry.’”

“I’m not sorry for what I said, Reagan.” My grimace isn’t lost on her. That didn’t come out exactly how it sounded in my head. “I’m sorry that they were said to you…about you.”

Her legs swing around on the tiny bench, before she’s in my face, glaring at me. “I don’t know why I thought we could get through this unscathed, Jude. I knew you were going to try to discredit me.”

There’s little space between us. Such a small amount that I can feel her body heat and the familiar pull of her body to mine.
Don’t touch her—you can’t.

“I’m discrediting the candidate, not the woman.”

“We’re the same,” she tells me, slamming her open palm against my chest and knocking me back a bit. The look on her face hurts me more than her hands ever could.

It’s deserved. My behavior’s been shitty. I could’ve formed my answers differently, spared her some hurt, but people would get suspicious. Reagan and I are opponents—we’re supposed to go for the jugular.

Before she can pull her hand back, I wrap my fingers around her wrist and haul her body toward me. “I don’t care what happens on the stage or what you say in an interview, Reagan. That’s the candidate speaking—the woman who’s trying to fulfill her passion and dream. The person standing in front of me isn’t the same stuffy, uptight woman on the stage.”

Her eyes dip to where our bodies are connected and she tries to yank free of me, but I don’t let her. “You’re the same cocky asshole.”

I’m still holding her wrist, and I snake my arm around her waist and bring her closer. “Stop,” I whisper, brushing my lips against her forehead near where it meets her hairline. My eyes close, relishing the feel of her in my arms again as our hearts thump uncontrollably and in sync. “I’m sorry.”

“You hurt me, Jude. I don’t know if anything anyone’s ever said has hurt me as much as you did on that stage tonight,” she admits. Her warm breath skids across the skin of my neck, and every strand of hair on my body stands on end.

I open my eyes and lean backward, staring directly at her. “I don’t know what else to say but I’m sorry.”

Her chin starts to quiver before she closes her eyes and speaks. “This is too hard. Our text messages, the kissing, all of it.” She melts into me, hiding her face as she rests her cheek against my chest. “Sometimes I forget we’re enemies, but then it slams back into me like a ton of bricks.”

There’s nothing that has given me as much pleasure in the last weeks as I feel now, having her pressed up against me. “I know, baby.”

Her hand slides up my arm and rests on my bicep, her fingers gripping me tightly. “When I told you good-bye at the hotel, I meant it, Jude. I can’t keep doing this to myself. It’s not fair to either of us.”

“I have a solution.”

“I’m not fucking you,” she grumbles.

I can’t help but laugh. “Not that, but I wouldn’t say no if you offered.” I pause because she’s going to like my idea even less. “Why don’t you drop out?”

She tenses in my arms, and her fingernails bite into my skin. “Drop out?”

“Yeah.” It comes out casually, like we’re discussing something other than our political future. “Then we can be together.”

Her head jerks back, but she can’t get away with my arm wrapped around her middle. “Why don’t
you
drop out?” she asks through gritted teeth and a clenched jaw.

My hand slides up her side. “My work is too important. You don’t really have anything that important to handle in Washington.”

This time, her entire body jolts away from me, and she smacks me. “How dare you!”

The blow makes my head jerk to the side, but I quickly right myself. “I’m just stating the obvious.”

The glare in her eyes can only be described as wild. “I fucking hate you!” she yells with a snarled lip.

Fuck
. This isn’t how I wanted this to go down. Quickly, I grab her by the back of the neck and bring her face to mine. “You don’t hate me. You could never hate me.”

“I do,” she whispers.

There’s no time to argue the point. She doesn’t hate me. I know that no matter what’s said between us in public or private, I could never feel that way about her.

We’ve spent too long apart, playing a game of cat and mouse for weeks through text messages. My hands find her cheeks, gently holding her face in my palms, and I lean over and brush my lips against hers.

Her throaty moan that fills my mouth when she opens to me doesn’t sound anything like hate. Her tongue tangles with mine, needy and hot. My grip tightens on her face; I’m worried she’ll come to her senses and pull away.

My mouth grows more demanding. An uncontrollable need to remind her how perfectly our bodies fit together takes over.

We’re moving, backing up as I lead her toward the wall next to her dressing table. My hands skate down her body, capturing her waist and lifting her against me.

Her legs wrap around my middle. “We can’t,” she says against my mouth and rubs her panty-covered pussy against my cock that’s covered in too many layers.

Her kiss grows deeper, hungrier than before. I’m mindless with lust, squeezing her ass as I plaster her back against the wall.

When our lips disconnect for a second, she’s breathy and panting. “I hate you,” she whispers, grinding her core against me.

Pushing against her, I hold her body up with one arm and touch her breast through her dress. “You don’t hate me. You hate how much you want me.” My hips swivel, creating friction between us as I kiss her again, rougher this time.

Her hands are roaming over my shoulders, squeezing my skin underneath and driving me crazy with want. When the need to taste her flesh overwhelms me, my mouth slides from her lips to her neck.

She pushes against the wall, giving me better access, but she rubs against my dick harder than before. I’m hanging by a thread as my lips blaze a trail down her neck. A moan rumbles deep in my throat, and my teeth sink into her soft flesh while she shivers in my arms.

The door opens and we both freeze.

“Reagan?” Lexi says from behind us.

We’re both staring at each other with wide eyes, unable to move.

Reagan’s heels dig into my ass as her hold on me tightens, but her terrified eyes stay locked on mine. “Can you give us a minute?” Reagan asks with a shaky breath.

“Well… Um…” Lexi pauses. “Yeah.”

When the door closes quickly, we both start to laugh. The ramifications of being caught aren’t lost on either of us, but we can’t stop ourselves from chuckling. For a moment, I think this must be what it’s like to be a parent when your kids catch you in the act. Your heart leaps and then stops, you’re unable to move for fear of too much being seen—namely my hard-on—and you know nothing will ever be the same.

My hold on her loosens, and she slowly slides down my body, pushing harder against me than she needs to. She makes sure to make it as uncomfortable as possible for me.

“Fuck,” I groan when her feet touch the floor, and our contact is broken. I’m not sure what’s worse—the torture or the nothingness of the loss of her.

Reagan’s face is red, and her lips are swollen. “Shit.”

My cock’s not ready to stop, and I reach down, pushing it aside and praying that I can walk out of here without a massive boner. “I think we have
a lot
of explaining to do.”

She starts to pace and catches a glimpse of herself in the mirror. First, she wipes away the last smears of mascara that hadn’t transferred to me while we were lip-locked. “I’ll take care of her.”